Jennifer Nguyen moves backwards in order to go forward. She cries frequently in order to cry less. Her work has been ingested by people she will never meet but nevertheless hope they were nourished. If you catch her doing nothing, actually, she is very busy, doing nothing, which, in her experience is the greatest something. And, if you think that last sentence was nonsense, that’s because it’s all nonsense.
+
Jennifer Nguyen is currently hardly working on her next book of poems, titled, ‘Have you gotten a real job yet?’ to which she thought nothing is as real a job as writing poetry, except maybe, literally anything else. The only logical conclusion she has to the question then, is, nothing and everything is real.
+
Jennifer Nguyen is having her 444th existential crisis. If you know what the hell is going on in this reality please contact her at: youdaredmetoreadmegatronxreaderfanfic@soidid.com
+
Jennifer Nguyen didn’t want to make this all about her so instead she will make some of this about bread. Blueberry bagels. Sourdough with cream cheese and smoked salmon. Milk bread. Melon bread. Twin sausage buns. Melon bread (again). Garlic bread. Garlic bread with cream cheese.
… — once, someone made her actual garlic bread with actual garlic they actually peeled and diced in real life, like, right in front of her. Needless to say, the whole experience changed her and now her only god is bread.
+
Jennifer Nguyen is the author of countless drafts of poems based on dreams that likely no one will ever read, due to her lack of motivation to edit them. Some were so horrifying it made her smile. Others so full of unconditional love it made her sick with bliss.
+
Jennifer Nguyen believes you can become anyone and anything you want to be so long as you believe it enough. For example: Jennifer Nguyen believes you can become anyone and anything you want to be so long as you believe it enough.
+
Jennifer Nguyen has a secret, very sexy fetish that the professional bio will not only die out and become redundant but be replaced by something that makes your body react violently as soon as you read it, like a snort of laughter that ejects snot, or a long, chest filling howl to the moon.
+
Jennifer Nguyen recently sold her second collection of poems in a hot two-way auction where soju was guzzled down recklessly, and lips were pressed on lips. There, she said to her love, they don’t know her just because they’ve read her work. Only her most unpublishable drafts have that privilege.
+
Jennifer Nguyen is trying to (for the first time) achieve 100% true completion in Stardew Valley, on what is now her fourth or fifth save file. Please do not engage with her unless it is to bring her snacks (bread), where she will thank you by giving you a short tour of her farm and asking you: ‘It’s nice, right?’.
+
Jennifer Nguyen is really, really sick of writing out her name like this, so from now on will go by a small image of bread. Not the bread emoji but one of those cute pastel pixel breads you put as your cursor for your Myspace page.
+
The artist formerly known as Jennifer Nguyen asks that you do not refer to The artist formerly known as Jennifer Nguyen as ‘The artist formerly known as Jennifer Nguyen’.
+
[Pixel Image of Bread] recognises the opaque nonsense of everything you’ve just read and does not apologise for wasting time, as, we have all the time in the world. [Pixel Image of Bread] promises if you peel back the layers you will find a fleshy white banana that will allow you to transcend the oppressiveness of time and space, but only when eaten through the heart and not the mouth. If the nonsense is still opaque then it was not the right time and it might be someday but for now, it was fun and for [Pixel Image of Bread], it is all that really matters.
