The flood came hard, but crueller came her grin,
Sick smirk, shrugs at the drowning in the South.
Category Archives: Sound of the Underland
Dispatches from the Void. X.V.
Visa stress, bureaucratic limbo, and a house full of half-packed boxes. Celia reflects on love, exhaustion, and quiet resistance. Meanwhile, Mowgli files complaints, Akela flees from shadows, and Poe communes with paperwork. The countdown to Thailand continues—chaotic, tender, and just barely held together by bedtime Phil and warrior paws
terms of surrender
i’ve never slept so well
in your arms
ChatGPT Told Me So (Because I Told It So).
Quoting ChatGPT like scripture? Congratulations—you’ve successfully outsourced your bias. This essay explores how people are misusing AI to reinforce pre-baked worldviews, mistaking manipulation for insight and turning technology into the ultimate yes-man. It’s not intelligence. It’s intellectual cowardice—wrapped in cap-locks and podcast bravado.
when it happens
They told us not to dance on graves.
But when the tyrant dies,
we don’t mourn.
We remember.
We rage.
We reclaim.
We dance.
No prayers. No peace.
Just steel boots, scorched flags, and the fire they tried to drown us in.
Call for Submissions: The Underland Review. This Zine is a Lie.
A call for poets, glitchers, microfictionists, rebels, and ghosts.
The Underland Review wants work that twitches, burns, self-destructs.
No bios. No AI sludge. No gods. Just stories that shouldn’t exist.
Dispatches from the Void. X.V.
Visa submitted. Cats unsettled. Love steady.
As the move to Thailand hurtles closer, the boxes remain unpacked and the emotions unfiltered. Celia writes from the edge of exhaustion and hope—where hormones meet housing stress, political fear sparks dark humour, and the cats spiral into poetic rebellion. One pit in the stomach, three feline prophets, and zero backup plans.
handmade
I keep a whole war behind my teeth. Silent rounds chambered in my throat. Every word is a risk, every breath a negotiation. This isn’t just about language—it’s about survival. About the sounds we swallow, the truths we burn to say, and the silence that remains when even “I love you” aches too loud.
Modernizing the Constitution: Lessons from a Signal Chat. Part 2 .
What happens when the Founding Fathers get sick of being misquoted and log back in from the afterlife? Chaos. Group chat chaos.
Join Washington, Hamilton, Madison, Abigail Adams, and a very tired Tommy J as they try to update the U.S. Constitution — one amendment (and one eye-roll) at a time.
Spoiler: No one invited T. Rump. Again.
Spit
I keep a whole war behind my teeth. Silent rounds chambered in my throat. Every word is a risk, every breath a negotiation. This isn’t just about language—it’s about survival. About the sounds we swallow, the truths we burn to say, and the silence that remains when even “I love you” aches too loud.
