I made paintings. Tech advanced I let the algorithm chew on them. fAce-lIft™ is what happened when I asked AI to distort, not dictate — to echo, not replace. The result? Something almost beautiful, slightly haunted, and very much still mine. If that makes you uncomfortable… good. Come look anyway.
Spotted Lanternfly
River’s poem begins with the stomp of a shoe on a lanternfly and spirals into something deeper—an uncomfortable, necessary meditation on violence, permission, and the human instinct to other. It’s not light-hearted. It’s not supposed to be.
#poetry #Spillwords #lanternflypoem #queerpoets #neurodivergentwriting #humancondition #resistcruelty #UnderlandPress
Poe ‘Vices
They chose layout over love. Fonts over family. You? They left you on read.
Introducing the Zine Abandonments Recovery Kits™ — for cats discarded in the name of literary pursuit.
Includes a tear-absorbent blankie, guilt-activated chicken button, and the dignity you were denied.
Because this isn’t a phase. It’s emotional print neglect.
Dispatches from the Void. V.II
This week in Underland: emotions ran high, the zine went live, and the cats were… unimpressed.
Poe staged a silent protest over font choices, Akela launched a full investigation into the suspicious movement of the red chair, and Mowgli may or may not have forgiven Rodgit (the jury is still napping).
Also, we might be moving. Probably. Eventually.
Volume VIII: The Zine, the Rodgit, and the Rains of Betrayal.
“Then they published it. Then they were happy. Oh you should have seen it. Such betrayal. They hugged. Each other of course. I… I was not included.”
This week, Akela Jean Underland reflects on emotional neglect, soggy flirtations, and suspicious furniture movement. The zine has stolen her mothers’ affection, Rodgit has returned (again), and something unsettling lurks beneath the damp.
Family Values
Family Values is a quiet reckoning in free verse — a poem about the people who watch from the sidelines, silent in their surveillance, absent in their care. It turns the old saying on its head, tracing the cold metrics of modern connection through graphs, likes, and creeping. This piece confronts the gap between visibility and support, and what it means when the people who should know you best… choose not to.
To Manicured Hands That Will Never Be Shackled.
go on make yourself a victim
you will be soon enough.
You can tell your own
children
Why.
The Underland Review
The glitch won.
Normal content has been corrupted.
Issue One of The Underland Review: This Zine is a Lie is now live — 57 pages of poetry, prose, art, and soft monsters from the margins of the algorithm.
Pay what you want. Hold it in your hands. Or vanish into the archive.
The Catanic Verses VI (A Guide to Feline Religosophy)
“The wheels of betrayal turneth not, lest they be chicken-shaped and rolling toward revolution.”
In this week’s Catanic Verses, silence is sacred, meows are weaponised, and Poe rides a golden chicken straight into the centre of papal drama. Featuring velvet robes, suspicious eyebrows, and a firm reminder: speak less, flop more.
FAce-lIft Continuation XXII: Tracey Morberly
I made paintings. Tech advanced I let the algorithm chew on them. fAce-lIft™ is what happened when I asked AI to distort, not dictate — to echo, not replace. The result? Something almost beautiful, slightly haunted, and very much still mine. If that makes you uncomfortable… good. Come look anyway.
