A cryptic corridor of original art prints forged in the depths of Underland to story editing that slices with precision and care, every piece we offer is hand-crafted with chaos, clarity, and charm. Our books? They bite back.
The Catanic Verses V (A Guide to Feline Religosophy)
The prodigals return. Flushed, apologetic, and waving foreign meats like penance. But for Poe and the paws, trust is not dispensed with the drop of a Dreamie. This week’s revelation speaks of broken bowls, delayed doors, and the sacred art of suspicion. Chicken may soothe. But betrayal lingers.
FAce-lIft Continuation XIX: Minjae Lee
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.
FAce-lIft Continuation XVIII: Digital and Machine Art
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.
Tick Tock
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. But Evangeline did. Now the house speaks in riddles and the clock runs in reverse. Her fate was sealed long before the latch clicked. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tick. Some doors don’t open — they consume.
FAce-lIft Continuation XVII: Reflection
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.
Poe ‘Vices
Rocket dads, data bros, and misfired masculinity — this week, Poe responds to a reader haunted by a billionaire father who’d rather launch a car into space than love his trans child. With trademark sass, sorrow, and chicken-based resistance, Poe reminds us: your soul can’t be trademarked.
FAce-lIft Continuation XVI: Aloïse Corbaz
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.
Dispatches from the Void. V. VI
Back from Turkey and quietly reflecting on the uneasy mix of beauty and loss. A rich culture overshadowed by British tourism leaves behind more questions than comfort. As we return to our quiet life with the cats, our sights turn to Thailand—and the ongoing pursuit of something real, rooted, and ours.
The Catdiva Monologues Volume VI: Return of the Rogit, Rise of the Miserable Sun. Descent.
Locked in. Doors shut. Biscuits wrong. Mothers in Turkey. In The Catdiva Monologues: Volume V, Akela Jean Underland recounts the horror of her abandonment with biting wit and theatrical disdain. A tale of closed doors, unseasoned men, and feline fortitude. Unlicked. Unfed. Unimpressed.
