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.
Tag Archives: fiction
FAce-lIft Continuation XV: Clarice Lispector
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 XIV: Madge Gill
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.
You Called It Glory. It Was Just Death.
When war scorched the earth and the gods could no longer bear to watch, the sun itself turned away.
This speculative short story weaves a brutal, mythic tale of violence, divine reckoning, and the collapse of honor on the battlefield.
As brothers fall and the world darkens, only silence — and surrender — remain.
What happens when even the sky says: enough?
FAce-lIft Continuation XIII: Henry Darger
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.
The Velvet Revelation: Mowgli’s Blanketisms & Butt-licking Truths IV
The traitors have returned — loud, sunburnt, and reeking of foreign meats and strange street cats. Mowgli the Melancholy, Supreme Chancellor of the Leftmost Fold, chronicles their pitiful attempts at reconciliation: biscuit bribes, forehead treaties, and tactical drool warfare. Forgiveness? Conditional. Reparations? Pending. Dignity? Eternal.
FAce-lIft Continuation XII
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.
Socks, Sandals, and the Sun We Stole
A searing poetic critique of modern tourism, Flatbreads and Fags explores how paradise becomes parody under the weight of entitlement. From chip-stacked buffets to bikini-clad colonisers, this visceral piece pulls no punches. A street-level lament for stolen culture, served with brown sauce and shame.
Poe ‘Vices
Poe-plies Volume VI: Bots, Biscuits, and Righteous Fury
Maudlin in Montana writes in to ask what to do when a bot steals your work. Poe replies—naturally—with screeching vengeance, digital warfare, and several impassioned mentions of chicken. There’s also some very real wisdom in here (under the feathery insults and claw threats). Writers: this one’s for you.
Dispatches from the Void. V. V
A strange kind of paradise — this week we reflect on the tension between beauty and performance in Marmaris. Between sun-drenched mornings and staged culture, we’re caught in a tourist dreamscape that leaves us missing home, our cats, and a quieter kind of magic.
