Salt hit #1. Celia hit her limit. Mowgli lost his voice, Akela sued the air (again), and Poe is now spiritually bonded with the rice cooker. Meanwhile, we’re dodging hate comments, packing for Thailand (badly), and writing political satire fuelled by rage, resilience, and the occasional pear. Welcome to Underland. It’s a mess. It’s ours.
Tag Archives: #love
Dispatches from the Void. X.III
Salt launched early (because patience is for capitalists). River won a challenge on a site run by bots and tech bros. The cats staged an emotional protest. We made pesto. Also, Celia did an interview and accidentally sounded wise. Chaos, poetry, and spite—just another week in Underland.
Let Them Eat Eggs.
When Chuck woke up craving eggs, he didn’t expect to lose his savings, his freedom, or his species classification by lunchtime. In a world run by poultry monopolies and algorithmic demagogues, he learns the hard way: it was never about the ducks.
Dispatches from the Void. X.II
The wardrobe has vanished, the neighbour’s smoking crack, and Zionists are being platformed while dissent is muted. We’re packing, protesting, and somehow still writing. Rage, rain, and resistance: another week in Underland.
The Velvet Revelation: Mowgli’s Blanketisms & Butt-licking Truths IX
The coat pile has become a war room.
This week, Mowgli the Melancholy weighs in on the digital duel between two ego-ridden billionaires, the soft coup of a stolen blanket, and the haunting power of Kamala’s laugh. Featuring hallway defiance, plug-socket rituals, and a tuna-fuelled monologue worthy of Shakespeare, our resident feline chronicler remains unimpressed—and ever watchful.
Dispatches from the Void. X.II
Rain, rabies, and ridiculous returns. This week’s mood? Bureaucratic despair with a side of soggy capitalism. But hey—we’re still packing, still protesting, and still clinging to the dream (and maybe a cat).
Salt in The Wound
Salt in the Wound is a new anthology calling for poetry, prose, and nonfiction on justice, equality, and resistance. We want work that burns—writing that refuses to scab over. No bios, no fluff. Just the truth. Submissions open until 16th June 2025.
The Velvet Revelation: Mowgli’s Blanketisms & Butt-licking Truths VIII
A velvet elegy from Mowgli the Melancholy to his younger, fluffier self. On betrayal, biscuits, and the devastating revelation that the red dot is a lie.
Dispatches from the Void. X.II
This week brought cobbled streets, cursed arcades, and a ceramic cat at the till. But beneath the joy—rage. We write about Gaza, grief, and why we’re building an unapologetically human, justice-fuelled flash anthology called Salt in the Wound. Because silence is complicity. And we are not quiet people.
Salt in The Wound
Salt in the Wound is a new anthology calling for poetry, prose, and nonfiction on justice, equality, and resistance. We want work that burns—writing that refuses to scab over. No bios, no fluff. Just the truth. Submissions open until 16th June 2025.
