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: mental-health
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.
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.
The Underland Review: Call for Submissions
The Underland Review is calling for strange truths, haunted fragments, and beautifully unreliable narrators. This zine is a lie — and we want your glitch-lit, cursed files, and poetry with fangs. No bios required. No CVs. Just the work. Deadline: May 10th.
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.
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 Catanic Verses V (A Guide to Feline Religosophy)
This week’s Revelation finds Poe deep in mourning — abandoned in a locked house with only a strange man and the scent of wet socks for company. As the doors close and the biscuits betray, Poe proclaims a mighty lamentation: the world is without chicken, without love, and gravely lacking in proper reverence for the sacred feline order. So sayeth the Oracle of Poe.
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.
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.
