Living our queer, twisted truth. Stories, art, love, and cantankerous cats.
The latest Catanic Verses scroll drops claws-first into digital drama. What do dodgy Signal chats, enchanted subpoenas, and feline surveillance have in common? Join the Fellowship of the Paw for holy satire, subtextual screams, and cat-laden prophecies that may or may not be legally binding. š¾ #CatCult #SignalScandal
Pawlm and Purrerb included. Fellowship convened. Purring optional. Treats mandatory.
#CatanicVerses #BookOfMeow #SundaySermon
PAWMEN š
For disaster.
Take two table spoons of inadequacy
Fold.
April is the cruellest month, bringing
Cruel fleas out from sleep, breeding
Memory and catnip, mixing
Dull fur with springtime static.
From the highest shelf they preach, from beneath the fridge they conspire. This weekās Catanic Verses deliver feline gospel, strategic silence, and the sacred mystery of Stage 4. Coveting? Sinful. Tuna? Questionable. Trust? Misplaced.
Pawlm and Purrerb included. Fellowship convened. Purring optional. Treats mandatory.
#CatanicVerses #BookOfMeow #SundaySermon
PAWMEN š
Things are never impossible to those
Who have almost given up
Shall I compare thee to a tuna buffet?
Thou art more tasty and more intemperate
Rough winds do shake the curtain pole of day,..
Find someone else ā
To man off to.
Youāre laughing but this isnāt cute
Weāre laughing for another purpose.
It isnāt cute.
The valleys of my youth are burning.
The moss is gone.
The ghosts are quieter nowā
buried beneath drive-thru queues and Dragonās breath.
We inherited ash.
#poetry #Welsh #queerwriters #Underland
This queer narrative confronts systemic silence, discrimination, and erasureāfrom the AIDS crisis and āDonāt Ask, Donāt Tellā to blood donation bans and anti-trans legislation. It chronicles a personal awakening shaped by policy, protest, and pride, revealing how queer identity is politicized, policed, and ultimately reclaimed as resistance and truth.
the ice in the air today feels like relief a rare december when the bite of the air on my face feels like hope and the crunch of the grass is the rhythm of my march towards you and all my poems feel half finished now and the days are dark right now, my loveContinue reading “The Long Road”
