Tag Archives: #poetry

ChatGPT Told Me So (Because I Told It So).

Quoting ChatGPT like scripture? Congratulations—you’ve successfully outsourced your bias. This essay explores how people are misusing AI to reinforce pre-baked worldviews, mistaking manipulation for insight and turning technology into the ultimate yes-man. It’s not intelligence. It’s intellectual cowardice—wrapped in cap-locks and podcast bravado.

when it happens

They told us not to dance on graves.
But when the tyrant dies,
we don’t mourn.
We remember.
We rage.
We reclaim.
We dance.

No prayers. No peace.
Just steel boots, scorched flags, and the fire they tried to drown us in.

Poe ‘Vices.

There’s unrest in the bayou.
Someone (definitely not a TACO) built a prison in a swamp, deputised the alligators, and declared himself Messiah of Muck. But now the reptiles are unionising, biting senators, and refusing to eat the other side. Poe responds—ruthlessly, fabulously—and introduces Traitor Gators™, the only amphibious uprising you can collect, cuddle, and fear.

Dispatches from the Void. X.V.

Visa submitted. Cats unsettled. Love steady.
As the move to Thailand hurtles closer, the boxes remain unpacked and the emotions unfiltered. Celia writes from the edge of exhaustion and hope—where hormones meet housing stress, political fear sparks dark humour, and the cats spiral into poetic rebellion. One pit in the stomach, three feline prophets, and zero backup plans.

handmade

I keep a whole war behind my teeth. Silent rounds chambered in my throat. Every word is a risk, every breath a negotiation. This isn’t just about language—it’s about survival. About the sounds we swallow, the truths we burn to say, and the silence that remains when even “I love you” aches too loud.

Modernizing the Constitution: Lessons from a Signal Chat. Part 2 .

What happens when the Founding Fathers get sick of being misquoted and log back in from the afterlife? Chaos. Group chat chaos.
Join Washington, Hamilton, Madison, Abigail Adams, and a very tired Tommy J as they try to update the U.S. Constitution — one amendment (and one eye-roll) at a time.
Spoiler: No one invited T. Rump. Again.

Poe ‘Vices.

This week, Donny throws himself a one-man military parade—and no one shows up. Except Poe. To mock him. With feathers. And facts.

From inflatable crowds to Kid Rock torture loops, it’s another chaotic dispatch from the tangerine twilight zone. Poe offers tactical chicken wisdom, emotional support hashbrowns, and a dazzling robe of ridicule.

March with us, or at least laugh from the sidelines.

Dispatches from the Void. X.IV.

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.