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.
Tag Archives: travel
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.
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.
Kulak Değil, Kalp Gerek
She arrived on the knife’s edge of a summer storm, the sea crashing against the rocks like it remembered her. The mountain cottage stood quiet, holding its breath. Inside, only dust and memory stirred—until she found it: the conch, waiting on the table where her grandmother once sat. And when it spoke, it did not speak in words alone, but in whispers layered with voices, salt, and time.
Now, Ilayda walks through the ruins of tradition and tourism, past the shouts and spilled beer, her grandmother’s voice pulsing faintly from the shell.
“Kulak değil, kalp gerek.”
Not the ear, but the heart is needed.
The Catdiva Monologues Volume V
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.
The Hollow Gospel Of Paper Lies.
They called it freedom once,
a democratic right.
Now.
Broken.
The land of the free –
Always,
But for the blacks or the women
Or the poor, sure.
But that’s by the by.
Of Molluscs and Men-A Tentacle Tale.
Of Molluscs and Men
Ever seen a dead octopus squirm? I hadn’t either—until I found myself at a Korean welcome dinner watching the male staff do battle with a still-pulsing tentacle in the name of masculinity. I, blissfully testosterone-deficient, was exempt. This is a tale of cultural rites, side dish diplomacy, and the silent horror of watching your boss devour something that might bite back.
