#writer – Page 4 – River and Celia Underland

To Manicured Hands That Will Never Be Shackled.

go on make yourself a victim

you will be soon enough.

You can tell your own

children

Why.

The Underland Review

The glitch won.
Normal content has been corrupted.
Issue One of The Underland Review: This Zine is a Lie is now live — 57 pages of poetry, prose, art, and soft monsters from the margins of the algorithm.
Pay what you want. Hold it in your hands. Or vanish into the archive.

The Catanic Verses VI (A Guide to Feline Religosophy)

“The wheels of betrayal turneth not, lest they be chicken-shaped and rolling toward revolution.”

In this week’s Catanic Verses, silence is sacred, meows are weaponised, and Poe rides a golden chicken straight into the centre of papal drama. Featuring velvet robes, suspicious eyebrows, and a firm reminder: speak less, flop more.

Xquity™

“Turns out gills work. You’re welcome.”

In a world where the rich breathe easy underwater and the rest are left gasping above, a rogue tech designer, a sanctimonious ex, and a sarcastic borg might be the last hope for redemption. Corporate theology, biotech betrayal, and underwater rebellion collide in Breathing Is For Closers.

Dispatches from the Void. V.II

Forgiveness is a process — especially if you’re a cat. This week, we navigate birthday dread, garden triumphs, and the slow but surreal shift toward our future in Thailand. There’s wine, weed wackers, and a temporary job at (possibly fictional) Amazon. Honourable mentions were won. Sausages were offered. Love, as ever, persists.

batteries

A haunting reflection on time, memory, and the ache of never growing up. “Once I looked into your eyes and whispered I cannot grow up…”—this piece explores the enduring pull of childhood, the weight of nostalgia, and the quiet grief of being seen. For all the lost boys, boxcar hearts, and sunset liars.

Lost Boy

The Catanic Verses V (A Guide to Feline Religosophy)

The prodigals return. Flushed, apologetic, and waving foreign meats like penance. But for Poe and the paws, trust is not dispensed with the drop of a Dreamie. This week’s revelation speaks of broken bowls, delayed doors, and the sacred art of suspicion. Chicken may soothe. But betrayal lingers.

Tick Tock

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. But Evangeline did. Now the house speaks in riddles and the clock runs in reverse. Her fate was sealed long before the latch clicked. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tick. Some doors don’t open — they consume.

Dispatches from the Void. V. VI

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.