He built an island. He drained a swamp. He rewrote the gospel of guilt into a tax-deductible memoir. And now? He’s been canonised by himself, in his own floating church, under a halo of federal restraint. Behold: Saint of Redaction — Patron of Secrets, Wealth, and Wiggly Truths.
Cherubs hold the NDAs. A gator whispers truth. The list has been printed. And no amount of bleach can scrub divine delusion.
Tag Archives: writing
Dispatches from the Void. X.VI.
This week in Underland, the chicken staged a dawn coup, Celia’s visa was finally approved, and grief arrived quietly in the form of Andrea Gibson’s passing. Between emotional whiplash, endless paperwork, and one deeply unsettling poultry stare, we somehow found time to write, to give, and to hold each other upright. Noise surrounds us. But so does love. And pani puri.
We Didn’t Win. This was not a win.
Call for support for Habiba in Palestine
Modernizing the Constitution: Lessons from a Signal Chat. Part 3 .
The ghosts are back, the group chat is unhinged, and civil liberties are on fire. Amendment V gets the reboot nobody asked for—now featuring civil asset forfeiture, courtroom TikToks, and Alexa snitching on you mid-trial. No self-snitching. No Netflix sequels. No crypto sheriffs. Just ghosts, phones, and the constitutional collapse of due process.
The Things She Carried
Our poem This is Bisan from Gaza. I’m still alive. just won a Vocal challenge. The win is bittersweet—we’ve chosen to donate the prize to support families in Gaza.
This piece is for Bisan, and for every voice still shouting into the void.
Grin of the Deluge: Leavitt at the Levee
The flood came hard, but crueller came her grin,
Sick smirk, shrugs at the drowning in the South.
Dispatches from the Void. X.V.
Visa stress, bureaucratic limbo, and a house full of half-packed boxes. Celia reflects on love, exhaustion, and quiet resistance. Meanwhile, Mowgli files complaints, Akela flees from shadows, and Poe communes with paperwork. The countdown to Thailand continues—chaotic, tender, and just barely held together by bedtime Phil and warrior paws
terms of surrender
i’ve never slept so well
in your arms
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.
