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.
Tag Archives: writing
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.
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.
How Privileged Are You, Really? Find Out Now.
You’ve taken quizzes for fun. This one’s not.
A brutal, eerily familiar journey through childhood, work, love, and loss—told through three life paths. Pick your answers. A, B, or C. There are no right choices. Just the ones you recognise. Some more than others.
Dispatches from the Void. X.III
Salt launched early (because patience is for capitalists). River won a challenge on a site run by bots and tech bros. The cats staged an emotional protest. We made pesto. Also, Celia did an interview and accidentally sounded wise. Chaos, poetry, and spite—just another week in Underland.
Volume XII: THE SALT IN MY WOUND.
Akela returns with righteous rage and ear drops. While the humans celebrate Salt in the Wound, she reminds us who the real wounded party is. Featuring vet betrayal, unsolicited ear juice, and Mowgli’s tragic (and possibly theatrical) loss of voice. The pillow has fallen. The diva has risen.
Salt in the Wound.
Salt in the Wound is out now.
We didn’t make this anthology to soothe or distract. We made it because silence felt worse.
Every page turned is a scream in ink—against injustice, inequality, erasure.
This is print as protest. Resistance you can hold.
Featuring work from 21 fierce contributors who chose to write anyway.
Read it. Share it. Salt the wound.
Art Under Siege
I made paintings. Tech advanced I let the algorithm chew on them. fAce-lIft™ is what happened when I asked AI to distort, not dictate — to echo, not replace. The result? Something almost beautiful, slightly haunted, and very much still mine. If that makes you uncomfortable… good. Come look anyway.
Let Them Eat Eggs.
When Chuck woke up craving eggs, he didn’t expect to lose his savings, his freedom, or his species classification by lunchtime. In a world run by poultry monopolies and algorithmic demagogues, he learns the hard way: it was never about the ducks.
