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.
Tag Archives: writing
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.
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.
A Life in Three Parts.
This piece wasn’t written to win—it was written to survive. River’s Pride Under Pressure winner is a raw, unfiltered reflection on trauma, transition, and love. That it was recognised means more than we can say. It’s proof that truth, even when it hurts, resonates.
Poe ‘Vices
Trump’s still NOT A TACO, Poe’s still screaming “EAT CHICKENS,” and the National Guard is not coming to LA—because the courts said no (rude). This week’s Poe’vice unpacks orange meltdowns, drag queen panic, and why cilantro is destiny. Includes a bonus merch drop for the emotionally unguarded.
Dispatches from the Void. X.II
The wardrobe has vanished, the neighbour’s smoking crack, and Zionists are being platformed while dissent is muted. We’re packing, protesting, and somehow still writing. Rage, rain, and resistance: another week in Underland.
Volume XI: The Rogit Return. The Pillow Theft. The Audacity.
The wardrobe is gone. The sausages have stopped. Rodgit has fled. Again.
Akela Jean Underland, High Priestess of Passive-Aggression and Former Pillow Monarch, returns with a new monologue from the crumb-laden trenches.
This week: she mourns her sanctuary, rages against unjust nicknames, and plots vengeance from atop the coat pile.
Because when the sausages end… so does civility.
For When They Drag Me Off to Prison.
for when they drag me off to prison.
not if — when.
new poem. no metaphors. just betrayal, blue bracelets, and the quiet violence of your vote.
read it.
then ask yourself what you’ll tell your children.
The Velvet Revelation: Mowgli’s Blanketisms & Butt-licking Truths IX
The coat pile has become a war room.
This week, Mowgli the Melancholy weighs in on the digital duel between two ego-ridden billionaires, the soft coup of a stolen blanket, and the haunting power of Kamala’s laugh. Featuring hallway defiance, plug-socket rituals, and a tuna-fuelled monologue worthy of Shakespeare, our resident feline chronicler remains unimpressed—and ever watchful.
