Living our queer, twisted truth. Stories, art, love, and cantankerous cats.
Rodgit has vanished. Mowgli has not.
In this week’s velvet lament, our Blanket Prophet chronicles the bitter ache of feline abandonment. From ceremonial meows to silent thresholds, justice is sought, warmth is withheld, and trust is—once again—flushed like a forgotten Dreamie.
Absence isn’t silence. It’s strategy.
Rodgit is gone. The bowl is full, but the cushion is cold.
This week’s Catanic Verses ponders the ones who vanish when it matters most.
Trust, like tuna, does not reheat well.
Scroll 15.11 reminds us: if they only arrive for sunshine, they were never truly yours.
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.
River’s poem begins with the stomp of a shoe on a lanternfly and spirals into something deeper—an uncomfortable, necessary meditation on violence, permission, and the human instinct to other. It’s not light-hearted. It’s not supposed to be.
#poetry #Spillwords #lanternflypoem #queerpoets #neurodivergentwriting #humancondition #resistcruelty #UnderlandPress
They chose layout over love. Fonts over family. You? They left you on read.
Introducing the Zine Abandonments Recovery Kits™ — for cats discarded in the name of literary pursuit.
Includes a tear-absorbent blankie, guilt-activated chicken button, and the dignity you were denied.
Because this isn’t a phase. It’s emotional print neglect.
This week in Underland: emotions ran high, the zine went live, and the cats were… unimpressed.
Poe staged a silent protest over font choices, Akela launched a full investigation into the suspicious movement of the red chair, and Mowgli may or may not have forgiven Rodgit (the jury is still napping).
Also, we might be moving. Probably. Eventually.
“Then they published it. Then they were happy. Oh you should have seen it. Such betrayal. They hugged. Each other of course. I… I was not included.”
This week, Akela Jean Underland reflects on emotional neglect, soggy flirtations, and suspicious furniture movement. The zine has stolen her mothers’ affection, Rodgit has returned (again), and something unsettling lurks beneath the damp.
Family Values is a quiet reckoning in free verse — a poem about the people who watch from the sidelines, silent in their surveillance, absent in their care. It turns the old saying on its head, tracing the cold metrics of modern connection through graphs, likes, and creeping. This piece confronts the gap between visibility and support, and what it means when the people who should know you best… choose not to.
go on make yourself a victim
you will be soon enough.
You can tell your own
children
Why.
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.
