Just painting away in the depths of the night and swaddling things in bubble wrap.

A poem for my moth

Maybe white men are a disease?

Looking for a way out?

This one’s for you.

Some advice on configuring your neural uplink for a glitch-free soul transfer.

What’s that thing revolving vaguely in that big swirling pot of gender?

Let’s talk about privilege and power with nips and Nazis!

The Lions wrote their gospel in stone and skin.

A sonnet about my profound lack of coolty with No Man’s Sky’s ocean planets.

Quantum necromancy, baby.

Art dump!

More poetry from Elie Nine, the insect priestess.

Two months of printing and painting later, our Hades project is complete!

One of many sad backstories from Shadowplay.

A sonnet about the people we cast to play our demons.

No inappropriate lusting for xenomorph booty here, no sir!

A poem about trying to lose.

A poem about the wrong way to mourn.

A love poem for an insect.