I know it's a trap, but it's nice to feel wanted.

Thei wante us talkinge alone on our phones to a demon thei created, and not goinge places and being wyth each othir yn art and joy and communitye. Thei want cinemas to shut downe, and broadwaye to go darke. Thei want wryteres to stop writinge. Thei want to sell us hell and have us pay for it.

How I look when I put an exclamation mark at the end of the email.

Private Anguish reporting for Wretchedness

"One who is consecrated to Christ can die, but can never be conquered." #SaintJerome #Courage

#completethehaiga 120 #haiga #haiku @completethehaiga.bsky.social ✨

'Piccadilly Circus Underground Station' (from 'This Is London', 1959) by Miroslav Šašek

My priest boss and I realising we’re casually chatting in front of a massive Durex ad at the same time and doing the most nonchalant fake walk to the other end of the platform you ever saw.

The email has found me tending the Blood Roses, those delicate white flowers whose petals stain the most exquisite pink when caressed or smelled by an unsuspecting admirer. Their teeth are like the smallest needles, their appetite unquenchable. I shake my head fondly as I wrap my finger in a napkin.

Another from the sunflower field

So I’m going as Quadruple Denim this year for Halloween and my friend across the pond said ‘we call that the Canadian Tuxedo’ which may be the best thing I’ve heard all year

i know henry viii is doing BACKFLIPS in his grave www.bbc.com/news/article...

“How far from God,” the Pope exclaimed, “is the attitude of those who crush people until they become slaves! Usury is not merely an accounting issue—it is a grave sin that can destroy families, consume the mind and heart, and even lead people to despair or suicide”

Fine. I’ll be the Duke of York.

Not now kitten daddy is browsing the reliquaries

When the parish office goes quiet for five minutes.

Nothing quite like accidentally making your coffee so strong you can hear sunlight screaming as it passes through your window.

heartbroken to learn the pope sympathizes with the poor. how can i continue to believe in god

I want what she’s having.

Someone in the crowd: “Go Cubs!” Pope Leo XIV: “Han perdido! They lost!”

My wife’s name is St Daphne of the Hollows.

The email has found me running through the reeking crypt, pursued by a gurgle of rotten laughter. I *must* reach the coffin before the sand runs out. I am the last of the team-building exercise still alive, Dom from HR has just been lost to the mechanical spider with eight black garnets for eyes.

Yesterday my etsy shop had preciously one view. (And i think that was probably me) If you like my stuff please repost. An eccentric millionaire with lots of empty wall space could be scrolling your timeline right now. marswasrubbish.etsy.com/listing/1579...

Thank you Pope Leo

OBSESSED and IN LOVE

‘Soft life’ this, ‘slowmaxxing’ that, I have a thing called Spider Mode which is where I sit in the corner in darkness waiting for a supermarket delivery and when I’m in Spider Mode I have some of my best Thoughts.

The email has found me stumbling through the undergrowth, gasping, thorns catching my coat. The stories are true, Vanya! I crept to the glade where the women meet and saw their faces change in the firelight, from lovely maidens to the feathered round death-stare of owls.

Tramadol really is an interesting drug. At some point in the night I met myself from the future and bought a second hand banjo.

The email has found me blending in seamlessly at the conference, vast hat covering my auxiliary eyes. I extend a friendly tendril to the facilitator. ‘Fortuitous time allocation, ape, commence bonding! I too enjoy the consumption of essential minerals.’ I’m nailing it.

"Love for the Lord is one with love for the poor (5)." #PopeLeoXIV #DilexiTe #RememberThePoor

Back on the Tramadol. If anyone needs anything from the far reaches of space, I am currently loitering in the fruit aisle.

Grazie, Italy. Eternally beautiful.

The email has found me waking from drugged darkness, chained to a chair at the head of a long table laden with jewelled cups and a rich banquet. The smell of roasted meat is mouth-watering, dizzying, but mingles with unspeakable rot. Every other seat is occupied by things that were once men.

cry havoc and let slip the frogs of war

I know what he means about dying a thousand deaths.

RIP Henry VIII you would have loved the Channel Tunnel

The email has found me frantically anointing the bones - worn smooth as ice by time - with oils of cypress and myrrh as the hollow shrieking behind the iron doors to the lower crypt intensifies. I am the last of the team-building exercise left alive, Dom from HR has just been lost to the scarabs.

9/10/25 - nocturn

Pope Leo is spitting. www.npr.org/2025/10/09/n...

"I share the desire of my beloved predecessor that all Christians come to appreciate the close connection between Christ’s love and his summons to care for the poor." #PopeLeoXIV #DilexiTe #RememberThePoor

If you like Jesus, snow cones, chiles, low riders, and art, have I got the place for you... Chimayo, New Mexico #WackyWednesdayArt #EastCoastKin #PhotographersUnited #PhotographersOfBluesky #photography

The email has found me carefully dusting the haunted portrait gallery. The Drowned Duchess is still asleep, pillowed on a tangle of green weeds, and I don’t want to disturb her. More than one colleague has been found floating in the gilded frame, her hands around their ankles.

“I’m not tired, you are!” I shout at the disembodied and melting head of George Washington as it floats in and out of the corners of my vision

Can I just say, is not a great time to be a hypervigilant due to childhood trauma person.

The email has found me laminating another strict No Entry sign for the canteen. The sinkholes are back, pouring forth the usual black fire and tortured screaming, and we all know what happened to Derek. Great news from the hospital though, they say he’s stopped shrieking in an unknown tongue!

The email has found me arguing with Liminal Jim of Threshold Construction Ltd. I don’t care how multiversal he wants the kitchen, that’s a load-bearing dimension and we’re not knocking through it.

Like to think Jilly Cooper would approve of mother and I celebrating her life and work by careening fifteen sheets to the wind (her) around an Italian lake surrounded by lovely dogs and ecstatically beautiful men.