@cultauthor.bsky.social
630 followers 170 following 360 posts
Posts Media Videos Starter Packs
cultauthor.bsky.social
Stoicism is a dangerous friend - especially if it refuses to allow you to be sad about things that genuinely deserve your sadness.
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
The witch's calendar of harvest refuses ink-marked dates. She knows the turn year by berry swell, by movements through colour towards ripeness. She waits on the mistletoe drupe, not in hope of Christmas kisses, but future cures. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
Goodnight from Dom Holden, shuddering from the knowledge of which garage doors on the Bartlett Estate hide carbon monoxide phantoms. Goodnight from Bos Wyke, holding vigil in Scritch Woods against both poachers and Woodwose hungry before its winter sleep. Goodnight from Hookland.
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
My heart is always happier when my feet – unsteady as they are – take their first few steps into the wood. For the woodland path curves to mystery, curves towards the possibility of feral strangeness. Each visit replenishes my store of wonder, whispers new stories. – #CLNolan,
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
The pews of English churches are wooden bestiary. A carved chronicling of all the country's imagined animals. Here are dragons! Here are antlered dormice, here are winged hares! Prayers distracted by wonderful beasts. – Lucy Hay, architectural historian, 'Wooden Wonders', BBC Two, 1979
cultauthor.bsky.social
Mrs. S. making disapproving sounds about to ight’s Goodnight from Hookland. Usually means it’s sufficiently creepy and unpleasant.
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
I am not for ruinenlust for its own sake. I am only entranced only by those ruins which even in their obsolescence still hold stories. Stones that in decay still tithe the imagination. A ruin becomes good to me when it has not only ghost, but blood-soaked lore. – #CLNolan
cultauthor.bsky.social
You are going to take my chair away aren’t you? You’re a bastard. I won’t forget this for at least 16 days. #Cats
A pussed off ginger fat on a deckchair.
cultauthor.bsky.social
The crow then followed us for a quarter of a mile, occasionally talking to us.
cultauthor.bsky.social
Thank you. You will love knowing that the crow was warning us about a prowling fox. I believe the crow was shouting: ‘Egg-stealer! Egg-stealer!’
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
Goodnight from Catewynd Point, where Kip Bartlett is keeping watch in hope of glimpsing the ghost ship SS Erotic Charlotte. Goodnight from Frankie Fairburn, explaining to his nephew that if you pay taxes to Faery you don’t have to involve Her Majesty’s lot. Goodnight from Hookland.
cultauthor.bsky.social
… mind you, we call them Mire Maids.
cultauthor.bsky.social
Funny that you mention bog hags …
cultauthor.bsky.social
Nope. As this is a collaborative light novel, there is no possibility of Solomoning even entirely fictional firstborns.
cultauthor.bsky.social
Shitposting just means your copy is going to cost $20 at least.
cultauthor.bsky.social
Well then Mr. Brown, do you want to tell him or shall I?
cultauthor.bsky.social
I believe this is a winner in the #goth eye spy game - crow on gravestone as seen through a rain bejewelled spiderweb.
Crow on gravestone as seen through a rain bejewelled spiderweb.
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
An entry from the #HooklandEncyclopædia, this time on Dracula Buses and the censorship of #horror films. Also, context for later tonight.
DRACULA BUSES
When the British Board of Film Censors introduced the H Certificate – the H standing for Horrific – in 1932 in response to Todd Browning’s Dracula and James Whale’s Frankenstein, it had an unintended consequence in Hookland. Forever addicted to petty power, many of its local councils used their devolved competency to ban the showing of any film with an H certificate. Notably both the councils of the county town of Corsham and the cathedral city of Weychester strictly enforced their right to prevent people indulging in some mild cinematic fright. Given Hook landers love for monsters and their well-known disregard for rules, it was perhaps inevitable that the Dracula Buses would come into existence. Organised by Hungarian émigré János Daruvár, every Friday night a chartered bus could be found in both Coreham and Weychester to take their citizens across the council border and into Ashcourt to view H certificate movie – given that Ashcourt Urban District Council took a much more relaxed approach to what its citizens could be exposed to. Known locally as the ʻDracula Buses’, the eccentric Daruvár was happy to thicken his East European accent and wear a cape when driving one of the vehicles which led to him becoming something of a minor celebrity in the county. Local newspaper repors across the decades never fail to mention the party atmosphere on the Dracula Buses and the entertainment ʻCount Daruvár’ would provide to passengers if vehicle broke down on the way to or from a midnight horror showing. The two Tilling ST buses Daruvár bought from London in 1933 remained in service right up until the late 1970s, when the antique red double-decker buses made for a bizarre sight when sporting destinations such as The Exorcist of The Texas Chainshaw Massacre – which were both banned in Weychester and Coreham. One of the buses was even said to be haunted by a passenger who had died from delayed fright after catching the bus to see The Devil Ride’s Out in 1968.
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
The land is long memory. The land is layers of story. Its ghost soil cracks and releases spirits. Our navigations across it will always bring encounters with the strange. – #CLNolan
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
Goodnight from Jennie Hoar, feeling the swell of nausea every time she contemplates her secret dealings with the Grinning Man being exposed. Goodnight from Georgie Ash, learning the divinatory language of thrown bones instead of doing her French homework. Goodnight from Hookland.
Reposted
hookland.bsky.social
Ashcourt Docks nick is one of the most haunted places I know. It is more than the deaths in custody, the abject despair and grief it's seen. There's something about it that traps pain and anger in its bricks. I feel sorry for every copper and villain crossing its threshold. – #DICallaghan
Reposted
jamiedelano.bsky.social
@cultauthor.bsky.social
Rust never peeps (sorry)
#photography (phone snap)
Close on rusted steel, sea horizon visible through a circular hole cut through it.