@cultauthor.bsky.social
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hookland.bsky.social
Trees shed in slow striptease. Hedges offer berry buffet. Shadows stretch towards the coming of cold of twilight. Even the quietest lanes parade their phantoms. This is autumn whispering its last summer memories. This is autumn edging towards the season of the dead. – #CLNolan
cultauthor.bsky.social
Poverty has always been a blame game. Temperance societies used to blame drink for poverty instead of chronic sickness, low pay et al because it suited their pisspuffin agenda and suited their funders who were often the people responsible for the chronic sickness and low pay.
cultauthor.bsky.social
That is absolutely the right thing to do, but maybe don’t lecture people on what your interpretation of one other person’s reading of stoicism is by saying ‘that’s not stoicism’. Maybe just amend it to: ‘My personal take on stoicism is’ because they at least will be factually honest and accurate.
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hookland.bsky.social
If any publisher wants to publish this experiment light novel …
tomsbrown.bsky.social
In case people need something to look forward to, I have the honour of collaborating with @hookland.bsky.social on a light novel. Initial discussions began in a necropolis and then moved onto a pub. Will begin in earnest early 2026.
Creature formed of woven willow and hagstones. Fearful in appearance. Pencil drawing with some tones.
cultauthor.bsky.social
Maybe read the Zeno as the founder of the Stoics.
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hookland.bsky.social
The alleged home tree of the Wood Sprite known as Blood Squall. His reputation is high among the fiercest and most troubling of cursers. His favoured appeasements are said to be the medicate wine Tor Tonic, items of pewter, chocolate raisins and teeth – human or animal.
cultauthor.bsky.social
It is Friday afternoon and I am explaining to Mrs. S. that one of the priests who married us was an exorcist and just what a spirit whip is. Her bemusement at fact one is much higher than interest in fact two.
cultauthor.bsky.social
Actually that is more like Boethius’ Consolations of Philosophy than Zeno.
cultauthor.bsky.social
Catholicism fucks you up if taken too early.
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hookland.bsky.social
The tangled dead, root-pulled from above and below, feel scratches upon long vanished, phantom flesh. Their fancy houses have become cells where they wait on visitors who never come. Necropolis bounded and more than half-forgotten, many of them ache for hell. – #CLNolan
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.
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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
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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.
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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,
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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.
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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!’
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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 …