Saturday, August 19, 2017
Friday 18th August 2017
This sign hangs over a door which opens on to a large, empty and unlit room - one giving no clue as to whether it was the sleeping quarters or workspace of the scientists in question; regardless, it is a space suffused with a chill aura of utter, haunting absence - as if something thing truely, abominably terrible happened here: an event so terrible that it could not be countenanced at some fundamental level of things, forcing its erasure - and those involved in it - from the fabric of reality entirely, leaving inly a void where their ghosts should be.
Friday, August 18, 2017
Thursday 17th August 2017
The sinister hum of archaic (yet still functional) technologies forms the ubiquitous sonic background to the aura of praeternatural dread that suffuses Horsingdon Bunker. The question as to who is operating these machines - and for what purpose - is one which the guardians of the Black Bowers who have led me to this place refuse to answer.
Wednesday 16th August 2017
One of the guardians of the Black Bowers leads silently and solemnly down an immense corridor - a signifier of what Roger Luckhurst refers to as 'institutional dread' - into the abyssal core of Horsingdon Bunker, where supposedly there await terrible secrets whose disclosure threatens to unravel the very fabric of reality...
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
A house in the woods: overgrown, deteriorating, partially-hidden by trees and untenanted - or is it? For this long-neglected building hides Horsingdon Bunker: a site haunted by many sinister secrets, and overshadowed by its proximity to absolute alterity: those terrifying, prenumbral realms of unknown entity, supposedly unlocked by the military scientists once deployed here, and who accidentally stumbled across a monstrous physics whilst fumbling blindly about unfathomable occult technologies extracted from the epistemological, cryptological and ideological detritus of post-war Europe; men and women who sought to excavate to the furthest foundations of reality, only to find it teetering on the edge of a black abyss; men and women who did so at the behest of concepts - 'god', 'queen', and 'country' - which the knowledge they acquired must have surely rendered hollow and meaningless; men and women of who neither nor sound now remains.
Monday, August 14, 2017
Monday 14th August 2017
The approach to Horsingdon Bunker leads through a thickly-wooded area dotted with rusting and heavily-overgrown coorugated outbuildings, overseen by an old watchtower. In a shed which stands just outside the bunker's entrance, there sits an abandoned military transport, upon which rests what appears to be an old plague doctor's mask: a piece of ritual apparel which, in the symbolic language of Horsingdon's folklore, represents the crow: both a harbinger of the transition from the realm of the living to that of the dead - thus a totem presaging the point of separation between our world and the world of the Dead Gods - and as a ward against the pestilence and ontological corruption which infects our world when it comes into contact with the inhabitants of that zone: Those Who Wait.
In any case, the placement of such a ceremonial device speaks clearly as to the presence of the guardians of the Black Bowers at this location.
The map co-ordinates provided to me by Frater X led me to a dirt track on the very outskirts of Horsingdon, close to the boundary which separates that borough from Trentford. Looming above me was yet another of those transmitter arrays which cast their weird sonic shadow over the region.
Frater X had already informed me that others of his Order would meet me at this location which, he also intimated, was also the site of the almost-mythic Horsingdon Bunker: a post-Cold War installation built by the MoD as a control centre from which to continue government and military operations in the event of the Cold War going hot - but repurposed (as rumour has it in conspiracy circles) by the mysterious Ministry in light of something supposedly referred to in top secret briefing documents as 'The Event'. Exactly what this is remains unclear, but apparently most of the evidence points towards the occurrance of a catastrophe of extinction-level magnitude - most likely as an outcome of an even more clandestine aspect of the Cold War: an arms race involving the attempted weaponization of inscrutable alien and occult technologies which, it is alleged, began at the tail-end of World War II.
In any case, Horsingdon Bunker has, over the past two decades, been the nucleus of a great deal of contemporary folklore, wherein it figures as the site of manifestation of any number of strange and outlandish paranormal occurances.
Sunday, August 13, 2017
Saturday 12th August 2017
One of the guardians of the Black Bowers, lurking furtively about the gothic archway of Boreham’s Folly – a rare instance of members of this highly secretive community allowing someone who is not of their order to photograph them. This was also, in part an initiation and invitation: for reasons best known to themselves, this encounter with one of their number led to my inclusion in a psychogeographical exploration of the long abandoned and rumour-haunted Horsingdon bunker: a locale of such sinister repute that many of the region’s inhabitants refuse to acknowledge its existence. In any case, my meeting with the mysteriously named ‘Frater X’ at Boreham’s Folly led to a brief exchange, during which a time, date, and set of map coordinates were communicated to me.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Friday 11th August 2017
A view of Boreham's Folly in Horsingdon Wood: a mock ruin built in the form of a partially collapsed and dilapidated gothic archway, the folly is surrounded by rumour of the sinister occult geometries employed by James Boreham in its construction - and the even more sinister purposes for which it was commissioned. In any case, this proved to be the starting point for a curious series of events - constituting the Horsingdon Transmissions' first field report - which I will detail over the coming weeks.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
I took the above photo of the transmitter array near Northwich Park whilst travelling home earlier this evening; only later did I notice the almost-perfect sphere which can be sen in the top left-hand corner of the image. I didn't observe the object at the time, so its appearance on the photo remains something baffling; its proximity, however, to one of the region's ubiquitous transmitters does raise disturbing questions regarding who - or what - is being called forth from out of the gulfs of space by the uncanny signals which, for unknown reasons, the arrays appear to continually broadcast with an almost religious fervour.