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666frames · 5 months

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Baba Yaga (1973)

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nightmaresonelmstreet · 6 months

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magiczny świat ani | magic world of ania, 02. anno domino 1993

#magic world of ania #wiktor stribog #tw blood #analog horror #unreality #psychedelic horror #uncanny valley #horroredit #internet horror #polish horror #arg #unfiction #horror aesthetic #horror art #surreal art #surrealism #surreal horror #stills

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schlock-luster-video · 1 month

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On March 22, 2019, Mandy was released on DVD in Mexico.

Here's some new Nicolas Cage art!

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horror-aesthete · 2 years

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Eyes of Fire, 1983, dir. Avery Crounse

#eyes of fire #Horror Movies #horror aesthetic #Aesthetic #80s horror #folk horror #colonial horror #psychedelic horror

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dongwoter · 11 months

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Sketch of a painting I will be doing for my aunt

#christian motif #revelations #four horseman #four horsemen of the apocalypse #art #psychedelyc art #psychedelic horror #WIP

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punkass-diogenes · 1 year

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hell's bells

#my art #datura #psychedelic horror #psychedelic art #divine madness

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doompunkdispatch · 8 months

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Feast on God’s Flesh

Hard-hitting junkies went missing soon after the Pharmacyst came to town. Rumor was they went to live fulltime in his bunker, completing the irreversible metamorphosis enforced by his eldritch substances.

A small dose doesn’t enact a noticeable difference, so you wouldn’t fear having a second hit, then a third. Something stronger than addiction takes hold. The user’s biochemistry transmogrifies into impossible directions. Eye-drops distend the iris. Inhaled smoke colonizes the bronchioles. Liquid injections taint the blood. Snort the powder and feel its crystals vivisect your gray matter, opening up wounds for infection by a macroscopic foe.

See them now. Sink past dreariest dungeons and discern the gruesome machinations: organs harvested from twisted junky cadavers, hormones siphoned to synthesize new compounds for fresh generations of victims. Sallow survivors wander aimless corridors until their time arrives. At the behest of the Pharmacyst, ghoulish orderlies squeeze jellied brains into pillcaps, sieve amber pus into hypodermic needles, and crush bone into dust to cut with cocaine—the customers may be right, but they never know any better.

You spot skin, hard as petrified bark. Fauna gives birth to flora and fungi. Three bodies hang from ceiling hooks, intertwined via splintered twig arms. Leaves and flowers, reeking of odious rot, unfold between their fingers. Mushroom caps sprout from gnarled toenails, ripe for the plucking.

An undercooked fetus elongates into a symbiotic vine, enwrapping its parents’ trunks. The perverse family unit bears physical fruit; a jaundiced mesocarp drips sweet juices from splitting tumescent flesh. One subject tastes this pome, and feels a figwasp ovum rapidly developing in her belly. Parasitic visitors from innermost realms burst into our sliver of reality, celebrating the open-ended orgy that is All Creation.

Near the bottom, we find a ward housing xeno-amphibious forms, formerly human. The transfiguration left them with skin akin to earthly frogs. This gelatinous surface breathes Earth’s air, metabolizes various gasses, and secretes fluid coveted by only the most perverse addicts. Emitting froglike croaks, the tsathögguans must be kept in tanks tuned to binaural beats. Any naked eardrum that absorbs its vibration begins transmuting the surrounding skin to an exogenetic structure matching the source. Word is Virus.

Things get darker. Woven cocoons quiver in the grimiest guts of the citadel. Furtive nostrils ponder our astral scent as we pass their cells. Chitinous hairs chitter in anticipation of a meal. Curious third eyes gaze brightly from the tips of protuberant pineal glands. Slavering mandibles lunge out—

—and snatch you from the metafictional air.

Digestive enzymes pull apart the essential cogs of your mental machinery. Vicious biochemical troops rip through protofilaments and pillage delicious proteins from your doomed neurons. Curious stomachs digest juice sickly rich in consciousness. You feel yourself melt into them. Ovipositors plant eukaryotic yolks between your sulci and gyri. Your undiscovered carcass will sustain families for generations to come. Great-grandchildren will chew on your flickering subliminal sewage. Slurp up scumpunk soup.

“Open wide,” smiles the Pharmacyst, “and swallow your medicine.”

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diet-dark · 2 years

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agitATE

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vf-thompson · 11 months

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Film Review: Midsommar Reveals the Unspeakable Horror at the Heart of Going Over to Dinner at Your Swedish Friend's House

So, this was a weird one to watch with my mom and sister over Christmas break, 2021, while i recovered with her from a tumultuous emotional upheaval in my life. You know when your anarchist food distribution network implodes on itself because of assault allegations, and then your entire life blows up from the emotional fallout because you were supposed to move in with the guy at the center of it all? No? Well, when that happens, it leaves you in the right frame of mind to suggest Ari Aster's Midsommar as a perfect bit of family bonding to watch with your death doula mother and estranged intrepid globe-trotting sister. "You guys like psychological thrillers, right?" i naively said, queuing the film up. As Mr. Aster so beautifully illustrates in this nasty little movie, there truly is no place like home for the holidays.

My first viewing of the film had been two years earlier, when i was living in a thirty-bedroom party house near a large university, which was honestly pretty similar to the sinister Nordic society that Aster dreams up here. i was myself (allegedly) on shrooms when i wandered into the living room to see Florence Pugh's simpering, miserable face, surrounded by breathing flowers.

It wasn't until later, viewing the film in full with a close friend in their room, that i realized the flowers in this movie are just f**kin' like that.

i had seen the trailers for the film, been interested, and promptly forgotten of its existence, having not yet seen Aster's previous nightmare, Hereditary. Watching it that night in my friend's darkened lair of a room, stoned to the bone while she ran torture mods on her Sims on her laptop, i was a changed woman. i was, now and forever, Ari Aster's little bitch, cursed to simp for everything the man touches until i am pushed from the top of the senior citizen high dive cliff myself.

i'll be the first to admit that Aster by no means makes perfect films. Built on the bones of classical tragedy and comedy the way they are, they are rudimentary films, hardly cerebral like his contempories Eggers and Peele. There is something almost primal about Aster's gaze. Pelle sums it up best, as he explains the function of his remote village's midsummer festival to the film's protagonist Dani: "It's like a play," he says. Indeed, as Hereditary turns a bare bones haunted house story into a Greek tragedy, this film turns the macabre pageantry of rustic European folk dancing into a basic, almost paint-by-numbers, slasher flick. The cast of mostly disposable college students are picked off one-by-one by the rural pagans. It's hardly breaking new ground here—but treading old ground seems to be Aster's primary project. The man dances on top of graves with a wicked abandon, and if you're not privy to his particular brand of self-aware theatre kid shenanigans, it can be... a lot.

My mother and my sister were, for example, less than enthralled with my gushing over the ways Aster deftly compares the base, cathartic tradition of watching a bunch of co-eds get their shit wrecked with ooky-spooky horror-fied neopagan rituals. What can i say? i thought that she, as a hospice nurse who studies death practices around the world, would think it was interesting.

At its core, Midsommar is a movie about losing all the stability in your life, and having it completely colonized by found family, like honey bees building their hive in the skull of a lion. Found family is usually a treacly trope, one which ties characters together through strength found in their shared struggled against adversity. Midsommar flips that on its head, introducing us, in a manner not unlike Disney's classic film Meet the Robinsons, to the adoptive familial unit from hell. It raises the spectre of classic daylight horror cinema like The Wicker Man, trampling on its burial mound with manic dancing feet. Family traditions can be murder. As stated, the message is blunt as a hammer. Aster is not a subtle film-maker. Indeed, the opening shot establishes the whole film, just as in Hereditary, as nothing but an elaborate puppet show where the puppets bleed. A lot. In many respects it is the same movie told over again, with Aster's dolls moved from the dollhouse to the garden outside.

Simply put, the movie is incredibly pretty, incredibly fun if you're into this kind of things, absolutely insufferable if not. The soundtrack, color-grading, and ending sequence are transcendent. When Father Odd tells Dani "Welcome home," upon arriving in the village, you will either fall for their intoxicating spell, or you'll be smart enough to get the hell out.. Either way, i recommend it heartily, and can not recommend (allegedly) dropping shrooms at the same time as the characters in the film enough.

Read on LetterBoxd HERE.

#horror #reviews #film reviews #psychedelic horror #ari aster #midsommar #social thrillers

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districtnurse · 1 year

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#district nurse #the strangest pet on earth #psychological horror #psychedelic horror #blood on satan's claw #the wicker man #witchfinder general #lo-fi #acid #postnatal depression

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666frames · 3 months

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