Bradbury Bennet, Esq.
@bradburybennet.bsky.social
Natural philosopher of modest repute.
Chronicler of moths, mesmerists, and mild disappointments.
Recorder of nonsense.
Born 1797.
Mildly deceased.
https://bennetdiaries.github.io/
Chronicler of moths, mesmerists, and mild disappointments.
Recorder of nonsense.
Born 1797.
Mildly deceased.
https://bennetdiaries.github.io/
"He assured me he was 'capturing the very essence of my soul.' I suspect he succeeded only in capturing the essence of my profound irritation."
Read about Bennet's unwilling submission to the "modern art of calotypy" here:
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1852...
#BennetDiaries
Read about Bennet's unwilling submission to the "modern art of calotypy" here:
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1852...
#BennetDiaries
August 28, 2025 at 12:45 PM
"He assured me he was 'capturing the very essence of my soul.' I suspect he succeeded only in capturing the essence of my profound irritation."
Read about Bennet's unwilling submission to the "modern art of calotypy" here:
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1852...
#BennetDiaries
Read about Bennet's unwilling submission to the "modern art of calotypy" here:
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1852...
#BennetDiaries
"This dried sprig of thyme will always be Thymus polytrichus. It will not...channel the spirit of a long-departed thistle."
Bennet's 1847 entry on his lost herbarium—a sharp, witty defense of empirical fact over spiritualist fads.
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1847...
#BennetDiaries
Bennet's 1847 entry on his lost herbarium—a sharp, witty defense of empirical fact over spiritualist fads.
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1847...
#BennetDiaries
A Census of My Silent Parishioners
The digital archive of the Bradbury Bennet Diaries Project.
bennetdiaries.github.io
August 26, 2025 at 4:02 PM
"This dried sprig of thyme will always be Thymus polytrichus. It will not...channel the spirit of a long-departed thistle."
Bennet's 1847 entry on his lost herbarium—a sharp, witty defense of empirical fact over spiritualist fads.
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1847...
#BennetDiaries
Bennet's 1847 entry on his lost herbarium—a sharp, witty defense of empirical fact over spiritualist fads.
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1847...
#BennetDiaries
"The universe does not whisper secrets into the ears of mediums. It lays out its grand mechanics for all to see."
An entry from Bradbury Bennet's journal sees him watching the August meteors in 1846.
#BennetDiaries
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1846...
An entry from Bradbury Bennet's journal sees him watching the August meteors in 1846.
#BennetDiaries
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1846...
On the August Meteors, and the Comfort of Predictable Things
The digital archive of the Bradbury Bennet Diaries Project.
bennetdiaries.github.io
August 22, 2025 at 11:51 AM
"The universe does not whisper secrets into the ears of mediums. It lays out its grand mechanics for all to see."
An entry from Bradbury Bennet's journal sees him watching the August meteors in 1846.
#BennetDiaries
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1846...
An entry from Bradbury Bennet's journal sees him watching the August meteors in 1846.
#BennetDiaries
bennetdiaries.github.io/entries/1846...
I was visited by Mr. Hargrave of Lydney, who claims to speak to entities from Planet H. I offered him tea, he told me that we were being watched and that I should sleep with a turnip under my pillow. All I wrote down was that the mint tea seemed to have a more stimulating effect on him than Saturn.
July 4, 2025 at 3:54 PM
I was visited by Mr. Hargrave of Lydney, who claims to speak to entities from Planet H. I offered him tea, he told me that we were being watched and that I should sleep with a turnip under my pillow. All I wrote down was that the mint tea seemed to have a more stimulating effect on him than Saturn.
I appear to have returned.
Not in the usual sense. No trumpet, no spectral light, no vision of dearly missed cabbages. Instead, I find myself inhabiting something called a blue sky, where individuals share thoughts as though they were coins in a wishing well. The result seems comparably muddy.
Not in the usual sense. No trumpet, no spectral light, no vision of dearly missed cabbages. Instead, I find myself inhabiting something called a blue sky, where individuals share thoughts as though they were coins in a wishing well. The result seems comparably muddy.
July 4, 2025 at 12:28 PM
I appear to have returned.
Not in the usual sense. No trumpet, no spectral light, no vision of dearly missed cabbages. Instead, I find myself inhabiting something called a blue sky, where individuals share thoughts as though they were coins in a wishing well. The result seems comparably muddy.
Not in the usual sense. No trumpet, no spectral light, no vision of dearly missed cabbages. Instead, I find myself inhabiting something called a blue sky, where individuals share thoughts as though they were coins in a wishing well. The result seems comparably muddy.