Tag: longing

Short Horror Film Friday: THE DOLLMAKER

Welcome to this Week’s Short Horror Film Friday featuring THE DOLLMAKER” Directed by Al Lougher which is a Cautionary Tale Pertaining to Death, Mourning, and Grief. Let’s Face it People have been trying/Longing to Cheat Death Indefinitely Clinging onto Life with every Fiber of Their Being.

                

From Juan Ponce de Leon searching Endlessly for the Mythical Fountain of Youth to The Infamous Countess Elizabeth Bathory (Who served as the ACTUAL inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and Not Vlad the Impaler. Legend has it Bathory bathed in the Blood of 650 Servant Girls She had Tortured and Killed because She believed the Blood of Young Girls had Age Defying Powers). Death is the Fact of Life We all Know to be True, but Still Never Rightfully Accept.

Plot Summery: A Grieving Mother latches on to a Mystical Surrogate for Her Deceased Little Boy, but Small Miracles come with Big Consequences. “The Dollmaker Serves as a Warning  Be careful What You Wish For because You might Just Get It.

Enjoy.

Thanks For Watching,

  Presented By Les Sober

Yokai Bob The Builder

Welcome to Yet Another FYB Monday Post featuring Yokai Bob The Builder by MeatCanyon. It occurred to Me that We have Used Several of MeatCanyon’s Works Particularly on Mondays for the Last Few Weeks Creating an Unofficial MeatCanyon Monday Situation. Mondays fucking Suck so MeatCanyon’s Odd Ball Alternative Comedy just seems to be Great at Combating Monday Melodrama. With that Said this Week We are Showcasing some of MeatCanyon’s Darker Work this Time Around. Whats Uniquely Different About this Certain MeatCanyon Animation is its in Japanese with English Subtitles. Yokai has the definite Presents Itself as a Cautionary Tale Crossed with a Moral Fable with a Very Folklore Feel.

MeatCanyon’s real name is Hunter August Hancock better know by His Online User Name MeatCanyon. Hancock is an American Youtuber, Animator, Voice Actor, Comedian, Writer, and Director who makes Parody Animations of Popular Characters (say Sponge Bob for instance). Some Viewers of MeatCanyon’s Animations  have Described Them in just one Single Word “Horrifying”. A Common on going gag in Hancock’s Video’s is that something Normal or Mundane gets You killed or Possible Worse.

Synopsis:

Young Asian Couple is eating dinner at home when a Hideous Troll like Gnome Appears out of the blue asking “Can we fix it?” The Sight of this Ghoulish Gnome Terrifies the Young Couple, but Alas the Ghastly Gnome Kidnaps Wife. Man Obviously Panics and Demands that the Gruesome Gnome return His Wife to Him. Unfortunately the Ungodly Gnome Tells the Husband matter of Factly that “You can’t fix this.” before Disappearing into the Night. Will The Poor Man ever Cross Paths with the Godless Gnome Again, and be Provided the Opportunity to have His Beloved Wife Returned to Him? Watch and See.

Enjoy.

Thanks For Watching,

   Presented By Les Sober  

Short Horror Film Friday: AUTUMN HARVEST

Welcome to this Week’s Installment of Short Horror Film Friday featuring the Short Norwegian Horror Mystery Film AUTUMN HARVEST! The Film is Directed by Fredrik Hana, and Co-Written by Fredrik Hana and Marius K. Lunde.

Autumn Harvest is a Real Thinker if You will, and it’s a Bit of an Odd Duck. The Film is Shot Completely in Black and White and is Devoid of Any Dialogue whatsoever. This is a Truly Perplexing  17 Minute Insanely Cinematic Lovecraftian Tale that seems to Raise More Questions that it Answers. The Film is Full of Subtle Nuances, and Muted Details that almost Demand that it be Watched Multiple Times by the Viewer. It Only through Repeated viewing before the Puzzle of Autumn Harvest can be Completed at Last.

Plot Summery:

A Suicidally Grief Stricken Sailor living in an Isolated Shack on the Coast Line Kills Anyone that He Encounters while Answering a Mysterious Call Sea.

Enjoy.

Thanks For Watching,

Presented By Les Sober  

Linger

Someone is watching over me.

They glance at me from over my shoulder.

I know not who or where or how they got into this position.

I’m unsure if I am in a predicament that is of a favorable nature. I do not care. The warmth shinning over my skin, from the tips of my fingers into the core of my being, is overwhelming at times yet extremely comforting at others.

        

You are right here waiting. I close my eyes and open them. The mirror is not showing me what it usually shows me. I see peace. I see comfort. I see freedom.

Lady Godiva on her horse beckons me with her chocolate. And Jack LaLane is there with his juicer, as Mr-T is telling me I should wear lots of gold. He tells me I’m Italian and I need to represent better.

Sorry Mr-T, I like the silver. Just like sorry I don’t make my own turkey sandwiches I can only deal with the ones they make fresh. And just like sorry green grapes and white grapes, I cannot consume you without a guilty conscious. I cannot be you because it rips apart the essence of me.

   

There is no food left for you in my valley. There is only an empty glass. My kitchen does not have free refills. Your currency smells of Monopoly, like a pigeon took a dump in your top hat and the rats all died on the footsteps of your temple. Bargain by the river she neatly whispers in my ear. So I slowly proceed.

There’s a knock on the door. It is you. Dampened by the rain, you wander into my home. You tiptoe through the alarm system and you reach around me oblivious to the bells and whistles I have set. Foolhardery can be your only saving grace. I wish to save you but then I disconnect. You are not starring at the frightened mouse who crawled into your cheese hole.

Cold swiss cheese morphed into a warmed brie. The vessel appearing entirely the same. Hell appearing before you is wrapped into a red ribbon. But i’m no longer wearing the garb of the devil. I’m naked spread before you. Before all.

     

No one recognizes. No one can see past the blank. The void. I am void. Everything is expired. Everything is reborn.

As I slowly grab your hand to greet it with a kiss, you pull closer. I pull back. I am taking in the scents of your cheap perfume, the soft feel of your velvet skin. It is too much. I collapse.

I go off into another world. It is easier to stay here, not that your world was so bad. The subway was broken. I didn’t want to get stuck.

But just love me until the next earthquake. Til the next scent of Hugo or Giovanni or Jean Paul or Coco blasts through my furnace of a heart.

No, that was only the one inside the mirror. I blink several times and I see the inner half of the onion.

This could have been pure bliss.

   By SpaceDog