Post by brodie on Mar 22, 2019 7:57:11 GMT -5
It would seem familiar, an empty room tucked away in the middle of nowhere. You can’t recall how you got here, or why you came. But you are here all the same. A simple rug, round and faded, like the one your grandmother had on her lounge room floor, welcomes you to sit upon it… will you sit? Is that a choice you get to make?
The bare bulb swinging overhead casts light and shadows like rhythmic pulsing to the furthest reaches of the room, it is a familiar scene after all. A heavy old television set atop a spindly old trolley. A VCR player stacked within the base of the set, an old setup that even so, you have seen once or twice at arenas; you remember, in that moment, that this is where you saw the rabbit.
And your reflex memory recalls the stench of the blood that somehow weaved its way through that same television set.
As though it senses your thoughts on it, the set clicks to life. At first there is just white noise, a dashed screen that scrambles and bushes before you; quick as a flash it turns to almost black, a pinprick sized light in the very center of the screen, it draws your eyes, it’s all you can see, this burning bright, white light… it grows, slowly at first, growing and expanding as though it may just take over the entire set, which at the very last second, once again;
Springs to life.
Skyshale033
Subject: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
Does anyone remember this kid’s show? It was called Candle Cove and I must have been 6 or 7. I never found reference to it anywhere so I think it was on a local station around 1971 or 1972. I lived in Ironton at the time. I don’t remember which station, but I do remember it was on at a weird time, like 4:00 PM.
The same dark, empty room on the screen, it flickers and juts about; the old wires buzzing and hissing in the back of the set as you peer up at a bright and surreal version of yourself. The rug seems so much cleaner there, on the set… the little red headed girl a younger version of someone else’s self and yet, you can see yourself in that little girl, even though you cannot see her at all.
Before her sits a similar set, with a different scene… a web, luscious and thick and weaved so majestically it could in fact, almost be lace; were it not for the dripping threads that hung from the web and, on occasion the still struggling bodies encased within. High up in the corner, fuzzy and round and fat; eight spindly legs extending past the web itself she sits. Eyes bright and red, scarlet even… unblinking as they peer up from the pitch, dark black.
Little red does not move or quiver when the spiders body begins to shudder and shift, crawling down the web ever closer… closer, until she pokes, one spindly leg by spindly leg, free of the confines of that old TV screen, not yours at all but the one within you’re, before little red as she sits upon the rig, a little brighter than the rug beneath you now.
That spider, climbing free, did not hesitate to stutter across the floor, her spindly, long legs, reaching for the carpet. And still, sweet red did not move, she did not make a sound as the spider; all legs and jaws, so wide with pinprick white fangs hidden within, unhinge and without a murmur for a whisper. Not a shriek or a squeal, little red is devoured, one gulp is all it takes…
And if you look, which you must, just close enough; you can see the trembling of the spiders body as little red, encased within, struggled and fights as though she were nothing more than a fly, encased in silken, Lacy web.
Skyshale033
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
I’m so relieved that other people remember this terrible show!
I used to have this awful memory, a bad dream I had where the opening jingle ended, the show faded in from black, and all the characters were there, but the camera was just cutting to each of their faces, and they were just screaming, and the puppets and marionettes were flailing spastically, and just all screaming, screaming. The girl was just moaning and crying like she had been through hours of this. I woke up many times from that nightmare. I used to wet the bed when I had it.
“Repeat, repeat, regurgitate.
Not even your own words, not capable of such a thought, forever late to speak, has to be last to go, always waiting and waiting until someone else can put words in your mouth that you may chew upon, food for thought, only their thoughts, not yours.
Rinse repeat.
Have you ever, ever felt like this?
How would you know, so you feel? Or are feelings for you jut another emulation of another’s act. Can’t think for yourself, can barely speak, taking my words and trying to twist them, jam them into spots that work and fit and fix for you, but you don’t see, just how generic that is, just how empty you are, heart, head, words, all empty. Borrow from here and borrow from there until you don’t even know you’re doing it yourself.
Emo. Edgy. Borrowed words and ascertains from those who have had success you never will, do you not get tired? Bored of your own empty thoughts that are filled with the words of betters, better people, better authors, better wrestlers, better lifeforms all over, if you could learn to bark you likely would, so desperately do you need another’s voice to find your own.
So you take my words, my careful, Imprinted words that meant enough to you for you to memorize them all, to store them up and then, when you suspect that I am sleeping, when all is quiet and the world is still, you take my words and spit them back up, vomit in your own lap and pick through in the hopes of finding something that can stick, something that will stick.
Parasite, sucking on the thoughts and energies of those who came before. Need my words, need my thoughts, need to see me before you can speak of me. Like a frightened little girl, I’ll bet if you were shoved first into the light, you would piss yourself like a child and wallow in it, hoping for someone to offer a single word in kindness, so you may take it and swallow it down as your own.
Monkey see. Monkey do.
Repeat.
Repeat.
You would think, or I do think, that you would see, that such a formula is rarely successful, you think nothing of yourself, of your own ability that you would go in, eyes closed and lackadaisical about my very existence. A mask she cries. A mask! Like others have before, more words taken from your betters, more sentiments not your own. You stay quiet, because you are afraid, you know you cannot stand up, cannot speak up, you need the rally.
Friend, countrymen, lend me your words.
Social media and video tapes, all the words of others, or another, never you, not you, incapable and tired and droll, a grey crayon has NO uses when it cannot be used without another, stuck to any other color, stuck to any other piece in the stationery box in hopes of n9t being grey, in hopes that their color will rub off, all the whole lying.
Liar, liar,
Pants on fire.
Lie to me. Lie to you. Lie to one and all because it’s all you ever knew how to do. Here, there, everywhere, flash old trinkets like I’d care… look at you, a shell a husk, used to be someone, I was gonna be someone, she cries. While tears unshed hide in old eyes.. you were never, have never been. Someone! No one. That’s your fate, and you know it, you have always known it, forever and always just borrowed words on borrowed time, around and around we go Roxi.
Superhero
Mother
Wrestler
Drummer
Nobody. Always a nobody, forever doomed to be, but others will lie and lend you words. Or you will take them without consent, thief of the mouth, audible abuse of the sentiment you take from others, you are nothing more than the mask you claim I wear. Borrow mine without asking and it’ll rip the flesh from your bones.
Is that edgy enough for you?
Rinse.
Repeat.
I’ll not lend you more of my words; instead I leave you…
In
Com
Ple-“
kevin_hart
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
i don’t think that was a dream. i remember that. i remember that was an episode.
Skyshale033
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
No no no, not possible. There was no plot or anything, I mean literally just standing in place crying and screaming for the whole show.
And just as quick as it came, All was gone. Quiet and still the spider was no more, just a very empty room, in a nowhere place. An old TV set sits blankly on the stand before you, no sign of scarlet lips or budding flowers.
Can you remember how you got here? Perhaps not.
Or maybe you were simply never here at all.
mike_painter65
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
i visited my mom today at the nursing home. i asked her about when i was littel in the early 70s, when i was 8 or 9 and if she remembered a kid’s show, candle cove. she said she was suprised i could remember that and i asked why, and she said “because i used to think it was so strange that you said ‘i’m gonna go watch candle cove now mom’ and then you would tune the tv to static and just watch dead air for 30 minutes. you had a big imagination with your little pirate show.”
The bare bulb swinging overhead casts light and shadows like rhythmic pulsing to the furthest reaches of the room, it is a familiar scene after all. A heavy old television set atop a spindly old trolley. A VCR player stacked within the base of the set, an old setup that even so, you have seen once or twice at arenas; you remember, in that moment, that this is where you saw the rabbit.
And your reflex memory recalls the stench of the blood that somehow weaved its way through that same television set.
As though it senses your thoughts on it, the set clicks to life. At first there is just white noise, a dashed screen that scrambles and bushes before you; quick as a flash it turns to almost black, a pinprick sized light in the very center of the screen, it draws your eyes, it’s all you can see, this burning bright, white light… it grows, slowly at first, growing and expanding as though it may just take over the entire set, which at the very last second, once again;
Springs to life.
Skyshale033
Subject: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
Does anyone remember this kid’s show? It was called Candle Cove and I must have been 6 or 7. I never found reference to it anywhere so I think it was on a local station around 1971 or 1972. I lived in Ironton at the time. I don’t remember which station, but I do remember it was on at a weird time, like 4:00 PM.
The same dark, empty room on the screen, it flickers and juts about; the old wires buzzing and hissing in the back of the set as you peer up at a bright and surreal version of yourself. The rug seems so much cleaner there, on the set… the little red headed girl a younger version of someone else’s self and yet, you can see yourself in that little girl, even though you cannot see her at all.
Before her sits a similar set, with a different scene… a web, luscious and thick and weaved so majestically it could in fact, almost be lace; were it not for the dripping threads that hung from the web and, on occasion the still struggling bodies encased within. High up in the corner, fuzzy and round and fat; eight spindly legs extending past the web itself she sits. Eyes bright and red, scarlet even… unblinking as they peer up from the pitch, dark black.
Little red does not move or quiver when the spiders body begins to shudder and shift, crawling down the web ever closer… closer, until she pokes, one spindly leg by spindly leg, free of the confines of that old TV screen, not yours at all but the one within you’re, before little red as she sits upon the rig, a little brighter than the rug beneath you now.
That spider, climbing free, did not hesitate to stutter across the floor, her spindly, long legs, reaching for the carpet. And still, sweet red did not move, she did not make a sound as the spider; all legs and jaws, so wide with pinprick white fangs hidden within, unhinge and without a murmur for a whisper. Not a shriek or a squeal, little red is devoured, one gulp is all it takes…
And if you look, which you must, just close enough; you can see the trembling of the spiders body as little red, encased within, struggled and fights as though she were nothing more than a fly, encased in silken, Lacy web.
Skyshale033
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
I’m so relieved that other people remember this terrible show!
I used to have this awful memory, a bad dream I had where the opening jingle ended, the show faded in from black, and all the characters were there, but the camera was just cutting to each of their faces, and they were just screaming, and the puppets and marionettes were flailing spastically, and just all screaming, screaming. The girl was just moaning and crying like she had been through hours of this. I woke up many times from that nightmare. I used to wet the bed when I had it.
“Repeat, repeat, regurgitate.
Not even your own words, not capable of such a thought, forever late to speak, has to be last to go, always waiting and waiting until someone else can put words in your mouth that you may chew upon, food for thought, only their thoughts, not yours.
Rinse repeat.
Have you ever, ever felt like this?
How would you know, so you feel? Or are feelings for you jut another emulation of another’s act. Can’t think for yourself, can barely speak, taking my words and trying to twist them, jam them into spots that work and fit and fix for you, but you don’t see, just how generic that is, just how empty you are, heart, head, words, all empty. Borrow from here and borrow from there until you don’t even know you’re doing it yourself.
Emo. Edgy. Borrowed words and ascertains from those who have had success you never will, do you not get tired? Bored of your own empty thoughts that are filled with the words of betters, better people, better authors, better wrestlers, better lifeforms all over, if you could learn to bark you likely would, so desperately do you need another’s voice to find your own.
So you take my words, my careful, Imprinted words that meant enough to you for you to memorize them all, to store them up and then, when you suspect that I am sleeping, when all is quiet and the world is still, you take my words and spit them back up, vomit in your own lap and pick through in the hopes of finding something that can stick, something that will stick.
Parasite, sucking on the thoughts and energies of those who came before. Need my words, need my thoughts, need to see me before you can speak of me. Like a frightened little girl, I’ll bet if you were shoved first into the light, you would piss yourself like a child and wallow in it, hoping for someone to offer a single word in kindness, so you may take it and swallow it down as your own.
Monkey see. Monkey do.
Repeat.
Repeat.
You would think, or I do think, that you would see, that such a formula is rarely successful, you think nothing of yourself, of your own ability that you would go in, eyes closed and lackadaisical about my very existence. A mask she cries. A mask! Like others have before, more words taken from your betters, more sentiments not your own. You stay quiet, because you are afraid, you know you cannot stand up, cannot speak up, you need the rally.
Friend, countrymen, lend me your words.
Social media and video tapes, all the words of others, or another, never you, not you, incapable and tired and droll, a grey crayon has NO uses when it cannot be used without another, stuck to any other color, stuck to any other piece in the stationery box in hopes of n9t being grey, in hopes that their color will rub off, all the whole lying.
Liar, liar,
Pants on fire.
Lie to me. Lie to you. Lie to one and all because it’s all you ever knew how to do. Here, there, everywhere, flash old trinkets like I’d care… look at you, a shell a husk, used to be someone, I was gonna be someone, she cries. While tears unshed hide in old eyes.. you were never, have never been. Someone! No one. That’s your fate, and you know it, you have always known it, forever and always just borrowed words on borrowed time, around and around we go Roxi.
Superhero
Mother
Wrestler
Drummer
Nobody. Always a nobody, forever doomed to be, but others will lie and lend you words. Or you will take them without consent, thief of the mouth, audible abuse of the sentiment you take from others, you are nothing more than the mask you claim I wear. Borrow mine without asking and it’ll rip the flesh from your bones.
Is that edgy enough for you?
Rinse.
Repeat.
I’ll not lend you more of my words; instead I leave you…
In
Com
Ple-“
kevin_hart
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
i don’t think that was a dream. i remember that. i remember that was an episode.
Skyshale033
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
No no no, not possible. There was no plot or anything, I mean literally just standing in place crying and screaming for the whole show.
And just as quick as it came, All was gone. Quiet and still the spider was no more, just a very empty room, in a nowhere place. An old TV set sits blankly on the stand before you, no sign of scarlet lips or budding flowers.
Can you remember how you got here? Perhaps not.
Or maybe you were simply never here at all.
mike_painter65
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show?
i visited my mom today at the nursing home. i asked her about when i was littel in the early 70s, when i was 8 or 9 and if she remembered a kid’s show, candle cove. she said she was suprised i could remember that and i asked why, and she said “because i used to think it was so strange that you said ‘i’m gonna go watch candle cove now mom’ and then you would tune the tv to static and just watch dead air for 30 minutes. you had a big imagination with your little pirate show.”