Mutterings and musings

An obtuse title for obtuse posts

I still have, Flappy bird, on my iPhone. jel?

As I was poking through my lack of messages, emails, tweets, snapchats, whatsaps, audio boo and Facebook notifications… I found the recently demised game, flappy bird. Naturally, I can’t play it and it was utterly pointless in my downloading it. The only benefit I can see is to invite friends over for a big flappy bird party where they all squint at a tiny screen while I smile benevolently at my dear, bribed peers. Who’s keen?

As it’s Friday, I’ve made one of my stories free on kindle. Hit it up here. A little twisted piece about death and mini cheddars. As you will guess from the title, I just killed a man, it is about a man who just killed another man. You see how clever I am with these titles? In his final hours of freedom he worries that he won’t have mini shedders in prison. I’m not sure why I chose mini cheddars, I don’t particularly like them but I also don’t have a taste for killing people, currently.
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What would you miss most should your liberty be removed? A pet? Your space hopper? Flappy bird?

Tin can roulette… For the gamer who’s played everything

I have it! Bored office workers and flustered parents rejoice. Tin can roulette.

If I am honest with you, it isn’t a new invention of mine, rather a revisited thought as I sat on my sofa wondering about lunch, as I often do, unless it’s the afternoon when I am contemplating dinner.

The concept is simple, tare off the labels from your tinned goods, mix them up and select. By this method one can come up with such delights as peaches on toast, fish chips and soup, a pint of Frankfurters. If you are feeling a little devil may care, why not open two cans at once? The fun is endless.

As I sit here eating my way through a tin of chopped tomatoes, I chuckle with glee. I don’t need to write, I’ve invented a game that will make me millions.

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I as with most things in life, have a great advantage over you mere mortals. Being a face feeler, (blind), I can get straight to it, I don’t even have to remove the labels thereby creating instant fun.

Sunday afternoons will never be the same again.

Have you got any great household games? Obviously they might not be so high octane but you can still drop me a line in the comments. I won’t judge.

Now onto dessert… It’s… Oh, spaghetti hoops.

THE TRUTH? YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!

Yo, pull up a beanbag, toadstool, space hopper or sleeping coworker. Jam with me… Jam with me about truth… Well, when I say ‘jam’, I actually mean sit there and listen… Comments come afterwards.

The thing is ‘truth’ is something that is instilled into us from a young age. tell the truth, the truth will out and other such instructions of high moral fibre. The problem is, for me at least, I learned those lessons and, worst of all, believed them and as a consequence felt a little short changed when I reached adulthood and that shield of ‘truth’ turned out to be made of nothing more than hopes and cobwebs.

The other consequence of this is that I am a truly dreadful liar, I mean I’m abysmal. I blush, I stutter and I know, to my core, that the target of my lie knows it to be what it is. You know what? I wish I could lie. I wish I could stand in front of a big crowd of people and tell a big fat porky pie and that they would all believe me.

Obviously I do lie. I tell stories for one thing, but they are truths draped in shadows, they tell a truth. Maybe, as in my next short story, vampires don’t drive night buses, and priests don’t carry around suitcases with bombs in them, but the things that drive these characters are real, desire, need, fear, wanting… They are all truths.

This leads me to wonder if there is such thing as a lie. everything must originate from a truth, a need and desire within us, so how, with truth as the source, can something become a lie? We can create a story to achieve what we want, but the truth is the core of that story, it has to be.

Obviously, as you will be thinking as you sip on your ambrosia, tea, pint or wizards pipe, the trouble arises with the recipient of the lie. They are induced to do something that they wouldn’t normal do. They have been manipulated, handled, guided to a conclusion that is, subjectively, not true. Is that always bad?

We lie to ourselves every day because our subjectivity changes, what was true yesterday may not be true today in which case the temporal lie is created. To say that it is raining, that you are hungry, that you love someone, could all be true, will be and have been, but they may also be non-truths, but for any of these things to be said they must have been true at least once, to know what rain is, to know the pang of hunger, to feel the abject wonder of love.

In a rambling and round about conclusion, dear reader, I put to you that truth, both subjectively and objectively, if that is indeed possible, is the father to tales. Lies, as nasty and ugly as they may be, do contain the DNA of truth buried deep in their repulsive hearts. The truth is what is and accepting that, well we’ll all be a lot happier, we can go home and eat ice cream.

I will finish with a quote. It is not by anyone famous, anyone wealthy or anyone holy. It is from a friend, and that is the truth too.

“It is what it is.” – Phil Dreadlocks Williams

He said he made it up… I don’t believe him.