Shouts From Down Under

Stuff ya flamin' cafe. The cake is a lie. Forty whacks or 41

The cake is a lie

We went out for tea one night, to a pub restaurant, and my parents were visiting Tasmania at the time. My Dad ordered from the menu, and a meal was delivered. It seemed ok to him, and so he began eating. But a waitress came with the right meal for him, and then proceeded to sternly lecture him about not eating someone else's food.
You can imagine how he felt; a man from the country, a farmer, a shearer, a good father and a decent man, being basically told he was dishonest and rude. He was not happy.
His next statement is still a family joke, but not for him.

"Stuff ya flamin' cafe" he said angrily. I couldn't blame him. A meal mix-up can happen to anyone, particularly someone unfamiliar with dining out, and the waitress should have been more sensitive to customers. However, being young and perhaps inexperienced, well, mistakes happen when the pressure is on, and really, it doesn't matter now.

Thing is, in life, sometimes we don't get exactly what we thought we ordered.

I've never listened to Ed Sheeran's songs until hearing one I liked on someone's radio the last few days, asking who the artist, and admitting I liked the song a lot. But who could blame you for not being impressed if you heard this?



"Thinking Out Loud" by Ed Sheeran (http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/edsheeran/thinkingoutloud.html)

When your legs don't work like they used to before
And I can't sweep you off of your feet
Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?
Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

And, darling, I will be loving you 'til we're 70
And, baby, my heart could still fall as hard at 23
And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways
Maybe just the touch of a hand
Well, me—I fall in love with you every single day
And I just wanna tell you I am

So honey now
Take me into your loving arms
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars
Place your head on my beating heart
I'm thinking out loud
That maybe we found love right where we are

When my hair's all but gone and my memory fades
And the crowds don't remember my name
When my hands don't play the strings the same way
I know you will still love me the same

'Cause honey your soul could never grow old, it's evergreen
And, baby, your smile's forever in my mind and memory
I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways
Maybe it's all part of a plan
Well, I'll just keep on making the same mistakes
Hoping that you'll understand

But, baby, now
Take me into your loving arms
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars
Place your head on my beating heart
Thinking out loud
That maybe we found love right where we are

So, baby, now
Take me into your loving arms
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars
Oh, darling, place your head on my beating heart
I'm thinking out loud
That maybe we found love right where we are
Oh, baby, we found love right where we are
And we found love right where we are

The real version:



How many books are written that exceed brilliance yet don't gather fans at all, because of boring covers, lack of any narrative hook, and lacklustre blurbs?

Social media is pushing the "good first impressions" thing further than ever before, with our imaginations captured with a photo or gif, short video and lots of "click bait"- those pictures on the title frame of the video of naked people or strange / weird / unbelievable whatever, and we can't resist satisfying our curiosity.

And often it's well rewarded. Horse whispering...



But what about the other whispers? The ones that still have an incredible effect on us, yet we can't pin the source down. Do you ever get the creeps? Is it somebody? Something about them prickles your neck hair, for often no discernible cause, no logical reason. But it's real. You feel uncomfortable.

Have you ever become aware that you've creeped out someone else? You suddenly realise they find you creepy?

I was once in a department store, browsing among the clothes racks in a quiet, dim corner, and my mind was far away as usual, and suddenly I realised I had walked around a blind corner and was following someone very closely; I was shadowing them for a couple of soft steps on the carpet. You can imagine what happened in the next second. They felt my breath on their neck, and turned in fright, jumping in the air. Their terror was instantly contagious, and I jumped too. They ran off, swearing at me.

Recalling this incident, I wonder if we do that with our first judgements of people? We assume what our minds and instincts tell us, yet it's not always right. Sometimes it's very wrong.

This must surely be a strategy used in camouflaging the real killer in Murder Mysteries.
The murderer or murderess has to blend in with the rest. They must seem so ordinary, so usual, so harmless. They must appear to be kind, trustworthy, compassionate and thoughtful.

As writers, we have an advantage over others as far as designing characters. We are a strange bunch ourselves, and speaking for myself here, enjoy crafting nasty characters, or exaggerated, larger than life people.

It's ironic that we can write a story completely out of our own heads, something not real, with characters that do not exist, yet people can get all upset and opinionated about their traits and ask all sorts of questions about why you made them this, or that.
Yet, you can write a story that is based on fact, and it won't be believed.

I've been amazed at some reactions to a story now and then, and been shocked when readers comment about the experiences in that story, assuming that it's you, the writer, who was involved in that event you created.

Sometimes, things, or people, are really not what they seem.

Often, I've studied people in crowds, in different places (no wonder they get creeped out ), and wondered who would be a serial killer, walking and living among us.
Do you ever wonder that? Sometimes people's behaviour prickles you, something odd, something unsavoury, something vaguely different. Silence when there should be sounds. Sounds when there should be none.

Maybe I better stop writing this blog entry before I scare myself and lie awake all night, listening for bumps in the night.

What do you think? Is your neighbour who they appear? Where do all the missing persons disappear to, in your town? In your village? In your city? In your agricultural region?
Maybe they're merely being studied, chosen and removed, held and tortured, included in an author's plot, somewhere else on earth. Who would know?

Next time you recognise someone, a character in a story, someone that seems so familiar they might be on a missing person's list elsewhere in a police file somewhere, maybe it would be best not to think on it too long, study them too closely, or ask too many awkward questions. It'll do your head in.



Why is the cake a lie? You've heard of this, or wondered why people randomly state this?

The promise of Cake is introduced by GLaDOS as an incentive for Chell to complete the test chambers in the original Portal. It is referenced in many of the Rattmann's dens as "a lie", sparking the internet meme "The Cake is a lie"

Also...http://theportalwiki.com/wiki/Cake

A novel that promises and doesn't deliver; nope, we don't want to be that sort of writer.

Stuffyaflamincafe.

Sparky