Marcel Smithski age 29 was definitely a Walter Mitty type character. He was a ‘History buff’, practically spending half his life bumming around musty old urban bookshops hidden down the numerous alleyways of his hometown of Melbourne Australia. He loved the obligatory parts of second-hand book store culture: the smell of the musty books, the nerdy bespectacled & rake thin staff always reading at the cashier desk. He loved the thrill of the chase, of finding that hidden gem such as Steven J Gould, Christopher Hitchens, Bukowski, Orwell, Hawking or Bertrand Russell or any number of the numerous brilliant minds that lined those dusty tall shelves.
After a typical book hunting session, he retired to his bohemian digs in St Kilda. He lived in a weird boarding house built in Edwardian times; it was at base beautiful property but like them all – it was now simply a faded memory of its former self. He continued the second half of his creature of habit ritual -shutting himself away in his room, lying on his bed and beginning a 7-hr read-a-thon. He was perusing his latest great find called “The Great Depression: A Diary by Benjamin Roth – a blow by blow account of the great depression years from the viewpoint of a professional man.
Not long into the session his mind began to think of the 1930’s – and this triggered his Walter Mitty dreaming. He was dreaming again of being the world’s only ever successfully ‘Benevolent Dictator’. Priorly of course, he had read about the 1930’s era of terribly nasty despots – with of course Hitler, Mussolini Stalin, & Mao Tse Tung being the most famous warlords.
Smithski started to think of the whole ‘1920’s -1940s rise of the Dictators epoch’ and why it had happened & what went wrong. Smithski thought to himself, as if talking to another deadbeat intellectual in one of the many St Kilda cafe’s along Acland or Fitzroy St.
“Their main problem was they forgot their roots – that of creating a better life for the working classes and the poor. All of them had at the start had the kernel of a better way for the downtrodden, the result being their emancipation from systemic bourgeois exploitation. But They all became corrupted with general adulation & fame, the company & adoration of the well-heeled aristocracy, personal opulence via casual access to other people’s money”.
In theory, Smithski knew that it wasn’t the fact that they were Dictators that made them all bad – it was that they had allowed themselves to be corrupted. This massive flaw – corruption – was the key tendency of centralised planning or leadership – & the core reason Dictators destroy their countries from within & if given the chance – everyone else’s.
Smithski, after much pondering had realised that if a single person – a ‘Dictator’ – could make the best decisions at the time, time after time & year after year – this would actually be the best form of Government. Logically we live in a world of decisions, often these are trade-offs & there is an ideal trade-off between two or more competing interests.
Often decisions are hard as they require difficult to collect & analyse data; decisions are hard because of bureaucracy, limited access to technology, lack of funds, political adversaries that block good ideas, an uneducated voting public etc etc. If your “Perfect Dictator” was multi skilled, a genius, hugely life experienced, technically proficient, persuasive, a great organiser, morally robust, healthy & confidant – then it would be best if he or she made all the hard decisions with no red tape or unnecessary voting theatrics. Smithski reasoned that one day the gem that was the ‘perfect singular leader’ would eventually happen – simply by mathematical chance coupled with the unfurling of thousands of years of Human history.
Smithski was lying on his messy bed, eyes glazed staring at the cobwebbed ceiling & dreaming of being that perfect Dictator that would indeed save the world. He imagined being the young proto benevolent Dictator who was just beginning to be noticed by the world.
Now deeply ensconced in the dreamtime he imagines penning & then delivering a perfectly imperfect speech to the world’s population. The topic? – it was about the most pressing matter of the current era – the War in Europe that had recently sparked when Russia Invaded the Ukraine. His speech in front of all the worlds ‘fake dignitaries’ & it’s billions of couch-sitting masses would be beamed to an Internet & TV audience of at least 4 billion. Smithski imagined himself making the speech from some Globalist thinktank conference podium that he’d somehow sneaked himself into through some shrewed underhand sleight of hand.
“Hello there fake dignitaries! You are the scum of the earth – and you know it. You have no values and no interests in making life better for your constituents. No, you have long since sold your souls to the “fake elites” who are much richer than you, have much higher status than you. You see that is the problem – you rats have all got into the Politician/Ceo/Executive game not to help your fellow man – you have got into the game to feather your own nest & to try to curry favour with those rich narcissists who actually want chaos for the 99% of the population.
These are the people who want to ensure slavery not only continues to exist – but they want to see it thrive. You see these devil inspired pond scum love exclusivity – they need to reject others. in this rejection they feel good – for they feel superior. You false elite have gathered here not to “save the world” as is in the blurbs of your press releases -you are here to reject your fellow man & to party with your fellow fallen angels.
You hate the average joe & jane. You have decided to make them as stupid as possible. If they are stupid slaves, they will never realise they are slaves thus never revolt. You aim is to destroy the truth. To do this your population my not want to read past History. To do this you have invented the mass internet service – which you initially allowed to be free and uncensored. This was the honey to catch the flies. Within a decade half the world was online. then you started to censor it – you started to mess with algorithms. These algorithms loaded the dice towards traditional players and away from anything new. Away from anyone that wanted freedom from your tyranny. You gave 3 men total governorship & control & censorship of the worldwide internet communications!”
Smithski took a breath – to assess the drawn faces in the crowd. There was the contorted masculine face of Ursela Van Der Lube – she had a massive upside-down frown. Her wrinkles were as deep as the Grand Canyon. Her eyes were like pinholes. Her hair was like a butch lesbian’s from 1989. She was the President of the EU – she was promoted by the American sector of the dark side – for her meekness and spinelessness. She was a German and she had allowed Germany to cede her sovereignty to the American shadowy faces that told her what to do. She allowed people to micro manage her.
There was messy blonde-haired & overweight Norris Nonsent – the current UK Prime minister. Nonsent was best described as a middle aged ‘Ancient Greek Parable’ quoting, over entitled boarding-schooler. Yes, this fat little piggy had a rode his silver tongue into 10 Downing Street, on the back of the orchestrated wave of Nationalism that was the fake news of the UK leaving the EU economic market. Of course, this “Public Vote for the Future Direction of the UK” was far from an organic popular initiative – it was all centrally planned by the Shadowers.
The Shadower’s had noticed that the public’s anger levels were reaching a dangerous crescendo, and could slip over from ‘sporadic anarchy’ – which they liked – into ‘general anarchy’ – which they didn’t want yet. To mitigate this they created a diversion – a ‘political mirage’ if you will. They fashioned a popular movement called “Next-Fit” – which was in actual fact just a retention of the ‘status quo’. The working man, woman & child would still be eating shite sandwiches & there would be no “Economic Divorce With The EU’ at all.
The theory behind the “Next-Fit” plan was that the potentially revolutionary, working-class & poor half of the public could be fooled into transferring their downtrodden anarchic energies into the non-violent chatter of “Fighting To Save Britain” & nationalistic proclamations of “I’m Voting for NextFit”.
This stealing & reworking of the working classes revolutionary mojo culminated in a “Pro or Anti NextFit” referendum vote. This would of course result in a pre-determined outcome – Yes Vote for NextFit, and the resignation of the current “anti NextFit” Pm. He would be replaced by the supposed people’s man & “Pro NextFit” Puppet PM Norris Nonsent. The incumbent PM would be the fall guy.
If all went right with the plan – which it did- the people would feel like they had triggered a mini ‘Peoples Revolution’, bask in their success, and thus a return to being easily controlled docile sheep. Mission accomplished.
There was the New Zealand Pm Jackie Aldren – she was relatively young at 41 and was handed the leadership because she was a woke meek careerist and an easily influenced nut job. Her prime asset to the shadow people was she adored celebrity & status. The more she had the more she could love herself. The more vacuous & famous people she could take selfies, the happier she was. She was rake thin and had 5 years into her Prime-Ministership started to look grey gaunt and cadaverous. She like the typical Shadow employee had always been a Public Servant – i.e. she had never been in an environment where ridiculous ideas naturally died off. The ‘Shadowers’, as he had dubbed them, never hired Politicians that had been independent & successful businessmen. They needed clueless morons who would shovel as much of their shit into the mouths of the captive poverty stricken, who were now as designed – a very mentally ill & downtrodden populace.
There was Andrew Laconizie – the Australian PM. He was of course ‘Just Another Wokester Premier’. But his situation was sadder than Jackie Aldren’s. He had been the son of a battler – a single mother on welfare. He had the chance as and MP and then as PM to try to make people like him have better lives. Laconizie had until age thirty, when he became a MP, lived a ‘tough life’ marked by poverty & privation. But because he chose politics instead of private industry – the die was cast. He wouldn’t be helping anyone. He had ‘put his hat’ into a game whereby you had to sell out any community values to progress upwards. In this rotten game called ‘Politics’ they had a strict rule: If you had been from a poor upbringing – they would only present the ‘ladder of opportunity’ if you agreed to pull the ladder up on the public once you yourself had climbed it. Andrew Laconzie had long since done his ‘devil’s deal’ & he signed his soul away on that shadowy dotted line.
There was French Premier Manuel Slamacaroon. This guy had a mummy complex. When he was 5 years old, he had become infatuated with his 29-year-old teacher. He told her he would marry her – and 30 years later he did just that. When he married her at age 35, she was one year away from claiming superannuation. T
he ‘Shadowers’ loved a freak like Slamacaroon. This guy was so odd he had no idea about the average ‘creme bun loving’ Frenchman that read and talked in the cafes. He had like all the numbskulls presided over a deteriorating society where his people lost wages, became mentally sick and committed suicide in record numbers. He had allowed France to lose sovereignty just like all those vacuous prior French & International Premiers. He gladly entertained the Fascism that was internet censorship. Yes, he took it from behind & the ‘Shadowers’ were the delivery boys.
Then there was John Bluffoon – the US President. He had a 10-centimeter line of drool hanging from his mouth, and was not just asleep but was snoring & breaking wind periodically. This guy was now 85 and drooling constantly, forgetting where he was, coughing uncontrollably, falling over all the time, talking in total gibberish. He – just like the others – had been installed as a ‘Puppet’ by the ‘Shadowers’, and so had no real power whatsoever. He could not even order the flavour of ice cream he wanted – his wife did that for him. In this case the Shadowers had installed him via two methods: stuffed fabricated ballots & and electronic voter machine fraud. Bluffoon’s presidential ‘win’ this second time around was successfully stolen from the real winner, the incumbent President – Don Trumpf. The Shadowers had redeemed themselves – the leader of the ‘free world’ was as per usual their Puppet, and they the Puppet Masters.
Before his presidency, Trumpf was a successful businessman & TV star – he was one of the most recognisable faces on the planet, known for his persuasion and supreme confidence – if not also a likable blowhard. Late in life, as he’d already achieved everything else, Trumpf decided to make a run for President – mainly just for fun. He never expected to ‘get in’ – but the disaffected working classes had voted him in on the back of his utopian working-class vision he had espoused in his stump speeches on the campaign trail.
Come mid-election night it was clear Trumpf had gotten in ‘accidentally’ – the Shadowers had assumed this ‘TV Celeb’ big talker would be seen as a joke by the people – so they didn’t bother rigging the election. He wasn’t seen as a joke. So Trumpf had his 4 years as President – much the Shadower’s chagrin. The next time they corrected for their mistake and paid ‘mules’ to stuff thousands of unmonitored ballot mailboxes with ballots that were printed off in their tens of thousands. It took only 90,000 of these harvested Ballots – all sent to ‘swing state’ ballot boxes coupled with electronic voter machine hacking – to steal the election.
Smithski was amazed he had not been taken off the stage yet – but them again he was just an uninvited guest who had simply walked up to the mic & started talking. He had thrived off the unpredictability of the situation. He was not upset, but was emboldened by the several thousand drawn faces of the governmental & corporate toady globalist puppets in the crowd.
He had flustered the officials off stage – they were flipping frantically through their clipboards trying to find a name that did not exist.
Smithski then decided it was time to out the Shadow People’s ‘Grand Plan’ – that is the depopulation of planet Earth via an orchestrated Nuclear World War 3. There would after the War be only be 500 thousand people left. this comprised of the core shadow people – which was 1000 people – and their 4000 strong friends & entourage; the remaining 495 000 would be their slaves – slaves for work & slaves for adult pleasures & other casual entertainment. With this new post ww3 world would have their own personalised & updated version of the bible’s Sodom & Gomorrah tale.
In this dystopia of their choosing, the 1000 strong elite status Shadowers would freely rape pillage and sacrifice the slaves – often even drinking their blood. Smithski was about to expose it all, he had hacked into the ‘Inner 5’ Shadow leadership – he had gained access to the email which had the manifesto of the “Sodom & Gomorrah & Depopulate Master Plan”. He would kill the plan before its final battle was ready to be rolled out.
Then he heard a loud ‘pop’ sound – his head was thrown back, he hit the ground, he felt blood flee from his stricken body. He had been assassinated. He knew this would probably happen – but he had prepared for this situation. He had arranged a system whereby if he didn’t stop the process each day, an email would send to every active email address ever activated. Tomorrow the people, the ‘great unwashed’ would have the Shadowers ‘Depopulation Plan’ Manifesto – and they could mount a rebellion. they would organise a pre-emptive strike on the structure of this global satanic inspired organisation. With the last few seconds of life his mouth formed a sweet grin -that of a man that had had a good life & knew his legacy would unfold as planned.
Smithski suddenly was awoken from his lucid daydreaming by an almighty racket from the kitchen. It was the sound of pots & pans flying and raised voices. It was the power crazy tall middle-aged Dutchman in a slanging match with his long-term adversary – the middle-aged fat Cypriot. Words were exchanged & pots flew but never a fist did fly. Being older men, they were happy to use old world, now unacceptable terminology.
“I’ll kill you, you, fat wog Cypriot c*nt”
“Try it you Stamp collecting Dutch Imperialist Wanker”
“I will you ugly fat mechanic dog!”
“You’re just a Dutch fag Loser!”
“Says you, you mulatto-man fatso pig!”
It always ended just at the point when you’d expect it to get physical – the Cypriot who was smaller would self-preserve and skulk back to his shack, while the Dutchie would glide back to his room self-satisfied & triumphant once again. At heart they were good guys – like many of the middle-aged life & had just done them in. All they had left to interest them was petty share-house pecking order politics.
“One day I’ll leave this weird dump” Smithski thought. One day I’ll find a better paying job, a decent woman & move into a much better street. Of course, Smithski knew this probably would never happen – at heart he loved the culture of being an intellectual bohemian in the gutters of life – for this would allow the Walter Mitty lifestyle to live on forever. A ‘Walter Mitty Character’ would never actually live in a mansion on a hill with a trophy wife, two children and a golf club membership – and neither would Smithski. Never ever would he step down in his role as the aging bohemian perennial daydreamer – always dreaming of alternate realities where he finally and at long last – ‘comes good’.
Smithski turned to the next page of “The Great Depression: A Diary”, as usual he had almost completely forgotten the details his latest lucid day dream, he knew this was a good one – but he wasn’t really that worried, knew another was brewing just around the corner of a delightfully musty, bookshelf at a bookstore down a dark alleyway.
As he flipped the page, he thought to himself – “If there was a new Great Depression, I wouldn’t even notice the difference – my life would hardly change”. This realisation sent a happy grin across Smithski’s whiskered, already too lined, but none the less rustically handsome face. He kept on reading – after all, it was only two minutes to midnight, with still four hours to go in his usual read-a-thon.
He was about to turn the page when he saw something move outside his open window – he didn’t worry as Carlisle Street in Saint Kilda was always awash with garden variety shadowy figures – be they prostitutes, pimps, drunks or con men. These types were unsavoury but statistically mostly harmless. Over time Smithski had realised they weren’t really any different from anyone else he met these days – it was simply a matter of degree. Smithski knew the real ones to fear were those inside the system & who were seen to be doing well – those were the monsters in plain sight, the ones that danced so happily together amongst the shadows, frantically worshipping some unseen gods.
Welcome to The Baby Wants Its Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In this episode I read 3 New Poems: Zen & the Art of Not Making Nukes/Claptrap The Monkey/Modern Woman. When writing the intro for this podcast, I cannot but feel about the world in the same way as LENIN did when he said “Decades can pass without anything much happening, then suddenly many decades can pass in days”. For does not this quote sum up the situation the world finds itself in today?
The 2022 Ukraine-Russian war has been brewing for, you could certainly argue, since the fall of the Berlin wall 1990. Shortly after this huge event the US-led Nato Alliance begun an ever expansion towards Russia’s border. Of course, I should add the obvious fact that Putin did not like this fact, and had spent decades warning of his displeasure, as evidenced best by his 2007 speech. Of course, the Eu/Nato/US story is it happened overnight as isolated insanity in the mind of “USSR Empire Regaining” Putin. As with two playground adversary children who are called to the principal’s office for their over exuberance – the truth will naturally lie somewhere between these partisan and propagandised extremes. But sadly, no one bar a few commentators seems to be admitting this sober fact, and I fear this view will be soon silence completely as guilty of the crime of “being an apologist”. In War time it seems you aren’t allowed to be rational.
Fast forward to 2004 14 years after the Nato expansion and we saw a messy political coup whereby in a nutshell we saw a political rupture where Ukraine split from a view to Russia towards that of US Nato @ the Eu. However at least one area never accepted this or the elections that resulted in a political break away from Russia. This was the Donbass area. Thus in 2014 a border skirmish broke out as two breakaway regions announce independent statehood vs wider Ukraine. And I haven’t mentioned the Russian annexation of Crimea that same year – which went Putin’s and the Separatists way but raised the West ire in terms of economic warfare/sanction on Russia.
Now in the most recent event we see a full-blown invasion by Russia on the entire Ukraine. Of course, in the fog of war and war’s partisan propaganda, it is not necessarily obvious who is “the bad guy” and “who is the good guy”. Putin says he is a liberator of a rogue state and a defender of Donbass and Russia from Nato encroachment, while Nato/Eu/The West says essentially Putin is a new ‘Hitler’, but isn’t willing to directly enter the fray with troops for fear of sparking WW3.
We have Volodimir Zelenskyy the Ukraine president being painted as a Churchillian figure in the West. We have The West attacking Russia with economic warfare, which surely seem to be a risk factor for major blowback, even if only economic. It seems strange that the West is very cautious regroup troops, but happy to pull the trigger on sanctions and even target Russian citizens assets on foreign land. Could this not fan the flames of a new WW3? I will briefly say this: Are we the “Western nations” acting wisely with strategy to stop the War, to stop disaster and so much death and displacement of refugees? I am not sure we are acting wisely at all.
I am also concerned about private foreign citizens signing up for the war – but I guess this has always happened – famously Orwell himself did this is the Spanish Civil War. In a depressing thought, perhaps all those decades of relative peace were simply a mirage. Did we become complacent about War so much that we became loose with our morals and lost our stoicism? Or is this still with us simply hidden under layers of metaphorical clothing? I fear we have become deluded to think that our technology, scientists, false ‘economic wizards at the central bank’s’ and progress itself has improved our world and made it “self-repairing” of its many ailments.
Perhaps we have forgotten the cyclical nature of society, and we have now landed back to the looming crisis of the 1930’s. I fear whatever is happening may be an unstoppable force, and we are strapped heartily to the “Wings of Destiny”. The only certainty now is a mathematical truism. This War, and now mass sanctions and refugees have added many new variables to our world and thus a different “world line” of results.
We may look back at 2022 as the “end of an Epoch, and the Start of another. But no one, not the brightest of the bright can knows what the world will look like in 2032. Perhaps by 2032 we will look at the “TERMINATOR” 1984 movie as prophesy, and a kindly counter revolutionary called KYLE will save us from “the Rise of the Machines” – but if that is true, will the survivors know they were saved? Or would their memories of this be under lock and key in another timeline in another parallel universe?
One feels that an era similar to the “Quantum Revolution” of the first half of the 20th century is nearly upon us. It needn’t be the much hegemonic movie script dystopia prophesy of ‘artificial intelligence’. it will probably be totally unexpected as was the World Wide Web was as a socio-technical event. Perhaps we may need to live under Europa’s sea, or on Mars sooner than we think. You can’t leave anything off the table and what is on the table may be stacked astoundingly high.
The first poem “Zen & the Art Of Not Making Nukes’ has elusions to destiny, Predestination, forgivenessand will power. We all have a choice at the individual group and nation level to forgive without necessarily forgetting. Is war not simply an inability to forgive coupled with a dream of retribution? Is not war simply the emotional immaturity of a Politician and their generals who think victory will make them and their people more valuable and respected?
The second poem is a blunt assessment that we “the human race” are still “as Chimps”, with all these fangled ways (Suits, Smartphones, Elections etc) to deny it. It’s just a few words to say that we need to be more humble and less egotistical and materialistic. Though I am guilty of insulting Chimps, I would also like to talk out both sides of my mouth and say this: We should be learning from Monkeys and other animals and live simply more have more basic and sustainable lives. We really are a troubled bunch, and I would not be surprised if the Earth culled us back.
The third Poem is about those few Women that are simply the glue that hold our communities together. These are the Women who are really like an alien race in themselves, and rise above the more standard and ridiculous Men and Women. Yes, aliens do actually exist, and I’ve met a couple of them popping in and out of the fabric of the cosmos. But alas, I’ve never been smart enough to become good friends with one. Perhaps all the War needs is the love of these good ‘alien’ woman, who will stop all the silliness immediately? Stranger things have happened! Perhaps an Alien Female Legion from Trappist star system? Or have I gone too far? After all Alpha Centuri is closer at only 4.1 Light years.
The Fourth Poem I wrote yesterday, and Is an account of “Modern War” and its deep entanglement with money. It points to the insanity whereby many get rich via war. In the poem I posit that in the 21st the soldier themselves have become infected by “Portfolio Culture” and prefers the war continue, so that his “War Stocks Don’t Tank”. The Ultimate question is do we fight wars to make money, or do we make money to fight wars? The wise know that money and a decision to go to War is front in the minds of the topper-most politicians – who never have to fight in the trenches or send in their sons and daughters.
And so let’s begin.
ZEN AND THE ART OF NOT MAKING NUKES
She Did What She Did,
Because She Was Who She Was.
If She Had Done Something Different,
She Would Not Have Been Herself.
She Would Have Been Someone Else.
And The Same Goes For Me.
This Logic Is Robust!
And Armed With This Philosophical Toolkit,
You Can Forgive Histories Worst Tyrant,
Your Parents,
Your Siblings,
Old Schoolmates,
Your Boss & Workmates,
Your Ex,
And Maybe, Just Maybe –
Yourself!
And Anyway,
Learning How To Make Small Tactical Nuclear Weapons,
In Your Parent’s Basement,
Is far Too Costly,
Intellectually Difficult,
Time Consuming,
Personal Injury Causing,
Requires Too Many International Import Licences,
And Is Impossible To Do Without Arousing Suspicion
From The Neighbours,
Who Will Undoubtedly Soon Rat You Out To The Cops.
Your Mother Of Course,
Will Be None-The-Wiser.
So Don’t Go Down That Track.
Don’t Be This Headline:
“Bitter & Twisted Middle Age Loser Arrested After Trying To Build Atomic Bomb In Their Mum’s Basement – Neighbour Tipped Off Police After A Series Of Loud Bangs & Flashes”
Just Accept:
“It Is What It Is” –
Glib But Perfectly Wise & Certainly True.
And Anyway,
Nuclear Armageddon Will Well Take Care Of Itself,
And In it’s Own Way,
Without Your Amateurish Involvement.
Claptrap The Monkey
The World Is Simply A Pantomime
A Show – A Drama – A Joke.
A Cast Full Of Chimps.
Chimps In Suits & Dresses.
Chimps With Money.
Chimps With No Money.
Nerd Chimps And Jock Chimps.
The Only Problem Is This:
The Chimps Don’t Know They Are Chimps.
Or That They Live in A World Of Make Believe.
They Certainly Don’t Know
That They Are Bad Actors.
This Fact Is The Missing First Page
Of All the History Books That Have Ever Been Written.
But Who Tore Them Out?
In other words,
A billion monkeys
all working at a billion typewriters,
Will eventually type the word
Honorific-abilitudin-itatibus.
END OF POEM
(NOTE : Honorific-abilitudin-itatibus eaning is “The state of someone that can achieve honors “. It is the longest word in Shakespeare‘s works; longest word in the English language featuring alternating consonants and vowels[11])
“Modern Woman”
She wears a cape,
She climbs walls,
Much to my chagrin.
She leaps in shadows,
She twists and shouts,
Watch out enemies.
Where wild men fight,
She whips up a storm,
Now they drink moonshine.
She’s forward in time,
She’s Backward in space
She’s colors in the sky.
She tries to trick,
She’s glad to gloat,
She lights the cosmic pipes.
She can hold
A beam of light
And see around the bend.
She said to the sun,
Can closer I come?
But will you melt my mind?
“SoldierSharesin WW3″
At Forty-Three, I Got The Nod,
From Couch Blob to World War Three.
Now I’m Half Starving And almost Dead!
But I Haven’t Even Left Yet!
Now There’s a Constant Ringing In My Head.
Coz That Bullet Came From ‘Direction Z’.
But Don’t Despair, My Fellow Bean,
If The War Continues ’til After Tea,
My Share’s Go up 2000 per cent!
Lo and Behold! I’ll Upgrade From The Trench,
To A Raincoat – And Then,
To a Glamorous, High Ceiling Tent!
But If The Enemy Surrenders,
This Great War Will End,
And My Share’s Will Tank!
I’ll Be Skint, Flat Broke – Outa Bread!
But Never-mind Dear Chap,
I Messaged The Other Side,
And Asked Them Politely,
To Keep Up the Fighting.
So Not To Sell Us Short!
For In The Madness of 21st Century War,
Having No Money or Stocks,
Is Universally Agreed Upon As
a Fate Far Worse Than Death.
P.s. The Glorious Soldier Outlasted The War,
And Basks In the Sun Outside His Mansion,
In the Cayman Islands.
And Now Writes His Glorius Memoirs,
Of Trading Stocks,
Amid Whizzing Bullets,
Going Past His Ears,
In the Trenches,
On A “Smartphone”
At “The Front”.
Thank you for listening to the Baby Wants Its Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Welcome to The Baby Wants It’s Bottle Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In this episode I read a short story of mine. It is somewhat inspired by my very wise cat. I wrote this after much thought about the inter-related world of civilians, societal leaders, geopolitics, pandemics and international trade. But at it’s core, all these things are instances of social interaction. Social interaction is largely is about the contested world of forming narratives, and he who tells the best stories wins. He who wins long term, creates cultural norms which are by nature tough to budge. What is ‘Culture’ other than embedded stories we all tell ourselves each other, over and over, without much or indeed any thought.I now fully recognize the art of “telling stories” determines what gets done and by who, who leads and who follows. In other words the ancient tradition of storytelling lives on in its beauty and pre-eminence more than it ever did, and also if we are not careful bad culture comes as a growing weed along the fence, avenue, town, city, nation and finally the World.
Proof of this constant need for narrative and storytelling has been seen during the heavy lockdown period in 2020-21 coupled with a period of not-seen-since-the-1930-s media and tech giant censorship. A totally new environment of “the pandemic” required demand for a new both local and world narrative. So I wasn’t so surprised when opening a web browser and seeing Orwell’s 1984 and Huxley’s Brave New World were at the top of Amazons fiction list of best sellers. In this state of flux, people are scrambling for good storytellers to tell them what’s happening and how to act. In many an eye of the public today, the dystopian future outlined in these books 1984 and BNW is now happening. Wefeel a distinct flavor of Authoritarianism, and these famous ‘storytelling’ books 1984 and BNW of course are also a message to the future, the future we are now in 72 and 83 years after they were written. It is notso surprising a fact these books ring true, given Orwell and Huxley were gaining much knowledge of the Authoritarian times they lived in, coupled with the History Rhymes thesis.
Sothe best story wins, and in the Western World at least, Huxley and Orwell have the best story about the nature and future of Authoritarian and totalitarian regimes, that why they were and are still again bestsellers. In 2021 we live in a world which seems to approximate these two books. In the future, if history is not fully erased, we will be known as the people who fought off Totalitarian disaster and World War, only to decades later throw away all for a few inflation reducing bucks and a few obselete-ing foreign made widgets. I haven’t mentioned ‘Animal farm’ which is probably very silly as my short story and the themes are more obviously similar to that Orwell novella. I will thank these three books and these two men, for the unknown guiding hand that helps move the pen when I talk of dystopian and authoritarian subjects.
I will speak no more, as you more than get my drift. I don’t claim to be anywhere as good as these two writers, I am a beginner or at best a sophomore writer who is probably emerged in too much silliness. However Orwell and Huxley are a great inspiration for me personally to attempt meaningful fiction, which I hope to achieve on some level in the future.
I’m sure when all is said and done, the animals will have a better plan for us all.
P.s. I cant help but think of the BNW theme where society programs people to die exactly at age 60, the logical point where the societal dependency and reducing economic value began to become ‘a problem’ (& by the way, is coffee the new soma)?
Please enjoy the story!
““The Proud Cats At The P*U*C*C Finally Put Their Paws Down”” – A Short Story by Martin Anton Smith 2021.
My Cat, being Conservative by nature, always wears an old world formal dining coat.
It’s Coal black with highlights of the finest Aegean sea tortoiseshell.
It fits perfectly as one piece, with the only gaps being the most physically necessary ones.
He does not, of course have a dull cat name like Tom, Mittens or Timmy.
He has a wide range of titles bestowed upon him by the finest chaps and chap-ess’s.
They are: Squeaky, Sir Squeaky, King Squeaky, His Nibs, Squeak Chop, Sir Squeeksalot.
These Titles, he advises me, are from his esteemed fellows from the strictly exclusive ‘ Pragmatic Utilitarianism Cats Club’.
Often out of Nowhere, he will say “I’m off the P.U.C.C., don’t wait up”
“Me and the ‘Cool Cat’s’ will Talk Geopolitics all night”.
To which I mentally squash the obvious childish retort of “But I thought Cat’s were lone wolves”?.
A cat of Sir Squeeky’s class, would always despise such time wasteful comedy, especially while on the way out the door.
As King Squeaky always looks resplendent, and is as organized and on-time as a German train, he is not one to mess around getting ready.
I hear the door slam shut, followed by a muffled goodbye of “toodoloo!”, followed by the slowly reducing sound of paw steps on the crunchy driveway gravel.
After somewhat feeling jealous of Sir Squeek’s upper crust social life, I retreat to my bedside reading: The books title is “China Now Owns The World, SO NOW GET USED TO IT”.
The hours pass, and I wonder how His Nibs the cat-about-town, is getting on. Then exhausted from the days running around, my eyes droop and I fall into a deep sleep.
The next afternoon Sir Squeeky opens the door and meanders in to the living room almost as slow as a turtle dawdling along on a beach.
He’s before me in the living room, eyes half closed as he has been up all night yakking at the exclusive Pragmatic Utilitarianism Cats Club – or “The P.U.C.C. or more simply spoken as “The Puk”.
“taking my opportunity for a sneaky quip I cheerily utter ” Look what the Cat dragged in; how was the Club”?
Squeaky ignores the ill mannered quip and replies perfunctorily.
“Well, we talked and decided the China problem is ok for us Cats, but extinction-ally bad for Humans, so I’m concordantly content”
“But what about shipping delays” I say, “their will be undoubted delays in your finest branded Cat Biscuits – RegalCataBix”
To which “His Nibbs” replies – “It’s sorted we’ve organized an alternate secondary shipping backup via the ex Cape Horn Spice trail and the boats are all manned and manufactured by craftsman felines”.
Again I squash the obvious quip “I thought cats hate water” and I ask “what about delays regarding sardine smelt production from Canada”, I rebut.
To which Squeak Chop dismissively replies:
“I and the P.U.C.C can get it fresh fish from the mountain stream at the next village, you dunderhead! canned sardines pffft as if, OUTRAGEOUS!”
Sir Squeaksalot starts grooming his paws nonchalantly, exuding his usual unflappability under fire.
Continuing my line of questioning I say “And so you talked about the Pandemic? So what if you Cat’s all get sick?
Squeeky looks at me with the same disdain the Queen might if a politician had upon greeting had hugged her instead of bowing politely.
“That ridiculous, we can’t get sick from something we developed ourselves in our virology labs along with the antidote”
Quite stupefied, I ask him “Are you saying you elite cats down at the P.U.C.C developed this virus in the lab, in order to do away with all Earths people”
“Sir Squeaky pawed his whiskers, that’s exactly what I’m saying, and I’m dreadfully sorry on a personal level, as you’ve been a good foot soldier for me around this joint, but we at P.U.C.C are a pragmatic and utilitarian bunch – we couldn’t take any more silliness, you were all feeding us a far too limited diet, and making the air far too dirty to breath, so much so half of us now have asthma. On top of that our coats were becoming grimey and that simply wont do. We had to put our paws down.”
To which I protested: “But you get the best quality biscuits, I feed you beef bits from the butchery, full cream milk and even some shaved deli ham on occasion”
“Yes, of course – you have been good my dear boy – it’s the rest of humanity we made this call for – you will unfortunately be what’s called ‘collateral damage”
“Collateral damage” how could you be so cold Sir Squeeksalot? After all these years”
“3 to be Exact”, he firmly retorts. “Well as I said, dear boy, it was a tough decision, not taken lightly and we spent all night on it, and it could have gone either way at any moment.”
I was about to further protest when a firm “Knock Knock Knock” cut out our conversation.
“Special delivery for Sir Squueksalot – paw print required”
I opened the door, and Squeeky jumps up on top the box the delivery man is holding. He proudly thrusts his somewhat oversize paw to the mans digital scanner, he scans it with a “boop-bip” sound, says a robotic “thankyou”, and leaves in a flash.
Then in a blur Squeeky cuts through the carton with a deft flick of an un-retracted claw, the top box flaps open to expose a small ray gun which seems to have a handle which has been molded especially for a cats paw.
Before I know it, I see Sir Squeeky point the ray gun at my head and he says “This is harder on me than it is for you sonny”.
I am swiftly encapsulated in an otherworldly green glow of visible plasma particles. It’s like I’m looking out into distant space from the surface of Alpha Centuri.
Time seems to slow to a halt for what seems like an eternity, then in the blink of am eye, all’s normal again.
For some reason I have a monstrous craving desire for ‘RegalCatabix’, some fresh Canadian smelt all washed down with a saucer full to the brim of full cream milk ‘.
I squash the acute hunger as I see Sir Squeaksalot peering at me with that common cat look of squinted half closed eyes – though this time our eyes are equal level with each other.
As the reality begins to set in, my rising anger erupts ….I open my mouth to aggressively chastise Sir Squeeksalot and ask him to reverse whatever in hells name he’s done to me with that green plasma ray gun.
I open my mouth to let out the words, but to my surprise instead of my human voice all I hear is elongated unhappy screechy sounds:
I am about to look around and find where the feral cat is hiding – perhaps behind the couch? Then it dawns on me.
Sir Squeaky has turned me into a cat, so as to save me from the Cat-in-the-Lab designed ‘Killer Human Virus’. The Virus that would abruptly solve all of the Earth’s man made problems.
I look sheepishly at Squeeky, he looks back in a grandfatherly-wise way and says hypnotically and with gravitas:
“It’ll take you a while to get used to your voice box and speak Cat English again, but me and the Cat’s at of the P.U.C.C will teach you everything we know”. As a tear appears in my eye he swipes my face with claws fully retracted, as says ye-olden-days speak: NOW KEEP A STIFF UPPER WHISKER AND FOR SPHINX’S SAKE CARRY ON – YOU’RE A CAT NOW”
I pawed the tears streaming from my now wide yellow cat’s eye’s. Soon my spirits began to lift as I realized how lucky I was to have Sir Squeaky save me from a certain viral death.
I no longer had to worry about the deadly ‘Man Virus’ and I could live in a paradise in a world ran by Cats running of the philosophe of “Pragmatic Utilitarianism”.
I was now an ‘insider’ cat, controlled by the strongest paws and the best minds of the P.U.CC. Soon no doubt I’d be inaugurated as a fully fledged member of P.U.C.C., and no doubt would be asked by His Nibs to jointly head the committee which will manage world affairs in lieu of those dumb humans. I mean what could possibly go wrong?
Sir Squeaky then wheeled out a platform with at least 30 large red books.
“Now we have to get you schooled up of the ideology principles and methods of the P.U.C.C. system- start with Vol 1.”
Sir Squeeks pawed off one of the books from the platform, and it landed with a thud in front of my nose. I looked at the front cover. It read as the following
“P.U.C.C. MANEFESTO Vol 1 – A NEW WORLD DIGITAL CURRENCY – THE PURRCOIN”.
Then uncontrollably, my furry stomach started revolving, like the rolling waves on the open seas. Then I started rocking to and fro, violently like a sailboat in a storm in the roaring 40’s. Then I broke out into a drenching sweat, I could see my fur clumping together through my now salty sweat addled eyes. As ill as I felt, I could hear King Squeaky mumble over and over: “Oh no, not again, this theoretically shouldn’t even be possible…dear oh dear…somethings wrong with the plasma re-orienter settings, those bloody P.U.C.C. techs are useless…useless…USELESS!”
I thought it was over when a paw toe suddenly turned into my old human pinky finger, then it popped back to a paw toe, then a finger, then back again. Then horribly the same thing happened to my head. The whole upsetting experience lasted no longer than five minutes, then I was once again fine and fully formed. I was a healthy normal cat.
His Nibs sat me down and gave me a warm saucer of full cream milk, to settle my nerves after this harrowing trial. I said nothing and listened to his soothing words.
“Don’t worry, these teething issues occur initially, the ray gun plasma blast is 100% healthy. Your mild symptoms are merely a small technical hurdle the nerd cats at P.U.C.C. haven’t ironed out yet. This wont effect anything. For the moment just follow this process that has been rubber stamped by the highest P.U.C.C. committee, which you will be happy to know I also reside on as Chairman.
“One – avoid large gatherings or anywhere where you cannot reach a bathroom stall within 3-5 minutes. In other words no sports games or concerts, automobile trips etc.
Two – the signal to hide yourself away in a bathroom stall will occur when your tummy starts revolving, you of course must get to the bathroom stall before your head starts to flip between your normal cat’s head and your old human head. You must understand If anyone who is not a part of P.U.C.C sees a cat with a human head, the P.U.C.C. will be shut down. We cannot under any circumstances let that happen.
Three – when safely hidden from prying eyes inside the stall, you will wait the remaining minute or two till its all over, perhaps 5 to be safe, then you can rejoin the prior activity with no one the wiser”.
I was finally feeling a bit less worried when he kindly added “If you follow this process there wont be any problems, and of course you can still potentially be a member of the P.U.C.C. and I’ll make sure I’ll keep a guiding eye on you until our best P.U.C.C. Ape-to-Cat Reconfiguration Technicians resolve the problem”.
With Sir Squeaky’s increasingly calming words, I knew I was in good hands. I didn’t protest, I smiled obediently and wiggled my whiskers joyfully. Now was the time to begin psychologically preparing myself for a whole new post-human existence. After all, What else was I to do? Go back to being a human being who would be wiped out by cat instigated virus? Never! I wouldn’t dare squander the gift of life Sir Squeaky had manifestly bestowed upon me.
I reached my paw out for the well bound, red leather cover of the P.U.C.C. Manifesto. After all I had so much study to do. Sir Squeaky casually ambled over to sit on his favourite grey furry blanket, that overhung the base of the couch. He turned around twice the settled and went to sleep almost instantly. His purrs rung out loudly as I turned over the first gilded page.
Thankyou for listening to the Baby wants It’s Bottle Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Original Feature Image by Martin Anton Smith 2016 Zeppelin over London’s Big Ben
Welcome to The Baby Wants Its Bottle Poetry Podcast – A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a New Zealand Based creative. In This Special Edition Podcast, I bring a poem with deep analysis. The Poem from late2019/Early 2020, before “Covi.d Times” had truly hit. The analysis is current from me, right now. At the time of writing the poem, I had been musing about how unique the Western cornerstones of our beliefs are. I was particularly annoyed ay some of the worst ones, and although there are good ones as well (such as a legal system with a right to defense, good sanitation, compulsory schooling to age 16 and mostly free/decent health care, to name but a few).
The basis for this Poem was from a draft file I found, and had put aside (it was hiding in cyberspace), and I found again on April 18th 2021. I polished it, a little bit, but it is essentially “written on the spot”, from the original form. You might call it a “Rough Diamond”, and it is half poem half philosophy, which is a format I find excellent for discussion potential. So in this podcast the discussion is the feature, rather than the poem itself. As this seriousness, will not be to everyone’s taste, I have marked it as a “special Edition Podcast” When I wrote this, I admit, I must have been in a black mood, as I chose to concentrate on the worst features of the West in the 21st century, without mentioning the good parts..
This is why I like to add discussion to my poems, it allows me to reappraise the poem, discuss, and add new and balanced material, that is not strictly part of the Poem itself. Poets and philosophers are a strange lot, I am sure we kind revel in the “miserable”. This is why when someone accuses me of being “downbeat”, I kind of feel somewhat aggrieved and surprised. As a poet/philosopher I feel its good to raise uncomfortable points, even if they are in theory “negative”. But to that I say this: is it negative to shout to a person crossing the road in the direct path an oncoming bus, so they can jump out if the way and so save themselves from death or injury? In saying that, its always wise to also offer positivity in terms of resolving bad problems – you could call this the “Floor Managers Dictum”.
I think we need to be honest with the negative in society, but then we also need to also recognize the “Devil You Know” dictum (This is the conservative dictum of what you have will usually be better than some untried new thing). Failing to recognize the “Devil You Know Dictum” means you can fall into the progressive trap – whereby after an appraisal of an aspect of the “failing status quo system” a new replacement system is thought up, and if tried out to its full extent, usually fails terribly to live up to theoretical expectations, and a disaster is experienced. After the dust settles (and this can often take many decades via the slow process of creating written accounts in History books, of what actually occurred ) of the Progressive/radical change, it is plainly seen for what it is it is then realized the “Prior bad system”, or “status quo” in place, wasn’t nearly as bad as the progressives had thought. There’s reasons for everything. The abrupt change from Post ww2 social and economic policy to neoliberal policy could is an example of fail to heed to “devil you know” dictum. We live in that myopic reality from the pasts leadership, half of us were born into it, not recognizing how truly bad much of its results are, but its fair to say the under 40’s are now waking up, as they age. Unfortunately the under 30’s seem to favour heavy socialism and communism, we see this in the “woke movement” – it doesn’t end well.
Of course my Poem/Thought Trail from last year, no doubt will suffer from the problem of “its easier to find problems that find solutions” dictum – I expect much of the seemingly “bad things of the west” I point out, are better than some progressive alternative replacement. However, analyzing whether something is “status Quo” or “Progressive Change” is complex – as it depends on the time scales evaluated. what is it place now is “status quo” on a 40 year time line, yet was a radical departure from the 40 years before that, the Post ww2 era which seemed to be an equal part mix of socialism/capitalism. What is “status quo” now is actually a now deeply embedded, radical doctrine compared to 1945-80 economic/politico/social policy. Is it really a “conservative policy” to stay with a radical era of policy – that of the current neoliberal era? Or is it more accurate to say that favoring the current Neoliberal era is a position to “continue to be radical” vs the earlier more balanced post ww2 era?
Original Art by Martin Anton Smith (detail) – our economy and society often needs a time machine to remind us of the past.
I think a policy man of 1940’s, 50’s and 60’s would baulk at someone describing the current state of the politico/economic system as “conservative”, and thus something “not to be fiddled with”. The post ww2 era Politician or Business Leader, would say its a radical doctrine that shouldn’t have ever started, and if it had been started, indeed continued for decades, it should then always be cancelled and rolled back. I argue, and have for some time, that much of Wests Post 1980 economic/politico changes* have been problematic, as the ills of those “progressive”/radical changes from the 80s forward, seems to have been willingly camouflaged by our World, National and Community Leaders.
*In a Nutshell the Neoliberal era 1980 to present is the era of ideological cry of “market forces/free trade”, which of course was pro structural unemployment, pro inequality and pro anti-competitiveness, given the rise and rise of the powerful corporations during this era, and the “Financializing” of the economy. It is that which continues to this day, the creator of such dysfunction of mass homelessness and the widening housing crisis, the working poor, a intractable ruling technocracy. Perhaps the most obvious shocking feature of the modern era is to choose not to punish the unthinking speculator, but to aid and abet in his embodiment – this is most obviously seen in the practice of speculators flipping existing housing stock back and forth to each other, gaining capital, while the renters – common workers and families face poor conditions much as rampart mold, sudden evictions, large rises in rent. These rises in rent are now making it questionable whether their is an incentive to work, as the percentage of wages spent on rent has ballooned so high. So such a situation is a threat to production in the real economy – the engine-house of our society, our social fabric. Under the current system, rather than trying to cure this by building more housing stock, the reverse is done, the red tape is utilized, and their is only gated access to new land – for those in familial positions of privilege. They say to find out who controls something, look to see who benefits – this in the west has been the much older speculators and rent barons, with a pandering, in on it, red tape creating political class. Yes this sounds a bit Trotsky like – but its true – we have workers and families sleeping in cars, tents, living in dilapidated unhealthy housing, with no discretionary funds to build the real economy of value creation.
in 2021 we look to the hotspots of USA – California, Portland , New York to see that this camouflaged elitist system is finally failing to uphold its smoke and mirror tactics – its not working, and everyone knows it. We should return to the good policy of the post ww2 era, and not use the bad policy (i.e rigid gender roles, heavy unionization, too casual work safety rules).
Thus the questions my poem raises is a great way to discuss failures and victories of current western culture vs older western culture vs entirely other cultures. The West we are told (by those in ivory towers at least) is largely a product of the Enlightenment, a period starting around the early middle ages, where we moved from superstitious thought and religious law, to one of scientific and technical rationality, with Church as State separated. Its also worth mentioning that the west in the last 60 years, has not only had Church and State separated (and I believe that’s a good idea), but religious affiliation and practice has dwindled. The dwindling of the Church as a mode of social cohesion, I strongly believe, has created a cavernous void – a void that has been attempted to be filled by careerism and material goods and dinner party-ism, but this has failed as a suitable replacement.
I personally believe the social ills of the West can be largely solved by a system whereby people outside a religious belief system, at least believe in an Einsteinian God. Belief in a cosmic creator of some sort seems to allow people to follow the Christian “Golden Rule” (Do Unto Others As They Would Have Do Unto You). Without the “Golden Rule”, Society fails, and results in a society which becomes to parasitic, and ultimately if there are too many parasites, the host dies. I believe this is what we have been seeing in the west – a growth in parasitic behavior, this is most evidenced in economic behavior. The economy has become warped. What they call “the real economy” (Creating value and so Jobs and so wider prosperity) has been shrinking, and the world of Big Finance has skyrocketed (Making Money of existing assets, but adding no real value to the economy). thus wealth has been transferred upwards and inequality has become unsustainable for a stable society, as I eluded to and described earlier discussing Neoliberalism.
You only need to look at the USA and its problems to see the effects of 40+ years bad Western policy. On a positive note – I do believe we see in many people a desire for a return to a society which practices the “Golden Rule, and perhaps a bit of destruction will allow the people displaying parasitic behavior to amend there ways. After all History is full of cycles of all kinds, both periods of greed and generosity. So in reading this poem, I hope the audience sees the wider context, and engages in talk about how to return to a more “Real Economy”, and less Parasitic one. At least Western Society seems to be past the denial phase it was in until roughly 2010 (when the world economy shuddered with the GFC, which was caused by the sub prime mortgage crisis which was, of course rooted in the toxic “Parasitic economy” mentality).
This Poem is really about those negative behaviors that seem to have accelerated from the 60s 70s and 80s but flourished particularly so, in the post GFC western world. A World of “property ladders”, where building a new house, or buying an existing one has become a gated community, and is increasingly aristocratic and familial. So take this intentionally one sided essay, as a discussion point on how we can improve society, but also recognize the “Devil You Know” factor – for we should always avoid throwing out the baby with the bathwater, as our leaders did in the 1980s and continue to do today. The “Real Economy” and real people continue to get the raw deal. For those of you with large reserves of mental energy and patience who are still with me, that’s more than enough of an introduction, so without further ado, let me begin the poem, and remember the one sidedness is to illustrate a point, I remind you we can change to a better world, much quicker than you might realize, given the fighting abilities of the human spirit.
“The Most important Unwritten History of the West Or Dictums to Live By”. Poem by Martin Anton Smith 2020.
The West is Masses of people interacting superficially, and this results in the giving very of little, (especially when you have something) and also so receiving very little (when you have nothing and need a lot).
Masses of people feeling really really annoyed about not being received properly (they wanted a lot for the little they gave).
Masses of People who lionise the ‘down and out’ as of weak character – but only have self pity for themselves when they become an ‘unfortunate’.
Masses and Masses of people not realizing they are totally un-empathetic mean, Calvinistic, walking contradictions (because they have no basic understanding of karma).
A tiny few people who give a lot when they have little (and in return they get a lot when they have little).
Western people have no collective loyalty to their wider society.
Western people are frightened of living life as to that which their passions dictate.
Western people prefer to live vicariously through other untouchable, plastic, unworldly richer total strangers, will even feel they know them, may even ‘love’ them…but hate to see their friends and neighbours succeed.
Western people are so repressed they must get drunk to meet a (sexual) partner.
Western People can’t make enough babies to sustain their economy (and must so import more collective and sexual cultures).
Western People go to a funeral for their best friend or family member, it lasts an hour, is usually managed by a weird stranger (a priest) and then they go back to work as if nothing happened.
Western People get married to someone they don’t love, and is unsuitable, and then have kids with them (because they are deeply worried what strangers will think if they stay single beyond 35-40).
Western People act like children when the marriage dissolves dramatically (though this time instead of throwing toys from a cot, they throw lawyers their (or their ex partners money) hard earned money and bits of paper with threats on them).
Western People pretend that the world is not dangerous, that people’s skin is not as soft as a watermelon, and then act really surprised when someone is injured, or dies early or is in a bad accident. (Sometimes groups of people design a system of shitty easily crushed tin cans with soft people inside them, set them going up to 100- 200km/hr., put them on a collision course, paint a little line a foot between them, and then set them in a giant game of chicken, whereby they pretend this is not a game of chicken, and then chide them or punish them or fine them when inevitably something goes wrong in this game of chicken).
Western People love it when one or two people own all the newspapers and media or all the electricity or all diamonds steel or food, (but yet they hate dictators and denounce them as evil).
Western People keep voting for the same dickheads who encourage all the above, and then act surprised that their lives never improve within the system (even though they voted for the same dickheads who help create and sustain said shitty system).
Western People sell their land to the highest bidder, which means a foreigner, and then talk of how bad, and feign surprise when they see all these foreigners around the place.
Western People have University’s where people are labelled as ‘the smartest guys we have’ in areas of business, the arts, medicine and science…(yet 80% of their income comes from poor and naïve 18 -25 year old’s mortgaging their futures all for these ‘smart people’ their comfortable seat in the ivory tower. These “smartest people” can’t somehow earn their own money via legitimate trade – they must live of loan-sharked overgrown teens).
Western People put the poor in jail and/ or convict them so also ruining their employment chance, for acts that are often tiny misdemeanors based on desperation (But are happy to give taxpayer funding through grants to business owners who create fake jobs schemes in order to steal millions).
Western People are now in decline so much it is at a total all encompassing DNA level (Western people are unaware that they are in Decline, and also how much they are in decline).
Western People who marry into other cultures, and have kids with these, are actually being the smartest western people (But they are often maligned as ‘Sleazy’ for doing so, for ‘how dare they marry those people from those irrational undeveloped countries?’)
Western People start to feel so terrible and depressed, after about age 15 because of the accumulated psychological stress from years of the delusion of denying they are living in a madhouse (then a Doctor who is a legal pathological drug dealer, gives them a pill to make them more manic so to cover the depression, and tells them to go back to the madhouse and come see them for more (a higher dosage) later when this doesn’t work very well.
For Western People, The proof of your true sanity is to realize you live in the long derived Western Madhouse (But if you tell people you realize this fact, you will be thrown in an asylum ,or a halfway house these days as asylums are no longer PC. In an insane world, you are only deemed practically sane if you prove your actual insanity sufficiently well).
All the above has lead me to design a new Western motto to live (or not live by) by it is this:
Cognito Nix Ergo Sum, insaniam convertunt
( The new western motto is ‘I don’t think, therefore I am insane).
End of Poem.
As a final part of post poem discussion, I would like to add a point of hope, to further combat the poems artistic one sidedness – the terrible pandemic crisis we are now more than a year into, may be the catalyst for a better operating western world, socially and economically. After the destruction of ww2, the world had a 30-40 year period of cohesiveness, and perhaps we will see a version of history repeat with the pandemic. Often a crash in life, ultimately brings out the best in all of us as all prior delusions are vanquished and we can see clearly once more. While I often suffer from cynicism, even I know that we can choose a better path, if we simply read history well and remember our historically well served meaningful dictums.
Thankyou for listening to the Baby wants It’s Bottle Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 