My Writing and Art lives here….
by Martin .A. Smith Apriil 2022
It Began Last Century
A Time Of Mad Scientists
Stopped In The Streets Of Earth
The Thing Rose From Nowhere
From Nothing Came Nothing
It Walked In Through The Door
The Shadows Fought Long & Hard
But Never Materialised
Money & Stuff Idolised
The Thieves Ruled The Dopes
Machines Did Kill the Men
& Left You To Tell The Tale
A Frankenstein Future!
Get It While It’s Hot!
The Last Tour, a Dead End Street!
The Best Years – Soon Sold Out!
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, forgiveness and 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.
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.
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])
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?
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.
Published by Martin Anton Smith creations ltd (NZ) © All Rights reserved. No Commercial Use or Commercial Public Broadcast Allowed Without Written Permission. Non-Commercial/Educational Broadcast is Freely Encouraged.
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.
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])
song/poem by Martin Anton Smith
Welcome to Goolagaticus
You are the “uncompliant”.
Let’s now raise our glasses high,
and paint you ultra-violent.
////
Let me take you by the hand,
and show you our campfires.
Now take this black pill & lie down
and then you’ll sleep okay.
**********************************************************
Now I’m just an automaton,
an automated soldier.
Don’t do this, don’t do that,
these are my orders.
////
Let me take you by the eyes,
I’ll show you new desires.
Now take this screen and sit down,
and then you’ll feel okay.
*********************************************************
We’re all brainwashed by his word,
this false god of our dreams.
‘Let there be light’ – he did say,
But then he made us blind men.
////
Let me take you by the brain,
I’ll make you new memories.
Now take this key & swallow whole,
and then you’ll run okay.
*********************************************************
Don’t step left, don’t step right.
This – your so-called life.
Don’t look blank, don’t look bright.
This your day, this your night.
////
My enemy, the false memory,
Then the memories became my enemies.
Knock Knock, let me in.
I’m not in, I’ve flown away.
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 a New Poem called “The War of “23-“39” and Short Story/Poem Hybrid called “How I Escaped my UNiT in the UnCity”. These are as most my stuff on this blog, quickly written pieces, rough and should really be work on a lot more. The themes are Sci Fi Dystopian.
Both these are of course influenced by the pandemic era we are still living in, as we have been for now to years. Both these works I guess point to a rebel type fightback vs dark forces and authoritarian characters that may have already popped up in the real world. We are as they say in the “fog of war” or at least in the “fog of immediate History” and as such what is right what is wrong and who are the good guys and who are the bad guys is not known yet.
Given the fog effect, It is doubtful whether it will know for at least for perhaps at least 10 years (History takes it’s time and is of course written by the ‘victors’). But who will be the Victors? And in 10 years will the analysis be of a “shortish pandemic” where we essentially went back to normal, or will the pandemic simply be an entree for different and equally troublesome matters? We could ask ourselves the following questions: Will Russia Invade Ukraine, Will China Invade Taiwan, Will the USA have a Civil War 2.0? Will The 2024 Election be a debacle for of beliefs that it cannot be legitimate? Will there be a Big Economic Crash or more positively – will there be peace and a post pandemic 1920’s like Boom and Party phase? I guess all we need to do is survive and we’ll be right in the thick of whatever happens. We will either be given a rock to hide under, some sand to put our heads into or tap on the shoulder to rebel/enlist/defend. Or perhaps nothing will happen at all.
Let me start the first Poem followed by the Short Story.
“The War of “23-“39″ (Poem by Martin Anton Smith)
Welcome to Techno City Gulags
Where We Welcome the “Un-Complient”
Let’s Raise Our Glasses
To the Army of Empty Amphora
I’m Private Smith of Operation Barbarian
Just An Un-Complient Automaton Soldier
I Simply Couldn’t Comprehend
When Relayed Of The War’s End
It Was In Twenty Thirty Nine
We Defeated the Worlds Enemy
His Name Was UNiT the Un-Known
The Un-God Implanted In Our Dreams
We Are The Army of Empty Amphora
And They Stole Blood From Our Veins
They Took Our Voices And Then Our Thoughts
But Come For Our Souls? – ‘Think Again’.
“How I Escaped my UNiT in the UnCity“
Short story by Martin Anton Smith
Welcome to Techno City Gulags.
Leave your real -world cares behind.
Our false God will be your saviour.
His name is UNiT the Un-Barbarian.
He is the Un-God of your dreams.
UNiT The Un-Barbarian Created a New World,
Out of the ashes of the old.
UNiT the Un-God spoke to all via thought messages.
UNiT’s first words created this new Unreality, he said:
“Let there be Un-Jobs”,
and there were.
“Let there be an Un-economy”,
and there it mathematically was.
“Let there be Un-Cities”,
and there invisibly so, they dwelt.
“Let there be Un-Unhappiness”,
and no one felt anything inside anymore.
“Let the People be un-unfree”,
And no one wanted to be either here nor there, as they were always in the same place.
And having spoken these words UNiT had now created his New Un-Reality.
————
Welcome to ‘Techno City Gulags’
Where we welcome the “Un-Complient”.
In TCG there is no need for physical freedom,
For we create a virtual paradise for but a small fee.
A simple monthly pledge of allegiance, is all we ask!
Now Repeat the ‘Three Un-Mantra’s’ After Me:
“I Agree that ‘UNiT the Un-Barbarian’ is your Un-God.”
“I Agree that the Real World is a Danger to Everyone. “
“I Agree That Paradise lies in The Un-City called Techno City Gulags. “
So now do you see how simple the new paradise will be?
Soon you will be transported away from the drudgerous & tiresome so called ‘real world’!
All you need to go there is to repeat the daily ‘Un-Mantra’, the 3 lines of Un-life.
And you will be un-unhappy and un-unfree,
Living safely in the Un-City,
as an Un-Complient Automaton.
Blissfully Un-Unhappy, for you have no human emotions.
You will become the ‘treasured property’ Of Our Un-God,
UNiT The UN-Barbarian!
—————
I became so brainwashed by these silky-smooth words,
I had agreed to enter the Un-Gates.
I was half way through the ‘Third Mantra’:
“I agree that Paradise lies in Tech…”
And I was suddenly interrupted & enlightened,
by something everlasting yet also ephemeral,
That words cannot clearly describe.
This unknown force had pulled the plug on all the silliness.
There and then,
I left the almost-created ‘UnCity’, and my ‘Un-Job’ behind.
As I left, I saw over my shoulder the Un-God “UNiT the Un-Barbarian”,
He fuming and cussing at me with super-human ferocity.
While metamorphizing from solidity to opaqueness to invisibility, he said:
“You may be wise & free but billions of you over there are but an army of empty amphora,
And I will fill you all with deception & you will soon again drink of my wine”.
“Don’t be so sure Unit” I said robustly, for your corruption is a mere shadow,
You are but a fearful parasitic tick on the back of a mightier and soulful beast,
Simply one tail flick or shrug from falling back into your deep abyss.
I was happy to be on my way,
Un-brainwashed, Uncompliant and free,
Gathering steam, and bringing many almost-taken ‘others’ back with me.
The End
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.
Published by Martin Anton Smith creations ltd (NZ) © All Rights reserved. No Commercial Use or Commercial Public Broadcast Allowed Without Written Permission. Non-Commercial/Educational Broadcast is Freely Encouraged.
The War of “23-“39 (Poem by Martin Anton Smith)
Welcome to Techno City Gulags
Where We Welcome the “Un-Complient”
Let’s Raise Our Glasses
To the Army of Empty Amphora
I’m Private Smith of Operation Barbarian
Just An Un-Complient Automaton Soldier
I Simply Couldn’t Comprehend
When Relayed Of The War’s End
It Was In Twenty Thirty Nine
We Defeated the Worlds Enemy
His Name Was UNiT the Un-Known
The Un-God Implanted In Our Dreams
We Are The Army of Empty Amphora
And They Stole Blood From Our Veins
They Took Our Voices And Then Our Thoughts
But Come For Our Souls? – ‘Think Again’.
by Martin Anton Smith
Welcome to Techno City Gulags.
Leave your real -world cares behind.
Our false God will be your saviour.
His name is UNiT the Un-Barbarian.
He is the Un-God of your dreams.
UNiT The Un-Barbarian Created a New World,
Out of the ashes of the old.
UNiT the Un-God spoke to all via thought messages.
UNiT’s first words created this new Unreality, he said:
“Let there be Un-Jobs”,
and there were.
“Let there be an Un-economy”,
and there it mathematically was.
“Let there be Un-Cities”,
and there invisibly so, they dwelt.
“Let there be Un-Unhappiness”,
and no one felt anything inside anymore.
“Let the People be un-unfree”,
And no one wanted to be either here nor there, as they were always in the same place.
And having spoken these words UNiT had now created his New Un-Reality.
————
Welcome to ‘Techno City Gulags’
Where we welcome the “Un-Complient”.
In TCG there is no need for physical freedom,
For we create a virtual paradise for but a small fee.
A simple monthly pledge of allegiance, is all we ask!
Now Repeat the ‘Three Un-Mantra’s’ After Me:
“I Agree that ‘UNiT the Un-Barbarian’ is your Un-God.”
“I Agree that the Real World is a Danger to Everyone. “
“I Agree That Paradise lies in The Un-City called Techno City Gulags. “
So now do you see how simple the new paradise will be?
Soon you will be transported away from the drudgerous & tiresome so called ‘real world’!
All you need to go there is to repeat the daily ‘Un-Mantra’, the 3 lines of Un-life.
And you will be un-unhappy and un-unfree,
Living safely in the Un-City,
as an Un-Complient Automaton.
Blissfully Un-Unhappy, for you have no human emotions.
You will become the ‘treasured property’ Of Our Un-God,
UNiT The UN-Barbarian!
—————
I became so brainwashed by these silky-smooth words,
I had agreed to enter the Un-Gates.
I was half way through the ‘Third Mantra’:
“I agree that Paradise lies in Tech…”
And I was suddenly interrupted & enlightened,
by something everlasting yet also ephemeral,
That words cannot clearly describe.
This unknown force had pulled the plug on all the silliness.
There and then,
I left the almost-created ‘UnCity’, and my ‘Un-Job’ behind.
As I left, I saw over my shoulder the Un-God “UNiT the Un-Barbarian”,
He fuming and cussing at me with super-human ferocity.
While metamorphizing from solidity to opaqueness to invisibility, he said:
“You may be wise & free but billions of you over there are but an army of empty amphora,
And I will fill you all with deception & you will soon again drink of my wine”.
“Don’t be so sure Unit” I said robustly, for your corruption is a mere shadow,
You are but a fearful parasitic tick on the back of a mightier and soulful beast,
Simply one tail flick or shrug from falling back into your deep abyss.
I was happy to be on my way,
Un-brainwashed, Uncompliant and free,
Gathering steam, and bringing many almost-taken ‘others’ back with me.
.
A Prose Poem by Martin . A . Smith
Big Mal Was Big 6 ft 6 And Wide As A House.
He Met The Beatles in ’62 & Bounced At the Cavern.
He Became A Roadie – Settin’ Up the Amps and Mics.
But His Real Job Was A Fab Four’s Personal Runaround.
Lennon Said: “Mal Socks”, And It Was Done.
Ringo Said: “Mal Undies”, And They Appeared.
George Said “Earl Grey Tea Mal”, And So Be It.
Paul Said: “Beetroot Sandwich Mal”, And That It Be.
The Big Lad Had a Big Smile And Thick Glasses,
Only Triumphed By His Big Heart and Rounded Edges.
A Wife And Kid At Home And Only Paid 38 Pounds A Week!
While The Beatles Had Mansions, Steak Dinners And Soiree’s to Greece
“I’m Just Too Nice To Ask for A Raise, An Extra Nickle”, He Wrote.
His Dairy Scrawling’s, Would One Day Make Someone Rich.
He Even Helped Paul Write A Line Or Two – So They Say At Least.
And Paul Promised Mal A Royalty? Or Did He? Or Did He Not?
Was Big Mal Too Nice Or Were The Fab 4 to Mean?
A Bit Of Column A, A Bit Of Column B?
In ’70, When Beatles Broke, Mal Became Broke In Another Way
Come ’75 He Was Financially and Emotionally Spent.
The Post-Beatle Industry, Was Far Too Tough For Big Kind Mal.
And While He Slumbered Around Trying To Forget,
His Sufferin’ Wife Lil Finally Left Through the Kitchen Window.
Down And Out, And Clutching The Last Straw,
He Scuppered to California And Rented A Dingey Room.
But It Was All Too Much For Big Friendly Mal,
And He Did What He Knew & He Hit The Bottle To Cope.
The Apple Corp Boss Called And Sensed He Needed Help.
But Alas No! Mal Said He ‘Wouldn’t Come Out Tonight’.
But Tomorrow 1PM For Lunch?, ” Yes I’ll Be There!” Said Mal.
And He Kept Drinkin’ & Drinkin’ & Taking What God Only Knows.
Drunk, Down And Doped He Played Inside With His BB Gun.
Cops Were Called And Thence They Did Come.
But the Airgun And Bourbon He didn’t Put Down.
“Just Let Me Be, It’s My…My…Mine!” He Did Scream.
And Together, The Cops Shot a Volley of Blamity Blam’s.
Of The 6 That Were Fired , So 4 did land.
Big Mal Now Harpooned, Did Slowly Sink Downwards.
Bottles Rattled And Floorboards Flew.
The Air Gun Clacked On The Ground Harmlessly,
Having Finally Left His Iron Clad Grip.
Medics Arrived And Then Counted Him Out Of The Game, aged Only 41.
But I Ask – Was His Death Really By His Own Misadventure?
Or Was It The Cops fault?
Or Do The Beatles Have Some Skin In The Game?
The Funeral Came And Went, But The Beatles Didn’t Go.
Just A Couple of Big Pips from The Apple Corps Did So.
He Was Cremated And Then His Ashes Posted.
Those Royal Mail Dopes Lost The Parcel, And So Beatle John Did Quip:
“Didn’t They Check The ‘Dead Letters Office’?”
But Now That The Death Was Done, What Doth The Judgement Be?
Your Honor, It’s Clearly 909th Degree Homicide & Now I Will Close My Case.
This Is The Ballad Of Big Mal Evans.
Just A Gentle Guy With a Giant Roar.
The Fluffy Monster The Beatles Needed.
A Constant Presence On Their Studio Floor.
Loved More Than They Dare Let On,
Far Far Too Big to Ignore, But Eventually He Was.
Was Big Mal Evans Maybe The “Unluckiest Lucky Man Alive”?
So “Unlucky” That He Was Actually Now Dead?
Drunk With A Pop-Gun & Shot Dead By The Cops.
And God Help Him, He Was Then Lost In The Post!
Yes, Mal Was Scrooged By The Fab Four and Apple,
But Don’t Blame His Demise On George Paul Ringo Or John,
All They Did Was Answer The Knock On “The Cavern’s” Door.
But I wonder – Would Mal Still Be Alive If They Had Doubled His Wage?
And Paid Him A Lousy 76 Pounds A Week?
Alas, As Ringo Supposedly Said: “Tomorrow Never Knows”.
And We Silly ‘Beatles Fans’ Will Never Know.
And In Closing, May I Ask a Final Question,
And Can I Pose A Final Thought?
Is Money The Root Of All Evil?
Or Is It The Lack Of It, That Is Evil?
Mal Evan’s Life, Or Should I say Life and Death,
Is Surely A Living Allegory, Of That Old Conundrum.
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 a New Poem which is also really a speech. It is quite self-explanatory in its main thrust, so I will only add this: I want to underline that not all Baby Boomers are bad, and we must not always on a personal and professional level strive not to tar everyone with the same brush and instead treat everyone on their individual merits. In saying that, I think it is totally fair to point out that a large group within a generation has failed to pay it forward, and this is what this Poem/Speech speaks too.
Sometimes a little shame is a good thing, for if more Boomers felt some shame for outbidding each other at these soulless auctions on a now ‘normalised’ speculative property market, then certainly mainstream society would not be so dysfunctional and breaking apart at the seams.
Though I will add the media is equally to blame in covering up this crime against humanity – for that is what it actually is.
Oh, and I almost forgot – to my fellow non-boomers, I think it very wise to think twice about engaging anarchy as a solution to a clueless elite in power. As the world after the anarchist-based Revolution can be worse than what you were originally fighting against – Russia 1917-1991 shows us this fact. But of course, to not do anything and not associate to decide to do something, is equally bad.
Also, to collectively clarify the end of the poem – to collectively agree that we must ‘not worry at all’ should not be confused with weak inaction. It is actually to do the opposite, that is to guardedly keep our high mental reserves and spirits in order to play and then win this game of attrition. I will read the piece now.
“Boomers Lake”
Poem/Speech by M.A. Smith
These days are full of tough toil.
The hours of work are unreliable.
There is either so many or so little,
All designed to keep you down.
The pay is near criminal,
The conditions interminable,
The prices of food are rising like a tide
The rent continues to inflate,
While the wages deflate.
God help you if you happen to have kids!
This The curse of being working class.
This the curse of the “un – asset-ed”
While we booze ourselves to forget,
We watch the toffs with the assets,
As they drink their fine wine,
In their gated establishments.
We know they deride us as a lazy rabble
For that is their cultural badge.
“Look at those rabble, so lazy that’s why they are poor” they cry.
But you Sir, oh man and wife with fine linen
Who doth malign us so,
You created our poverty and our rabble-ness,
By speculating and curtailing our land and houses.
You loaded the dice in your favour,
After the dice were cleaned and given to you free
By your parents and grandparents,
Who died for your current and future well-being and freedom.
You Traitorous few have danced on their graves and used the young as the dance floor.
So, we the great unwashed have little chance to raise capital,
God help us if we want to marry and have children.
Thus, we are forever chasing our tails.
We have been “property boomed” right out of social relevance.
By you sir, and your all-too-skinny wife who acts as your satellite, have gathered together a band of thieves’ rogues and liars.
You took the welfare state after WW2
And you destroyed the bounty from the 1980’s onwards.
When you grew from selfish immoral hippy to selfish immoral property flipper.
This was of course a seamless transition in your permanent spiritual vegetative state of moral wasteland induced psychosis.
You can’t of course look this ailment up in the DSM-V – as this recurrent Baby Boomer mental illness has been 100% redacted, whitewashed, blacklisted.
You can however find a list of its traits: lecherousness, narcissism, false idolatry, pig headedness,
When they report with chirpy voices on the 6 O’clock the latest Property Suicides Index figures.
You Mean Boomer Sir, and your too thin too wrinkly mean wife on the hill,
Were handed a gold mine by your parents,
But you were supposed to share it,
Instead, you hoarded it.
You gated it.
you segregated it.
You made it faux scarce to pump up the price.
You turned the world into a nouveau riche, new money-grubbing wasteland.
But here’s the thing – you think you can hide in your social bubbles, your gated leafy suburbs, your dinner party’s & expensive restaurants.
You think you can avoid the dirty festering nest you have made for the majority of society.
But you will be surprised!
When the horrid rabble you created
Rise up from the gutters and the wrong side of the tracks
To take over your house and seize your assets.
And lock you and your wife in your basement – less you repent your sins.
For in the near future the great unwashed has already risen up
And repossessed all your stolen trappings of “success”.
What’s that? You worked bloody hard to get where you are?
Well Sir, your great unwashed underlings work bloody hard to get nowhere!
But even if some miracle occurs and your assets are not redistributed, and you are not strung up in the square,
Do you really think that it is possible to reverse the gift entrusted to you – that of your physical existence on earth?
Did you think you could take that gift and turn it into a hornet’s nest, and suffer no spiritual repercussions?
This is a lie,
This is an egregious lie!
You pay right now in real-time, with the unfriendly scowl that is ensconced forever on your droopy jowled face,
You pay with the dastardly dreaded darkness that fills your heart,
You pay with forever future fearful punishment for those good deeds you undone.
You pay with you lost spiritual awareness.
And you will surely pay after you leave this mortal coil.
But “there is no afterlife, there is no God” I hear you say!
Sir Boomer, that is the wrong bet you have made for so long.
You Sir and Madam boomer have made a bad bet, that the “Great Creator” of this simulated reality
did not write some lines of code to ensure punishment of the very very mean ones.
But of course, he would do that, after all wouldn’t you?
Do you not also protect your investments here on earth?
Just as you have punished the good on Earth, so too will you be punished.
Would you Boomer Sir write a world where the avatars who ruin your creation, are rewarded?
This is a fallacy – for whether someone is mean or good they have always one thing in common:
They love their creations they protect their goods and punish those who trespass these.
Beware! The Great Creator is no different, he hates to see the Boomer Investor classes hurt his people.
So Dear Mean Boomer – your giant earthly dinner party, with an exclusive door list, with your purple robes and fine wine,
Will be crushed into an eternal prison cell.
But as your deceptions rise, so will your eternal imprisonment!
But when you are put there, you will deny where you are,
You will pretend “everything is ok, fine, fine and dandy”.
You say this lie despite the flesh that hangs from your now gruesome, horror movie zombie body.
Yes! It is the flames that flicker and sear your rotting flesh that you ignore.
Yes! It is the maggots that infest your eyes that you will deny.
So, the Deceptive Boomers Investor Classes did enjoy their last few Earthly minutes.
They did attend the final dinner parties with fellow outrageously selfish snobs.
But little did they know that when Reginald asked
“What are you driving these days”
They were all being driven to the fiery gates, to the catacombs of oblivion where they would reside for infinity.
Those Boomers were on a road trip to the one place they will never have power to gate, to exclude to sequester to distort.
To The Pit, The Bad side of Hades, The Lake of Fire.
But I lament, will we ever on earth see the headline:
“Wealthy Baby Boomer Elite Classes Now Repent Earthly Sins As they & Thier Wives Burn In The Lake Of Fire” ?
I say to thee this: No We Will Not See That Headline!
For the Boomer Property Flippers and Social Destroyers, aka the “Angel’s of Death”, would never ever embarrass themselves like that.
They would never ever show any signs of weakness, even in Hell!.
Even as their undead corpses are entombed inflamed for eternity.
I even hear they have set up a “Hellfire Investors Club” which is currently only awaiting the regulator’s signature.
His name of course is Barry Lewis Zebub, or B. L. Zebub.
Of course, the Boomers in Hell have a love hate relationship with this entity,
As he holds up all their new projects with so much unnecessary red tape.
“Hell wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for Zebub”, the Boomers cry.
“We would get this place shipshape and more miserable if it weren’t for bloody Zebub’s bureaucracy” they despair.
See even in Hell the boomers wanted to run things their own way.
For they always cried out to Zebub to renovate and extend their deeply buried catacombs.
B.L. Zebub was always on to their tricks of course and wisely ignored them.
In fact when a Boomer requested to “Double the Square Footage of his Catacomb”, Zebub halved it and doubled the temperature.
And now in closing,
We as full Party members of Poverty-Stricken Non-Boomer Gutter Wrens (PSNBGW) must rise above and against the Ultra Mean Boomer classes but not of course against the countless good Boomers.
We must not let the Boomer Classes steal our earthly and animal spirits any more,
We must know that our time in paradise will come,
and so, with graceful patience in the face of acute Boomer-Itis,
We must follow this short life affirming dictum from Britain’s Windsor Davies,
That member of the “Silent Generation” said this:
“Oh Dear,
How Sad,
Never mind. ”
For our Revolution will be not to retort with understandable anarchy, but ensure we do not worry at all anymore.
For those that destroy the trees of society will always one day suffocate for their foolishness.
All that is needed of us is this:
To simply watch from afar and mutter amongst ourselves the words “I told you so Boomer”.
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.
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