Uncategorized – Page 13 – Anton Martin Smith Writer

“The Slave Farm” (A Thought)

March 17, 2025March 17, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Awareness, bible, Christianity, Corporations, history, jesus, Modern Day Slavery, modern-day-life, Slavery, The Rank And File, The World, the-earth, the-economy, Truth, warningLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

This ‘World’ & its ‘Economy’ are made for Four types:

Firstly –

The under-confidant slave type, from ‘bad families’.

These are those that are perpetually squashed & always have been throughout History.

Let’s call them The Slaves – for yes, they definitely still exist.

They take their beatings like the hardened soldiers they are.

They are the rank & file of the Corporation.

Secondly,

Is the over-confidant but totally average intellegence type,

Let’s call them the ‘Slave Line Managers’

Who are smart enough to do the work assigned,

But not too smart to raise the question ‘why do it at all?’.

These types are willing to pull the ladder up on their own – the Slaves,

Becasue they like the carrots then dished out.

These are the ‘Corporate achievers’ – The Corporate Leaders & Managers.

They occupy the top two-thirds of the Corporation.

It’s worth mentioning the Apex types of these,

These are the Machiavellian types from the so called ‘good families’ & boarding schools.

They are the CEO’s, The Execs, The Partners, The Politicians, the MP’s & PM’s & Presidents.

These are the ones that are talked about on the airwaves,

The ones in movies you are told in a myriad of sneaky ways to respect, to obey.

The Third kind are the modern-day Slave Owners

They are the Ultra Mega Billionaires – the ones that own all the key assets,

These are those that sell mega credit cards to entire nations – to enslave them.

They have the controlling share of THE EARTH.

And contrary to airwave propaganda – they decide what is done & when.

These are the types that let World Wars happen.

It is imporatant that these types are anonymous & hide in the shadows –

They’d be assassinated in a second otherwise.

Oh & I almost forgot – theres a Fourth type – The Celebrity –

These are the empty vessels that are the autometon agents of Slave Owners –

They are a special type of Slave –

They are stupid, wildly overconfident,

& desperate to remedy a distinct lack childhood parental love.

The Slave owner uses these types of Slaves as a messenger to all the other Slaves.

The message is

“Stay in your lane Slave!”

“Follow orders rom above”

“Don’t think you can escape now”

“We’ve got you for life!”

Then their are those that live ourside the World & The Economy:

They’ll probably die early under a bridge,

Becasue to live outside the system entails this.

These are the Angels.

And they cannot feel hatred,

And they are not violent either.

Only the Slave Owners & the Angels themselves know this.

The other two ranks of Slaves merely call the ‘Bums’ or ‘Losers’.

The Slave Owners have designed a wicked system of genius,

Whereby if you reject the World & The Econony,

As an Angel would & does,

You will be nade to suffer greatly,

So much so, all will see it.

You will serve as a warning to all the other Slaves to not to do the same.

The last thing they want,

Is for you to enjoy the good & bountiful natural world as it was designed for you.

They must stop this at all costs,

And that’s why The World looks as it does today –

A Slave Farm.

Yes Sir & Maddam,

The Slave Owners do some devilish works.

And now you know it too.

“Use The Fork (if your daddies poor) (A Thought)

March 8, 2025March 9, 2025Posted in UncategorizedLeave a comment

I once found myself at a fork in the road,

So I picked it up, took it home & put it in the cutlery draw.

I also thanked that unknown road worker in my mind that had dropped it.

That night I started using it on some mash potato, & I got to thinking.

Your soul wants you to be authentic, but the world wants you to be a cheap knock-off.

This is your fork in the road of life, so long as your daddies not rich.

If your daddies rich, the road is a straight line & you will find no forks, only silver spoons.

This story is for those whose daddies were poor or were poor but called themselves middle class.

In this car You can Choose admirable grinding Poverty, or nagging empty comfortability.

Of course, in one of those cases you won’t need to remove all your mirrors – your be able to look at the reflection & not wince.

The choice is yours, but you can’t ever go back – will you throw the mirrors out or mount them on the walls? That is the question.

Once you make your choice – mirrors or no mirrors, you can’t go back. Don’t kid yourself that you can.

Once you ban the mirrors you will soon smash them into a million shards of glass, sweep them up, bin them & never admit they existed.

This is the fork in the road we all face, so long as our daddies were poor, or thought they weren’t.

“PS…I Will Most Likely Dissapoint You” (A Poem)

March 8, 2025March 8, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Bob Dylan, Books, Brainwashing, Earth, fiction, Humour, life, mental-health, Modern Day Slavery, Non Conformity, Poems, social commentary, The World, writingLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

I am an Arty type,

I’ve drawn, painted, played music, & written stuff.

I self-sabotage – but that’s just another (unpublished) story.

But weirdly for an Arty type,

I look after my health & fitness.

I also now work with my hands.

So I’m in pretty good shape.

I could almost pass for a personal trainer.

This is a problem.

For for others, i.e. normies – I confuse them.

They feel they are not getting what they are buying.

They want a fellow unthinking normie jock.

But in me they get an overthinker;

A non-fiction & literature type book reader;

A night owl-late-rising “slacker”;

A “conspiracy theorist”;

A guy who can’t ever keep his room clean long;

Someone who can’t be easily brainwashed;

Someone who can think properly;

Someone who knows that Slavery never ended –

Only expanded to include everyone,

The fact hidden via ubiquitous airwave mantras;

Someone who knows that Brainwashing is the real economic currency on Earth;

So given all the above – most soon grow to hate me.

They wanted their real bona fide Jock,

Their unthinking buff personal trainer,

Their ardent careerist who thinks they’ll soon ‘get there’,

If only they’d work more hours in the office.

Someone who’d agree with their goon-scripted banalities & frivolities.

Someone who’d agree with ‘The Programming’.

Well I’m sorry that I falsely advertised myself visually.

But to nick the soon-to-be-forgotten cliche line –

From the finally soon-to-be-forgotten Bob Dylan,

That ain’t me babe,

No No No,

That ain’t me babe,

That ain’t me your looking for.

(Note: The ‘that aint me babe’ cliche works only if you also sing the line)

I know I’m breaking the artistic rules by being Arty AND Fit,

But there’s a good reason for it.

I liked Science & Maths before I liked Art.

You see, being fit simply makes sense,

If you have to still live in the physical world.

We are far too obsessed with our petty in-groups,

Where to be admitted into supposed ‘rebellion’,

You have to wear the right uniform.

And so I ask of you:

Why would a person who can truly act & think freely,

Ever agree to such a monstrosity?

So I will continue to look like a jock,

Despite the mass disappointment it engenders.

If only I’d make better art.

But again,

That’s just another (unpublished) story.

“The Alcoholic You Always Wanted To Be” (A Poem)

February 27, 2025March 1, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Alcoholic, anti-depressants, Beer, fiction, Humour, life, Poems, social commentary, Strees, TruthLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

He has a fat beer barrelled belly,

While your waist has only a few rings of crisp ‘n’ soda -flab.

He has a stench that attests to his 3 day & counting bender,

While you smell like a fresh daisy plucked from a mountain stream.

His voice is raspy & harsh from drunken whoops & hollers at the dive bar,

While your sclerotic office voice sounds like a hungry cat whining for its morning feeding.

The drunkard’s villa is an ode to haphazard-ry, with loosely connected pyramids of beer cans,

While your apartment looks like it’s been ‘staged’ by the real estate wonks.

I could go on & on, but let’s just cut to the summary:

In a weird kinda way you are jealous of this beer belly joe,

For he wears his woes out loud,

While you have concocted an elaborate cover story.

Come on!

Just plain admit it.

He’s the Alcoholic you always wanted to be,

But you were afraid,

For fear of what people might think.

One day you’ll have the courage to raise a glass to beer belied Joe,

Crumple the empty can in your hand,

it & throw it backwards over your head,

Till you hear it recoil & fall after hitting the overfilled bin & its aluminium foothills,

Then reach for another beer.

But you’re not ready yet.

You might never be ready to reach such illustrious, truth infused heights,

Of that generalised, fictionalised, traditionalised & ‘cantankerised’ patriot,

Who isn’t necessarily a man,

Whom I’ve simply called ‘Beer Belied Joe’.

And so because you’re not ready yet,

You reach meekly into your bathroom cupboard,

And quietly pop an anti-depressant.

But if & only if,

A day comes where you can throw the empty stress pill wrapper over your head,

And not care a jot where it lands,

Then we can talk.

And lastly – to the poetry critics in the future,

Yes I may simply have been talking to myself,

A conversation across decades,

Between my younger & older self.

For can a poet ever really exclude himself from his words?

“Alas The Poor Fellow Has DHPS” (A Poem)

February 19, 2025February 19, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Love, Marriage, mens issues, relationships, war, Women, writing, ww1, ww2, WW3Leave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

Women prefer good looking men.

But what they really really live for is a “fixer upper”.

YES, Women prefer ‘Simpletons’.

So if you have brains, you better hide it fella!

That is, if you want to get laid.

Which, if you are the average joe schmoe,

You will be willing to lose your life for.

The odd Black Widow aside, this, usually happens metaphorically of course.

That deadening drawn out-ed-ness spiritual death.

of long-term Domestic Hen-Peckery.

This doesn’t all happen out of nowhere, so let me explain.

It all happens like this:

The bloke is so desperate for sex he marries a henpecking bitch,

Who soon enough ends up not shaging him anyway.

Soon enough he’s left only with a Henpecker, that won’t touch his Pecker.

Which is, inarguably so, a fate worse than death.

The only thing left to hope for for these poor fellows, is for a World War to again break out.

For when WW1 & WW2 broke, these henpecked & dusty peckered lot rejoiced heartily!

For they were no longer trapped at home with their wives & children!

Sure they might get their heads blown off by flak or rifle fire at any minute,

But that was a relatively small price to pay in comparison to their Domestic Henpeckery.

This is the problem with most men you see –

They overprice the chances of gleeful marital or defacto sex,

Yet totally underprice their chances of daily freedom.

For a man without a modicum of freedom, is truly not really a man.

He is but a shell of one.

That fact should not be deemed controversial, old fashioned or untrue.

Of course ‘Domestic Henpeckery’s’ got so so much worse nowadays,

As Nazi-like feminism has become as normalised as a deadly WW2 Panzer attack in 1940.

And so after decades upon decades of this phenomenon,

So now men have become women & women men.

And often very literally so.

It is an attrocious state of affairs!

So I have a final message to the modern 21st Century man:

Don’t be stupid,

Don’t marry of even date a Hen Pecker! –

Value your freedom of Association!

Value your freedom of Speech!

Value your freedom of Movement!

Value your Solitude!

Don’t marry a Hen Pecker,

Not Now,

Not Never,

Or on behalf of you Pecker!

Which contrary to working class beliefs,

Has acutely limited executive function.

It’s either that or get trapped & wait for WW3,

To finally set you free.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Although I’m probably kidding myself,

As men who over-trust their peckers, also don’t read books.

And so certainly – not my obscure & curmudgeonly written poems,

Emanating from the Arse-End-Of-The-World.

Luckily for me,

A subset of them might.

Perhaps a few hardened prison inmates might end up read these words,

So I’ll also half-dedicate this Poem to them.

Off course my warning is largely useless for these jailbirds,

For they are already protected by the Deadly Henpeckers by wrought iron bars,

Those Lucky Bastards!

But then again – one day they’ll too rejoin us all in the prison without bars.

But for the rest of the henpecked non book reading dopes out there,

They can only hope that their Putin stands strong & then their Trump retaliates with fire (or vice versa).

And so then,

Once again,

And as always,

A World War can come quietly to set them free,

From that casually murderous misandry,

Known in the near future in the Psychiatrist’s DSM manuals as:

Domestic Hen-Peckery Syndrome.

(Or DHPS for short).

“Simpletons Sitting Pretty in Simpletonia”

February 16, 2025February 19, 2025Posted in philosophy, Poems, UncategorizedLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

Women prefer good looking men.

But what they really really live for is a “fixer upper”.

Women also prefer ‘Simpletons’

And incidentally, so does Society in general.

So if you’re both,

You’ve hit the jackpot.

You’ll be swotting them off like flies.

If you have brains & are good looking –

They’ll look, possibly try on,

But they certainly won’t buy.

Why is this so?

Shouldn’t natural selection prefer the good looking And bright?

You would think so but no.

The local environment now favours Simpletons.

Simpletons in the 21st Century get the best jobs,

Simpletons get thrown the cash.

Yes their are Smart Good Looking Rich Men,

But they are now a rarity.

In this new age of sorcery & suspicion,

A Man with brains is not to be trusted.

The mediocre man is now lauded, welcomed & reproduced with.

Women by liking pretty dopes,

ARE just going with natural selection!

Is a ‘Natural Selection’ Specifically calibrated,

For the bad is good, good is bad,

Upside down madhouse world of the 21st Century.

The madhouse has its own internal logic.

And by liking Rakish Simpletons,

The Ladies are just following that.

And so Woe to Western Civilisation!

Where a man with Brains is a Wizard,

To be burnt at the stake.

He is the modern day Witch.

And while I’d rather not agree with Schopenhauer’s Philosophy,

It is indeed true,

That for Modern Man

His only chance,

Is to hide his words & his books,

Behind a false veneer mask,

Of the new age Casanova –

The Simpletonian,

Who sits pretty, in Simpletonia.

“Miniature Alsatian” (A Poem)

February 16, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Alsatian, Doberman, Dogs, Humour, Poems, WordsLeave a comment

The interloping ginea pig entered my premises…

& duly chased away my guard dog.

The pusillanimity of my Doberman Pincher,

Was roundly discussed by my neighbours, every time I entered the front yard.

My cheeks would blanch at their retorts,

My feeble replies were but a thin poultice to my deeply wounded pride.

Next time I’ll choose a miniature Alsatian.

Buk was right (a thought)

February 12, 2025Posted in UncategorizedLeave a comment

Bukowski was correct …The only thing perfect that a stock standard always jealous human being has Is their hatred & willingness to exercise it. . .they don’t realise in being like that they are helping the slave masters plan perfectly. . .to squash any freedom of expression & originality in the minds of the wage slaves….& incidentally when it somehow dispite the impossible odds does pop up in one of the masses – they make sure to hijack it – they turn them into celebrities who are bribed to agree to milk & distract their former colleagues – the wage slaves. A celebrity is usually just a working class turncoat of the worst calibre

“Born Into Insanity” (A Poem)

February 7, 2025February 8, 2025Posted in Poems, social commentary, Sociology, UncategorizedTagged deception, fiction, Poems, social commentary, society, SuicideLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

Death by one’s own hand is a terrible thing,

And everyone says so,

And everyone agrees.

But the real question is this:

Given the The World is as it is,

We should be asking,

“why don’t more people do it?”.

After all, when you really look at it,

‘The World’ is designed to create misery.

We’re living in a contrived artificial reality,

That was artificial long before computers were around.

For all the most important stuff – energy, food, housing,

We have Cartels owned & run by Psyco’s who create artificial shortages,

To jack up the price,

This all keeps The Hamsters redlining themselves on the wheel.

If they stop running the wheel will kill them in a second.

The wheel will throw them under the nearest bridge,

And it does all the time.

We can be sure of one thing:

The World is by design a bad place for most.

So much so that even those ‘doing well’ are miserable.

The Truth is we should all still be living as hunter gathers,

Or at worst in small self-sufficient villages.

This was the real design of the Earth,

And is what every other creature abides by.

It’s just the humans that let themselves be hoodwinked,

All those millennia ago.

We were just born into it, & so never thought it was truly fucked up.

We were all born into insanity,

And we will die in it.

And most will never realise.

Always question things –

For unquestioned ‘normality’ is anything but.

But for now.

We are still the butt of own own jokes.

For those of us ‘in the know’,

Let us not be all like

“Oh dear, how sad, never mind”.

Addendum:

Sadly I still predict the Chattering Classes will continue to only Chatter.