“The Economy (Wants You Dead)” (An Idea)

by Martin Anton Smith

The Economy wants all your time,

All your energy,

All your attention.

While you’re its useful slave – it’ll run you ragged, daily.

It’ll make you sit & stare at a eye ruining-dopamine destroying – 25 fps-flickering-doom screen.

And they work you’re doing isn’t any more real,

Than the social construct that created it.

The “story” is that down the line something “of value” is produced.

That’s a lie – 90% of what’s produced is in reality a by-product.

The real product is Brainwashing – the product/service is in actuality, just the derivative of that.

“Holidays away for the plebs” – Brainwashing to squeeze the last remainder of cash from the slaves.

“House, Land + Mortgage package” – designed to trap you as a Modern Slave to “The Economy”.

“Brand Marketing” – hacks your biological need for social acceptance.

“Alcohol fueled weekends” – designed to make you forget last week but ensure you show up Monday.

The idea of a “Career” – this is to induce you to ditch your family & community in your home town.

The “Career” pretends to pay you more so to justify casting away responsibility to your community.

The “Career” or “Full time Job” in The Economy wants to half kill at least 75% of the World.

These 75% are the ones that agree to be Totalised Slaves in & to the system.

By deft chicanery “The Economy” kills all the slave’s energy & extinguishes any “life spark” they have.

This death dished by “The Economy” has these bedfellows

Feelings of hopelessness

Dispair

Loneliness

Isolation

Bad blood pressure

Heart disease

Liver disease

Anti depressant mania

I could list more of course but you get my drift.

So that 75% are the captured ones in the system, that are dying spiritually & energetically.

The other 25% are those that literally die on the streets.

They function as a constant warning to the other 75% – that things could even be worse if you copy them.

The 25% die on the Streets because they can’t reach ‘minimum employment standards’,

OR they it is because the refused to partake in the only system on offer – THE ECONOMY.

“The Economy” kills most these 25% withing 10 years of being on the streets.

“The Economy” is the inverse of Earth’s natural abundance.

“The Economy” creates Artificial scarcity of everything you want,

But creates an Artificial Surplus of The Worker Slave Pool:

This is called “Structural Unemployment” & is permanent by design.

It Keeps the Slaves wages & requests down to a minimum.

I could go on forever, but it suffices to summarise:

“The Economy” is what you should be afraid of,

Rally against,

See its Propaganda,

Use it against itself.

It wants the whole world either dead inside or dead on the streets.”

“The Economy” – the first Virtual Reality ever invented.

So stop being a sucker, a modern-day Slave to The Economy.

Why pledge your allegiance & life for a mirage?

Why be The Evil Machiavellians whipping boy?

There is no need my friend.

When you can know all this & still choose to smile through it all.

“The Economy” will notice you still have your soul intact.

Then that Beast will see you’re living well.

And that is, as they say, the best Revenge you can have.

“They Didn’t Travel All That Way For That” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

They all have jet boats.

They all have Jet Skis

And Dogs,

Sometimes two of them,

Often aggressive & all off-leash.

They all have a Mrs or a Mr literally within reach,

Who is their metaphorical Siamese twin.

They all can’t bear the insanity brought on by sitting alone with their own minds.

They reproduce so easily & make exact mini copies of themselves.

They are banal & their copies are banal.

They don’t read books at all.

They avoid anything involving a call to a higher self.

In fact, they actively rally against it.

They are the reason the authorities keep schtum about the truth of alien life.

While there are many more billions of them than us,

With that kind of man,

Mankind is definitely not ready yet.

And neither are ‘The Off-Worlders’.

They didn’t travel all that way for that.

“A Miner’s Bath” (A Poem)

By Martin Anton Smith

So today I was doing a manly manly thing.

I was working with on a bathroom renovation.

And in these situations you must make the most of it.

When you pull off a sheet of Gib aka Dry Wall – you roar like an angry lion.

When you pull off a noggin – you roar.

When you pull out a tack – you roar.

When you sweep up some construction dust – you roar.

These are the pathetic things us men now have to do.

It makes us for a split second think that we haven’t lost our masculinity entirely.

And so when the days work was done – I figured I’d keep the theme going.

I decided I’d go have a ‘miners bath’ – that is to jump into n the river with a bar of soap.

So I walked my 300 meters to the mighty blue river.

I jumped in with all my clothes on – even a old timer wide brim hat.

The soap was in the pocket, out it came & I washed my hair and then a quick once over the rest.

It was just what the old gold miners did in ‘thems old days’.

Back when masculinity wasn’t a dirty word – it was a requirement of all men.

I was almost in the same bathwater from the miners of 1860 to 1890.

The water was quite warm & then my big bar of soap fell out & sank on the bottom.

I bet this was also an old miners tradition – to lose your soap in the river.

My nostalgia was ruined when a guy came along talked to me & then made a cell phone call while he was knee deep.

I will definitely be taking more ‘miners baths’ in the future.

it affords a simple pleasure in a time without much simplicity or genuine pleasure.


These things stave off the spectre of domestic insanity at least until the next day.

I could have “roared” when I was in the water, but then that would have been sophomore-ish at best.

I simply got out & said to the guy “don’t drop your phone”.

Ahh miners bath is a thing a beauty.

I walked back home with the gait & energy of a seargeant major from a real army.

Yes readers, my Masculinity was internally roaring along like a Baritone Beast, a Harley Davidson.

But then perhaps I should shut up – else everyone will be having ‘miners baths’.

And forever ruin my slim to none chances of grabbing some pure solitude.

But then Ned Kelly was right – “such is life”.

We’re not here to ‘win’.

A true masculine man will know this innately.

And now that word, like the modern man himself – has lost all meaning.

Thank God I’m here to write about it all!

Tomorrow I could search for the bar of soap at the bottom of the river.

But why would I?

It’s either lost forever, far too soft or will have entirely disintegrated into its watery surroundings.

Just like Men have.




“No Competition”

You go to the supermarket & something simple like some peanut oil costs an arm and a leg.

You fill one third a tank of gas to your beat up old bomb & they take the other arm & leg.

You go home & pay the rent to the nouveau Riche landlord @ they take your genitals.

Feeling a bit woozy you you go to the doctor roll in & without looking at you he throws a handful of anti-depressants over his shoulder & tells you to get out.

On the way out you pay the disinterested doctors receptionist she takes all that’s left of you.

There’s nothing left but your disembodied spirit.

But now that your free to keep the body alive at all costs you can really appreciate how fucked up it all is.

”Boy they really really hate the working man these days” you say to yourself.

Then from behind you hear a giant vacuum machine sound.

Before you know it your sucked into a big bag with all the other disembodied working stiffs.

While doubled over inside & residing in a fold in the material you read some words written on the bag.

”Unpaid Govt Order for Tax Soul Concentration Recovery, for the Wandering Enlisted Dead”

I thought that was pretty wordy & then I looked to the other side of the bag. in big letters was the acronym.

U*G*O*T*S*C*R*E*W*E*D

I paused my mind & spirit for a minute to appreciate the perfect beauty of their all round evilness.

You gotta hand it to those bastards – they really thought of everything.

I thought to myself

“Man than Adam Smith was right! – this is what happens when no one fights for Competition in the Marketplace!

I made a pact to myself that if I was reborn into this madhouse I’d lead a bloody rebellion for that very cause.

But for now I just closed my eyes, which still felt like they were there. After all it was too late now – there was nothing else I could do but wait.

“Aliens & Us: Are we Their Pets, Livestock, or Is Earth Just A Joint For The Cosmically Depressed ” (An Article of Whimsy)

By Martin Anton Smith

A truly intelligent & cultured person or being for that matter, who has long conquered themselves, doesn’t invite a Stone Age barbarian to live with him or live amongst them freely. To do so would invite serious harm and would refute the premise that they have attained high wisdom & self control as individuals, a group or society or even perhaps as an extra-terrestrial species.

Well – it’s the same thing with the Aliens & Us thing. And yes it is a ‘thing’ unless you’ve been living under a nice upper middle class rock in a highly manicured garden a far too leafy green suburb. And anyway perhaps one day even the snobs on the hills of the world will have to look reality squarely in its big sloping almond shaped eyes. One day.

But back to what I said earlier – about smart things or beings not ever hanging with Neanderthals.

Well it’s time to admit that that’s not strictly true – said man or woman or being might do as such for probably only a couple of main reasons: They have become totally abjectly bored and want to risk being beaten up, killed or raped, or maybe just have their living rooms destroyed or to witness a beast do other generically beast-like things, such as snort, growl relieve themselves etc.

Yes, Perhaps we could be a dumping ground for bored and/or depressed Aliens. Maybe Earth could be some kind of “last hurrah” for some extra terrestrials on their way out either spiritually or physically. Maybe Earth is a “Death Pod”.

The other reason is we are their ‘livestock’ and they are feeding off us somehow , perhaps it’s an indirect such as carbon dioxide capture or bad psychic energy harvesting or maybe a direct culling of a few beasts here & there, with an occasional ‘mass cull’. Maybe ww2 or the Spanish Flu was one of these ‘mass culls’. You never know.

Another third more simple idea is that we are their pets – they harvest mostly just good feelings from us, & they agree to feed us, keep us safe from ourselves and from outside threats. Maybe that’s why there’s been no asteroid big enough to wipe us out for 65 Million years – they look out for those things & change there trajectory so they miss. Or maybe they vaporise them with a giant mega-lazer gun.

So to recap: it’s either Assisted Suicide/On a Bender/Last hurrah for them, OR we are either their livestock OR more fortuitously, their cute fuzzy little Pets. Ok most of us have faced for radio – but perhaps they’ll think that’s cute. You might hear them say of the ugliest of us:

”Look at my cute George Soros, look at his wrinkles….oh and little Hillary Clinton has just started tapping her foot & is asking for her biscuits…..oh wait shit…look over there, my Whoopi Goldberg just did a Woopsie on my fine Arcturian rug!”


Oh and you might think that I’ve made a big error by implying that they may have have invited us into their living rooms – well let me explain. If they were here long before us, long before we split from the chimps, & it was they that biologically engineered us to be us – then isn’t that that effectively what has happened? Philosophy haven’t we been invited into their homes?

You could call it the “They were here first & we owe it all them thesis”. They might just be popping out of their multi-millennia-old sea base in the Pacific or the Atlantic or from under the ice in Antarctica. This is of course a very popular UFO theory amongst us tin foil hat wearers around the world.

Now let’s return to the other theories – The we are their Livestock theory & We are their Pets theory.

So if we are their livestock or pets then we will no doubt be able to live as we have been, or should I say “as they have allowed us to live”.

I guess this stupid planet would like that just fine, because (if you’ve noticed) most people are happy to be rough diamonds at best and walking disasters at worst. Under the “Pet theory” the Aliens would occasionally pet us or they scoop up our negative vibes as snacks. But they will always feed us & keep us safe-a classic win-win for all of us involved!

But the most interesting theory of the three is that they are bored slash depressed beyond belief & as a last gasp reprieve from the darkness, are up for some high risk & adventure. This theory would naturally mean they “walk amongst us” already …and as their boredom is relieved by excitement the higher then are their expectations and willingness are for ever more amplified risk-tasking behaviour.

At that point they will want to work with us live with us live with us, be weird friends with us, party with us, Hell they may want to marry us or even fool around with us. Intergalactic shagging – the stuff James T. Kirk was obsessed by. Who knows, on this matter maybe Roddenberry’s words may breath themselves into fire. The sixties were definitely open minded.

Maybe they’ll go on benders with us. Hell maybe they will be like “Alien Bukowski’s” & we will be their “Alien Bukowski Floozies” – well go on benders with them in dive bars & then retreat with them to our flop-houses to get rest till we do the same thing tomorrow.

That behaviour would of course lead to many alien suicides. Under my theory this is what many of them must secretly want – they have lost their will to live, and have reached their limits of their sanity. So if so, why not throw yourself into the Gorilla cage called Earth – it might perk you up a bit.

We would like that self serving option Vs to be pets or livestock, which of course we may already be.

Humans after all if anything, selfish. And the Alien suicide slash on a bender theory , we don’t need to look at ourselves in the mirror. Our natural state of being.

Just a theory, mind.

Outside that prime theory, I guess the next best one is to be ‘Pets’. Being a pet of an alien is much better than the ‘livestock’ option. Then they’ll love us more than their own.

But could we handle that? I’m not sure we could. It’s gonna mess with our minds too much. After all we only like those that agree with our worldview, no matter how twisted & unhealthy that is.

That’s how caveman-like we humans still are. Even our ‘Ivory Tower Professors’ that pretend they are intellectually holier than thou & ultra sophisticated – they act like cavemen too whenever someone points out a hole in one of their theories – the toys come out of the cot & the club comes down via the cloak of their sharp sabre toothed silver tongues.

No matter what happens, a real life Alien Arrival or not, there is no escaping ourselves – under both scenarios we are still stuck with having to put up with each other, caveman to caveman, inmate to inmate.

If we are lucky they will be just boozy depressed Aliens on a one way farewell mission that will lessen their cosmic depression. In which case this means they will have already been here for a long time & people like me have long got roaring drunk with them at shitty bars, under the misconception that they are just fellow human lonely depressed drunkards. When in fact they are Extra-Terrestrial lonely depressed drunkards. Seriously – wouldn’t that be cool?

I only hope that on one glorious day while both humans & aliens are slamming down cheap pints, they will be able to take off their “human costumes” & we won’t lose our shit. Then something like the alien bar scene in Star Wars can play out – losers from all over the universe living in a grimy, weird & twisted paradise!

When that amazing day happens, I’ll be there on a bar stool telling over the top Earth based ‘life war stories’ no doubt to an argumentative & bored, but also very hilarious Pleiadian drunk (or Alpha Centurian or a Trappist for that matter).

They’ll no doubt always have their elephant trunk like mouths sunk deep in a glass of specially brewed for aliens – ‘Galactic Guinness’. Maybe most of them too will have have had shit jobs & batshit crazy wives or girlfriends, husbands & boyfriends, neighbours, landlords, bosses & workmates to full them up with great hard luck bar stories too.

Yes the biggest surprise of all might be that they are a lot more like us than we think possible. But then we shouldn’t be too surprised about that – after all a slave or a slave boss from antiquity would, after they got over the shock of it all, probably be right
at home. I mean apart from technology, nothings really changed has it? Maybe that’s the same with them. Maybe Aliens are just as happy throwing their shit at each other just like us.

Maybe paradoxically ‘throwing shit at each other’ is just an important factor for intelligent life as is opposable thumbs or carbon or a big brain. Maybe we all need conflict, drama & some batshit crazy just to keep us on this side of sanity? After all, the comfortable rich folk at the country clubs are some of the most unhappiest assholes out there of all.

I rest my case dear reader.

THE END




”Use The Sauce, Luke” (a skit)

by Martin Anton Smith

New Star Wars Movie!!!!!

I heard their is a new Star Wars movie (My very own spoof idea, in fact) where it has an alternate timeline.
Luke decides to not ever join the Jedi’s, & despite Yoda & Obiwan’s pleas, he decides to flip burgers for various transiting aliens (the Naboo etc) on the planet called Mos Isley.

The movie is called “Use the sauce Luke”. It culminates with Yoda & Obi-wan agreeing to stop harassing Luke at the Drive through window, & the also agree to quit the Force & work with Luke at the Drive Thru.

Here is a snippet of the proposed script:

Obiwan: Use the sauce Luke!
Luke: That’s what I’ve been doing all year dummy!
Yoda: Hot Pink Uniforms, great they are!
Luke: I thought I’d got rid of you guys!
Obiwan: Fair enough – You tired of us…but we got lonely! We ain’t as tough as we make out!By the way…how is your Father?
Luke: Pretty good, he owns the Franchise – but now he calls himself “Darth Feeder”
Yoda: ha ha ha Funny you are Master Luke!
Luke: Their ain’t nothin’ funny about the Galactic Burger Biz Yodes!
Obi-wan: Luke Are you sure your not “using too much of the sauce”?
The scene ends with “Darth Feeder” walking in breathing heavily, taking his helmet off & handing out overtime slips to them all & cursing the drunk aliens tha come into the drive thru after the alien bar closes.


(End scene )

“Our Uptight Squat Triangle Society” ( A Prose Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

The Rich man programs his kids to expect more.

And resources both tangible & intangible fall off him like gold dusted lint,

His children can’t help but have the AU speckles land on them.

Of course, “The Rich” do sometimes give birth to a “Black Sheep” –

Where somehow the ‘should be child’ rejects the amorphous golden lint-cloud.

Usually The “Black Sheep” is roughly left alone to wallow in generalised failure,

But the Rich strictly ensure a veneer of plausible success is shellacked over them.

This is not so much because they care per se,

But more about fear.

Fear of embarrassment at the next hoytee-toytee dinner party;

The golf club;

The Country Club;

the Rotary Club;

The Wine Bar;

The last thing Sir Berty Peebles wants to hear is:

“Ah Berty – I hear your boy Stephen-Archibald the is a drunk unemployed bum these days”.

(Of course it wouldn’t ever be said this way).

This potential ‘death by embarrassment’ must never happen.

“So let’s slap dash a believable veneer on the boy m’dear! …..

….Rather! Jolly Good!”

“Yes Darling – let’s ‘remittence-man’ him at least 500km away post haste!”

Now the “Black Sheep” type child of the rich,

Is just a normal child to the poor or near poor.

There need be no special designation or title.

For the ‘children of the poor’ their failiures must be worn clearly on the exterior –

For otherwise no one could tell the difference between them & a ‘Black Sheep’.

And that could not be allowed to happen in Ye Olde England, now could it?

Or any of it’s now clandestine offspring Nations for that matter.

Perhaps this is how things must all happen at our current state of being.

The shape of society must always be policed.

So it remains a fat isoceles triangle.

For the ‘low rise extended rectangle’ type society didn’t work that well in the USSR did it?

So can I get a “Hurrah for the snobs”?

Or a “Three cheers for the well-heeled”?

Oh of course not, don’t be so silly.

Lets all just silently & tacitly agree,

i.e.

“Keep Calm & Carry On”.

And by-the-way isn’t it great,

The The Black Sheep & the Unspecified Poor Kid can be become great friends.

Or maybe even ‘business partners’ or something else good.

This the handy by-product of our uptight-squat-triangle-society.

(Or am I just entirely trapped in the past century, in desperate needing of counselling ?)

“Ode to “Chinaski”aka Bukowski (an article)

by Martin Anton Smith

I like to think of myself as a modern day “Chinaski” but less hard drinking & my floozies do not flooze so much. When I was younger, perhaps I was more like him – with a better class of floozie & slightly less wild nights out.

Of course the fictional ‘Chinaski’ was in fact the more than semi-autobiographical ‘alter ego’ of himself – Charles Bukowski. Bukowski the 20th Century San Padro ‘Poet Laurette’ of the “American Gutters”.

It took a while but eventually the writing snobs mostly agreed he was at least somewhat a literary genius; or at absolute worst a semi-historic, partially worthwhile truly original writer. Of course his stuff is amazing, gritty, real, unpolished. He paints with words the underbelly of twentieth century urban America – namely Los Angeles.

I’d like to think I’m like the Chinaski that finally belted out a bachelors degree & the had a crack at being upper middle class, then ditched it out of disgust, picking up a hammer & a rake, & at night – a pen.

This about face with garden tools & pens & blogs serves as my requiem of that fake-ass zombified corporate office scene I was engaged in for a decade and a half. Bukowski is right their are way too many terrible work environments that kill a man’s soul. I’ve seen it & if you’re reading this – you probably have too.

But I’m probably just romanticising Bukowskis mostly horrible life. The guy was clearly deeply depressed. But he said he had never given up for a better life. He had Hope for his writing. Writing was thing that staved away the kinds of suicides that plagued his drinking buddies The drug overdoses & liver failures.

I agree with Buk – ‘Hope’ is so important in a tough life. You can’t live without it, if you try to live without Hope, you can only be actually dead or if you somehow stay alive – you will become the pinhole eyed, shuffling, pale, flabby skinned, disheveled, walking dead. It’s one or the other if you are in the gutters or almost-gutters & you don’t have At least a glimmer of Hope.

I’m like the Chinaski that realised he could easily be an independent contractor instead of a salary slave. I don’t know why Chinaski didn’t realise this.

After all Chinaski could have been an independant cleaner or odd jobs man with ease. But perhaps he would have been too ‘lazy’ to be his own boss.

But Chinaski wasn’t lazy – he had that peculiar form of lazyness – sticking to terrible jobs. But then again he was also harvesting material.

Chinaski’s 11 years in the Post office paid off – he wrote his first published Novel about the misery of it all. I can’t forget his line about one of his colleagues – about how the muscled fit young new guy that slowly lost his self respect & turned to a depressed blob – like every other ‘lifer’ at the Post office. I know what it’s like – I worked for three months at an Australian Post Office – it was basically the same as Buk had described in Post Office.

Without Chinaski type literature, many middle class snobs would never see the reality of urban underclass life: The rooming houses with couples screaming at each other, punching each other. The dive bars & their casual but brutal fights in their back alleyways. Jobs that kill the soul mind & body for slave wages. The evictions the downtrodden faced every other month (yes usually for good reason) .

Through through his personified character ‘ Chinaski’ Buk told of the life of downtrodden drunkard, but he also added the spice of hope – his nightly typewriter & those hours that turned out all those unique gems we get to read or listen too.

His stubbornness eventually paid off when he was 50 – he was offered a stipend by Black sorrow press & he decided to quit the Post office or as he put it to “starve & be happy” Vs stay & be “ dead but full” (something like that anyway).

But Buck’s faith in Hope did pay off. Blow me down if in the last few years of his life in the late 80’s if Hollywood didn’t knock on his door & make a film about it all – ‘Barfly’ was pretty good & was made on a shoestring. Bukowski write the screenplay. Mickey Rourke play him.

Anyway I just thought I’d write a few words about the troubled but great man. I know Not enough Kiwis or Australians know his work. He should probably n fact be loved in both countries – given our tough life heritage on both sides of the Tasman sea.

Sure he was probably an asshole, a sleaze bag, a bad drunk….but he had his good points – he wrote each sentence with real punch & he made things happen through grit & artistic discipline – he was a champion of the liberal arts. If you realise you don’t need to be his best friend to read his stuff – you’ll get the fruits of his labour.

He’s definitely worth a read. I’d start with Post office or maybe Ham on Rye or Factotum.

But beware! Don’t be like me. Don’t glamourised his day to day drunken life too much – least your subconscious mind begin to go to “the track” way too much & you start to kill your liver at a time where you should be doing more gardening.

I wonder what Chinaski’s doing right now? And I wonder if those two places actually exist – did he go to heaven or hell? It’s a fine question, there’s arguments for both sides.

Give him a read or at least watch the movie called ‘barfly’ – last I saw it was till on YouTube.

And for us ‘would be writers’ we should take inspiration that he didn’t make any real headway until he was 50 – but to get that chance he had done the leg work for three decades before. So at the least we ‘would be’s’ need to keep writing regularly. Our time could still in theory ‘happen’. We’re putting ourselves ‘in the game’. Let’s keep writing @ take Bukowski’s advice: write each sentence with punch.

“Henpecked” (A Poem)

By Martin Anton Smith

If you have to ask permission from another adult,

They are either your parent, babysitter, teacher, jailer, or boss.

There are no exceptions, it applies to everyone at all times.

Let this become your credo.

Your window to reality at all times of life –

your ability to see yourself.

After all, to be henpecked or rooster-pecked for that matter,

Is surely a date with death.

It’s not nice to watch from afar either.

“The Drones” (a poem/prose)

by Martin Anton Smith


So they appear in the sky,

And of course all us joe schmoes,

Are left guessing as to what the hell they are.

The legacy news & the podcasters are happily abuzz,

As the billion of eyeballs are reigning in their easy cash.

All at the ease of a clicking click click.

“Is it a bird is it a plane…no you fool it’s a deep state psy-op”

“Don’t be stupid ya nimrod! It’s the Star-men Pleiades”

“No no no silly schoolboy – they’re sniffing out rogue nuclear warheads!”

“You’re all so uneducated – it’s the Dems creating a false crisis to hang on to power”

“Look son read your ufology history – its Project Bluebeam – say sayonara to all Freedom – Welcome to the Gulag son!”

And now the Poet gives his two cents.

I don’t know what it is but I know this:

It’s all the result if too many sneaky Machiavellian’s,

Behind too many closed doors,

With too many “top secret” & “classified” stamps.

With too much easy black budget cash,

Who are happy to trash democracy for “national security reasons”.

This Drone stuff is just what happens when the Machiavellian dweeb numbers spike.

It’s just like nature – to much of anything leads to its own destruction –

Nature cures it’s own imbalance as part of its corrective system.

So they same happens with families, cities societies & empires.

Eventually all the silliness collapses,

& this sometimes means better people from other lands take the reigns.

But it’s all been done before & nothings new.

The only question to ask is this:

How will this season of Earth Reality TV end?

Are the Drones a new plot twist?

Or an ‘annoying new character’ added wishfully to lift flagging ratings?

As always we boobs just have to wait it out.

When the years pass & the smoke clears & the mirrors fall.

We’re left with History.

Yes it’s written by the victors,

But the sneaks & cheats tend to be outed eventually.

There are enough correct pieces of the puzzle to create a semblance of the ‘true image’.

Call me a one eyed History lover – but stand by my comment.

So we will know what the Drones were all about sometime around the year 2050.

And so the great Windsor Davies often retorted:

Oh dear, how sad…never mind.

Or similarly as Marcus Aurelius would advised:

You have power over your mind — not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength”.

So not sure about you,

But I’m going to listen to Marcus Aurelius & Windsor Davies on this one.

After all, isn’t a sign of madness to take advice from those that hate you?

I’d rather chose not to be insane, at least while the choice is still mine.