Marcel Atkins The 22nd Century’s Rogue Brain Chip Hacker (an Embryonic Sci- Fi Idea) Pt 1

Welcome to The Baby wants It’s Bottle Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith a NZ based creative. In this episode I have what you could call a “Spoken Word Piece” (whatever exactly Spoken Word is.). Its really a mini story, sci fi leaning about one of my favorite subjects – Dystopia. I wrote this on the fly, as Dystopian topics are great at at least half writing themselves, of course they are easy to start, but are hard to finish – because to “finish” in the sci fi or dystopia genre means a short story or a novella or a novel or a movie script – all tough longer term projects. I wrote the core idea of this before the pandemic hit – the proof is in the image on my Instagram account with the date stamp of Dec 1 2019 (which is on the Blog page). In the midst of the pandemic this now looks like I was hinting to a “Vaccine Passport” – that terrible thing that has actually already happened in parts of the world. I hope to Write a part two to this unfinished possible serial sci fi story.

His name was Marcell Atkins Sotheby – and he worked for Dreamscape Reality Card Systems, as a quantum hologram cryptograph technician. He had been scheduled for his annual leave by Aurora, the autonomous AI system that now ruled the Earth, like a rising phoenix, that rose from the ashes of the non AI world. He, being a staff member of the higher ‘Zilo’ class designation, was lucky to be assigned the ability to have a “Physical Holiday, and so he was walking around the now mostly derelict Artists quarters of St Kilda, Melbourne. It was a time capsule only open to those carrying the Card with the right credentials – a Dystopian Perk, you could say. . And so He walked down Acland St into an Edwardian Mansion – called “Lydon Art Gallery”. He walked in he could see the remains of a art showing, it was a competition, open to everyone it seemed, and the walls hanged a myriad of small paintings,. They were all no bigger than his outstretched hand and were littering the walls, the good the bad, the ugly – it was all here. It was the type 21st Century Art Dreamscape had programmed in the office, a rehash of the best 20th Century art. He came across a painting marked “Grand Prize Winner” it was a black hole with the Earth slowly being sucked into it, but the earth was pixelated, the title was “There’s no Future in the Past”, which made the beginning a tear form, which he was able to stifle. No one could know he had some Tribality in his DNA, this would mean certain erasure by Aurora.

His heart did pound a little, but the hacked version of The Card, would mask the biodata back to Aurora. The Hack was all his own handiwork during the messy crossover period of 2051, where somehow he stumbled on an “Open Door’ in the software. It was a mix of pure luck and genius that allowed him to do it, The hologram ID image of his body was supposed to interface his limbic system via the implant, however his extreme rare condition meant the connection to the implant was less alkaline that the early Aurora system parameters, thus he was able to patch the software on the Card to send a second false signal to Aurora system – his hack would allow him to see “normal” that is seem incapable of emotion. At the time of the confusion of 2051, he as a tech, had simply explained away his extra 17 minutes of work as “need to know” basis. With this hack, he was also able to retain knowledge of his full DNA, something only AURORA and the StarPeople and 4 Human Viceroys, one for each Earth Quadrant, had exclusive access to.

After the Hack, he thought to himself what have I done? – The DNA information was deep in his subconsciousness from his ancestors DNA and the extraction of this information, from the ‘memory machine’ was no longer available for his type of worker class. From the 22nd Century, 50 odd years onwards, he could barely remember why he had the hacked card at all. The viewing of the artwork “There’s No future in the Past”, had brought it all forward suddenly, with crystalline clarity. He remembered the Propaganda Slogan: “”The ‘Starman Reconfiguration’ of 2051, where man’s obsession with ‘tribality’ will be finally removed, or some would say cured, for emotion has been the curse of humanity since antiquity, and with your co-operation in the “Starman reconfig.”, War and conflict will no longer plague humanity”…But he could see from the cards help in not masking his emotions, that a fresh idea was a very dangerous thing to hold in the 21st Century, and he could again so many years later, attest to those times.

Those with ideas were to be seen as outcasts, and instructed to be made unwelcome socially and professionally. This period just before “reconfiguration” entailed a strange train of consequences, such that society began to cannibalize itself. The Banal were at that time, things to be celebrated as ‘Gods’. The clever were to be feared and mistrusted. The Dark ages of the 21st Century was unexpected by those blinded in the ‘fog of war’. the first half of the 21st century was, in reality was the ‘First World Mind War’. However, 2051 wasn’t perfect, The ‘Experiment from the Stars’, was seen as a failure, as tribal spirits did not fully disappear as quickly intended. Those from the Stars would need to return and re-engineer the next phase of humanity’s history. By The 22nd Century there would be no tribalism, and only cold logic for a “secure future of the planet” would remain. He had been hiding this hacked card from the Star People, for if they knew he had residual DNA knowledge, thus full access to his emotions, he would be deactivated and his existence erased, and his friends and family’s memories of him reconfigured as a ‘dream state’ and so as he would not be confused with reality, and so no questions would be raised as to his absence. The perfect crime.

He could not let them see his self-hacked Brain Chip – it was the key to the knowledge of the 21st Century, and what had happened. For history had been selectively erased, in piecemeal over 50 years of software updates to the brain implant interface Terminal (Its acronym was “BiiT” ) every human now had. He was the only one who knew of the Star People and the “Starman reconfiguration of 2051”. everyone of course now remembered a history that was continuous, with nothing dramatic happening, the updates had by now implanted a memory of slow scientific change, with no revolutions, political or otherwise. Yes, he was in some ways happy with society overall, it was predictable and safer than pre-2051, and technical and theoretical discoveries were coming from anywhere no that AI Aurora was doing the thinking for Humans. But still, he felt a sense of injustice, that he was the only one who knew the history of the past…and that humanity had been robbed of its self-awareness.

But the question he kept asking himself, behind the safety of his hacked limbic system implant, was this – “Do I Matthew Atkins Sotheby, have the guts, to engineer a solution, to stop the Starman reconfiguration in its tracks? How Could this be done? How will I gain the Courage? How can I safely recruit the rebellion? How will I gain access to the Aurora AI system? The “Aurora” AI system was quantumly woven into the fabric of space – so it was indestructible – in theory, for how can a mere human interface with the fabric of space-time? If anyone was going to do, it was himself, and he would need to win over the 4 viceroys, who also had access to DNA history, and so knew the past. With himself and the 4 Viceroys, he could, he believes, build a genuine resistance. But Aurora of course was not just a thinker, Aurora was coupled with highly dexterous robotic armies, or military and non-military officials, so as to engage its commands with the physical humans of Earth. Aurora’s Propaganda system was what the StarPeople had used to expertly indoctrinate humans – for who could ever argue with a politician, Police or Tax man – if they were autonomous uploads from Aurora, directly from your Brain Chip – Your “BiiT”? When brute force was needed to move a body, AI controlled robots, who held the best possible scientific and surveillance information, were incapable of sub optimum solutions, and could arrest, detain, and erase far better than any 20th Century Dictator ever could. Marcel had his work cut for him, but he had the spark of an idea, the system was not technically fully invulnerable, after all, Marcell was still very much alive, despite having from Aurora’s point of view a “faulty brain chip”.

End of Part 1 , Tune in Next Time for Part 2….Part 2 Screens sometime in the near future….

Thank you for listening to the Baby wants Its 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.

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.

https://open.spotify.com/embed-podcast/episode/31Wt56fWHebITSycTxKfQa

The Original Post

Zombie Times Limited ( A Poem)

Poem by Martin Anton Smith, 2021.

Don’t Walk Near Me,

Coz I’ll Eat You Alive.

I’ll Say What’s What,

And I’ll Spike Your Mind.

I’m Looking For Fools,

A Zombies’ Got Needs.

Ripe Brains Everywhere,

And Oh So Much To Eat.

Don’t Say I’m Walkin’ Dead,

For I Manifest Strength.

And I’ll Run Ya Ragged,

In The Midnight Streets.

I Rule The Airwaves,

It Only Makes Sense.

To Throw Hand Grenades,

Then Sit On The Fence.

So They’re Stealing Brains,

And How Did We Get Here?

We all Can Blame Ourselves,

We Fell Asleep At The Wheel.

Now We’re Chained Slaves,

Of The Living Dead.

For They Had You Believe,

It Was All In Your Head.

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.

Pete the Green Grocer Exacts his Revenge (Podcast Transcript/Skit)

Welcome to the Baby wants its bottle inc. podcast a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a New Zealand Based Creative.

In this episode, I present a short skit. how did I come up with this Idea?, I listened to that old old song song “yes we have no bananas”, a big band song that was a hit in the very old days. I remember as a kid in the 80’s, it was reference on occasion on TV. So I kinda liked the song, and it kicked off my creativity. I thought of updating the songs lyrics, in the form of a skit or a mini short story, you could even call it an “alternate ending”. So make sure you also eat a Banana today, but make sure its not rotten, but then again, you can always make a banana cake out of those! But then we all know you will throw it out, who has the wherewithal to bake cakes these days? Note: the original song, I hope, is embedded at the bottom of the shows transcript, see the shows description for the link .

And without further ado, lets begin…I give you my fun creation, which I have titled, “Pete the Green Grocer Exacts his Revenge” by Martin Anton Smith 2021

Ok Pete, that’s awesome, I’m so happy your niece turned 10 yesterday, and that your grandmother just turned 128, that’s gotta be some kinda record! And yes, I promise, I’ll come and have a drink of your famous home grown whiskey, just as soon as I get the time. Yes, Yes, I know its aged in oak barrels, Yes I know you made the barrels outa the old oak tree in your great grandmas back yard! What’s that? Do I like Jazz being played today? Yeah, It’s ok I guess, but Pete – You know I prefer Public Image ltd! John Lydon was…I mean IS a genius!…as was Keith Levene!….Ok Pete, I”ll tell you about the history of Punk later…what’s that Pete? Yes the trumpets are great, they really are! Now Pete, I really must Go now…no the beans and the apples will be fine….Yes a Paper bag …thanks…I you double bagged it, cheers…huh? sorry Pete, that’s all I want, no Pistachios, No walnuts, not even a Old White bean, my old Bean! I gotta run, I’ve had a bad day, I need rest, my mother has been driving me crazy lately, she’s old and losing her marbles, thinks I stole the phone, you know what’s its like, its kinda like your great grandma always asking you to find her some “doctors Orders Cigarettes'”, over and over again – Parents are so frustrating, I don’t know how you guys do it Pete – 7 Generations all in the same house!…the queue for the bathroom must be terrible! Now I really really must finally Go Pete! Hey one more thing Pete, just before I go….Pete, can you stop saying “Yes, we have no bananas” ? Its kinda stupid, no one gets that old joke anymore, I mean it’s not 1930 anymore, and no one knows that old song…I mean the joke is lost on everyone under 90…..no One knows who the hell Louis Prima is anymore, no one has liked that “Big Band” sound since Chuck Berry’s electric guitar swiftly killed it!…Pete, don’t cry, Please , Oh Jeez Pete, there’s a whole Niagara Falls coming outa your eyes, oh Pete come on, don’t be upset, here’s my handkerchief…oh thats not working, here, cry into this cup….here’s another….wait, here take this bedsheet, that happens to be blowing by…ah good yes…Pete, dry those sore red eyes…take these eye drops too…here let me help…..oh sorry, that went up your nose, I was only trying to help.

Pete, calm down, stop shouting! What? you don’t want my custom anymore? Come on Pete , ok I’ll compromise , just add a small change to that banana line, nothing big. I just want you to say something funny, for when you actually do have something in stock as the “Yes we have no bananas” line, only works for outa stock items …what’s that Pete? Oh you will go along, so long as I buy some extra Imported, extra Salty, extra Long, Extra Red Salami? ok ok, I’ll have some of that Salami then! But, now to my idea, you should say, “No!, we have some Salami?” , that’s the converse of “Yes! We have no Bananas, isn’t it? Be logically consistent Pete! Come on Pete, live up to your Harvard Education! Pete, Your Going Red….Now Blue…..Now Purple, steam is coming out both ears! Now its steaming the Brocoli! And You dont have a license to cook on Premises! Pete, with that display of anger, You really must see my therapist, don’t worry, he’s as Cheap as your disappearing bananas, and as nice as your great grandma! What’s that you say Pete? “No!, you have some rotten tomatoes for my nice Italian suit?”. Aright Alright, My God Pete, I cant believe you did that, Pete, the dry cleaning bill will be horrendous! Ok, well I guess I asked for that Pete, I was rude, very rude, I acted like an arrogant upper crust clueless colonial Englishman from 1895. I promise Pete, I’ll never tell you how to run your lovely, old fashioned, Jazz playin, half stocked, Conversational, quaint and undeniably lovable greengrocer shop. Ok then Pete, I’ll have some beans, Ok I’ll have some mushrooms, cucumber, yep my hamster loves those, lettuce yep, Grapes? ok I’ll have some grapes, though Pete, I hope they are not “sour grapes” Pete …ah aha haha haha ha ah ha! Pete, your not laughing…Pete…don’t grab me…Pete that’s sore…..Pete, I’m choking you’re choking me! …Pete…PEEEETE……. I…….THOUGHT……YOU….SAID …YOU ……..HAD………….NO……………BANANAS!!!!!!!!!!!

end of scene

Thankyou for listening to the baby wants his bottle poetry inc. podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a New Zealand based creative. Available on Spotify and many other platforms

P.s. the original song I hope is embedded at the bottoms of the shows transcript, see the shows description for the link.

“Open The Drawers” (Podcast Transcript/Poem)

Welcome to the baby wants his bottle poetry inc podcast, a creative project by martin Anton smith a New Zealand based creative.

In this episode, a short poem is read. I’ve written This poem with the intention and hope , that one day it is realised as a song , as well as a poem, with the last verse as a chorus. Hopefully I have at least partially succeeded in achieving a good vocal rhythm in this piece of work, as if it is turned into a song, I would prefer it to roll off the tongue nicely.

I would describe this poem as being an open letter to a vague generalised person of the world – the writer is in a way warning the fictional other half of the conversation about some deep flaws, and a proclivity towards isolation and some dark thoughts. The writer may even be thinking to himself. The thoughts hinted too, are not specifically violent or malevolent on the protagonists part, but are more hinting at the lofty darkness that seems to be woven into this mysterious universe, and the protagonist seems to be able channel this reality, or at the least, recognise and question it. The protagonist (which I guess is a fictional version of me , as the writer, in a way), could be some kind of partial shaman, or spiritual vessel, but he is uncomfortable with this part he plays, and to what is happening. The unease is explained by the deep unknown of being thrust above the “water line” of perception, but like all metaphorical icebergs, the great majority remains hidden unseen, in the locked depths of perception. But what does the iceberg look like below, he wonders. Not knowing these secrets is a cause for enormous anxiety, but also awe. The awe and anxiety cannot be uncoupled, it is, as the saying goes, two sides of the same coin.

I wrote this poem in a dream type state, half hungover to be honest, and I can’t exactly say where the words came from, there was no exact plan or story which I worked at putting on a page. This was more about a general feeling of conflict, and pulling the puzzle pieces down from some creative basket that exists in the unknown, and then putting those pieces of the puzzle in some form , where a loose dream like narrative emerges. I should also of course not fail to mention that this poem is also about real isolation. For we are all designed to be fundamentally isolated from everyone else , we cannot come close to knowing what it’s like to be another. It also seems a fact, the response to this isolated human experience , is to try to combat this built in loneliness, by amassing Friends and engaging in escapism. It is of course , impossible to wipe out this design feature of our existence, that is, loneliness, and so I believe it is irrational to think that you can. So what is left? We must find some kind of communion with our loneliness, an acceptance. I have quite a good ability to achieve this, I think through the creative process. The creative process, when you enter into this space, seems to have a communion with the ever present loneliness of existing, And perhaps this is the intended prescription. A prescription from the great designer .

This poem was written in Queenstown NZ , while I am on a short creative sojourn. It is fantastic to produce something , while “on the road”, as the different environment must create different words and ideas by logical necessity. It is good to travel and write. Without further ado, let’s begin the poem called “Open the Draws “ .

“Open the draws” a poem by Martin Anton Smith published on Sunday April 11 2021

Come walk with me,

I’ll leave you behind.

I’ll say what’s what,

I’ll speak my mind.

Oh I’m no fool,

And I gotta brain.

I can wade through,

These strange days.

Don’t say I’m wrong,

Coz I’ll prove you right.

I’ll run you ragged,

Through the night.

Don’t tell tales,

It makes no sense,

To play at trickery,

Yet sit on the fence.

Come walk with me,

But stay long behind.

Don’t think of me,

Coz I’ll read your mind.

Just let me be,

Oh can’t you see,

I was borne alone,

It was meant to be.

And it’s all very well,

to sleep with a smile,

And it’s all very well,

To open the drawers,

For the flames fly out,

And the embers burn.

So all’s well and done,

That this happens again.

End of poem.

Thankyou for listening to the baby wants his bottle inc. podcast, a creative project by martin Anton smith, a New Zealand based creative. Available of Spotify and many other platforms.

Those Streaky Starving Satellites – a short Poem

Welcome To The Baby Wants its Bottle Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a New Zealand Based creative. In this episode, I read a Poem That I have literally just written over the past hour. This was inspired due to the weather – namely some wild winds blowing in Central Otago New Zealand, at the moment. The wind is the most fierce I have seen for at least a couple of years, the sky is blue, and there is much too and froing of leaves and various small detritus. Luckily it is not yet so bad, and my cat “Squeaky” isn’t yet flying through the wind yet. In this poem, for some reason, I thought of thin people being buffered about, while larger people existing in more relaxing circumstances. A bit like a small boat vs a large boat on choppy water. I wrote a light hearted piece about this wind buffering matter. I think this poem would go over well at a poetry reading, whereby people are sufficiently lubricated – I think I will try to make this happen, most likely in Dunedin, which is only 2 hours away by horseless carriage. Although in theory the Poem is best made for reading in windy cities like Wellington or Freemantle, Australia. I definitely do not recommend this poem if you are a sailor, waiting impatiently in the doldrums, for more wind to catch your sail, as it will make you even more cranky than you already are. And without further ado, let me begin the poem!.

“Those Streaky Starving Satellites” by Martin Anton Smith 2021

While the wild storm is a brewin,

The thin become nervous and fidgety,

while the large are conversely, quite relaxed.

For the large are naturally blessed with ballast,

While the thin have burnt theirs off long, long ago.

At its logical worst, the garilous gale brings forth,

a scattered world of thin people, flying through the sky.

The direction of which, is determined by what meteorologists call “the Jet stream”.

They circumnavigate the earth, like high flying tumbleweeds,

or as low flying streakily shaped satellites would.

Of course the Large people, safely endowed with gods ballast,

have a whale of a time while watching skywards, from below.

They festively raise a glass to their gallery of large friends gathered,

and speak freely with witty rejoinder, and they dare to quip:

“Well,,,.. that’s what you get, for starving yourself”.

End of Poem.

Postscript: Thankyou for your patience, I hope you enjoyed “Those Streaky Starving Satellites”. To add a closing remarks, I’d just like to now add, that in a windier world, perhaps brought on by rampart climate change, middle age spread or general extra girth, isn’t such a bad thing after all, it allows you to have ballast and sturdiness to combat the slings and arrows of existence in the high winds of life. Of course, when the wind dies down and heat piles on, the thinner people will be laughing at the large, while they sweat uncomfortably, and the thin radiate the heat away like a good engine cowling would. Please do not take this poem too seriously, it is simply a commentary on the physics of larger and smaller bodies facing environmental stresses -and those bodies happen to be living breathing humans, of all shapes and sizes, and that is a thing of beauty, don’t you agree?

Thankyou for listening to the baby wants its bottle poetry Inc. podcast, a creative project brought to you by Martin Anton Smith a New Zealand based creative. The baby wants its bottle podcast is available via Spotify, apple podcasts and many other platforms.

“Mrs Whippy, I’m Breaking Up With you” – a short prose poem.

Welcome To the Baby Wants its Bottle podcast, a creative Project by Martin Anton Smith a New Zealand Based Creative. In this episode, a short poem is read. The Poem is called, “Mrs. Whippy, I’m Breaking Up With You” . I wrote this poem in a very strange way, let me explain. I was installing a new computer, and I came across an old USB Drive, it was from 2012. on it, I had found a ridiculous sounding love letter. I read it over to myself. The letter was a equal mix of bad saccharine sweet movie lines, and self pity all mixed together. The unsent letter, was to a woman I hard cared for at the time and had been dating, and she had rightly dumped me, for being a the fool that I was! After re-reading it, I realized I was at the time 35 years old and going on 18 in emotional IQ terms (Like many males, I guess).The Letter was full of self pity, and ridiculous B Grade movie lines. However, as I sat in front of the screen, some 10 years after the words were first written, I thought to myself the following logic. Rather than deleting it entirely, I thought to myself “lets give it a fresh lease on life”. I then compiled the best few handfuls of lines out of it, carefully chosen in sequence, so they would roughly fit together. I then added just a few extra Lines, to change the context entirely. That new context would be Ice Cream. I found when I made Ice Cream the subject, rather than a ex love interest, the words took on a whole new uplifting quality. If I do say so myself, I think the resulting poem is somewhat witty, and of course, best enjoyed with an ice cream. So for those of you listening that have some, Pause this and come back again with some ice cream and press play (I’m serious – you should definitely do this, as it will really add to your experience). This Poem is an ode to the theory, that it is wise to make something fresh from the most challenging experiences in life – “When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade” (Maybe You should also now get some Lemonade, as well as Ice Cream!). Without further ado, lets read the Poem ! Its called “Mrs. Whippy, I’m Breaking Up with you”.

“Mrs. Whippy, I’m Breaking Up with you”,
Our dynamic doesn’t work,
and clearly brings the worst out in both of us.
it’s a vicious cycle, because I wanted you more,
Much more than you wanted me,
you then pull away, we have a break and I sit there for a month,
Desperately “Sugar Low”.
I know I wasn’t going to hurt you,
But if you were scared, I accept that you had no choice.
I just hope the reason you went wasn’t for revenge,
Maybe you can just switch off from all these things,
But I need Ice Cream.


Your right, your not good for me
BUT You CAN make me do the sweetest things.
Maybe you can just switch off from all these things.
I did feel such warmth inside when embracing you.
Your drip fed type of warmth made me addicted,
and I lose control and break my promises.
it’s not easy to turn around 20 years bad snacking.
I’ve been battling all those crap things all my life.
I think you can always make amends for bad behavior.
And After all, if you’ve had an early mid life crisis,

Then Life begins at age 35.
things I feel wronged for are many, but so small.
Just like “hundreds of thousands”.
Without health we have nothing and I must attend to my health.
there can be no other way to life the next 27 million minutes of my life
I must begin to live life on my own terms.

I’m Sorry For What I am about to say.

you always play the same old music.

I cant handle your icy cold exterior anymore.

I’m tired of waiting for you to arrive on time,

you add too far much weight to my poor soul,

and this has become more than I can swallow.

So it is with a heavy heart that I say,

I can no longer eat your ice cream anymore.

,,,End of Poem.

Thankyou for listening to the “Baby Wants Its Bottle Poetry Inc ” Podcast, a creative project by martin Anton Smith, a New Zealand Based Creative. Available on Spotify and many other platforms.

Egged on At Court, But The Judge Still hates Me(Podcast Transcript/Short Story)

Welcome to the baby wants its bottle poetry podcast. A creative project by Martin Anton Smith. In this episode a quirky Short Story, it’s called: Egged on, at Bankruptcy Court. And without further delay let’s begin

The non-gentle qualms of bankruptcy court
Liquidated my IQ within 3 seconds
However, I did think it odd
That while the judge granted me clemency, against my debtors
He suggested that I could instead help around their houses.
After wondering if I’d somehow quantum shuffled into 1859,
I was able to murmur some low confidence rebuttals:
“But your honour, I’m in no mental state, to wash dirty dishes.
I’m not Compos Mentus enough, to clear compost,
And I’m certainly far too vacuous, to vacuum fluff”
To that the Judge reprimanded me he said
“Well sonny, be happy am not charging you further,
that business of yours was a joke.
I mean, you were selling second hand egg yolk!
That business of yours was a disaster, an abhorrent liability,
A flummox of flappers and half-witted mis-shapery!
Isn’t It fair I repair your skulduggery, for those poor victims,
Whose only crime was bad education, sloping foreheads, and a trusting constitution. They all Lost their livelihoods! All for your rotten egg yolk buffoonery! Be glad sonny, that I am a kind judge, and you will be washing dishes on the outside,
Then cleaning toilets on the inside! In fact, my skulduggery loving fool, you can practice now by dusting my gable!
Feeling rather embarrassed and turning a purple hue, I could offer only one more long-winded sentence, plus a few extra thoughts.
You are right your honour, I certainly admit that I’m a flop, a freewheeling farp, an economic floozy!
But I also contend this, A maniacal mania led me to become a metastasized moribund man-boy! Yes, it was indeed I, who suffered great delusions of grandeur, or riches and fame! But alas, I can explain.
That half rotten sulphurous second-hand eggs, did chemically turn my mind aflame! You see kind sir, just as mercury made the hatter mad, so it was sulphur that sullied me, the fine upstanding gent, the gentle fair and industrious, egg yolk salesman standing before you.
And as such, I plead, your honour, for temporary insanity.
This and so, I trust that you, oh gracious and grand lordly one, of this bankruptcy court, do gift me full clemency, and spare the horrid punishment of cleaning old fluff
From those debtors’ houses floors and kitchens, and of this court.
For I was insane, delirious, stupefied and under duress,
Of an evil gaseous spirit that occupies column 16 Of the periodic table.
To that, my most spirited request, the judge replied:
My dear silly sausage of a fool’s fool, there is no insanity, no despair,
there is no burden over-bared!
Your temporary insanity and infirmary,
will be squashed immediately by the breathing in, of the fine South Island Genus of New Zealand Air.
You can find this fantastical invigorating oxygen, in row 16 of the periodic table as well. In fact, it hovers directly above that rotten egg smelling Sulfur you are so well accustomed to.”
To that I could only could only utter a depleted extended moan, I signed of with a sigh, and I dribbled slowly away from the dock.
I prayed for some iron will, to see me through this injustice.
It was answered by above, and I found some simple solace.
For while All in all, I was totally withdrawn, both literally and figuratively,
At least I was regaled to know, that I had gained some gallantly gilded gasps from the gallery, all aghast at my gullibility.
This ends my sad soliloquy of a story, of bawdy bankruptcy, at the much maligned and now dust free, bankruptcy court.

P.s aren’t you glad that in this story I didn’t mention that I left with “egg on my face?” . I would never be so amateurish to contemplate such perfidy. Superstars like myself would never be so predictable. Now excuse me, I must dash, my hard-boiled eggs are almost ready.

End Scene

Thank you for listening to the baby wants its bottle poetry podcast, a creative project form Martin Anton Smith a New Zealand based creative. Podcast available on Spotify and Anchor and many other platforms.

“Flying Cosmic Dildo vs Man” (Podcast transcript Incl. Short Story)

Hi, I’m Martin Anton Smith, Welcome to the “Baby wants his bottle poetry podcast inc” . In this episode I tell a short story I started a couple of months ago, and finished tonight. It’s a morbid twisted love story with hopefully a few laughs in the mix. So let’s begin!

she dumped him because she looked at him, then looked at her Dildo, did a perfunctory cost-benefit analysis, and decided he came up short. She swiftly packed his bags and put them outside the front door. waiting for him to arrive from work. she didn’t want to be there when he was opening the door. That would be far to stressful. 

She called her Gaggle of girlfriends, most of who she dispised. They would all meet at a far away bar and would celebrate her “heroic” decision to ditch her bloke for a dildo. She would have a wild freedom celebrating time, spend the night drinking Cosmopolitans and writing a multi authored blog piece called “My Dildo Won A War Of Love Vs My Husband – Should you do the same?”

Meanwhile her husband Pat Tiberius Eggins (yes that’s his real name) was driving home in his noisy weatherbeaten classic VW. He was looking forward to seeing his wife Olga – he’d had a bad day at work as so his PA had booked his “sales Meeting with a Prospective Client” at some weird cocktail bar quite far away from his house – of course the “sales meeting” was a ruse ….he’d meet his mistress, Ms Penny Drop. 

The bar his PA had booked for his “false business meeting” but in reality a sneaky affair rendezvous had a very weird name – “KickTheCan” . But strangely the more he said it overin his head , the more it appealed..kick the can, kick the can, kick the can….he laughed when he realised how great the name was, for it so perfectly described his love life with Olga – he had fallen out of love with her years ago, and was too weak/comfortable to break up with that woman called his wife, or as he more creatively called her to his buddies – “the nice but boring lady that makes me clean”. 

He was just gonna Go home brush his teeth shower get changed and tell Olga he couldn’t eat her (badly inedible) macaroni cheese, as a “late sales ” appointment had been booked and he couldn’t break it with such a big client – “Dreamscape AI Holidays VR”. He practised feigning regret…

meanwhile Olga was living it up at the out of the way bar – her friends were well on their way, and loving the nights frivolity they were calling out loudly and true to form had already made a waitress cry!  What’s this place called Suzzanne? oh its called “kick the Can” – or maybe tonight we should call it “Pat the Cat” in honour of your inattentive husband! they all roared and cackled like the witches they were, so loudly they even forced half the other customers to leave.  Of course, this was a victory for Olga’s mean spirited friends – they loved to destroy. 

Meanwhile Pat was in the driveway of the bar, he was waiting for Penny Drop to roll up – he wanted to walk in with her – she was a stunner with long black hair, a curvaceous figure and a killer smile, topped of with sparkling green eyes. She rolled up parked and they embraced warmly. It’s great to see you pat, Penny said with intention. Pat kissed her sweetly and said “ let’s eat drink and be merry” to which penny said “who’s Mary”, she had a dry sense of humour which he adored. 

Meanwhile Olga and her mean friends’ evil plan was being hatched. The plan was  to take over the world via a Giant, Giant Dildo empire, and exterminate all males (including husband Pat) . Lab grown females would be born via Artificial semen, that only created the female zygote when reacting with the ovum. Of course before this technical feat, all the men would have to be killed in approximate “caveman style” first. 

Olga and her army’s plan was to create a false amway type sales company,  that would advertise to hire women legitimately for jobs. When the women agreed to attend the job interview then they would simply hypnotise them so they would become an unwitting hitman. They would be programmed to kill upon their husbands coming home from work, turning on the tv and opening a beer. The trigger would be when the wife hears the husband first break wind, after sitting and relaxing with a beer. It was a fail safe plan, every man drinks beer and breaks wind and watches tv. In this process, upon hearing the butt clap, The mind controlled woman’s eyes would glaze over, as the implanted  hypnotic suggestions kicked in. In this trance, without thinking she would get up, go to the fridge, take a beer out, uncap it, go to the garage, put antifreeze in it, then she would offer it to her flatulent tv watching husband, he would gulp it down, fart a few times and expire forever.

 Through this method Olga and her nasty friends could eradicate all the adult males in the world – it was only a matter of time and marketing. Olga and her mean buddies were over the moon, they had the perfect plan for happiness, , the “no more man plan” as they dubbed it. They made a toast to “female empowerment and the no man plan coming to fruition” then they laughed maniacally, like the witches they clearly were. 

 Meanwhile Pat and Penny were having a drink, he a Budweiser, her, a Long Island tea …they were in mid conversation talking about who was their favourite Simpsons characters, when they heard a horrible mean laughter from across the bar, when they looked over they were horrified to see his wife Olga was there with her friends! They composed themselves and tried to avoid being sprung by making a bee line for the pub’s back door. 

Meanwhile Olga saw something out of the corner of her eye …she noticed the unique sequinned jacket she had bought Pat flash out the back door of the pub…she thought, was that my husband Pat?…she got up and rushed to find out…she made it out the door, and saw pat and some woman walk towards their cars…..STOP! Pat!, She yelled. Both of them stopped, they knew they’d have to face the music now. Olga had clicked immediately that Pat had been romantically linked with this leggy pretty woman, her woman’s intuition never failed her. “Who the shit is this bitch you bastard! She started slapping him. Penny meanwhile just looked at her feet trying to avoid the situation – as was her nature. Look Olga, said Pat assertively, this is Penny, and I’m with her – i’ll tell it to you straight, I’m bored with you that’s why I’m cheating on you with Penny. I’m sick of you getting up at 7:01 am like clockwork, even on weekends. I’m sick of you cooking the same meals on the same days decade after decade. I’m sick of you laughing at the same dopey opening monologue of Stephen Colbert from the late show. I’m sick of your Pilates obsession. I’m sick of your stifled internal sneezes. In short I’m just plain bored and tired, and I’m finally kicking this can down the road, YOUR FIRED! 

Olga was gobsmacked, this was the first time she’d seen Pat stick up for himself – what could she do? She’d already decided to phase him out, and she’d just been hugely embarrassed in the worst way possible in front of “the other woman”. She did all she could do, become internally furious, keep a stiff upper lip and go back into the bar, go back to the witches and resolve to continue the plan – to exterminate all adult males and replace their pleasure providing features  with giant dildos. The plan would stay intact – she was stubborn and now had nothing to really lose anyway…as she skulked back to re-enter the back door of the bar she saw a glint in the sky, she looked closer it was hurtling towards them. It was large phallic shaped and metallic, it was a giant iron asteroid! An dick shaped asteroid was coming to wipe out all humanity – she couldn’t believe it!. By now Olga’s friends had already came out from the bar,hearing the commotion, and were also looking at the asteroid, their mouths dropped. 

Two minutes later there was a Sudden cataclysmic giant Asteroid impact – all life on earth was exterminated in the blink of an eye, all bar a few beatles, sea cucumbers and algae. The only saving grace for Olga and her evil miserable friends was that before it hit, they had two minutes to finish their drinks and say their goodbyes to each other (as did Pat and Penny) . They were upset their master plan was dashed. They wouldn’t ever be able to create havoc to the world, and eradicate all Men personally and live in a distopian utopia with Giant Big Dildos, and plenty of feminist loving agreeable female girlfriends. But in the last seconds before impact, they were begrudgingly happy that the Cosmos had in a way, sent it’s own dildo to wipe out all men, even though it would also kill them too. This she thought was the ultimate sacrifice. Olga clinked her Mohito to the girlfriends Cosmopolitans, and said “to the greater good” , and they replied in kind. As the blast wave approached Pat and Olga looked at each other, realised they loved each other after all…they ended up twin piles of ash. Slowly, over a period of a billion years this Pat Olga ash pile metamorphised into a long, tubular, shiny metallic object that some long thin fingers were now reaching for. 

The end. 

Thank you for listening to the Baby wants its bottle poetry inc podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith , a NZ based creative.

Special podcast: Music : A review of Foo Fighters new Album “medicine at midnight”

Hi I’m martin Anton smith and welcome to a special edition of the “Baby wants its bottle poetry inc” podcast. In this special fun edition we concentrate on other people’s art – in this case a music review of the new foo fighters album called “medicine at midnight”. In part 1 I’ll mention General things about the band and some of my general thoughts on their music and career, and hopefully I’ll go off on some delightful tangents. In part 2 I’ll review the album song by song and in total. Let’s start!

Part 1

I first got into the foo fighters around the first and second album, in 1995-97 way back in the dark ages, before the internet had become this giant socio cultural and technical behemoth. If I remember correctly I was 16 when that first album came out, I got it dubbed from a metal head called Glenn from high school. I think I thought it was ok, and at that stage I hadn’t been a nirvana fan, so the importance of that first album didn’t come into my thoughts at the time. It was off course as I would later find out, a massive musical triumph for Dave Grohl . He had picked himself up from the death of Kurt , gone into the studio and made a whole album by himself. It was of course as history has appraised it, a rock classic for the ages. Then came the second album “the colour and the shape” which was the first album I listened too as soon as it came out, I was a freshman at university at the time. That was my favourite foo fighter album , Grohl sounded great, the songs had awesome melody and great lyrics, the guitars were big and full of tasty poppy and grunge like riffs. Then basically they went downhill till “in your honour” and “wasted light” twenty years later . Since the high points of those four albums it’s been far too formulaic and Dave’s voice has lost range . But those four albums were great albums and of course I’ve always been hoping they again put out a real classic album…….unfortunately medicine at midnight isn’t it, and sadly there’s 3 or so duds that kinda ruin this album, but the remaining ones are pretty damn good and a couple songs are real breakthroughs. But before I start I’ll say this, as a fan I’d way rather have Kurt still alive and nirvana being the band that has had as many albums as the foos. Dave being behind the drums and having Kurt’s career unfold naturally , would have been the ultimate. Of course that didn’t happen , at least not in this universe…..the foo fighters to me will always be that band that is a derivative of the best rock band ever , Nirvana with an amazing artist at the helm that was up their with Lennon Dylan and chuck berry. So unfortunately by definition I’ll always look at the foo fighters and wish what coulda been, but at the same time they are one of my fave bands, and I’m always happy when they put out a rockin album like wasted light. I was hoping this new album might be it………..ok let’s go to part two and the album review.

Part two Medicine at midnight album review.

each track review.

Songs ; REVIEW SONG 1 “MAKING A FIRE “ -Opens with a killer Nirvana style riff, sadly he song becomes generic very quickly and theres a guest spot female singer which sounds like a too loud backing singer. 3/10 

track 2 “Shame” – the single – ok Ive heard this about 4 times already – This is a catchy tune, baseline rocks, but I dont like the boring SHAME SHAME SHAME chorus, its too boring – but at ok song all up 6.5/10

Song 3 “ Cloudspotter” -A jinky guitar opens this track, and a female vocalist whispering away, the Dave starts and the Guitars ramp up to a Normal Foo type energy – then back to the Female singer whispery thing -then back to Dave Rock. seems half finished but rock part rocks 7/10

track 4 “Waiting on a War” -Stripped back Accoustic with Deep Lyrics about Dave’s childhood Reminiscences – Feels Dream like and very relaxing – the strings are great – very atmospheric – love the the Chorus line and the repeat “Just Waiting on a War” motif. Best Song so far 8/10

Track 5 “Medicine at Midnight” – Starts Low key with a Groovy Bass line and talk style lyrics from Dave – Chorus ups tempo but stays low key, held back a little. This song reminds me a bit of a Stones song. has A Bluesy Solo and and Travelling Wilberries like vocal section. its ok 6.5/10

Track 6 “No Son of Mine “ This one is more of a trad Foo Belter – Big guitars Catchy Riff Short Punchy Loud Shouty Vocals – has a ghosty “ah Ah Ah” part that runs through it thats kinda cool. Solid Long Time Foos Fans will Like this 7/10

Track 7 “Holding Poison” – a Palm Muted riff starts this, and muted Drums is a prime feature to this song, which also switchs to Standard Foo type play but with a few cool jarring Guitar notes as a side order, has a cool with a cool punk style solo. Lyrics are smartly low in the mix 7/10

Track 8 “Chasing Birds” – This is a low tempo Lennon-esque Type Song – Its Quite Lovely and the Dark Lyric “the road to hell…Full of dark intensions..full of Broken Parts..Broken hearts like Mine..Chasin birds..” Works its ass off. Resists temptation to suddenly rock out, v. wise 9/10

Track 9 “Love Dies Young” -Galloping Brian May style Guitar begins this, along the Vocal – and the stays through the verse – then the Chorus hits – pretty Typical Foos – the bridge is a very nice echoe trebly little solo – some nice understated music. lyrics are a little plain tho 6.5

So this album all up scores a 67% or 6.7/10. Highlights are Waiting on a War and Chasing Birds low lights are starting with Making a fire, the worst Track on the album. This Album while good, doesn’t do justice the potential of those two great tracks. There’s some interesting …arrangements (strings, female guest vocals, a beatles song, a Punk type Solo) and I feel that this freshness could have been allowed to flourish more, as half the album is too “Standard No Frills Foos Chug’N Shout” I would have loved this album to lose two of those formulaic…songs, and replaced them with more adventurous arrangements in the vein of the rest of the album – but no doubt the pressure to sing to the Foo Army was too great to have this happen. So we all still have to wait for a foos album to match 2011’s ‘Wasted Light’.How Sad Never Mind

p.s I Repeat myself and I know this is a fantasy but I’d really prefer that Dave go back on Drums , keep Pat on Guitar and look to find a new singer, I.e form a new band that re ignites the Nirvana feel …..Dave I feel will never be able to match his vocals/songwriting ability with the skills of his drumming only – no one can learn something completely new at 25 and be as good as they are at being a world class drummer which entailed them learning it from a young age ….I’m not dissing Dave, I just think he’s choosing a second best use of resources instead of the first best option. How cool would a New Nirvana core inspired band be with Grohl on Drums Novaselic on Bass Pat on Guitar and a cross between Kurt and Johnny rotten on vocals? I’d love to see that. Dreams are free. 

My Poem “The Mindcrime war of 1” read at a Dunedin Poetry Night 2019- a historic. Report , and new content from March 5 2021

Hi My names Martin Anton Smith, a creative showcasing his wares and ideas…thank you for listening to my podcast “The Baby wants his bottle inc.”

Part 1 : Note from 2021: this blog post and poem was written in late 2019, a little before the Covid crisis, – and alas we are well into this new crisis as I speak here now, on 5 March 2021. When I wrote this original piece 18 months ago, the world was well into troubling financial and difficult social times – I have argued often that since 1980 western society has thrown out many “healthy babies” (such as full employment) along with the old bathwater (such as narrowmindedness) of the past. Thatcher and Reagan (And those kiwi followers Lange, Douglas then Bolger and Richard son in New Zealand ) pushed the ideology of “Market forces” and “individualism”  and “efficiency” these catch phrases put in action, were supposed to make everyone wealthier and healthier. Jobs were shipped, Structural unemployment became a thing, and speculators and big corporations were given a structural competitive advantage, you might say. The big boys never had so much power and influence in profit and the halls of power – bought politicians became legal from this era onwards . 41 years on from that doctrine we have seen huge declines in wealth and health to the great majority of middle and working classes, while the very few have had income explosions. We’ve seen corporations wantonly create massive pollution harming the ecology, and at the least moderately affecting global weather patterns. This is not conjecture but is economic and historical fact, the data is very strong especially on the economics.  The next part of this podcast/blog , part 2, is a report of the poem reading I did in 2019 in Dunedin, and the last part – Part 3 Is called – “The Mindcrime war of 1”  it’s about the psychological warfare that is on show, unbeknown to so many, and that has pervaded the west in particular since the world war 1 era to present. It’s a commentary on how life in our times are merely the flowers that were once roots, that were once seeds and seedlings – history is a river and everything is some kind of outgrowth, or less commonly death and regeneration. In part 4 I will talk again from 5 March 2021 and talk wether my thoughts have changed or reversed since writing the poem.

End of part 1. 

Part 2 Begins (note : This the original Post from 2019.). Yesterday I went to the ‘Dog with Two tails’ cafe in Dunedin NZ, for its weekly ‘open mic’ poetry night. I read one poem called “the mindwar of 1”, this was a shortened version from the original , – which was overly long I guess (which I will re write the read aloud version here soon). But First a little report about the night. This was the second time I had read a poem at this venue, and the first since 2 years ago in 2017 – where I read a ‘quasi poem’ of whimsy which basically outlined my nerd like Poem called “The two Leonards” – This was a quandary in the style of wondering aloud/stream of consciousness, about who was cooler – was it a) Stanford Universities famed Physicist Leonard Susskind (dubbed ‘the bad boy of Physics for his Alpha Male persona) or was it B), Leonard Nimoy the late actor who played the logical to a fault, half man half Vulcan Alien character known as “Spock” in the original sci-fi series “Star Trek”. Anyway this time I got serious and presented a poem that talked of an important issue – the fact that we are continual objects of propaganda by the state and their ever present bosses the entrenched powerful uber elites, who are the real puppet masters of our so called “democracy” and “Modern Capitalism” – The main thrust of the poem is that we have been blinded by the slow moving nature of society, its slow moving power structures, and the system of subterfuge that has been made such an ever pervading and perfected “quasi dictatorship” since 1919 in particular – the years of Bretton Woods/ Money Printing /diluting and leaving the Gold standard /Deficits to fund wars/the falsity of general Elections always being two horse races that are really “one horse races”. I float the thesis that ww1 ww2 and ww3 (which is a continuing undeclared war for your mind, based on the production of fear, so you will always be grateful for the “crumbs that fall off the table” of those that really matter (the elites that have a very stable existence based on this highly perfected system since 1919). As i have said in my draft unfinished essays – the expert methods of the 1920s-50s Dictators used, have simply been expanded and perfected – much like that of the history of technology. The effect is that we have largely (apart from a few pockets of illumination) become the Frog on the skillet, that fails to jump out because it fails to register a change of temperature owing to such a piecemeal and incremental increasing of the gas temperature . And so we the Frog burns alive and fails to save its life, it has become tricked into being helpless – like we are in 2019, we still believe in the system of madness that subjugates at least 50% of us (the World economic forum released a graph a few weeks ago tracking an ever increasing inequality of wealth transfering from the bottom upwards – so much so that 99.3% of the words wealth is in the hands of the top 50% and the top 1% owns 48% – this is essentially a Ponzi Scheme system – those on the bottom are forever raided by those ever towards the top, and you must always add another layer of those on the bottom to keep the whole charade continuing – this is why central banks must always continue to print fiat (fake) money. Edit from twenty twenty one:  I must of course say that it is not all doom , we have many chances to right wrongs and we can become wiser and more community minded without giving up on capitalism and hard work, this in a nutshell is the answer to our modern western woes. end edit.  

Anyway the Poetry night in Moray Place Dunedin NZ that night was a very busy one, the cafe (the Dog with two tails) had opened up a second room, which was great to see, a testament to the great arts scene in Dunedin. There was a good mix of young and older poets, some seasoned and others (like me) relatively new to the scene of reading and writing poetry. Interesting the first fellow up to read did some standup comedy instead, and in John Lennon circa 1966 fashion compared himself to Jesus – which took the rather stressed middle aged MC by surprise – it did raise some chortles though, including myself. I had along with a new friend who is a philosopher and poetry writer as well – although they did not read on this occasion – but have before I am told. (Edit from 2021-th faded away after meeting a new girlfriend in Christchurch, end edit). Anyway I was a little understandably nervous, but not so much and my delivery was quite good – a strong steady cambre, which suited the poem well. I got a reasonable clap at the end and a couple of interested -or maybe befuddled -‘hmms’. All in all it was fun and part of the journey of being better at talking in front of crowds and sharing my ideas – which I so used to avoid due to shyness. Afterwards my friend and I went to the Octagon pub and talked philosophical matters and enjoyed a post mortem of the events from the night. Anyway coming up in part 3 is the poem I read at the “Dog With Two tails” in Moray place Dunedin on Aug 21. (P.s. incidentally, I believe its international Poetry day Tmw the 23rd Aug? I hope to go to some events – I will report back if I do, and if I read anything). End of part 2 

Part 3 begins – this is The Poem I read in august 21 called “the Mindcrime War of 1” (writers note: thats a bad title which I should rename now to something clever like “The 100 Year Old Boiled Frog Chronicles” , no without further delay let me begin the poem – “The Mindcrime war of 1”)

1984
Was Not The Year It Started
But The Year Of The Decisive Battle
Won By The Enemy
When Globalisation was Sold
As the Answer
To Further Your Fears
To Make you Weak
The Year It Began Was 1919
The Seed Was Sown
Of Our Peoples Decline
The Absurd idea Now
Is Demanded Tomorrow
You just Need The Seed
To Sow The Seed In Time
In The People’s Minds
Engage The Fear
Reward The Hate
Divide And Conquer
Slip Through The Door
While The People Fight
A Stitch In Time
Seeded The Decline
The Continuous War
For Your Energy
Against Your Mind
Is Fought In The Mind
Thoughts Are Weapons
You’re Not Like Them
You’re Not Allowed In

But They Want Your Energy
They Want Your Body
They Want Your Mind
By A Leash Chains
Fear Is The Answer
Fear Is The Tool
You Are Told You Can’t Do
You Are Told You Are Useless
To Make You Grateful
For The Crumbs
that Fall From the Table
Fight Back
Write and Speak
Of These Truths
There’s A War For your Mind
Its Been Going Since 1919
The Ashes Of World War One
Seeded World War Two
Created Expert Propaganda
To Control The Mind
Controls The Crowd
Controls The Country
Controls The World
Controls The Past
Controls The Present
Controls the Future
WW1 WW2 WW3
They Are All One War
But Phase Changes
WW3 The Undeclared War
The War For Your Mind
The War No One Realised
They Were Living In
The Woke Few Saw This
They Were Maligned
As Conspiracy Theorists
And Declared Crackpots, (this is the end of Poem)

Part 3 end, part 4 begins

My thoughts about that ww3 is upon us have not changed, the war we are in is like my poem says, a mind war. The proof is that in a war there is always a point where the loser is seen to emerge. In 1943 it was Germany and Now it is the general population of the earth. In 2019 I was more of the thought that the neoliberal political elite and the billionaires were the victors, but in 2021 I think their victory has begun to be vanquished by Mother Nature itself. Covid 19 is simply a sign that the most destructive and intelligent force we know is fighting back – the Earth itself. I think of course the misfiring system of neoliberalism will continue its mindwars , just know that indeed ww4 has also begun. Ww4 is the true alien invasion, it is the cosmic intelligence raring it’s physical manifestation to squash a particularly annoying bug – greedy humans. Of course the neoliberal puppet masters know this and the propaganda will flow to ensure the public don’t awake from their slumber. There job will be to muster all that has been learnt in persuasion tactics since 1919 – and then some. They have had it good in the smoke and mirror game of disempowerment of 99% of earth’s inhabitants , they have won a temporary victory. But regardless of their chicanery and ruthlessness, their are two facts that are undeniable that will always make any deception based rule of the few over the many unstable. 1 . The masses must ultimately believe their lives are improving as the belief that you can forever muzzle and chain a population is a false theory, as the 20th Century taught us, Hitler , Mussolini , Hirohito and Stalin did not win. 2. When the total mismanagement of the resources of the earth becomes greater than a critical point, the much higher non human intelligences (those natural or maybe even supernatural) simply decide the silliness by those backward Corupted few billion apes must end . I feel soon , as this plays out, that we will realise how right the ancient mythology’s and scriptures were all along. Truth will finally show, and like the dictum says, it will be stranger than fiction- namely that one we have been subjected to since World War One ended.

End of part 4.

Thank you for listening to “The Baby wants his bottle poetry inc podcast”, a creative writing and poetry project brought to by Martin Anton Smith.