An update from me (Am I’m still going mad – or just healthily child-like?) – (A Blog Post)

Woman holding her head in frustration at cluttered desk with laptop and papers at night

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmith@gmail.com

Well of course I’m going mad – if you ask an accountant that is. Anyone who actively engages in the arts and/or writing (or any high creative endeavor) will be seen as varying shades of ‘insane’. I mean what could be more normal than creativity? I mean is it not what every single person did when they were a child?

At what point does the stuffy office boring twat say to himself

“oh no I can’t be creative anymore, I’ve got to be an adult and sacrifice my life to office-o the destroyer – it’s the only mature thing to do. I’ll never touch a crayon, an artistic paint brush or some Das branded clay ever again – oh and I also need a real mean cold hearted bitch to marry and act as my career advisor too…by the way where’s the Financial Times gone….I was reading the Nasdaq share lists the bog a second ago”.

You see people are hoodwinked into stopping doing the things they enjoyed as children and teenagers under the guise of ‘being mature’. Of course it’s all a scam to sell mortgages, golf clubs, audi’s and a whole cacophony of stupid shiny things. But I don’t need to tell you that. You’re very smart. You’re here reading this blog/website in the first place.

So anyway – perhaps this is why when people get to fifty odd, they wake up to the scam and start to draw or ride ponies or go go carting again. I can only applaud that.

Sure I’m not saying “All us artists are the salt of the Earth for being forever child-like” – the NPC does have a slither of truth behind him in that most garden variety lifelong artists are often far too immature/imbalanced. You see there is a difference between being ‘healthily child like’ and ‘immature’. One sign that a artist/writer has the balance right is that they respect their art forms. They actively respect the knowledge, the craft and the novice to journeyman to master process. I’m trying to do that with my writing.

I would say I’ve been a lover of books and storytelling my whole life. I love words, I wish I did know more of the rarer ones – I think it’s wise for serious writers to be able to use some of the great unused words – at least here and there. There’s nothing snobby about that.

Take a word like ‘peregrinations’ – which I believe is a ‘long meandering walk of leisure, or period of wandering, often in foreign lands or by foot’. It’s great to use a word like that here and there – not for flash but to illustrate a point, describe a character etc.

Take another word – “inter alia” meaning among other things – another self evident great word.

Let’s go another -“exigency” means essentially ‘the urgent realistic requirements of a matter mean this also needs to be done or happen’. e.g. ‘The exigencies of buying shoes while barefoot means you will also need to buy socks’.

Anyway – perhaps I have stumbled on a great new idea for a regular post-segment: “let’s all learn new words”.

Anyway I’m glad that in my bloggy metaphorical peregrinations regarding ‘childlike creativity vs immaturity’ that I may have discovered a new blog-segment, inter alia, namely the urgent use of a word like exigency.

And now I have to fly – have a great week.

Thanks to all those that read my stuff, eh.

Anton M. Smith (as usual late at night when the brain fires up reeeeal gooood).

P.s. I’ve been watching Rik Mayal’s short-lived 2002 comedy ‘Don’t Believe It’ – It’s not bad. Also the great ‘In Betweeners’ from not long after. I have always loved English comedy – I’m trying to think what the last great English comedy was? I’m thinking it was The Office – but surely there’s been something else since then? Hmmm

P.P.s I finally finished the rough draft my latest long form work (Novella) – It’s called ‘Bouncing Through The Wringer’ – it’s on the site go search for it. I’m pretty happy with it. I probably should be hiding it but something about me says not too.

“Shipping News: Feminists in a sinking boat 0, Disgruntled Men In Rubber Dinghies 1” (Satirical Prose/Story)

Illuminated cruise ship named Aurora Star near shore at night with two people in a small boat speaking using a megaphone

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmith@gmail.com or martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Of course 3rd Wave Feminism hasn’t quite ruined the life of the indie-writer just yet.

But this is only because the 3rd Wave Feminists only use computers for X-rated reasons.

And since I am a survivor of the affair it is now it is possible to tell a wild mariners tale.

It all started like this….

“So all and all it was a good week for us all.

And as a bonus to the week I looked at the shipping news in the paper and it said:

“A boat load of 3rd Wave radical feminists were on a giant boat to an academic conference on hairy armpits,

But halfway across the ocean,

A storm was created by disgruntled girlboss-fired men who from the vantage point on a rubber dinghy,

Were blowing furiously upon the seawater,

In what could be described as a successful attempt to create a localized-mini-tsunami.

This Tsunami-to-order would capsize the giant feminist carrying boat loaded with giant feminists.

In a scene akin to a warped version of the sinking of the Titanic,

And Ironically by the time the third wave of the man-made Tsunami hit,

The boat had capsized entirely with no survivors whatsoever –

Other than all of the boats fifteen men who manned the engine room, the communications and the bridge.

They survived by the ingenuity of hoisting themselves up upon the giant floating mountainous pile of ‘ Germain Greer’s The Female Eunuch’ books,

That the women (an I use that term loosely) had all taken with them on the trip.

The men in the rubber dinghy who caused this mighty victory regaled the following wry-eye-witness account:

“As the giant vessel capsized we first saw a number of huge bilge rats jump into the sea followed by the male shipmen. The women just shrieked and cuddled each other. As the men and the rats jumped off the ship they all seemed to have smiles on their both little and big faces. One of the rats looked at a now breast-stroking shipmen and said in perfect English – ‘thank god we are rid of those strange ghastly ladies’. As the boat boomingly ruptured and splintered into three distinct pieces we heard the cacophony of bloodcurdling anti male shrieks. This was both on the way down, and also once sunk the lady-shrieks were also inexplicably emanating from the mile-deep ocean floor. It was almost a pity none of the women on board wore life jackets – partly on account they were not stretchy enough to get around their wastes – but mainly due to the fact they were ‘made by a evil man to trap and ensnare a woman’. We really shouldn’t have laughed and high-fived when we saw it all from the vantage point of our dinghy – but it also would have been a crime not to. Along with all the rescued male shipmen we even saved at least half of the bilge-rats, including the talking one and fed them all both full size and miniature cups of tea. Incidentally, we fed the talking bilge rat the finest earl grey tea to which he was well chuffed. In the now overfilled dinghy we paid a ceremonial salute to the fallen the now bottom dwelling and still-complaining Third-Wave Feminists. For this salute-to-the-fallen we each only needed our middle finger pointed steadfastly towards the water.

The men of the mission then celebrated the sinking via publishing an account of the fine para-military mission in a book entitled:

“When The Third Wave Hit A Good Time Was Had By All” – Especially The Whales Who Feasted On The Bloated Carcasses”.”.

Get it at all pro-male bookstores throughout the country –

That is you need to ask for my mate Terry,

Who will under cover of the night take you out to his backyard and dig out one of the fifteen plastic-wrapped hand-printed copies from out the ground.

But only if his pencil skirt and laptop wearing missus isn’t watching.

Poor Terry, but sometimes you have to take one for the team.

And that’s all from the shipping news today.

And as always for all the red blooded men in the yellow rubber para-military dinghies of the sea – always remember your pro-life jackets”

Unknown Future Readers Of The World Unite. (a mini essay)

By Martin Anton Smith

And so on this wintery day in late September in New Zealand, I think of the artistic mind & it’s tempestuos temperaments. . .will this be the forever homeostasis? Or are the winds of change being encoded into our futures as we speak?

An artistic mind can never win in a conservative town, suburb or country. No matter how much they say “we promote the arts here” …. they’ll always look at the artistic temperament through squinted eyes.

Luckily the Art itself @ the artistic process won’t ever actively reject the artist. Of course, this doesn’t mean most art, be it painting or poetry isn’t bad to ordinary.

The main point is twofold: firstly, every bird wants to sing & on a personal level that’s a harmony. Secondly it has wider importance. Artistic temperament & its unfolding works is the thing that can question society in real time @ in a meaningful way. The “hold a mirror” cliche is terrible, but at least twice true.

And as History plays itself out & the fascists of the particular time in question don’t totally succeed in ‘burning all the books’ – at least a few people the future will truly appreciate its maker and its mark left in future-time.

I’d like to think that sometimes when I concentrate enough on the past artworks & what they say – I too am one of those people from the past’s future, who now understands it a little better…or hell! even gets the chance to know that those things were going on at all back then.

And one related thought is this: when a true thinker ages. & finally, wisens up, they realise that it’s art, fiction & imagination that holds the best truth on offer. Yes Sir @ Madam the “non-fiction reference books” tend soon show themselves up as dry propaganda. At the risk of sounding glib, I think It fair to say that ‘Good art really is like a fine wine for the mind’ – if in time you can find a bottle in some forgotten nook or cranny that is. If you do, @ you pop the cork & take a sip? Simply sublime.

P.s. One of these days I am sure all the unknown future readers of the world will finally unite, if only just for one day. For then perhaps the struggling artist who swims in a seemingly forever-ly conservative soupish milieu might just grab an infinitesimally small slice of warm-feel-goodian pleasure out of those modern day mainframe smokestacks that fill our skies. But if that happens the art would suffer for it and ipso facto so would the truth. Thus we must always be persecuted in order to be effective. So Marcus Aurelious & the stoics were probably correct – those crooked smiles on weathered faces are a real currency during monsoon seasons of (artistic) life.

P.P.S Some’s truth’s surely will never evaporate: Even if a very rich bloke or bloke-ess & their mates deem it false. Despite the chastisements we’re for the independent thinkers, perhaps not even born yet.

“Fire Hydrants, Leadership & Assholes” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

I was walking to the corner convienience store,

The usual fix: coffee, a pie or something fried.

On my way I saw the car parked of the very young man –

It was Parked over the under-the-street fire hydrant,

He parked there even though it stuck out like a sore-thumb:

A bright yellow metal grating plate,

That also had a 3-foot radius thick yellow circle around it.

Also, it was despite the street being devoid of other cars.

I guess I’m saying he had no logical excuse.

I file the information away.

I walk into the store, order, & they make my coffee.

While I wait, I scan to see if the boy is there.

He is.

I get his attention.

“You know you’re parked over the fire hydrant?”

I say firmly but fairly.

I wondered if this prooves I am definitely entering ‘early old man phase’.

“No” he says becoming embarrassed.

“You know if there’s a fire, they wont be able to connect”

“You’re also risking a fine”.

He just stands with awkward embarrassment.

He doesn’t connect that there is also a chance a house could go up in flames,

& his dopey parking could result in someone burning to death for lack of firehose water.

As I leave I say:

“If I was you i’d move that car asap”.

I don’t think that comment landed either.

I don’t usually agree with ‘the feminists’-

But they are definitely right on this particular sub-set of males:

Very young men are usually very very dopey.

Statistically speaking I predict this young fella will keep on doing it,

For is it not a rule of the Universe?

That young men park over fire hydrants?

This is also why I didn’t overplay my hand.

The world has far too many grumpy assholes who are scanning the world,

So as to pull up someone on some minor matter.

Of course, it is always a fine line between being a strong leader of men,

& being a total asshole.

In fact I do believe the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

I think assholes can also be good leaders,

But it is also a matter of degree.

And a good leader certainly doesn’t have to be an asshole.

In fact, this makes me wonder:

Is a ‘Great Leader’ simply a ‘Good Leader who is never an asshole’

“The Poem’s Title Is The Last Line” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Afraid Of The Real World?

Become A Blob

Work In The Paint Sector

Work In Red Paint Town Yellow Paint Town Or Blue Paint Town

Strike A Bold Line

On Your Blank Canvas

Or Produce Nothin’ At All

And Wail Reverently At The Pub About Having “Painters Block”

Or Paint Ditch Diggers For Topsoil & Coal Miners For Warmth

Or Wall Street Bankers For Store Credit

Whine About Your Lot Artistically

Cultivate A Wily Look On the Lips

Where the Ladies Swoon & Whisper To Each Other

‘Is It Or Isn’t It An Upside-Down Smile He Has’

While Away Hours Away In Basements

While You Frantically Search For The ‘Energy’

Create Your Collages

Sit Right Next To Your Ideas

You’ll Never Ride The Gravy Train

But You Can Slurp the Latte

Never Eat Meat Again

If You Want The Coolest Artistic Friends

Ride On The Far Left

On Your Expensive Trendy Bike

Into the Blurred Sunset

That’s Covered In Emboldened Rain Clouds

While The Wild Philo Blue Wind Batters You

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I Ask Of You

What Could Go Wrong

When You Live Color Central

With Your Head In The Imported Tea

Holding Never Much Cash

For You think It Appears Only In Dreams

You Love Blobby Paint Strokes

Your Blobbyness Will Come Back To Haunt You

When One Day The Photo-Realistic Real World

Knocks On Your Door

& Wants Its Money Machine Employed

When This Happens

Pray That You Disappear Into Nothingness

Like That Faceless Ditch Digger You Painted

Who In His Overalls Merged Almost Entirely

Into The Ocre Hole With Purple Contrast

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ok I Agree This Poem About Painters

Isn’t Normal In Its Construction

I Must Be Honest

It Was Written Out Of Embers

Of A Bad Poem About Public Sector Workers

Weirdly Each Line Morphed Really Well

Like It Was Always Going To Happen That Way

The Bad References About Economics

Have Turned Into Good Ones About Art

Good Art Comes From Bad Economics

I Like That Line

I Am Glad I Transmogrified That Former Poem

That I Called “We Are Hiring”

To The New Title Called

“I Just Used Artistic License Wisely”