If Earth was a store it would be called: Bondservants ‘R’ Us! ….(in giant flashing neon letters). You know it’s TRUE. What’s That? But you have a ‘Career’? Gimme A break. That’s the thing they told you, So, you’d produce more crap, And trade your precious time on earth, Without even an audible whimper. Well – ‘at least I have my vices’ you think or say. You Fool – They own all the vices. Sex drugs alcohol or whatever. They wisely designed & advertised those vices. As both your temporary escape, And more importantly as your permanent chains. It’s a devilish scheme. It makes a man forget that his time & freedom is all he really has. And be too tired & broken down to fight for it. Like all good systems they’ve also designed it so you can’t live outside the system. So that if you do try to leave – you risk total starvation & homelessness & a death on the streets. So, If your too fearful for that, you only have these menu items: Bondservant Bondservant who polices other Bondservants Bondservant who owns other Bondservants Bondservants who own other Bondservants who own other Bondservants These are the only options they give you. What’s that you say? “But I can work hard & become one of “them” – y’know, live the ‘American Dream’!” No No No, You Fool – Can’t you see?
Success in ‘The American Dream’ is climbing the 4-tiered Bondservant system. Those who I call “them” are the overlords outside the system, the ones that run it. To be one of “them”, you have to be born into the cabal. An a-priori predestination, if you will. And don’t kid yourself – it’s nothing to be proud of or want. “But if this is true”- I hear you cry “how do I stop myself going crazy or topping myself then?” Easy – you accept you Bondservant fate with a wry smile, Because by knowing the Truth then deep down you also know, This absurdity here on Earth ain’t all there is. Not by a long stretch. Unless of course – Earth is Hell itself. Then I logically expect we’ll be reborn back into it all. I agree with you – What a terrible excruciatingly blackening haranguing thought. But on a more positive note, Hell on Earth or not, all slaves can sneak a few good moments. Just as the walking dead of WW1 did in between bouts of certain death. They were smart enough to have a few laughs & ales between bombshells, shrapnel, & whizzing-past-your-ear bullets. Yes, it is true my friend, We can always grab good moments – right out of our polluted airs. For by definition darkness cannot exist without light. There has to be at least a few glorious photons to be had at all times. And If life as a Human on Earth is not hell at all, Then even a grumpy depressed beer-drinkin’ asshole like you or me has to admit, One day things might just slightly improve.
Welcome to The Baby Wants Its Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In this episodeI read a New Poem which is also really a speech. It is quite self-explanatory in its main thrust, so I will only add this: I want to underline that not all Baby Boomers are bad, and we must not always on a personal and professional level strive not to tar everyone with the same brush and instead treat everyone on their individual merits. In saying that, I think it is totally fair to pointout that a large group within a generation has failed to pay it forward, and this is what this Poem/Speech speaks too.
Sometimes a little shame is a good thing, for if more Boomers felt some shame for outbidding each other at these soulless auctions on a now ‘normalised’ speculative property market, then certainly mainstream society would not be so dysfunctional and breaking apart at the seams.
Though I will add the media is equally to blame in covering up this crime against humanity – for that is what it actually is.
Oh, and I almost forgot – to my fellow non-boomers, I think it very wise to think twice about engaging anarchy as a solution to a clueless elite in power. As the world after the anarchist-based Revolution can be worse than what you were originally fighting against – Russia 1917-1991 shows us this fact. But of course, to not do anything and not associate to decide to do something, is equally bad.
Also, to collectively clarify the end of the poem – to collectively agree that we must ‘not worry at all’ should not be confused with weak inaction. It is actually to do the opposite, that is to guardedly keep our high mental reserves and spirits in order to play and then win this game of attrition. I will read the piece now.
“Boomers Lake”
Poem/Speech by M.A. Smith
These days are full of tough toil.
The hours of work are unreliable.
There is either so many or so little,
All designed to keep you down.
The pay is near criminal,
The conditions interminable,
The prices of food are rising like a tide
The rent continues to inflate,
While the wages deflate.
God help you if you happen to have kids!
This The curse of being working class.
This the curse of the “un – asset-ed”
While we booze ourselves to forget,
We watch the toffs with the assets,
As they drink their fine wine,
In their gated establishments.
We know they deride us as a lazy rabble
For that is their cultural badge.
“Look at those rabble, so lazy that’s why they are poor” they cry.
But you Sir, oh man and wife with fine linen
Who doth malign us so,
You created our poverty and our rabble-ness,
By speculating and curtailing our land and houses.
You loaded the dice in your favour,
After the dice were cleaned and given to you free
By your parents and grandparents,
Who died for your current and future well-being and freedom.
You Traitorous few have danced on their graves and used the young as the dance floor.
So, we the great unwashed have little chance to raise capital,
God help us if we want to marry and have children.
Thus, we are forever chasing our tails.
We have been “property boomed” right out of social relevance.
By you sir, and your all-too-skinny wife who acts as your satellite, have gathered together a band of thieves’ rogues and liars.
You took the welfare state after WW2
And you destroyed the bounty from the 1980’s onwards.
When you grew from selfish immoral hippy to selfish immoral property flipper.
This was of course a seamless transition in your permanent spiritual vegetative state of moral wasteland induced psychosis.
You can’t of course look this ailment up in the DSM-V – as this recurrent Baby Boomer mental illness has been 100% redacted, whitewashed, blacklisted.
You can however find a list of its traits: lecherousness, narcissism, false idolatry, pig headedness,
When they report with chirpy voices on the 6 O’clock the latest Property Suicides Index figures.
You Mean Boomer Sir, and your too thin too wrinkly mean wife on the hill,
Were handed a gold mine by your parents,
But you were supposed to share it,
Instead, you hoarded it.
You gated it.
you segregated it.
You made it faux scarce to pump up the price.
You turned the world into a nouveau riche, new money-grubbing wasteland.
But here’s the thing – you think you can hide in your social bubbles, your gated leafy suburbs, your dinner party’s & expensive restaurants.
You think you can avoid the dirty festering nest you have made for the majority of society.
But you will be surprised!
When the horrid rabble you created
Rise up from the gutters and the wrong side of the tracks
To take over your house and seize your assets.
And lock you and your wife in your basement – less you repent your sins.
For in the near future the great unwashed has already risen up
And repossessed all your stolen trappings of “success”.
What’s that? You worked bloody hard to get where you are?
Well Sir, your great unwashed underlings work bloody hard to get nowhere!
But even if some miracle occurs and your assets are not redistributed, and you are not strung up in the square,
Do you really think that it is possible to reverse the gift entrusted to you – that of your physical existence on earth?
Did you think you could take that gift and turn it into a hornet’s nest, and suffer no spiritual repercussions?
This is a lie,
This is an egregious lie!
You pay right now in real-time, with the unfriendly scowl that is ensconced forever on your droopy jowled face,
You pay with the dastardly dreaded darkness that fills your heart,
You pay with forever future fearful punishment for those good deeds you undone.
You pay with you lost spiritual awareness.
And you will surely pay after you leave this mortal coil.
But “there is no afterlife, there is no God” I hear you say!
Sir Boomer, that is the wrong bet you have made for so long.
You Sir and Madam boomer have made a bad bet, that the “Great Creator” of this simulated reality
did not write some lines of code to ensure punishment of the very very mean ones.
But of course, he would do that, after all wouldn’t you?
Do you not also protect your investments here on earth?
Just as you have punished the good on Earth, so too will you be punished.
Would you Boomer Sir write a world where the avatars who ruin your creation, are rewarded?
This is a fallacy – for whether someone is mean or good they have always one thing in common:
They love their creations they protect their goods and punish those who trespass these.
Beware! The Great Creator is no different, he hates to see the Boomer Investor classes hurt his people.
So Dear Mean Boomer – your giant earthly dinner party, with an exclusive door list, with your purple robes and fine wine,
Will be crushed into an eternal prison cell.
But as your deceptions rise, so will your eternal imprisonment!
But when you are put there, you will deny where you are,
You will pretend “everything is ok, fine, fine and dandy”.
You say this lie despite the flesh that hangs from your now gruesome, horror movie zombie body.
Yes! It is the flames that flicker and sear your rotting flesh that you ignore.
Yes! It is the maggots that infest your eyes that you will deny.
So, the Deceptive Boomers Investor Classes did enjoy their last few Earthly minutes.
They did attend the final dinner parties with fellow outrageously selfish snobs.
But little did they know that when Reginald asked
“What are you driving these days”
They were all being driven to the fiery gates, to the catacombs of oblivion where they would reside for infinity.
Those Boomers were on a road trip to the one place they will never have power to gate, to exclude to sequester to distort.
To The Pit, The Bad side of Hades, The Lake of Fire.
But I lament, will we ever on earth see the headline:
“Wealthy Baby Boomer Elite Classes Now Repent Earthly Sins As they & Thier Wives Burn In The Lake Of Fire” ?
I say to thee this: No We Will Not See That Headline!
For the Boomer Property Flippers and Social Destroyers, aka the “Angel’s of Death”, would never ever embarrass themselves like that.
They would never ever show any signs of weakness, even in Hell!.
Even as their undead corpses are entombed inflamed for eternity.
I even hear they have set up a “Hellfire Investors Club” which is currently only awaiting the regulator’s signature.
His name of course is Barry Lewis Zebub, or B. L. Zebub.
Of course, the Boomers in Hell have a love hate relationship with this entity,
As he holds up all their new projects with so much unnecessary red tape.
“Hell wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for Zebub”, the Boomers cry.
“We would get this place shipshape and more miserable if it weren’t for bloody Zebub’s bureaucracy” they despair.
See even in Hell the boomers wanted to run things their own way.
For they always cried out to Zebub to renovate and extend their deeply buried catacombs.
B.L. Zebub was always on to their tricks of course and wisely ignored them.
In fact when a Boomer requested to “Double the Square Footage of his Catacomb”, Zebub halved it and doubled the temperature.
And now in closing,
We as full Party members of Poverty-Stricken Non-Boomer Gutter Wrens (PSNBGW) must rise above and against the Ultra Mean Boomer classes but not of course against the countless good Boomers.
We must not let the Boomer Classes steal our earthly and animal spirits any more,
We must know that our time in paradise will come,
and so, with graceful patience in the face of acute Boomer-Itis,
We must follow this short life affirming dictum from Britain’s Windsor Davies,
That member of the “Silent Generation” said this:
“Oh Dear,
How Sad,
Never mind. ”
For our Revolution will be not to retort with understandable anarchy, but ensure we do not worry at all anymore.
For those that destroy the trees of society will always one day suffocate for their foolishness.
All that is needed of us is this:
To simply watch from afar and mutter amongst ourselves the words “I told you so Boomer”.
Thank you for listening to the Baby wants Its Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 