by anton martin smith by antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com
I have an inner void.
It’s there.
But that’s not the interesting thing.
The interesting thing is this question:
Is the void normal, or is it a pathology.
I used to think it was depression –
But then when older & wiser, I realised this wasn’t so.
Was it the void that all ‘children of divorce’ carry their whole lives?
Perhaps the void is the child of the ‘child of divorces torment’ itself.
Perhaps the void is some generalised genetic trauma.
Of being a bedraggled ‘colonial sendoff’ out of England in the 19th century to New Zealand.
Perhaps it’s a lack of love, now so ubiquitous & long lived –
That I’ve forgotten every mammal – including myself needs it.
Perhaps the void helps me,
Perhaps it’s there to make me think.
Perhaps if I forced myself to not think about the void,
I wouldn’t be writing about it now.
The truth is that the void becomes your colleague –
Because it’s always there, it’s predictable – there’s a maligned but real comfort.
You don’t know what it would even be like to be without the void.
They say the everyman lives a life of quiet desperation.
Yet I’m sure my ‘the void‘ is more special than that.
My void writes poems, while their voids write better CV’s –
It can’t be the same thing as everyone elses void.
Please lord let my void be unique, one of a kind, a gem, a unicorn.
Make my misery mine, I do not want to share.
Some times all a man or woman has is their misery –
Or the delusion that’s it’s becasue of their personalised little grief story.
Maybe to be human you have a built in the void as per factory settings.
To deny our void-truth we try to reprogram ourselves with fancy life-setting.
But no matter how we try, the ‘return to factory setings’ button is always pushed.
Perhaps it is child-like folly to think I, or anyone, can beat the void.
For no one can deny their destiny & be better off for it.
Let us all raise a glass to the mysterious the void – be she a pervasively permanent beast,
Or he a spectre-like figment of our depleted imaginations.
I mean really – given we know nothing at all – what else is there to do?
To the void,
Our hang-around friend, our arch-enemy,
Our source of inspiration & exasperation,
We know you’re not going anywhere soon,
We all think you’ve been given far too bad of a rap lately,
So sit down & have a quiet drink with us won’t you?
I’ll make a table for the four of us –
Me, myself, I & you – the void.
if its anything like the last time,
It’ll be a real knees-up.
Oh..and one more thing…..
My dear the void, if you do decide to come – whatever you do….
….don’t tell anyone.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 