Tag: life

“The ‘Book-wormed Weirdo?’ ” (Prose)

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Woman reading a book on a rooftop balcony with city skyline at dusk

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

Remember back to when you were at school?

Now I am not a mean man….BUT

At least half the kids were so disruptive & stupid,

That they could barely write their name at the top of the exam, test, or pop quiz.

And of course they sent some good teachers to their ends wits – and/or alcoholism & early retirement.

All those troublesome people left school and went into the workplace.

Contrary to what your mind wants to tell you –

They did not disappear at all.

They went into big faceless companies for ‘cubicle jobs’ just like you did.

It’s not that your were ‘dumb’ to do this – it’s that you have no choice when ‘coming of age’ –

That’s the de-facto law – you can sell out as a wage slave or not and live under a bridge.

And through some weird twist of fate,

About how the world has intellectual degraded,

Or just some giant cosmic inside joke,

They (the troublesome dummies) were far more likely to end up your boss than you theirs.

Ps and to make this clear: I’m all for ‘kindly dummies’ – ’tis the ‘bastardy dummies’ in my crosshairs.

–

You see no one liked a ‘brainiac’ a high school,

And I’m sure it’s not news for you – but they don’t like one after high school either.

You see the world is so backward that they’d rather destroy the day-to-day world,

Than allow someone with brains to be in a stock-standard leadership position,

In a stock standard concrete cubicle-land position,

In some god-forsaken-randomized-grey-cubicle-obsessed-zombified-mega-metropolis –

If you will excuse the flagrant artistic-license-inbued-verbosity.

Why do think it is that nothing ever works these days?

Why do you think terrible customer service is the norm?

Why do you people lose their shit and flip out at the drop of a hat?

It’s far more of a ‘bad gag’ than a ‘mistake-by-chance’.

Somewhere along the line the dumb kids were handed the ‘keys to the city’ and nice shoes,

And you were handed some boot polish while you sat in the dirt and read Kierkegaard.

And when they said ‘Yo egghead – shine my shoes’ – you complied meekly.

And as the years rolled by you grew sick of shining the boots of the dummies,

So you slowly dropped out of society.

After all – you were human – you could only take so much.

Now you sit in rags and read Schopenhauer,

Now you shine your own shoes but they have holes in them.

And as you wearily turn the dead philosophers’ pages you tend to agree wholeheartedly.

Sometimes you deeply reflect on yourself, the pages, and the world you’ve seen so far.

Boot-polish-days over – you allow your mind ‘total creative control’ to wander endlessly.

You wonder whether the story of ‘God vs Satan’ is actually true.

After all – surely all this suffering you’ve had is for a stoically good reason?

Sometimes of course it’s all a bit too much to handle –

We all have our good and bad days.

But luckily Marcus Aurelius is always there on your shelf, desk or floor,

To help you pay your rent,

And finally climb your sad carcass out of bed. .

Sure its midday or even later – but who really cares?

At least you still haven’t done yourself in.

After all you’ve given The Devil more than enough already –

Did you not play – via coercion mind – his stupid games for decades?

You bowed down to the dummies in charge for many a moonrise –

Yet you didn’t even go full-on ‘Postal’ – well apart from that one time anyway.

That long self-denial of your human needs was a minor miracle in itself – a true act of self-sacrifice.

As you think of all these things you don’t flinch.

You merely turn the page as you sit outside in the sun, wind, and then rain.

Christ! – Perhaps in the end you got what you wanted!

‘Degradation trip’ or not , you have survived – have you not?

Sometimes you wish you were one of them dummies and you immediately blush –

Despite there being no one around you – so far as you can tell that is.

You tell yourself things are good.

You’re now ‘happily living on the outskirts of hell’.

(that is away from Metropolis-Cubical-Zone Sector 23-G).

At least that’s what you tell your solitary friend,

Who visits once a month or so – if your lucky.

You’re pretty sure he’s (or she) is real.

Or have you just become another ‘Forty-Plus Frederick Nietzsche’?

(i.e. a formerly top-tier wise but now a shackled ‘madman’?)

And a madman of course never can see that going or have become quite mad.

It all depends whether they write about you one day or not.

But to hazard a guess, statistically you’ll probably be known as a ‘book-wormed weirdo’.

So learn to be happy with that –

As I have become.

The ‘Book-wormed-Weirdo rules ok?

Well he still draws breath anyway.

It’s my birthday. I am forty-eight today. I worked like it was a normal day… (A blog post)

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Man sitting on a bench holding a drink with flying books in the sky at sunset

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmith@gmail.com or martinantonsmith@gmail.com (email me!)

So yes it’s my birthday. Forty eight. I celebrated by deciding to not celebrate. It’s now a firm tradition of mine. I’ve been doing it for decades.

Is it because I am a Gen X’er? I say that because the stereotype is we don’t care about anything. Is it because I am ‘South Island kiwi? I say that because we have this Scottish Presbyterian/Calvinist cultural hangover which says you can’t be seen to enjoy yourself. Is it because deep down I don’t think I’m worthy enough to celebrate my entry into this (seemingly wildly degenerating) mortal coil?

The answer is I don’t know why I couldn’t care less about my birthday. Other than to worry about my ‘life as I age’ a little more – as now I am almost half a century old. The ‘distant horizon of the end’, having been priorly an academic thought, is now appearing in sight – it is now a farway hill I can see instead a mountaintop in the distant hazy horizon. And we all no matter how ‘Zen’ we think are, think of our achievements in some manner at least. I would be lying if I do not have worry about the charge of “he was such a promising youngster – but he hasn’t really lived up to his potential” factor. Of course I don’t care about the fact I’m not a big CEO or a Lawyer – I’m not that stupid to see those empty ‘TV style’ manufactured wants. But of course, I do want to have exhibited my natural and worked-on creative talents. That’s called being human.

I wouldn’t say that I’m in any danger of a ‘midlife crisis’ – weirdly I kinda had that early at about age thirty-five-ish. It’s really just normal aging worries that someone like me has, I am sure. And by ‘someone like me’ – I guess I mean someone who is bookish, prone to be an over-thinker, undiagnosed ADHD (maybe I am but that could be a boldface lie!), and a man without much hard cash at the moment. This is because I’ve made a commitment to the liberal arts AND I’m in small business. So really I shouldn’t worry to much about pushing fifty – and I don’t really look fifty anyway – I could easily pass for forty. In theory I could go anywhere and suddenly ‘reinvent myself’ – but I’m too wise to try that folly again.

In the end ultimately, I think I feel “ok”. This is in terms of ‘day-to-day mental headspace’ speaking. And today being “ok” is actually as rare as hens teeth. To feel “ok” is relatively like being on ‘cloud 9.’ After all most people have terrible uncreative cubicle lives, have done no shadow work whatsoever, and are medicated up to their eyeballs. I had a taste of that a long time ago ( the anti-depressants scam where the quacks dished them out like candy) and I eventually escaped that prison although in truth it was probably the handmaiden called burnout that had the key that unlocked me from all that silliness.

In terms of psychology – I am far more content that I used to be when I was younger. I have learnt slowly as the years rolled by to wangle a weird solution to feelings of ‘chronic depression or anxiety’ – and I think it’s fair to say I have always had those feelings, but it might have been anxiety more than depression perhaps (it’s hard to say). The wangle was physical work, homecooked meals & living in the country – my boyhood home town of six thousand people. Well it was also learning not to tie your self worth too much to social status. That’s important.

Physical work is great for the mind – especially if you are prone to the blues. But ideally you don’t want too much of it all at once. After all who that is over forty wants seven or eight hours hard labor a day for four or five days? No I think anywhere between ten twenty five hours is good, and the sweet spot is probably right in the middle – seventeen and a half hours. If you are young, well blast ahead with physicality.

Physical work is like a battle. Yes it can be very boring and uncomfortable. But some is office keyboard placking. For example I am now doing a sub-part of a renovation job (a ‘reno’). I am what we call here in NZ “Gib-Stopping” which I guess the Americans would call “Drywall plastering” and the English “Joint Plastering” (I think the Aussies also call it ‘Gib-Stopping’).

Let me tell more. When you slap on the plaster, it’s sloppy-messy and gets all over your clothes. I actually had a blob go right in my eye at the beginning when I forgot to put on my protective eyewear. Then after you have slopped on the plaster over the joints the next part is even worse – you have to sand it down smooth and flush with the Gib / Drywall/ Plaster sheeting. The dust is so bad you end up standing in something akin to the ‘First World War mustard gas attacks’. You can do all the things to protect yourself – but you can’t really escape the fact you are a in gib-dust (drywall or plaster) battle. Life is a bit like that – don’t kid yourself you are not in some kind of battle here.

Ok now – so you know how bad that ‘Gib Stopping’ job I’ve been doing is – let me tell you why it’s also good for you. At the end of the work day you intimately feel that you have become mentally (and physically) stronger. You see with your own eyes that you’ve made progress on the bigger project (in my case the ceiling looks better and better). And you probably did it all by yourself too. You didn’t know how to do it and you backed yourself. That’s a great anti-depressant. You don’t get that in an office cubical in a mega city – you don’t have that creative freedom (Like Melbourne where I worked in an office for a decade).

So that’s why physical work is good for me and my tendency towards depressiveness and/or anxiety (or is it just adhd mixed with perfectionism etc?). I really recommend it to you who is reading this – especially if you exist in a ‘grey concrete jungle cubical zone’.

And if you are reading this – then you probably love writing or are a writer or an artist or work in an office (statistically you are likely given that’s where most the jobs are nowadays). And if you are someone like the last sentence describes – then you probably have anxiety or depressiveness or creeping feelings of helplessness lurking around. And if that’s true, what was good for me will also be good for you.

So remember to get out and dig some holes, plant some veges, run to the beach or lake or over the hill, jump on you bike etc. If your deep in the concrete jungle cubical zones I’d exercise about ten hours a day in nice outdoors setting.

So I’ll lave it there, now seems like a good place to end. I can now have a sneaky treat (these are great as anti-depressants too). In my case it’s some beer. I don’t over drink – I simply have two a night, which sometimes I upgrade to three, and once in a blur moon I might go crazy and have four. But that’s rare as I can’t do hangovers these days at my age. That’s the good thing about aging – it forces you to be more mature on a lot of things that you used to go totally nuts on.

‘Birthday Beer’ I will now come to you. I hope you are nicely almost near zero degrees centigrade (That’s 32 degrees F for the yanks),. You will be frosty delicious from your time spent in that freezer prison I put you in. I’m sorry I have to drink you – but it must be done. Wait a minute I’m sounding too much like an alcoholic – I better finally shut up now.

So happy birthday to me – you old coot. You ain’t as bad as you probably think you are or used to be. You’ve come a long way. You’ve ignored the noise and built your mind up. Your feeling ‘ok’ and that’s better than it sounds.

See you on the next blog update.

Bye!

Anton Martin Smith on 7th August 2026 8:03PM NZ Time.

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

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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.

“As All Madmen Who Write Tend To Do.” (Prose).

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Man kneeling by car flat tire, woman in driver's seat, man walking with notepad

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

I have a beater of a car.

It’s birthday was in the year 1999.

It’s older than a fair whack of people alive today.

The other day I was scrolling and came across a lady who said:

“Why do the best guys always have the shittiest cars?”.

Well I can only agree with her assertion.

And the obvious answer is:

Because we are not materialistic.

So onto the subject.

My car tire has a slow leak.

I’ve monitored the situation and you can drive on it for three days,

But then of course you must inflate it at the servo.

Or should I say ‘Gas Station’.

You will have to excuse me –

For I have a half kiwi half aussie vernacular.

I’ve ‘done time’ on both sides of the Tasman – so to speak.

Anyway, when I discovered the leak I first thought

“Hmm I will get that fixed immediately”.

But then I had a second overiding thought:

“But that’s so stock, why not choose the contrarian path…

…After all – you do love Philosophy”.

So that’s what I’ve been doing.

I have discovered you can indeed drive on a flat tire for three blocks,

Then inflate it at said Servo/Gas station.

The other day I even drove their with my overweight mother riding shotgun.

I crawled along at 30 km/h along the back streets,

I made sure I only made left handed turns for safety.

Git there and ‘did the necessary’ as we Kiwi’s say (or do aussies say that?).

This may all seem rediculous,

That a well educated forty eight year old small business owner would do this.

But as I have found – when you age your life can become suddenly too dull.

Sure in my case perhaps that’s just because I partied way to hard in youth,

And so now with age ‘standard life’ now seems overly dreary –

But what can I say – we all live the lives we have had, don’t we?.

Perhaps this could be a warning sign – that I need to move to the city.

The wags say ‘he’s so bored in that small town he’s driving on flat tires for kicks’.

Well, I guess their must be a smidgen of truth to that yes – I am a reasonable man.

But I as I already mentioned it’s merely a need to be contrarian –

But then the other wag pop’s head over pulpit and whispers “but what’s the cause of that?”

Well perhaps it’s a generalized fear of anything external to my own mind,

Due to a number of childhood trauma incidents that have scarred me for life.

Trauma that has been buried so deep for so long that it can only emerge within the ‘safety of the absurd’.

Such as the choice to drive around on a slow leak-flat tire seemingly just for kicks.

Of course I am engaging and indulging the Americanism of ‘casual pop psychology’.

But at the same time – what if I’m right?

In the absence of knowing the correct path of action –

I will monitor the situation namely the p.s.i. of my remaining three tires.

And if one day things escalate and I find myself ‘driving happily on all four rims’ –

I’ll do nothing at all, keep driving and see what eventuates.

After all – I am a bored, small-town-trapped, unmedicated contrarian with an interest in Philosophy ain’t I?

But don’t worry, on a final serious note I’ll sort the tire out next week, or maybe the week after that.

What’s that my dear fine wag calling out from the back row?

Yes you are correct I did forget to mention my penchant for procrastination.

That guy I worked with long ago – Matthew from Melbourne – was probably correct:

I am probably in theory at least a “Psychiatrist’s wet dream”.

But when writing of one’s own foibles – that’s is my prerogative, is it not?

“This ramble-a-thon now must end” said the fourth wag in this prose poem.

I agreed and ended it now, after all I was standing on the carpet that he emerged from underneath.

And I do love to end on a self referential tone –

As all madmen who write tend to do.

The Asshole-Medico Pact of ’68? (Prose)

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Two men in suits shaking hands exchanging money with a pile of prescription medication bottles in the background

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmith@gmail.com or martinantonsmith@gmail.com (i.e. all emails welcome!)

We live in strange times.

Let me explain succinctly and simply.

Not too long ago, annoying people were just called “assholes”.

Nowadays we have the “DSM V”, which sells for profit a whole range of ‘psych disorders’.

You see they ‘grandfathered’ the calling of someone an ‘asshole’ for actually being one,

And replaced it with the ‘psych-o-pharmacological industrial complex’.

All parties to the conspiracy became filthy rich or party-drugged to their eyeballs in the process.

You see now said ‘former asshole’ now has ADHD, Narcissism, Autism or is Neuro-diverse,

You can then put a ‘tap’ on his wallet for life.

(And as a guy who often thinks he has ADHD – I can tell you – I’d rather just be an asshole).

Moreover – a tap can be installed on the tens or hundreds of millions of ‘unlimited tax chumps’ out there.

Now said ‘former asshole-but-now-neuro-diverse’ has the quid-pro-quo of higher self esteem & no guilt to ‘change his ways’.

So in that way it was really a ‘conspiracy’ between the lifelong money men and the lifelong assholes.

This ‘conspiracy’ can be called the Asshole-Medico Pact of ’68 –

For that was the year that the mega-expanded second DSM was published.

And I mean ‘conspiracy’ in the truest sense of the word –

‘When at least two parties agree – often clandestinely – to act together for some mutual benefit or outcome’.

Yes if you put is some toast and ask your wife to hand you the margarine, and the cat doesn’t know –

You are indeed a couple of ‘conspiracy theorists’ and indeed ‘conspiracy practitioners’.

It is a good analogy – because ‘conspiracies’ – both benign and evil happen every second of every day.

So perhaps fifty years later after DSM 2, that’s what we see with the ‘neuro-diversity’ craze.

All we are seeing is the now Andes-like summit of decades growing ‘asshole-medico-pact mountain range’,

Towering above us all, blotting out the sun, and dare I say spiting in our very faces,

Calling us a cacophony of rude names, and lightening our wallets.

Of course – if this assessment is indeed fact – it has ramifications.

We ‘Neurodivergents et al’ will all have to start calling ourselves and others around us simply ‘assholes’ again.

We will also have to apologize more for bad behavior and attempt to make amends and/or reparations.

We will agree that we won’t tap the good folks wallets so to prop up our penchants for ‘lifelong party drugs’.

This I believe is a step to far for all of those of us who were signee’s to the ‘Asshole-Medico Pact of ’68’.

I mean after all why would we?

It’s not at all in our interests!

We’ve been making out like bandits all this time!

It’s been a guiltless seventy year party of high-jerkism, party uppers and stolen taxpayer cash!

Narcissistic Lobsters have been flying everywhere!

I’ll say it again – ‘why would be destroy the Andes’ of our own volution?

The only way to end the madness (pun intended) is if the nice & highly fleeced rise up,

Hide their wallets and simply start calling us ‘assholes’ again and demand better behavior from us.

Personally – I’m all for it!

Yes I was a former drugged-up member of the Asshole-Medico-Pact of ’68,

But I stopped being a signatory to the pact in Twenty-Thirteen at age thirty-five.

So I now have anti-transmogrified back to being ‘good’ again.

So let’s all now agree to call a spade a spade and lets start calling assholes assholes again.

Of course in this piece, I admit that I have highly exaggerated for effect –

But that’s ok, after all my ‘artistic license’ only expired a few days ago –

And only a ‘total asshole’ would pull me up for still using it ‘on the roads’ –

AKA this quasi-drunk-misshapen-literature-town that I sometimes call my own mind,

That you have all had the misfortune of sitting through.

I can only hope the the myriad of legalized black-market pharmaceuticals you are all on,

Have turned it from a boredom-filled hell-scape to an quasi-interesting fun-trip.

By & the way when I said I’d rather be an ‘asshole’ than have ADHD that was a boldface lie.

As if!

“Yesterdays News aka Todays Fish & Chip Wrappers” (Prose)

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Busy fish and chips kitchen with animated fish, chips, lemon, tartar sauce, and pea characters

By Anton Martin Smith Antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com or Martin Anton Smith@gmail.com

So I decided to step into the fray.

The chip shop people needed me.

So I stepped up to the plate, by stepping away from my usual plate.

Yes I was a regular customer – am still a regular customer.

So this proves it wasn’t a fatal decision relationship-wise.

I was just helping out, but it was still a little scary.

Sending food out in a timely fashion when all hell breaks loose.

Eateries are maligned by the snobs –

But lets call a pattie a pattie –

There’s not much more ‘short term higher pressure’ in business,

Than a restaurant or takeaway.

If a meals out in time you’ve passed,

If you add another ten minutes your ‘too slow’.

An no one cares if all the orders are coming in like middle-east missiles.

They only think of themselves and the clock – which is their prerogative.

So now here I was on the burgers, taking phone orders and wrapping the fish & chips up.

The phone orders were easy – people knew what they wanted & didn’t ask prices.

The burgers were a little more tricky – but I’d made plenty at home before.

Surprisingly I soon found out wrapping the chips was an exact science in itself.

If you don’t do things via exact steps – (namely, folding, cradling, centering) –

It all ends up looking like a teenagers (or an artists) unmade bed.

And the other major thing that was a surprise?

While manning the phones, I realized from the affect in the customers voices,

That the ‘every Friday kiwi fish & chips’ (& burgers & hotdogs etc),

Meant a lot more to people than I realized.

Hearing the childlike joy when someone lists a burger, a spring roll, a donut, a pineapple ring –

Was really something to behold.

It was then I realized that perhaps I wasn’t as much as a foodie as I thought I was.

Witnessing an adult still be able to have child-like joys was indeed my biggest take-away.

I’m glad I helped out, and I will do again if pressed under similar emergency conditions.

But all in all – I think it’s definitely better & more profitable on the other side of the kitchen.

Of course I should say I got yelled at a little,

The funniest being when I was slow on the uptake about Chow Mein does not entail having noodles –

This meant their was an an impromptu skit of “Yes we don’t have noodles but we do have Chow Mein”

The old adage of ‘if you can’t stand the heat get out of the kitchen’ is true.

Strangely enough this particular kitchen was amazingly cold,

Owing to it being mid-winter, a big kitchen and with the back door always wide open.

Incidentally I arranged to work for ‘food credits’ but don’t tell ‘the man’ about that –

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement between the two parties.

I’ve now eaten the credits entirely away – except perhaps a small ten-dollar plate of fish & chips.

All in all I’m glad I answered my local chippies distress call.

After all discomfort is where personal growth’s habitat lies…within reason of course.

And I’ve always dreamed of being a restaurateur one day.

And lets’s call a spring roll a spring roll – Being the YELL-ER is far better than the YELL-EE.

So far in life I’ve always been a YELL-EE.

By the time I shuffle of the ‘giant chip’ – it’d be nice to have the shoe on the other foot.

But I didn’t come down in the last fryer fat refresh – I know the truth is this:

Regardless of whether you’re a YELL-EE or a YELL-ER –

You ‘still gonna have to serve somebody’ – ain’t ya?

Yes – despite what the bozo’s on tv and the computer screens say –

We’re all just striving for a ‘better class of serfdom’ no matter how you slice ‘n’ dice the chip-shop onion.

So I’m glad I finally got around to talking to you about my ‘yesterdays news’ –

Or do I mean ‘todays fish & chip paper’?.

P.s. I forgot to tell you I dropped my mobile phone in the massive sweet and sour sauce pan,

WHOOPS! (it’s ok it was just a ‘burner’ anyway).

“Saved by Bukowski & The Girlbosses” (Prose)

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Older man with beer and cigarette talks to woman in business attire holding coffee

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

I don’t know why they all can’t see it.

My twisted angel Bukowski was correct in what he said a few years ago:

‘About something small they protest wildly, but about wasting their entire lives they don’t even batt an eyelid’.

Yes I agree with you – it is hard to believe – but yes he was definitely one of mine.

Contrary to your popular media – my angels are not all harp-playing-ephemeral-floating-singing-clichés.

When I send one down I go with the ‘when in Rome’ thesis of blending in.

I have many a ‘drunk truth teller’ like Charles Bukowski in my ranks.

For how could I get to the people that need me most of I didn’t?

But of course, I didn’t make the Earth for it to end like this, the way it is now.

I made trees, rivers, seas, jungles, and endless savannahs.

I gave a warm sun to heat, melt and grow things as where needed.

I filled them with tasty animals and fruits for them to eat without much effort.

I made things just hard enough to catch so that my children would get enough exercise.

I made things just dangerous enough so that they would not get bored.

I made plenty of unfenced land so that if somewhere was bad, there would be many better places to go to.

I made the land large and the people scarce so there would be no need to ever be forever-crowded.

In short – I made a sustainable paradise full of bounty and freedom for all.

But my adversary (of course) had other plans.

He wanted concrete instead of rocks.

He wanted false indoor light instead of the sunlight.

He wanted to stack people on top of each other in concrete encasings so they would fight.

He wanted to put a lock on the bountiful food and land.

He wanted men to be women and women to be men to kill marriage and sacrifice children.

He wanted work that felt like work but produced nothing but strange enslaving symbols.

So as we negotiated terms I said to him:

Ok I will agree to the game – we will see how they play – whoever’s ideas are the best will win.

You can have whoever you convince,

And I will follow the same rules and have who I convince.

I am sure people will prefer water from a waterfall that a bottle.

I am sure people will prefer sunlight to harsh glowing tubes.

I am sure men will not want to act like women and vice versa.

I am sure people will realise their strange symbols and wasted time will make them fools.

I am sure people will prefer freedom of movement to concrete laden bustling cages.

Sure you’ll ensnare a few, that goes without saying.

But a house of cards must always fall.

My adversary took the bargain.

He was happy to simply have a chance to destroy and steal a few souls.

He knew he could never beat me – after all I allowed him to exist at all.

He – as the negotiations closed said – ‘you never know, through some strange twist of fate I might somehow win’.

He has super-intelligence but little wisdom you see.

As if he could ever beat myself – it is quite laughable indeed.

So the deal was done – we would let a game play out and it has.

Now many millennia later – we are almost entirely done.

But it would be remiss of me to not share some worries.

I am a little worried about how things are going right now.

I never thought he’d succeed in making his cities so large.

He kept saying with shameless glee as he watched over the mega-cities.

“Grow my prettys grow – look at them live on top of each other – ain’t it grand?”

“The Economy is stealing their days so beautifully”

“They all believe in their Careers – especially my beloved army of Girl-bosses”

“I can’t believe I am taking their lives away so easily”

“The light behind their eyes is so beautifully dulled that I could cry”

“I cannot believe the men are like corrupted women and the women are like corrupted men”

“All I had to do was broadcast a web of lies, coral them into small spaces, then give them cash, drugs & sex”

“I’ll take this easy victory while I can”

So I have had to intervene – while still playing within the rules.

I will beat him at his own game.

I have made London, Paris, Melbourne & New York a special kind of hellhole.

I’ve decided to let his foot-soldiers – the ‘feminist girl-bosses’ have ‘free reign’ on all of those cities.

Vice of all types will bloom but not for no good reason.

Those cities will fall so quickly it will serve as a beacon of warning to all others.

A high-tech modern-day rerun of ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’, if you will.

So then the ‘Return of Eden’ can swiftly return.

And my enemy can admit his inevitable inglorious defeat.

And he will say “I lay aghast – I was beaten by my own foot-soldiers of glorious death”.

And I will say “I told you so – why did you question me at all?”.

And he replies:

“I’m an evil bastard – I couldn’t help it – Oh well at least I’ll always have London, Paris, Melbourne and New York”

To which I replied “But only because I let you you low-wisdom fool!”.

The evil one knowing the truth then painfully retreated and relented remorsefully.

“I admit defeat. Thank you for the collateral damage – it was a delight – & I’m really gonna miss the M.C.G the most”.

And then as he sloped away to his prepared eternal fiery dungeon he looked over his shoulder and said one more thing:

“That strategy of sending Bukowski first and the Girlbosses second – that really was a masterstroke”.

I just nodded quietly – after all I always knew things would play out this way – after all I did create the place didn’t I?.

And now we all live in paradise in New Eden, well a fair few of us do anyway.

The rest are at a fiery M.C.G. with their false idol still enjoying the bread & circuses – they still don’t know they’re in hell.

“The De-Transmogrification Process (Went Swimmingly)” (Prose/Essay) + Bonus Material

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Silhouette of person standing on ruined building amidst twisted skyscrapers under stormy sky

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

To transmogrify means to transform in an often strange, surprising, scary or grotesque way.

I think when a small town person grows up and goes to the big gnarly city to ‘make it’, they tend to transmogify.

It cannot not happen.

After all, a giant gnarley city is usually strange, surprising scary and grotesque.

Of course I am not saying small towns are heaven.

You get cornered into selling yourself to the big gnarly city.

It’s about Jobs, the need to make enough money…and usually a side of debauchery.

When I was young I was quite miserable.

I didn’t learn how to know how to be happy until perhaps 37.

When the big gnarly city has spit me out like a annoying chicken bone.

This is all not abnormal – that is to be miserable by default & to be spat out like city trash.

Of course a big gnarly city will spit out many a small town kid all grown up.

Again – this is not anything new.

Children have no power and cannot usually choose to escape.

The kid who grows up with high trauma will internalize the misery that surrounds.

Deep into their nervous systems and psyhe’s.

And by default all kids like this -we all soon transmogrify into degrees of ‘broken adults’.

I’ve talked about my trauma before so I will not rehash other than three epitets:

Poor, Neurodivergent, Child of Divorce, my father a magician (i.e. disappeared).

Now I am for many an ‘older man’ – but by now I’ve learnt like others do – to to ‘steal happiness’.

It’s not really happiness per se,

It’s really a rolling feeling of semi-wellbeing,

Because I’ve learnt to curb the most destructive habits:

Being too drunk too often,

Being around too many assholes in big cities & offices and bars.

And I’ve learnt about a few easy cheats:

Eating home cooked meals,

Having creative hobbies that could sprout into something bigger – e.g. writing.

Learning that it’s ok to say no to something.

Getting some regular hard physical labor under your belt.

And also remembering about ’embracing the inner child’.

And post apocalypse – I think the writing & the hard labor may have saved me entirely.

I’m purely speculating here, but you never know –

If I’d never started the hard labor and the writing –

And was spat out into the gutters of the big gnarly city

Perhaps I wouldn’t even be here now.

If your life’s over in a big city – it’s never wise to stay.

You will likely become a zombie of the city.

Yes in my younger, darker, big city days I have known deep despair.

If I had not died and been essentially reborn and exiled at 38 – who knows where I’d be.

But I doubt I would have ever died by my own hand.

Maybe I would have suddenly became just another a big ego driven depressed ‘success story’ in the bright lights –

MAYBE.

But I think I was one of those people that had to be essentially destroyed in order to ‘get better’.

The weird thing about my ‘Big City era, was I was within a couple of steps to some ‘city success’.

But something inside me warned me off opening that door.

It’s just as well as I was taken out before that happened.

For I probably would have been just another semi-wealthy miserable bastard wearing a mask.

Transmogrified by the big gnarly city.

Now after the war has been over for well over a decade,

I get to sit quietly and reflect.

On how good it is to have a soul, quiet times and the occasional smile.

That’s where the wealth’s at my friend.

You know it, I know it, your cat knows it but your big city office crank boss doesn’t.

Of course I don’t want to sugarcoat – I’m probably still a old curmudgeon.

And Big Gnarley cities have their good people and places – yes.

It would be remiss of me to pretend that was not the case.

Today I do love a few cans of beer at night in the country quietness.

As I sit in solitude.

And why not? haven’t I earnt it?

That war is long over and the peace settlements have been signed.

I’m entitled to a beer with my thoughts as the country stars twinkle.

Yes – I have remnants of big gnarly city bastardry – and that’s ok.

A remnant and defeated psychological ghost army can’t do much harm anyway.

I really can recommend blowing up your horrid big city office life for the country air.

Of course if your lucky the city will push the controlled demolition button for you.

And they’ll save you well ahead of ‘natural time’.

And I realise all this as I sit with a beer breathing clear air.

Writing away happily.

Yes loneliness is real but I like to think of it as being ‘functionally lonely’.

I have memories of the War – but it is so long ago,

It’s edges are rounded off and some fuzzyness has emerged .

The Big Gnarley cities are expert propagandists and tricksters.

The old Roman Bread and Circuses till abound.

The Big Gnarly daily wars do allow its footsoldiers to get laid regularly.

Amongst all the other vices.

The Corporate-denizen-slave need something to forget their cubicle-screen-work-dystopias.

And I was no different to everyone.

It’s actually what the psychologists call mass psychosis.

This is why it’s far better to visit the madhouses than live in them.

Anyway this was my tale of how the ‘concrete jungles’ are well named.

For that’s exactly what they are.

I’m merely reminding people of the facts.

I’m a mere reporter just ‘tellin’ it how it is’.

Personally I’m happy I was spat out versus consumed and transmogrified into the abyss.

In writing and in life – you gotta call a spade a spade.

Your best audience will love you for it.

Who doesn’t love a good trauma-based, haphazard-but-believable, de-transmogrification tale?

Bonus Material: There is a related Essay on my sister site – see the link below.

https://martinantonsmith.wordpress.com/2026/07/05/article-are-mega-cities-inherently-bad/

“Today I am feeling Jaded and worried about socialization – or the lack of” (A Blog Post + Bonus Material)

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Elderly man sitting on bench reading book outside bookstore in the evening

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

Right now I am feeling very jaded. Yes I am very tired. So that’s part of why. But I feel it’s only a small part. The larger part is because of ‘life’ as a single 48 year old guy living in a small town, where people casually disregard the need to exchange ideas (via deeper conversation) and socialize.

You see I think as a human being – you cannot ignore these two big requirements for well being and get away with it.

As a New Zealander – I think we have a curse related to this. The curse must come from the hardships of the pioneer era. If you are too close to the ‘pioneer epoch’ in time then your culture has not yet achieved ‘social maturity’.

A place which has not achieved ‘social maturity’ will – either unwitingly or wittingly – choose to ignore the need to exchange ideas, have deeper conversations and socialize as a regular part of their common ‘rituals’ (the antrhopologists like that term ‘ritual’).

You see a socially mature population would a) recognize that ‘widespread social immaturity’ is a cancer and b) chose to combat it on an individual level.

In small town NZ we seem trapped in these insular pioneer manacles – and we cannot seem to (or want to) override this tendency.

This begs the question: Is smalltown NZ (& NZ especially as a whole) addicted to this ‘social immaturity’, that results in either a deep form of loneliness or a situation of co-dependency (via you girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, husband etc)?

You see NZ seems to be bifurcated between the two camps. One camp single @ not getting enough social contact, conversations; and the other camp that board themselves up at home wth their partners or perhaps wider family members.

The Australians seem to be better at this than us Kiwis – they seem to be wiser in knowing that they need proper socialization also and making it happen. Of course I would be a fool to not mention that much of this is due to the ‘big city effect’ where perhaps 75% of Australia lives in the big cities of Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, Brisbane, Perth Darwin. Big cities by there nature (a lot of people in a small space) make it such that a certain amount of what I might call ‘surface level socialization’ is unavoidable (in cafes, public transport, at the larger headcount workplace, neighbours in higher density apartments, at the bars etc).

But Australia I think is more social than NZ ( and so less ‘lonely’) not just because of the size of their cities. I think Australians are perhaps further over their ‘pioneer syndrome’ than NZ. There is a certain necessary pigheadedness about ‘pioneering life’. You have to ignore the fact that it’s a lonely place while you build the country into something more than a few huts with dirt roads. But if your society can’t ‘shake off’ this cultural programming once it has been sufficiently built then surely this becomes a societal -wide pathology. I think we in NZ do suffer this pathology and Australia does too, but to a much lesser degree.

Of course the question then becomes “how does a country that has this a-social pathology affliction get out of it, treat it etc”? I think it’s a very hard question and a very hard task. You see the pathology self reinforces itself. Once someone is insular, they become less confident with others, less skilled in conversation, more likely to be embarrassed about things, more likely to be offended – so they shut themselves away more.

When a society does this, we must then see declines in all the institutions that promote sharing of ideas and socialization. The most obvious decline is that of the ‘great western pub’. You see for a long time the pub was perhaps the center of socialization for the wider community.

Speaking as a NZ’er or an Aussie (or an American or a Canadian etc) The English Pub is obviously a part of our collective Western ethnic heritage. The pubs (and its offshoot the night-club) have all been in decline in the West over the last fifteen to twenty years. This is just one example of one formally strong institution where wider socialization between people is the whole point.

I’m sure that more than the pub – i.e. cricket teams, Netball teams, rugby teams, table tennis, sewing clubs, amateur dramatics etc have all dwindled in participation. This is proof that the pathology has been spreading. At this point there’s no real debate against this fact, other than perhaps the argument that ‘yes but what about the internet – people socialize and communicate on the internet now’.

Yes this is true – but it is not a like for like replacement of the pub, the cricket club, the bowls club etc. Many would say it’s an unhealthy bastardization of socialization. Some might disagree and say that that is being to dogmatic – after all should not the way we socialize be able to change? I guess the answer lies somewhere in the middle. Internet socialization or communication is perhaps best described a ‘half-measure’, that is fundamentally imperfect.

On a personal level – yes internet communication has been great for me – but I do feel its imperfections acutely. For example when I was younger in the nineties the pub scene was a great way to meet the opposite sex and socialize with friends and the wider community – but now that that has essentially gone, and I perhaps chat or send an email to someone it’s clearly something that leaves me wanting a richer experience. If it’s not a long term friend your messaging (I’m messaging) you never really meet up with them – and most the time you don’t request a physical rendezvous. If it’s a relative or complete stranger you say a few lines, like their posts and you might rehash the scenario for a while or you might lose interest and stop doing that.

I should mention the ‘online dating’ situation briefly. Again compared to the pub or the amateur dramatics club of old, it is a debasement. When I was younger – perhaps around thirty I did try this online dating. I found it to be shallow. This really is because the technology is designed to keep you single and having casual realtionships, because that is where the tech giants get there money. There’s no point in saying much more other than this is how I experienced it and I dropped it as a consequence.

I myself am of course talking from the perspective of a very well educated middle age man (of forty-eight), living in small town New Zealand and being single. I am a Gen Xer. I guess I am luckyin that up until thirty-odd I the old world of the social institutions was mostly still in tact. If I was twenty-five I would be more upset about this non-socialization pathology that I am. If I never socialize again, at least I can look back to the old days and feel warm inside. When the twenty five year old is fifty will they be able to do the same? Or will the doctor have done their best to tranquilize the feelings out of them entirely?

And I should mention that I think it is good that more people realize we are in a ‘loneliness pandemic’. I’ve seen that mentioned a lot – on the internet in particular. My fear is we talk about it online, and therefore basically almost make it worse. I myself feel lonely a lot of the time. I worry about this.

I am concerned that my romantic/dating life ground to a complete halt at about age forty. In small town NZ as a over forty male I feel you cannot hope to make a new friend. My friends (bar perhaps one or two others who is really just acquaintances) I have all known since high school. I do not see this changing while my environment remains the same.

In the interests of keeping this digestible – I will end it here. I don’t know what the solution is. I have a hope that there will be a mass movement to be online less. I see some anecdotal evidence of this – but I would say it is ‘scanty at best’. I haven’t mentioned the ‘gender wars’ that seem to be terrible at the moment – but I will say now that it surely is amplified by this pandemic of the a-social. We really need to make a nation-wide and indeed a global emergency of this situation we face.

It is such a thorny issue. I feel sorry for myself and all the millions of others effected by this, especially the young. But it’s bad for everybody. We’ve drifted into this at base totally avoidable situation. I will try to remain positive about the solutions. I will try to champion people to get over their ever increasing social inhibitions meet more in the real world more often. After all a problem (or an idea) shared is a problem halved as they said in the (sometimes wiser) olden days.

Perhaps tomorrow after a good sleep I will feel less jaded about everything. Perhaps this is nothing new and past societies have suffered through and came out the other end of this anti-social quagmire we seem so stuck in. Perhaps the cyclical theory of History can give us (& me personally) a rational form of optimism. Perhaps by 2035 the pubs will be bangin‘ again just like 1999 and before (But did they also ‘banged too much’ back then? Perhaps).

BONUS MATERIAL: See the expanded version (more Philosophy based) of this post on my essay based site https://martinantonsmith.wordpress.com/2026/06/27/today-i-am-feeling-jaded-and-worried-about-socialization-or-the-lack-of-an-essay-expanded-version/

“Bog Rolls, Milk, & Talkative Chicks Please” (A Poem)

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Supermarket aisle with fishing bait cans and mugs displayed on a wooden table

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

I think I had a five-minute relationship with a woman at the supermarket.
I was walking around by myself – as usual.
I had my trusty ‘transistor radio’ on me.
And no I do not do this for the ‘quirk factor’ per se –
What can I say I like classic rock but hate smartphones.
Perhaps this is what you do when transitioning to being old.
She’s twenty eight (she told me that later on).
She said “I like your music” and I didn’t hear her.
Then she appeared again at the next aisle and said it again.
I heard it this time.
We chatted a little.
She told me she’s trying to be more outgoing – so that’s why she said hi.
I was impressed – it takes a lot for a gal to do that.
I said ‘walk with me’.
She did.
I picked up some milk – I picked up two litres.
“I need some too” she said – one litre”.
It makes sense as I’m twice as big as her.
She told me she various psychological ailments –
I wasn’t judgmental – these days don’t we all?
I mean – who can say that they aren’t a little ‘F’d in the swede’
It’s all a matter of degree.
We got to the toilet paper aisle.
I thought to myself that if I was younger I’d be embarrassed now.
When you are young you get embarrassed about being human and having to wipe.
That I don’t miss – the embarrassment of youth.
I got one brand, she got another.
She was carrying her stuff like a bachelor does – no basket hugging the goods tightly.
I made a joke about this and that she should carry it on her head.
A bad joke but she didn’t pull me up on it.
Then I said we should catch up sometime for a coffee.
She was keen & we exchanged details in modern day way – her phone.
I haven’t messaged her yet.
I’m not sure if I will.
it’s nice to wind back the clock.
That kind of thing happened to me all the time between twenty and thirty five.
That was thirteen years ago now.
It’s a nice ego boost for sure.
But now the main thought I am having is this:
‘What if she’s more crazy than I am?’
This is probably just me being ‘avoidant’.
That’s always been a hobby of mine after all.
I feel uncertain.
I’m so out of touch with all this.
I’ve been a Monk.
And I am probably a broken man after all.
But then who isn’t at my age?
It’s a small town, I’ll see her soon some time anyway.
And I’m sure thinking like that says a lot about me.
But the next impromptu Supermarket run in could be best anyway.
So instead of default neuroticism – I’ll just try to keep my pecker up.
And If I never see her again, I guess we’ll always have the bog-rolls, milk, and classic rock.
I wonder if she’ll ever read this and recognize herself?