AI Generated Podcast Episode: Satire, Slacker Life, And Bukowski (With bonus ‘Note about AI’ piece by Anton M Smith)

Elderly man and robot sitting at a wooden table eating fish and chips with drinks in a traditional pub

‘Note About AI in Writing’ by Anton Martin Smith (not AI!)

I’m playing around with the new wordpress podcast generator. It creates commentary based on links you input. I’ve found it quite interesting, and witty. Of course its really just filler (a poet should tell the truth even against themselves!). I was thinking it’s a good way to semi-‘advertise’ your poems without going overboard, spending money and becoming a “PR piggie” (I’m still struggling with ‘self-promotion issues’ I guess).

It’s also worth letting my “tens of tens” readers that I would never generate one of my poems from AI. I have only used AI essentially for ‘fun’ so far & in no way delegate any creative control whatsoever in the creation of my writing. Sometimes I ask AI (Grok) on some basic analysis of my human written poems but I do this only to summarize the work so I can essentially get a summarized plot outline of what I have already written.

I would never ever ever ask AI/Grok “What should this character to do next in order to get the reader to think x” – I would see this as ‘intellectual treason’. So my position on AI in creative writing is that it must it terms of creative input it should should have no voice at all. In terms of peripheral/mechanical non-creative use I think it is fine to use it as much as you like. in other words you are just using it as in the same vein as prior ‘word processers’ like in the Microsoft Word was used from the nineties forward.

Anyone using AI to be ‘The Writer” of a supposedly ‘serious creative endeavor’ (as Prose, Poems, Short Storys, Novellas Novels and indeed Non Fiction or Essays are) to me is faking it – and if anyone does it without admitting it they are comitting literary treason – and that’s no exaggeration.

So in summary: I will always respect literature, writing and creativity and the human being in my writing. AI will only ever be used as the early ‘word processer software’ was, but only in a more updated the way.

Anyway I hope no one is offended by the use of AI for this post, & please see it as just a way to promote my human written pieces on this site.

If I’m out of line I’d appreciate the feedback, if I’m doing the right thing also let me know.

P.s. I should also say that I do generate many AI images that accompany my writing/posts – they are usually ‘obviously AI’ and so will not need attibution BUT where they look ‘original I will endeavor to caption as ‘AI generated Image” & again note any image generated is only as a ‘secondary feature’ to go with the main feature of the 100% original human (i.e. my Anton Martin Smith’s) writing.

Anton Martin Smith, C. Otago New Zealand on 17 July 2026 9:06 PM

Links involved in this WordPress AI podcast

https://antonmartinsmith.com/2026/07/12/the-idle-aussie-bloke-a-poem-bonus-material/

https://antonmartinsmith.com/2026/07/13/yesterdays-news-aka-todays-fish-chip-wrappers-prose/

https://antonmartinsmith.com/2026/07/07/saved-by-bukowski-the-girlbosses-prose/

Below is the transcript of the ‘WordPress Podcast’ (i.e. AI Written).

Pip: Anton Martin Smith writes from a chip shop in winter, a poem about an idle Australian, and the mind of God — which, honestly, is a pretty standard Tuesday for a certain kind of writer.

Mara: That’s the territory today — everyday absurdity turned into something worth examining, and a piece of literary self-mythology that reaches all the way to a cosmic wager. Let’s start with the chip shop and what it reveals about ordinary life.

Yesterdays News, Todays Insight

Mara: The question this post sits with is deceptively simple: what happens when a regular customer steps behind the counter and actually does the work — and what do they find out about the people on the other side of the order?

Pip: The piece earns its answer. After describing the pressure of getting meals out on time, it lands here: “Witnessing an adult still be able to have child-like joys was indeed my biggest take-away.”

Mara: That line reframes the whole piece. The chip shop stops being a comic set piece and becomes a small window into what people actually need from their Friday routines — comfort, ritual, something unchanged.

Pip: And the comic set pieces are genuinely good. The revelation that wrapping chips is “an exact science” — folding, cradling, centering — or it ends up looking like “a teenagers or an artists unmade bed.” That’s a real observation dressed as a joke.

Mara: The piece closes on something sharper than a punchline. The narrator concludes that whether you’re the one doing the yelling or taking it, “you still gonna have to serve somebody.” The chip shop becomes a lens on the whole structure of work.

Pip: There’s also a dropped phone in a vat of sweet and sour sauce, which the narrator describes as fine because it was just a burner. That detail lands like a footnote written by someone who has genuinely made peace with chaos.

Mara: The companion piece, “The Idle Aussie Bloke,” takes a lighter angle entirely — a short comic poem about one Didge-o Doo, who considers getting a woman to fill his idle hours and sensibly starts a rock band instead.

Pip: Both pieces are working the same seam: ordinary life observed from a slight angle, with enough warmth that the absurdity feels fond rather than mean.

Mara: Which sets up a harder question — what happens when the lens tilts from the everyday all the way up to the cosmic.

A Wager Between Angels and Adversaries

Mara: “Saved by Bukowski and the Girlbosses” is narrated by God, essentially — a voice that has watched its own creation get outmaneuvered, and is now explaining the long game.

Pip: The Bukowski quote arrives early and carries the whole argument: “About something small they protest wildly, but about wasting their entire lives they don’t even batt an eyelid.”

Mara: That’s the hinge. The narrator uses Bukowski as evidence that divine messengers don’t arrive playing harps — they arrive as drunk truth-tellers, because that’s who reaches the people who need reaching most.

Pip: The cosmic wager that follows is genuinely structured — God and an adversary negotiate terms, each convinced their model of human life will win. The adversary bets on concrete, artificial light, and crowded cities. God bets on waterfalls and open land.

Mara: And the piece admits the adversary is currently ahead on points, which is what makes the narrator’s confidence feel earned rather than smug. The closing image — the defeated adversary sloping off saying Bukowski and the Girlbosses were “a masterstroke” — is the punchline the whole piece builds toward.

Pip: It’s a big swing. Not everyone lands a cosmic allegory in prose. This one mostly does.


Mara: Chip shops and celestial negotiations — the connective tissue is the same: someone paying close attention to how ordinary life actually works, and what it costs.

Pip: More from Anton Martin Smith next time. Presumably from slightly closer to the kitchen.

Ep 47 of My Podcast – A 6 Poem Extravaganza + Narrations

Features: Fly The Nest/Finally Finalised/Remembering The Bar/Absolutely Positively Contrarian St/The Nouveauricians/Dead Men Don’t lie

Podcast Intro

Greetings & welcome to a Poem Extravaganza! Yes We have 6 Poems!!!! Yes it has been a very productive time of late on the poem front. I could talk about the world of late – Namely how ridiculous & duplicitous it mostly is – but instead I will simply do a quick chat about each Poem at the end of each poem. Note: Yes Things are ok in New Zealand – we have not yet been chipped yet I repeat We have not been chipped yet!

POEMS

“Fly The Nest” (A Poem)

Lose a PAYCHECK
& The ‘Sunday Dreads’
Gain A Life!
Then Sleep In your Shed

Tell Your Boss to “Get F*cked”
Then Breakdance in the Lift
You’ll Sail Into The Sunset
If First You Catch The Drift

Of Course, You’ll Second Guess
This Beating Of Your Chest
But Could This Dream Be Real?

Naration:

Ok Poem 1 “Fly The Nest” A simple short Poem about quitting your soulless chicken barn raised Corporate Job! Oddly I don’t talk of what you’ll do after you quit – now that’s a massive oversight – let me finish the Poem here – it is in instructional Form:

Now To Leave The Building

Then Start Flapping Wings As A Dove Would

Wait 7 Seconds as it will take a while to Liftoff

Drift Off Into The Sunset

Hang Out With The Other Freed Slave Doves

Make Coo Coo Noises That Translate as Follows:

“No Way You Bird Brain!

My Ex Office-Life In The Cubicle Chicken Coop World Was Way Worse Than Yours”

You now decide to dive bomb your old boss crap on his bald head & steal his sandwiches.

You never liked that old ‘Love Cliche’ about Doves being Loving anyway.

“Finally Finalised” (A Poem)

Brazen False Authority

Rides Deception’s Wings

Rules our Modern Times

& Plans Your Demise

Its Mouths Multiplied

Eyes Everywhere

Ears Engaged

It Counts Down

The Predetermined Date

The Final Flaunted Fling

Where You Will Demand

The Sale Of Your Soul

Is Finally Finalised

Narration:

Poem 2 “Finally Finalised” This is a Poem about how too many of us have been brainwashed into demanding our own servitude & lack of personal freedom – my theory on these idiots were/are the noveau riche people who had a great time on laptops and in leafy suburbs during the pandemic – while everyone else suffered. This effect makes me think how selfish human nature is, and how breaking free of that should be everyone’s mission.

“Remembering The Old Working-Class Bar” (A Poem)

I was 22 years Old

And behind the Bar.

A working-class bar where the old coots give you shit.

The more they drink the more confidant they get.

The jokes were always bad.

The couple owners were old close to retirement,

and the tough as boots old lady had an eagle eye at all times.

My first week she told me to the dairy go next door for a “long weight”,

I fell for it like a total boob.

The old man was a classic old time slow grafter,

who occasionally when drunk propositioned and squeezed the female bar staff.

He did it to the lady that ended up lifting his cash from him.

I guess that’s why she allowed it.

There was the devil eyed nasty alcoholic teacher lady,

Who took a disliking to me,

I assume it was because at the time I looked far too much ”young anglo male’,

And she probably deep down wanted to be one too.

Or she was probably just a garden variety mad as hell teacher who hated herself.

There was my manager was 36 and partied every night,

I couldn’t keep up with him, I tried for a week.

There was the old Naval Hero who was the cook,

A sneaky old coot that tried to push me around.

if 3 people ordered a meal at the same time he panicked,

much like a MGM cartoon character about to be blown up.

The joint was laden with smoke from cigarette smokers,

That second hand smoke annoyed the hell outa me.

There were the gamblers at the pokie machines,

They sadly played pushing the button time after time,

desperately hoping for “free spins”.

If I only had a pint of beer for every time a Jackpot winner said:

“Thank god I can pay the electric bill now”,

I’d never pay for a beer again.

There was the dopey musclehead who had a too decent Japanese wife,

He was running around behind her back with some drunkard whore.

One day a tough guy came in and threatened us behind the bar,

the musclehead cowered despite his muscles,

He was still the weak bullied kid in his mind.

There was the punter with ginger beard double denim & cowboy hat a wannabe “outlaw”,

he gave me a lot of shit, then one day I gave him two barrels back,

Which drew hoops and claps from the gallery.

The Pub’s suburb was the same one my Paternal Grandad, (Father as a kid) & Great Grandfather had lived in,

some 35 years later.

The Grandfather was a Drunk – and here I was serving his type.

I didn’t think much of that but the older I got the spookier I thought of it.

When the Rugby was on it was packed out,

Any ‘hospo’ worker knows how hard a job it is when a bar’s packed out.

No one gives Hospo workers credit – how bizarre!

They allow people to blow off steam, take a tone of crap & feed people,

That’s an important job if you ask me.

One day the owners sold out & retired.

The option was given to stay on with the new owners,

no one wanted to do it, including me.

It must have been an alright time.

That reminds me, I had a fling with a customer the red head student teacher once,

She wasn’t a supermodel, but I was male & 23,

23 yr old males don’t say know to a “free meal”.

Why are Teachers so horny? Is it the stress of their jobs?

It was twenty years ago now, and I still remember those years well.

I went back to the Bar a few months ago,

A few changes but roughly the same.

I saw a few wooden seats that were the exact same seats.

I ordered a coke so as not to seem odd.

It would have been nice to see an old face – alas there was none.

I wondered how many of those lovable old coots had passed.

RIP to all those old coots of that Chatty Bar in New Brighton Christchurch, NZ.

I still remember ya’s.

Narration

Poem 3 “Remembering The Working Class Bar” When I was 22 I worked in a Bar in Christchurch NZ – this is an Ode to that experience.

“Absolutely Positively Contrarian Street” (A Poem)

Posted in UNCATEGORIZEDTagged LIESLIFEPOEMSSOCIAL COMMENTARYTRUTHEDIT

If You Are Born Into Madness – Madness Is Normal & Unseen.

You Can Be Born Into a Mad Family,

Or a Mad Town,

Or a Mad Nation,

Or a Mad Planet,

Or All Of The Above.

But You Can See Madness – If You Work Hard,

& Strive To Be a Contrarian – An Independant Thinker.

It Is Worthwhile,

& Despite The False Adage “Ignorance Is Bliss”,

Truth Is Nirvana.

They’ll Hate You For Wanting It.

They’ll Hate You For Seeing It.

They’ll Hate You For Teaching It.

Wear That Badge Of Honor,

That The Madman Pinned On Your Chest.

For When A Madman Calls You A Madman

You Must Not Be Mad.

As Two Negatives Multiplied,

Always Make A Positive.

Live In A Universe Of Positively Truthful Nirvana,

Where The Madmen Are Slowly Disappearing From View.

Narration : Poem 4. “Absolutely Positively Contrarian Street” A Simple Poem which espouses to benefit of not following the crowd. Yes ! Be a contrarian. But then now that I think of it – If everyone is a contrarian doesn’t that also make them a conformists? This effect happens a lot doesn’t it? That’s signals the end of an alternative movement – when it becomes mainstream & full of ‘pile ons’. This happened in the Hippie Movement & the Grunge Era & we see it now with Woke-ism

“The Nouveauricians” (A Poem)

If You Are A 21st Century

Nouveau Riche Citizen

You Duplicate

The Worst Aspect

Of The Roman Empire:

False Elitism.

Which Spurned

Class Based Society

Casual Social Rejection

Brutish Behaviour

Vagrant Immorality

Rampant Materialism

Child Abuse

So Don’t Be

A ‘Nouveaurician’

Narration:

Poem 5 “The Nouveauricians” A Simple poke in the eye of the Nouveau Riche – The best thing about this Poem is the new term “The Noveauricians” I will use it as much as possible from here on in.

“Dead Men Don’t Lie” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

There Were Three Billion Views
Of Something In The News
I Can’t Remember What It Was
But It certainly Wasn’t Truth
Yes, “Social Media’s a Curse”
Said The Limp Man In The Hearse
& The Flowers Drooped As He Sped By
But Oh My Word!
A Dead Man Doesn’t Lie

Narration

Poem 6 “Dead Men Don’t Lie” Another Simple throwaway poem that talks of the evils of Social Media. At heart I feel we should as Lars Ulrich’s Dad might say be better off to “Delete That”.