Poems – Page 10 – Anton Martin Smith Writer

“The Well-Heeled Cat Speaks”

September 15, 2023September 15, 2023Posted in Creative WritingTagged cats, fiction, Humour, PoemsLeave a comment

To My Dear New Feline Friend From The Next-Door Suburb.

I Have Scratched These Words On Our Leafy Mutual Boundary Line,

On A Paper-Like Thinly Barked Tree,

As Is Our Standard Practice.

Please Forgive My Paw-writing.

In Answer To Your Prior Query:

I Have Two Slaves.

A Fat Female One & A Thin Male One.

They Have Been Annoying Me Lately.

Permit Me to Explain:

The Fat Female One Keeps Moving My Comfy Blanket,

That She Has Sneakily Has Also Taken For Herself,

As There Is Technically Enough For Us Both.

She Does These things Without Asking Permission.

Occasionally I Must Discipline Her When She Tuggs The Blanket Too Much.

I Rise Up From My Deserving Slumber & Soft Paw Her Chubby Fingers,

And I Combine This With A Hiss & Use My “If Looks Could Kill” Face.

After My Shrewd Tactics She Always Get The Picture.

The Skinny Male One Also Annoys By Spilling My Milk.

He Does This For Lack Of Care In Pouring The Big Milk Jug.

Both My Slaves Are Bad At Answering The Door,

Especially In The 11PM To 7AM Period.

Sometimes I Have To Scratch & Wail For An Hour,

& Often This Is Without Reward.

I Have Told Them To Arrange A Small Swinging Door For Ease-Of-Access,

But This Seemingly Falls On Deaf Ears.

Though I Must Admit They Are Occasionally Good At Some Things,

They Generally Mix My Food Up Well, & It Is Regular That The Other “Kibble Cats” Become Jealous.

It Is Marvelous That The Thin Male One Makes Sure To Not “Over-Garden” My Land,

Thus, I Have Plenty Of Chateaux-Le-Hidey-Holes At My Disposal.

I Could Continue, But I’m Sure You Catch My Drift.

My Slaves Are Imperfect But Are Generally Passable & Sometimes They Surprise Me.

Now Excuse Me, I Must Fly Over A Low Wall, Land On A Poor Sparrow & Devour Him Whole.

Yes, Like All Upper-Classes, I Still Love To Hunt,

And Then Play With My Food.

Nocturnally Yours,

The Well-Heeled Fellow Cat,

From The Adjoining Feline-Defined Suburb.

P.S. How Are Your Slaves Behaving? Do Tell Soon By Writing On The Other Side Of This Tree.

“A Page In Time” (A Poem)

August 17, 2023Posted in PoemsTagged Books, fiction, Humour, Lifes Small Pleasures, Melancholia, Poems, ReaingLeave a comment

By Martin Anton Smith

Reading a really good book very slowly…

In Slothe-like fashion…

Is actually quite the joy….

Taking in each sentence with ‘comprehensional’ aplomb…

Not unlike the last grasps of a starving man…

As he reaches for a ripe-aciously rounded plum…

As it floats holographically in the air…

Only in this case…

The book is actually there…

As is the 10,000 songs on Shuffle…

As is the half empty can of beer….

As low or no lighting…..

As is the battery charging solitude…

Yes, despite creeping melancholia….

There are still simple & life reviving pleasures out there….

Even I must at least admit that…

When the day has been a giant hassle…..

“Many Mansions” (A Poem)

August 11, 2023August 12, 2023Posted in UncategorizedTagged Christian Thought, Heaven, history, philosophy, Poems, social commentary, TheologyLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Last Night I Had My 2nd Dream Of “Hell”.

My First Dream Of Hell Was About A Year Ago.

Let Me Summarise & Compare & Contrast The Two,

And Then I Will Analyse What It Could “Mean” – If Anything.

The First Was Not Long After I Begun To Engage In Reading The Bible,

And Engage In Self Research About Christian Theology,

As Well As The Wider History Period Around The Time Of Jesus Of Nazareth.

So, The First “Vision Of Hell” Went Like This:

I Was Lead Into A Nondescript Place – Dark, Brooding,

But Not Quite The Comic Book Version Of Hell.

If Was A Place Where People Walked, But There Was Seemingly No Chattels.

I Don’t Recall Much Other Than The Fact I Felt I was Being Shown It –

Shown It Exists As A Place, By A Benevolent Force By My Side.

This Force Was Leading Me To A Meeting -Without Talking –

I Was Just Following Obligingly.

So In Time I Saw Someone I Recognised – Someone Who Still Lives –

In The Earthly World I Still Inhabit.

He Was An Old Schoolmate – Someone Who Was Always “Too Cool”.

This Time Instead Of Ignoring Me They Said Cheerily:

“Hi Martin How Are You Going”.

They Were Nice In Hell But Mean On Earth?

Perhaps, Contrary To Popular Myth – This Is How It Works –

In Hell They Are Finally Scared Enough Into Being Nice.

He Was About 20 Years Of Age & Had His Flesh Hanging Off Him –

In Large Chunks At That.

That’s All I Remember Of My First Visit to Hell –

Note: I Was Being Temporarily Shown – Not “Committed” As Such.

Ok On To Hell Visit “No. Two”, From Just Last Night.

This One Was Different – I Think I was Being Shown My “New Digs”.

Again, The Dream Contents Seem Short & Simple:

The Force Leading Me Was to My Side –

There but Not Talking Only Leading,

But I Knew That This Was A Place, Cavernous, No Chattels & With ‘Warm’ Lighting.

It Was Like A Landlord Was Showing Me My New Lodgings –

As Best Described As “A Spartan Boarding House” –

This Judgement Of A ‘Boarding House’ – Was A Feeling, Rather Than The ‘Look’, Per Se.

It Came As The Popping Thought: “Oh This Seems Like A Boarding House” –

A Non-Explicit Hunch, You Might Say.

And Then I Was Shown What I Guess Was A Pre-existing Tenant.

In This Dream I Didn’t Recognise Him As Anyone From My Earthly Existence.

He Was Male, & Had the Look Of A Serious Burns Victim & ‘Freddy Kruger’ Sans The Long Fingernails.

It Was the Introduction Where We Say Hi & Engaged In Small Chit Chat –

Except That’s When In Real Life My Mother Knocked On the Door & I Awoke.

Ok My Brief Analysis Is this:

These Dreams Could Be A Warning That Hell Is Indeed Real –

And If You Don’t Explicitly Work To Avoid Going There –

You WILL End Up there.

What A Scary Thought.

Also, The 1st Dream Hell Seems Worse That The 2nd –

To Recap The First Was Like A Walking Half Butchered Sheep-

While the Second Was Like A Functional 4th Degree Recovered Burns Victim.

This Contrast Between the Two Made Me Think:

That This Like A Hellish Version Of The Bible Verse John 14:2

“In My Fathers House There Are Many Rooms. If It Were Not So,

Would I Have Told You That I Am Going There To Prepare A Place For You?”.

For If If Heaven Is Demarked & Graded Into Different Compartments –

Surely Hell Is Too.

Perhaps Ones Life Is Graded As A Whole, & The Score Allocates You To Your Room In The Afterlife.

You Could Be A C- Life & Just Scrape Into The ‘Barely Good’ Digs In Heaven,

Or A+ & Get To The Sublime Penthouse Suite With Endless Room Service All Paid.

Or On The Flipside You Could Fail Marginally With A D & End Up In the Best Rooms In Hell,

Barely Disfigured, only Just Uncomfortable & Only A Little Sick;

Or You Could Fail Maximally With a Zero Score,

& Perhaps Have Endless Eternal Wide Awake Flaming Lobotomy Surgery Etc.

The Most Scary Thing, All Up, I Think Is This:

This Description Seems to Sound A Lot Like the Earth As It Is Now –

But The State Between Heaven-ish-ness & Hellishness Is Unevenly Yoked –

Favouring Hell.

This The By Logical Deduction Brings Forth Another Scary Proposition

Perhaps Our Earth Life Is The Post Judgement Phase Of A Prior “Life”,

& We Are Here Serving Our Justly Imposed Sentences –

In A Very Real Intwined & Co-Mingling Heaven & Hell.

With Most Of Us On The Wrong Side Of the Ledger,

Living In Many Mansions, In Varying States Of Disrepair.

Of Course, My “Earth = A Comingling Heaven & Hell” Theory

May Be Totally Wrong BUT – If I Am Wrong,

Why Does The Countenance Of The Very Nice Look Angelic,

While The Very Mean’s look Like Those Of Demons?

Are These Not An Example Of The ‘Hidden Principalities Of The Spiritual Realm’?

Simply Re-Flowering On The Other Side Of The Canvas?

WWMD’s (A Poem)

August 6, 2023August 6, 2023Posted in UncategorizedTagged Beto O'Rourke, fiction, George W Bush, Offices, Poems, social commentary, The Workplace, WorkplaceLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

He or She Or It Was Likely Very Bad At Maths.

They Can’t Solve Problems To Save Themselves.

They’ve Been Unleashed On Many Unsuspecting Victims,

Throughout The Corporate Office Space World.

This Now Includes The Politicians & Public Service Dept’s

As The Entire World Has Now Become “Corporatised”.

How Do They Survive?

They Are Expert At Being Sneaky Fuckers.

They Pass The Buck & Their Work To The Too Nice People –

Who CAN Problem Solve.

But If There Are No Nice People Left To Take The Buck –

That’s Where Society Totally Collapses.

They Are Almost Always the Best Dressed.

They Scream Like A Toddler When You Ask Them:

“Do Your Own Work.”

They Act Politically & Brown Nose the Boss,

While Stabbing All Others In The Back.

They Often Are Adept At “Falling Upwards” –

(Like That Asshole US Politician Beto O’Rourke)

Meaning They Usually Get Into Topper Management Or High Office,

Which Rewards them For Being Useless Scam Artists.

You Can Spot Them By Their Language –

They Use Empty Platitudes Like –

“Can You Get This Across the Line”,

“Lets Get Things Done”.

Big Companies Are Infested By Them

& They Become A Virus On Society.

These Assholes Really Are

WWMD’s

Workplace Weapons Of Mass Destruction.

They Are The Reason:

That’s Why Nothing You Buy Is Good Anymore.

That’s Why It’s Overpriced.

That’s Why Workplace Culture Sucks Arse.

That’s Why Councils & Governments Can’t Fix Even A Highway Pothole.

That’s Why You Get Taxed To Within An Inch of Your Life.

If Only WWMD’s Were Like George W Bush’s WMD’s,

And Were A Total Fabrication.

Unfortunately, For The Ever Toiling & Suffering Good Folk Of This Planet –

They Are Only Too Real.

What Can You Do?

You Can Suffer & Never Become One Of Those WWMD’s –

& Wear That Badge Of Honour Proudly –

You Can Smile & Imagine This Car-Wreck Is A Cadillac.

You Can Steadfastly Refuse To Go Insane.

All In All –

That’s Really All You Can Do.

For Yourself & The Remnants Of Civil Society.

“The Pile,The Tree & The GDP “. (A Poem)

August 4, 2023August 5, 2023Posted in PoemsTagged Human Condition, Poems, social commentaryLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

Isn’t It Weird?

How We No Longer Have ” Economic Recessions”,

Yet More & More People Are living In Cars,

& Strung Out On the Streets.

And For those Not Actually Homeless,

There Is A Consistent 20-30% Of People,

That Are Living On the Near Margins Of Destitution.

Then There Is The Casual Anarchy:

Of Street Crime,

Its Raids,

Its Assaults,

Its Murders.

Yet They Tell Us The ‘GDP Numbers Are Up’,

And Employment Rates Are ‘At Record Highs’.

It’s Of Course A Total Swindle – We Know What’s Going On.

The Growing Ranks Of the Undeclared Underclasses –

Or Simply the ‘Men & Women Of The Pile’ –

We Know The True Reality –

The Bastards Have Manicured A Giant Rubbish Tip –

Not For Themselves, But As A Home For Us.

The Pile Has A Very High Leafy Green Tree That Sprouts From the Center –

That’s What They Live In.

So High Is The Tree – That They Can’t Even See The Stenchful Rottenness Below.

So High They Can Congratulate Themselves On the View – Without Feeling Any Irony

And So High they can Chatter Of The ‘Clean Crisp Mountainous Air’ –

& Tell Each Other That That Nasty ‘Rubbish Dump Modern Art Sculpture’ –

Is Actually A Distant Problem –

Not Of their Making – One They Don’t Really Need to Worry About.

After All – They Live In Those Sun-soaked, Leafy Green Treetops.

But All Delusions, Of Course, Must Eventually Be Dashed.

One Day –

At A Time Not Of their Choosing –

They’ll Have To Admit,

As They Pluck Their Bulbous Gleaming Fruit From Their Towering Tall Tree –

That It Now Tastes Really-Rather-Rotten,

With All Prior Residual Sweetness Now 100% Fully Dissipated.

And So Does the Next One Taste The Same –

And So The Next –

But Even So,

I Doubt They Will Ever Fully Admit To Each Other,

That It Was Their Own Folly That Soured Their Own Fruit.

For They Thought The Scam Would Last For An Eternity.

……Meanwhile…….

We The Masses Are Cursed To Endure The Anarchy Of the Pile,

To Eke Out A Living,

Of This Razor-Sharp-Tin-Can-Plume,

This Widening Garbage Dump Society:

Filled With Soiled Old News Papers

All With These Kind Of Headlines:

“GDP IS UP & EMPLOYMENT AT RECORD HIGHS”.

Yes – We ‘The Men & Women Of The Pile’,

Resilient Though We Are

Have Had It Right Up to Here,

With This Deepening Suffocating Impoverishing Pile –

This Twenty-First Century Westernised Bantustan,

If You Will.

It’s Time to Call A Spade A Spade –

And Finally Dig Ourselves Out Of “The Pile”.

Then The Tree Will Also Fall.

“EBITDA Demons Are On Your Case” (A Poem)

July 22, 2023July 22, 2023Posted in UncategorizedTagged Corporatised, Poems, social commentaryLeave a comment

Some People Are the Walking Dead.

Scratch That,

MOST PEOPLE ARE THE WALKING DEAD.

Alas -They Have Been Captured.

But More On that Soon.

In Absence Of A Dominant Good Spirit,

A Demon Inhabits The Empty Human Vessel,

Always – Always – Always.

There Can Be No Empty Vessels – Not For Long.

The Common Demon Is Mostly Easily Spotted

They Are The Ardent Materialists.

They Have ‘Dead Fish’ Pinhole Eyes,

They Age Dramatically Early

They Have No Warm Smiles –

Only The Saddest Forced Ones.

They Usually Have Lots Of Stuff – Or “Fine Things”

That They Have Bought With their Slave Profits –

A Derivative Called Financialised Human Soul Energy –

But Known More Commonly As EBITDA.

In General, They Heavily Mistreat the Most Vulnerable –

The Young, The Old, The Sick, The Unwise.

& Glee In Their Earthly Unpunished Crimes.

Most CEO’s are Demons,

As Are Executives,

As Are Corporate High Flyers,

As Are Knights & Dames,

As Are Many Of Those “Climbing The Corporate Ladder”

As Are Practically All The Leaders Of “Organised Religion”, “Charity Organisations” etc.

For They Are Just Large Corporations In Disguise.

All This Is Not Surprising.

The Large Corporation Is The Demons Lair.

And The Bottom Half Of The Hierarchy Triangle

Which Houses 90% Of The People Called “Rank & File” –

The “Workers” – The Ones the Leadership Spits/Steps On,

& Proselytises A Demonic Gospel To.

These People Still Demonically Hypnotised,

Are Trapped In These Cubicle Shaped Catacombs.

The “Office Cubicle” Is The Modern Earth-Bound Tiny Slot In Hell

That – According to the CEO & His Demons

You Cannot Escape From & Are Crazy To Want To

if Yu Believe The CEO & Dark Army Soldiers

You Must Stay For An Eternity,

You Must Bow To Their Darkness

Their Greed

Their Bombasts

Their Lies

You Must Pretend They Are Good

& Not Demons Out To Destroy

It’s A Total Have

Designed To Steal Your Life

Away From You,

In Illegitimate Fashion

You Don’t Need To Escape Them,

As For Many You Can’t Escape THEM.

You Can Only Exchange One Lair Of Demons,

For Another Lair Of Demons,

On Another Street,

Down Some Dark Ally Way,

Housed In A “Big City”

With A New CEO-DEMON ETC

This You May Be Trapped In Forever

Enslaved In Modern Slavery

But Your Soul Can Escape

If You Allow Yourself To See

This World For What It Is

A Shit – Show Run By Demons

See It

But Don’t Ever Be It

And Escape It If You Can.

There Are Still Many Decent,

Small To Medium Companies & Contractors,

That Haven’t Yet Sold their Souls

Over To The Great Destroyer.

But They Are Fading Fast,

Yes, the EBITDA Demons Are On Your Case…..

They’ve Corporatised Billions Of Souls….

Their War Continues Unbounded………..

“Congratulations I’ve Been Admitted to the Bar” (A Poem)

July 6, 2023July 6, 2023Posted in UncategorizedTagged bars, Drunks, fiction, Humour, Lawyers, Poems, Working Class Hero, WW3Leave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Today I Was Admitted To The Bar

This Was A Great Achievement

That I Had Put So Much Effort Into

What’s That?

Oh My Fine Rare As Hen’s Teeth Reader

You Think I Become A Lawyer?

You – If You Are The Stock Standard “Nouveau Riche” Person

Think I Am Now A “Success”

Because I’m A “Lawyer”?

And My Future Is One Of

Dinner Parties Where Everyone Says The Exact Same Thing?

A Nice House On The Hill?

A Sham Marriage?

With A Wife That Hates Me?

All The Anti-Depressant’s The Doc Can Shambolically Dispense?

A Flash Car?

A Mutual Fund Portfolio Managed By A Glorified Scammer?

Called A “Financial Planner” Or “Sharebroker”?

With 2.3 Kids at “Private School” & A Dog & an Audi Or BMW Or A Mercedes??

Oh No No No No!

That Will Not Do!

You Couldn’t Be More Mistaken!

I Would Never Involve Myself With Such A Unbridled Shit-Show!

To Put It Quite Plainly

Let Me Clarify:

I said I was “Admitted To The Bar”

This is slightly wrong

I Was “Re-admitted To The Bar”

Not The Lawyer Regulatory Kind But The Selling Alcohol Kind.

I Had Been Barred From The Dive Bar

For Loutish Behaviour

And Having Served My Week On the Side

Barman Sammy Simmons Called Me And Said

“Congratulations Barney – You Have Been Re-admitted To The Bar”

I Was Free To Again Drink With The Schmoes

And Tell Wild Untrue Stories Of My Many Glories

My Car Sucks, It Backfires, Breaks Down & Is Rusty

I Had A Wife But She Was Toothless & She Split

Across Many, Many State Lines,

Far Too Numerous To Count.

I Have 5.2 Kids Out There, To 3.7 One Night Stands

I Live in A Decrepit Boarding House,

Which Will One Day Get Flooded/Burnt Down/Red Stickered,

As It Is Not Situated On A Hill In Those “Leafy Green Suburbs”.

Society Calls Me A “Bum” A “Loser” A “Drunk” Or A “Fool”

But No Matter How Bad My Life Seems To Be

I’d Never Be Stupid Enough To Want To

“Admitted To The Bar”

Of The Lawyerly False Glory Kind.

How Can Anyone Do That?

I Could Never Live In That Charade,

For Even One Month,

Let Alone The 2 to 5 Decades

That Those Brainwashed Faux Elite Subject Themselves To.

The Stress Of Keeping Up Those Appearances,

I Something I Wouldn’t Wish on My Worse Enemy.

There Are Probably Some Good Lawyers Out There,

But I Haven’t Met One In Fifty Odd Years

& Yes You Are Correct – Those Years Have Indeed Been “Odd”

The “Good Lawyers” – If Indeed they Exist AT ALL

Must Be Very Good At Hiding.

I’ll Stay A “Working Class Hero”,

Even If I Am A Wannabe One,

& Pull Up My Bar Stool,

& Tell Of The Glory Days

To The Gang.

We Will Belch, Fart & Yell Loudly,

But Not Neccesarily In That Order.

At Least We Know We Are “Losers”

But At Least We Produce Real Stuff

Like Waratahs, Wire, Dug Ditches & Customized Trucks,

Our Habitat Is In Shipyards, Sheds & The Outdoors

We Make Real Goods In What Is Called The “Real Economy”

Our Goods Are Essential, Non-Speculative, Tangible, Non Parasitic.

Stuff that Builds Great Stable & Flourishing Economies & Societies.

So – We Are Not “Losers” At All

Unlike Those Snooty Lawyers

Who Only Create Limitless Factory Issue Units Of Misery

& Spread It Around The World (Like A Virus).

Yes, We Can Be Bad – But We Ain’t Ever THAT BAD.

And When World War Three Finally Breaks

Our Younger Ones Will Win It – Like Always.

Ok I’m Now Off To Be “Re-Admitted To the Bar”

Thank you For Your Time

After All -You Could Have Been Doing So Many Other Things

Such As Drinking At A Bar Or Ringing A Divorce Lawyer

Or Something Else In-Between Those Two Spectrums

The Menendez Boys

July 5, 2023Posted in UncategorizedTagged fiction, Menendez, Poems, The Menendez BoysLeave a comment

We’re A Happy Family?

Have We Had Lobotomies?

We Eat At The Table

But Hallucinations

Crowd Our Best Intentions

We Fights Our Dad’s Dreams

The Top Dog Has Us Scared

We: Kids & Enemies

What Will We Do?

We Are The Menendez Boys

Stars U Might Say

Of The First Viral Murder Case

We Didn’t Deny The Murder

But We Had Our Reasons

The First Case Deadlocked

But The Second Did Us In

We Got Life With No Parole

Back In ’93

Now We’re Old Men

But Finally Together Again

Thank Heavens For Small Mercies

Believe Us We Are Reformed!

But We Know We’ll Soon Be Judged Again

We Are The Boys Eric & Lyall

You Could Call Us Career Men

But What’s Our Industry?:

It’s Our Fellow Men

Of The Penitentiary.

But Would Our Father Be Proud?

Or Would It Be Like The Old Times:

“Dad this Is What We Want”

“No Way Jose!

Because All You Boys Have Ever Shown Me

Is Mediocrity”

“Macroncke, The Diner, & The French Fourth Reich.” (A Short Story)

July 1, 2023September 2, 2023Posted in fiction, social commentaryTagged fiction, Fourth Reich, France, Humour, Poems, Riots, short stories, short story, social commentary, Third Reich, warLeave a comment

By Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

Macroncke Sat At The Table At The Very Posh Restaurant. This Was the Little French Diner That Could. It Was A Favourite Of High Society In France. It Had Old Oak Panelling & Ocean Liner Motif, With Ambient Low Lighting.

There Was No Press Or Outsiders, So He Could Speak Freely Without Fear Of Being Recorded. As Could All His Inner Sanctum At Seated The Table. They Were Known As His Most Trusted Followers, But He Didn’t Trust Them That Much – After All, His Profession Was Politics.

He Had Narrowly Survived An Assassination Attempt From An Inner Circle Member Just Last Year, So, He Was Suitably Cautious About Everyone. This Wise Cautiousness Even Extended To Even His Wife – Prunella.

They All Sat & Watched The Riots On The Restaurant TV, That Was Perched Up High & Almost Out Of Sight, With The Sound Off, But The Captions On.

Late Yesterday It Had Begun. They Saw The Rioting, The Cars Burning, The Looting, The Explosions, The Angry Zombified Faces Of The Masses,

The Rocks & Fireworks Aimed Squarely At The Cops – Who Were No Longer Rugged Or Tough. the French Police System – Like All Institutions – Having Long Been Victims Of A Widespread Philosophe Of Declining Entry Standards.

They Saw All The Wall To Wall TV Coverage In Kingly Comfort. The Table Had Himself – The PM. It Had His Old School Teacher aka His 65-Year-Old Wife Prunella. The Remaining Few Were A Faceless But Nicely Committed & Brainwashed Bunch.

It Had The Minister of Defence. It Had The Minister For Health. It Had The Finance Minister. It Had the Minister For Technology. Finally, It Had The Minister Of Immigration.

But Given The Seemingly Dire Circumstances – Were They In A Bad Mood? Certainly Not. Anyone Who Didn’t Know ‘Dirty Politics’ Might Expect This, Given The Riots Plastered Through The Media. But No – They Were All Quite Jubilant. Ebullient. An Esprit de Corps, Was Clearly Evident.

For This Was A Great Opportunity – For Them & Their Movement. But A Disaster For The People of France. These Kinds Of Riots Were Mostly A Farce. Their Bark Was Far Worse than Their Bite. After All – They Only Burnt Down A Few Dozen Buildings – A Meare ‘Drop In the Ocean’, Compared to All France’s Key Infrastructure.

As Was A Similar Vein With The Looting. As With The Burnt Out Cars.

The ‘Police – Rioter Skirmishes’ As The Press Dubbed These Mostly Semi-Violent Affairs, Only Ever Resulted In Zero to Five Deaths. This Was No Twentieth Century Style Coup & They Knew It. But This Was Not Because The French Citizens Were Not Enraged By Revolutionary Feeling – They Were.

It Was Only Because They Had All Been Spiritually & Physically Weakened By The Plan Over So Many Decades. They Were Energetically Speaking Like A High Performance Car With An Empty Tank Of Fuel, Simply Running On Residual Vapours.

Now That His Inner Sanctum Had All Arrived & Exchanged Pleasantries, He Would Kick Off The Meeting. Macroncke Put His Phone Down On The Table & Stood Up, While Holding His Wine Glass Somewhat Crookedly, it Was Almost Empty, So Remained Un-spilled.

“Ah These Overgrown Teenage Fools Have Allowed Me To Crack Down – Even More Than Before –

I Will Happily Tar All The Masses With Their Own Brainless Fiery Brushes”

There Was Hooping, Hollering, Table Slapping & Half-Drunk Applause From All Cronies At The Little White Tableclothed Tables, Which Were Lined Together As To Effectively Form One Long Thin Table.

Macroncke Continued:

“Ladies & Gentlemen, What Are Your Ideas On Further Exploiting This Moment?”

The Finance Minister Said:

“I’ll Have A Word to The Central Bank Chairman – Remember He Is In Our Pockets – He Will Jack Up Interest Rates An Extra 5%, That’ll Put An Extra 1 Million Of ‘Em On the Streets”

There Was Rapturous Applause & Slugs Of Wine Thrown Back Into Their Wrinkly Lizard-Like Necks.

The Immigration Minister Said:

“I’ll Report That We Are Allowing Another 1,000,000 Abjectly Lost Souls Into France To Plug Employment Shortages”.

More Rapturous Applause Followed, Accompanied By Deathly Like Shrieks Of Vengeance.

Someone Knocked A Glass Over On the Floor – It Broke Loudly, But No One Picked It Up.

The Defence Minister Said:

“I’ll Instruct The Army & Navy That They Can Continue To Practise Their War Drills On the Streets & Allow Rubber Bullets To Fly”.

This Statement Proved As A ‘Damp Squib’, As Much More Meanness Was Expected By The Living Gouls At The Table. He Fixed This Dour Response By Saying:

“I’ll Instruct Them To “Accidentally” Run Over Ten Percent Of Them With Our Police Humvees”.

This Time Jubilation Was Duly Restored – The Cackles & Slaps Flowed Just As The Top-Tier Champagne Had Been. Macroncke’s Wife Prunella Was So Deliriously Happy She Laughed Like An Australian Outback Hyena.

It Was The Minister Of Health’s Turn.

“I’ll Get The Crooked Docs To Whip Up A New Compulsory Jab – To Reduce Their IQ by 10 Points!”

This They Loved Greatly & Hands Slapped The Table Applause & Woops Rang Out For Many Seconds.

The Technology Minister Rose & Adjusted His Glasses Like A Dull Deputy Principal Would Addressing Schoolchildren At Assembly.

“I’ll Put A Trojan House On All the Social Media Apps – It’ll Track Everyone Unawares

To Within A Centimeter”

This Made The Table So Happy they Got Up & Twirled About, Stamping Feet, Waving Arms & Slugging Back Wine Glasses.

Macroncke’s Wife Prunella Got Up & Said:

“Well, I Have No Portfolio & Am Not A Minister – But I Can Punish The Leader, Like I Used To Punish My Husband When He Was My 7-Year-Old Primary School Student”

Macroncke, Although A Fool Was Also An Experienced Statesman, So Only Half Blushed At This Wife Induced Very Awkward Moment – He Stayed Still & Quiet Amongst The Many Audience Murmurs. Prunella The Very Drunk PM’s Wife, Continued Her Monologue.

“I’ll Take The Ringleader Of the Rioters To the Front Of The Mob…. & Then While Facing His Followers –

I Will Pull His Pants Down Smack Him On His Botty, Yelling At Him ‘Who’s A Naughty Boy Then’ “.

The Crowd Around The Table Were At First Stunned Into Silence, Being Not Sure How Macroncke Would Take This Bold But Emasculating Move From His Much Older Wife.

All Eyes Were Eagerly Fixed On Macroncke.

He Stayed Stoney Faced At First -But Then Broke Into A Strained Maladroit Smile, As Typified By Top Politicians.

This Allowed Them All To Go Wild Beyond Belief. The Finance Minister Laughed So Hard He Had To Walk To the Bathroom, Clutching His Bottom While Walking In Hybridised Sloth/Tin Soldier Fashion.

Macroncke’s Wife Abruptly Did A Handstand Against The Bar. What A Pity For Onlookers, That She Also Had A Penchant For Wearing No Underwear.

The Faux Pas Of Her Below the Waste Nudity Was Politely Ignored By All, As If She Had Been Wearing Jeans & Not A Long Floral Skirt.

The Technology Minister Got Up & With A Crazed Expression Snapped His iPhone In Half.

The Defence Minister, Screwing Up A Mock Fight Actually Punched the Immigration Ministers ‘Lights’ Out. The Now Floored Immigration Minister, Gurgled Indecipherable Words While Unconscious On The Opulent Imported Turkish Rug.

The Aging & Very Overweight Minister Of Health Having Seen The Chaos Laughed So Hard His Hernia Re-Burst itself, He Hit the Floor Rolling Around & Clutching His Stomach. He Only Stopped Rolling In ‘Slow Moving Billiard Ball Style’, As He Landed Right Next To The Still Gurgling & Still Unconscious Immigration Minister.

It Took Some Weighty Slices Of An Hour For Everyone To Regain Their Equilibrium & For the Disarray To Clear. Some Stayed Disabled On the Floor, But Were None-The-Less Awake & Attentive Enough To Their Surroundings.

It Became Patently Obvious That This Was The Now The End Of The Night. There Was No Need For Anyone To Prolong the Event. At This Moment The Security Detail Emerged From Behind The Wallpaper & Begun To Escort Them Homewards.

Soon All These Mouldy Old Soul Sellouts Would Be Back In Their Spacious Tax-Exempt Palaces. All To Their Different But Equally Palatial, ‘Quadrupilly Gated Community’ Dwellings.

Macronck Took The Last Moment To Say A Closing Remark. He Was Little in Stature But So Good At Appearing Like An Alpha Male – He Had A Booming Deep Voice & Took Up A Lot Of Space. He Had His Legs Wide Apart & Crossed Arms When He Confidently Roared:

“While My Wife May Have Embarrassed Me Tonight – I Am Not Embarrassed By Your Commitment To The Cause – French Neo-National Socialism.

Now I’ll See You On Monday In Cabinet, To Put Final Plans In Motion”. We Will No Longer Be Beholden to The Riff-Raff of Society – For They Will Simply Cease To Exist. France Can Finally Return To Its Former Napoleonic Era Greatness.”

He Ended With His Per-usual Boastful, Emotive, & Flamboyant Version of What Can Only Be Described As A Partially Veiled “Heil Macroncke” Salute – Which Was Ceremoniously Returned In Kind By The Doting & Wobbling Henchmen & Henchwomen.

Exactly As they Always Did In These Clandestine Soirees & Closed-Door Meetings, As There Was No Need to Hide Themselves, Or their Intentions.

They & Their Security Detail All Went Out The Back Of the Little French Diner To Their Waiting Cars In Single File Fashion. Contentment Was Written All Over Their Hardened & Cold – But Very Focussed Countenances.

For They Knew The French Fourth Reich Was Re-Flowering, With Perfect Timing, Exactly As Planned.

This Would Also, Of Course – Lead to A Great War – The Last Few Decades of the Strategically Undeclared World War 4 Would Melt Away Into A Very Hot Declared World War 4.

The Little French Restaurant Was Now Closing Down, A Few Waiters & Waitresses Milled Around The Table, Tending To The Strewn Cacophony Of Knives, Forks, Spilled Wine & Various Body Fluids Of The Political Melee.

They Were Now All At Their Respective Homes – Soon to be In Bed. Their Respective Drunkenness Ensuring Any Wired-ness that Might Keep Them Also Sleepless, Was Defeated.

The Henchmen & Henchwomen Of The French Fourth Reich, Were All – Bar Macroncke Himself – Sleeping Soundly To The Distantly Soothing Pops & Whistles Of The Wild Street Violence. They Were More than Confidant Their Collective-Machiavellian-Artistic-Dream-Creations, Their Fascist-Twisted-Elitist-Hopes & Dreams, Were Coming To Fruition.

They All Knew Victory Would Begin In Only A Few Hours Away At Sun Up. They Would Reap What They Had Sown.

Macroncke However, Unlike The Others, Had At First His Usual Sleepless Night – Racked With The Thought That At Any Minute His Sneaky Dictatorship Would Be Finally Be Seen For What It Was – A House Of Cards – A False Utopia – The Chaotic Unescapable Maze He Secretly Knew It to Be.

Again, Like Clockwork, At 4 AM, He Took A Handful Of Sleeping Pills And Other Barbiturates From His Overstocked Pharmacy-Like Bathroom & Would Soon Fell Asleep. Before He Had Swallowed The Pills, He Saw That One Pill Looked Slightly Different – Just A Little Brighter Than The Others. He Thought Nothing Of It & Threw His Trembling Hand To His Mouth & Gulped Them Down.

His Mind Now Relaxed A Little. Tomorrow The World Would Begin To Change Seismically – Not In Years, But As The Clock’s Second Hand Ticks. He Smiled Assuredly As He Climbed Back Into Bed, Next To the Fast Asleep Prunella & Then Closed his Eyes.

Just Before Nodding Off, A Final Thought Popped Into His Now Barely Conscious Mind. It Was A Pathetic, But None-The-Less Soothing Rationalisation:

“Well At Least I Can Stretch Out The Decline Of My Empire Long Enough to Create Maximum Carnage in Minimal Time – & I’ll Never Let Them Catch Me Alive Anyway – And If I Plan things Well, I’ll Escape the Hangman Via The Modern ‘Ratlines’ To Brazil, Argentina, Or Perhaps Even The Now Clandestinely Fascist New Zealand or Australia”

But he did awake at around 6 am, in a cold sweat. His nightmare was that he went into work & no one saw him at all – he was invisible & nothing he could do – shout & stomp as he may could garner even the lifting of the corner of a Frenchman’s lips, on top of that he also found no reference to himself in the pages of history.

The nightmare always ended the same way – i.e. the precursor to him waking up in a cold sweat with heart thumping. The only thing that would notice him in these nightmares was a diffuse shadow which implanted via telepathy a direct message in his mind:

“I granted your wishes – I made you one of the biggest Kings of the Earth. I gave you riches, fame & power, and insulation from the ‘Downtrodden Masses’ rightful ire. Now is time for you to repay me. I want your soul Macroncke – as small & shrivelled as it is – I want what you bargained for. I want your soul to put with all the others, to torture for all eternity.”

Macroncke was glad to awake & see himself in the bedside cabinets mirror. As always, he was happy to have his wife see his distress & hug & console him. To experience the relief that he was not in hell & was not being punished for his more-than-misdemeanours.

Prunella said “let’s get back to sleep – you have a big day tomorrow with the media” – she removed her motherly finger combing hand from his hair – they were both more than surprised to see that maggots were crawling all over her hand, having already eaten the flesh off her ring finger.

As Macronke’s Vision Faded To Black – He Knew The “French Fourth Reich” Was Now Over Before It Had Truly Began, & Any Thoughts Of An Easy Escape Were Now Being Roundly Busted. He Slipped Alone Downwards Into A Blacker Than Black Final Spiral Towards His Final Resting Place.

The End.