“They Didn’t Travel All That Way For That” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

They all have jet boats.

They all have Jet Skis

And Dogs,

Sometimes two of them,

Often aggressive & all off-leash.

They all have a Mrs or a Mr literally within reach,

Who is their metaphorical Siamese twin.

They all can’t bear the insanity brought on by sitting alone with their own minds.

They reproduce so easily & make exact mini copies of themselves.

They are banal & their copies are banal.

They don’t read books at all.

They avoid anything involving a call to a higher self.

In fact, they actively rally against it.

They are the reason the authorities keep schtum about the truth of alien life.

While there are many more billions of them than us,

With that kind of man,

Mankind is definitely not ready yet.

And neither are ‘The Off-Worlders’.

They didn’t travel all that way for that.

“A Miner’s Bath” (A Poem)

By Martin Anton Smith

So today I was doing a manly manly thing.

I was working with on a bathroom renovation.

And in these situations you must make the most of it.

When you pull off a sheet of Gib aka Dry Wall – you roar like an angry lion.

When you pull off a noggin – you roar.

When you pull out a tack – you roar.

When you sweep up some construction dust – you roar.

These are the pathetic things us men now have to do.

It makes us for a split second think that we haven’t lost our masculinity entirely.

And so when the days work was done – I figured I’d keep the theme going.

I decided I’d go have a ‘miners bath’ – that is to jump into n the river with a bar of soap.

So I walked my 300 meters to the mighty blue river.

I jumped in with all my clothes on – even a old timer wide brim hat.

The soap was in the pocket, out it came & I washed my hair and then a quick once over the rest.

It was just what the old gold miners did in ‘thems old days’.

Back when masculinity wasn’t a dirty word – it was a requirement of all men.

I was almost in the same bathwater from the miners of 1860 to 1890.

The water was quite warm & then my big bar of soap fell out & sank on the bottom.

I bet this was also an old miners tradition – to lose your soap in the river.

My nostalgia was ruined when a guy came along talked to me & then made a cell phone call while he was knee deep.

I will definitely be taking more ‘miners baths’ in the future.

it affords a simple pleasure in a time without much simplicity or genuine pleasure.


These things stave off the spectre of domestic insanity at least until the next day.

I could have “roared” when I was in the water, but then that would have been sophomore-ish at best.

I simply got out & said to the guy “don’t drop your phone”.

Ahh miners bath is a thing a beauty.

I walked back home with the gait & energy of a seargeant major from a real army.

Yes readers, my Masculinity was internally roaring along like a Baritone Beast, a Harley Davidson.

But then perhaps I should shut up – else everyone will be having ‘miners baths’.

And forever ruin my slim to none chances of grabbing some pure solitude.

But then Ned Kelly was right – “such is life”.

We’re not here to ‘win’.

A true masculine man will know this innately.

And now that word, like the modern man himself – has lost all meaning.

Thank God I’m here to write about it all!

Tomorrow I could search for the bar of soap at the bottom of the river.

But why would I?

It’s either lost forever, far too soft or will have entirely disintegrated into its watery surroundings.

Just like Men have.




“Aliens & Us: Are we Their Pets, Livestock, or Is Earth Just A Joint For The Cosmically Depressed ” (An Article of Whimsy)

By Martin Anton Smith

A truly intelligent & cultured person or being for that matter, who has long conquered themselves, doesn’t invite a Stone Age barbarian to live with him or live amongst them freely. To do so would invite serious harm and would refute the premise that they have attained high wisdom & self control as individuals, a group or society or even perhaps as an extra-terrestrial species.

Well – it’s the same thing with the Aliens & Us thing. And yes it is a ‘thing’ unless you’ve been living under a nice upper middle class rock in a highly manicured garden a far too leafy green suburb. And anyway perhaps one day even the snobs on the hills of the world will have to look reality squarely in its big sloping almond shaped eyes. One day.

But back to what I said earlier – about smart things or beings not ever hanging with Neanderthals.

Well it’s time to admit that that’s not strictly true – said man or woman or being might do as such for probably only a couple of main reasons: They have become totally abjectly bored and want to risk being beaten up, killed or raped, or maybe just have their living rooms destroyed or to witness a beast do other generically beast-like things, such as snort, growl relieve themselves etc.

Yes, Perhaps we could be a dumping ground for bored and/or depressed Aliens. Maybe Earth could be some kind of “last hurrah” for some extra terrestrials on their way out either spiritually or physically. Maybe Earth is a “Death Pod”.

The other reason is we are their ‘livestock’ and they are feeding off us somehow , perhaps it’s an indirect such as carbon dioxide capture or bad psychic energy harvesting or maybe a direct culling of a few beasts here & there, with an occasional ‘mass cull’. Maybe ww2 or the Spanish Flu was one of these ‘mass culls’. You never know.

Another third more simple idea is that we are their pets – they harvest mostly just good feelings from us, & they agree to feed us, keep us safe from ourselves and from outside threats. Maybe that’s why there’s been no asteroid big enough to wipe us out for 65 Million years – they look out for those things & change there trajectory so they miss. Or maybe they vaporise them with a giant mega-lazer gun.

So to recap: it’s either Assisted Suicide/On a Bender/Last hurrah for them, OR we are either their livestock OR more fortuitously, their cute fuzzy little Pets. Ok most of us have faced for radio – but perhaps they’ll think that’s cute. You might hear them say of the ugliest of us:

”Look at my cute George Soros, look at his wrinkles….oh and little Hillary Clinton has just started tapping her foot & is asking for her biscuits…..oh wait shit…look over there, my Whoopi Goldberg just did a Woopsie on my fine Arcturian rug!”


Oh and you might think that I’ve made a big error by implying that they may have have invited us into their living rooms – well let me explain. If they were here long before us, long before we split from the chimps, & it was they that biologically engineered us to be us – then isn’t that that effectively what has happened? Philosophy haven’t we been invited into their homes?

You could call it the “They were here first & we owe it all them thesis”. They might just be popping out of their multi-millennia-old sea base in the Pacific or the Atlantic or from under the ice in Antarctica. This is of course a very popular UFO theory amongst us tin foil hat wearers around the world.

Now let’s return to the other theories – The we are their Livestock theory & We are their Pets theory.

So if we are their livestock or pets then we will no doubt be able to live as we have been, or should I say “as they have allowed us to live”.

I guess this stupid planet would like that just fine, because (if you’ve noticed) most people are happy to be rough diamonds at best and walking disasters at worst. Under the “Pet theory” the Aliens would occasionally pet us or they scoop up our negative vibes as snacks. But they will always feed us & keep us safe-a classic win-win for all of us involved!

But the most interesting theory of the three is that they are bored slash depressed beyond belief & as a last gasp reprieve from the darkness, are up for some high risk & adventure. This theory would naturally mean they “walk amongst us” already …and as their boredom is relieved by excitement the higher then are their expectations and willingness are for ever more amplified risk-tasking behaviour.

At that point they will want to work with us live with us live with us, be weird friends with us, party with us, Hell they may want to marry us or even fool around with us. Intergalactic shagging – the stuff James T. Kirk was obsessed by. Who knows, on this matter maybe Roddenberry’s words may breath themselves into fire. The sixties were definitely open minded.

Maybe they’ll go on benders with us. Hell maybe they will be like “Alien Bukowski’s” & we will be their “Alien Bukowski Floozies” – well go on benders with them in dive bars & then retreat with them to our flop-houses to get rest till we do the same thing tomorrow.

That behaviour would of course lead to many alien suicides. Under my theory this is what many of them must secretly want – they have lost their will to live, and have reached their limits of their sanity. So if so, why not throw yourself into the Gorilla cage called Earth – it might perk you up a bit.

We would like that self serving option Vs to be pets or livestock, which of course we may already be.

Humans after all if anything, selfish. And the Alien suicide slash on a bender theory , we don’t need to look at ourselves in the mirror. Our natural state of being.

Just a theory, mind.

Outside that prime theory, I guess the next best one is to be ‘Pets’. Being a pet of an alien is much better than the ‘livestock’ option. Then they’ll love us more than their own.

But could we handle that? I’m not sure we could. It’s gonna mess with our minds too much. After all we only like those that agree with our worldview, no matter how twisted & unhealthy that is.

That’s how caveman-like we humans still are. Even our ‘Ivory Tower Professors’ that pretend they are intellectually holier than thou & ultra sophisticated – they act like cavemen too whenever someone points out a hole in one of their theories – the toys come out of the cot & the club comes down via the cloak of their sharp sabre toothed silver tongues.

No matter what happens, a real life Alien Arrival or not, there is no escaping ourselves – under both scenarios we are still stuck with having to put up with each other, caveman to caveman, inmate to inmate.

If we are lucky they will be just boozy depressed Aliens on a one way farewell mission that will lessen their cosmic depression. In which case this means they will have already been here for a long time & people like me have long got roaring drunk with them at shitty bars, under the misconception that they are just fellow human lonely depressed drunkards. When in fact they are Extra-Terrestrial lonely depressed drunkards. Seriously – wouldn’t that be cool?

I only hope that on one glorious day while both humans & aliens are slamming down cheap pints, they will be able to take off their “human costumes” & we won’t lose our shit. Then something like the alien bar scene in Star Wars can play out – losers from all over the universe living in a grimy, weird & twisted paradise!

When that amazing day happens, I’ll be there on a bar stool telling over the top Earth based ‘life war stories’ no doubt to an argumentative & bored, but also very hilarious Pleiadian drunk (or Alpha Centurian or a Trappist for that matter).

They’ll no doubt always have their elephant trunk like mouths sunk deep in a glass of specially brewed for aliens – ‘Galactic Guinness’. Maybe most of them too will have have had shit jobs & batshit crazy wives or girlfriends, husbands & boyfriends, neighbours, landlords, bosses & workmates to full them up with great hard luck bar stories too.

Yes the biggest surprise of all might be that they are a lot more like us than we think possible. But then we shouldn’t be too surprised about that – after all a slave or a slave boss from antiquity would, after they got over the shock of it all, probably be right
at home. I mean apart from technology, nothings really changed has it? Maybe that’s the same with them. Maybe Aliens are just as happy throwing their shit at each other just like us.

Maybe paradoxically ‘throwing shit at each other’ is just an important factor for intelligent life as is opposable thumbs or carbon or a big brain. Maybe we all need conflict, drama & some batshit crazy just to keep us on this side of sanity? After all, the comfortable rich folk at the country clubs are some of the most unhappiest assholes out there of all.

I rest my case dear reader.

THE END




“Henpecked” (A Poem)

By Martin Anton Smith

If you have to ask permission from another adult,

They are either your parent, babysitter, teacher, jailer, or boss.

There are no exceptions, it applies to everyone at all times.

Let this become your credo.

Your window to reality at all times of life –

your ability to see yourself.

After all, to be henpecked or rooster-pecked for that matter,

Is surely a date with death.

It’s not nice to watch from afar either.

“The Drones” (a poem/prose)

by Martin Anton Smith


So they appear in the sky,

And of course all us joe schmoes,

Are left guessing as to what the hell they are.

The legacy news & the podcasters are happily abuzz,

As the billion of eyeballs are reigning in their easy cash.

All at the ease of a clicking click click.

“Is it a bird is it a plane…no you fool it’s a deep state psy-op”

“Don’t be stupid ya nimrod! It’s the Star-men Pleiades”

“No no no silly schoolboy – they’re sniffing out rogue nuclear warheads!”

“You’re all so uneducated – it’s the Dems creating a false crisis to hang on to power”

“Look son read your ufology history – its Project Bluebeam – say sayonara to all Freedom – Welcome to the Gulag son!”

And now the Poet gives his two cents.

I don’t know what it is but I know this:

It’s all the result if too many sneaky Machiavellian’s,

Behind too many closed doors,

With too many “top secret” & “classified” stamps.

With too much easy black budget cash,

Who are happy to trash democracy for “national security reasons”.

This Drone stuff is just what happens when the Machiavellian dweeb numbers spike.

It’s just like nature – to much of anything leads to its own destruction –

Nature cures it’s own imbalance as part of its corrective system.

So they same happens with families, cities societies & empires.

Eventually all the silliness collapses,

& this sometimes means better people from other lands take the reigns.

But it’s all been done before & nothings new.

The only question to ask is this:

How will this season of Earth Reality TV end?

Are the Drones a new plot twist?

Or an ‘annoying new character’ added wishfully to lift flagging ratings?

As always we boobs just have to wait it out.

When the years pass & the smoke clears & the mirrors fall.

We’re left with History.

Yes it’s written by the victors,

But the sneaks & cheats tend to be outed eventually.

There are enough correct pieces of the puzzle to create a semblance of the ‘true image’.

Call me a one eyed History lover – but stand by my comment.

So we will know what the Drones were all about sometime around the year 2050.

And so the great Windsor Davies often retorted:

Oh dear, how sad…never mind.

Or similarly as Marcus Aurelius would advised:

You have power over your mind — not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength”.

So not sure about you,

But I’m going to listen to Marcus Aurelius & Windsor Davies on this one.

After all, isn’t a sign of madness to take advice from those that hate you?

I’d rather chose not to be insane, at least while the choice is still mine.





You Vs. It – Pt 2 (A poem) + Bonus commentary by the Author.

The small uncapitalised ‘you’ has foolishly agreed to play IT’s game.

The more you the brainwashed version of you try to play the game well,

The more you will go crazy.

It’s just a matter of degree & when.

Monstrous IT, has planned it all this way.

Bad IT, has sold you this deception.

Evil IT wants you (hoodwinked you) to go totally mad.

Nefarious IT wants you to believe in unicorns –

Corporate careers, Giant mortgages, & Siamese twin like relationships.

Terrible IT is the spider & little you is the web woven fly.

IT’s web is wide & worldly & their are far too many files on the little lemming-ised version of you.

Shitty IT aims to lock you in arrays of shipwrecks & dungeons – with many a barnacle permanently attached to your ass.

Soulless IT supplies dungeon to dungeon to dungeon : Home, Office, Hotel Room.

Perverse IT will tell you there’s a giant nebulous spirit called a ‘national economy’ so that it can tank it periodically – to keep little you happy chewing grass.

A-hole IT does not want you to plant your own veges, be peaceful, read wise books, have no addictions, be happy with your own company or to live cheaply in the woods.

Wanky Wanky IT hates the Truth & Truth tellers.

As good wise anti-witch Doctors advice,

Ween yourself of IT.

See yourself off IT

In short – Capitalise yourself asshole!


Bonus Material:


Note the author: This poem used heavy artistic license when implying that you could just not be a part of the swindle we get sucked into in this world as adults. Of course the reality is that like perfect jailers – they’ve designed the system so you can’t truly leave it other than via death or living under a bridge. So of course my correct advice is If you are stuck in the normal jail cell like reality , the best option will probably be to smile through the bullshit & look to make a few wise choices to little by little improve your life – after all most people amplify the shit sandwich they’ve been served – they marry a mean drunk or slag…they stay working for the really bad company instead of they just plain bad one. …they gamble…drink too much….become Marxist’s etc etc I.e. there’s no need to amplify the bad deal you’ve already been dealt.

To use my terminology from the poem (I used the term “IT” to mean “The System”):


“If you can’t leave IT, at least don’t take IT too seriously – “confidently smile through the IT”

P.P.S This poem is probably a years end that doesn’t cut it, perhaps it is just ‘late end of year stock content’, but I hope it has a few gems among the half polished turds. Yes it’s ‘low brow’ but alt least it’s also comes with some ‘high brow’ sprinkles.

You Vs. IT (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

They’ll hate you for being You.

They want you to be IT.

They want you to be just another square inch.

A square Inch of the undefined amorphous blob.

The Blob-blanket that stretches wide & covers the Earth.

If you decide to become You,

IT will come after You.

And IT won’t stop,

until You regress back to be you.

IT wants You back in the fold.

IT has almost never failed.

So now you know IT,

It’s all up to You.

“Am I weak for not helping her?” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

I was on a one week break in Dunedin New Zealand.

But it could have been any city anywhere –

For at base a city, is a city, is a city – is it not?

the only difference is by degree.

I was sitting like a lonely writer at a table,

One of ten in the outside area of a quasi-dive bar.

With Beer in hand.

There were 7 empty tables & me –

But I stopped worrying about being alone decades prior.

I like my own company & my thoughts.

My thoughts rarely attack me other than to say –

“Why are you being so lazy”.

I can live with that ok.

A homeless young woman came up to me.

She was of course dishevelled,

Beaten down,

But I could see the beautiful young woman,

That lay hidden beneath the outer skin of deep misfortune,

Waiting to be rediscovered, unearthed, returned.

”Do you have any weed” she says.

”No sorry I don’t smoke weed” I say matter if factly.

”Do you have any other drugs”

”No I don’t sorry”.

Later on I realised that was a technically a lie –

I was Drinking one of the worst drugs known to man.

She leaves crosses the road to the convenience store across the road.

I think to myself –

”I should buy her some healthy food” –

But I don’t get up from my beer seat.

That thought felt like it didn’t have enough weight.

If I was truly decent,

wouldn’t I have jumped up quickly & bought her a pie?

I guess this is how she & people like her remain invisible.

We see these human beings as ‘theoretical things’ instead as someone to help.

I think how terrible it is that people exist in this hopeless state.

We help stray cats & dogs with glee, but stray people make us recoil like a coward.

Part of us fears being attacked or dragged down with them.

So mostly we don’t help them.

And the councils & politicians hate them.

For when the city has an event,

Cities bulldoze away their shanties & mattresses & meagre belongings,

For fear of being embarrassed by out-of-town spenders.

They become like a forgotten species of human being.

We let them die off.

If in the moment when we ignore them, –

Instead we felt their pain as if it were ours,

We’d help them.

For we’d see them as real human beings.

I am mostly a selfish coward like everyone else –

For I only help those that are only perhaps 1/3rd way down in the hole.

I am ashamed of my weakness –

I too often help others only if is comfortable.

I hope one day courage will find me more.

I can’t help but keep thinking of that young woman.

what will happen to her?

Tonight?

Tomorrow?

Next month?

A year?

in 5 years?

Ten years?

I think somehow we more fortunate will pay for our “comfortable cowardice”.

Are we scared if we help, we will become like them?

I think deep down – this is true.

And tomorrow we will scroll down upon that which is unreal.

And then give asshole celebrities our hard earnt cash by the Billions.

As if all the homeless destitute & downtrodden have totaly disappeared.

Oh lordy lordy – why are we so weak?

Why am I so weak?

Help her.

For she is still there when I close my eyes.

They all are.

The first step is to admit we aren’t doing sh*t to help.

Yet those ghosts could be any one of us –

Just like the last “Great Depression”.

Well, I guess it’s been a while.



“Two Slaves Predict The Future” (Poem or Play/Skit)

By Martin Anton Smith

Two slaves of equal rank were on their work ‘tea break’.

Their names were Ramthess & Putenalmen.

The year was three thousand BC.

The place was ancient Egypt.

Their conversation went like this:

“Can you pass the leather strap, dear Ramthess”.

“Sure my friend Putenalmen – why not? – I’ve had a good gnaw of it”.

“Ah if I close my eyes & think of a camel it almost tastes good”.

“You know what? – that’s just what I was thinking before I handed it to you”.

” Ah Putenalman, you know what they say don’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“Great slaves think alike”

“Do they? Well makes sense – I mean how else could we all build these Piramids?”

“That’s True Putenalman And do you also know what?”

“What my dear Ramthess?”

“One day in the distant future, slaves like us will be their own Slave-masters & trade themselves to each other.”

“No No No! …But why would a Slave agree to enslave themselves”?

“Well my dear Putenalmen, in the future they will have a system called ‘The First Fifteen Years’.”

“Yes I am listening my good man Ramthess- go on”

“This thing called ‘The First Fifteen Years’ will be a giant encampment for all children pre-ordained to be slaves.”

“Sounds terrible Ramthess! Now let’s stop being so formal lets go by our knicknames: You ‘Ram’, me ‘Put’.”

“Yes agreed – don’t worry Put – it the story gets worse! Now at this camp their are Pharoah agents who are a special kind of Slave who act as an agent of the Pharoah – they will be called ‘teachers’ – it will be their jobs to over a fifteen year period brainwash these children to be both their own slaves & slavemasters.”

“Oh but that’s diabolicle Ram! The deception of it! Just think – that would mean the Slaves would never mount a mutiny! We Slaves keep our sanity only by dreaming of mutuny so we can escape, but if we are our own Slavemasters, how will we ever agree to let ourselves be mutineers?”

“Exactly dear Put – now you see why the Pharoah’s will do this – after all there have been 94 succesful Slave mutiny’s in Egypt just this last five years! They cannot let this behaviour stand, or soon the Pharoah’s magnificent empire will one day crumble into the sands of the great desert!”

“Well, yes Ram, it does make sense – but I don’t think they’ll ever be able to pull that off”

“Why do you say that, Put?”

“Well surely us Slaves will never be stupid enough to agree to put our children into those ‘First Fifteen Years Camps” – I mean we’d have to be insane to agree to that! Yes we Slaves are tired, yes we are downtrodden, Yes we are poor….but we are not stupid!”

“Well my dear Put do you remember that time you were afraid every second of the day because the the Slave-beater said he’d beat you some time over the next month, but wouldn’t tell you exactly when.”

“Yes ram – that was horrible – my mind was scrambled becasue of the constant fear I was in.”

“And do you remember that during that month you agreed to run around naked pretending to be a camel, just for your fellow slaves enjoyment?”

“Yes, I am ashamed to say that I did that silly thing that whole month long – as I said Ram, I did it because the Slave-beater had gotten into my mind!”

“So now you see that what I said is true. From a deep sense of fear, you agreed to do something you’d never do normally. If you were in fear every day for fifteen years straight, from when you were a tiny child right up to the start of adulthood – just imagine how more rediculous you would behave! This is what will happen in the future, Put.”

“I agree Ram, you are very wise, I think this will indeed happen in the future. I am glad we live now & not the future – at least we today can rightly dream of our own small slave mutiny, that might one day soon happen & set us free.”

“Yes Put, I wouldn’t want to live in a future like that either – now what kind of mutuny do you think we should have?”

“Well Ram, bloody, succesful & soon is always nice”.

“Touche, Put – touche”

End

“Release Day”. (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

Kids in School want to leave School but can’t,

While teachers think they can’t leave School, so don’t.

They are both in Prison –

The Kids’ Prison is physical,

& the Teachers’ Prison is mental.

Both Prisons are equally real.

Kids & Teachers are both each other’s inmates,

Just marking time till release day comes.

Both parties think of ‘release day’ like this:

A future event that exists only as the proto-thought,

Of a nebulous & uncrystallised far-flung dystopian future.

Both prisoners at heart know they will be released.

But they still somehow don’t quite believe it.

This intrusive thought is the tip of the iceberg – peaking above the surface.

For hidden in the psyche lies a brutal Truth:

Modern life is just a giant ‘prisoner exchange scheme’.

When The Kid & The Teacher are ready,

Their brains will ‘release the files’.

And they will be released.

We the Kids & We the Teachers,

All of us.

And then with our brains at the ready,

& with our knowledge fully intact.

We will finally have come to know serenity.

For how could it be any other way?

For once man has arrived at the final & true destiny,

There is no want to argue.