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).
by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com or martinantonsmith@gmail.com
Her name was Rose W. Thorn
(Not her real name at all)
She was as they say a ‘small town girl’.
Who like all the kids in high school from the late eighties and nineties and beyond.
Was told by the clueless teachers you had to ‘go to university’ (or yer nuthin’?).
So she ditched the small town and studied something in the nearest city with a uni.
(In fact I did that too, didn’t we all? we were such lemmings!).
Of course moreover all the young want to leave their small towns – we all know it.
(And I’m not saying that’s bad per se).
She graduated with a quasi-profession credential and got an office job….
(She wanted to be an architect but didn’t have the grades – I can sympathize I wanted to be a physicist! What a pity that I couldn’t get out bed to see dear Einstein’s Equations)
Ironically she got an office job in a small town – one not so unlike her hometown.
(But aren’t small towns all roughly the same anyway?)
She had to return to this state of affairs – there were no big city jobs for her – for there was a recession in the early nineties.
It was the only office job she could get in her ‘line of Uni’,
(Beggers can’t be choosers just starting out).
So she stayed and started her career off – a good temp outcome it seemed.
She grinded…she grinded…and it was so long ago now that she may have even used a typewriter (?)
A couple years passed.
Her early ‘apprenticeship’ was duly achieved.
But she was still very young and anxious not to waste her youth (the young run on instinct).
Her feet were getting decidedly ‘itchy’ – as young peoples feet do when stuck in a boring place.
She was shy, but at heart adventurous – especially when blind drunk.
(We all drunk a lot back then, and we who lack confidence need it as social medicine. Entire Nations are like this).
But to go backwards a little.
At this first career-job she met a guy,
Who of course fell in love with her.
(Some people are of course all too easy to fall in love with – she was like that).
He wanted to settle down young marry, have kids and front lawn and a Labrador.
But she wanted to travel the world and party, see the sights, have total freedom.
(And Ultra-independence was like gold to her).
So she said goodbye to him and the future labrador and hello to a plane, a flying tin can.
She soon travelled around the world.
To England, most of Europe, and even to Africa and some other unnamed wild places too.
While on the road she stayed in many a dingy backpackers.
(As you do and are happy to do with at that age – in fact I did it for a long time).
For her home base she stayed in the typical antipodean way – ‘ten person flats’ with only two or three rooms.
After the first bout of travel she pulled beers in England and mixed a few temp office gigs too.
She partied hard – this goes without saying:
(On that looking back – were not the nineties simply an extension of the sixties and seventies?)
She was a westerner in the late 20th century and young.
The parties and dopamine and hormone based experiences rolled on.
(Don’t make me spell them out either, I couldn’t tell you details as I wasn’t with her).
When she was finally Thirty she had to give up that five years of fun and duly went home –
(So back in the tin can it was).
The ‘flat land of red dirt’ some thirty flight-hours away was calling.
She returned to a big dirty city for the rest of her career and is still there some twenty five years later.
(I dare say she will probably stay for the rest of her life).
She could never settle down – and she didn’t really want to.
She was used to and programmed for short relationships and fun times with the men with rizz aplenty.
The ‘trap of excitement’ you might say.
As she aged and all around her settled down – she steadfastly resisted.
Many whisperers did appear from ‘various gossipers’,
They said ‘she couldn’t love’, and of course much worse.
This was not the case that she ‘could not love’- the truth was that she actually loved too hard.
(Well once in a blue moon that is when the right biological, time-a-logical, socio-intellectual bloke arrived.)
Unfortunately, on ‘matters of the heart’ – she had a curse.
And when she did feel love or closeness, the electronics in her body went haywire.
(Her nervous system would pull rank on her)
Those pangs of anxiety simply wouldn’t let her settle down with one guy, once and for all.
Tragically the more she felt loving feelings the further she was made to run.
(Perversely this meant she could only essentially marry the ‘amorphous male blobosphere’).
So she kicked to the kerb many guys she really liked, and a couple or at least one of these she loved.
Not becasue she wanted to.
She had to.
(Her internal physiological Sergeant Major had pulled rank).
The electronics inside were stronger than diamond chains around her feet,
And it would take a series of perfectly planned and executed wars to break those chains,
To then allow the feelings of closeness not to trigger electrical short circuits within.
(I hope that day comes)
And so her career rolled on, money was made, rent was paid.
But as the years rolled,
Her social life was increasingly a ever slightly degrading repeat and rehash of her youth in England/Europe.
(You see with addiction, the hit gets less high each time).
Perhaps now described best as quasi-controlled-debauteurous weekends,
Mixed with typical middle class dinner parties, drunk racing events, cafe coffees and brunches.
As the grey hairs grew she new she was having the same year, done many times over.
(The Sergeant Major was not yet in retirement and was still ‘blasting ears’)
She knew she wasn’t happy (I know as she even let slip one day – but weren’t we city-o-office-o’s all that way?).
At heart she always wanted to be an entrepreneur – set her own hours – do her own thing.
But she got trapped as a salary-woman in a mega city does.
(After all – is not the invention of the ‘big city’ the oldest trap on humankind there is?)
Late in life she tried to become an entrepreneur –
I’m not sure if that worked.
After all, entrepreneurs are entrepreneurs while young.
They find a way – becasue it is who they are.
I guess I was lucky that she couldn’t handle long term closeness,
Becasue we would have never met at that drunken bar when she was pushing forty.
(When we kissed, didn’t come home with me and then handed me her business card pre taxi home)
Of course I may be deluding myself.
I could easily say using joes-schmo logic ‘that was a ruinous night and the start of a war’.
But now old I know that sometimes you meet who you need to meet at the time.
(And it will disrupt and shift your entire life).
And it might be someone who allows the needed dismantling of your entire life to occur.
That would not have happened otherwise.
And I guess that’s why I met her.
(I had a not just a destiny-date with a mirror – but a date to be thrown through it to a parallel-life)
But with the peace-and-fun-becoming-full-blown-war (that was us) being now long over,
With the mustard gas that was stinging my (our?) eyes long gone –
I (we?) can now see that clearly.
And isn’t it interesting that there is one part inside myself that has never changed.
Perhaps that is a all-knowing holographic part of her inside my chest.
I don’t know if that’s a healthy assessment – but I don’t really care.
It is simply an immovable object inside.
It is what Olympus Mons is to the surface of Mars.
But the question is (and has been over the rolling years) what to do about it?
Does the famous climbers Q & A adage hold for me? –
“Why did you climb that mountain? – becasue it’s there”.
And so I sometimes look at Olypus Mons, from far away Earth.
And I wonder if I too would/should Travel there.
To see her in true strikingly perfectly imperfect unique beauty.
After all – I believe that today she is still ‘There’.
Yet currently at star-date 2026.4958 I am still ‘Here’.
Perhaps I am like an asteroid that collided on Olympus Mons with a ‘glancing blow’,
And so natural physical law demanded I skip away into the black skies never to return.
Yet information cannot ever be scrubbed.
Yet the scars of the collision remain within the asteroid’s hulk, within me,
As so do more than a few small fragments of her (my ‘Olympus Mons’).
So I guess if I never see her rugged striking heights and cosmically unique grandeur again,
I can always say she never one hundred percent left anyway.
I carry literally a few pieces of her with me through space and time.
And will her short-circuiting electronics (her Sgt. Major Syndrome) ever be fixed before she is gone?
Perhaps when it is, this will be the spark that starts the spaceship’s thrusters,
And while I am thinking I will simply be whisked away to see her.
Physics itself will be in ‘dictatorial charge’ of the matter.
(it will issue an edict that will happen).
Yes – let’s end it there and agree to that seemingly quasi-copout shall we?
(Why do the most frank assessments also seem so glib and weak sounding or is it just me?).
It is time to wrap it up.
After all this prose poem has become an odyssey in its own right,
(Or is it the modern-version unsent letter?).
And perhaps with a mind of its own, and definitely a nervous system.
So there is now only one more line that I have to say,
And whatever the future holds it will remain true for everlasting eternity.
And that last line is this:
She was she, I was me, and we both still are…..
(And at least if nothing else – I still have that).
BONUS MATERIAL: WHAT DOES THE WORDPRESS AI BOT THINK OF THIS WRITING?
By Anton martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites or martinantonsmith@gmail.com
So what’s been happening?
Well the world is turning to crap again with this oil crisis. By now at my age I realise this is all a game. There are all these tripwires in the ‘global economy’ – & every now & then they trip one of them to distract you. Why distract you? because they know you are being served from restaurant that never cleans the floors or wipes the tables, & is always cooking frozen food. The restaurant has only foul mouthed waiters that scream at you, call you ‘fat & stupid’ & then force you to pay a 50% tip….you look at the menu & you only have seven only slightly differing sh*t sandwiches you can have the Hawaiian sh*t sandwich – which has pineapple – you can have the “Mexican sh*t sandwich” which has hot sauce…you can have the ‘big daddy sh*t sandwich’ which has a slice of cheese in it. All these International “crisis” are there to distract you from the fact you are in these dirty restaurants of theirs eating sh*t sandwiches. Everyone should be able to see this by now.
It’s also “funny” that this Iran/Oil thing happened after the “Epstein files” wasn’t going away easily. No coincidences. The big boys in geopolitics are all playing “good cop bad cop” & just carving up the world between them. Anyway I won’t go on any further on that. Just know what restaurant you are sitting at & why your food always tastes horrible.
Outside that, the writing is going well – the website has had a great start to the year – 3 very good months & the traffic/visitor level has already passed that of the entire last year! This must be what happens when you play along with the ‘persistence pays’ motto!
re specific works – I am still of course doing the high turnaround poems – they are the ‘bread & butter’ of the site & my work. But on the harder level stuff – I not long ago finished a first draft quick Novella (14K words) called “Full Circle Indeed” – it is about a man (Mal Matakinski) who was once bullied & has organised a get together of other nerds who were bullied at ‘Trudgerton High’…all is going well until an ex bully turns up…what follows for Matakinski is a lot of soul searching, as he tries to reconcile the past & his present and the future in his mind. here is the link https://antonmartinsmith.com/2025/12/30/full-circle-indeed-a-short-story/
Of course the other big project is my Novel – I am still editing/proof reading it – this was started exactly 1 year ago now, so I need to keep going with the editing/proof reading so I can publish it before the real world happenings make my book ‘old news’.
This Novel is called “Trafficlight Dystopia” – it is set in 2045 where Techno Fascism has taken over the world, and a AI management/surveillance machine is in control of every normal joe & jane – called ‘Trafficlighters’ because they all exist in three tiers (Red,Orange,Green) of slightly increasing subordination & slightly decreasing Freedoms/Perks. Matakinski unlike the others somehow has retained his memory of the ‘old world’ and so can see more of the hellscape than anyone else – he wonders about starting a rebellion – but how can he under these tough ‘perfect prison’ conditions that have been enforced on the world?. There is a love element too as Matinski aims to finally meet up with his old flame Kelly in his old city that he is now exiled from – ‘Big City’ – will she reject him again or will she let her guard down after so many years of non contact? What with the AI mega-manager called The Database do about Matakinski when it has a face to disembodied face chat? The Novel link is here https://antonmartinsmith.com/2025/03/31/trafficlight-dystopia-a-short-story/
Other than that, I’ve been working on putting insulation in my studio ceiling – it’s getting cold and this year I want to be warmer. It really is wise to learn carpentry – you save a ton of cash.
Happy reading & remember the words of George Carlin “The world’s a giant private giant club & you ain’t invited!” (so f*ck ’em all!)
By Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com
Well, we are hurtling to the end on 2025. Here the weather is getting hot – which as all arty people know – is bad for being artistically productive. The extra energy that the air brings takes away the top 5% brain function that good art requires.
This is why I haven’t posted for a long ten odd days now – so this is the perfect time for a ‘update post’ – it’s all filler but interesting none the less! (I hope).
Let me start with a little larf. Today I had a couple of laboring jobs, & as is my habit, I go to my local Chinese restaurant afterthe day is over for a tasty feed & a beer (I usually get a beer & a plate of Nasi-goreng for $20 0 a good deal eh?). As I have mentioned I like to have a chat with the staff, & I am basically a “VIP” there. What can I say – must be my natural charm (or is it the free english lessons & the cash from my wallet? yes probably that). Anyway today the interaction went like this:
“Hello Anton, do you want some cold water”
“Yes Yein that would be great – I’m parched”
“What does “parched” mean Anton?”
“I’ll tell you later, I’m too tired to explain”
“That’s ok – take a seat”
(I take my usual seat & she brings over a glass bottle of very cold chilled water. I open it pour some and take a quenching gulp).
“Did you know in China we don’t like our water cold? We even have a saying for how warm water is better for you”
“Really? We in NZ have saying about drinking warm water too”
“Really??”
“Yes it goes like this….’We in NZ used to drink our water warm….BUT WE’RE NOT IN CHINA ANYMORE, ARE WE!!!”
Yien laughed at this bad, somewhat Americanised joke (Or shoudl I say ‘Americanized’), and I soon ate my usual tasty Nasi Goreng + cold beer (I usually prefer Asahi, or Steinlager, but this time I had a Heineken as they had run out),
Anyway so that was nice to hear someone laugh today. I told my mother the joke I made & she thought it was a bad joke (Mothers are always so brutally honest aren’t they).
I think I’ll leave it at that – other than to say that this year is the 5th year of my blog & as far as views/visits it’s been a record year by quite a margin – I think they are up by at least by 75% this year.
Thankyou to all the readers – yes there is a lot of bad stuff – but every now and then there is something ok or good (I hope). I am thinking more ‘slice of my life in my home town’ angles will be coming next year – the truth & small-town-grounded-ness angle really adds some intimacy I think.
Cheers & keep writing & reading – a great thing to do (lets do it while pens, paper, & keyboard clacks & characters on screens still exist!).
Yours Anton Martin Smith 8 Dec 11:36PM, Central Otago South Island NZ.
“How dare you insult our glorious chef – he cooks for you..you...Workers….
He bends over backwards for you…you.. ungratefuls……
Now eat your effing caviar you…you…WORKER YOU!”
And then if you say:
“And what will you do if I refuse to eat this shit sandwich World Waiter sir?”
They will say:
“We will make sure you cannot work yourself to death…er I mean are employed in our work camps….er I mean Work tables…
..We will conspire amongst ourselves to ban you from slavery..er Work.. & you will die in a ditch!…
You’ll get no shit sandwhiches…I mean you’ll get no delicious caviar… you..you…Worker swine! – you’ll starve fool!!!”.
You think for a minute – soaking it all in.
You know those workers who refused to toe the line.
Those ones under the bridges.
Those starving ones.
Those ones wearing threadbare rags.
Those ones all The Workers like you are afraid to one day become.
Those ones who couldn’t play anymore or were kicked off the sick game on offer .
Those ones who saw the shit sandwhiches as shit sandwhiches.
You make a decision & bite down hard on the shit sandwhich, its contents oozing down you chin.
You look up merrily & say to the impatient & now fuming World Waiter:
“My word this caviar is delightful!.. This is the best shit sandwhich.. er I mean caviar, I’ve ever tasted…so juicy! Give my regards to the glorious & bent over chef”.
The World Waiter now placated half smiles & slowly dissapears to the next Worker Table.
You think to yourself.
“I swear this shit sandwhich is starting to taste like caviar”.
You suddenly feel ashamed, for you think you know what’s happening.
Your cowardly thoughts somehow soothe your confortably re-battered soul.
The thought goes on:
“Oh well, at least I’ll be retiring from this Work Table in fifteen years.
It’s not that long – I’ve been here twice that time anyway!…
…and then I’ll be able to have all this shit tasting caviar without even having to sit at a Work Table”.
As you feel less fearful that you’ll end up like “The Others”, you hear the The World Waiter from accross the room.
“How dare you insult our glorious chef – he cooks for you..you..Workers….”.
As you finish your last bite, you feel a twinge on cameraderie wash over you.
“Ah..so this is what it feels like to be truly alive, among colleagues, well fed, with a roof over my head…and sitting at this highly polished Worker Table….Long life the glorious World Waiter & The bent-over Chef!….I am so lucky! Lucky-Lucky-Lucky!”
But then you find yourself in the midst of a sudden involuntary “GULP”.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 