Tag: writing

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

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

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

So I decided to step into the fray.

The chip shop people needed me.

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

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

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

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

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

Eateries are maligned by the snobs –

But lets call a pattie a pattie –

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

Than a restaurant or takeaway.

If a meals out in time you’ve passed,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the other major thing that was a surprise?

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

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

Meant a lot more to people than I realized.

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

Was really something to behold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strangely enough this particular kitchen was amazingly cold,

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

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

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement between the two parties.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saved by Bukowski & The Girlbosses” (Prose)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But my adversary (of course) had other plans.

He wanted concrete instead of rocks.

He wanted false indoor light instead of the sunlight.

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

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

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

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

So as we negotiated terms I said to him:

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

You can have whoever you convince,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But a house of cards must always fall.

My adversary took the bargain.

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

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

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

He has super-intelligence but little wisdom you see.

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

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

Now many millennia later – we are almost entirely done.

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

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

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

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

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

“The Economy is stealing their days so beautifully”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will beat him at his own game.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And my enemy can admit his inevitable inglorious defeat.

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

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

And he replies:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It cannot not happen.

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

Of course I am not saying small towns are heaven.

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

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

When I was young I was quite miserable.

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

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

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

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

Again – this is not anything new.

Children have no power and cannot usually choose to escape.

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

Deep into their nervous systems and psyhe’s.

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

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

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

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

It’s not really happiness per se,

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

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

Being too drunk too often,

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

And I’ve learnt about a few easy cheats:

Eating home cooked meals,

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

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

Getting some regular hard physical labor under your belt.

And also remembering about ’embracing the inner child’.

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

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

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

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

Perhaps I wouldn’t even be here now.

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

You will likely become a zombie of the city.

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

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

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

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

MAYBE.

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

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

But something inside me warned me off opening that door.

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

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

Transmogrified by the big gnarly city.

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

I get to sit quietly and reflect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As I sit in solitude.

And why not? haven’t I earnt it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writing away happily.

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

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

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

The Big Gnarley cities are expert propagandists and tricksters.

The old Roman Bread and Circuses till abound.

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

Amongst all the other vices.

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

And I was no different to everyone.

It’s actually what the psychologists call mass psychosis.

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

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

For that’s exactly what they are.

I’m merely reminding people of the facts.

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

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

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

Your best audience will love you for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I Was Once ‘Unhappily Labelled’ – But Now I’m Clean-Skinned” (Prose + Bonus Material)

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Whiteboard listing ADHD treatment options and a man looking puzzled in a home office

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

These days I am wondering if I have adhd.

I mean it is ‘all the rage’ these days.

It’s all so tempting to join the conga lines.

But I am in a quandry.

I cannot decide whether I am:

A – Delusional (just an ‘attention seeker’).

B – Partially Correct (I am only a ‘half-pie’ ADHD).

C – Totally Correct (I am full blown ADHD).

D – Not ADHD (but am some type of ‘Neurodiversity’).

E – A Hypercondriac ( aka version of option ‘A’ – Delusional)

And here’s the interesting thing:

I hate the idea of being ‘diagnosed’.

BY SOME FUCKING QUACK (Ok I added this line simply for schoolboy-crass-charm)

You see – I think I can think my way to the best solution.

And I know via reflexivity (thinking about thinking) that this kind thought might just mean that I am.

(PRONE TO BEING NEUROTIC THAT IS).

Oh and I forgot – I also think I may be an ‘Avoidant Attachment’ type.

However it’s not all bad.

You see as I am now old – I know myself to know all these things are a mirage.

A GIANT GREAT BIG FUCKING MIRAGE THAT IRONICALLY YOU CANNOT IGNORE.

I know that even if YES you are all of these things, you still have to make life work for yourself.

For example let’s say I have all of these things and I go see the local factory-issued big-pharma doc (they all are).

They (of course) robotically dish out said Class A drugs in disguise as a fake remedy.

I take them and they are basically just ‘party uppers’ I take to sweep everything under the rug (always are).

P.s. I’ve been down this route between age twenty and thirty-two with Scam-Stress-Pills TM).

Now I’m pushing fifty I know all that to be a giant swindle:

That’s all a game of fakeness to make mules of everyone for cash.

Now with hindsight I know this deduction to be cromulant:

We’ve been around many many thousands of years.

The design has not changed.

The only solutions to make you feel better from the African savannahs to the Melbourne office are:

A. Stop hanging with a-holes that pick on you (you can tribe hop).

B. Get the right mix of exercise & rest (avoid flourescent lighting).

C. Eat better natural foods (Pick a nut-bush when needed).

D. Express your creativity (Draw on a cave-wall-equivalent).

E. Have a change of Environment once in a while (Go visit the next watering hole).

You see what we’ve always had available to us must be the only real solution.,

To any and all chronic feelings of dissatisfaction mental (& most physical) disarray.

And if the seconds set of A – E’s can’t fix all the feelings of anguish in the first set of A-E’s nothing will.

(And you don’t need to go to A & E to know that either!)

And the drug pushers with certificates on their walls of course will call me a ‘witch doctor’.

But who now twenty-five years into the twenty-first century trusts any one them these days anyway?

I’ll go with what has always been & what I’ve seen work for me over the last fifteen years.

How can that be wrong?

Yes when you lack wisdom ‘being miserable can be addictive’ –

But what can I say Joe – ‘that ain’t it babe, that ain’t it’.

For yes – I was once ‘happily labelled’ – but now I’m just a clean skinned beer drinker.

What more could I ask for?

(SO AM I LIVING IN A FUCKING PARADISE ALREADY ???)

BONUS MATERIAL: Let’s see what the WordPress AI Bot thinks of this Prose!

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

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

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

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

“When two avoidants did collide all those years ago” (Prose)

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Two people in vintage attire reading newspapers in a busy café.

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

Literary Proviso: Re the subject of ‘avoidantism’ – I’m pretty sure I’m not pathologizing ‘being a dickhead’ (But you never know do you? Perhaps the entire DSM V could simply be whittled down to an A4 page entitled ‘The Seven Types of dick’eads’).

So what happens when two avoidants collide?
I think this happened to me in a gnarly unforgiving mega-city long ago.
She was a ‘dismissive avoidant’.
I was an ‘anxious avoidant’.
Of course I am not qualified to diagnose –
But ain’t pop psychology fun? – the joy to diagnose everyone with at least something.
And that something is only only ever half real – at best.
BUT some diagnosis are more real/useful than others.
And I think the ‘avoidant’ attachment style theories are quite good.
But again – what do I know?

This is the beauty of writing – it’s your universe up until the ‘blackshirts’ arrive.
Now going back to us ‘two avoidants’.
At the time (in the gnarly mega-city) I also hated my job.
Yeah sure for that you can call me a copy cat – I agree entirely.
In big gnarly cities the jobs are ‘created to be hated’.
That is their raison-de-tre.
And you can quote me on that

I think she did (hate her job) too, but not nearly as much as I did.
But at least she made – as they say -‘some decent coin’.
I had foolishly and blindly made myself an immigrant slave.
Well I guess I was an immigrant coming from New Zealand to Melbourne.
Pseudo-immigrant maybe, but still an immigrant non the less.
Maybe I had a better ‘class of slavery’ over there than in NZ – maybe.

Now that I am older – I realize it’s (i.e’ your life) is all about self-confidence.
It is one of the many ‘glib but true’ things.
You life falls or rises to the level of your self-confidence.
Both of us ‘two avoidants’ had low self confidence (a neccesary condition of the disease).
Of course you can be high in confidence in some areas and low in others.
It’s all a complex thing – and we Kiwis/Aussies are also bred to have low confidence.
Glib but true thing number two: The brain is the most complex thing in the universe.

I was high in confidence in picking up bar-women for example,
But low in chasing a job or generic situation that reflected a higher-self.
Of course there’s really no way to win being an corporate employee –
They’ll fire you if your confidence isn’t fake anyway.
Confidence is allowed when you ‘own the thing’.
Confidence is for Entrepreneurs with 100% or at least 51% share loadings.
Confidence is for Artists/Muso’s/Writers with shitty day jobs @ glorious creative nights,
And there’s not much in between.

Anyway of course me being the ‘anxious avoidant’ wanted to be around her (the dismissive) more.
I guess the ‘anxious’ part overrided my ‘avoidant’ part if she was the one avoiding me first.
It’s all such a ridiculously complicated thing.
It was far too complicated for me to figure out,
Mainly because we men (us with brains) get better with age – and I wasn’t old enough.
A young man cannot really put guard rails on the powerful forces that exist in him.
It is when we age the forces ebb away a little so the train can stay on it’s rails.

But I must say in my case of the ‘two avoidants’
I will always wish that somehow I could have prevented the book-end-implosion.
But as an old man I accept that is also wishful thinking.
And I still wonder about her some decade and a half gone (well -more than that).
I wonder what ‘the ol’ dismissive’ will be saying her poems about it all – & about me.
I’m sure she agrees that we couldn’t have changed anything much at all.
And only as an (almost) old man ‘ave I came to accept that.

It was a wise decision to dismiss me after all.
If the cards fell a little more to the left –
I would have easily done the same thing to her.
And she was only following her ‘nervous systems orders’ after all.
And to be fair to myself – I was wise to be anxious about her.
I too was merely following my nervous system’s orders.
We were both relative novices riding that selfish bucking beast.

But Avoidants or not – at least we did at least ‘attended class’.
We sat next to each other in class – the naugty ones at the back.
And my now my self-imposed detention (exile?) is surely over.
I’ve written the same line a million times now:
“In time good executive function can & will tame any prior emotional dysfunction”.
And upon writing the millionth line – it came true (or did it?).

And so in summary: in relative youth two avoidants must explode,
But many years later the remnants can gravitationally collapse over a lovely cappuccino.
And I don’t care if someone complements my rose tinted glasses.
For with age you don’t care what others think.
You finally and sans apology do what’s best for you.
And now I will finally stop rambling (it’s artistically legal via Prose) of the time –
“When two avoidants did collide all those years ago”.

“Of Death Cults, Mid-Life Crises-Awakenings and Walks In The Countryside” (Prose/Satirical Open Letter).

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Stressed CEO in crown and robe sits on throne surrounded by messy office with panicked employees running and papers flying

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

Note: (This post comes complete with a ‘fake editors’ comments i.e. me)

This is the magician trick that’s done on everyone. [Don’t be silly it can’t be everyone! -Ed ]

And this is why at forty most people have nothing behind their eyes. [That’s not very nice is it? – Ed]

It a tragedy, an exercise in skullduggery, an evil game and completely culturally normalized. [Shh don’t tell everyone – Ed]

Of course it starts at school (although in theory the unborn listens to empty platitudes of their office crank-parents in the womb) .

[Bloody schools! – I’m still getting over Mr McKnuckle-Rapp the Mats Teacher! -Ed]

The teachers are invariably ‘middle class upward striving types’, [Yet the used to be Poor! – Ed]

So they fawn over the kids whose parents have money, houses on hills, and job titles.

Obviously this ‘new money’ ‘low brow ‘ tendency gets worse as the schools supposedly get ‘better’ and suburbs become greener and leafier.

[Those poor kids in the private schools – that’s where bullying reaches dizzy heights -Ed]

You see I am convinced all the ‘good jobs’ in the cities that give ‘status’ will all kill you.

It is off course an individual thing in terms of the degree of punishment.

But only the clinically insane can avoid the metaphorical and sometimes literal grim reaper of the dark mega cities. [Isn’t it weird that being ‘clinically insane’ is now a great thing to put on you CV! – Ed]

They’ll either kill you literally (happens sometimes) or figuritively (is the norm).

So if you end up with a salaried job that all your old two-bit teachers fawned over.

Odds are you’re probably gonna end up quickly hating your life & the light will certainly drain from your eyes. [Oh you are being overly dramatic again – but then again you are an aging drama kid! – Ed]

You see the teachers & their kind (‘Professionals’ & I use that term loosely) are too wedded to the idea of ‘The Status Machine’.

‘The Status Machine’ can also be called ‘The Career Machine’ or just ‘The Machine’ they are the same thing.

This beasts natural habitat is naturally the mega-city with its many millions of inhabitants (that become its zombies). [Isn’t it odd how many people their are on Earth these days – no wonder it’s impossible to get a parking space! -Ed]

They (the two bit teacher/copycat professional types) reckon if you do a job that gives you ‘status’ then therefore this must make you happy.

This is absolutely horse shit. [Yet to a Tomato Gardener some ‘Horseshit’ is gold – Go figure! – Ed]

You see let me explain via an analogy. [We do love an analogy! – Ed]

I go by the ‘hobby thesis’ If you like something, then you have to like doing it minute to minute, hour to hour. [And where do you go these days to be assigned a hobby? – Ed]

In ‘The machine’ in the mega-city there are only jobs that have very bad minute to minute physical and mental realities.

The exception of course proves the rule (maybe someone romantically inclined working in a flower kiosk is having a blast). [Wouldn’t it be an interesting job – I’m sure they know which men and which lesbians are having the affairs – Ed]

They (Dark forces?) design it this way – “The Career Machine’s” main task is to confuse you into totally wasting your life.

And when this works thr result is illustrated perfectly by that great line of Bukowski’s: [Oh wait that’s dangerous to mention him! The third wave feminists don’t like him! -Ed]

“People are strange, about something insignificant they care very much about, yet something very big like the fact they are wasting their entire life barely registers in their minds at all (paraphrased)”.

The genius ‘Poet of Gutters’ was completely correct.

Of course everyone knows that a badly paid job in a mega city is usually a terrible mind-numbing thing.

That’s kinda obvias.

But the insanity really kicks in on the ‘seemingly well paid’ job in the mega-cities.

When someone is ‘well paid & has status’ this is just the hook and also the reward of The Machine.

The Hook part is because the people in The Machine never usually admit they hate their lives. [Note to self: Never admit to someone you hate your life – I did it once and got a nasty promotion! – Ed]

So some teacher (two-bit) can say ‘Look at Larry The Lawyer – he’s on 300K, be like him Timmy go to Law school’.

Meanwhile Larry the Lawyer each night gets home and drinks a twelve pack, smokes like a train and cries into his hands all night.

The Reward part (called a salary) is simply the Machine paying the person for giving the output of ‘Wasting their lives’. [OMG – I’ve been wasting my life, but at least I can buy the extra malty ‘Editors Ale’ to numb the pain! – Ed].

You could call it all part of the ‘soul contract’ – don’t you think it’s weird you have to sign your name to get a job?.

You may find it hard to believe that The Machine, aka The Career Macine, aka The Status Machine functions this way.

I’m sorry to burst your large kaleidoscope colored bubble – but it does. [I notice Kaleidoscopes are very pricey these days – Ed]

This is why when you have a Job-slot in ‘The Machine’ they work you into the ground.

The ‘work you into the ground’ part is not a accidental thing.

It IS the point.

Why do you think someone came up with the term ‘being worked into the ground’ in the first place?

This is because a Job in The Machine (in a mega city) is willingly joining up to a ‘Death Cult’. [Oh dear boy, you are once again being overly dramatic – I knew you should have been on a stage instead of holding a pen! – Ed]

This is why these Career Machine jobs happen and thrive the most in cities and more so in big (mega) cities.

Learn this: The Mega Cities are a celebration of The Dead.

The ground is covered in concrete.

Lighting is fake.

You stare like a Zombie at screens all day.

Water comes from taps or water coolers, there is no fresh water lake for miles.

You work in a chicken cubical made from factory produced artificial materials. [Hey hey now I will not have you disparaging the office cubicle – the doctors have made a lot of money out of people getting flus every week ya’know! Ahh Chooo! – Ed]

The social life (getting drunk doing drugs talking to fellow ‘Machine Losers’ in a dingy room) is artificial.

Your so called ‘friends’ all secretly hate you and would ‘knife you’ (dump you) in a second. [Yes that happened to me once – but I was able to buy some new AI friends at bargain basement prices – it was a ein win for all concerned other than the poor AI friend who had to put up with me and never complain – Ed]

If it’s a smaller (non-mega) city, you might be able to bludge a form of neutrality – neither happy or sad.

But you cannot cannot cannot indulge in The Machine AND be happy in the Mega-city.

It’s like saying you can jump in the sea and not get wet and salty.

This is a misnomer of the Teachers, The Professionals The ‘City Dwellers’ that are in a cognitive dissonance daze. [Poor humans – always in a daze these days – their is only one solution – sell them stuff before they get smarter! – Ed]

Victims of brainwashing.

The Machine likes to get people to build their own prisons around them (e.g. mega mortgage, snob-wife-husbands, weirdo kids that can’t throw or fish).

But their is some light that often breaks through:

It is called (propagandized) by The Machine as the famed ‘mid-life crisis’. [Oooh yes I had a bad one of those – I ended up getting married to another mid-life crisis person needless to say we both wished we were twenty years younger – Ed]

But it is in truth an ‘mid life awakening’.

But The Machine must by neccesity invert this into something bad (else the mega city life-stealer would die).

This is because The Machine wants the person to think their ‘spiritual awakening’ is a disease.

They (dark forces?) push the ‘death cult’ solution to the mid life crisis/awakening:

Sports cars, Sleeping with someone twenty years your junior, Cocaine, Marathon running etc (escapism).

This unfortunately usually works all too well for The Machine.

I mean the Mega-City broadcast media – the cultural brainwashing dragnet – helps makes it so.

Yes friends, it takes a special spiritual warrior who chooses to stay in the mid life crisis i.e. awakening. [Good god man! You wan’t to stay in the mid life crisis? That’s some courageous stuff akin to the D Day landings! – Don’t do it! – Ed]

That warrior says F YOU to The Machine, says F YOU to the Mega-City Says F YOU to the City Career Zombies.

And returns to the countryside, where the ‘Life Cult’ still (albeit imperfectly) exists.

Where the fresh water pools in lakes and rivers, where unconcreted ground is walked upon, and where green abounds.

Where the people are ‘backward’ (mostly in a good way) and helpful and will give you the benefit of the doubt.

In these Life Cults you can actually be ‘poor and happy’ (the term here is not a scammy call to action).

So what do you Lawyers, Doctors, Executives, General Managers, Office Consultants, Town-Planners think?

Am I right?

Will you be happier if you leave the Death Cult in the Mega City and move to the Life Cults in the countryside? [Wait do joining ‘life cults’ mean you need to act like a old hippy all over again?]

Think about it – even the very ‘death culty’ Adolf Hitler had his Berghof hideaway in the Bavarian Alps. [I can’t believe you put his name to print! The Germans won’t like that at all! – Ed]

If he’d stayed in Linz and worked as a farm hand, then a carpenters laborer, The War (& Gas Chambers) would have never happened.

Hitler is a very good worse case scenario – this is what happens if you join the Death Cults, The Machine, The Career Machines.

So I say to all you salaried ‘cog-diss’ Zombies in the mega cities – stop being like Hitler ya’ here!

Quit the mega-city-death-cults, embrace the mid-life crisis and move to the countryside!

Get any job.

Watch the light in your eyes return. [Yes I’m feeling my eyes brighten up after reading all this positivity – Ed]

Your wrinkles abate.

Your smile widen.

Kind new friends will in time appear. [I need some new friends – why else would I be here doing this dross for a blog no one reads? Ier I mean ‘keep up the good work Anton! (if that is your real name) – Ed]

Or if you really want to just stay dead, and keep getting paid poorly to human sacrifice yourself.

The choice is yours my mega-city friends.

Oh and I should say that it (quit thuh mega city death cult & move to the city) has worked for me – I’m as happy as I can be.

P.s. Of course this ‘move to the country’ kick is nothing new. The 19th Century’s Thoureau (He wrote ‘Walden’ 1854) did it and built his cabin in Walden Pond, ‘lived deliberately’ and sucked the marrow out of life. [You bloody name dropper – I bey you haven’t read his book and just asked for a 300 word summary of it from Grok! Lazy Bastard! – Ed]

(P.s.s This is the part where I could say ‘now buy my book for only $39.99’ but I won’t do that – my book isn’t published yet and the (rough?) drafts are freely readable on this site).

P.s.s.s This is beside the point and self indulgent BUT – I wonder if ‘History’ will see me as a ‘crank’ or not. I guess if the mega cities continue to win the culture wars, I guess I’ll be ‘completely erased’ in true ‘burn the books fascist fashion’. Better to be a crank than erased I guess. But who knows, maybe I will reach the dizzy heights of ‘cult kiwi complainer slash barely known backwater philosopher’. NB: I guess if they do burn all the books the bragging rights are about which one they burn first – the ‘oldest ashes’ if you will.

[Yes that was self indulgent – as I have the last word here I must tell you this is the worst thing you’ve ever posted here – just as well I am here to be your Editor in chief @ keep you in line. Now get me a cup of Tea will you? this has been exhausting! – Ed]

“Shipping News: Feminists in a sinking boat 0, Disgruntled Men In Rubber Dinghies 1” (Satirical Prose/Story)

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Illuminated cruise ship named Aurora Star near shore at night with two people in a small boat speaking using a megaphone

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

Of course 3rd Wave Feminism hasn’t quite ruined the life of the indie-writer just yet.

But this is only because the 3rd Wave Feminists only use computers for X-rated reasons.

And since I am a survivor of the affair it is now it is possible to tell a wild mariners tale.

It all started like this….

“So all and all it was a good week for us all.

And as a bonus to the week I looked at the shipping news in the paper and it said:

“A boat load of 3rd Wave radical feminists were on a giant boat to an academic conference on hairy armpits,

But halfway across the ocean,

A storm was created by disgruntled girlboss-fired men who from the vantage point on a rubber dinghy,

Were blowing furiously upon the seawater,

In what could be described as a successful attempt to create a localized-mini-tsunami.

This Tsunami-to-order would capsize the giant feminist carrying boat loaded with giant feminists.

In a scene akin to a warped version of the sinking of the Titanic,

And Ironically by the time the third wave of the man-made Tsunami hit,

The boat had capsized entirely with no survivors whatsoever –

Other than all of the boats fifteen men who manned the engine room, the communications and the bridge.

They survived by the ingenuity of hoisting themselves up upon the giant floating mountainous pile of ‘ Germain Greer’s The Female Eunuch’ books,

That the women (an I use that term loosely) had all taken with them on the trip.

The men in the rubber dinghy who caused this mighty victory regaled the following wry-eye-witness account:

“As the giant vessel capsized we first saw a number of huge bilge rats jump into the sea followed by the male shipmen. The women just shrieked and cuddled each other. As the men and the rats jumped off the ship they all seemed to have smiles on their both little and big faces. One of the rats looked at a now breast-stroking shipmen and said in perfect English – ‘thank god we are rid of those strange ghastly ladies’. As the boat boomingly ruptured and splintered into three distinct pieces we heard the cacophony of bloodcurdling anti male shrieks. This was both on the way down, and also once sunk the lady-shrieks were also inexplicably emanating from the mile-deep ocean floor. It was almost a pity none of the women on board wore life jackets – partly on account they were not stretchy enough to get around their wastes – but mainly due to the fact they were ‘made by a evil man to trap and ensnare a woman’. We really shouldn’t have laughed and high-fived when we saw it all from the vantage point of our dinghy – but it also would have been a crime not to. Along with all the rescued male shipmen we even saved at least half of the bilge-rats, including the talking one and fed them all both full size and miniature cups of tea. Incidentally, we fed the talking bilge rat the finest earl grey tea to which he was well chuffed. In the now overfilled dinghy we paid a ceremonial salute to the fallen the now bottom dwelling and still-complaining Third-Wave Feminists. For this salute-to-the-fallen we each only needed our middle finger pointed steadfastly towards the water.

The men of the mission then celebrated the sinking via publishing an account of the fine para-military mission in a book entitled:

“When The Third Wave Hit A Good Time Was Had By All” – Especially The Whales Who Feasted On The Bloated Carcasses”.”.

Get it at all pro-male bookstores throughout the country –

That is you need to ask for my mate Terry,

Who will under cover of the night take you out to his backyard and dig out one of the fifteen plastic-wrapped hand-printed copies from out the ground.

But only if his pencil skirt and laptop wearing missus isn’t watching.

Poor Terry, but sometimes you have to take one for the team.

And that’s all from the shipping news today.

And as always for all the red blooded men in the yellow rubber para-military dinghies of the sea – always remember your pro-life jackets”

“An Ode To Intellectual Honesty” (A Poem)

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

NZ (among other nations) has an affliction much worse than The Black Plague.

It is a persistent ‘built in’ shyness.

A built in reclusiveness that is robust to attack.

As a ‘liker of ideas’ this my friends and enemies – this is no good.

I want to be able to share ideas freely.

Here in NZ everyone is too afraid of sharing intellectual ideas.

And if they do it is often corrupted by cultish like political tribalism.

This is why I saw a ‘open night poetry’ advertisement that had a warning:

(& to summarise it via paraphrase)

“We want it to be safe so no ‘hate speech’ is allowed”.

This is what I am talking about.

Even poetry – which is supposed to be the (last) bastion of any and everyone’s ‘Truth’ –

Is now casually conscripted into quasi-national-socialist-literary-Brownshirt-ism.

People who haven’t seen either a mirror or their own shadow do condemn so drop-hat-ingly.

I see it as a total fear of having your mind changed by someone different and original.

And until NZ allows its artists and writers to ‘do art’ and ‘write words’,

We will continue to wallow in backward socio-cultural-mediocrity-land,

Where you dare not question the censorship laced tired dull unoriginal tribal company line.

One day people will wake up to all this.

My optimistic guess is sometime in the year 3036.

Where it will be safe to go to an open poetry night,

And share your mind freely with a wild array of formerly unacceptable conjectures,

And neither be applauded roundly or chastised drably.

You will simply be listened to and then a fantastic member of the audience,

Will be interested to purely and intellectually talk of their ideas and yours over a giant pint.

Of course this still sporadically happens even now,

But only as rarely as a inordinately cheap classic at the second hand bookstore is found.

But we controversial conjectorial thinker types cannot be beaten easily.

Like the virus that survived the traumatic trip to outer space under on a phillips-head screw,

We will too will survive to cough out (spontaneous emit) our acerbic & strangely colored lines.

(Much to their chagrin).

This was my ode to that priceless currently invisible concept: ‘intellectual honesty’.