When teachers could hit you legally

 

Ah, the good ol days. Were they really that good?

Chameleons

 

 

The eighties weren’t a different time

To grow up

Than any earlier

Or later

So I like to believe now

As the similarities are closer

Than the differences.

 

The goal of all youth

Is to sort out individual identity’s

While belonging to a collective

That recognises you

Being paramount.

To challenge the guardians

Is a necessity…

 

Yet, there were substantial differences

Such as the teachers being allowed to hit you

And even though you may feel the sting of the unjustified

You wouldn’t dream of challenging it

Beyond maybe attacking the teacher

Which happened very rarely.

Certainly not an official complaint

Which today arrive like storm rain

Because the right book

Or work plan wasn’t utilised.

 

One student, whom remains unidentified

Pushed a carrot into a teacher’s exhaust pipe

It didn’t destroy the car

But it made a hell of a mess

And ripped the school into an academic furore

It brought the whole world to an electric life

I respected that guy

And wish it had been me.

 

As there was one teacher at least

That I detested

He twisted my ear

And poked my chest

And was determined to bring me down

Yet, the violence wasn’t as bad as the ruler

And cane

I received in primary school

Though I certainly hated him more

His persistent arrogance

Made him one of the ugliest human beings

I’ve ever encountered.

 

A suitable revenge

Was making him a character

In a short series I wrote

With him as the scum sucking bad guy

His name backwards

Which a pop star did the same thing

With his own name

Some years later.

(Kram)

 

Though I couldn’t verbalise such hatred

In my powerless immaturity

I could tell his world was false and inept and selfish

And that his clean suit did not hide his dirty, corrupt interior

Like black veins pulsing beneath thin flesh

Perspex over bone

That no one else could decipher

Not that I was stronger for seeing it

But that everyone else was deluded.

 

It set me up

To never take anyone on face value

And I thought

If he can fake it

So can I

And I became

Chameleon colours

Ever changing

At least

Until I could stomach it no more

And shut myself away

But at least I didn’t have to pretend any longer.

 

And so, when I meet those duplicitous souls now

I can barely contain my laughter

Or my anger

And I wonder who they think they’re kidding.

 

Sadly, many it seems.

 

So, I shut my eyes

As best I can

And go home

And when being myself doesn’t work

I bring out the colours once more

So they can feel at ease.

 

 2013

Do you have any such memories? 

Or thoughts on the 'good ol days' not actually being as good as perhaps we have romanticised them? 

Sharing our stories is important for us and for others to read. Some of these are shared stories are more helpful than we consider. 

Two more real incidents

Another incident in secondary school when I was only 12. A Phys Ed teacher had a long leather keychain. It had patterns carved into it. I was being a bit of a smart arse as I was prone to do being a class clown, so he removed the leather chain, hooked it around my neck from behind with both hands and lifted me off the ground with it. The patterns in the leather were imprinted on my neck. I just took it. It wasn't an era for complaining. Not for a working class kid in a crappy school. They just got away with shit like that then. Certainly didn't help my self esteem any. Plus what I got at home. Born insecure too I think. Or was it learnt? 

Anyway, violence against kids was acceptable. 

I remember another occasion where this kid was grabbed by the ears (it was Grade 4 so he was probably only 9 or so), and thrown across the floor by a female teacher. He was a wild child but that was pretty surreal. It was a wooden floor and he slid across it. It's a very vivid memory. He'd climbed up the school bell tower and sat there ringing it. So everyone was told to stay in class, waited til he got bored and then when he eventually came into class, she unleashed. 

Please comment and share your story, or this post. That'd be great. 

Peace

Anthony

My Books / Videos / Downloads

Our journey is limited. Is it preordained? Tracks Disappearing - A Video

Hey,

How's your week been? 

Happy Pride Month!   (Maybe one of these days, I'll out myself and join the Parade.)

It's also Men's Mental Health Month. Did not know that. 

(Personally, I think a month to any group is pushing the friendship a little. Take a week and make the most of it. Less chances of clashing.)

I've got a new video for you. It's called...

Tracks Disappearing 

Our journey is limited. Is it preordained? 

Can there be another way?

This new video is less than 90 secs. Give it a whirl and let me know your thoughts. 

Watch HERE

A.J. Langford Books

If interested, my mental health has declined in the past 10 days, but I'm still doing better than I was. I still have faith. Just have to hang on and keep working at it. It's so hard to not trust your own thoughts and feelings. But it's what I have to do. I can't go back to how I was.

I watched a fascinating little documentary last night about a 60's folk/blues/country singer, Karen Dalton. Nick Cave speaks highly of her. Like many creatives, she could create art from life but struggled to live in it. I can always relate to people like that. The sensitive ones seem to struggle the most. Never achieved fame, though she could have. She didn't want it. Only released two albums. She died in poverty in 1993 aged 55. A very unique voice. Look her up on YouTube. 

Here's one for you.

Karen Dalton - Something On Your Mind

More Videos

My YouTube Channel

A.J. Langford Books

A.J. Langford Books

A.J. Langford Books

A.J. Langford Books

Looking upwards! Mental Health Month - Part 2 of 2

 

Working towards wellness

The previous post spoke of my misery over the past year, so this will be much more positive.

Here is the second poem that I mentioned in the previous post. It was going to be another  miserable one from earlier this year but I changed it. No one wants to read of another's misery. Besides, it's much more upbeat! And I don't want to appear that I've been wallowing in it. I've been fighting hard the entire time. As my partner can testify. I want to be better! And finally, I am feeling better, albeit a long way to go. With a little helping hand, you might say. This recent poem explains all.

There's a short video below that and also something positive to end on!

Looking to a better future

Above the Abyss

 

I no longer want to die

I’ve scrambled

To be my own saviour

No self-help book or video or psych

Can do the work

That only I can do

Must do.

 

However,

I did receive a helping hand

Of sorts

From the Great Beyond

If one believes in such things

Which I don’t

And yet,

I cannot deny

That through my grandmother’s death

It forced me into a position

Of having to travel interstate

And face my difficulties

I believed impassable.

 

To rephrase

In her death

She helped me to live.

 

I did five days of travel

With the support of Taylah

And did it well

Including reading a poem I wrote

(That alone surprised me)

At her graveside service

And felt good for the

Great bulk of that trip.

 

I returned to Sydney

As did the anxiety

Which caused me to fall

Into a depressive hole

Nothing like having experienced freedom

And joy

After months of intense suffering

Only to be re-incarcerated

A form of twisted torture.

 

Since then

I’ve had the odd better day

And implemented positivity

Faked,

Over and over

Until it began to make inroads.

 

Now I’ve had a string of good days

Again, with the enforced mindset

Becoming my own Life Coach

And while there are setback days

I do believe I’m slowly emerging

Back into life

Out of the cell

Of my own design.

 

At least

I want to live

That is, its own

Sign of success.

 

 

5/5/25  11.45 pm

(My nephew’s birthday).

 

The last time I saw my grandmother, in Sept, 2023

The poem I read at my grandmother's service, Our Beloved Pioneer, appeared in a country publication too, submitted by my grandmother's son, my father.

Perhaps I'll share the full poem sometimes, if anyone is interested

Here's a short video I made about depression. Melancholy has followed me about forever and a day too but I'm also quite upbeat. An introvert and extrovert. Those who know can testify to the upbeat me. Most have not seen the other. I've learnt over the years to hide it well. Thus the nature of the mental tussle. It's an battle oft done silently. 

In the Wallows

Way back in 1992, I made a short film about a man who loses control of his mind after a series of life blows. Knowing my own mental state at times, it wasn't a huge stretch. 

Reality Unfastened

Enough misery now! Please feel free to share your story, feelings or even the post itself. It's good to talk about these things. Especially when I'm doing better. I think when people are really suffering, they're quiet. That's when others should become worried. I know I've come close to suicide many times in the past year. It scares me now when I think back to how viable an option it seemed. 

I have a ways to go but signs recently are good. Not great but trending upwards. Day at a time. Keeping calm and staying positive are my weapons. (Just don't tell a depressed person to be positive. They're too far gone. It's near impossible). 

I only became that depressed because the anxiety was so severe it made my life unbearable. It was only through some respite via cold showers, swimming and Valium plus distractions like faking it, playing music, dancing, talking to myself and the support of my girlfriend that I was able to rise enough before I could even entertain the idea of being positive. Without some daily relief, I would have taken my life. I fantasised about it. I planned it. At one point I had razor blades hidden throughout the house. It seemed the only way out. 

Enough.

Peace

Anthony

Ps I'm thinking of releasing a novel. Not sure which one yet. I've got a few. Either Ode to Dead Young Friends, based on four young people I knew who all died young or True Love Kills, also based on a true story but with a lot more fictional aspects about a teenage girl whose new school friends are involved in a terrible incident in which someone dies. 

What do you think? The anxiety doesn't want me to do anything as it's all 'dangerous' but I have to keep pushing myself. This will be quite a scary exercise, unlike when I released books in the past when it was exciting. Still, I feel the work is good and should be out there. I think. 

Let me know your thoughts about any of the above!

Ode to Dead Young Friends

A.J. Langford Books

Mental Health Month - Too close to Home but here it is regardless

We all suffer at times. 

Some, endlessly. 

It's Mental Health Month so I present to you two of the only four poems I've written so far in 2025. (One poem now and another in the next post). It's very unlike me and that's because creativity is the first thing to go when suffering from shitty mental health. 

I've had severe anxiety, which has been going on for over a year. I've always had anxiety and there's been bad periods, panic attacks, going back to childhood but nothing like what I've been experiencing. Very physical. Very debilitating. It's been the toughest part of my life without a doubt. Your own brain turning against you. There's no escape. It's been fucking horrendous. 

AI created for this post

Only my girlfriend really knows what it's been like for me. She's seen it up close. Without her I would say I would have done myself in. This is not a pity cry. It was an escape I fantasised about. I will say I have improved over the past few months, and especially the past three weeks. 

Anyway, read the poems and know they come from a place of deep truth. If anything, I've underplayed how I've been. In public, I've certainly kept up a brave face. I've been able to work but only just. Valium has got me through. (Cold showers too). I've been in survival mode. Truth is, some people are supportive, others not at all, but only up to a point and only for a set time. I've learnt this the hard way. People get empathy burn out. And they're the ones who actually care. Depressed people are on their own. Happy people attract others. A sad fact. And we wonder people take their own lives. 

I don't.

Far from land, foretold

 

Hope surfaces

Like the proverbial drowning man

Trying to suck in air

Before the next wave devours him.

 

I am adrift

A plaything

A joke

To amuse the oceanic Gods

‘Look how it struggles

While grasping its futility

Pathetic.’

The irony being

I can see the funny side too

If only it wasn’t

Happening to me.

 

I yearn for the sky

And how it must look

Elsewhere

Yet, I am not in control

Of my environment

Much less my fate

It was preordained

I merely kept up the strokes

As though it would take me

In a new direction

To a different outcome

The one I dreamt when young.

 

But now that I’m here

I see that the script was already written

Even in youth.

 

It doesn’t mean I want this

I’d do anything for an alternate

I am surrounded by surging

Unforgiving seas

Too far gone

For rescue.

 

The only choice

Is to let go

It’s time for the suffering

To expire.

 

 

24.2.25  1.05 am

 

(I have considered that option far too many times in the past year. With plans to enact. Not good).

Here's a short video I made a year ago from a poem from 2020. I got far worse after this. Can you relate in some way? I've no doubt you can. Some things are universal.

Except for sociopaths. They have no doubts whatsoever. Haha 

Spin me like a record baby

The second poem in the next post with something positive to end on. 

Thank you for reading this far. 

AI image of me at work (I always hand-write poems/stories/novels)
I hope to return to it when able.

Way back in 1992 I made a short film about a man who loses control of his mind after a series of life blows. Knowing my own mind, it wasn't a large stretch. 

Shot in Sydney when I first moved there in late 1991. 

Reality Unfastened

The second poem and some positive news in the next and final Mental Health Month post.

A.J. Langford Books

Two New Additions and a whole lot of free entertainment

 

Hi there,

Hope you're tracking well this week.

I have two new different types of entertainment for you to take a look at. One music, one story.

Fabulously Flawed Phil doesn't hold back. Pray you don't encounter him.

All New

I have a new Page on my website for Video adaptions of six of my Stories. All located in the one place. They're all quite different, engaging and unique. Two are true stories. 

HERE

The Last Great Ice Shelf

The Night We Should Have Died

A True Story

Fabulous Flaw Finding Phil

Don't Bring me Down 

The Loop

The Hopeless Romantic

A Blue Mountains true story

A company wants to build a resort on The Last Great Ice Shelf.
Eco terrorists have other ideas.

Plus A New Playlist, Best Songs of 2025. Clearly an ongoing adjustment as the year progresses but many good songs already available right HERE via YouTube.

Pulp are back baby!

A.J. Langford Books