Tropical Conviction
It really was Paradise. White sandy beaches. Crystal clear ocean. Palm trees. Sparsely populated. Barely any tourists, at least not where I was staying. And yet, this man had a particular agenda at odds with the serene surrounds. He was set, to hasten his own destiny.
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| Me on a Island in Thailand in 1991 |
Do you find those online ranters annoying? The serial protesters. Do some just take it too far?
Some causes are popular, others not. ie, Pro Palestinian versus against antisemitism.
(Shouldn't be any reason why people can't support both. Jews worldwide are not responsible or even support, what the Israeli government does. It's like saying all Westerners worldwide are responsible for the actions of the American Government).
Hence this poem, which was actually written in 2018 and nothing to do with the aforementioned example. It's part of it anyway. What matters in your interpretation.
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| AI generated for this post |
No Hawkers Please
Survey Wreckage
No need to record
evidence
Imprinted like an
engraved tablet.
A mish-mash
attempt
At a human Undo
That can never be.
Undercover of
darkness
And booze
There’s no
recourse
No recriminations
A mere
satisfaction
In stirring the
pot
Grinding hypocrisy
Under heel.
Until tomorrow
Brings the sting
of daylight
Eradicating
shadows
Leaving no
hideaway.
Popularism
survives
And in the end
I lost
Truth, context
And the
Individualistic way
Not Required Here.
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| AI generated for this post |
When I was young, I was also very idealistic. That's normal for many young people. I saw the world in black and white. Very pro Gay, anti-apartheid, pro-Aboriginal people, anti-nukes, etc. Many protests too.
(I still care about those issues of course. It's not the point).
I'm a Humanist, rather than set on any particular agenda. Whenever there's injustice or someone suffering, I feel for them or that issue. Some are very hardcore on a particular theme, and neglect to be aware of their own hatred of others, or the injustice that might occur in carrying out their agendas. Like the example mentioned at the top.
Far right and far left extremism are the same. Some issues are very apparent yet the world is more grey than extreme. There's more than one side. There's twenty. The media rarely go into detail or present more than one side. (I've worked in news and current affairs so aware of how much research etc is actually done, and how each media outlet, especially today, are biased towards a particular political leaning).
It's such a big topic, and you have you're own viewpoint and perhaps that's getting away from the poem which is really about individual thought, so will just leave it at that.
Now I'm going on. Is that a rant? Ha ha God I hope not. 🙂
Up and coming,
A man in Paradise is determined to take his own life, in Tropical Conviction, a Video
Based on a real, personal experience.
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| Me in Thailand, 1991, where I met him. He may have actually taken the photo as I was on my own. |
My Extensive and Diverse YouTube Channel
Until next time,
Peace and Love to you.
Anthony
I want to hear what you have to say. Are you the same?
Searching for fulfilment, waiting for destiny to take you?
Or are our stories mere tales, without a satisfying ending?
More in the Video, to be interpreted in the way only you can interpret.
Watch HERE
Ah, the good ol days. Were they really that good?
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.
Hey,
How's your week been?
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!
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| 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).
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| 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.
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| 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.
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!
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| Ode to Dead Young Friends |
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.
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| 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
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
The second poem in the next post with something positive to end on.
Thank you for reading this far.
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| AI image of me at work (I always hand-write poems/stories/novels) I hope to return to it when able. |
