Site Title

By Gordon Bell

First Published 29/9/2025

These are the facts, and my opinion based on them.

Part I

Part I; The Police

My accuser, who I will call ‘Y.W’ [for Young Woman], claimed I stalked her and the police gave me a restraining order because of it. That is her mother in the photo. Y.W is in year 12 at school, so about 18 yrs old. Our daughter is in year 11 at the same school, and heard the accusation about two months ago. The event supposedly happening 5 months ago. Apparently Y.W told all her Facebook friends this, and others besides.

After we heard about it, my wife and I tried to communicate with her parents though the school. No success. So I sent a letter to them through the police. No answer. Then another letter to their home. This time demanding a retraction and apology from Y.W to my daughter, or I would publish a letter about it. No answer. Here is the letter.

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To Whom it May Concern,

I never stalked Y.W.

The document I signed was not a restraining order. I signed a one year prohibition agreement with the university where I had met her, to stay off the campus for a year.

Why would I do that? 

When the police contacted me, which was by phone, I asked them what it was about, and was told

 “Its about you being on the UTAS campus”.

I agreed to meet them thinking it was because of my using the library there illegally. I am not a student and had been using my friend’s student card to scan and enter for months, during the weekends and holidays when there is no public access. Maybe there was some problem now bringing me under question, I thought.

And though the police never mentioned this when we met, I suspected that they were going to fine me for trespassing if I didn’t co-operate. My friend who gave me his card might be in trouble too otherwise.

So what was the problem that the police were concerned about?

Here is what happened, from the beginning;

I was regularly using the library in my free time, usually afternoons, for its history books and WiFi, as I am writing  an article I intend to publish online. And I would see Y.W there every so often, from about a year before this crisis. I assumed she was a university student and always left her alone. She was often among friends there, and she was also there on weekends and holidays when you needed the card to enter– and when the library was mostly deserted. Sometimes I was virtually alone in the library with her. Say from 2 to 5 others on a floor over 1000 square meters. This happened on three occasions, that I noticed. I assumed she was a foreign student, for that would explain why she would be so alone. I now know that high-school students can also get this access card.

But why should her age matter?  It shouldn’t. But I believe it allowed her and her mother to play the helpless, and for the police to play the heroes. And everyone to play the paranoid. As I will soon describe.

During this time I got the impression that Y.W wanted to meet me. This was in the busy weekdays when the library was populated and when I saw her more frequently.

One day I saw her in a ——-school jersey. So I knew she wasn’t a foreigner uni student. This was a colourful jersey worn like a dress. And I never saw her in  formal school uniform, nor with a school bag. I still believed she was a university student, and wearing the jersey as fashion from her previous last year of high school. So strong had been this previous year-long impression. And maybe her makeup helped in that. It doesn’t really matter though, no, but I tell you this because it explains the first thing I said to her.

One weekday during the semester when the library was busy, I approached her for a chat on my way out. She wasn’t busy working, just chatting with a friend at a table.

I had three reasons to approached her. One I will get to much later, as it needs some explaining.  My most important reason was that I was looking to interest some smart young people in my writing. That was actually a large part of the reason for my going there. She had been friendly from a distance–she had been the only one friendly, at least to that degree–and I saw it as a sign to start promoting what I would soon publish online. I was also keen to get some feedback before publishing, to be sure the general public were going to understand it. [I had had such a problem previously with publication].

The other reason to talk to her, a secondary reason, was that I was looking for someone to make a presentation for me about a product I am manufacturing. A new concept of calendar. She was beautiful and friendly, so why not ask her? I had asked my wife and daughter and they had declined.

As historical research and theory is not a topic easily introduced, I went with the secondary reason, the presentation. Firstly though, I knew she ‘had gone’ to the same school as my daughter by having seen her in the jersey. So I thought that was a good topic to break the ice.

Me; Excuse me. Did you go to ——– [School]?

Her; Yes.

Me; My daughter goes [there]. She’s in year 11.

….Would either of you be interested in some work making a presentation for a new product I am about to launch? It’s a new type of calendar.

Her; I wouldn’t know how.

Her friend; I can

Me; O.K. I can send you an email describing it.

Her friend; No.

Me; Didn’t you just say that you can?

Her friend; No.

Me; Oh, I’m confused. Do you need any help with your studies?

No.

No.

I nodded and walked away. What a disaster. Why I was confused was because yes, I had heard him say “I can”. But I now realise he must have said “I can’t”. He was grinning constantly, that may be why he mispronounced it.

Offering to help with studies was pretty ridiculous a thing to say, but I gave it a shot. If they were taking History [as a uni course], we would suddenly have a world of conversation before us. And it was the chance to promote my writing eventually [not there and then].

But I hadn’t liked what I had just met. And it was unexpected. She just looked at me and answered shortly. So for me, that was the end of it.

But the next time I saw her she came on more aggressively with the attention-getting. And I wondered to myself with some amusement what was going on. I thought she had changed her mind about the presentation offer. And that the opportunity for promoting my writing was still there as well.

So one day I decided to try again. But when I passed by intending to say something, she glanced at me and looked back to her work and smiled. [Yes, I am sure of this]. This didn’t feel right though. I felt she was too flighty. I was already apprehensive because of the previous encounter. So I left her alone. And that was that.

Then something very strange happened a few days later. I was walking along Long Beach barefoot as was my habit to relax. And I saw her sunbathing with a friend. And as I passed by I trod on a bee and it stung me in the arch of my foot. I brushed it off and continued. But I soon saw that she and her friend had noticed me.

And that, by the way, was the “stalking” .

I know this part about the bee is hard to believe. I knew it was then, and I know it is now. Stung by a bee at that exact moment? And with a name like hers? But it is true. Anyway, even if it were not true, it doesn’t translate to stalking, now does it? This is relevant though to what would happen later.

And so I continue directly off to the university library and do my work for a few hours. It’s a Saturday and the library is empty but for the usual few others. And as I am leaving, I see her sitting there with a friend facing me at the end of the empty library—in the same seats where I had spoken to her. She sat there with eyes looking to the side. The young man next to her was looking at her, though neither were talking. I walked towards them, waiting for either to look at me, and perhaps I would talk to them. But they didn’t move! So I thought they were aware of me, and waiting for me to approach and say something. It was just so weird. And I walked out without saying anything.

The only logical explanation for her anger I could think of, was that she thought I had followed her to the beach, or that I somehow knew she was there. As I said, she had been seeking my attention and suddenly this change, again! And so that was my conclusion of the matter. The girl might have issues.

I felt bad to see any young person so fearful and for such an irrational reason. So naturally I wanted to set her mind at ease. Furthermore, and crucially, I am writing largely about this very topic. How much of the population live in a state of unnatural fear because of mainstream media and other things. Basically being how historic and contemporary affairs are misrepresented for reasons of social control. [example]

She, like so many others, had seen too many distressing films, and believed too much fake news, fake statistics and fake history. At least this was my assumption. I now believe another factor is predominantly involved; her mother, who we are getting to.

So now I was even more keen to connect with her and her friends in some way and present my writing.  She was fearful, and I had the cure. They needed me and I needed them. What could go wrong?

It should be noted that she was often with a large group of friends, about four or five, during these semester weekdays. And that was another attraction for me. Being more of a chance that any number of them could be interested in my writing.

If she was so fearful though, she wouldn’t read my writing without me explaining myself a little firstly. Why would she let this interrupt her university studies?, I thought.

Then I remembered a recent article by an online writer who I admire who specializes in this very topic; unnaturally created fear. In this article he addresses the youth of the world specifically, introducing his work to those who know nothing of history. [Here is that article, so you know]. Why not just pass on to her the link to this article? She could read it and then explore his other writing  in her own time. And so know exactly where I was coming from myself. I was confident that once she looked into it, she would be grateful for my recommendation. Such has been the reaction of many people to this writer, including me. His writing would then interest her in my writing, which is in a similar vein.

And this is very relevant to how this situation would play out. For this writer, called Miles Mathis, is someone Y.W’s mother would find very offensive to her world view, I believe.

A message such as mine [historical research, the state of the world], is only as good as the messenger. But who am I?  And so this note to accompany the link to the article, became a rambling and witty [I thought] self-introduction using anything and everything off the top of my head. The idea being that the more I rambled the more she would see there was nothing up my sleeve, so to speak. Nothing to fear. And so my intention was to be totally honest about myself and what I was doing there. And this brought a philosophical question about mentioning the bee sting. I knew she might think I was lying and reject me as a friend if I mentioned it. And the implication was that I was lying because of her name. [Which I had read on the back of her jersey]. But I realized I needed a relatively open mind to begin with. And I decided to just let reality decide this for me. Mentioning it was something of an experiment for me in another sense too, as I will explain in Part III.

I find such quirky things that happen in life fascinating, as does my daughter. Why shouldn’t Y.W? In fact, in the context of the bee sting, I mentioned another peculiar event in my letter to her, one that can be backed up by my daughter because she was with me at the time. If it ever comes to that.

Anyway, it was just one point in a long letter. I didn’t want to be writing in a self-conscious way, I preferred the relaxing art of rambling where I could speak freely, and this is what I did, as I told her in it. Rambling.

Despite her conclusion about me, I was not focusing specifically on her, as noted. Rather, she was the only one who showed particular interest in me. The only one I felt was approachable for conversation. So of course I mentioned in my letter that my writing was available to her and her friends.  And I mentioned her friends three times in the letter. In fact, I concluded the letter with the words “and then your friends will come along and we will all go and play tennis and live happily every after”. That word ‘tennis’ was also metaphor for teaching and learning. Questioning the world. But I like tennis anyway, what the heck.

I found this rambling so therapeutic from my usual academic concentration, I then added a long P.S.

I need to go over the gist of this letter for you, because though the police found nothing in it to mention, it is crucial in understanding the  situation.

As I was being so frank, I gave her any compliment I had. In my world compliments help self-esteem, and she needed that. I told her she was beautiful. But I didn’t say it in a romantic way. My exact words were;

 and you are so so beautiful…I mean very beautiful [not so so].

Where was I? Oh yes

And so on.

Most young women would find that amusing, I believe. Hardly something to alienate her. I was making fun of myself.

I also mentioned the presentation offer, I mentioned that my daughter was my best friend, that my wife was an excellent mother, how I wrote comedy for my own mother. You know, typical stalker things to say. I mentioned faith over fear, and I mentioned that who we meet and befriend is really to do with God [because stalkers always believe in God]. And I was careful not to put pressure on her. Saying that if she didn’t want to become friends, she could eventually read my writing anonymously when it was published in about a year anyway. [Yes, stalkers are just so relaxed]. And I mentioned community spirit in regards to an elderly friend. [Because stalking the elderly is also fun]. And I mentioned being available for her family for gardening, which is my job. [Because I like to stalk whole families if I can].

And in mentioning the bee sting in the letter, I said how I thought it must have been supernatural. And that such things, which some would call coincidences, happen to me occasionally. But I was carful to explain that I wasn’t talking about the spirit world. But rather quirky things that happen in life.  I wasn’t preaching the supernatural in my letter, let’s be clear. In fact, my exact words about it were “I can’t say I understand it all, or any of it.”  My letter was all tinged with flippancy. But for a long time I assumed it was this mention of the supernatural that spooked her, in that she thought I was insane. I now still think this to some degree, but see it as a conclusion driven by her mother. For reasons we are getting to.

A few days later, after giving her the letter when we passed each other [see below], the police were at my door. I wasn’t home at that time, and they phoned me the day after, and I met them in a park.And this is how I came to understand her opinion, her change of heart, because of the police. When one word from her or someone on her behalf would have solved the matter instantly. So the idea that I was persisting against her will, which is the definition of a stalker, is a lie.

So then, it would seem that it had to have been the contents of that letter, or the beach encounter that unsettled her. But the police would never investigate a man just for his walking along a beach, and they never mentioned the contents of the letter. So what was going on? Was it some big secret ? And for a long time I was mystified.

To be clear; the police never mentioned the contents of that letter at all when we met firstly. And when we met a few days later [in order for me to sign the form] the topic was brought up by me, and only halfway through our discussion. I brought it up in frustration and to give them a small lecture on how “whatever ghouls you might have read into those jokes, have nothing to do with me”. For this was the only explanation for all this I could think of. My jokes were taken the wrong way.

In the first meeting with the police, the two young police officers came on aggressively, announcing they had a search warrant for my home , car and computer. That they were running an investigation into stalking, they said. They asked me to hand over my phone. And when realizing it was a “dumb phone” [a phone that cannot connect to the internet] they asked me four times in these first two minutes whether I had another phone. Then one of them asked me where I got my tracksuit from! I was taken aback by the question, and he must have read it on my face, because he added “that’s the type of tracksuit they give out at the Remand Centre “ [I.e. prison]. To which I said, “Wait a minute. Let’s not jump to hasty conclusions here”. I think my comment broke the ice, so to speak. They realized the whole thing was kind of ridiculous. And they left with a hint of bewilderment and friendliness. That was my impression. We were all kind of bewildered.

In the next meeting a few days later, one of these officers returned with her sergeant. And the first thing I said to him was, “Did I do something wrong?”, to which he said “Technically no”. But he never went on to mention the letter, nor was he clear about just what it was non-technically that I had done wrong. At one point he said “She is scared”, and we three just looked at each other and no one spoke. They expected me to say something, and I expected them to say something. And I think they were actually embarrassed by the whole thing by the end. They were friendly enough anyway when we parted.

So weird! What was going on?

Anyone, especially the mother, could have checked my offer about the presentation to find it was sincere. As noted, I had already offered to send her friend a description of it. I have a business partner with a PHD in marketing, giving you some indication of its legitimacy. Or they could have looked at my volumous writing, also offered, to find out what I am about. Or found hard evidence of hacking. Or simply just sent me an email to tell me Y.W wasn’t interested [my email address was on my letter] and see what happened. Instead Y.W’s  mother chose to call the police.

And when the police proved I wasn’t stalking, either online or physically, she and her daughter chose, and still choose, to call me a stalker anyway. Why?

We are getting to that.

At that first encounter with the police, I asked them to pass on the message that I wished Y.W a happy life. I was glad to sign the form to stop her and her family worrying [and be rid of them all], though I couldn’t understand why they were worrying. Furthermore, I saw Y.W accidentally one time some weeks later, and she saw me. We passed close by each other in a grocery store. I never said a word to her.

But I had no idea about her on-going attitude until the public accusation a month ago– which hit me like a punch to the gut. So after I made those failed attempts to communicate with her parents, I went online, and I found out through a 4 year old ABC article still up, that Y.W’s father died 13 years ago on her birthday, when she was five, and the mother kept his ashes in the hallway cupboard in the family home for the next nine years.

“We never put them in an urn or anything because it was just too shocking and too much. So I just kept putting it off.”

I don’t quite see the logic here, but anyway, she then had them blasted into the sky as pyrotechnic artwork in a public event, Dark Mofo, when Y.W was 14 years old. He hadn’t requested this, she just thought it was a good idea. And as this festival identifies itself yearly with an upside down cross, we can wonder all the more about what sort of meaning she was aiming for. And what sort of upbringing she has given her daughter so as to become so fearful, so wild and false with her accusations, and so unable to express herself, even through emails.

The idea of the Dark Mofo festival is paganism. But it is not real paganism. No one is praying to gods there. It is artwork [if you could call it that]. Not spirituality. That Y.W’s mother doesn’t get that, and could be tricked into involving her husband’s ashes and the mourning of her family, is incredible.

Well, that was my first thought. But it is not accurate, is it? The organizers are not  pretending that this event is in any way spiritual. It is performance from top to bottom. She wasn’t tricked. So why did this woman go for it?

Could it be that taking your grief to a mass audience is similar to insisting you have a stalker– in that it is something to gain sympathy? Is this the nature of this fatherless family? To forever plead helpless, vulnerable and suffering?

“It’s unusual to lose somebody so young and with young children, but there’s lots of people [who] get touched by terrible death…”

Unusual or common [‘lots of people’]. Which is it?

Or is this her way to bring attention to herself?, 

“…so young and with young children…”

And do you describe your loss as “terrible death”?

Which in this case means someone dying of a brain tumour.

Here she is, Marita O’Connell [left] in a picture from that article. Dressed in black to show us she is in mourning apparently.

She no longer uses the husband’s surname, her daughter’s surname, or didn’t to begin with. Y.W is next to her, aged 14. I will refer to the deceased father as Mr X.

Y.W is thrust to public attention in this humiliating event at aged 14. An art festival renowned for being creepy and strange, beyond the upside down crosses. Artworks using animal blood, human ashes launched in fireworks…

So I believe Y.W intuited that I had some guidance to give. She got that bit right. This is why my own daughter is truthful, excellent, and stable. And was captain of her primary school, and other achievements I could name. But I have already stated the most important;  truthfulness. She has a  good take on reality as only the truthful can have.

 Yes, Dark Mofo is a drink-athon invented by the Tasmanian peerage to push their alcohol selling, Tasmania’s major industry. [I will explain this more below]. Dark Mofo is more akin to Halloween than anything else. People weren’t going there to mourn, actually.

I asked the police on both occasions why they didn’t tell Y.W to write me an email saying “Hi Gordon, I am not interested”. And I got no satisfactory answers. But by not letting her handle this herself, they compounded her self-image as a powerless victim in a world too dangerous to deal with. If she had done that though, I would have answered “No worries. Thanks for letting me know”, and we would all be happier and she more self-confident and realistic.

But this is so obvious! Why did they ever involve themselves?

In the beginning I believed that it was the police who chose to steer this the other way, the wrong way. And afterwards I wrote to the officer in charge of the investigation, Rebecca Norquay, asking her what evidence of anti-social behaviour she had been going on in the first place. She didn’t reply. And the mystery just deepened for me.

As far as I know, every other parent in the world guides their children to be assertive in situations where they feel uncomfortable [not that Y.W actually had a reason]. Why doesn’t Y.W have this ability? Why doesn’t her mother do that asserting for her if Y.W can’t? Why doesn’t Y.W know how to speak her own mind, even in emails, or via friends? Why doesn’t the mother herself know how to do this?

And how can she apparently be able to control the police in this way?

What the police and the mother did, was to just stoke Y.W’s  fears. And the mother is still doing it! That is the effect of refusing to communicate to this day, ignoring the explanation I have now twice given her–which are the basic points that you have just read—and insisting that I stalked her daughter. Why is Ms O’Connell set in stone about this idea of my having stalked her daughter? Shouldn’t she be open to the truth that will ease her daughter’s mind and let her relax? And if there are other points she doesn’t understand, doesn’t she want to ask me about them? In fact my wife went to the school without me about this issue. So O’Connell was not even up for meeting my wife about it, nor communicating with her through email.

What on earth is going on?

They, all these people lost in their fear, imagined this online stalking. All their evidence was gleaned from correlations they had imagined between the life of this girl, and the things I mentioned in my letter.  And one of those things was my saying Dark Mofo was a con job. [Which I did in one sentence].

So I believe they assumed, via paranoia, that I knew about the art-memorial thing and was attacking the very identity of this family. That is our first clue. O’Connell had this deep emotional and social stake in this. But how could she have such power over the police? That answer is coming up. Bear with me. I have kept the original structure of this article as it occurred to me.

Furthermore, that writer I had promoted, Mile Mathis, has written expertly about both Dark Mofo and Mona. And if the mother didn’t look into that particular article, there are volumes of writing along those lines; exposing social manipulation by the moneyed class. And Dark Mofo is purest manipulation. A fake culture in a cultural vacuum caused by money management, beginning with our taxes. As I will explain when we look into this festival.

The only way to stop Y.W  from reading any of that, would be to tell her I was a complete nut-job stalker. Don’t even go there. The alternative was for Y.W to question her mother, asking her why she involved the memory of her father with this sick joke of a festival full of drinkers. [And I reckon she actually confiscate the letter from her]. If there is any communication between them and I, it will destroy this stalker-victim myth. And open them to opposing ideas about Dark Mofo.

You see the logic?

It is the idea that is stalking her, not me, you see? I am just an active expression of the idea.

But there is more to it, which we are getting to.

Another thing mentioned in the letter was an anecdote about a woman whose father had abandoned her when she was a baby. I told her about this woman in order to explain how insecurity can lead to false assumptions. Because this woman had mis-interpreted something I had said, and I believe hated me for it. I just demonstrated the relationship in that anecdote. Insecurity effects how you deal with others, how mis-trusting you are. Insecurity is basically just a word for not understanding your world. And that was what I was there for; understanding, explaining. I demonstrated in that letter that this woman, from such a fractured home [she had told me she was “the dirty little secret” when she was born] had grown up overly defensive.

So, I believe they thought I had hacked into their family information and knew stuff about them. I knew about the Dark Mofo thing, I knew about her father being gone [by a stretch of logic and some paranoia].  Implying she had been “abandoned” by her father. And I knew she would be at the beach that day. Online hacking, you see. This is why the police were able to imagine online stalking. It was all of a piece as presented by the mother. And the bee sting proved I was an insane liar for them to boot. In fact atheists would be more insecure about hearing of the supernatural, or those that use the term, wouldn’t they? Because if God is not controlling mysterious things, nothing is.

Five times O’Connell had the chance to settle this quietly and discreetly, and to the benefit of all parties. Five times.

1] sending off an email, or having Y.W  speak for herself, or having someone speak for Y.W.

2] accepting the police verdict

3] Sending word or offering to meet my wife after the school contacted her about the rumour.

4] responding to the letter I sent through the police. [In this letter I didn’t demand an apology. I just expected a response].

5] Responding to the letter I sent to their home, address to Y.W’s parents. Where I did demand an apology.

And of course Y.W had all the chance in the world to say something to my daughter at school for the past two months. As she did online and through mutual friends.

So though we know why O’Connell might hate me, we haven’t answered how she could have such power to control the police in this way.

Updates and Answers

After writing the basics of the above, I was hand-delivered a court order by the police one evening. Obviously an answer to my last letter, which had been addressed to the parents at the mother’s home address. A copy of which was included with it. This “answer” is coming a month later. The order says I must not stalk Y.W, nor harass her, or contact her in any way, etc., and that I should surrender all fire-arms and fire-arm parts, and that I can’t publish her name.

In other words they are assuming dominion over my mind. Remember, I have done nothing wrong. They have no right to restrict my freedom of expression. This is incredible. And surely a huge blunder on their part. For it is now a question of human rights and will interest many more people. If they can do this they can do anything. That I cant mention the mother, that I cant go back to the grocery story because Y.W shops there, and so on. Clearly they have crossed a line.

But of course it now gives their story legitimacy. The sympathy will forever flow their way.

Any fair-minded judge would 1] know the law, and 2] know that this order is the affirming for me that these people want to claim that I stalked Y.W. And so will keep saying it. That is basic. And thereby forcing me to make a public statement against it. They just aren’t expecting me to understand this whole situation and explain it to you. Which doesn’t need Y.W’s name, actually.

And with the order is a statement from Y.W saying how “very frightened” she has been. Yet she knows it had nothing to do with me. Because I have explained myself to them, as in the points above, in both my letters to them. And there was the police conclusion too. No stalking.

In her statement Y.W also tries to blame the rumor on one of her friends “who knew what happened”. What happened was that Y.W accused me of stalking. That doesn’t mean stalking happened. So another trick. Also, she had 5 months to teach her friends what really happened.

Note that I haven’t actually read this statement of hers. I skimmed a page and saw these two claims. Why not read it? Because I suspect it is both full of lies and full of ridiculous English [see below]. Giving me a lot of work to do. I know she is ready to deceive by not admitting the fear was all her own. So anything is possible. Why bother?

So we see not only can the mother control the police, she can control the courts!

And though I didn’t want to publish Y.W’s name, I am certainly going to if she doesn’t apologize to my daughter ASAP. She is not going to be riding into adulthood on my daughter’s back. Make no mistake.

I could waste my time writing to the judge and asking what anti-social behavior he is going on. But the judge’s name  isn’t mentioned anyway. In fact, when I asked the policeman who the judge was he said “I don’t even know”, as he looked at the wad. As if it was his either his first time doing this, or that this was unusual.

And so I finally decided to do the obvious, and research these parents a little. I typed in ‘Marita O’Connell’ to the internet, and Bang! She does work for the government, and in fact advices judges on mentally ill criminals!  She is “the senior practitioner” for the Department of Justice [full time], and Premier and Cabinet. And yes, senior practitioner is a single person.

Marita O’Connell has been working as a Court Liaison Officer with Forensic Mental Health Services…

…Court Liasson services in Tasmania interface with both the Magistrates Court and the Supreme Court and provide mental health assessment of defendants…and provide advice to Judges and Magistrates.

Everything fits into place now. The police being unable to mention anything specific was obviously because it was all psychiatric big-speak they had heard. Abstract concepts. Tell me I am wrong. And only O’Connell would have the power to control the police in this way, as with the courts. Tell me I’m wrong. Just use psychiatric terms none of them understand but couple it with things like “have a tendency to manipulate and become violently obsessive”.

It explains those weird police encounters I had where we found ourselves  standing around shooting the breeze under some vague topic of stalking which no one actually believed. And it explains why Rebecca Norquay never answered my email on what anti-social behavior she was going on to launch her investigation. She couldn’t answer that she didn’t really know, could she?

A common delusional recourse in intermittent parthenogenic Leburn type psychosis cases coping with rejection, is the finding excuses in the supernatural.

If I can come up with that off the top of my head, O’Connell can do better with her medical science vocab. Are the police going to ask me about the supernatural to see if I have parthenogenic Leburn type psychosis going on?  No. All they can do is chat to see how sane I seem to them. And that is the first thing Norquay said to me on the phone. “We just want to chat with you”. They cant doubt the expert on the mater, can they?

And it might explain the policeman saying “I don’t even know”, when I asked him who the judge was who signed the court order. Did the judge dare not allow his name on this document, knowing it was a fraudulent bluff? Also, the document says after my name “Date of birth Unknown” and “Address Unknown”. They didn’t know my address but are standing on my doorstep for a second time? I have never seen one of these, so I don’t know for sure. But could it be that no judge dare sign a real form without evidence? Such a form could be used against him, couldn’t it?

Could it be that O’Connell is using the police and the courts as her private security service? I put that question on the table for anyone who might know more than me.

Then I searched up the husband, the father, and found him listed in the peerage. Yes, definitely the same man. Compounding everything. [And the only reason I don’t give the screenshot is because I am protecting Y.W, keeping her name out of it. For now.]

So let’s now get straight ALL of my close encounters with Y.W. And by looking at them we can see where she has stacked all her chips of being “very frightened”.

1] I approached her about the calendar etc.

2] She  smiled  when I passed close by to talk to her, when I changed my mind and avoided her.

3] I passed by at the beach, where I avoided her, avoided any signal to her, and never stopped or deviated from my path.

4 ] I avoided her at the library afterwards where she seemed to be frozen solid.

5] I gave her the letter.

So any fearfulness must have come from the contents of the letter and or my handing her the letter as she passed by in the library. But as noted, when I met the police they made no mention of the content of that letter. If an eighteen year old could find something fearful in the letter, then the police could understand how and why. Right? And if fear-making was there, they were acting on it, and if so, they would ask me about it. This never happened.

There was nothing negative in that letter towards Y.W. Everyone knows that. Everyone accepts that except O’Connell. Who in my opinion has convinced Y.W it was some devious plot against her.

So how did that very last encounter go where I handed her the letter? That would be where any and every “very frightened” came from [besides the crazy ways her mother interpreted the letter for her]?

I saw her and her friend walking on their way out of the library, and approached from where I was working. Her friend was smiling at me! I said “Hello, I hope you are doing well”. To which Y.W said “Sorry, we’re in a hurry” and the other giggled. Yes, laughter. I just held out the pages and said “I’ve written this explanation”. Believing she would know it was about the beach. [what else could it possibly be?]. Remember, before the beach she was a smiler. She slowed, stopped turned and took it, saying ‘O.K’. Meaning she must have understood. And that was it. And if she had not taken it –that is to say, if she was very frightened— that would have been the end of my patience with her.

Part II

Fireworks Over the Bay

How does Marita O’Connel explain her engaging Dark Mofo?

Though our youth are being indoctrinated into Dark Mofo, I believe most people hate it. There is no security within Tasmania for someone casting in their lot with the Dark Mofo pretenders. Most people in Tasmania believe Dark Mofo is the creep in our society, and retain a love for Jesus and family values. And they don’t want gay men near their children. Which is what the government are professing, even in schools, and what Dark Mofo kingpin David Walsh otherwise came to fame as, besides gambling. And it is what the “artist” who launched Mr X’s ashes has promoted in other of his works. So is this a factor in Y.W’s insecurity? Though this is apparently taboo to say these days, people not accepting what they are, and the pride they should have in procreation, are de-centred. You can tell that by most of them piercing and tattooing themselves to bits. Soon we will hear Y.W talk for herself. You’ll see what I mean by insecurity.

O’Connell said that she applied for this Dark Mofo pyrotechnic “memorial”online using her phone, and was accepted. That the process was so quick and easy. And the article notes how many others were rejected. The crassness of this severe. “No”, they basically said to some people. “The death of your loved-one isn’t good enough”. Which obviously means they were seeking out a story whereby they could promote Dark Mofo. This wasn’t a first come first serve project. And they actually admit that, saying they were taken with the family’s story, and that so many were rejected. Saying this was the first response O’Connell received from her application. That they liked her story. And this never occurred to O’connell as creepy?

Will the family ever live this down? No, not while they don’t want to. And not while that ABC article is up. And such articles are kept up free online because it suits some agenda. And that agenda is massive. A good part of the Tasmanian tourist industry. They want us to accept Dark Mofo, and giving it this family angle is important for that.

That this bunch of creeps at MONA insult all mental serenity to advertise by shock to a certain class of people, is beyond O’Connell’s world apparently. Dark Mofo is ostensibly the brainchild of David Walsh. A man who jokes about selling drugs to schoolchildren, who talks of his fondness for group sex, and who has a wife who made a dessert for his birthday party shaped from a mold taken from the vulvar of his former girlfriend. Or so they insist. [See Richard Flannagan, award-winning Tasmanian writer]. And holds parties where the food is served on corpses [as told to my friend by the head chef of MONA]. I know this and I have barely looked into it. I first got the message about MONA  soon after arriving to Tasmania, when I found out that someone had taken my wife there.

Me; “So you have been there?”

Her; “Disgusting”.

Me; “Why, what’s in there. Homosexual stuff?”

Her; “Do you mind? I don’t want to think about that while I’m eating”.

This for O’Connell is a culture she is forming her daughter’s world-view on profoundly. Of course a creepy culture and a creepy attitude produces fear in the young!

In the article O’Connell says that all this was about life as well as death. Right. Why didn’t they put his body on a rollercoaster on the way to the crematory? Sorry, but in my world, life and death shouldn’t be mixed and confused. Especially where children [life] is there to take note. Why corrupt life?

I am tired of the cynical death chic. The teenagers tattooing themselves. Tired of the endless in-your-face promotion of this man Walsh and his wife. I know too much. I want to sober our youth up, give them gardens to work and self sustaining skills [including artisanry]  that produce self-respect and community spirit. And I think a lot of people agree with me. I think it’s the majority. And if I am not in the majority it doesn’t change the facts. And anyone gushing Dark Mofo speaks for themselves as examples of stupidity anyway. Everything O’Connell says in that article is seriously lacking. Everything.

“This allows us to have a beautiful ritual that the children can be part of…because when their father died they were five and seven years old”.

Where’s the logic here? Confusing two concepts. Yes, children like fireworks, but they are now old enough to partake in a real memorial, that is the point she is also making. Yet fireworks are anti-memorial anyway. The article states that Y.W says it will be “comforting”… And;

“When we had the funeral, I couldn’t really remember it…”

[Try;  ‘I can’t really remember the funeral’]

“…so it’s nice actually getting to think about that…”

[ ‘will be nice’…’think about him’ …]

“…and actually getting to connect with it…”

[What is “it”?  A funeral she has forgotten? Since when do fireworks connect you with a funeral …a forgotten funeral? Why cant she acknowledge her father here?]

“..and realize what is happening and just appreciate it.”

“..and realize what is happening and just appreciate it.”

[Try; ‘appreciate him’. And one cannot anticipate realizing, by definition].

This is why Y.W needs me, or people like me. She is just not realizing.

The irony, or the fate here—depending on which way you want to look at it—is that Y.W is apparently one of the most indoctrinated into Dark Mofo, while I am one of the most informed about it’s invention. If she saw the thinker in me, I came to see the fearful child in her. That is the scenario. But fear needs company. Enter the mother, the police, and now potentially thousands on Facebook and elsewhere. My name and photo easily misrepresented.

Says mum;

“It’s not like it goes away…”

Yes, because it’s there in the cupboard day and night.

“…its more that you’re … thinking about it more…and we are really not used to doing it publicly…”

Thinking about it more is new, so how could she not be used to doing it in public?

And why do it?

And why miss this opportunity to say even one positive thing about the actual man. Yes, this article has no mention of Mr X being in any way a positive phenomenon on the world. He is “an action man”, merely. I think O’Connell could have had this article modified if she was mis-represented. But why would she be? Would the writer leave out such a quote of love and or positive legacy? I doubt it. The article has been up for 4  years now. Easy to modify. No one at the ABC would want her criticizing the piece. So, the one thing she is not doing publicly, is memorializing him.

…But she is not used to it, you see.

Now let’s hear from the “artist” Alex Podger, same article;

“…celebrating our own impermanence….”

Memorials are about remembering the dead. To celebrate their impermanence is a direct insult to them.

“…helping other people feel catharsis…” 

‘Catharsis’ means to rid yourself of filth. Memorial means to accept and remember. These are two different concepts. That he can confuse them is telling us much. That no one amended the article is telling us more. As far as I know Mr X will remain dead. Memorial, not catharsis.

“Memorial is an exercise in epic minimalism and contemporary ritual is based on this principle.”

Let’s break it down;

Why would all memorials be epic? Why would all memorials be minimalist? Why would all memorials be epic minimalism? Memorials are each pre-determined by how much the person was loved, actually.

Easy isn’t it?

And even if we give him the benefit of the doubt, and assume he meant to say these words in relation to other memorials, [i.e “these types of memorials”] clearly that is not the case here, as only a minute proportion of attendees are having those memories—it can’t be epic. And fireworks are hindering memory anyway, as memory is done in the mind. Dynamic sensations over-ride memory. And the man’s life not even mentioned anyway. So it is not even a memorial.

And how does minimalism fit in? He must have meant or aimed at the concept of time. A minimal time span, a bang. But just because the memorial lasts only a second, it doesn’t mean it is more basic as a memorial [minimalist]. Because memorial is done in the mind, and so it is no longer a memorial in that sense either. How deep can you think in a few seconds? And with a massive bang and light show in the night sky?

Minimalism is the use of the basics of something. Which doesn’t apply to time. You could have an orchestra play one note and try and call that a minimalist song, but its not. It is no longer a song. It is one note.

And do you know what “contemporary ritual” is? ‘Contemporary’ means ‘modern’. Are all modern rituals the same now a days? He says so. Just like all memorials are.  Or is this his way of saying rituals without spirituality? Which means they wouldn’t be rituals.

Says O’Connell;

“Its going to be explosive and beautiful and glorious, and that’s what life is.”

Yes, life can be like that at times. But what has this to do with Mr X? Was he explosive, beautiful and glorious? Why not say so? You are supposed to be celebrating the life of Mr X, not celebrating your idea of the meaning of life. Furthermore, fireworks are inherently fleeting. Podger actually says this. He says it is a celebration of our own impermanence. You cant celebrate life and life’s impermanence [the dead] at the same time. And you cant celebrate life in relation to a dead man. It is an insult to him, overriding his legacy, and ignoring him being dead. As noted, but worth repeating.

Now try and make sense of this one;

O’Connell

…it felt like something that I thought he would love

What a weird way to put it. Most people use the term “would have loved”, about someone who has died. Let’s break it down;

We can extract the words “that I thought” because they are superfluous. And we get this;

…it felt like something … he would love

She is apparently telling us he is in the afterlife and will/would feel the effect of this event. Right? Is this what happens to you when you live with someone’s ashes for nine years in the hallway cupboard?

Even though it’ll only be Justin’s ashes going up there, lots of people will be reflecting as well.

You have got to be kidding me!

If they had planted a tree or something, like much the rest of the human race, then they would have had some permanence of a memorial. Permanence is what you want if you love someone. Not impermanence. The word ‘impermanence’ shouldn’t even cross their minds. But there is something wrong with their hearts as well apparently. A tree is an explosive and beautiful and glorious thing. Something to ground Y.W in some way, and stop her burning down the world.

Furthermore, this article doesn’t include a picture of Mr X. Very strange. I suppose if you saw a photo of the man you would actually think in terms of a human being,  a personality, an individual… and then mass of tourists. And so realize the gaping chasm. You’d see the human being, not explosiveness etc. And you would think how fireworks don’t reconcile with the idea of remembering him. Yes, he had a heart beat, an energy, but celebrating that is to degrade all memory of the man, as noted. Memories are from interactions. And celebrating mere energy is to degrade the concept of memorial entire. A heart beat is the common denominator of human life. And a legacy has nothing to do with the greater community. And it wasn’t expressed. A legacy is individual worth as intimately remembered. So basically we should all be missing a human being, just because he was a human being. That is the bottom line. And they are all but admitting it. The whole thing is so ridiculous it is offensive, and visa verse.

And it might surprise Y.W and her mum to know, I mentioned Dark Mofo with the chance of annoying her. For as stalked as Y.W might want to believe she was, I said that about Dark Mofo, and included the link to Miles Mathis’ writing, to either interest her or repel her away. There is no middle ground with me and Dark Mofo. And what inspired this was hearing a young pair yapping next to me in the uni library as I was writing. One saying “I love Dark Mofo” [before I told them to re-locate]. God forbid that my daughter should ever be so hard up. And so I didn’t want involvement with such a person. And for good measure I mentioned the bee sting. I knew it was just too incredible for most people to believe. While never thinking these things would send these atheists into a tizzy. But we learnt something, didn’t we?

Part III

Loose Ends

I wont go into O’Connell’s or Y.W’s face and character analysis. Chinese physiognomy does prove what we have seen of her character though, and you can look into it, or use your instinct, if you want. I will say though, that we see in the photo that Y.W had, and might still have, [I don’t know because she wears make-up] uncommonly white skin. A bloodless look about her. This is traditionally an indication of a fearful disposition. The contrast between her and her mum and sister is striking.

She is 14 here and has the color of grandma. Maybe that was why she was sunbathing, and has some issue about being seen.

---

Now, there was a detail in my encounter with her that I left off from the above because I just wanted to run through the basics quickly. Now we are here for posterity and human rights, I will present the complete picture. As noted, the three other reasons were; promoting my writing, the presentation offer, the school/daughter ice-breaker. In many ways this fourth reason was the decider for me. Here is what happened;

A couple of days before I ever spoke to her, I was sitting working when the library was full with people, and my computer ran out of energy. So I am there looking around because there was no power-point socket available where I was. She was sitting nearby and I knew she had seen me. I saw there was  a power-point, one which was closer to her yet relatively apart from any other people. But I thought she might think I was moving just to sit closer to her. So I am just  wondering whether I should go further off elsewhere and find a power point, when my phone rings and it’s the man who agreed to do the laser-burning of my calendar boards. I take this important call knowing I have to get out of the library while demonstrating  speaker-phone. I walk out feeling I am interrupting people, including her. And then when I return, I decide I need to move to plug my computer in at a table against the windows a few seats along, no one in between us, and she may think what she will.  There was no encounter, no eye contact after I did that.

And so, a couple of days later, when I saw her with a friend, I decide I could or should mention it.  Something to clear the air and break the ice. [Something I left off from the above re-telling, as noted]. So the encounter actually went like this;

Me; Excuse me, did you go to _______ school?

Her; Yes

Me; My daughter goes  [there]. She’s in year 11.  I thought I should talk to you, I didn’t mean to be lurking around you the other day. Would either of you be interested in some work making a presentation?

And so on.

Then I mentioned being a lurker in my letter, referring to this incident. But guess what? As with the idea of stalking her on the beach, I was joking. And if you don’t believe me, go ask a Tassie Tiger. Experts in lurking.

And to put how I felt about her in perspective. I had three reasons for not getting involved with her before I spoke to her. And if I hadn’t fumbled around when she was trying to work, and had the other 3 reasons for talking to her, I very likely would have just ignored her … until she came and danced on my desk.

That was a joke too.

Sort of.

Firstly I saw her drinking Coca Cola. In my experience people who drink coke are usually addicted to other stimulants, including alcohol at parties. My daughter is at the age where people will try and have her drinking. In fact she has a friend who last year had a party where her 18 year old sister and this sister’s friends were drinking alcohol. When my wife phoned the mother to say our daughter won’t be attending because of this, she was given a lecture. So I am fearful of tangling with addicted personalities, especially at my daughter’s age level, and where the parents might be spiritually, morally, intellectually and emotionally lacking.

They do exist.

Secondly, she was wearing make-up. Maybe she had a sickly color from drinking coke, I thought. And was too stupid to work this out. So many people are. I was seeking intelligence, remember. She is wearing make-up in that above photo too actually, it seems. So you see what I mean.

Thirdly, I thought I had seen her once in a black body suit with sunglasses. I don’t like such unimaginative women. Which isn’t to say I hate them.  Anyway, I am not sure it was her.

So there you have any and every aspect of this stalking there is to mention. And it is or was all backed up by CCTV in the library which the university probably checked on. Two encounters in the library. Two. And one sitting near her. Very frightening…

Part IV

M.O; A Deeper Look

This part, though now extended 20% or so into two parts, was extracted from the above, as I thought it too involved and long for highschoolers. I discuss this factor of O’Connell being a psychiatrist. If it gets too dense for you, just skip to Part VI, which is about the origins of Dark Mofo. You know the basic facts about this stalking now. And the prime one is O’Connell’s refusal to communicate. We all have a duty to discuss such things for the good of our children. And as noted, it was my wife who visited the school about it. O’Connell wasn’t even prepared to face or communicate with my wife. What does that tell us?

So here is the woman who has the top job in the state apparently, involving judging how people think. “We never put them

“We never put them in an urn or anything because it was just too shocking and too much. So I just kept putting it off.”

Yes, for nine years you just kept them in the cupboard. Near your daughter, who from 5 years old knew he had died on her birthday. And it came around every year. It stalked her. And then you set them off as fireworks for the public to enjoy. And not enjoy. Or some mishmash much like your mind. To involve the public in some creepy conception of reality which you nurture for your own insane reasons.

Now let’s break down why the use of human remains in Dark Mofo art is so offensive. Which plays into how Dark Mofo was conceived, and what it actually is, which I will address afterwards. I have been forced to think about all this, so let us have some deeper understanding for those ready for such depths;

Some will say about this “memorial” that he would have wanted it. And that is all they can say. Easy to pin everything on this, now he is dead. But it doesn’t quite work like that. People make ridiculous requests all the time. And it is only those who remember him that know how to memorialize him. Memory is the impression he left on others. Memory is memorial. And the dead are dead.

The thing is, he didn’t request anything. It took M.O nine years to come up with it. As if Tasmania lacked quiet and beautiful places for memorial. I would say he expected a normal memorial. He very probably knew he was dying, as he died of a brain tumor. He very probably would have had to fill out forms at the hospital about cremation, or at least have told someone in his family. So the topic was there. Him not saying he wanted such a memorial, is him refusing such a memorial. He would have assumed tradition would be followed. Was his father scattered over Disneyland because he liked Disneyland? I think Mr X assumed his ashes would be treated in a normal way, just like his parents and everyone else he had known who had died. Do you really think he wanted his ashes kept somewhere until someone could think of a way to dispose of them that is utterly new? It took millennia to come up with this one. You really think he anticipated something like this?

This man was not an art work. He was a human being with a legacy. And this is why we memorialize people with respect. To frame that legacy. And not to have as many strangers as possible “reflect”. Memorial means remembering them in particular. Yes fireworks reflect on the water, so what? It is detracting from memorial to make the loudest noise you can make about them in front of the biggest group of strangers you can have. Remembering is done in the mind. Pyrotechnics are the dynamic physical world. The more dynamic the world around us, the less mind for memory we have under our control. This is why there are no drum kits in cathedrals and churches, and why going to a library to yap is offensive. And why I always left Y.W alone when she was working, even when it was basically just her and I in the whole library. That is called respect. If only they could recognize it.

And the reason we put human ashes in urns is because it can then be placed in a nice setting, where our own thoughts and memories hold court. If we don’t want that thinking, we put them in a common box or something and stash them in the cupboard. Ashes in an urn suggests real memorial because that has been designated the singular design for their containment.  An urn is linked to real memorial for a reason. Which is this specificity. Anything else would harken to other storage vessels. You put them in a jar and now jars aren’t what they used to be. You put them in a jar or anything nondescript, and now memorials aren’t what they used to be. You put them in an urn and you aren’t messing with your conception of what it is and who they were. See how it works? Anything else but an urn is too much.

It doesn’t translate that if Mr X liked Dark Mofo he would have wanted his relatives to associate him with it. If someone likes kites, does that mean they want their ashes dropped from a kite over the city? But it is far worse than that because Dark Mofo is a corporate event. A long list of the biggest corporations, including the Hobart Merucry, the main Newspaper here, are sponsors. So it is more like Ronald McDonald sprinkling ashes over the carpark of McDonalds because that poor soul  had liked McDionalds.

Furthermore, aren’t urns provided by the crematory? Is it really up to the grieving to go and “have them put in an urn”?  Was the urn shop on the other side of town? Were they told they could have a gold-plated urn with diamonds, or a plastic box. That was all they had? So I believe it was more like she asked they be not put in an urn.  What did she say, “No, we don’t want them in an urn, we want to pretend he’s not dead for a few years”? Her saying that the ashes in an urn was too shocking is ridiculous because family are already mourning, usually. They know the fact. And she couldn’t have meant shocking for visitors to the home because she could have just put the urn in the cupboard. It might be shocking to be asked to remember someone who had died by seeing an urn if they are strangers [as in  Dark Mofo’s advertising by shocking the world as much as they can]. So what is going on here?

Part of the answer is in the fact he died on Y.W’s birthday. This is the premise O’Conell is representing. A party is for not thinking about death. Death at a party is what is shocking. And we see below how Y.W is allowed some joy in her dress while the others are in black. She is closer to the age of parties being everything. A magical world that can be created and controlled by the mother and contain the child. So the fact he has died on her birthday has been highlighted for young woman ever since. First with keeping the ashes, second with the fireworks.

I find that quite disturbing. Why single out a young girl like that? Especially in such a position of birthday-death association. Compounding this is the inclusion of the dog with her. Y.W apparently Y.W has some special connection with this dead man. No wonder she can imagine stalking out of thin air.

So I think I can see what has gone on in O’Connell’s glorious mind. She has for years been trying  to contrive dynamic birthday parties for Y.W, against the death of Mr X. The parties needed to over-ride the memorializing. Because that was too shocking for them, the pary atmosphere. And so Y.W, as the youngest one, is allowed this color, because she is closer to the age where a birthday party can be utterly controlled, hermetically sealed, and of course the date of the death. She needs the partyfication the most. As if her birthdays have been spoilt by this.

…Its not like it goes away…

And the death becomes fireworks. Something you have in celebration, including a birthday [think sparklers].

 But who would think otherwise? Who would think “it goes away”? Is she here to tell us what death is? Is she the only one who knows? The only one to feel emotional pain? It smacks of the sympathy card to me. It doesn’t go away, but it should, because life is “glorious” is what comes out between the lines. Death is an ongoing threat. Death is stalking.

…its more that you’re … thinking about it more…and we are really not used to doing it publicly…”

The premise here is that she is not instigating this memorial thing. That she has been asked to do it. Doing it doing it for others. Because “not used to” is an excuse. Why would you say that about something involving others?

Try this; “I stopped and talked to you the other day. I am not used to it.”

It is a way to say I did you a favour. Right?

So it’s a claim she is doing us all a favour, giving “many people” a way  “to reflect”. The problem is, this has nothing to do with it “going away”. So it’s yet another trick. One to suppose she has not instigated this. That Mr X was already publicly adored and the organizers asked her specifically. I want to ask O’Connell now. “Did it go away after the bang and fizzle?”

If she is not using logic so blatantly to the world. Might she have not been doing so about me?

For once you think she is doing it for others, you don’t think she is doing it for herself. She needs to cover herself. Her chance to be admitted to the public for her grief that doesn’t “go away”. Her particular morning of her “terrible death”.

Most people say something like “Its hard to accept they are gone”. And she has missed the mark totally. Turning it to relate it to herself. The deceased becomes an “it” which her daughter echoes. The ashes become the issue instead of his legacy/personality/interaction.

It is easy to think that some text was edited out. Yes, such a thing might be said in terms of someone remembering someone with some specificity. “I really miss him. And its not like it goes away”. But such editing would be pretty brutal. And obvious. Again, something to complain about to the ABC. To me it’s a sign of a refusal to think about the actual man. How they feel  is now centre-stage here. And thus this type of “memorial”. He is just an ‘it’. This referring to the “it” as if he was someone who has only left this emotional damage that needs addressing, that needs to “go away”. And it is them that embody this damage, not him.

And so she took to the Podger-speak like a duck to water. She wanted the partyness to override the memorial, and stamp “reflect” on it to get by. And in Podgers spastic rational she found she could “get used to” “doing it in public”,  and “it was only Justin’s ashes up there” and “lots of people” and “so young”, etc. Some sort of public service. And what is a type of public service? A party. And what do parties need? someone to celebrate. And who are they?

“Its only Justin’s ashes going up there…”

You work it out.

So what on earth is going on here?

The answer lies in M.O being a psychiatrist. Because actually, the vain and status-seeking types of psychiatrist  are the  exact opposite of the Christian.  They would identify with the upturning of Christianity. Let me explain;

Any type of religious functionary, minister, priest, chaplin etc. seeks to help people. But that help is always contextualized by the belief that it is God that helps them predominately. The Chaplin, minister, priest etc, can never claim to have worked some drastic change in someone’s life with any great confidence, and never absolutely. And those helped can discount or outright deny they received any help from that human intermediary anyway.

Not so with psychiatry. In psychiatry, the psychiatrist can claim it is just him or her, and their skill and understanding of humanity that has worked the goodness, and those helped will agree. They can have no other explanation. The doctor can become tantamount to God for people who are suckered into it. And they can play as God when explaining criminals and what should be done with them. But of course, not all psychiatrist are like this. Let me be clear on that. Some empathize with their patients. They don’t claim life is glorious, etc. They would  never make such a statement. Such sweeping statements about life. Especially to the public at large. That would be disrespecting their positions of trust, their own dignity, and their own respected knowledge to all around them.

But the corrupted type would identify with their own power. They would play to whatever situation was at hand. And they would dismiss those without any power who might threaten their status. Even suggesting they were dangerous and mentally unstable. Which is what I believe O’Connell suggested to the police about me. Probably with some fancy words used in psychiatry that the police either didn’t understand or had only a vague notion of–or they just believed in her on the strength of her qualifications. As far as stalker profiling goes, O’Connell was their superior. She works for the government, and actually is full time at the Department of Justice. So this god-loke power of the psychiatrist is compounded, is two-fold. So an upturned cross is appealing for her.

And not only did I mention that Dark Mofo was a con job in my letter to her daughter, I told her I was writing about “corruption, historical and present”. And for such people the government is their tower. I am so much more the outsider by this suggestion.

Such an individual has the status of power in their role as a psychiatrist, and by their being advisors in government, and a top advisor in this case. And if such a person has had complete control over someone all their lives, such as a single parent, then anyone coming along mentioning God, who can claim credit over them, and mentioning that this anti-Christian festival put on by the government being cultural fraud, is a direct threat to that power and control. So I am a triple threat to this vanity. Her position in government and society, and her position in the family. And I stumbled into this right when Y.W became an adult with the freedom to have her own life, legally speaking. [18 years old in Australia].

Five times O’Connell blocked attempts at communication/acceptance. Reminding you.

Does she really believe I am insane because of all this? I think so. We are seeing what she is like at every turn. Missing the mark like no one else I have ever heard of. And what I think happened was that she waited to see if I would crash her daughter’s school formal, where she had the police on standby. Because that was the day before that the interim restraining order came. She wanted a reason to get a full restraining order on me. [which still might come, somehow]. When she couldn’t get that reason, she went with an interim restraining order.

She really believes I would go stalk her daughter…because she has made herself believe it. Because she has some sort of sever mental problem.

Anyway, for such corrupted psychiatrists, it is them and them alone that can explain things by their fancy words. Words, by the way, that have been invented. Invented by a man called Sigmund Freud. To these people, Christianity, and the idea of God taking some or all of the credit necessarily, is a threat to their status. Its an insecurity that have to forever live with. And though I never mentioned Christianity, nor Jesus, I did mention God in my letter.

I become some pervasive darkness too vast and evil to reckon with because most of the world is Christian.

Such people would want to celebrate the upside down cross. To have the population thinking less about God and more about psychiatric explanations of the human condition. She wants this promoted. Because those who deny God in their lives, take their serious problems to the psychiatrist. The psychiatrist is in the God position. Only she /he can help.

But to do this they are offending millions of people. It lurks. She needs police reassurance. A checking of the locks. A getting back from the door. For if Christianity took to rooting out people like O’Connell, as in historical witch-hunts, she would know what stalking was really all about, wouldn’t she. She fears being stalked herself, and has pre-emptively takes it out on me.

No, not all psychiatrists are like this.  I am here talking theoretically, and in psycho analyzing Marita O’Connell. Something she has needed for a long, long time.

Death is to lose energy. And she has taken the ashes and infused them with energy. Why? The only effect of that is to highlight the one against the other. It is a fetish with the ash, as is keeping them in the home. For how to memorialize someone when you don’t believe in God? And where nearly all memorializing is calling for contextualizing within the idea that those departed are now safe with God. If Mr X is not with God. Where is he?

He is symbolically with me because as I said, I represent real memorial. As does anyone loving God and knowing what memorial actually means. We are real memorial and so by default we are thing that “never goes away”.

When not having this natural thinking about the dead and God, the mind fixates on the ashes. The last evidence of his existence. Instead of associating the dead with God who protects us, she is associating him with the ashes, and it stalks her as real memorial/God/me/Christianity. What to do with them? She cant take the ashes to the bushland and give a speech, because she has nothing to say. The only thing you can say is that they are now with God. So taking them to Podger and finding thousands of people who also don’t understand life, is her way of belonging. She in government being slyly celebrated, the people united in “reflection”. A celebration of utter ignorance. This is why most people look on Dark Mofo shaking their heads.

And this is why she now has a fetish with me, her idea of stalking. She has made this Happyland reality for her daughter on the one hand, and anything negating that is just as extremely a threat. I must be a sicko that doesn’t belong. Someone trying to undermine this extreme Happlyland. This Happyland is beyond the home party, it is a brave new world party, a government party, the party. [with the liberal government, the same people having been in power in Tasmania for the last 15 years]  A fight against evil, superstition, the supernatural, the outsiders who are never to be heard. A world where she is such a revered entity. I am now the “just too shocking”. I am representing real memorial, which is death, to her and her Happyland. I am admitting that all she has done is taken a symbol of Happyland, fireworks, and labelled it ‘memorial’. And grinned about it to the whole world, as if that were convincing to anyone with a braincell. No wonder she is clinically insecure. Nothing was achieved. Or the opposite was achieved. Her daughter dare not even refer to her father. Only the funeral. The “it”, the pervasive thing that shocks and stalks.

My expression must be suppressed for it negates the party and the Party, you see. Because both parties are for her philosophically the same. Things she controls.

In layman’s terms she’s a control freak.

To reiterate; No memorial there in Dark Mofo. I am the real memorial, the symbol of the dead, by default. By reason of exposing the Happlyand, the mourners become the representatives of the dead. Real mourners, that is.

As noted, people are interactive, while fireworks are necessarily non interactive. A spectator event. To memorialize someone you interact with their world symbolically. You don’t set their name up as a thing to gawk at. Just like she refuses to interact with my world, that of my family. Remember, I am symbolizing real memorials, something done in the mind. And all my writing has always been on offer. But the only mind is her mind, is Happlyand. As with all my thinking and spoken explanation. Psychiatry is supposedly a study of mentality, the mind. Even if she hated me, she should engage with me for the sake of helping and solving, and for the sake of my family and the community. Especially someone like her. How could she of all people misjudge human behavior so absolutely?  Beyond a joke. I have done nothing even remotely threatening or obsessive or harassing. I signed the form as soon as I knew the situation. And I ketop away from her daughter as requested. Even to this day. And never tried to contact her in any way. As noted, stalking is persisting against someone’s will. I never did that. Stalkng is threatening, coercing, being sexual or obscene. I never did that. Stalking is extreme hate or love misconceived, I never did or had that.

This understanding is so basic!

Why is she like this? Because she cannot backtrack in front of others. Which is, yes, psychopathy.

I spoke to Constable Rebecca Norquay after the rumor and she suggested I seek a lawyer. Why? Maybe she thinks defamation is not a crime, maybe its because O’Connell is basically her boss as comes to criminal profiling. It’s a crime not to vote in this country, but not to seriously defame someone. Norquay had the evidence of no stalking, and she had the evidence of defamation [I know because Y.W admitted it in her letter]. Does she know about this restraining order? Did she actually have a hand in it?

How could O’Connell have such an inner hate as to dismiss all my family and friends in one blow? It is tragic, and the height arrogance. And how do you get arrogance? You work for government where you can play at being God. Or you work as a psychiatrist where you can play at being God. She has basically tried to make a cordon between Y.W and her friends, and my daughter and her friends. And then let me know this will continue, don’t cross the line. She would have me living in fear that anywhere I might go and meet the girl is going to bring out the swat team.

Out of all professions, nothing can be exploited like psychiatry. It is all abstraction.

As far as I know Mr X was more than a spectacle. And in this dark farce, you are taking away memory of the man and putting forth attention on yourself and your family. Just like I am obscured from existing in a living interactive world, by bringing sympathy to her and her family, the sympathy of being stalked. Something she can take on to the future. Now confirmed with her document, the interim restraining order. Oh, the sympathy.

You can’t have people questioning your thinking, which has to be immaculate for you to maintain your status. You can’t backtrack in front of others. You just keep pressing down on the peddle. Psychiatric words are easily weaponized, and abstractions juggled before your eyes to make your head spin. Abstractions like Podger’s hodge-podge. Use big words, and people stop following your [lack of] meaning and self-promotion and control-freak camphane, and accept you as the authority on the matter. Obviously that has worked for her so far.

Part V

More on the Psychiatrist

I say all this about psychiatry with some confidence. Firstly I have studied Freud and put him in historical perspective. And secondly as a gardener and handyman I recently worked for a  rich and successful retired psychiatrist, now an author. I will tell you a little story about that. And actually it was an example, another example, of the insecure misreading their world, which I considered including in my letter to Y.W. It is also relevant to my mentioning the supernatural in it, as I will explain;

While working for this woman as a gardener, I got to doing some carpentry for her in her mansion. I brought in a friend one day who is a retired carpenter in his late seventies for advice. This old man has a lot of trouble walking. He doesn’t use a stick but he walks slow and awkwardly. Our meeting with the woman was all very good—though I always found her very difficult to chat to. [By the way, I once asked her if all psychiatrists follow Sigmund Freud, and she gave me an incomprehensible answer a minute long. Not ‘yes’, or ‘no’, or ‘this much’ or ‘that much’, just a minute of diarrhea]. She was and is the top 1% of most awkward clients I have ever had. But we were all clear and friendly on this occasion, and the mood was good. After we finished we walked out, leaving the woman at the door. Or so I thought. Down the path we go, out the gate, and wait a moment to cross the road towards his car. And he says to me that he has to plan carefully when crossing the road these days [as he was so slow]. I laughed, and as I did, I noticed her from the corner of my eye. She was at the fence looking at us, and turned away and moved on immediately. And I knew, just knew, she had assumed my friend had made joke about her. Needless to say, she never employed me again after I finished the job. Though up till then it was fairly regularly. When I told my old friend this, he said that in his experience psychiatrists are always the most messed up mentally. Funny. But he wasn’t joking.

And not so funny now.

This example, as with the one about the woman who told me she was “the dirty little secret” abandoned by her father, happened close together in time, and just before the third example, that of Y.W at the beach. And in both these first two examples I realized I could never explain myself. To explain myself would make the matters worse.  The explanation would be ridiculous. Could I say to the retired psychiatrist “We didn’t make a joke about you the other day. Don’t worry. We weren’t laughing at you”. It would sort of be like admitting I thought she was laughable. So when this beach thing happened I was sort of pissed off about these types of things happening in my life. And decided to try and dig my way our of this last one with Y.W. This is what I meant above when I said it was sort of an experiment. What happens, I thought, if you do try and stare this fate down, so to speak. You do explain things so much that you overcome the suspicions. And this was behind my letter being so long. I though I will just blitz it, describe everything, why I was at the library, and why I wanted to be her friend, and how important my writing was to me. Which I did by describing how I had l recently lost my USB. By describing it like that she would see, I thought, how much work and dedication I had put into it.

And this is this context that I considered the bee sting and my words about “the dirty little secret”. And this is why I thought it was supernatural. I thought it was supernatural in the sense that this had been a pattern for me recently in my life. And I even said in the letter about it “Sometimes I think life itself is supernatural, and it is just me that notices these things, connects the dots”. I can easily imagine O’Connell raised her eyebrows at this. She knows that life is not supernatural. Life is explosive and glorious. But actually my very next words were “I must be special. The universe must pay special attention to me. Or compared to me, everyone else is just plain stupid”. That, for all you psychiatrists out there, was a joke. Indication that the whole letter was mostly light-hearted. Not something to analyses for mentality. And if you must do that, all the jokes were definitely rated G. There was no obscenity or sexual inuendo or threat or coercion, or even pressure at all. There was nothing that I wouldn’t say to a small child. Jot that down if you must.

In fact, there is a lot more to that bee sting than I have divulged. The symbolism is truly mind-blowing. [Jot that one too.] But you know how it is; once bitten twice shy. I will keep all that for my family and close friends.

M.O might have been distraught and confused at the death of Mr X, you say. But if so, why take this issue to strangers who didn’t know the man. The last thing the distraught and confused would do, is go to strangers who do not share those feelings about the man—or any feelings at all, because they didn’t know him. There is no possible explanation in them and no sympathy. Anyway, she didn’t look distraught and confused to me. Neither did she sound that way. “…only Justin’s ashes up there”, remember.

And does it really translate that if you miss a funeral you can re-create it? Yes people have anniversary memorials, and some people die overseas and such and so memorials are organized in smaller ways. But for those that attend a funeral that is the thing. All the deceased friends are and family are there, the thing is real time, the absence is shared in real time, and you see the missing piece by reason of all the other parts, all the lives of those who loved him. Could a five-year-old not be aware of that? I remember the day my mother bought blankets to my kindergarten and I was distraught as she left, clinging to her for dear life. I remember that as if it were yesterday. I can even remember the design of the blankets. I remember the day my father broke his leg as if it were yesterday same age.

How many that attended the funeral would be up for this thing? Why would you do something that might diminish the recreation of the funeral. Why try something so unconventional? Why risk it. This was a first in history, remember. Why risk something where Y.W is going to “realize what is happening”. How could either ever know that. No one knew. A “connect with it”. How many who attended the funeral would pass on this thing? Hard to say. Maybe no one. But if it were my family and friends, I would say at least 100%.

As for wearing black to show people you are in mourning. I have always believed this was so you are given privacy about it. It is a way of telling others that you do need privacy and space. Not a festival. Weren’t veils a part of that dress historically? That photo of them smacks of performance to me. Because 1] people don’t really wear black any more, years after a funeral and not at a fake memorial. And 2] they are all grinning [but for the dog]. And 3] Y.W stands out like some sort of jester.

You might say she was surrounded by all his friends at Dark Mofo. Yes, but any drunken yob could have wrecked that mood. This is why they were put on a private pontoon. But if they needed privacy, why make it all public?…and what mood?

All this will help these people if they understand what I am saying here. They can complain about the ABC article, they can apologize to my daughter, and I will take this down, and they can have catharsis  for what they have done. Never mentioning it again. Neither will I [as much as possible].

Furthermore, I take it that Mr X was from a Christian heritage, for ultimately all Europeans are. He has millions of relatives now lying under upright crosses, including the fallen soldiers who died for Christian ideals. [Dark Mofo uses the same red electric cross which is on the war memorial 500 metres away, inverting it]. The ultimate sacrifice. What are the odds that he would have an unvoiced desire to give the finger to all his ancestors and Christendom entire, by getting mixed up in Dark Mofo? [“Mofo”, by the way, is slang for  ‘mother f##ker’].

Have any of Mr X’s close ancestors died in a war for the ideals of Jesus? I don’t know.  But I would say that it is likely. They would be Y.W’s ancestors too y’know.

The Christian cross is on graves in the traditional belief that the person is resurrected with Jesus/God in heaven. Associating a dead man with an upside down cross is, well, too shocking, isn’t it? More likely, he would be even more insulted than I am at the whole thing. Just thinking aloud here. Wondering about Mr X and Mrs O.

Dark Mofo is just an embarrassing collection of atheists and unguided youth organized and used by rich atheists for their profit, cynical expression and self-promotion. The promotion of atheism/government via drowning the brain. Dark Mofo is not the place to associate a dead loved-one and a grieving family because A] it is run by atheists, as they freely admit. And B] it is a public event and not applicable for personal thoughts of any unique human being. An individual no one else knew. And C] Even if it wasn’t these things, fireworks in particular, is not the mode of reflection. Neither are crowds of gawking feasters.

O’Connell should heed Jesus for a moment. “The kingdom of God is within”. To reflect on the life of someone you love, you necessarily need meditative sights and sounds, and or evocative commentary, or evocative media such as song or video of them, or silence and or eyes closed. Or prayer, which is something similar.

My research on Reddit re-confirms for me the change of tack for Dark Mofo. Many commentators who attended the last one say how they are surprised at so many children around in these later versions. And they were nearly all repeat attendees commenting. So they have needed a cover to present, in order to attract families and make is seem sophisticated, and so remain profitable. That would be epic minimalism in the sky, and such things. So hey, bring your kids to a festival of sex and death. But we know the sex and death is just a convenient dressing up of the sale of alcohol and other profits tourists bring. Something to stir your mind and allow the alcohol in.  But they changed tack based on profit margins. It was failing because after you upturn the cross, the shock eventually turns to seeing it as infantilism and attention getting. The cynicism turns against them. Though they still up-turn it today. When I explain Dark Mofo and its relationship to the economy below, you will understand more.

But for O’Connell this would provide a clear paradox in which to feel at home in her lack of logic. How do Y.W’s  birthday parties where the  “shocking” death of Mr X , which was on Y.W’s birthday, reconcile? Solution, the power of Tasmania, the government, instead of the power of God. Bang! Now they belong to “Tasmania”. Tasmania will protect them all. When you fear, just call the Tasmanian police. Just write off to a Tasmanian judge, use your vocabulary. Tasmania needs enforcement and promotion against those dead people, yes, who I am now the symbol of by default, those stalkers and creeps. Let no one dare to question Tasmania, this mania. Anyone not with the big bank in-crowd, is a lurker, a stalker, an outsider of her domain. A dangerous enemy of the State. And she is the State.

Another piece of information she might not like to hear, is that this festival is pushed as helping the Tasmanian economy and  therefore all the people. The same thing was said about the casino 40 years ago. Now they admit the casino is owned by a few. They say it is owned by one family who also have the state’s gambling rights, but that is just cover for all the investors that were there at the beginning. Another cover-front like David Walsh.

As noted, psychiatry can be exploited perhaps more than anything else. All the psychiatrist deals with are abstraction and their own opinion. They have some loose framework but everything can be manipulated in this shadow land of abstract terms. They are the measure of all things ultimately. It is nearly all based on Sigmund Freud who stated we are all born bi-sexual and want to have sex with out parents. So the premise of psychiatry is that you need the psychiatrist necessarily. The god-like power is hardwired into it. What a power kick that could be for some. We are all dysfunctional. They, only they, can explain you and guide you. No, not all psychiatrists are so messed up. But the weakest link is pretty darn weak. To put it mildly.

Part VI

Dark Mofo Explained in Simple Terms

As noted, Dark Mofo is a tourist attraction pure and simple. And you have to understand that alcohol was Tasmania’s first industry, literally. All the families that still run Tasmania, though secretly, have a hand in this pool. The first brewery in Australia was in Tasmania. Even before N.S.W, which was the first colony. In those times the people that began this colony had a strictly monitored ration of rum to work with. Rum is made from sugar, and they weren’t going to be growing sugar here in Tasmania. Yet rum is potent and can be imported easily and cheaply. So the controller class, seeking profit as always, petitioned British parliament to be able to make beer, “in order to stop the soldiers getting drunk on rum”. If you cant see that as a scam, I have nothing to say. As time goes by, the timber, sealing and whaling industries made the town boom. Then came farming, mining and textiles. But the whales and seals ran, and out mining proved unprofitable as the mainland took over that with giant easily accessible inland mines. And textiles died in the same way, mainland competition. All about the same time, or just before the timber industry went. As with the chocolate factory, which became fully automated. As with the zinc works which had been taking advantage of the cheap electricity from the first years of the hydro dam. [It is now subsidized]. The timber industry lingered into the 1970’s and 80’s as people became more sensible about the forests and forced it to mostly shut down. What had happened to the Tasmanian forests? In the beginning they were making anything, including apple crates and paper out of fine old-growth forests. Then chip board. Trees hundreds of years old. And this caused the protest movement, which was essentially a world-wide protest against the Tasmanian government. All that was left was farming, a catamaran factory, alcohol and tourism.

And so they made the first casino in Australia in Hobart to bring in the tourists and trick them out of their family savings while getting them drunk. Promising the Tasmanian people that this was for the Tasmanian economy [and not mentioning the suicides that come with casinos]. Of course drinking and gambling go hand in hand, and some casinos have free drinks bars. So all this was logical for the greedy controllers. And so our hero genius gambler freak just happens now to own a brewery and a distillery and a vineyard and a beer label and the biggest bar in the CBD. And to sip wine during interviews. And invent a festival that the government promotes online as “heady” [intoxicating] on their government website. Or at least they did in the beginning. These heady few days of the festival are a drink-up disguised as paganism , which in turn is a dig at Christianity which traditionally promoted abstinence and moderation with alcohol. But it is far deeper than that. It was invented to target a whole swath of the population who hate or are cynical about all religions, and the notion of God. Just like they are. Dividing the community and making them controllable under this issue. This is actually a huge market. It is all worked out by committees with access to all the data in the world about what the public think. But you are told and have believed it was one man’s idea. So they just move around the “artists” and let people think it is all organically formulated. No, it is specific to this sector of the population. That wouldn’t be such a problem if it wasn’t hijacking our money for themselves, and snatching our attention in a cultural vacuum chamber. It is the using of our taxes by the sicko atheists in government to further their wealth. And this money could be put to form real culture. If Dark Mofo looks interesting, its because real culture has been denied, and the pressure this puts on society is channeled. But people generally never think in those terms. Because of mainstream media, which they own.

And, as with MONA, it was laced with some creepy, frightening and disconcerting stuff in order to advertise by controversy. [They have toned this down recently because the family angle is more profitable, yes]. “The more something annoys them [the public], the more they participate” Walsh. He also put sheep’s heads on the windows of the MONA tourist bus for a while, and other cynical things I could mention. What they aren’t telling you is that the more the public is denied wholesome culture –what was once embodied somewhat in Christianity– the more they will participate in anything, given that alcohol is involved. That is the correct way to look at this phenomenon. Hold onto it.

They are  laughing at us. But people like O’Connell gulp it all down without a thought. In fact the Mercury once said in a front page headline “Fans lap up the Dark Mofo festival”. A double pun. For “lap up” means to ‘accept gullibly’ as well as to ‘drink’, as well as to ‘be enthusiastic’.

I mentioned before that Dark Mofo was more akin to Halloween than anything else, but even Halloween has been manufactured in modern times. Traditionally for Europeans, Halloween was for lighting candles and doing such things to ward off the dead. Not to emulate them, which is tantamount to celebrating them, if not inviting them. This new Halloween has come from America by way of Mexico’s Day of the Dead, where the opposite attitude existed; a celebration the dead. But it was never a celebration of all the dead,  just your family members. A way to remember them. What we call Halloween now has as much social meaning as Dark Mofo, or Ronald Mcdonald.

But don’t think I am here to spoil your fun. My daughter has participated in every Halloween since about 7 years old, dressing up as various things that caught her fancy—never the dead—and no one seemed to notice. She loved it every time. Try it with your children. Why would you want to see your children as corpses anyway?

Dark Mofo is a supposed festival of sex and death in the paganist theme. It is supposing that we, if we are sophisticated, have some innate fascination with the gothic cliché, the macabre cynicism and the heathen lifestyle. But even if that were true, what they offer is the opposite. It is all corporate. Its like killing a lion and then posing around it as if you are some sort of brave. Whereas people who really know death, who can look it in the eyes, and who think sex is an evil imposter on making love, don’t countenance either distractions, because they understand the danger, and the hidden motive. The money men hiding behind it all. A danger far more severe for the young and insecure. The real world for anyone with mental spine, is enough to keep our hands full and this is within it as a dangerous barb. Nothing to relax to. Offending all the elders we have and have ever had? Why would you? Degrading or trying to redefine sex and death is always done as some scam to get your money. Prostitution for example. It only seems like culture because there is nothing else on offer, and the ethanol in your blood, in your brain. Swirling with the name of people that aren’t worth your breath to utter.

And so there are things in MONA for controversy-advertisement that you should never take a child near, or go yourself. Let alone identify with absolutely, as in a father’s memorial . That is criminal in my book. A man sniffing the anus of a dog is an example of “art” at MONA that I will mention to highschoolers. Not wanting to post photos or describe the more shocking stuff.  A lot of it is creepy, but that might have been or will get toned down now. So cultureless is Tasmania they could put a giant television in MONA and still get in the punters. And yes, the drinkers too, for there is a bar in MONA of course, smack bang in the center underground.

They want you to equate sociability with drinking. That is the bottom line. That is there way of profit. And Dark Mofo sucks in all those who subscribe to this paradigm, all those with too little personality and self-confidence, dominated by the impossibly arrogant, and who cannot switch off mainstream media to save their lives.

I mentioned  Dark Mofo in my letter as a fraud. That is a crime now in Tasmania, apparently.  Because yes, Dark Mofo is a government program, and the police work the government policy. People not joining in with what the government wants, must be weird and dangerous outsiders. The very word ‘police’ comes from the word ‘policy’, so you know. So don’t go telling me its for the economy, the good of all of us. It is for the retaining of their salaries.

So that is the long and the short of it. And if you come to Tasmania for Dark Mofo and the cleanest air in the world, and find yourself breathing in human remains, you will know who to thank for that.

Conclusion

Sobriety is the acceptance of life, rather than the trying to reduce it to three positive words concerning someone who has died. Sobriety is intelligence, social intelligence. Sobriety is the way of discussion [the search for truth]. Saying that life is “explosive” is just the line of someone pushing fireworks, pushing Dark Mofo where she has found her claim to fame, and a status in a festival she believes represents real Tasmanian power. Anyone who doesn’t accept this power, is an outsider to be dealt with by a judge who dare not state his name.

And we can see this by the nature of these explosions, one every night of the festival, over a very peaceful bay, that might is right. These were the biggest explosions allowed in Australia, as Podger boasts. Why not accord your identity with this big explosion, ignoring all those commoners and stalkers trying to sleep, and the mentally frail who would take such an explosion in the night as a deep negative. And then more so when learning it was someone’s ashes. And the children and babies whose sleep was disturbed by this vain and selfish act. And the violating pollution laws by deliberately fouling the heavens. To say nothing of the attempted murder of good taste.

This article has been just words, dear Marita. Symbolism. Art, y’know. Like your upside down cross and your upside down mind. And that you even have a mind, is just a theory.

Part VII

One Monkey is No Monkey

And so having gone so deep in parts V and VI I thought we might continue on to the seabed. And try to put all of this into a theory. To encapsulate it into something we can stand back and appreciate for its simplicity. Again, if this is something that might make you feel adrift, skip on. The next part is just for highschooler, friends of my daughter.

I got the term “one monkey is no monkey” from a zoology book decades ago and it stayed with me. It has come to mind occasionally when dealing with people. For example, those bloodless-looking youth so common around Glenorchy bus station, making noise and swearing across the road to their friends. Such people can be intimidating when in packs. But on their own they are as meek as can be. Fearful. And this is what is found in primates. When in packs they can be  dangerous. But never so when alone. One monkey is no monkey. No threat.

In a fair society, when someone accuses someone of something they necessarily cant remain hidden. They need to be held accountable for the accusation in order to test that accusation for ulterior motive or any precedence of lying, exaggerating, delusion etc. But there is another way of looking at it;

If someone convinces others that the accused is dangerous and will be violent against them because of the accusation made, that right can be abused. In my case this is clear abuse, because all the evidence is in writing and under CCTV, and there was and is no possible interpretation of violence or threat. So the accuser has gone into the abstract totally in order to justify her position. And abstraction no one dare question because of her status. Posing her theories on what this and that might mean, or “really” means. Note that I have no criminal record. So all suggestion of violence/threat has come out of O’Connell’s glorious head.

Society becomes unfair with this second rationale. So by claiming danger, the issue, the accusation, is now disembodied from the accuser, and the victim’s defense of it suppressed. And this can be done by anyone with the power to do it. And these two factors are contradictory. One negates the other. The second one destroys the first.

A] An accused person’s right to address the meaning of the accusation at its source.

B] A supposed need for self protection from the anger of the accused. No right to address the accused.

Unfortunately for me, the accuser defines the threat. A loaded scenario.

Approach B, eclipses approach A. And this creates a syndrome for the unwary. For when not being allowed a fair defense and examination of the accusation, any anger this produces can then be seen as evidence of the supposed danger. For that is the focus now placed upon them. Bringing more suspicion. Bringing more suppression and more anger. And this all comes from the original fear-making. All this is possible by the  use of abstract terms of psychiatry. Because abstraction is infinite! The fear making can be infinite. And this I believe has been a controlling factor in Y.W’s life. The infinite potential for this syndrome is inherent in the nature of abstraction. As long as such abstraction is taken as coming from an expert, an honest expert. So those that deal in abstraction and are believed, can be very dangerous to a fair society.

So for example if I were to go and knock on O’Connell’s door, this would be taken as stalking Y.W. Just like my letter to O’Connell was taken as stalking Y.W. But it was a trying to contact O’Connell merely. And so such a victim of this syndrome has essentially  been tricked into to fighting in a self-defeating way. All attempts at addressing the accuser are interpreted under that false category of stalking/danger. The victim is now fighting within a paradox rather than fighting an accusation. The victory is usually a given. But I think about these creeps all the time. I know how they operate. As a pack. And the only solution is to administrate back to them. Just what I am doing.

This is no great wisdom of mine. But it so happens that when you become angry, any wisdom at all tends to fly out the window. You will go knocking on doors instinctively. This is what they are banking on. To either bring in the police by rash behavior, or for me to wear this rumor forever. They have both doors covered. So we approach them with pure administration. The same pathway they rely on.

It’s a hard call to do this administrating back sometimes. To wait and wait, and think and think. But it works. The ones that end up in prison are the ones who don’t beeline for the motive. The motive explains everything. Yes, the motive is hidden, because one monkey is hidden, one monkey doesn’t want to exist in the light of day. And so the victim can feel its an evil and vast conspiracy, and becomes more irrational and panicked. Then things become extreme.

These O’Connell types are administrators to a man and woman, and so here I am administrating back to them. Not knocking on doors etc, which is self-defeating. As I said, and as we saw, anything I do, even writing to the parents, is manipulated to be seen as threat. Because she defines threat! And I believe she expected me to pursue the daughter because she is just that dumb.  Relying on my anger to lead me into that noose. Or, ideally for her, to accept the rumor and let her go off claiming her daughter is irresistible and the family needing sympathy and protection.

So you need to meet them on their own supposed terms; words, not actions. The monkeys hide in the world of words. And this is why they invent them so easily. Banking is another good example, with their being dozens of words for ‘money’. And they only attack in groups.

What she cant escape is the fact that those two letters I sent were addressed to the parents. Meaning she is essentially hiding behind her daughter. One monkey is no monkey. They have given a statement from the girl, but my letter was to the parents. So its another trick. Why get a restraining order for Y.W and not herself as well? Again, no logic. She might now think to go back to her lawyer. But such a lawyer, if he advised her to do this, won’t show his face to her. He has dug her a huge hole. Actually handing me the evidence. My addressing the parents being taken as a threat and answered by the child. Unbecoming.

She can get a new lawyer and he will say;

‘Well Marita. He does have a point. You have made it illegal for him to ask you a question. Forcing him to defend himself without you. Without your clarification, by…what was it, oh yes, the facts and his opinion based on them.

In fact Marita, you have kept Y.W in a state of fear by doing this. Stopping the fullest explanation possible getting to her. And he has done nothing threatening towards her, ever. You have forced Mr Bell to go public in order to stop her fearing, in order for her to finally understand, to get it through her thickness. You could go to goal for that Marita. Its called diminishing the psychological integrity of your daughter’.

Maybe O’Connell can pay this second lawyer to get her money back form the first lawyer.

So now she might call to advise the judge. And tell him her daughter is now even more scared. But  no judge in the world without dementia will touch it. Her actions already have  “guilty” stamped all over it.

Anyway, one can only react to the administrator traitors by administrating. And this is what I am doing. How frightening are all these letters, all coming up out of the page and lurking inside the empty minds of the mofo class. Let us see them argue that in court!!!

Did you see that? A vicious use of exclamation marks. How frightening.

The administrators get their salaries form administrating, and this is their way. And they have made the world in their own image. And Y.W’s name is irrelevant to me. It doesn’t matter in the scheme of things whether I publish it. It only matters in the longer term for social commentary in my daughter’s world. Y.W has been manipulated since birth, I believe. We saw from her trying to speak for herself that she was just parroting something, and didn’t really have a handle on it. How could she? She was in an impossibly ridiculous situation. The same with this situation. So I still have some hope for Y.W . Meaning I hope she has soul enough to apologies to my daughter for the stress she has caused her in these last two months. My daughter, by the way, is fairly new at this school, having been there less than a year. So such slander cuts deep. All her friends don’t know her that well. My daughter has been as much a victim here as me, as with my wife. The victim of someone trying to make people very frightened so as to appear impossibly irresistible and important.

Anyway, this type of attack is a sort of sleight of hand. Where reason A  is replaced by reason B now the damage is done, the virus out and about. Something like antagonizing a dog that is on a leash until it chokes itself. It is easy to do. The victim sees and battles the antagonism, and not the paradox they are really caught within, which calls for a different approach. Administration. Which is to see this greater picture, and then explain it. Your only defensive strategy is to come to this seabed, this depth, and see the principle going on.

Any one monkey within the pack that has some control over the pack is less likely to want to leave it and be accountable/questioned. He represents the pack. So O’connell is telling us much about this government. Leaving the pack is to backtrack, to become an individual that makes mistakes, rather than a rock of power and solidarity for the pack. Other monkeys would see it as a negation of the pack, the inviolability and strength of the pack, and she would lose her position. Monkey’s position in the pack would be changed to a lesser one or she would be ostracized. But this actually is the best way for her. It should be taken as catharsis, because the pack is obviously corrupt in that it supported her. The rationale for the pack solidarity becomes threatened by any negation, yet this she should do. Setting herself free from the pack, and setting the victims free at the same time. Real catharsis.

In other words, admitting their mistake would be admitting to the pack that Monkey has brought critical attention to the pack. The pack is in danger. The angelic park rangers have been alerted of some commotion and are on their way. The elephants [society] will start shaking the trees in support of them.

For them, only the pack is real. Only the power, only the salaries. They can attack without retribution or even questioning. They like that. They are that. But when they are a singular individual, they cant do that. So I have had to use words to psychanalyses the individual, to define them, make them one, singular, within their otherwise impenetrable anonymity within the pack.

The only question now is whether I will use this document, this administration, or have a more perfect ending to this saga, of seeing Y.W apologize. Of Y.W learning something, and moving on to a happy life, embracing real community spirit, and respecting the deep and loyal friendships that childhood always offers, and which can last and last.

Part VIII

Truth;

And so I wish for Y.W now what I wished for her in the beginning. Which is what I wish for my own daughter, and all youth. To understand. To think a little. To see that though they mock religion at phenomenon like Dark Mofo, Mona and elsewhere– you should not throw out the baby with the bathwater. You don’t have to become a nun or a priest, or even a Christian [as it is defined today] to respect sobriety and virginity. And each of these is inter-related. A clear mind protects its dignity. By having clear minds you are able to recognize your true loves when you meet them. And your untrue ones, to avoid. Making stable and meaningful families. That is happiness. And by this you avoid all the hell that comes to so many who fumble and stumble into adulthood via equating sociability with alcohol. Don’t do it. You only get one chance. It’s a fork in the road and backtracking is hard, and eventually impossible, because the dimmer your mind, the less you remember/comprehend the fork you have passed. The less you understand that life’s problems are what you yourself have caused by taking that turn-off. You attack and blame others in a syndrome, distracted from recognizing this road for what it is. Becoming fearful, hateful, and passing your misperceived view of reality on to your children. You won’t hear many tell you this today. But it has always been true. Take this from the beginning of last century;

Drink has drained more blood

Plunged more people into bankruptcy

Armed more villains

Slain more children

Snapped more wedding rings

defiled more innocence

Blinded more eyes

Twisted more limbs

Dethroned more intellects

Wrecked more manhood

Dishonoured more womanhood

Broken more hearts

Blasted more lives

Driven to more suicide, and

Dug more graves than any other poisoned scourge that ever swept its death-dealing waves across the world.

[Evangeline Booth 1863-1950]

And take heed of all the walking corpses around us. They were once young too. Take heed of all the impossible children.

Media have told the world for decades now that a little alcohol is good for you physiologically. It turns out that that isn’t true. And we can guess where the idea originated and was perpetuated; those selling it. And that video linked sites as much.

Many of you have read Breakfast at Tiffany’s recently at school. I read it too. That book was largely a glorification of the drinking lifestyle. And the casting of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly in the film was just ridiculous. So ridiculous the author himself hated the casting and hated the film. They also changed the story, adding a love affair with the main characters. No small thing. Someone like Holly Golightly does not look or behave like Audrey Hepburn. Hepburn was an intelligent woman who could speak 5 languages. And she has done you a disservice by playing that role. Do you think such a beautiful and intelligent  woman would be a barfly hooked on glamour magazines and skirting prostitution? Finally going off to try and find a rich man to marry? Also note that Holly’s destiny was never given. The destiny of such people is never good. And to get some idea of that just look at how the author, Capote ended up. Know what becomes of people who glorify drinking, including specimen Walsh who can barely make a sentence, trying to impress you with paradoxes.

Such choices have nothing to do with wealth. And much to do with parental guidance and your ability to concentrate and develop a wholesome routine. Including exercise. Exercise the body you clear and refresh the mind. Ultimately the only thing to fear in life is delusion. Within delusion is a world of mistakes waiting for you to make. Delusion and  the drunken mind are the same thing ultimately. And when you are at a party or social gathering, note those trying to get you to drink alcohol. Your true friends and your true loves are in the opposite direction. The choice is yours.

I study history, and hoped to interest Y.W in it. Why? Because to know where we are, and so be secure in our personalities, we need to know how we got here. Like knowing what you eat, you need to know the ingredients. The good form the bad. The truth from the manipulation and the using of you.

Truth is the home where nothing hurtful, threatening and dangerous may enter. Truth is the light that scares off all fears and evil intensions.  A clear mind is the natural home of truth. A clear mind is a sober mind. We all have this mighty power of self protection. You need not always say what is on your mind, you have the right to privacy. But when you do, always be truthful. This will allow you to question with  clear results. And if you have been mistaken, admit it immediately. We all make mistakes. That is the way of our lives. Don’t try to appear as some perfection via arrogance. Your loyalties should be with the quality of community, not the quantity, not superficial power and prestige that plays to masses of second-rate people, and tempts and confuses the otherwise good, via lies and delusion.

———

For a PDF copy of this article [and the blog might be pulled down], or for comments and questions, write to me at;

forthenursery@protonmail.com

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