O N     V I O L E N C E 

Violence is something a society has the ability to contain, if we ask the right questions and maintain objectivity. 

If we explore the motives of all forces involved. The actions. The lack of actions. 

If we try to address distress and pain in an open and unbiased way

with no agenda other than to lessen the harm done to one another. 

  L O V E   



There is love and then there is everything else. 

Born human means being born into the world having an overwhelming sense of need from the very beginning. 

Antidotes to discomfort and food sucked from something are our first order of things.

History of violence. Infiltrated DNA. 

We are all from multiple parents.

The formation of a monster is ineluctable.

Palpable. Tangible. The human world. Collective intellect… 

the hardened scars of collective historical human experience become visceral. 

Implanted without our permission. Almost automatic. Expeditious rape.

Other Ligatures applied minutes after the maternal cord is severed. 

The impact on the soft outer layers of our new skin is at once the literal mark of death. 

From tiny cuts to open wounds. Raised marks. Scar.

I am sorry for all my wrong thinking and painting horrible pictures about these things but I was long ago infected. 

Fucked with everything and I have to remember the look that a child’s eyes have when perceiving the world in wonderment. 

How do we begin to experience Love?


Fear and trust and absence of fear. Love and desire... contradictory  Love of things... delusional.  

Fear of rejection and of loss of protection.

Safety. ’’There is no such thing as security, there never has been’’. (Germaine Greer)

Disassociation from the world.

How do we begin? How do we find and conserve and perpetuate love?

 We are pre-programmed, as if pitted against ourselves almost from first breath. 

Begin again

The human world. Collective intellect… the hardened scars of collective historical human experience becomes visceral. Implanted without our permission.

What do I have to give you?

What do I have to give?


Can you see demons?

A curse.

A waking nightmare in which people are obsessed with fame or infamy, and even the difference between these two states seems not to matter. Substance and poignancy, talent and craft…. Generosity.  The passion to create without assurance of embrace seems discredited and mocked. 

Opinions are formed out of nothing more than a seeming need to have them. The false belief that opinions and judgements and comments provide some kind of synthetic proof of existence and of worth.  Not everything that is thought is worth saying...  and so much of what is said is not worth hearing.  When literalism replaces accurate substantiation and critical thinking, the world becomes very dark.

Social attention is no substitute for love, but if someone doesn’t know what love is, then this concept cannot be grasped. Nothing means anything. Every day is the same. Vacuous… desperate.  Selfish.

Behind the blinding light-emitting diodes and the bubble gum flavoured air, breathed in, sucked from the world by the self-entitled.  Behind every attention addicted constantly indignant judging new guru, leading packs of frightened hypnotised fools who have long since lost their identity…… their sense of purpose… those for whom these notions have never occurred. Those in search of a tribe to belong to. Behind it all… is no more than a swamp of platitudinous repartition, mindless voyeuristic cruelty and pain and mistakes made through stubborn ignorance. In an autocratic system……. Controlled……….. Manipulated.  A society where history has been allowed to be erased.  A system in which the only outcome of rebellion is a tightening of the grip.  An ever more narrowing path.  Asphyxiation. A world where some kind of dark mirror has been passed through.

Compassion seems foolish.  Quiet considered observations are shouted down in a deafening inundation of slogans and labels and lies that are never exposed, or if disproved, become even more powerful.  A shallow slime pit , where life is short………. And when it ends, for many, all they will have is their ‘’opinions’’ and a lot of fear and a sense of loss and longing, for lifetimes given away willingly to reflections, shallow, and only of the self.

Still, we shall rail against this, with critical thinking, art and imagination. With personal process and protest.

C Andrew J Pearson 2017




This boy’s childhood was not pleasant. 

He was bought up in a household of extreme violence. He woke up most mornings with his father standing at the end of his bed with his belt in hand. He wet the bed and his father would strap him and verbally abuse him. 

He would go to school from the age of 7 fearful that his mother would be murdered.                         

He walked home from school fearful that he would find his mother dead.                                     

When he was 9, he witnessed his father dragging his mother around the backyard by her hair. He stood there crying 

and screaming. 

His father hit him. A violent adult hit. He fell down and got up again. He continued trying to protect his mother. 

(There was often blood. On the walls……….. All around)

His father put a gun to his mother’s head and pulled the trigger. 

The gun was not loaded. His father was the only one that new this.

The boy went next door to call the police on numerous occasions but this was the 1970s in Australia and the police couldn’t 

(or wouldn’t) intervene unless they actually witnessed the violence. 

The boy’s mother went to the police station many times and was told that they could do nothing. 

She asked.. ‘’so I have to be dead before you can do anything?’’ and they said ‘’yeah luv… pretty much’’.

The boy and his mother fled the family home as she was fearful that her husband would eventually kill her. The boy believed also, that his father would kill sooner or later. 

His mother and he were homeless for over a year. They slept on people’s floors and couches and lived in a caravan. 

They lived in a women’s refuge for over 6 months which was better than sleeping on couches or floors 

but there was violence in the women’s refuge also, 

and constant fear that husbands would find where their wives were.

He was admitted to hospital over and over… with stomach problems …drastic weight loss. 

They discovered he had practically no stomach lining, due to his constant state of terror.  

Fear was eating this child.

His mother met another man whom she eventually married. 

This man had been in goal for armed robbery and also sexual assault. (A rape which he always denied). 

The boy’s mother had herself been raised in an orphanage for unwanted children. 

She made some bad choices because she had never been given the tools to make good choices, 

but she loved her son as best she could.

The boy knew this second man his mother chose, never liked him. He was barely tolerated. 

An inconvenient part of the deal. He was constantly verbally abused by this man. 

This dangerous stranger his mother had married. 

This man would say to the boy, “you’re a selfish little cunt”.  

This man told the boy that he was no good at school, no good at this or that. 

No good at anything. This man would say,

                              ‘’I wish you would go live with your father so I could have your mother to myself’’.                             

For a short time the boy did go and live with his violent father. 

He was not wanted there either. 

No love. 

The boy returned to his mother, (and the stranger). His mother and this new man she married were verbally abusive to each other constantly. At age 15, the boy found a full time job. At 15 and a half he moved out of home. 

He knew there was something better out there and was so.... so tired. 

Worn down at fifteen.

Moving away from his mother caused great pain. Endless longing. Heartbreak.  

She was his only family, but he had to go.

He went back to his mum a few times as he missed her and she begged him to move back. 

Each time he ended up moving back out, as he could not cope with the abuse. 

His mother and he maintained a good relationship up until she died of lung cancer when he was 32. 

She was only 57. She was eaten away by heartbreak. Anger and fear.

He had lost his best friend. his only family. The second man she married, told him to ‘’fuck off’’ two days after she had been buried. This man told him that he never wanted to hear from him again 

(‘’ he only ever put up with me for my mum’s sake, he had always hated me even as a child.’’) 

The boy says

(‘’I miss my mother every day, she was not perfect…who is?... but she was all I had. When she died, my family was gone. ‘’)

At 37 he had an aortic dissection and emergency surgery. He died 5 times on the operating table. 

He was told he would never be able to work again. 

It took him 5 years of hard work and studies because he was determined to contribute to society and work. 

Even so, he has physical pain. He now has chronic health issues including body inflammation and Post Traumatic Shock.  

These things have a direct connection to the horror of his childhood.

This account is short. There was much more violence and horror than is described here 

but it is at his request that no more details be included.  

What is written is enough.

*Redacted from a recollection and published with the permission of Allan Daniels.




................................social conscience ......................fixating on the next opportunity to gain way more money than we could ever need    ...............fulfilling life experience   .....dignified, virtuous ......  giving and receiving actual love. The libertarian sensibility to which the greedy cling .....  a toxic delusion .....not all people in the world have opportunities others have.  Who are these ''others'' who choose to be ‘’lazy’’ or drug addicted or mentally ill or have a fucked up childhood? ..... what of whimsy and nuance that can enrich our society?  I wish not to live in a sanitised urban setting surrounded by greedy people with no imagination. They are really FUCKING dull. 



Teaching a new dog, old tricks... THERE ARE NO ANSWERS HERE


In first principle and if perceived in literal terms, the ''stock exchange'' is supposed to be

an almost socialistic mechanism for the distribution of wealth and profit and a facility for financing business... 

supposedly way above and beyond a construct like the E.U.

The United States....................... us

HOWEVER... It is so easily laid waste


Trading slaves ......

Poverty is very real, especially if you are 


                                      Ordinary people are less likely to be generous toward those who are less advantaged,                                        if they themselves are fearful of ending up POOR as well.

''wanna buy a gun?'' 



solid investments



We have a political language infected with words words words like ''trickle down economics'', ''responsible fiscal policy'' 


''reforms''. We get attempts at social engineering and division based on fear of a fictitious ''other''.

Those who talk in humanistic terms are viewed as cute and temporarily inspiring, 

or a threat to some entrenched dog eat dog logic. To speak of love, 

can often be construed as threatening, shocking, facile.

 young people are coming now. Many cannot see sense in how the world is controlled 

and have actually gotten past the idea that the internet is a novelty for venting petty grievances. 

They can see (as yet untainted) visions for positive global change and exchange of ideas, wealth and freedom. 

As Patti Smith says (paraphrased) '' we are only just getting to know how to use this stuff.... ''


''Sometimes there are always problems, sometimes only fable'' (Duggie Fields)


I do not believe it trite or romantic to imagine that now, as much or even more than ever, 

it is important for artists, writers, film makers and musicians, visualists etc, 

positivist motivators, teachers....what ever, to research histories, 

consider actions, responsibilities and ramifications in deeper more prolonged ways 

and use the WEB to self- inform. 

Find one point of view, then another and another

.... some of these views MUST oppose each other.   

I tell myself over and over.... If I filter my research in order to legitimise false beliefs, I will remain...

a fool

© Copyright Andrew J Pearson