Days of marc6x
Persecuted artist and speculator


It is bad luck, when seeing others creating bridges to help someone in need, to simply walk straight past.

That last sentence is not a quote, but if it were a Chinese or Hindu proverb or some such, perhaps it would have greater weight and meaning.

Beggars often accumulate on the sloping street going down to the Queen Street Mall area. There’s a lot of passing pedestrian traffic. Today I saw something quite unusual: a young woman, part of a group of four Japanese youngsters, crouching down and stroking the shoulder of a lone man who was obviously decrepit and in very very bad shape.

When you see something like that, a million thoughts pass through your mind, most of them rather unpleasant. Where is the man from? Is he dangerous? Would he hurt me if I approached him? Is he really poor, or just hiding a fortune behind his back? What would happen if I decided to give him something? Would he spend it all on drugs, cigarettes and gambling?

Very few people do give. There are too many variables involved. Of the few that decide to open their wallets, even fewer are able to open their hearts and their minds to this strange man, with a withered face and frown. It’s embarrassing to kneel down and place anything in his hat.

But knowing that it was bad luck to pass by, when clearly others were trying to help and console him, my walking slowed to a stop a matter of ten metres down the road. I knew that I should have to do something.

A lot of people were coming down the slope now, oblivious to this man, and just across the road there were a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses with their booklet stand. Christians they were, but obviously incapacitated by their own religion and above helping this man.

I always carry with me a couple of my own self-written newsletters which I share with others that I meet. It can be great conversation material. The one that I almost always have with me is about veganism and “The Dramatic Life of Meateaters”. Essentially it is reading about how having a plant-based diet is cheaper (for beggars too of course) and much healthier than having any meat, dairy or egg products.

I readied myself and started to walk back up the slope. The man, perhaps fortunately, was not looking straight at me, or I would have been rather embarrassed.

I bent down to speak. “How are you?” He nodded vaguely, managing a smile.

I knew that I had to be quick. “I’ve got a bit of money for you,” I said, placing two dollars in his cap. It was the only spare change I had. “And—I’ve got a newsletter. If you like reading. I wrote it myself.”

I could see that he was gentle enough, but he said very little if anything. Immediately, though, he took up the newsletter and began to open it for the read. I backed away and tottered off back down the slope, feeling a bit shaky of course, but glad that I had at least made a difference to the life of this strange man.

A couple of questions formed in my mind. Firstly, why is it usually or always women who make the effort to reach out to these kinds of people?

The answer I found to this question is a bit ironic, and a bit simple. Humans are naturally drawn with their sexual feelings toward each other, even to express love and kindness. Hence it is the most common and commodious dichotomy to have a man approached by a woman, and not by another man. Some women are remarkably empathetic and kind, not all and perhaps even not many, but there are some who are able to feel compassion and love to a high and mature degree.

Secondly, when there is a communication gap in such situations, what’s the best way to interact with the person in need?

The answers to this question are not simple.

I invite YOU the reader to think about them, and let your spirit guide your actions!

MARCUS LOW was a Big Issue street sales vendor and busker during the years 2010 to 2017. He knows how tough life on the streets really is, and hopes to reach out to as many people as possible to help the genuinely poor, disabled, weak and underprivileged. Please don’t just walk past.


Here’s the thing about news media: it teaches us to be afraid of certain things, without really teaching us why.

And here’s my example: pedophilia. I’ve been a lover of children for a long time, and although I may well enjoy having sexual intercourse with a child if given the opportunity, I have learned by rote that pedophilia is utterly and convincingly WRONG. So even though I don’t know why, I shut the fuck up. And zip the fuck up.

Many observers, including those working in the Mental Health sector, have reinforced this self-hatred in me, accusing me of harming or shaming small boys and girls, without knowing the full extent of my love for the same beings.

The same news reporters and naysayers who decry pedophilia and detest the loving sexual feelings of pedophiles are also hard-pressed to change their minds about bestiality. If we were to examine the explorations of the human mind over millennia, we would notice something very strange going on.

The Victorians, for example, are known to have admonished sex entirely. Sex is dirty, they said. And society believed them, for a very very long time.

What is (almost randomly in some cases) inserted into the Holy Bible also prevents us from free thinking: for Jesus himself said: “He who looks upon another with desire has sinned already, in his heart.”

What can we conclude? In the words of some great or not so great leader: “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” In other words, those fears that we do have are caused and propagated by certain wide-eyed, loudmouthed naysayers of our society, and cause us to shy away from certain explorations or evolutions of the human mind.

The human mind is remarkably small, in the abstract sense. It can’t think well much of the time, because it is subject to so many external and internal forces. Most people’s minds are conditioned from their earliest years, and as much as we try to escape and explore adulthood, the impression of those earliest years is almost always still there.

Indeed, humans have rightly been called “genitals on legs”. Many are merely interested in sexual intercourse, and only if they understand it to be proper to the society and occasion in which they function. Nevermind if there are others—recluses, outcasts, vagabonds—who are disadvantaged by exactly the same presumptions. A man’s (and even many a woman’s) virility is determined first and foremost by his or her sexual prowess. If you do not have sex, you are not living the dream.

Those social occupations that bring us all together as humans—eating food, engaging in sports and activities, including hunting, and such things as drinking alcohol or taking drugs—also bind us to celebrate togetherness without which we immediately feel inadequate. In 2018, we now have developed a cool culture that the new Millennial generation are struggling to acclimatise to, but are forced to comply with and cherish as their own. It has been a miracle that in the scope of the last few decades, an acknowledgement of the sexual feelings of the LGBTI community has emerged, and then only because the numbers were there to vocalise adequate protestations. The point is: our primal brains are so small that without social validation, we cannot even acknowledge sexual feelings for other species without feeling embarrassed.

As a virgin for almost 40 years, I’ve come to realise that there are very, very few people who care about my sexual feelings. This shortcoming is deniable by one of the truest, most noble people I have met, named Ryan. Between myself and Ryan there is no sexual love, but rather a vicarious love in which there is no embarrassment in expressing exactly how we feel about each other. Ryan’s honesty is the best thing about him; but without his empathetic interest in others, he would still be a nobody. Among almost all my other friends, family and acquaintances, there are rampant feelings of fear, anxiety and even hate. The chance of these people understanding my fears is very small. Seeing the fear in others when we do not possess it ourselves is very, very rare.

Now, here’s the thing. Nothing between us goes unsaid. If one of us is unhappy, we speak about it. Ryan was one of the first, and will not be the last, to express that society conditions us to behave and think in certain ways, and the only way to break free of that is to act weird and wild at the very best opportunities.

So what I said about the lacklustre and disappointing evolution of the human brain and mind applies here. I truly and honestly believe that it’s time to break down the barriers between humans and other animals. And that means using all our energy—including our sexual energy—to love animals in the only way that some of us know how: through our genital organs.

The exercise may well be thought of as a psychological one. And it may well cause harm, if done improperly. But it will teach us some very important lessons: most of all, it will teach us how to deal with our fears and how they are tied to our social constructs. Something that we heard on television, something that we read in the newspaper, something that our grandmother scolded us with or told us. We need to forget that, and learn to love afresh.

Now, I’m not advocating that everyone have sex with animals. What I am advocating is the advantages of wanting and imagining that kind of weird sexual experience. Oscar Wilde once said approximately: “The only way to get rid of the evils of temptation is to succumb to it.” We can start off by doing it vicariously, and letting the desire take full command of itself. And I can assure you, that once these seeds are planted in our brains, many of the carnists who denied that animals deserve justice will become animal-lovers overnight. But we need to be breaking the rules, in order to find ourselves.

This principle of weirdness is not new. The LGBTI community has used it to great advantage. Now their weirdness is seen, at best, as being virile, fashionable and desirable. And so, even though we will and must ultimately leave the animals alone to nature, having sexual feelings about them is absolutely not going to harm anybody.

At the moment, the vegan movement is experiencing some trepidation and pause, because vegans are seen (and often see themselves) as weak, rather than masculine, courageous, loving, kind and noble. The term “animal lovers” is a term often easily used with mockery, and makes all vegans want to shut up and close shop, rather than expressing those inner feelings and letting them out.

For sake of our livelihoods, the animals and the planet, it’s time to realise that we are masters of our minds, and not their servants.

MARC-US LOW is an Earthling, a writer and an innovator of the mind.


The concept of having everything in moderation is an old one, but nobody has really set the record straight.

Moderation in DIET

“Everything in moderation” appears most often in health circles, I believe, and espouses that everything that we eat should be eaten in moderation. But the vast majority of health professionals know that this is not true. Even those dieticians who espouse the food pyramid scheme of eating know that if you are eating as much fat as you are vitamins and nutrients, your “everything in moderation” argument is blown out of the window. For a long time, society has been taught that eating “moderate” quantities of meat products is also nourishing, until it was realised by vegans that these meats are as carcinogenic as smoking.

The best research now agrees that a full plant-based diet is best for human health. So the “everything in moderation” argument does not hold here.

Over many generations, the human body can adapt. In this way, sometimes a deficiency in certain nutrients can force the body to be less dependent on specific food sources if ever these were to become scarce. In purely scientific terms, it remains unclear what nutrients caused the human mind to become so sophisticated and cognitively (but not so much emotionally) intelligent: but there are lessons to be learned from that developmental history.

What about other things in life? What about MONEY and FRIENDS?

It is a truth that if a small fortune, say $10 thousand, is given to a poor person, that amount of money has a huge impact on him or her. The joy of having that money is obvious, and that person will likely make significant lifestyle changes as a result of having just that small fortune. But if you were to give the same amount to someone who is already a millionaire, the impact is far less. Most likely the millionaire will ignore that contribution as rather meaningless. And that is why, in regards to money, the “everything in moderation” rule does have merit.

This is the reason that many rich people choose to dress humbly: because in order to experience the high of being rich under the surface, appearance and reality mean less than what’s in the bank account.

However, it’s also clear that those who seem excessively rich are also inspiring to those who have very little. Hence, if everyone were to have exactly the same amount of money, the system would be entirely socialist and society would possibly lack the “frisson”, or moving-power, to produce new inventions or keep reinventing itself.

Now, it’s the same with friends. Jay Shetty and others will have pointed out that if you have no friends, having just one good friend would make a huge difference. But if you have many friends, like some of my friends on Facebook who have literally 5000, the value of each friend is diminished.

I have subsisted throughout my Facebook career with the meagre quantity of 80 friends, and that is why each of those friends means much more to me than to someone who is extremely popular.

What about the occupation of WRITING?

Although I can feel bored of writing at times, that boredom is fleeting and I still aspire to longer forms of writing, for example writing a novel as I have never been able to do previously. Therefore, the general rule of moderating my writing experiences simply doesnt make sense.

However, it being well-known that READING is a benefit to people generally, it would seem to be wise to invest a fair proportion of my time reading in order to inform my WRITING.


This is the hardest of all categories to analyse. Mutant humans can produce amazing and valuable results to the human species. When I was a kid, I used to “chuck spasms” which showed me off as charismatic but also prone to social misadjustment. This made me unique but also caused me to endure many years of loneliness.

If everyone in society were exactly the same–thought the same way, believed exactly the same things–surely that would be boring. But it would certainly not be so lonely. A modern-day example is people who read the bible too much. Doubtless these people infatuate themselves greatly by doing so, but their disconnect with the real world causes culture shocks that invigorate the mind and cause different types of cognitive dissonance.

It is those people whose opinions are the most outlandish that often hold the greatest value as human beings. As Shakespeare said, “there is method to (this) madness”. I believe that my writings are of pioneer quality, but because they are so advanced they are not for popular appeal. So be it.

What about SEX?

I have heard that there are some people who have been “addicted” to sex, and on some level their disconnect with the real world has been a bane on society. However, I believe that sex is one of God’s greatest gifts. Having plenty of sex is a blessing.


So, dear friends, having everything in moderation is certainly not wise. There are some things that we should have none of, and some things that would be nice but are not necessary to have abundantly. Perhaps the only thing we can humbly conclude is that “only a moderate number of things should be had in moderation…certainly less than everything”. QED.


“I’m happy because I’m forced to be.”

Imagine living in a world where if you express that you are sad—depressed, suicidal, morose—you will be put under observation. If you complain too many times—maybe once, maybe two, three, four times—you get forced into mental hospital.

But not just any mental hospital, but a high dependency unit where everything that gave you comfort in the real world–the sights and smells of your own house, clean comfortable clothing, your own meals and choice of food–is also taken away from you, and replaced by a blank, sterile room with an obscured window showing almost nothing of the outside world. The room and walls smell like alcohol and cleaning fluid. The window is bolted and cannot be opened. You are forced to eat, and forced to eat the mushy food prepared for you. You are forced to wear a shabby hospital gown just big enough to cover your private parts, and then only if you fuss about with the cumbersome gown to make it fit.

Just outside your room is a common area shared by a number of louts and imbeciles. The way that they cry out, or yell, or scream, is like a public swimming pool of hell. They are disruptive and unpredictable. They might throw food or bash their fists on the walls to demand things. Even though you need water in copious amounts, it’s given out a cupful at a time from the nurse’s window. When you finally find the common toilet, you realise that the smell that rises from it is the ineradicable smell of excrement. The taps are small knobs that provide a pathetic trickle of water, so it’s hard to wash your hands.

You don’t know how long you’ll be here. No one told you your rights. You don’t know why you’re here. You remember the movie scenes in Terminator 2, and know that you’re being monitored through cameras. But because the technology is great, you don’t know how it’s done and you have every reason to feel that the nurses and staff will lie to you.

For the past several years your parents despised and excommunicated you, even though you were forced to live in the same house as them. In silent protest you started on a fasting diet, which if your parents found out about would have landed you straight in hospital. In this world, you cannot protest. You cannot fast, weep, follow the ways of Jesus. You must act normal, and if you do not, you will be incarcerated.

Imagine also that you are injected with psychiatric drugs. Imagine that these drugs fuck with your frontal lobe, so that you cannot use your imagination, think widely or laterally, or so much as hate anyone. You feel the limpness of your own body. You have nothing to do except sleep, and the unconsciousness of sleep brings comfort. Your designated psychiatrist and his team enter your room, to ask you how you are, and even though you’re fully aware of how much they are tossers, you choose to ignore them. So they regard you as lacking insight. It is not so much that you cannot answer, but if you will not answer, you lack insight and you will be detained further. They leave the room, scheduled to return in a week’s time.

These memories will stay with you, because every time you are injected, every time a tablet is forced into you, your hate for the system and the staff is renewed. There is no end to the treatment. Your very blood, your very flesh, is contaminated; and this in turn contaminates your soul and will detain you in this hellish place on earth–either physically, or mentally when you are eventually allowed to leave.

MARCUS LOW has been an involuntary mental hospital patient on seventeen occasions. Since becoming an involuntary mental health client in May 2005 he has been forced to take hundreds of unnecessary injections and tablets, including tablets intended to cure the depression caused by the mental health system. He continues to live every day in morbid fear of being rearrested by the police.


MARCUS LOW discovers that the library is a place of books, as well as people.

As I breeze into the public library, I often elide considerations of how much effort is put into its design. I think it’s just a public amenity. The choice of chairs, the wall-hangings, the displays, the toilets (ahem) and of course the books themselves. There is a policy on what they hold…

As I sit down into the low chair (there are low chairs and high chairs, a bit like an extraterrestrial bar) I begin to notice the other occupants. There’s not much space and time to observe everyone without looking like a stickybeak. Computers are wonderful things: the screen lights up, the cursor is flashing. To be afforded a space at a computer in a public building is quite the privilege.

But in the hour that I spend in there, my peripheral awareness begins to flower. At once I notice a man whom I suspect of autism staring at the screen. He’s half-bald, looks old-ish, maybe forty, but his fascination with how the keys are typed onto the screen is like that of a young child. His fascination is infectious, and I can hardly contain my interest in what ever word he is typing so slowly. It reminds me of my father’s chubby fingers whom I used to press when I was a child in his lap. Then there are the people playing the pokies. I don’t know what site they are logged onto, but they must have got the name from a good place. It’s not officially disallowed to gamble here, although in some libraries it is. It’s only when I see a girl prop her legs up on the desk as a form of comfort, as she presses the wheel button, that I feel it may be going a little too far.

My powers of deduction tell me that the library must be a sometime refuge for the homeless, but I certainly don’t notice anyone looking unkempt. It’s where you can find comfort but according to the rules not get too comfortable. Dazed by the imagery of a book of poetry, I shut my eyes for a second and already a smartly suited employee walks past to wake me up. Yes, these security personnel get paid for so much as a second of their time.

As I reach again for the book, the peace I feel, despite being caught out, is the peace of a man surrounded by books. As we are taught, books are objects of wonder which allow us such a great quality of life. We use our imagination to create wars, sex and adventure when the real world will not let us. The ambitions that we hold to read, write and get published are quintessential to the mature and reasonable human psyche. Indeed, the typical library user that you encounter is usually well-educated and naturally savvy (regardless of whether he did well at school). Perhaps, however, the uneducated (or undereducated) class is still underrepresented in a library. The autistic man I saw earlier is a real gem.

He takes me back to observing the people at the computers. Even though everyone there is behaving in a civilised way, there is one man who is laughing—struggling to contain his mirth. He’s spiffling and wiping his hand over his mouth as if half-conscious of his impolitenesses. It’s usually a moment in a song or movie that does that to you.

He notices me notice him, and then he does something that surprises me. From his breast pocket he removes a small book and offers it to me with a pen. “Here. Write in this. It’s my memento.” Before knowing exactly what I’m doing, I scribble a few kind words and the name of my website. That and the words: “Keep laughing.”

And I see a woman wearing a large set of headphones, tears rolling down her cheeks as she is rivetted to the chair watching the operatic ‘NessunDorma’. How can we possibly understand what is going on in her mind, and thereby find the limits of human ideation?


1 Defend and support the needs of the weak: those who are physically weak, who may be deaf, blind, elderly, or underprivileged; those who are mentally disabled; those who are distressed, depressed or anxious; those who have a long history of deprivation; those who are unable to make wise choices for themselves.

2 Help those who are encountering problems and need assistance to know who can help them. Understand that money is often the first thing that people ask for, and have an idea what you can do to assist or guide when this happens.

3 Encourage positive sentiments and be impressionable and patient to negative ones. Avoid reinforcing bad attitude and unnecessary fears, such as by threatening people with harsh fines or severe penalties. When times are down, don’t express yourself by being aggressive or antagonistic. Instead read Ruth in the bible and learn about the charity work of proud long-standing organisations such as the Salvation Army.

4 Explain the law simply and carefully and why it is necessary to people inclined to challenge it; use clear signs and well-written information brochures as a means to encourage interest and enquiry.

5 Set an example and set a standard in good behaviour, good style and wise decision-making.

6 Set clear standards and special protective measures for young people, under the age of 18 (21 in the United States). Ensure that the sources of information and inspiration that these people are exposed to are diligent, fair-minded and thought-provoking. Realise that there are youths who experiment in esoteric experiences and learn to respect them and teach them to educate themselves in fair behaviours. Be aware of the social issues relating to drug-addiction; weapons posession; bullying and isolation; and social inequalities.

7 Be the first recipient of new ideas for social improvement. Congratulate those who have vision and motivation to help the situation. Reward and requite people who have made the effort to write and express their views.

8 Help to create and engender good feeling, good attitudes and good bonds between families, within schools, between small businesses and governments; and between larger businesses, their employees and governments.

9 Specialise in knowing what to do with people who own animals; be particularly aware of people who breed them and the inclination for animals to be less well-treated than humans.

10 Encourage an interest in good literature, such as reading Roald Dahl’s The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. Some of Dahl’s other stories, such as The Silversmith, are also quite entertaining. Make the choice to avoid reading material that is frightening or horrifying beyond the call of reality.

Read those important documents that create a framework for national pride such as the United Nations Charter of Human Rights. Learn from history and how the world and the nation of Australia has emerged from a history of terrible conflict, social prejudice, wars, famines, epidemics and various forms of disaster.

Let us never forget the value and the salvation of peace.

11 Be aware of the issues relating to the use and development of technology: how dangerous it can be; how it can be pirated; how it can cause people stress and even be the cause of violence. Knowing the full history of a person and having that information stored in a computer or computers can have very strong anti-karmatic effects and cause (in the metaphorical sense) suffocation, leading to thoughts of paranoia, suicide, self-harm and vindictive attitudes.

12 Be mindful of the power of prayer, reflection and rememberance. Every week, despite how easy it is to forget when others around us also forget, make time to attend Church, or to pray and be completely at peace and at rest for at least an hour or two on the weekend.

We celebrate Australia Day every year; we also celebrate and commiserate those who have made the ultimate sacrifice in service to the welfare of the nation. But most of all we can choose to seek salvation in God himself, who is the origin of all benevolence and the resources of the Earth, and in Jesus Christ his son who taught us how to live our lives with truth, forbearance, honesty and love.

13 Be a friend and a human. Humans express their friendliness by such behaviours as smiling, hugging, talking, sharing and being together and telling stories and jokes, and expressing their discomforts and fears as much as their enthusiasms. If you have lost the power to do any of these things, you have lost the ability to call yourself a human being. Pray to God to endow you with the gift of being human and humanising your experiences with others, every hour and every day.

14 Never stop learning about the cultures that make-up our society and the traditions that give it significance. Be wise about Aboriginal culture and its inherent conflicts with the cultures of development originating from the Western civilised world. Let us be sorry for the plight of the Aborigines and yet realise that we must make decisions that best negotiate between the inherent conflicts of two or more existing cultures.


1 Write to Centrelink and ask if they have any street scouts

2 Write to the Board of Education and ask if they have any middle-of-day activities for vagrants, or the option to join Falun Dafa

3 Write to Salvos and St Vinnies and ask if they provide tooth care essentials to tramps

4 Make friends with the hostels and ask if they ever provide free board to people with excuses

5 Do the same with the public pools

6 Ask Woolworths what they do with all their excess food

7 Ask a rich man if he’s ever given his bed to a beggar for a night or a week

8 Ask a doctor if he’s ever done a full med check on a sick homeless man/woman

9 Ask a police officer if he’s ever been nice to a dumb man or person in a wheelchair

10 Ask if you’ve ever given a healthy fruit or nut bar to a starving imp

11 Ask yourself if you’ll ever be as well-loved as Mother Theresa

12 Tell a beggar to go to South Bank to clean himself (even have a shower there)

13 Teach an illiterate adult how to read a headline

14 Ask a beggar what he thinks of the city scene, the weather, the pollution

15 Give a prognosis of a man crippled as a child

16 Scold a politician for not pitying the poor and lonely

17 Tell a man to give some of his cake/platter to a person languishing on the streets

18 Look at a world map and determine where most of the poverty is

19 Give a beggar your full attention and ask them to describe their problem as simply as they can

20 Teach a beggar how to busk or sell something for profit

21 Thank the person who asked what the world would be like without money

22 Suggest to the beggar to enjoy the public gardens (lawns)

23 Conduct a group prayer with all company accepted

24 Educate vagrants on the true concept of “being aboriginal” and “being a greenie” or “loving your neighbour”

25 Give a tramp the opportunity to appear on live radio!



As a result of my depressed relationship with the police in Australia, it has taken a long time before I have felt calm enough to write about them. I wish that I had done it earlier; but so mortified have I been by their treatment over the last 10 years, that I felt that I was living in some other, heinous world. Writing objectively about them takes a shaking of the head, a lot of forgiveness, and a lot of concentration. In those ten years, I have been arrested by the police on more than 20 occasions, especially as an involuntary mental patient.

My life has changed a lot since my childhood years when I had very little involvement with the police. Although I was brought up to live a life without crime, and have according to my own estimations been a very respectful and honest citizen, my fears of the police increased sharply in the year 2000 when I went to live in Sydney. There, so many times when I was walking the roads, I saw the black vehicles and other custom-designed vans, with blue and white checkers, that the police used to transport their victims. Amid paranoia about other things in my life, I started to become convinced that the police were after me, even though I had never been seriously confronted.

During that year, I also began to notice a large number of coincidences, such as coincidental sightings of the police, and other seeming effects of paranoia such as billboard messages having peculiar relevance to me or to something that I had recently written or thought about. Upon my encountering various other suspicious changes within my own private room, the feeling of being constantly monitored led me to invent the concept of “sanet”, namely a security network that I believed the government was using to monitor and control my behaviour. In 2002, following the terrorist attacks in the United States, the governments of the civilised world assumed the power of using widespread video surveillance, supported by advanced satellite and other wireless technology. The Sept 11, 2001 attacks were, to my own educated estimations, certainly a contrivance by the United States government, especially since they were seen to be fudging estimations of the number of people killed, but only an expert would have the skill to ascertain that they contrived it in order to gain public sentiment for the war in the Middle East, and to facilitate public surveillance on a large scale.

Although I have had a lot of disturbances in my private life, no one in the authority, including the police, have admitted to me that sanet exists. It seems almost incredible that my own parents, doctors, high-ranking professionals and others would double-cross me, lying so blatantly against the truth. Even more incredible that they would incarcerate and punish me for speaking out as honestly and earnestly as I could. The coincidences that I have experienced are still classified as “coincidences” and no one wants to explain them as the end-result of organised human thinking. After more than 20 years living with these types of coincidences, I am more than 96 percent convinced that sanet exists, and even worse, I have spent so much of my private time worrying and writing about this ugly phenomenon. Strangely, the system has never been the subject of open public debate, and is only briefly cited in the media in such cases as whistleblower Edward Snowden, who revealed that government metadata collection was taking place on a horrendous scale.

Contrary to my personal standards and expectations, the police have never approached me from an equal level. They have never attempted to reason with me, negotiate with me or plead with me. A few have approached me requesting assistance, but I have never heard those gentle golden words along the lines of…”Is there anything we can do to help you?” or, “Is something bothering you? Can we learn more about it?”

A few police have looked nice and welcoming, but most have been pretty severe and nasty-sounding and there has been zero tolerance. The very way that they dress, in protective gear and with an assortment of weapons, paralyses me with fear. Being rude to them at all I know would immediately serve me up in detention. Trying to explain in normal speech the variety of problems and coincidences that I have suffered is “beyond words”. The police simply don’t understand, and even worse, my parents are so stubborn against me, and in such collusion with the authorities, that they have always been convinced that I have always been the one making the error of judgement.

What sort of advice would I give the police? Firstly, I would try to explain to them that theirs is a culture that most people don’t want to know more about. Being imbued into the police system for the first time is definitely the most scary. The police care very little about the fact that yesterday you were a free citizen and now you are a target of their attention and are subject to all their rules. But even being caught in their ways can cause one to act violently, or offensively, merely out of bewilderment with the new environment. The laws of fairness would enlighten us that punishment for first-time offenders is never a good idea. Giving reward for co-operation, and showing that the police can entertain reasoning and honesty, certainly is.

Secondly, the police have to become enlightened to the fact that they hold a lot of power. Power causes fear, because power can easily be misused. Shakespeare once wrote,

They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show… (Sonnet 94)

I hope that the police were more like that.

So, my final questions: Do I believe that the Australian police act fairly? No, I do not. Do I believe that the police should be allowed to be armed with lethal weapons, or behave in mean ways? No, I do not. But having said that, I am more sensitive to hurt feelings than most people. I wouldn’t even hurt a fly, if I could help it—and that means that I operate on a different level than the police. The police are trained to curb crime and misbehaviour, sometimes with ruthless efficiency, and this they do with only half an eye on making everybody happy. The police do kill people; they do hit and spray people; and they detain people to the point of frustration. If you are upset about the police not being nice, and have no means to distance yourself, you can live the rest of your life in sufferance. The police care about doing their job well; they often have the best intentions, and even the best training; but sometimes they are presumptious of their power, and they don’t always care about you.

MARCUS LOW is a writer who has been hospitalised involuntarily on 17 occasions. He continues to be a long-term skeptic of police power, and of public surveillance and monitoring systems.

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I wanna start facing up to the world. In my primary school years I was just about the brightest kid in my year. As my teenage years took over, my family relations and commitment to solid achievement fell apart. Now at thirty, discovering on Facebook the teeming weave of old school mates with their degrees and achievements makes me a little sick. I look at myself and my shabby clothes, my patronising accommodation with disliked parents, and my protected little fortune, and wonder: Why not make it all better?

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