Athena Strand Trial Isn’t Just Disturbing; It’s Worse Than That.

When I read about this in the paper, I thought everyone’s reacting to the wrong part of this story. Yes — a seven-year-old was taken and killed. That’s bloody horrific. It should be but that’s not what stays with you. It’s what happened after.

He stopped. Bought cleaning supplies. Wiped down the van.

Calm. Methodical. No panic.

Just… cleaning.

That’s the part that doesn’t fit.

We like to believe violence looks chaotic. Loud. Out of control. This wasn’t. This was controlled. You don’t clean something by accident. You don’t stop, think, and remove evidence unless you know exactly what you’ve done. 

Personally, I believe in the death penalty for child killers. I started a petition here to get it brought back years ago, but after getting thousands of signatures, I knew that the powers that be agreed with me. Except they wanted it brought back for murderers of politicians. 

So, I put it down and went on with my life. But I regress...

People want an easier explanation for a rapist/child killer. “He snapped.” Or “He panicked.”

That ends the moment he starts wiping surfaces. Because that’s not panic. That’s function. And that’s the uncomfortable truth. The gap between “normal” and “unthinkable” isn’t as wide as people want it to be.

Drive. Stop. Murder. Clean. Continue.

That’s what sticks.

Not just what happened. How easily it fit into something that looked… routine. We want monsters to look different. Obvious. Recognisable.

They’re not.

That’s why this case sits differently. Not louder. Just… closer.

Fake Images Aren’t Fooling You. You’re Helping Them.

Let’s not overthink this. Fake images aren’t winning because they’re perfect. They’re winning because you don’t question them.

And people... No pause. No check. Just reaction.

This just exposed how easily people believe things. You don’t verify because you don’t want to. It slows you down. It kills the moment. And the moment is the point.

You think you’re smarter than this. Everyone does. You zoom in, look for glitches, pretend you’d catch it. You wouldn’t. If it fits your beliefs, you accept it. Simple as that.

Here’s the real problem. Truth doesn’t matter as much anymore. If something looks real and feels right, that’s enough. It spreads. It sticks. It becomes part of what people think is real.

Real images get dismissed. Fake ones get believed.

“Could be AI.” “Who knows anymore.” Then there’s the quiet damage. Perfect lives. Perfect bodies. Perfect moments.

None of it real. Awful looking women with fake boobs, fake lips - all posing this way and that... Obviously just hanging out for the right pic. That one that highlights how fake they are... But they're too stupid to see it.

Nothing gets fixed with better tech. It gets fixed when people stop reacting to everything instantly. Wanting to be perfect. Wanting to see that girl without her clothes on - even if it's not really her...

So, try something simple. Pause.

Fake images aren’t the real issue.

You are.

And until it changes, this only gets worse. 

This Was Never Just One Case

The first one has gone to court. That’s how it will be reported. As if it’s contained. As if it’s unusual. As if it’s something new.

It isn’t. This is just the first one that made it far enough to become inconvenient.

There are already thousands of these images circulating. Probably more. Most of them will never be traced back to anyone. Most of the people in them will never even know they exist. That’s the part no one seems to sit with for very long.

You don’t need photos anymore.
You don’t need access.
You don’t need permission.

You just need a face.

A school photo.
A social media profile.
A picture taken from ten rows back at a sports day.

That’s enough.

From there, it’s just time and intent.

William Yeates isn’t a freak (well he is a freaking pig). He’s just early. That’s what makes people uncomfortable. It would be easier if he was something extreme. Someone obviously dangerous. Someone you could point to and say — that’s the problem right there. Isn’t he hideous!! Just like Quasimodo!

But he’s not. He looks normal. A normal kid going about his business! But I hope his name keep getting tossed around! I intend to name and shame him every chance I get!

He’s exactly the kind of person these tools were always going to land in front of. Curious. Bored. Disconnected from consequence.

And surrounded by a culture that already treats women’s bodies as something to be used, shared, altered, consumed. The technology didn’t invent that. It just removed the last bit of effort.

There’s a quiet assumption that the law will catch up. It won’t. Not in any meaningful way. By the time one case makes it through court, thousands more have already occurred. This process is too slow; the tools are too easy. How the hell can you regulate something that takes minutes to produce and seconds to distribute.

You can only react to it. After the fact. When the damage is already done. And the damage is strange, because it’s easy to dismiss. It is real in every way that matters.

Reputation is real. Humiliation is real. Loss of control is real.

And the image - fake or not - will always move faster than the truth. The uncomfortable reality is that we’ve crossed a line that doesn’t reverse. Faces are no longer private. Once an image of you exists anywhere online, it can be used. Altered. Rebuilt into something else entirely.

You don’t get a say in that anymore. That part is already over.

So, this case won’t be the last. It won’t even be close. It’s just the first one that someone couldn’t laugh off, deny, or quietly delete. The first one that became visible. And once something becomes visible, people start paying attention.

Briefly.

Until the next one.

And there will be a next one. There is always a next one!

Boys will be Boys...

Interesting to Aussies at least was that this week, William Yeates, who attended Mercedes College (Adelaide, South Australia which charges fees of up to $20,000 a year!) entered guilty pleas to four counts of the new offences - creation and distribution of deepfake images. He didn't need to touch her. That's the part they'll keep circling.

As if the absence of hands makes it cleaner. Smaller. Easier to file away.

He didn't need to touch her because someone, somewhere, decided to build a world where that step was no longer necessary. All he needed was a face. And the quiet confidence that nothing would really happen to him. After all, he went to a good school!

He has admitted to creating sexually explicit deepfakes. You can already hear the cushioning. Former. Student. Admitted. No mention yet of the girl. There rarely is.

She's not the story.

He is.

His future. His mistake. His momentary lapse in judgment. Private school matters. Let's not pretend it doesn't. It means resources. Access. Polished corridors and carefully worded emails to parents when things go wrong.

It means boys who grow up understanding systems very well - or at least how to work them, how to bend them, how to step just close enough to the line without feeling the drop.

This wasn't curiosity. It wasn't experimentation. It was control. A person reduced to pixels and arranged into something she never chose. Not because he couldn't have her - but because he didn't need to ask. That's the shift. Not desire. Entitlement.

We've spent centuries teaching boys how to succeed. How to lead. How to compete. How to dominate a room, a market, a conversation. Less time on what happens when they're alone, unobserved, and handed tools that can erase another person's autonomy in under five minutes. And now they graduate, and not just with qualifications. But with capability. This story will move quickly. It always does. There will be concern. Statements. Perhaps even consequences carefully calibrated not to ruin a promising life. Because that's the real fear, isn't it?

Not what he did. But what it might cost him.

Meanwhile, she inherits something permanent. A version of herself that can be copied, shared, reshaped. Again, and again. Endlessly available. This is what we've built. Not monsters. Something much more functional. Boys who don't need to cross a physical line anymore - because the line has been quietly removed for them.

And it sucks. Personally, I hope they throw the book at him.

But they won't...

There are thousands of deepfakes out there.

This is just the first one someone admitted to.

Just like my ex-father in law... When my drunken pig of an ex-husband cheated on me and was leaving. And here I was, with a 2 year old and 4 months pregnant with the next... 

`Boys will be Boys!` that was what he said...

It's why Secretwomen.org will come about eventually! I wrote that website 30 years ago and it's still relevant!!!! 

Kill them all I say! Well at least 70% of them!    :)

Can I finish? lol

There’s something almost charming about a politician asking, “Can I finish?”

It sounds polite. Reasonable. Civilised, even.

Which is interesting, considering the context.

JD Vance - now very much a fixture of American politics - was recently heckled mid-speech. His response? A slightly strained, slightly irritated, “Can I finish?”

And that’s the moment everyone noticed.

Not the speech.
Not the policy.
Not even the message.

Just the interruption.

Because that’s where things are now. People aren’t quietly disagreeing anymore. They’re not waiting for Q&A. They’re not nodding politely while mentally drafting a tweet.

They’re interrupting.

Out loud.

In public.

And not in a protest-sign kind of way. More like… a fed up way. Like someone finally saying what everyone else is thinking, just without the filter.

So… You can ask, “Can I finish?”

But that assumes people still think there’s something worth finishing.

Now we watch and the fun begins…