The Meening of Life

Reincarnation dream led to suicide, Thai daily says

2007-09-17T09:39:00.000+10:00

The following story was taken from the website below

Asian Political News, June 21, 1999

BANGKOK, June 18 Kyodo A 14-year-old schoolboy who hanged himself last Sunday, had told friends he wanted to die so he could return to life as a Japanese game designer, the Nation reported Friday. The newspaper, in a front-page story, said Withit Khamphirarak kept telling his friends and relatives he wanted to die so he could be reborn in Japan and work as a game designer.

In a suicide note, Withit began with "My Last Night," the opening phrase of a song in the highly popular CD game "Final Fantasy," with which friends and family said he was obsessed. He went on to tell his mother to keep his savings and to give his toys to his three cousins, the Nation said. "Withit's mother, who asked that her first name be withheld, said her only child had recently demonstrated the extent of his obsession after watching the science-fiction film 'The Matrix' in which the main character infiltrates a virtual computer world to fight villains," the Nation said.

Withit, a ninth-grader at a Catholic school, hanged himself late Sunday night using a rope and a door frame, according to the daily. "He was last seen drawing Japanese comic characters as well as acting blind, like one of the characters, after watching a television program with his cousins," it said. His mother was quoted by the paper as saying Withit started reading Japanese comic books four years ago, then began playing computer games, before starting to create imaginary characters on his own.

He named them all in Japanese, based on those in the books and games. Withit's mother added her son had also told relatives and school friends he wanted to be able to speak Japanese, and had asked them how to make a living in Japan, how to be reborn Japanese, according to the daily.

A classmate of Withit was also quoted as saying the boy had suggested a few months ago that they jump off a building together in order to be reborn in Japan and work as game designers there.

Epilogue - Part Two

2007-08-19T21:23:00.001+10:00

Hermes Trismegistus

"You may find it hard to swallow the notion that anything as large and apparently inanimate as the Earth is alive. Surely, you may say, the Earth is almost wholly rock, and nearly all incandescent with heat. The difficulty can be lessened if you let the image of a giant redwood tree enter your mind.The tree undoubtedly is alive, yet 99% of it is dead.The great tree is an ancient spire of dead wood,made of lignin and cellulose by the ancestors of the thin layer of living cells which constitute its bark. How like the Earth, and more so when we realize that many of the atoms of the rocks far down into the magma were once part of the ancestral life of which we all have come."

James Lovelock
The Ages of Gaia

The end is the beginning and the beginning is the end (see prologue part one). Following on from the last post regarding the idea that we are all currently in a game, well basically I have discovered that yes we are in a game, a very complex game that we call life.

Yes thats right folks life is a game, its official, God told me last night. And you might be thinking well so what, we know that, its called Second Life, but if you thought that, you would be wrong.

You see I think that we would all agree Second Life has nothing on First Life or real life, I mean if it was using the number two to indicate its similarity to real life well that would be problematic, for in reality at this stage in its development it would be more appropriate to call it Five hundred and seventy sixth life, because while it has some amusing simulations of reality, fucking seems to lack a certain something in Second Life compared to real life. Anyway getting off the topic again.

Nick Bostrom from Oxford University wrote an article that proposed the idea that we are all living in a computer generated reality, read the paper here. While information at Simulism.org provides further detail on this idea.

You see I have been wondering and wishing for the answer to this question (is life a game) and then out of the blue what do you know but God, the bearded bloke appears, grey hair, white gown, halo the usual shit. Anyway, so he says "You may have already realised it but yes I am god, and you see son I have come here to answer your question about the keening, I mean, the meening of life, and yes life is a game. In fact this is Earth version 4.2, which is marketed in this part of the universe as, 'A crazy fucked up game planet where all the most sordid bullshit imaginable is available to you all, yes thats right souls if you want chaos, debauchery and action of all sorts be born on earth and have a hell of a time,' so you can see that earth is about as rough as it gets in this part of the universe. "

I was shocked could this be true...........well God was here so I begged him to tell me more. At which point his shape began to change and his skin went blue and suddenly he had on all this jewellery and he looked like Krishna, then he began to change again, and shifted onto the ground legs crossed his belly began to grow and his skin turned back to a more normal colour, he was Buddah, he shifted again, he became a she, hanging on the cross, blood oozing from her hands she was Jesus, he was Mohammed, she was Mary, he was Zoroaster, Abraham, Moses.................................

God continued to change shape and from his mouth came this message, "That which is Below corresponds to that which is Above, and that which is Above corresponds to that which is Below, to accomplish the miracle of the One Thing."

(All material copyright © GR Klein 2007)

Epilogue - Part One

2007-07-27T23:26:00.000+10:00

"By law of periodical repetition, everything which has happened once must happen again and again -- and not capriciously, but at regular periods, and each thing in its own period, not another's and each obeying its own law."
Mark Twain

It would seem as if I have finished the first draft of my novel. I have been working on it intermittently for about 4 years. Just before starting work on "The Meening of Life or Dave Didnt Sleep Well" ,I had received the first hard copies of a new non-fiction title I had completed, and was quite elated to be holding my first published books in hand.

They were generally well received and I have just completed a second edition of this title. However, the point is that while working on this non-fiction title I realised that I had a story that I wanted to tell. A very personal tale about my struggle with heroin addiction. Getting my non-fiction writing published gave me confidence as people seemed to like my style and it was just the thing I needed to kick start the novel writing process.

I had copious notes and diaries with ideas I had been working on and I decided to compile them on the computer and finally get down to writing a novel. So off I went thinking it was going to be so easy........Two years later I had published another non-fiction title as well as writing articles for a range of publications. However, the novel was still a work in progress.

Another couple of years slipped by and I was progressing but at very slow rate. It was emotionally draining digging into my past to recall all the shit I went through and stupid things I did, and I found in the process I came to a number of points in the story where emotions overwhelmed me and I had to cease writing.

But I persevered and now feel like the first draft is completed. Originally it was just going to be a story about the drugs but then I realised that there was more to this drug caper than meets the eye. Everyone can see what drugs do to people, they can see how they act, how they look and how they sound, but you cant see how they think. You don't really know what got them to that point. Just like everyone else they were once an innocent child, what happened to bring them to this. It also got me thinking about the nature of reality, life after death and yes that great old cliche, "what's the meaning of life?"

So I took my real if experiences and mixed them with my musings about reality and the meaning of life. To ensure success I have heard the often quoted rule, "write what you know" and in this case I did just that. Like many authors before me Orwell, Greene, Hemmingway, Vonnegut, Bukowski and many others I would use my life experience as the basis for this my first novel. Sure names were changed, locations altered, people deleted and experiences exaggerated but the essence of what I experienced is the basis for this work.

I have always been an avid gamer, starting way back in the dark ages of computing with the clunky Atari 2600, proceeding on to the sleek Spectrum 48k, and bounding forward with the great machine that was the Commodore 64. Still love my games today and regularly find myself respawning in the deserts of Iraq in Battlefield 2. Since my teens I have always been fascinated with different religions with their varied explanations for creation and their diverse sytems of dogma. So in this story I thought I might combine two of my passions and employ them as tools to tell my story.

While I love my games today I am certain that the games of the not too distant future will be of the totally immersive style (as discussed in Chap 7 Dreams - This is a game Planet). So I thought why not mix the concept of RPG gaming with the concept of life on earth, because they have a lot in common. When you are born you are a stranger in a strange land, and spend many years learning how to use your skills and navigate through this place. When you enter an RPG game you spend some time learning the interface and overtime become more proficient, and begin to acquire the knowledge, skills and networks to advance in this world.

The gaming system that I describe in my novel can mimic any environment or situation and hence this offers infinite possibilities, but it also presents us with a few conundrums. What is more real the experiences in this rendered world or those in your 'real' life? Do allow you 'real' body to become emaciated and completely addicted to gaming, while you experience bliss and triumph in cyber space?

We all crave experiences that are not readily available to us but with this technology we will potentially be able to have any experience we desire.

Why do some junkies die and why do some get clean and survive or even prosper? Well I guess everyone may have a different story or a different reason or excuse or situation, but there are commonalities.

Anyway I will continue to work on refining the content. I sent a draft of my novel to a publisher and they said ,"Chapter 24 is the greatest example of your writing....", which at first sounded good and then I remembered that there were only two words in this chapter.....................in progress. Also the content in chapter 41 needs some further elaboration to enable this concept to be fully conceptualised, and yes the whole bloody thing has holes in it, I know and it is driving me nucking futs..................oh the humanity!!!!!!!!!!!

Also I am very aware that there are a number of continuity issues that need to be addressed, a line edit needs to be done, parts of the story need work...........So I am not really finished at all, just a like a mirage as I get closer to the end of this book it seems to slip from my grasp.

But just one more thing, are we in a game now................................................Ok so what if we are or not, I mean what difference does it make.........................................or does it?

Onlinenovels.net

Chapter 42 - The Leaning of Mife

2007-07-24T13:57:00.001+10:00

"Live so that thou mayest desire to live again - that is thy duty - for in any case thou wilt live again!"
Freidrich Nietzsche

So here I am again, in the water, is it the womb or am I in the kolto tank gaming again, is it a respawn or am I alive again, did I ever die, or will I just spend my days going around and around and around again, just like the ouroboros, eating myself I am born and eating myself I die, all the while I know the that hitchhiker was right, it is 42.

The wheel of the universe turns and with it comes new life, we are born into samsara.

Well so they say anyway, I mean who the fuck really knows what happens, but one thing is for sure we will all find out soon enough.

Chapter 41 - We are all in this soup together

2007-07-18T09:25:00.001+10:00

“A miracle is nothing more or less than this. Anyone who has come into a knowledge of his true identity, of his oneness with the all-pervading wisdom and power, this makes it possible for laws higher than the ordinary mind knows of to be revealed to him.”
Ralph Waldo Trine

Traditional science taught us that in order to understand something you reduce it to its component parts, in a process called reductionism. Systems thinking challenges this notion by showing that there are no smallest pieces rather it is how the systems work together that is the most salient factor to consider.

Furthermore, maybe there is no smallest unit of creation maybe as you go down to these smaller levels you find that there is endless regression. When you get two mirrors and face them against each other you can see an endless series of reflections.

They say that the microcosm is a reflection of the macrocosm. In each cell of a human being exists the complete DNA that is required to recreate that person.

Neutrinos are particles that are so small that they can pass through what we consider to be solid objects. As we go down to the quantum level there are no solid objects and there are no borders, everything is one. There is nothing that separates us all but our thoughts we live together in this soup.

Which reminds me of a conversation I heard between Jessy and Raj.

Jessy was sitting in the lounge playing some guitar, on the floor around his feet were dozens of nitrous oxide bulbs. The ones you get for cream dispensers anyway if you fill the cream dispenser with the nitrous and suck it out you get a great buz and from the looks of it Jessy had been indulging himself.

Jessy had done everything. He was a charming fellow, very intelligent and had an outstanding memory. He could quote extended passages from all sorts of programs but he spoke incessantly and was a very poor listener.He mentioned once off hand that he had been diagnosed with Aspergers, which kind of makes sense.

When I first met him I was suspicious – there was something wrong – something that didn’t quite match up. He mentioned he had been an army officer, completed two degrees, had been a journalist, a scientist, musician in a successful band and a range of other varied roles, all by the
age of 28. Because he spoke continuously you never had a chance to ask him in detail about these experiences. He spoke with confidence and authority on most topics but would often expose gaping holes in his knowledge about particular issues which would lead to an argument in which he steadfastly refused to listen. He spoke with an English accent, he had lived most of his life there.

“Oh yeah, I was in the army alright, did 3 years in the infantry and ended up as an MP. Oh yeah, Yes sir no sir and lots of it. But I tell you what I was one of the top soldiers in our unit. But I mean hey we were workin our assess off. Ya know wott I mean, yeah we fuckin worked hard but hey, you know we were soldiers and all so you kind of took it in your stride, know wott I mean “ Jessy said

“Yeah I love it all, know what I mean, its like they brought in the biggest load of shit you have ever seen and dumped it all on the parade ground, mate these blokes were in the shitter, know wot I mean”

“So what did you study at Uni?” , Raj stopped tinkering with his car radio.

“Me, study, well I have a done a few things really, know what I mean, I did my journalism degree first and then went on to do Physics, we were working on the technology for mobile phones, know wot I mean” But then I thought maybe, he wasn’t lying, maybe he had done those things, but not in this timeline, maybe he was aware of the alternate worlds and thus spoke with such authority. Or maybe he was just a liar.

Raj was paranoid. He was certain that he was being watched by undercover cops. Raj had been awake now for 3 days solid and his nerves were fried. Every time he started to wind down he would have another blast of speed, and away he would go. He was convinced that they were bugging his car, and so he decided to dismantle it piece by piece just to be sure. He was sitting in the living room holding the chasis of his car stereo, completely dismantling the unit, this was the only way that he could be safe. Raj had a cleft palate, or hare lip, he was a great guitar player, and had a stripper for a girlfriend.

“So Raj where are we now dude?” , Jessy asked with a mischievous look in his eye

‘What do you mean?”, Raj was fiddling with a small screw that was stuck

“Well if someone asked you where you are right now what would you say?’

“Oh so you mean, like ah I’m here in Brisbane, yeah.”

“So you’ve got the idea, where is Brisbane?”

“Well its in Queensland”

“Yeah and where exactly is Queensland

?”

“Well it’s in Australia of course, this is stupid man, I need to find these fucking bugs how much longer does this go on for?|", Raj was looking annoyed.

“Just a couple more questions then we will be done, Ok so where is Australia?”

"The Southern Hemisphere."

"Where is the southern hemisphere?"

“Well its on Earth I guess.”

“And where is Earth?”

“Its in the Milky Way Galaxy”

“Great so where is that, where is the Milky Way?”

“The Milky Way well I spose its in the Universe”

“Yeah spot on, now my last question is where is the universe”

“The universe is, its ah well its in the …..damn well must be in the universe. “

“That fucks you up doesn't it, you see it really challenges our notion of reality...........or something" Jessy, giggled like a school girl, while Raj just shook his head and kept looking for the bugs.

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Chapter 40 Game Over

2007-07-18T09:15:00.001+10:00

``If patterns of ones and zeros were ``like'' patterns of human lives and death, if everything about an individual could be represented in a computer record by a long string of ones and zeros, then what kind of creature would be represented by a long string of lives and deaths?''
Thomas Pynchon

December 2035

I came back to reality, I had completed the game. I realised I had been in THE GAME and that I must go back to my real job as a consultant at the sleep disorders clinic.

But I got some great ratings, in fact it looked as though I was the best in my pool of players which meant I could go onto the next round. Furthermore, I had been asked to appear in a new GAME based on a movie called “Midnight Express” which I was keen to do, although I did not want to get typecast as a drug addict. I mean sure it is interesting but when people see you in the same game over and over again it tends to limit your options. If someone offered me a slot in the GAME conversion of "Trainspotting"

I would relish the chance but at the same time feel concerned about where this heading.

But despite this I was elated a winner, needed, recognised and applauded what more could I want for, but I didn’t sleep well I was excited about what tomorrow held in store.

December 2005

When I woke in the morning I was quite surprised. I found that I was strapped to a bed in a small white room with padded walls. There was a fluorescent light on the ceiling that flickered on and off, its life fading. I watched the rhythmic flashing and wondered, I knew that it was good to wonder, that curiosity lead to insight and discovery.

I read in the paper that , “A fallen businessman who made millions out of internet pornography has been injecting $4,500 worth of heroin daily, a Brisbane court has heard. Greg Shiraz Lasrado, 35, of Kenmore Hills in Brisbane's west, was released on bail after a brief appearance in the Brisbane Magistrates Court charged with possession of a dangerous drug.”

“Now David, have you come back to reality yet? Or are you still focused on your delusions about THE GAME?”

“You know Dave you were right, it is a game inside a game, inside a game…………………………………………………..ad infinitum”

I turn on the TV and watch a bloke who is speaking , “The whole event is an illusion created in your mind, a game inside a game inside a game, that’s what life is a never ending fractal of events, like so many Russian dolls one inside the other”, the power faded and the TV screen flickered and then faded into black.

There is no GAME, I am in Walston Park Psychiatric Hospital. The doctors are trying to eradicate my persistent delusions, as I lie restrained in a straight jacket and dressed in a white gown, what the fuck.

I cant handle this shit, after weeks restrained I escape and take a jump from a 5th story building head first into the concrete, GAME OVER.

The Timeless zone

"So little soul what did you learn from your time on earth? ", God asks.

“Yeah, life is a game inside a game inside a game”, I said.

I paused for a moment and then continued, "The universe is a universe, within a universe, within a universe, within a universe, within a universe……………………………Life is an illusion, drugs are an illusion, within an illusion called reality. The end is the beginning and the beginning is the end, like a lotus flower within each petal of a lotus flower. "

“Not quite, but shall we say, you are making some progress, what else did you learn?”, said God.

"Well God, I guess the final lesson for me in this game is that earth is seriously fucked up. I mean they are fucking destroying the planet, slaughtering the animals on mass, polluting the water, killing the trees and becoming obsessed with most inane bullshit. I mean at present on earth they have this thing about sex and like whether you like to screw people of the same gender or the opposite gender, and they kill each other over that. They fight wars over who really knows god and has his ear, and they all say that killing is wrong yet everyone of these religions has been involved in war at some time.

“Sexuality poorly repressed unsettles some families; well repressed, it unsettles the whole world.”
Karl Kraus

In their society sexual activity between women and men is exciting, sex between two women is damn fine, sex between a bloke and two or three or four or 20 women is fucking hot , but sexual activity between men it is threatening, perverse and likely to provoke violence.

There is no more effective way to provoke a straight man than to question his sexuality. So men live in constant fear of being tainted, for once touched they are forever defiled. Bloody mad isn’t it. This irrational fear that men have constrains behaviour in many ways.

Men who have never had a homosexual thought in their lives are afraid of being thought of as gay. Sexuality is not a one way street, it as Gore Vidal noted an adjective and not a noun, sexuality is dynamic and fluid. The idea that a sexual act becomes an identity seems absurd, its like classifying people based on the type of sweets they like, “Oh he’s a chocolate, us icecreams don’t associate with them, I mean come on chocolate how disgusting, I think all chocolate eaters should be shot. “

The profound terror most men exhibit when faced with homosexuality is absurd to say the least. I was But in order to fear something you must know it, you must have felt it, thus all men who exhibit homophobia have felt attracted to other males at one time or another. Validating the idea that in essence we are all bisexual.

A phobia it is an irrational fear, and the reaction of men to homosexuality reflects this. In my experience growing up it was often expressed in my peer group that it would be better to die that to be gay. This was a thought I absorbed, fortunately I was not successful in fulfilling it, although I tried.
Its common to see lesbian themes presented to women and all of the women I have been with in my life have enjoyed lesbian fantasies. They were not gay, they liked men, but were comfortable imagining or participating in liaisons with other women.

“All things come out of the one and the one out of all things”
Heraclitus

“There is only one word, there is only one person, one place, one food, one idea, one movie, one song, one book, one medicine, one plant, one animal, one sexuality…..”

Dave

“The Eternal generates the One. The One generates the Two. The Two generates the Three. The Three generates all things. “
- Lao-Tzu

“Yeh I get the idea alright, so your saying that There is only one password for everything, yeah well I’ve got so many fucking passwords now you know, for the email, my computer login, database login, dating website login, gaming site login, isp login ………………………. ………………

“No what I am really trying to say is that there is only one sexuality and depending on what you focus on and your social environment will determine what you decide is erotic. People who choose what we would call a homosexual orientation are sexual rebels, maybe they have a high sex drive, maybe they are simply unconventional, these people are willing to step out side of the sexual dictates as established by our society. Imagination, stimulation and

“Admittedly, a homosexual can be conditioned to react sexually to a woman, or to an old boot for that matter. In fact, both homo - and heterosexual experimental subjects have been conditioned to react sexually to an old boot, and you can save a lot of money that way. “
William S. Burroughs

If you get a gay bloke, blind fold him and get a chick to suck his dick and tell him it’s a male, he will probably get off, get a guy to lick a lesbians pussy and tell her it’s a girl, sex occurs in the brain, what we imagine in side is the most important aspect of sexual interaction. What occurs in the brain is based upon our highly unreliable system of perception. Everyone is capable of being stimulated by touch and tongue.

"Work sucks … School sucks … Life sucks … What else can I say?" he wrote. "Metal and Goth kick ass. Life is like a video game, you gotta die sometime."

Kimveer Gill the 'angel of death'

113Directory

Chapter 39 - Nimbin Again

2007-07-07T22:26:00.001+10:00

"Synchronistic events provide an immediate religious experience as a direct encounter with the compensatory patterning of events in nature as a whole, both inwardly and outwardly."
C.G. Jung

April 2005
Its been nearly fours years since I got out of gaol. I made some massive changes in my life, got off the heroin and found a career as a career counselor. They say those that cant do teach and it seemed very apt that someone so confused about his career should become a counselor to others. But the deeper reason behind this career choice was to find my purpose, why was I here what did I have to offer, what was I called to do.

Elliot Smith committed suicide or was he killed. No one knows for sure he was stabbed in the chest by someone, maybe he did it, or maybe he was innocent, whatever the case he wrote some nice songs. Baby Britain was a favourite of mine as was miss misery.

But now as I find myself going through the process of breaking up another relationship I find my self thinking of Nimbin and oblivion. Pamela and I have been together for four years, we have had our ups and downs, and this year we became parents to a beautiful baby girl. The sexual fantasy party four years ago was a distant memory.

But I am not working, I resigned from my job due to personality conflict, wrote some books started my own business and let it fail and now find myself registering for unemployment.

After Hannah out baby was born I lost my job and spend most of my time smoking dope and playing Battlefield 1942 a computer game. It was the only thing I seemed to be able to control, I escaped into the game world to escape the reality of my failure to succeed, in reality.

Spawn camping, capping flags, and getting frags, an orgy of death in an online fantasy world, I escaped into this world where I could be a winner, where victory could be mine, it was clear and unambiguous.

I became one of the disappeared. It happens to all men when their partners give birth. The child is the centre of attention, the man is pushed out of the picture to the extent that he disappears. Is the mum ok, hows the baby is she alright……You have to agree that the baby is of prime importance but this does not deny the fact that as men we feel rejected.

But it just made things worse, Pam and I stopped having sex, I slept in a separate bedroom, playing games into the late hours of the night only emerging for more cones and food. I was totally disconnected from my real life, a life that had failed, but while I was online I was winning.

We have just broken up our relationship died a slow death, like cancer it gradually consumed the ties that bound us. I find myself thinking of ways to deal with the break up, and my mind goes back to memories of the past. Thoughts of heroin fill my mind, its been 4 years since I had a hit.

I pulled over and parked the car outside the Nimbin Centrelink office in the main street. Standing outside was a lightly built guy in his late twenties with a sparse beard, missing teeth and a hat. It was like he had been waiting for me.

As soon as I got out of the car our eyes met and I walked over.
“You wanna score some nice buds?”
“Nah I wanna get some harry”
I can see him thinking, he glances into space and then “Yeah no problem, what do you want?”
“Ah just a fifty”
“Wait here I’ll be back in a sec”

He comes back a couple of minutes later and tells me to follow him up the main street. A few tourists stroll down the street, people sit in the Rainbow café drinking lattes and smoking joints. We go down into the car park and he gives me a little tiny plastic bag with a quarter of a gram of heroin sqashed up into a ball. We shoot up in my car and then Ben and I have a beer in the pub and he tells me a little bit about his life. We chat for a while and I head off to do some exploring.

In the park I see Tonto near a park bench, he seems to be working on something. I walk over to have a chat with him, its been a few years since I last scored from him. The heroin has removed any sense of self consciousness and so I casually stroll up to him like an china plate (mate).

“Hey Tonto how are you dude?”
He looks at me suspiciously, not sure who I am or what I want.
“I met you years ago dude, you scored for me remember,…”
He continues to stare for moment then lowers his gaze and nods weakly, “Yeah I think so, whatch ya up ta?”
"Just in town hanging out and scoring drugs the usual......"

We have a long chat about drugs and Tonto tells me his life story...........

“Yeah I was adopted, they told me when I was young, they said ya know your adopted son, but they were alright, strict, dad was a builder.”
“You got kids Tonto?”
“Yeah a boy, but he’s in gaol, youth detention you know, fuckin drugs and the usual bull shit, haven’t seen him in years.”
“I came to Nimbin about 18 years ago”

“You play guitar man, we should have a jam sometime yah know…I love ta jam, I got heaps a mates that fuckin play all the time, been jamin with em heaps.”
“Well funny you should mention it but I have my guitar in the car.”
“Fuckin great man, we can go down to the café at the end of the street, theres a mate of mine there he’ll lend us a guitar to jam with, come on man lets go”

I went to retrieve my guitar and met Tonto at the Café on the edge of town across from the local primary school.

I sat down and tuned up, Tonto went into the Café and I could see him chatting to this guy who was quietly strumming on a 12 string.

“What can ya play?”
“Mostly play lead, do some rhythm for me mate”
“Alright”
Tonto began to play the first few bars of Wish You Were Here, I joined with him and together we filled the cool evening air with the melancholy sounds of the Pink Floyd classic.
Although we were both pretty wasted it sounded good, although I wasn’t in a fit state to judge, no one at the Café seemed to complain so it cant have been too bad, but we enjoyed ourselves, drifting into the groove.

I ran into Rusty he is gone grey now but has maintained that same intensity.
“hey Rusty, its me Dave”
He stares at me as though he doesn’t recognize me, “Oh yeah Dave, welcome home mate, its been a while.”

I see Michelle sitting in a café, she looks the same, but a little pale I haven’t seen her for 8 years. She is sitting with a group two other girls and guy intent on their conversation. I don’t want to talk to her, but I do, I am a little confused. I have never bumped into her since we broke up years ago, it seems strange to cross paths again today.

Tonto asks me”You heading back to Brisbane now, ya reckon ya could give us a lift to Lismore, I’m gunna catch the train to Sydney, buy some fuckin rock and bring it back ere.”
“Oh, I dunno man “ I have a quick flashback to the day I met him 15 years earlier and our little journey from Lismore to Nimbin.
“Look I ‘ll give ya shot of speed, yeah, its good man, come on dude, do it for an old mate…”
“Ah alright, lets get going hey, you got some picks?”
“Nah we’ll have ta stop at the hospital.”
“OK”
So I drove up the street about 100 metres to the hospital that was in the same street as the pub and all the other shops. Tonto hopped out of the car and hobbled in his soiled rags that hung from his body, his matted long hair cascading over his drooping shoulders.

We booted up the speed and he was right it was good shit. I was awake alert and ready to go.

After what seemed a very quick trip from Nimbin I pulled into the train station at Lismore and Tonto says, “Do ya wanta drive me ta Sydney, we could make some tidy cash mate, I’ve got more go-ee here it’ll get us all the way, I’ll pay half the petrol and well score some wicked smack when we get there, I know this chick shes on the game, but she’s pretty fuckin hot ya know, well anyway, well be scorin some rock from her. Bring it back to Nimbin and double our money, no worries, just sell a few fifties they’ll be gone in a day easy, come on mate it’ll be a fuckin blast.”

His enthusiasm was infectious and the speed affected my judgment and at that moment a drive to Sydney seemed pretty manageable so I said,” Aright lets do it!”. He gives me some speed for the drive and off we go. We shoot up more speed as we go, I feel like I am flying, driving to Sydney, fucking no worries.

“The cops just think I am the town drunk, and fuckin dero, but little do they know what I’m really up to.” , Tonto hiccups, looks at me and grins, displaying his bright red gums and black gaps where his teeth used to be.

During the whole trip Tonto keeps telling me when we are going over the speed limit. He replaces the bulb in the headlights that has blown.

We pick up two hitchhikers one is a young murri guy and other is a chubby guy in his early forties. Tonto insists that we pick up all hitchhikers, it seems like a good idea.

Driving through Grafton we do a loop around the gaol and he tells me “they look after me in there, yeah I got plenty of mates inside, not like that for other people”

We eventually arrived in King’s Cross, its about 5am its cold and dark. By this time I had come down, being in Sydney didn’t seem like such a great idea, I just felt burnt out and vulnerable. I began to think about getting out of there. While Tonto went to the ATM I went to a newsagency to find a street directory, I knew that I would need help to get out of Sydney alone.

Tonto went to use a pay phone to call his contact. I watched him as he fumbled with the phone, his filthy fingers struggling to find the right numbers, he paused and stood there, nothing happened and then he put the phone down. “No answer, its pretty early though, we’ll go score off the street and then wait till she’s on.”

Tonto staggered down the road and wandered up to two dark figures, a scrawny women with frazzled bleached hair and bloke in a black trench coat. The coat looked cheap and he was wearing worn joggers.

After chatting for a moment to them Tonto came over to me, “This chick can score for us, but we need to go for a drive. “
“The chick can come but tell her boyfriend to wait, only room for one”

I didn’t like the idea, all the bravado had been sucked out of me by the speed, now I was just a weak lost little boy, with no fucking idea, I didn’t like driving with people I didn’t know, but scoring seemed like the next logical step.

So we drove round the block, she used my mobile to call her dealer, and within about 2-3 minutes a dude appears up the street, wearing a sweatshirt with a hood, he moves with a steady beat, he looks fit. They call him the boxer.

He walks over to the car, “150”, he says
“For a quart, no way man, you said 130, “, Tonto looks to the women in the back of the car, she looks stressed

“Just fuckin take it, he won’t fuck around”
“You want this or not”, the guy in the hood doesn’t wait for an answer and starts to walk down the street.
“I fuckin told you, you should have just paid him, its fuckin rock man.”The women shrieks
“Go after im” Tonto hands her the money
She glides out of the car and scampers after the disappearing figure. She catches up to him, he stops they exchange things, he continues on and she heads back with a bounce in her step.

“Lets go have a taste,” his face has changed, he is clear and energized.

“I cant do this again man, I wont do it, what the fuck am I doing in Sydney. I don’t want be a fucking junkie, Oh god what am I doing,” the reality of my situation dawns on me, as the first rays of light illuminate the dirty bodies sleeping on the church steps.

With reluctance and in a mild mannered yet forceful way I said “I have driven you to Sydney man, now I need you to get out of my car…”
Tonto looked at me, with an incredulous expression, he hesistated as if he thought I was joking with him.

As Tonto steps out of the car he says “Now don’t make yourself a stranger, we could make beautiful music together……”, the absurdity of his comment fails to brighten my mood.

There was no way I was going to do it to myself, all the memories of pain and despair came flooding back, those dark moments in gaol, alone, I could never go back, I had to escape.

So after spending about 30 minutes in Kings Cross, I panicked and spent the same amount of time trying to get out of the city. Even with the street directory I had purchased I could not seem to navigate. I was caught in a vicious circle of one way streets, that seemed determined to capture me. My brain was fried and would not compute, error, beep, beep, beep. An all pervading power took over “Alright get him out of there the system has broken down, hes fucked up, lets get him outta here.” So they did.

“Pam its me”, sob,” I am in Syndey?”, tears are flowing down my face
“What are you doing there”
I didn’t want to admit my mistake I wanted sympathy support and so I said “I tried to kill myself with an overdose.” Maybe it was a subconscious suicide attempt.
“What! How did you get there? Are you OK?”
“Yeah I am now”
“Christ Dave, what are you doing to yourself.”

When I got back from Sydney there was a note on the table, “Dear Dave, I am sorry that I cannot be here for you, but I am concerned about the safety of myself and our child, I have gone to stay with friends love Pam”

I had mixed emotions about the note, I felt deserted and outraged, as if I was a threat to anyone other than myself. I was horrified that she taken our child and refused to tell me where she was.

Four days later she returned while I was smoking cones in my room.
“Oh you are still here, you said you were going to leave.”
“Yeah I will, but it takes time, you can’t just turn up here and demand I leave.”
“I told you I would be back today and you agreed to be gone. “
“Well I will but I need more time.”
“I want you out now, for mine and our child’s wellbeing , your not in a fit state of mind Dave, you know that”
“Well you are going to have to wait, I don’t have anywhere to go or any fucking money.”
“Dave get out now or I will call the police.”
“And say what to them, dob me in for smoking pot, I am not doing fucking anything, I am sitting here on the computer smoking pot, with the door closed and you come storming in here demanding that I leave.”

The only form of interaction I received from government was a child support form while I had no income having yet to receive sickness benefit. So distressed by the break up I could not work.

The Red Cross rang I got a job, its nice to have time to myself again, and my publisher likes the book maybe its going to be ok.

Sexuality is created and molded by society to suit the prevailing trends of the time. I feel at ease with myself most of the time, I don’t want to kill myself because I have an ambiguous sexuality by today’s standards, but other people might wish to kill me because I bore the shit out of them. But really I have now come to see how truly distorted and depraved are the popular conceptions of sexuality that are promulgated by the media.

Furthermore, I accept and embrace the fullness of my desire and if I shall wish to bed a woman in the morning a, transsexual at lunch, a young man in the afternoon, a couple of lesbians in the evening, then settle down for a snooze with my mistress, perhaps including a horse for afternoon tea and a small hamster on the weekends then that’s just fine so long as both the horse and the hamster are fully consenting adults. But really, animals dont do it for me, they may be cute, they be fluffy but thats where I draw the line, but hey I don't mind if you people out there get into this stuff its just not my cup of tea ok, so yo know cheers.

The following quote refers to a concept that allows us to move beyond a straight dichotomy of sexuality to a continuum through which we can all move at any time.

“Pansexuality (sometimes referred to as omnisexuality) is a sexual orientation characterized by a potential aesthetic attraction, romantic love and/or sexual desire for anybody, including people who do not fit into the gender binary of male/female implied by bisexual attraction. Pansexuality is sometimes described as the capacity to love a person romantically irrespective of gender. Some pansexuals also assert that gender and sex are meaningless to them.”

Chapter 37 - Respawn 8

2007-07-03T07:50:00.000+10:00

"It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards"
Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll, the White Queen speaking to Alice.

“Ok Dave this is your last respawn, you got that mate none left so be careful or your outa there”

“Ok dude lets go”

Chapter 36 - Redemption

2007-07-02T22:13:00.000+10:00

“If you want to know who your friends are, get yourself a jail sentence.”

Charles Bukowski

For me the simple answer to this question was that I had no friends, or at least none that would visit me in gaol. They were happy to chat on the phone but a visit did not eventuate. It’s a bit hard calling people you haven’t seen for ages for a chat when they ask you where you are…………….

The day I was released there was no one there to meet me, sob, sob. Mum had finally relented and helped to pay out the remainder of my fines, thereby allowing me to be released. She was my only visitor during my time in gaol.

I was only in custody for about 7 weeks but it seemed much longer. No other friends or other family members had come to see me. I had phoned Jeff, Sebastian, Darren and Sharron and my brother but only mum came to visit.

I was a source of shame, others wanted to distance themselves from me lest I soil their good name, or so I thought. So I had to respect Mum for the fact that she was the only person in my world who cared enough to visit and to bring me stuff and finally to bail me out. Although I knew that she was reluctant to bail me out. She thought that jail would cure me of my addiction, and in some ways she was right, it scared me and brought things to a halt. But it was the events that would follow meeting Pamela, getting and getting a meaningful job that really made the difference .

From the very brief time I spent in gaol I could see that prison contains people in a dehumanising manner. There is no rehabilitation it is simply abuse. I came out realising that I can’t rely on anyone.

It was also a wake up call to realise that the people who I thought were my friends were nothing of the sought. Good time Charlies the bloody lot of them, but then what had I ever done for them, it’s a two way street if you want support you have to give it and maybe I had been so selfish I just didn’t give any. Junkies don’t make great friends.

But the fact that no-one else contacted or visited me was also a powerful wake up call. I realised that the life I had been leading was not conducive to creating positive relationships.

As I strolled out the prison gates I was fired up and determined to show what I was really capable of and to silence those who had written me off, my brother and other family members. I was going to show them and this anger inside was like a nuclear reactor an awesome source of energy which could be used to transform my life or build weapons of mass destruction (WMD’s), which might not be such a great idea as it could lead to UN weapon’s inspectors crawling up my anus and cruise missiles slamming into my house and marines laying some “Shock and awe on my ass”.

But first things first, it was time for a trip to the pub to celebrate my release. Glen and I were both released on the same day. I was nervous right up to the last minute, I knew that I had more fines coming, but they had not been processed yet. A couple of times a week two coppers would come down to the work release site to present inmates with fines/charges that had just been processed. I just wanted to get out of there and it wasn’t until I was in the car driving down the road that I felt free.

Glen had his car parked near the gaol and so once we were released we took a ride in his car to a pub at Beenleigh.

Everyday I would visualise what I wanted in my life. The relationship, the job, the stability and happiness that I craved. It made me feel better.

My brother had told mum that, “Dave will be in and out of gaol for the rest of his life he is a no good looser cant you see that?” Thanks for the vote of confidence bro.

Mum seemed to think that it was my gaol experience only that had cured me of my addiction.

“It worked didn’t it” was her reponse, yeah a great way to cure mental illness is to scare the shit out of people, so that they learn to hide any sign of mental illness in the future. Because lets face it drug addiction is a form of mental illness, somethings not right when all you want to do is get high.

Little did she know that I had used on several occasions after coming out of gaol. To me it was a combination of things. Hitting rock bottom, getting a rewarding job, and having a loving relationship, these were the key factors. I was being drawn toward a compelling future that was the key rather than avoiding a painful past. I was learning to love and accept myself to acknowledge my bi-sexuality and feel OK about.

But I believe that it is wrong to punish people who are sick. I know that I was sick, I was suicidal, suffering from extreme depression and behaving in a high irresponsible manner.

Recently a Mental Health group had an article in the Australian requesting that Rene Rivkin be released because gaol was having such a negative impact on his mental health. Well most of the people I saw while in prison had some mental health problems. The environment in gaol is not conducive to developing a positive mental health. Rene killed himself he was very unhappy.

Mum didn’t want me to tell people in the family that I had been to gaol. She was often trying to hide something. I have memories of being prepared by her to lie to a friend or relative about some personal situation. It was usually done to avoid conflict or on the pretence of protecting this person. I often felt caught in a “double bind”. Or as mum used to say “The definition of insanity is having two contradictory ideas” and on that note I agreed with mum. For example it might be like knowing that something has happened to you but also knowing that you cant talk about it.

“I told Sophie” , my cousin

“Oh Dave you didn’t did you, she will tell everyone” Mum’s expression was one of utter despair, it was as though the shame would kill her.

Mum would often call herself “A seeker of truth”, but she was often lying to people and requiring that I become involved with her webs of deceit. She was usually well intentioned with her lies, it was done to protect people usually or avoid conflict. She didn’t mean any harm by it.

I believe that punishment and prison are poor ways to stimulate behaviour change. Change is then based on fear, and avoidance rather than being directed toward a distinct goal. Sure it may work but it also tends to have a dehumanising effect on people.

Within 3 weeks of leaving gaol I had a job doing landscaping. I did this for about a month. One day I went for an interview at the Salvation Army job agency and they offered me a job as an employment consultant on the spot. I had a psychology degree, a clean cut image and well spoken manner these qualities would be useful to them. I jumped at the opportunity this would change my life.

A few weeks later I met Pamela at a party who would become the mother to my child. It was billed as a sexual fantasy party I came dressed in drag and she was dressed as a nurse what a couple. The chemistry was there and we had a great time.

She had also been sexually abused as a child. She came from a family of six and her brother forced himself upon her repeatedly when she was young.

I saw Gary the speed dealer from Arthur Gorrie who I shared a cell with. I score some pot from him and have cones with a group of homeless people.

Pamela also told that she had worked as a prostitute when she was younger to support herself. Like my mum she had run away from home at 14. In her youth she had lesbian affairs and for a while rejected men completely. It seemed like all the women I were with had experienced sexual abuse and lesbian experiences or fantasies. Were all women like this or just the ones I was attracted to?

“Your just a butch dyke”, Pam said as she rubbed her pussy on my ass, and I thought yeah I am, finally someone who understood me.

I had to travel to the head office which was the Valley to go through my induction; unbelievably I found a fifty packet of heroin in my wallet. I must have left it there the last time I shot up, which was about 1 month ago. On that day I had purchased some gear and mixed up half and put the rest in my wallet. However, because it was so strong I totally forgot that I had stashed this smack.

It was in the corner of a plastic bag chopped off to make a tiny bag which held the hammer. I was stunned to have found it, I quickly decided that I would use it, feeling guilty but excited about my find. I went to a chemist and purchased a fit packet. From there I made a beeline straight to the toilets near Brunswick street station and locked myself in a cubicle ready for action. This was a familiar haunt from my past, I had shot up here many times before. On the floor I noticed an empty fit packet, the words Theremo emblazoned on its distinctive plastic packaging, as I proceeded to mix up my shot, I could smell urine.

This all seemed so familiar to me, I felt like I had done this before.

I slept a deep slumber and I dreamt of flying, freedom and peace. The oneness embraced me………………………………

Chapter 35 - Wacol Work Release

2007-07-02T22:05:00.000+10:00

“The shaman not only survives the ordeal of a debilitating sickness or an accident, but is healed in the process. Illness then becomes the vehicle to a higher plane of consciousness. The evolution from the state of psychic and physical disintegration to shamanising is effected through the experience of self-cure. The shaman – and only the shaman – is a healer who has healed himself." (17)

This is the lowest security unit in which I have been confined. The compound is surrounded by a four metre electric fence, but it is not turned on and the gates are always open. It’s a casual gaol without many of the formalities of the more professional establishments. There are no guard dogs, sniper towers, armoured cars, moats, spike or acid filled pits, machine gun nests or Apache gun ships as you might find at many other correctional facilities. This is where you come when they trust you not to run away or do anything nasty. If you do play up its back to R&R where you can be locked down.

Within the compound are 4 houses and about 30 “dongas” as well as a kitchen and dining room building and the screw’s offices. Dongas are small self contained units that look like small cargo containers. They are built for one person.

The four houses in the compound used to be the accommodation for prison guards at the old Moreton B unit at Wacol. This now deserted gaol lies silent behind the work release compound. The houses are spacious brick highset three bedroom family homes built in the fifties.

This facility is designed to house inmates who are in the final stage of their sentence. They come to Wacol and are required to find work in the surrounding suburbs but to live at the gaol. There are also about 7 fine defaulters but we are confined to the compound and the park out the front.

Prisoners in the work release compound are not required to where browns, so I rang mum and got her to bring up a bag of my clothes.

On the first day that I arrived I walked up the steps of the house and found Gary, Glen and Damien watching Neighbours and I thought this has got to change. Roy, Bob and myself have come from Pallen Creek.

Bob a Maori fellow mellow of spirit but earnest and well meaning. He has come from with me from Pallen Creek. We play scrabble together, do crosswords and play euchre. Bod has thick black dreadlocks intense eyes I would not like to cross him, he has an aggressive side, but generally very mellow and obliging.

Then there was Glen, he was from NZ origninally a farm boy and he still had the down home country bumpkin style, naïve, friendly and chatty. He had also worked as a 'chippy' and recently had been on a number of trips to Europe, the US and Asia. “When I get out I’m goin on a cruise, I mean I could pay my fines now but what the fuck, let them put me up for a few months for free and instead of paying them I will go on a Carribean cruise, cool hey.”

Damien was a Murri bloke who worked as a panel beater, likes to read People magazine and watch Neighbours. He also likes his ganga and is good for a laugh. He has seven kids on the outside, so being in here is bit of break for him. He gets one his mate to drop some pot off to us every week and we all chip in a few bucks so we can have a smoke. Its easy to conceal from the Screws, we wait until the last rounds are done and then light up.

Gary is a Pom and quite the joker, always ready with a wise crack and a jibe. He is a big Soccer fan and proudly sports a Manchester United tattoo on his shoulder. He is in gaol because of his failure to pay a bike helmet and seatbelt fine from ’91, nearly ten years ago. He was working as a chef at the time when he was pulled up for a routine traffic stop and they checked his records only to discover the unpaid fine. Gary had no money to pay so it was off to gaol for him.

Roy is a young Inala boy, poor education always trying to ‘one up’ everyone but ends up back firing on him and making him appear more stupid than he would if kept mouth shut. “lettuce has THC in it”

Ray we call the rapist, he is very insensitive, and widely despised. Everyone wanted him out of our house, makes lewd remarks about young girls. Tried to move him into 3 other houses and they all don’t want him. Asked me about scar and clear sign of insensitivity. Damien wants to bash him. 40 bald and podgy smart ass.

(MY SCAR – So Ray after only having known me for a few minutes asks me about my scar, if you look at the photo in the book you will see that it is very prominent. Some people never ask me about it others do, I use the way they ask and how long it takes after meeting me as a gauge of their sensitivity. I also have feint scars on my face from my child hood accident with the window.)

Other characters included;

Giuseppe – fat little Italian in for 8000 mull plants
Alex – the Romanian in for dealing harry caught with 1.5lbs of harry.

Rick – gets out in a couple of days and he has bought a car and plans to drive it unregistered no plates to Harvey Bay. Been in for 2 years but risks his freedom just because he wants to drive home, stupid fool.

Scotty is a Gold Coast boy only 5’4” tall, is a go-ee (speed) head and knows Steve. He is familiar with the story from the Musos club where the chick lost her thumb, the stolen Harley and the Uhlans contract on Steve $30,000. Scotty says, "Yeah they call Steve ‘bob’, cause hes gunna be bobbing in the river, once they finish with him. Scotty also knows Ray Rifle and lived in Tambourine, his brother Matt committed suicide (guitarist)

John is fat, bald, short (5ft 6in) four eyed and equipped with a borderline personality disorder. He wears unflattering spectacles and from a distance looks like ‘humpty dumpty”. When he speaks he has one volume level and that is too fucking loud, with every word that comes from his mouth it sounds like he is a sergeant major screaming orders to a bunch of new recruits. The master of the kitchen, I have regular quarrels with him. When I arrived at Wacol I had to make another request for vegetarian food. I was taken into the kitchen and introduced to John, he was surly from the start. John got sent to prison for presenting $680,000 in forged cheques.

The highlight of every day seems to revolve around the Olympics being held in Sydney. We are doing well plenty of medals rolling in and the commentary from Roy and HG about the “Dutch wink” during the gymnastics produces hysterical laughter.

Euchre is a big attraction in our house and we spend hours drinking coffee smoking cigarettes and playing cards and reading People magazine.

I am reading Orwell’s down and out in London and Paris. The plungers of Paris working their asses off for fuck all and the Spikes of London where the homeless and indigent go for shelter. Sounds a bit more hardcore than the modern gaols, Orwell was quite a bloke, to think he lived as a tramp for months to research this book.

We are paid $8 a day to do very little, mowing, kitchen hand, emu-bob etc.

The regular crosswords from Picture magazine, and pictures of tight asses and girls in tight fitting panties their pussies jutting out like a sacred mound, I take the magazine to the toilet and put it to good use. Ah thats better, we all take turns wanking over the babes in the privacy of the toilet.

19/9

It seems that no-one ever really knows who you are and vice versa. Was I a victim of abuse? Was my mother? Is it right to apply the term abuse to what I experienced or was it just false memories created by a man desperate for someone to blame for his fucked up life.

Whatever the label that is applied there is no doubt the experience has had an impact on my emotional and sexual development. Whether this is positive or negative is all matter of focus and interpretation. By that I meant do I choose to focus on all the pain it has brought me or the insight it has given me.

All of my intimate relationships have been characterised by a fear of rejection and a lack of trust. Rita my first real close relationship was one in which I was always worried she would cheat on me. I felt that if given the opportunity she would go off with someone else, and feel no guilt or regret in such an act.

As a child I watched as my mother went from relationship to relationship seemingly without concern for the impact this would have on her children. The word slut comes to mind when thinking how to describe her sexual conduct. Indeed the women I have chosen as girlfriends have been similarly characterised. Michelle, Rita, Linda, and Julia all very flirtatious women who used sex as a weapon, means to power and a way to reward and punish.

My way of dealing with the parasitic nature of sexual relations has been to withdraw from them. Yet this is a high price for we all yearn to feel love and intimacy but often we get a whole lot more.

Conflict, pain, abuse, rejection, revenge, and turmoil. While peace and love were sought pain and suffering are wrought and those who once loved become the bitterest of enemies. Betrayal is prominent and redemption far away, so dark clouds of derision blight the fertile fields.

People label you in their poor attempts at understanding. They label to control and restrict and ironically to understand. But their labels never really fit their ideas often wrong and confusion reigns.

Pete “I tested positive to THC on the piss test”

Roy “How high was the result?”

Pete “Just a tiny bit over”

Roy “Have you been eating a lot of lettuce?”

Pete “Why?”

Roy “Lettuce has THC in it”

“You sure man?

“Oh for fuck sake Roy, there is no fucking THC in lettuce.”

“There is dude, I was talking to this bloke who was reading about it on the internet.”

“Well your mate was reading some prime fucking bullshit man, because I can assure you that is totally incorrect.”

“Yeah, whatever., just calm down dude, you know, how would you know anyway”

The gaol system makes you feel like a sausage in a great machine being pumped through a series of treatments – watch house, watch house transfer, R&R, OBS, W3, transfer, Pallen Creek, transfer Wacol.

In the end you are spewed out back into society to be consumed by the machine.

The adversarial system of justice.

A plea of guilty is seen as a provocative in the face of the law. A person found guilty who pleads not guilty will receive a more severe punishment.

“The adversarial system of justice does not promote positive values. Instead you have two sides who are hell bent on winning. Therefore, the truth (I use this word loosely, since I do not believe that there is any objective truth) is the first victim in this war. Each side is concerned with protecting their careers and reputations and thus they wish to achieve their goal regardless of the truth.

Furthermore, the justice system is an industry that employs tens of thousands of people. The lawyers, judges, police, prison guars, parole officers, cooks, cleaners, dentists, etc. Then there are the prison industries that use the slave labour to sell goods in the free economy and compete against businesses who have to pay appropriate wages, sick leave, super etc.

Money = good = innocent

Indigence = bad = guilty

Greed, money, power, corruption, abuse and betrayal.

Justice is an illusion and a lie perpetrated by the rich and the powerful.

22/9 Dreams

At Darren and Sharron’s doing work, Red haired girl from Bardot and I hit it off then a cage surrounds me.

Living in a site much like Palen Creek without the fence, Jamie from R&R brings guitar and amp has harry for me. Mum comes to visit. They confiscate harry and begin interrogation, I repeat mantras

In a squash court an old women who works there hits on meLiving in a college housing single room with very thin walls. I can hear my neighbours. Get dressed and go outside huge open field

In Afghanistan travelling through city in a cab to a restaurant. I am with a young women it is a family gathering, Christine my aunty is telling her about family history including Mum’s work she is surprised, I smoke it annoys her so I go outside. An American soldier nods to me, a group of US kids together, I try to exit through the kids door it is too small go through the adults door and have a cigarette.

I meet up with God and he says, “Let me tell you about the wisdom of the washing machine. You see my son good and evil are not the same and there is one crucial difference you must understand. Let us think of the washing. When we wish to cleanse our clothes we can use a variety of different powders.

Evil is like an old style washing powder that will only wash in hot water, where as good is like a new style powder that can wash in both hot and cold. You see evil is hot and this heat contains tremendous power and energy, but it can only burn on and is never satiated. Where as good heals, loves and cares for and when necessary the hand of the good man may be raised in anger against a threat.

Thus good is like Dynamo a versatile washing powder that works in both hot and cold, having access to the heat but also the cool healing power.

Was it all just a dream, he wished he had taken that chance, when he came to the crossroads, but he didn’t and now his lot is cast………………..”

Control - Propganda

“the media sets the agenda it does not inform”

In order for the elite to maintain control over the lower classes a system must be developed to restrict any rebellious sections. Rebellion in a capitalist society revolves around property crime. The lower classes (along with the rest of the population) are fed a diet of propaganda through the medium of television which convinces them that happiness can only be achieved through the acquisition of material goods. If this great goal is denied to you through poverty the result of unemployment, underemployment, gambling addiction, alcoholism, poor education or drug addiction then property crime is a means of overcoming the problem. Thus people commit crime and if caught enter the machine of the justice department where control is complete.

The rest of society is then convinced that in order to protect themselves from these marauding groups of criminals pervasive surveillance is necessary. Cameras are placed everywhere and people may even request them. It seems that it will not be long before Orwell’s prediction of cameras every home becomes true. Divide and conquer

Michael Moore speaks of the “culture of fear” – when people are afraid or feel threatened they will give up some freedoms to protect against danger, ie increased police powers post 911.

The illicit drug trade gives the government further chance to control any deviant groups. Once addicted the individual becomes a slave to the drug, and embark on property crime to fulfil their need. No energy is available to look at real problems.

The illicit drug trade is an industry that directly supports Lawyers, judges, police, prison guards and the like and indirectly it touches all levels of society.

Divide and rule, create a threat to the group – Orwell – 911 In the computer game Deus Ex, taken from the latin phrase “Deus Ex Machina” or God in the machine, a terrorist strike on the Statue of liberty (this game was made pre 9/11) an evil group threatening to destabilise the world leads the government to adopting draconian laws to deal with this threat. The question in the game is did the government orchestrate this act so that it could gain more control.

Sources of Control

Family
School
Mental institutions – psychiatry / psychology
Prisons
Religion
TV – the media

The greatest source of discrimination in so called advanced liberal democracies is through the economy.

The potential to be gaoled for not voting, not wearing a seat belt, not wearing a bike helmet or not paying a parking fine. Here are some interesting statistics on prisons in Australia

96% of al inmates in gaol are male
80 % of offenders in for drug related crime – property crime
Many male inmates are victims of sexual assault
Drug addiction is a form of mental illness or mental disturbance
Crime rates are highest in the poorest areas
Most inmates are from the lower classes and most poorly educated
Most victims of violence are young males
Most perpetrators of violence are young males

Gaol is an industry that creates jobs, which requires raw materials – the crims.

There is no rehabilitation, there is just degradation, the token courses available fail to address the causes of crime which are systematic and not based merely on individual crims………………

The prison industry needs raw materials and these raw materials are the criminals themselves. The government needs to fill the prisons it wants high levels of occupancy to keep the industry moving.

We live in a society of hypocrisy, our religion says do not kill, yet we have army chaplains, and during war we pray for gods help. This is absurd.

When the Western world is desperate for babies abortion is encouraged as an option for people who want to focus on there career and extend their own child hood a little longer.

Women have embraced the fullness of their gender identity both masculine and feminine while men are still clinging to restrictive notions of gender identity which still focus exclusively on masculine pursuits. The idea of being a man is to not be a women, and if women have expanded their territory then the traditional man has had his reduced. The need is for men to expand their limited gender identity and for gender to not just be seen as a women’s issue but as an issue for everyone. Men need massive change.

Communication breakdown

Bob said , “He doesn’t realise how charismatic he is”,

“What the fuck did you say?”

Bob said , “He doesn’t realise how charismatic he is”,

“I thought you said ‘He’s running with carrots in his ears’, how fucked up is that, talk about misunderstanding.”

“Hey Bob do you have a $2 coin”

“Don’t have any corn mate, that’s a fuckin strange request if I ever ‘eard one.”

“What borrowing a couple of bucks/”

“What did you say?”

“Can I borrow 2 bucks”

“Oh fuck sorry mate I thought you said ‘Hey Bob do you have a tin of corn’, don’t know how I got that though”.

25/9

Today I did my usual walk around the park it is quite tranquil and I enjoy it. I brought some bread with me and I fed some mag pies, it gave me a tremendous sense of well being. The kangaroos come everyday to the park across the road. They in contrast to myself are free, and I watch them with a mixture of joy and envy. They come at about 4 pm and feed under a stand of trees. Today I watched as the mob bounded into view. A joey was visible its small head protruding from its mothers pouch, secure in its infantile cocoon.

As I walk around the park I chant mantras “Om mani padme hum” and “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna, Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare.” All the while imagining in detail what I want in my life.

We wake at 7.00am daily to the sound of a screw over the PA system saying “Wakey, waky, hands of snaky, time to get up gentlemen”, or some similar thing.

I share a room with 2 others. There are three rooms in the house with two in each of the other rooms.

After getting up I venture to the mess hall for breakfast, where a selection of five different cereals is available. Eggs and bacon is often served, and there is a ready supply of cordial, milk, bread and various condiments. (vege, p/butter,honey,jam)

After breakfast at about 8:30 am we begin our daily routine of chores. Some guys work in the kitchen, clean the toilets, but I usually just peal potatoes. If there is mowing to do I do that or pick up rubbish lying around the compound. We get paid $8.50 a day for our various chores, for about $60 per week. I would not spend more than 2 hours a day engage in such chores and frequently I spend less time. On some days I do nothing but still get paid. We must sign in at the office every morning and sign out when we finish our work. The screws don’t seem to care what times we fill in on our time sheets as long as something is filled in.

Lunch is about 11:30 when we collect sandwiches form the office that are made the previous evening. We must write on a brown paper bag our order for that day, requesting the number and type of sandwiches, 3 maximum and 2 pieces of fruit.

I had a run in with John the head cook, because I failed to fill in my lunch bag for that day. John only has one tone and volume of voice and that is loud and grating. I asked if he might make something up as I had forgotten to fill out an order.

“John I forgot to fill out my lunch order, do you reckon you could make something up for me?”

“Look you know the bloody rules no order, no lunch, so learn you lesson and be off with ya.”

“Ah for fuck sake John, all I wants a fuckin sandwitch”

“Don’t you fuckin sandwich me, I wont take this mate, I told you how it works…..”

“Well

He was loud and angry and was clear that he refused to help me out. He began pointing at me. I became very angry and felt like punching him, but did not for the consequences would be great for no gain (back to R&R immediately).

Recent laws make it illegal for prisoners to talk with reporters or the media and it has been suggested to me that it is illegal for prisoners to publish reports of their experiences in gaol.

This seems to be highly suspicious for it allows the state to keep secret the goings on in side prisons. In Queensland s100 of The Corrective Services Act 2000 is explicit when it forbids media access to the state’s tax-payer-funded prison system

Time rolls and the revelations become more vivid as the mind expands and the awareness develops. With every passing day my resolve and determination grows, I believe I can achieve and I know that what I wish for and what I believe can become a tangible reality.

I am proud of the way I have handled myself and I feel sure that I can take responsibility for my destiny. From great trials come great opportunities and I view my experiences as gifts to be treasured for the path to success is wide open and the light is shining.

Many mysteries confound the confined soul, but the soul freed to explore the great tribulations of life.

26/9

Urine test this morning. I was tested 2 weeks ago when I arrived here at Wacol and of course tested positive to THC. The cage is where they leave you if you can’t do a piss. They give you a cup of water and wait until you can piss. Then an officer takes you into a toilet and gives you a pair of gloves to put on (so you can’t contaminate the sample) turns on the tap in the sink, and watches you take a piss into a small sample jar. Some inmates will put a bit of soap under their finger nail which they drop into the sample thereby contaminating it.

Luckily for us pot stays in your system for several months, and therefore the pot we had been smoking since being in gaol would not make any difference.

27/9

A Hero has to have a fatal flaw, a weakness that makes them vulnerable. When otherwise they are powerful and dominant, when faced with their weakness they can be overcome. Superman could be brought low by exposure to kryptonite, and so the hero in my story alternates between periods of crusading justice fighting tyranny and oppression defending the weak and vulnerable to periods of self indulgent drug abuse, a junkie fixated on personal pleasure pathetic weak and hopeless.

Steve hates the needle because he fears it he fears that it might take him down he knows that he’s a junkie but he transfers that self loathing onto others.

“Yes boss, no boss.”

29/9

Released from custody.

I bought a copy of the Courier mail and my attention was drawn to a picture on the page 3. It was a picture of Lee my old heroin dealer he had been busted. It seems that Lee had been caught in the act, busted by an undercover cop who went by the code name of Dave Hawkins, funny coincidence I thought. Kind of like that bloke in Scanner Darkly the PK Dick Novel.

Lee had a clever plan when it came to hiding his heroin. He would pack several kilos of heroin into a car and take it to a workshop to have a new component fitted, a turbo for instance. He would pay half of the cost upfront but would leave the car there and come back to get it when he needed the supplies which might be weeks or months. In the meantime the mechanic would be chasing him for the money and eventually he would come to collect the car. However, instead of collecting it he would ask for some more modifications to be done, a new gearbox, and pay them in cash for the work done so far and some more for the work they were about to do.

He had several cars all over Brisbane in workshops be modified that were loaded with uncut heroin.

Chapter 34 - Palen Creek Take Two

2007-07-02T21:56:00.000+10:00

7/9

Day 1 Palen Creek

“Do I contradict myself, of course I do, I am large I contain multitudes.”

Walt Whitman

I decided to let Agro be no sense in being violent, never know what might happen.

Everyday I am becoming stronger and my vision more expansive. For many years drugs have clouded my mind and obscured my vision. The clarity which is steadily being revealed to me is giving me the ability to transcend this mundane reality I am slowly beginning to see through the illusion and with each passing day I am become more powerful.

My destiny is unfolding before me and the vast implications of my fate are being revealed. The future is blooming and soon the person who inhabited this body for the last few years shall be expelled and the new master of this realm shall take the helm.

The most powerful things in this world are those unseen forces which lie beneath the thin veneer we call reality.

It is only through the rejection of the obsessions of this dimension that one can truly enter the next world. I must lose all material objects and free myself of the burden of possessions and relationships. For both these things tie you to the mundane reality and restrict your vision. When we become attached to others we lose touch with ourselves and with our guides. So too our obsessions with objects makes us slaves to a corporeal world that is but a banal façade obscuring the brilliance of the other side.

I must lose contact with the people from my past, with ideas of my past and with the restrictions of that past.

For so long I have wondered lost and now at last I feel that my path to glory is unfolding before me. I know that there will be many trials ahead, but I also know that I can meet the challenges head on and win. Father, mother, brothers and relatives and friends must become dead to me, and I to them. For the person they knew is on the way out, and a much more powerful and resilient individual is beginning to step to the fore. With him comes an array of aides who shall support and nourish me. Thus I shall be fulfilled on the spiritual plain.

Oh great creator I know I am not better than others or particularly special, but rather I am but a vessel through which you act. And like a blacksmith you must forge a new character to do your bidding.

I am not and never shall be alone for I have the greatest force in the world as my backup. My mission is small, but each part of the great scheme is essential and none dispensable. Thankyou oh lord for this chance to learn and grow.

Time, Perception, and Belief

We live in a dynamic environment yet human nature persistently tends to insist upon applying static criteria to this fluid world. People rely on establishing their own identity through their relations to others. In order to develop a stable safe sense of self they must project such views upon others.

However, this is fundamentally flawed and highly problematic manner of perceiving the world and as such leads to many problems and failures of communication. Your “reality” is not my “reality” and vice versa. But when you apply such restrictive thinking you imprison yourself as well as me, and we fail to understand one another.

In an infinite universe there are an infinite number of different centres of the universe. We are all at the centre of our own little universe. There is no reality. We each live in our own limited by our culture, gender and race.

People become irate when you refuse to conform to their established ideas of who you are or ought to be. They resent you for refusing to conform you threaten their fragile conceptions of themselves. So while you try to assert that you are a multifaceted dynamic individual they will continually attempt to tie you down to a restrictive closed set of criteria.

This creates a conflict and promotes resentment and hostility.

8/9

Is is funny that although I prefer the environment here, I found that I preferred the people at R and R. They seemed more real and I found I connected well with several of them. It is ironic that I now find myself missing their company though I found the maximum security environment oppressive and claustrophobic.

In the intense environment it seems that camaraderie is vital to survive, while here at Pallen Creek the people are all fine defaulters in for short spells and thus there is not the need or motivation to establish close connections.

It is a mediocre experience that lacks the intensity of true confinement and the intimacy this breeds. I felt like in a matter of days I had become good friends with blokes of all backgrounds. All pretense was dispensible we were equals fated to similar experiences. I felt no qualms about revealing my history of drug abuse, and self mutilation it seemed almost petty ………………I felt I was being real

Drugs

“An illusion that is then obscured by a delusion produces profound confusion.”

Dave

So many of the inmates at R&R had had their lives ravaged by heroin again and again. I heard the same familiar tale of lives destroyed by the demon poppy. Intelligent, sensitive, savage, sarcastic, silly men who had allowed this drug to bring ruination into their lives.

Dependency

Gaol does in many ways foster dependency. It can be a very passive existence, everything, is done for you meals cooked, washing done no bills to pay, or shopping trips, nothing is required except your passive acceptance of your fate. It is no wonder that many return, for it offers a kind of cosy security and surrogate family that does not exist outside.

“No where to run!”

Dream 9/9

Walking into a café to retrieve the jacket Dad gave me and my docs as I am leaving I see a couple of skinheads they appear to be drunk. I keep walking and one comes over to me and attempts to assault me. But I am much stronger than him I grab him and begin bashing his head on the road, (his body goes limp) then I bash his head on the bumper bar of a car and his head explodes in a mass of gore.
Dad rang wanted to know if I was all right.
On a bus with a whole lot of little kids
Reading a classified that advertised something about a party. She says I can stay over at her place. I don’t know her. Find myself a cab going to her place which is in Tweed Heads. The cabbie stops at his place for a moment he wants to go to Tweed via Dunnoon. The girl I am in the car with starts to drive the cab while the cabbie is in his house she manoeuvres it out of his drive way and into the house next door.(All the while she is still in the passenger seat) I find myself sitting on the roof we contemplate stealing the cab and al that is in it. But decides not to. The cabbie comes out and he is somewhat annoyed at our antics, he gets in the cab and we continue the journey.
Mum and dad come to get me from gaol. Dad has a red Jag that is convertible and Kerry Packer gave it to him. The guards ride around on small lawn mowers and tell me I have a visitor.
Reading a book called The Dueling Machine by Ben Bova, I read it while I was living in Saudi Arabia, it was a long time ago, strange that I should dream about it.

9/9

It has been nearly three weeks since I last consumed any drugs other than cigarettes or caffeine. My goal now is to eliminate all drugs from my life. The next to go will be cigarettes and finally tea. Although I will allow myself the luxury of chocolate.

I can not fully see the future but when I leave here I shall aim to continue my abstinence from drugs. For in the weeks since I have stopped using them I have not missed this activity, but have relished the clarity that has been granted to me.

Drugs have brought me pain and sorrow, they have lead to many problems in my life. However, in order to overcome this scourge, I must develop other aspects of my life in order to fill the void that abstinence creates.

I wish for the company of individuals who will encourage this goal and shall seek out a community that will foster a drug free lifestyle.

I must be careful of being a patronising preacher. I will keep my goal secret for I must be humble in the face of the lord. I must acknowledge my vulnerability and realise that it is always possible to slip backwards.

I will not preach to others about my choice, but silently I shall pursue my goal of abstinence. I will simply say I am having a “break” and with gods grace this break may be permanent.

I must learn to accept and love myself and forgive others and myself for the mistakes of the past. Anger breeds negativity and hostility things which I must refuse to partake of. They lead to drug abuse.

I must integrate those dark aspects of myself that I use drugs to obscure.

10/9

Release

Hope fades as life for me ticks away. Deserted by all he is left to his ways, none shall hear his anguished pleas, but all in unison issue damning decrees. Let him suffer the pain, he is deserving of all that shall be.

Father, Mother, Brothers and friends shall turn away in his hour of need and so he succumbs to the warm embrace of deaths deliverance. Not meant for this world not suited to the struggle another casualty in the war for eternity. He is free, free at last of his earthly bonds, and spirit once more.

10/9 Afternoon

What a hell of a morning. A dark all encompassing cloud of depression engulfed me. I allowed it to happen. The previous page gives an insight into the vicious cycle of self pity, self loathing and depression into which I had become fixated. I sat alone in my room and brooded made plans for suicide got socks and shoelaces ready for the noose and planned to end it all tonight. A few games of ping-pong and some exercise and I exorcised my demons.

(This reminds me of a story I read about a bloke who was going to commit suicide by running and giving himself a heart attack. He was a mature man, overweight, high blood pressure and he had not exercised for some time thus he felt certain that within a few minutes of beginning his death run he would experience a myocardial infarction, or heart attack. However, after running for a few minutes he found that he was not dead and as he continued to run a strange thing began to happen. He began to feel better with each step forward he felt his depression subside like warm air on frosty windows clearing his mind and invigorating his senses. He didn’t want to die he wanted to run to live to enjoy life. He discovered what more and more people are realising the best cure for depression is exercise.)

This is not an easy path, but I feel I triumphed over my weakness. I did not use drugs to subdue or suppress those feelings but rather faced them and overcame them with my own initiative and with the grace of god.

My attitude and actions over the past few years have brought untold grief stress and pain into the lives of my friends and family. I beg that maybe they shall forgive me , for it is not they who have done wrong by me but me who has wronged them, through selfish and inconsiderate behaviour. Every bit of pain and sorrow that I have felt, they too have been subject to. So I must acknowledge that it is reasonable that they shun and reject me. For to do anything else is only to condone my dependent childish behaviour. I must release this role of “poor me” and instead of brooding in self pity I must take a stand and take control of my life.

For what you focus on is what you become. I had read years before that this is the key to achieving things in this world. Concerted concentration of energy

Today my mood has swung from an extreme depression to a positive affective state. Thank you god for giving me this chance to learn even though it has been painful.

I send my father, mother, brother all my love and I accept their right to be angry and resentful of me. I only pray that they may find it in their hearts to forgive me. This will never nullify the pain I have caused them but hopefully we will be able to move on and establish reasonable relations. For it is not I that should forgive them but rather those who have been wronged should forgive me.

My aunty Cheryl I pray that you may forgive my brutal words for though you hurt me that was not your intention, whereas I purposely attacked you with malice and anger in my heart. I have been like a leech on my mother and father sapping them of energy and thus for their own good they had to reject me. I am so very sorry for the things I have done and I am determined to redeem myself. I am truly the prodigal son, I have been dead but I feel as though I am on the virge of a birth. Oh God have mercy guide me toward the light and let me bring love into the lives of those who I have wronged.

Even my good friends like Darren have been victims of my parasitic ways and much work must be done to repay the debt I owe them.

Oh God I beg of you please forgive me and let me work towards good I will stand alone I will stand tall and I will make them proud.

11/9

Shitting blood this morning and afternoon toilet bowl is blood red no pain involved. Indigestion and stomach pain following ingestion of meat (lies all lies)

Five years ago severe problem of indigestion and blood from bowel.

Phone call tonight

Infringement of my human rights allowing freedon of religious values by not providing a suitable diet. “colostomy bag for the rest of my life if not give correct diet”. Maybe a slight exaggeration, but I have always been fond of the dramatic.

James 4:4 “Adulters and adulteresses do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Whoever, therefore, wants to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of god”

So much of crime is directly caused by two great evils drugs and gambling, and the poverty these things create.

In a society that values wealth and material possessions above all else the most punished crimes are those against property. The vast majority of crime is not committed our or spite or malice but is the result of need, created by a deficit generated by drug addiction, gambling and unemployment.

Most people in gaol are from the lower classes this is a basic fact. Poor and lacking education they suffer in an unjust and corrupt system.

Furthermore, the gaol population is overwhelmingly male.

14/9

Laughter

When you are in gaol laughter is pure gold. Today for desert we had icecream and to go with it chocolate topping and banana topping. However, someone had brought out the BBQ sauce instead of the chocolate sauce. So I lavished BBQ sauce on my ice cream and dug in only to find that the “chocolate” sauce tasted rather suspect.

A common occurrence in gaol is “name dropping”. When two people meet who have a mutual acquaintances and embark on a long series of name exchanges. Whereby when one acknowledges familiarity with a name anecdotes are exchanged.

“You know Stevo, from Sydney, he was one of Nato’s mates, got busted tryin to fuckin kick the shit out of a copper on speed, fuck it was funny though, you should of seem him go, until few more cops arrived then they fuckin smashed him.”

The mullet hairstyle is prevalent and tattoos are the norm.

When I arrived at Palen Creek I was interviewed by a guard and during the interview he asked me if I would like to be considered for the work release compound at Wacol. He advised that it is lower security.

“Yeah I’ll be keen to go there if they have a vacancy.”

Sitting on the decking at the Chicken coop I am chatting to Mick, who has just arrived from R&R. I haven’t seen him since we were in the watchhouse. He went to a different section at R&R to me.

A guard comes up and calls out my name, Bob, and Roy. We are all to be transferred to Wacol Work Release.

One of the other inmates is listening and says, “They’re all fags up there mate, watch your ass ey” , he laughed. He was covered in tattoos both arms his chest, back and neck decorated with elaborate images of mythological beasts, and on his shoulder a crude prison tattoo with the words “I luv mum”.

Chapter 33 - Respawn 7

2007-07-02T21:53:00.000+10:00

“That Aggro dude fuckin smashed you mate, you didn’t think that one through very well, what’s it going to be?”

“Yeah I guess it was mate, but I know how to play this one now, re-spawn thanks Ignatius”

“Re-spawn it is my good man, have a nice little nap, sweet dreams", he twiddled some dials and then I was off my dial again.

Chapter 32 - Palen Creek, the Chicken Coop

2007-07-02T10:42:00.001+10:00

September 2000

“The Chicken Coop”

Aggro was the TV master, and he always acted as if he was the man. He was a loud, obnoxious, fat, solid bloke who tried to dominate the gaol the typical bully. “Video up” he shouted to let as all know he was putting a movie on.

Aggro would not tolerate a challenge, the TV was his. But you could see his boss hog attitude was going to lead to conflict, he wasn’t the only hard ass in here. He stole food from the kitchen and got more than his fair share of coco pops. He was a grotesque version of the TV puppet also known as “Aggro”, there was certain oafish quality to him.

But you could see a few blokes were getting tired of his antics and Gary, the concretor was among them. He had a fight with Aggro and kicked his ass. So later on Aggo came up behind Gary and king hit him. But despite his sneak attack Gary got the better of him again and now they seem to keep clear of each other.

Mick my old china plate (mate) from the watch house, was here for a few days, and we caught up again. “I fuckin hate people telling me shit that’s not true, I mean think of the fuckin CD man, when it first came out they were sayin that it was almost fuckin indestructible, I mean I remember this clip from that show, Beyond 2000, you know the one with all the futuristic high tech shit, it was on in the eighties and early nineties, anyway they were doing a show on the CD which was still relatively new and they got some honey and spread it all over the CD surface saying how tough they were you know, now those same fuckin CD’s are degrading, I mean a CD is aluminium with a laquer applied, a laser imprints the aluminium to store the data, but if the lacquer is damaged air gets in and may cause spots like rust to appear and……..”,

I had to interrupt Mick, “But aluminium doesn’t rust man, so that’s not right”,

“Nah I said its like rust man, I didn’t fuckin say it was rust, its just an analogy, it’s a reaction that occurs on the surface of the aluminium……..”, he looked at me like you might look at a small child explaining to them the error of their ways.

This gaol is divided into 2 sections. The section I am in which is mostly fine defaulters and a few who have not been sentenced. It contains accommodation, recreation room, dining hall, kitchen, showers, and toilets. This section is surrounded by a 4 metre electric fence and sits on the hill above the rest of the complex removed from the rest of the gaol.

In the bottom section of the gaol are found the “rock spiders”, and a few other prisoners serving out the final periods of their sentences. People like Edward Arthur Antony Rawlins who in 1956 was jailed for life for the murder of a 12 year old school girl.

It is strange that those housed in the bottom section are not surrounded by an electric fence, but are able to roam free in the course of their daily routines. The crimes they have committed are fare more serious yet the conditions under which they are confined are superior offering greater movement and better facilities.

They work on the herb farm nearby drive tractors, ride motor bikes and horses. So it seems that in here it pays to do heinous crimes as you get better conditions. These blokes may ruin people’s lives by their acts yet come to gaol and live in relative comfort.

We have one TV between 50 blokes yet they have a TV in every cell. We live in pre-fabricated accommodation, while they live in brick buildings.

We watched Being John Malkovitch tonight, it was very thought provoking. Dallas and I we the only ones in the room. It was funny how so many of the people I had come across in gaol were in some way connected to people or situations similar to mine. Well Dallas was a stripper from the Gold Coast and had been in ”Thunder Down Under” knew a few of the boys from my old days. This was one of the spin of groups from competing with Manpower and such.

The herb farm is a private enterprise that uses prisoners as virtual slave labour, paying $2 per day. Thus the owner deprives people on the outside of work to generate greater profit. I am not against prisoners working, but they should not be exploited for profit. If the farm was used to help fund the upkeep of the gaol, by providing us with our food, that would be different.

But I suppose the land is leased by the herb farmer and thus I would assume that some money is returned to the gaol.

However, gaols like R&R are businesses that make a profit from the confining of people. It is in their best interests to keep them as long as possible. For each inmate is a dollar sign. Hence blokes may be “tipped” from parole or work schemes for the most trivial of offences for each inmate is a commodity. Yet it is such a waste of resources, for people so confined are not rehabilitated but rather become jaded and hardened by their experiences and once released are no more ready to cope with society and its pressures than they were when they entered. Therefore, they re-offend and the often quoted revolving door becomes a reality.

On my second day at Palen Creek, I go to work at the herb farm. This is not compulsory but we are paid an additional $8 per day for our efforts.

We travel down from our chook coop to the farm area in a van. Upon arrival we are given the task of shovelling gravel to build a new green house for the herbs.

“He mate, you look like someone “who has a bit of beef on him”, why don’t you give us a hand with this gravel, you up for it big fella?”

“Yeah no worries”

“People call me Cowboy," Cowboy was a full on cow cockie, initially picked me out as someone, who as he said "had a bit of muscle on them".

As soon as I opened my mouth to speak, Cowboys attitude began to change. And we laboured most of the day shovelling gravel into the greenhouse, but by the end of it I got the impression he didn’t like me. I knew why too, it was the way I spoke, I wasn’t a country boy like him, I was an educated man, a threat

“Hey what about you mate?”

“The names Paul, bloke…..yeah I’m up for it” Paul had been a heroin addict who had been in and out of gaol since the age of 16. Still transfixed by the lure of heroin but he seemed to have a good heart underneath a menacing veneer. A dark cloud surrounds him, yet at times this lifts and a lighter more reasonable mood overcomes him. Yet he is so cynical about life that he believes there is nothing better than heroin, and he thinks I am trying to trick him when I suggest otherwise.

I do a quick fantasy number in my head and think of how to put an end to the reign of Aggro, no real reason just bored and frustrated and he seems like an asshole.

I plan to bash Aggro at night while he is asleep, taking a fire extinguisher and bashing his head in, I don’t like to feel threatened, its him or me.

There is no supervision at night in prisoners area, except for a couple of patrols at 11pm, 2am and 5am. Each room is not locked so I can easily get to him.

I'll wait until 2am and while he's sleeping I will use a fire extinguisher to bash. I figure one huge first blow should put him out of action and few more solid hits should make certain that he gets the message. But it seems risky and perhaps unnecessary.

Chapter 31 - Arthur Gorrie Correctional Centre

2007-07-02T10:34:00.001+10:00

August 2000

The harsh tones of the intercom roused me from my slumber. To my surprise I had been sleeping well in the watch house. The light was kept on all night and we slept on a mattress with a thin blanket, no sheet or pillow. But this morning I was very relieved, my name had been called and that meant I was being transferred to Arthur Gorrie.

After breakfast inmates who were to be transferred from the watch house at Roma Street to the Arthur Gorrie Remand and Reception Centre (click on this link to see a google earth view of the prison) (R&R) were taken from their cells and escorted to the prisoner transfer vehicles. These unmarked 3 tonne trucks, could take about 8 inmates and each inmate was handcuffed and a placed in cramped confines with only a tiny window to look out of.

The trip from Roma street to Wacol took about 25 minutes and I kept worrying what might happen if we were in an accident, locked in and cuffed I would not be able to escape I felt slightly claustrophobic. As we pulled into R&R I could see the shiny steel fences with razor wire and the drab buildings that made up the gaol.

The intake process at R&R takes an hour or two. Most of this time is spent waiting to be seen. Firstly you are taken to a long corridor with cells on one side and offices and consulting rooms on the other. New inmates proceed along the corridor, to complete a variety of processes. We are strip searched, have a shower, wash with special shampoo to kill any parasites living on our bodies, receive a set of new browns, thongs and bedding, fill in a form, and talk to a counsellor for 5 minutes.

A pretty young girl with a pony tail asks me “Is this your first time in prison” , as she looks at me I imagine she is thinking, ‘well this one’s going to get it, pretty boy here, they’ll love him’.

“Yes”

“Are you fearful about entering the general population?”, she stares at me rather blankly, and I wonder if she is a virgin. She has seen fear before, but she’s not really sure what it means, she knows its frightful, but what really happens. But you see I had heard plenty of stories and was familiar with the case of Scott Topping who was serving time for $1200 in unpaid traffic fines when he was brutally raped and murdered at Woodford prison in 1997.

Sp my answer to this question was of course, “Yes”

“Because this is your first time inside and you have mentioned that you have a history of suicide attempts you will probably be sent to the OBs unit at first”

“What’s that?”

“It is a special unit where inmates can be more carefully supervised during the initial settling in period. “

Then we were lead back to the cells on the other side of the corridor to await the next stage of processing. I felt like a commodity a product being pushed on an assembly line, ready for life as a prisoner.

Next we were sent off to the medical unit for an interview with a Nurse who also takes a blood sample to be tested for HEP C, HIV etc. Once this is completed we were then escorted to our unit.

Upon arrival at the OBS unit or W1 as it is known, I was issued with one packet of White Ox cigarettes with a lighter and papers, standard issued for all new arrivals. With my full packet of White Ox I soon found friends, or smoking comrades at least. White OX would have to be one of the strongest tobaccos available and one which was favoured by prisoners.

“Can I get a rolly off ya mate?”

“You got a ciggy mate?”

“Can I get a pinch of backy off ya bro?”

“Give us a couple a rollies I’ll fix ya up on Buyup day.”

“hey buddy got a dury?”

It seemed strange that they gave me a free packet of the strongest cigarettes available upon arrival. Could they be sued for encouraging smoking, and not just that but encouraging inmates to become addicted to the most potent tobacco available, white ox. But I was relieved and soon found my head spinning as I inhaled the first rolly.

I was allocated to cell number 33 in block W1 the observation unit for inmates at risk of self harm.

There are four blocks (W1 {obs}, W2, W3 W4) and each unit consists of 40 cells in 2 levels. Each cell has its own shower, toilet, and TV for one prisoner. The unit has a kitchen, and exercise area. The exercise area is approximately 15X15 metres and contains, a chinning bar, dipping bar, b/ball hoop, punching bag. There is only one screw in each section.

I soon found that my supply of tally ho papers was all gone but luckily, Hung the Vietnamese heroin dealer, gave me a couple of packets.

Len had been involved in a break and enter and arson where he had gone to rob a house at night and as he was leaving decided that he would burn it down.

“I’ve always loved fire, you know the flames are alive, rising up to consume everything, the power of it the way it eats everything, its fuckin beautiful man you know god, anyway, I’m havin a great time watchin the inferno, but I get lost staring into the fire and before I know it there are fire engines and cop cars pulling into the house, and I’m still standing their fuckin transfixed by this fire , anyway the fuckin pigs got me and so here I am.”

Both forearms were heavily bandaged, it was obvious he had tried to slash himself that’s why he was in the obs unit.

Chris Petrie could never remember my name so he called me “that Guy” and from this he got Guy Fawkes which later lead to him giving me the nick name Fawksee. We spent a lot of time giggling like school girls over the most inane shit, it was a kind of hysteria induced by the surreal nature of our surroundings. For some reason we called him glucose, he used to work in the army stores, schizo, highly intelligent, funny, witty (brainy brawny guy), cataracs,

Ian was in gaol for fraud a direct result of his hard core gambling addiction. I am not talking pokies here he was more into the roulette, black jack and good ole two up. He was a down to earth, and very sincere bloke, and seemed a genuinely good person (900,000 fraud). More sophisticated than most of the others we got along well. There was a table tennis table in the unit and we played a few games, Ian was a pretty good player and we had some decent matches.

Stephen Baine knew some of the guys from the stripping group I had been in , Muscle Down Under, and we swapped stories about our experiences in this profession.

One of the screws looks out of place, with his round, soft face and timid voice. We call him the “kindergarten teacher”, when ever he calls us up for muster he speaks in a soft voice and a sense of foreboding dominates his posture.

Mich the sincere, good natured bloke I met in the watch house, was in my section he is unusual in that he shows empathy, but is missing 2 front teeth.

“Curly haired nice guy” – went to Camp Hill knew Mr Kealin (weighlifting coach), Sankey and Nimmo were both weightlifters who were also in the QLD team at the same time as me.

“You like training mate?”

“yeah always been into the gym a bit.”

Fredrick – the mystic, muscle man, very insightful, man read tarot, Maori/Hawaiian/German/Irish.

“G’day mate, me names Jim.”

“How are ya mate, Daves my name”

“Good to meet ya Dave, where are ya from?”

“Ah well I’ve been in Brisbane for the last 15 years or so”

“How about you?”

“Yeah from Brissie, went to Churchie, got into smack and here I am.”

“Oh yeah that shit will do that for ya, I was a bit partial to the smack myself”

“Yeah its fuckin wicked when your on, and a bloody horror story when your off it,”

“I used to score from a bloke that sold gear at East Brisbane near Churchie.”

“Oh yeah what was his name?”

“Alex, do you know him”

“Fuckin, know him, I used to score off the cunt, hows that fuckin small world hey, Alex has gone straight now though, you know how he used to be a real skinny fuck well he’s a fat bastard now.”

“You might have known Bongey as well then”

“”Fuckin oath, that dodgy cunt, fuck he had a filthy habit, jeesus, “

“Yeah last time I saw him he was headed to the Buttery for rehab”

“I used to work at a needle exchange for a while GAIN on the Gold Coast, a bit like Quivaa.”

“Oh yeah Quivva hey, have you met Dougie yet?”

“Ah no don’t think so”

“ah well you’ll laugh at this shit he used to work at QUivaa man, I’ll introduce ya to him, he’s just over there on the next table, come on this is a laugh.”

“Hey Dougie, another one of your needle exchange mates here you know him, “

“Ah no, don’t think we’ve met, Dave is it, yeah nah, we havnt met but you worked at Quivaa”

“For a bit, mostly at GAIN on the coast”

“I went to school with Pomy, he’s always been the fuckin same” Dougie said

Pomy got his knickname because, you guessed it he is a pom, and despite being in Australia for 15 years still sounds like one. Thinking back now Pomy reminds me of the Office’s Ricky Gervais, he even looked a bit like him.

“Yeah I’m an accountant got my own firm no one knows I’m in here though told everyone at the office I’m on a bloody cruise” , he grinned and slapped me on the back heartily Pomy liked a good joke. But as time went on he was deceptive, and a bit of a user.

You know “Hey got any fags mate”

“Nah Dougie I’ve only got a few left”

“Oh come on mate, just give us pinch I’ll fix ya up later you know me come on mate…..”

“Oh alright, here that’s all, I cant give ya any more”

But despite that he did make me laugh till I cried on numerous occasions, but the exact nature of what he said eludes me.

“He watch out boy, they’ll be after your ass…..”

“Ah get fucked Pomy, you fuckin faggot”

“Calm down sweet heart don’t get so huffy…..see that boys the little princess is in a tizzy.”

“Yeah whatever, you fuckin cock sucking fuck.” It was a game but it still pissed me off a bit and you know how a bit of fun can sometimes get out of hand.

Ray Rifle the brother of Steve Rifle were notorious Gold Coast drug lords, Ray was in W4 so I crossed paths with him occassionaly.

Then there was Darren he was withdrawing from methadone, cold turkey. They had given him some clonidine and a few valium other than that he just had to wait it out.

Girmay Gebru Habtu killed Elias Ertito Nedebo with a machete inflicting 19 wounds and chopping off his dick. Habtu believed that Nedebo was screwing his wife so he attacked him. Well known Australian swimmer Hayley Lewis was a witness at his trial. Apparently she had heard the murder but had assumed it was someone having loud sex. The victim was killed in the unit next to her house, she was quoted as saying that “I thought it was two people having sex….I was a bit embarrassed,” she said. To Lewis the agony of murder sounded like sex, which begs the question what sort of sex do you like Hayley? A bit of S&M maybe?

Habtu was from Sudan and had a poor understanding of English. I felt sorry for him he was a total outsider here. A couple of the boys were stirring Habtu , teasing him and leaving orange peels on his bed. He responded by yelling in a distinct voice very high pitched voice “he kill you” and running his hand across his throat in a threatening gesture. The boys laughed it off and thought it was great fun.

Food fights – like a bunch of kids on camp – although you know that any moment it could get ugly. (Habtu –is getting angry)

Susan Maureen Robinson, was the gaol psychologist, rather attractive, tall, slender, blonde and she spoke with an American twang in her voice. Rumour had it that she was fucking one of the inmates. But I thought it was bullshit, as if an attractive intelligent professional woman would get it on with criminals.

In our first session together we discussed my situation.

“My parents won’t bail me out I feel intense anger towards them”

“Don’t you think it’s about time that you took responsibility for your actions?”

Her eyes were cold and distant, I could feel her disapproval, I could sense her dislike.

“Yeah I suppose so, but its not like I have done some serious crime, I am in here for non-payment of fines, not armed robbery or murder”

“Still you have done the wrong thing, and this is how society punishes people who transgress the law, the sooner you accept that the sooner you be on your way to recovery.”

“Recovery, from what? I never mentioned anything about recovery, what are you on about, I have a right to be angry about bad treatment, I mean if you go to a restaurant and get bad service you have a right to complain. “

“Yes, I didn’t quite mean it like that you see, what I meant was that you need to focus on what you can do not what you cant”

Later she would be charged for having a sexual relationship with a client and advised to “avoid client sex” Her lover, Mark Nolan was an armed robber who, moved in with her following his release. The story was in the courier mail a couple of years after I was got out. After a few years of love he ended up back inside.

Justin Paul Jones was one of the accused who bashed Peter Cribb. Peter Cribb was a promising university student who was bashed unconscious when he was ambushed while riding home from QUT. Justin and some mates were drinking under the William Jolly Bridge along the bike path near the freeway. They bashed Peter and left him for dead his body floating face down in the murky Brisbane River. Peter is now a vegetable and requires 24 hour care.

Justin smiled a lot and looked to be from the Torres Strait. He was quiet but well spoken and a big fan of the Broncos. He didn’t look dangerous just a very young man who made a tragic mistake, that cost another young man his life.

Out of range of Jones, I mentioned that I thought “the bashing of Cribb was a cowardly act”, the other inmate I spoke to looked at me, with cool hostility, it was clear I had said the wrong thing to this man.

The list below includes some of the memories from this first experience with incarceration;

Slashed wrists, broken hearts and drugs
OBS the blue light and camera, obs every 15 minutes
TV in “slot”
More food and space can go out into the sun and move within units
“One day someone on fines will top themselves” (Scott Topping was killed)
the buddies
“I’ll do the time standing on my head!”
“Trolley up”, “Muster up”, “Oval up”
Numerous armed robbers GBH
“Yes boss, no boss”
“Medication time”
Stripping of manhood , become a child

Timetable

7am – let out of cells

7.30 – breakfast

10.30 – Muster – stand in front of cells

12.00 – Lunch

1.00 – out to the oval, do laps, on running track, while others play soccer or touch football on the oval

4.00 Muster up “Trolley up”

4.30 Dinner

6.00 Lockdown

On the second day at R&R we are taken to a Gaol Awareness Session, where we will learn a few key facts about gaol culture. For example we learn that;

Sexual acts in the common areas can offend other inmates
Avoid being a ‘chat’ clean up after yourself – A chat is prison slang for a dirty bastard.
Whispering to screws – it looks bad
Don’t be a dog – ie don’t tell tales or you can expect some rough justice

We are given a nice little hand book with these and other wonderfully helpful tips on prison life.

1/9/00

I’ve been in gaol now for nine days and during this time I have gone through a vast array of emotions.

The initial horror that sinking feeling that overwhelmed me when the police car rolled into the car park and caught me in the act of shooting up has faded. The watch house experience was the worst. They kept us in a semi starved state, confined within a small area. The food we ate was airline food from Qantas. Or it was made by the Qantas caterers, because food trolleys, the food containers and plastic utensils had the Qantas emblem on them. Imagine that they serve the same food on planes as though do in gaol. The quality was very poor and portions were small.

At the watch house I casually requested vegetarian food but it was not provided. By the time I had reached R&R I was determined to get the proper food. I approached one of the guards to discuss my request. He gives me a form to fill out and tells me to wait.

The next day I approach him to ask about my meals he replied, “Mr Hawkins you will learn that I am a man of my word, I don’t lie to crims, if I say I will do something it will be done”

“Yes boss,” I replied meekly. The guards like to be addressed in this manner and most inmates are happy to use this label, I was keen to fit in so I did so too.

Even though I was transferred out of the padded cell at Roma St I was still placed in the observation wing of R&R when I arrived. The only difference in this section is that prisoners may be in danger of self harm and are closely monitored.

In each cell there is a camera which is on 24hours and a little blue light so they can see you. Each night before lock down inmates are strip searched in the observation wing before entering their cells. This involves getting naked and putting hands behind your head and squatting while coughing. The guards then inspect behind your ears and in your hair to check for things that may be used for self harm.

During the day I pray saying a variety of mantras to calm my spirits and clear my mind. I like the “Om mani padme hum” – which means I am an infinite soul or something like, the “Hare Krishna” mantra and the Lords Prayer. While saying the mantras I kneel on the floor and lean forward to bow my whole body down. I do this for 30-45 minutes a day.

I am also doing 30 chin ups, 300 pushups, 50 hand stand should presses, 100 dips and 50 tricep presses to keep me in shape, clear the mind and discipline myself.

Other guys bash away on a bag, their punches gave me tempo to follow.

“He mate can you give me a spot “, I ask a bloke who is standing around having just had a go at the bag.

He looks at me blankly “No one ever helped me bro, ya know, do it ya self, I aint your boy.”

I felt annoyed and kind of insulted. But there was no way that I wanted to fight this bloke, so I knew to keep my mouth shut. But it was an aggressive interaction could easily have turned violent.

Inmates smoke, laze in the sun, exercise in the yard and pace up and down like dogs in a kennel. The exercise yard is enclosed by thick steel mesh within view is the fence of the prison. It consists of five sections. A small 1 metre high fence, followed by a 3 m electric fence, then a 4m razor wire fence, then a 5m steel mesh fence topped by a large steel cylinder to prevent it being climbed and finally another 4 m razor wire fence.

An armoured car regularly patrols the perimeter which is monitored by cameras and illuminated by spotlights. If an inmate even touches the fence they will be “breached” and sent to the DU (detention unit) which is the punishment section. Here the prisoners are kept locked down 24hrs a day, no TV, no cigs, and 4 hours compulsory exercise a day.

People have been known to throw tennis balls filled with drugs over the walls to get them to the eager inmates.

Just for talking to prisoners in another section through the wire we were threatened with DU, while another inmate who verbally abused a screw was in there for a week.

Two vital rules in jail.

Don’t stare at anyone you don’t know
Don’t ask too many questions. If people want to tell you why they are in let them but don’t force the issue.
Also don’t get too friendly with the screws , if you have a problem see the buddies. The buddies are inmates in green shirts who are responsible for helping prisoners settle in.

So make that three vital rules, there are probably others but these ones seem rather important.

All the other inmates are dressed in ‘browns’, which include a brown shorts, brown t-shirt, thongs, cheap runners, brown track pants and brown jumper. You must supply your own underwear.

“Buy up” day is a special event and is when inmates are permitted to purchase extra food, mags, toiletries, cigs, etc from the prison store. This happens only once a week. You must complete a form the day before to place your order. The goods are then delivered to the units on large trolleys. “Buy-up” purchases are packaged in brown paper bags with a copy of the inmates order form attached. It reminded me of tuck shop when I was at school.

Friends are essential in goal, for moral support and to avoid conflict.

Most inmates are under 40 years of age with the majority under 30. In “Obs” there are numerous inmates with severe mental disturbances. Many have scars on their arms from self-harm and many have been or are addicted to drugs. The majority of prisoners are poorly educated and from the lower class. Tattoos are common and mullet hairdos and the like.

In gaol there seems to be a very high ratio of guitarists. In our section the prison has provided a couple of nylon string acoustic guitars. Two young Samoan guys grabbed the battered nylon string acoustics and began playing a beautiful duet. Then one after another different guys had a strum and each one was quite skilled.

The steel cutlery for our section is stored in wooden block and must all be accounted for after each meal.

While Jamie my neighbour from TSS is great guitarist. We sit together in the exercise yard chatting about heroin addiction and taking turns at playing guitar.

He got busted trying to do an armed robbery to support his junk habit.

“Gaol reminds me of boarding school” , Jamie said.

“The restrictions, the routine, all male environment and the playing up, it is very similar. It just that here you really can’t leave even if you want to, but that was how I felt when I was at TSS (The Southport School). “

Jamie was a tall bloke, he had long hair tied back in a pony tail, he was on remand for his trial, he had the look of the defeated. He knew he would have to serve a few years for his crimes and was resigned to the fact.

When I spoke of getting out soon he looked dejected and changed the subject.

Heroin had got the better of him. He had started off just having it for fun, but fun soon turned into dependency and dependency soon turned into desperation. He robbed a service station, got away with nearly a grand and spent it on smack. But he got caught and now he is in gaol.

“Muster up”, we respond by standing by our cell doors for the regular head counts. A screw calls out each cell number and inmate’s name and you must respond to acknowledge your presence, usually with a casual “yo” or “yes boss”, Or “here” or “yeah” etc…

(Drugs to sleep put in food – never able to stay up later than 11pm). This surprised me because when I was not stoned I would normally stay up late into the night. However, while incarcerated I would become very drowsy by 11pm so that I was unable to keep my eyes open.

I would usually watch TV every night and I can remember seeing the Brisbane doctor Trevor Sauer win the 1000 000, on Who Want to be a millionare, while sitting in my cell at R&R.

There was this movie on SBS about a lawyer who went to gaol for a fine and while in their he got framed for murder………..

The worst time is the morning when you wake and realise where you are. You think of all the people on the outside and what they are doing and you look to the clear blue sky through the barred windows wishing you could just fly away.

However, there is one thing that gets me out of bed every morning and that is Aerobics Oz style. You might be thinking that it is admirable for me to be so focused on fitness while confined but it was really about titillation. The sexy little nymphs cavorting around in their leotards were a bountiful harvest of sexual stimulation for me. It was part of my ritual, leer at their asses and wank in time to the music as they bounce across the screen. It gives me a tremendous feeling of well being and for a moment I can forget where I am.

I feel ashamed, a failure, I consider suicide. I have been down for so long. I haven’t been with a woman for 3 years. Well at least not one I didn’t pay for. I wonder whether I will ever meet a girl or if somehow I am so dysfunctional that I will always be alone.

What will I do when I get out I can’t continue to live the same way I did. The isolation was soul destroying why is it so painful if there is only more pain and suffering ahead maybe I would be better off dead.

In here all these guys seem to have girlfriends and wives and kids. Why me how come I am so absolutely hopeless at picking up women?

My drug addiction was a manifestation of my mental illness, and as treatment for this illness I find myself confined in a prison. They punish me for my sickness, hoping to scare me back to health.

I ‘m in goal full of violent “hardened” criminals, for not paying some fines. I realise that I was caught driving a motor vehicle while under the influence, however I did not hurt anyone of cause damage to any property. Is this justice I think not. This will forever, tarnish me, and I know not what will become of me once released. I am so angry at my father it is typical of him to not be here when I need him. In all of the great emotional crisis of my life he has been emotional absent and withdrawn if not physically absent.

My disastrous relationship with Michelle has permanently scared me and I feel as though I will never be able to really trust again. I have difficulty being intimate with women I don’t trust and I find it takes a long time to develop that trust. I fell I have missed out on so many opportunities because of shyness and indecision. Yet I look around and I see blokes who I fell I am far superior to and they have girlfriends.

Goal is about many things and the people are here for many different reasons. But one recurrent theme is money. Whether it is because they needed it for drugs or gambling or just greed this substance leads many into trouble. It corrupts and destroys erodes and degrades it causes conflict and leads to deceit. Or it creates, heals, supports and develops how do we use money?

This is a prison that is owned by an American company (the Wakenhut Corporation). It is run as a business for profit. I am in prison for failing to pay fines totalling $1750. It costs approximately $135 per day to keep me in prison. ( I get paid while I am in here for doing very little) So if I serve the 64 days I have been sentenced to it will cost the government approximately $6400 and they will pay this to the operators of this prison in lieu of me paying them $1750. Therefore, they actually spend $8000, to confine me. Makes perfect sense doesn’t it.

Furthermore, I am in the same environment as people convicted of serious offences, grievous bodily harm(GBH), assault, armed robbery, attempted murder, drug trafficking and murder. It is inappropriate to confine people convicted of minor and serious offences together, I was confined really because I failed to pay fines imposed for traffic offences. Sure I was convicted of possessing heroin but that is a minor offence and would normally only incur a fine for a first offender such as myself.

Furthermore, it is an insult to the victims of serious crime to have people convicted of

“In gaol you get coffee in goal you get tea, in gaol you get everything except the bloody key!”

But to my surprise what do you get issued with, but a key to your cell.

There are no free weights in R&R ( Arthur Gorrie Remand and Reception) due to death of Bart Vosmaer. His head was bashed in with a barbell while he was training in the gym at Sir David Longlands (SDL), and as result he died. As a consequence of this action all the weights were removed from SDL and R&R which is just across the road.

Last night they brought in a young bloke and put him in the cell next to me. As they were bringing him in he was screaming, and thrashing his body about. I could see them through the small window in my cell door. He screamed and shouted all night, I could hear him banging his body against the door and walls all the while making the most horrendous sounds of torment. I pray for him, and wish he would be quiet. At first I am sympathetic but as the time draws on I become annoyed by his antics and wish he would just shut the fuck up and take it like a man.

Revelations

Tonight they showed the Movie the Mystery Men on TV. I find that through the TV I can escape to another world. I find myself laughing hysterically. It seems the hero must endure trials and tribulations.

“When you doubt your powers you give power to your doubts”

The Sphinx – Mystery Men

6/9/00

I do acknowledge that I have put myself here through the decisions I have made. No one but me is to blame for the predicament I am now in but me. I accept responsibility for my action s and I am happy that I am here. For I feel that this experience will act as a catalyst to stimulate personal growth and development.

If I had not been put in gaol I would not have been forced to change. I would have continued on my errant path imprisoned by fear. For though I was not surrounded buy walls on the outside I was in an emotional prison that was crippling me.

This experience will only strengthen me and allow me to fullfill my true destiny. I am powerful, but I had forgotten that I had succumbed to fear and depression. I was lost and now I am found, I have been blessed by this experience and I know that this was meant to be.

Saw a familiar face today, which was a welcome event. Ray Rifle, Steve’s brother was in on remand, awaiting trial for a few jobs he had done. Ray had been busted a couple of weeks ago and his picture had been in the paper.

Went to see the Prison administration people and they have completed my security evaluation and have told me I will be sent to Palen Creek a low security prison farm. I am due to leave tomorrow. I don’t like goodbyes and some of the blokes I do tell, you can see their underlying jealousy that I am going.

Topics to come

The line up for the phone
The visit from chaplain
The terrified call home
The big titted tranny in W1 block

Chapter 30 - The Watch House

2007-07-02T10:22:00.000+10:00

“If it's illegal to rock and roll, throw my ass in jail!”
Kurt Cobain

August 5^th 2000 6:30pm

They transferred me from the Valley Cop Shop to be processed at the Roma street watch-house. The cops were flippant and seemed to find me amusing, though I wasn’t sure why. They asked me some questions took my clothes and gave me a set of prison browns which included a brown t shirt, shorts, track pants and jumper. They were all synthetic.

“Have you ever tried to kill yourself Dave?”

I hesitated, “Oh yeah a few times” I would later regret my honesty.

“Oh yeah how long ago was that?”

“Few years back”

“Ah-ha”

“I am also a vegetarian can you supply suitable food?”

“Oh sure you’ll get whatever you want” the cop smirked. These guys were nothing like the warm likeable characters you see on Blue Heelers.

I was then lead through a series of locked doors into the large holding cells (see diagram). I was locked in a cell with a couple of other guys, one of whom was a pomy backpacker who had got busted for drunk and disorderly.

“I was havin a few lagers with the lads, you know nothin too wild and we left this pub and we was havin a laugh you know, bollocking around and then this…….”. My entry interrupted his story.

“G’day mate”

“How are you doin.”

His fresh tan and casual attire marked him as a tourist, he seemed hyped and somewhat excited by his experience.

After having a chat to them for a while, a cop came and got me and told me that I was to be transferred to a different holding cell.

They took me to the observation wing, because I had admitted that I had previously tried to kill myself. Apparently it is a policy in the watch house, it allows them to observe the prisoner and make a judgement as to whether they are mentally stable. However, it was a humiliating process, I had to strip and instead of browns I was given a white nightie that was laced up at the back and locked in a padded cell with one other inmate. It was another example of being punished for having a problem, this punishment was delivered under the guise of care.

I was escorted to the observation cell by a tall solid young cop dressed in blue overalls and boots, wearing glasses. He looked like Clark Kent. Before I was locked in the cell I said to the guard

“Hey do u have anything I can read”

“No, just get into your cell”

“What about those national geographic books on the floor there” I pointed to some magazines lying on the floor outside an adjacent cell. This was an example of the disdain with which I was treated, it was a small thing, but it reverberated through my soul.

“Yeah all right, just hurry up” the cop said impatiently.

Lying on the thin foam mattress dressed only in a white gown and undies, I looked over to the other side of the cell to see a figure curled up on the floor in much the same garb as me. Silent and still, I wondered what had he done? Why was he here?

I spent the night in my cell reading crusty old national geographic mags and watching Creflo J Dollar preaching. At this moment I watched the tele-evangalist do his thing and I could not help wishing that God would help me and release me from bondage. Creflo implored his audience to “Repent and ask for God’s forgiveness, the lord loves you but you must seek his love, so come on right now, stand with me and ask god for forgiveness, oh dear lord please…..”

I stood with him and prayed, prayed because deep down I was afraid, afraid of what the future held, afraid of being in gaol.

In the morning my room mate awoke bleary eyed, looked over at me and went straight back to sleep.

A little while later they brought in our breakfast.

After breakfast my cell mate introduced himself.

“How ya goin mate, Garys me name, but call me Gaz .” His hair was tangled and matted.

“How ya doin, Gaz, I’m Dave”

“Good ta meet ya Dave, should be outa here soon, get me fuckin browns back instead of this fuckin nighty they give ya.”

“Yeah

After an interrogation by a Doctor, nurse, and coppers, regarding my mental health they decided that it was safe to transfer me to a normal unit.

They asked me things like “Are you sure that you are not having any thoughts of self-harm or suicide?”

“Yes I am fine, a bit disheartened by my surroundings, though who wouldn’t be .”

“Do you feel that you might want to harm yourself in the immediate future?”

“Well that’s hard to say, I mean I might eat poorly, drink too much, and have unsafe sex, but I think they are all off the agenda at the moment., except for the poor eating, the food in here sucks.”

They kept me in custody because of the fines I had not paid, and the federal police warrants. In the morning I was taken from the main watch house cells to the, cells that hold people for the court which is contained in the watch house.

My family did not supply any kind of legal support to me and as a result I was lead into court in browns, handcuffed, standing behind a glass wall. The people in court stared at me disdainfully. I had a public defender who didn’t give a shit and so I had no chance. The magistrate declared I was guilty and so I was convicted and given a criminal charge for the possession of heroin. The penalty was yet another fine, which I had no money to pay so it was straight to gaol for me.

What a contrast this was to my last court appearance. But how absurd it was to be sent to gaol for unpaid fines. That was the only reason I was detained.

We were locked in a confined space that held three cells, with two men in each cell. We shared a shower and TV between the six of us.(see figure)

It was 10pm and that means it’s lock down time. All inmates are confined to their cells. My first cell mate was Jack.

“So what are you in for?”

Jack rubs his palm across his forehead and winces well “Well they say that I was committing fraud with my business, I have a company called Rio and we import cigarette lighters, you know the ones they are like mini blow torches and you see them at petrol stations. Oh and we import bongs, you know for smoking marijuana, I don’t like but is very profitable. But anyway they charged me with fraud, but we are fighting the charge you know, we didn’t do anything wrong, it’s the bloody Australian Tax Office, I’m just a business man, not some criminal.”

Our conversation was interrupted by loud banging on the wall from next door and some indecipherable threats. I felt my stomach churn and watched as Jack grimaced. The cell walls were made of what seemed like a fibreglass material.

We continued our conversation and tried to ignore the intermittent banging on the wall, which I thought might portend some horrendous act of violence. Or perhaps the blokes in the adjacent cell could hear our conversation and wanted us to shut up either way I felt disturbed by this minor incident.

“So Jack when did you first come to Australia?”

“I came over here after the Tiananmen Square massacre, I was one of the student organisers, you remember this incident?” I nodded

“Well I came to study in Australia and you may remember the Australian government gave visas to those people who feared persecution if they stayed in China….”

In the morning Jack and I were woken up by a loud voice reading off a list of names. Jack’s name was read out. “All those people we have called upon will be getting transferred to R&R today, grab your stuff and wait at your cell doors.”

Lucky bastard getting out of here, I felt jealous, how much longer would I have to wait in this hole.

Mark was an indigenous bloke he told me that he was married to Ruby Abbott, a relative of the famous artist Albert Namitjira. Mark had long curly dark hair and a full beard, with blazing eyes, set within a worn and weathered face, he was missing a few teeth and when he spoke it was an effort to understand him.

I remembered an incident from years earlier at the Zoo, a club in the valley.

“You wanna play a game wit me, I’m Ruby Abbott, ya eard o me, I’m an artist, cum on sweety ‘ave a game with old Ruby hey, wadya say?” She placed two one dollar coins on the edge of the pool table.

“My shout, cum on darlin, you scared a old women might beat ya, haha.” She grinned broadly

I looked at the dishevelled aboriginal woman before me. She must have been about 45 and she was very drunk. I felt embarrassed to be picked out from my group of friends, and I didn’t want to appear foolish. So I just tried to ignore her hoping she would go away. I regretted that now, now that I realised she was a person of significance.

“How ya goin mate, the names Shane, but me mates call me Nicko,” He smiled a broad smile and extended his hand toward me. He oozed confidence and was keen to let everyone know how important he was. But it felt good to have him in our section his positive energy and never say die attitude lifted everyone’s spirits.

“How do ya get Nicko from Shane?”

“Me last names Nicholls“

“Can you believe these fuckin screws mate, I just wanna make a fuckin call to me fiancé and these cunts just fuck you round no end. But they wont fuckin get to me, I’ll do the fuckin time standing on me head mate.” Nicko kept pacing back and forth.

There is a strong sense of us and them; it creates a sort of camaraderie among us. The cops are on a power trip, they keep you waiting at every turn and look at you with barely disguised contempt.

“Oh yeah I know Peter and Michael Andre they’re old mates of mine you know, shit I been partying those with those boys for years man. You know the wicked E’s, killer speed and good ol Charlie, we did all that shit together.”

Nicko had said “You’ll be laughin once you get to R&R it’s a palace compared to this fuckin shit hole, you get ya own slot, TV, shower, toilet, fucking privacy and some fuckin smokes, jeez I’d kill for a smoke, juz kidding boys” he laughed heartily.

Another one of my cell mates is Mick. I enjoy having a laugh with him he grins readily and wants to be helpful. He has a long mullet style haircut and he is missing a couple of his front teeth. He has been to gaol before and it is no big deal to him.

“We should get a slot together, ay mate..?”

The cops bring in a young bloke, his clear open face looks out of place here.

“Thank fuck, me boss is going to bail me out, got busted DUI last night after going to the pub, just fuckin knocked off from this big job and I have few fines that haven’t been paid. But luckily the boss said that he would cover it and let me pay him back.” He looks

“Must be a good worker hey, he doesn’t want to loose ya”, Mich remarks.

“Yeah spose that’s it”

I listen to his story and wish that it was me, why are people coming for him, yet on-one will come for me. It hurts to feel so rejected, poor me, what a pathetic fool.

Cameras are watching all the time, we get no sunlight trapped in this dark hole. I feel bored, abondoned, starved, cramped and afraid of what is to come.

eBlogzilla

Chapter 29 - The Valley Police Station

2007-07-02T10:18:00.000+10:00

"Every friend of freedom must be as revolted as I am by the prospect of turning the United States into an armed camp, by the vision of jails filled with casual drug users and of an army of enforcers empowered to invade the liberty of citizens on slight evidence. "
Milton Friedman

August 2000 5:08pm

The cops who arrested me were reasonably friendly at first.

“Just have a seat here sir, this wont take long, now you will probably be charged with possession of a dangerous drug, but once the paper work is done you will be free to go, and you will receive a notice in the mail to appear at court. Is that clear?”

“Yeah.”, I hoped I would be released soon.

“You will just have to bear with me while I process your details on the computer, and you don’t need those on anymore let me take them off”, he reached behind my back to undo the cuffs.

“Can I get you a drink of water?”

“Thanks that would be great”. I thought maybe its going to be OK maybe they won’t find my outstanding fines, I prayed.

The young copper went off to enter my details into a computer. Once he had a look at my computer record, his behaviour changed. He came striding back to where I was sitting, unceremoniously put the handcuffs back on, took me into a small room and sat me down in front of a computer screen. On it I could see my name and in bright red a note mentioning the federal police and a computer theft I was wanted for questioning in relation to.

“It says here that you are a whacko and can’t hold a firearms license as well hey?”, the cop smirked. This was a reference to a time when I had gone to see a Doctor for depression. It was just after the Port Arthur massacre. I told the doctor that I was thinking of buying a semi-automatic rifle and killing a whole lot of people. I didn’t really want to kill a lot of people, I was just trying to show how disturbed I was, so that I would get the help that I needed. It didn’t work.

The doctor told me she would have to inform the authorities and that my name would be placed on a list banning me from getting a gun license. I had always wondered whether she had followed up on that promise.

“Well it looks like your going to be staying with us for a while, you’ve got a hell of a lot of outstanding fines, and it says on the computer that the feds want to talk to you about some stolen computers”

My first impulse was panic. Holly shit I thought, they got me and I am going down for a long time. I felt totally defeated. I desperately wished that someone would help me to get me out of there.

I decided to call my brother to see if he would come and bail me out. I needed about $1500 to get out of gaol. I got my brother’s wife on the phone and left a message. Surely they would get me out. I mean my family was not poor, my brother and wife were both Vets and on good money.

But they would not help. I was shocked I had been certain that they would bail me out, I had no doubt about it. But to have this belief shattered was a painful wake up call. My brothers voice was distant and patronising

Years later he would deny the fact that he had turned me down his response was to state that “But you never asked for help”, what a load of fuckin crap. I must of rang him four or five times to discuss the situation or did I, memory is a curious thing.

I rang my mother, she would not help.

“Its time you faced up to your actions, you need to learn to be responsible”

She felt that it was time to put her foot down. She had always helped me but this was the first time in my life she had turned away. I had never felt so alone in my whole life, I was truly shocked that my family had turned their backs.

My actions were the actions of a sick, screwed up bloke, I needed help, the soft fluffy kind, not more abuse in the form of gaol. The injustice of it was beyond belief, the only victim in my actions was me, yet here I was about to be punished for my addiction and my indigence.

Or were there victims, were my family victims of my reckless and destructive ways, yes they were, they were ripped off lied to and taken advantage of. Later I would try to understand their anguish, but at the time I could only see it through my own eyes.

It was like they wanted this to cure me to fix my problem, maybe gaol would be the answer, the school of hard knocks and all that.

My father was overseas and incommunicado. He distanced himself from me, he like most of the rest of the family were ashamed of me.

I couldn’t help thinking that they were happy to see me in prison to see me suffer for my crimes. I was in full poor me mode.

I rang my mate Darren he seemed sympathetic but he didn’t lift a finger to help me. On the phone he listened with a detached sense of interest, I could hear laughter in the background.

“Yeah we’re watching the grand final, should be a good one, you got a telly there?”

“Oh yeah we got that shit, but you know…………”

Not that I had many friends to call, a couple of years of heroin had seen to that. They listened to my plight and heard my pleas for help but no help was forthcoming.

I felt that I had been abandoned to the whims of the law and feared that the system would consume me. My mind played a montage of images from all the most violent prison movies I had ever seen, the bashing, rapes and murders filled my mind and I felt scared and alone. It was one of the low points of my life.

Chapter 28 - Caught in the Act

2007-07-02T10:11:00.000+10:00

"The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the
manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words,
you can control the people who must use the words."
Philip K. Dick

August 5^th 2000 4pm

I had been off the methadone for nearly 2 months, I had beaten the DUI charges and it was pay day and I felt like a hit. I had so desperately wanted to be free from my addiction, yet here I was about to dive back into the abyss. The physical addiction was gone I was just bored and lost, I didn’t know what else to do.

Now that I was off the drugs the true pathetic nature of my existence was revealed. I was no longer shrouded in a glorious cloud of foggy confusion, now my troubles glared at me in full spectrum vibrant colour. I was unemployed, living at home with mum, I had nothing, I could not see a way out. The threat of prison gone, now the prospect of freedom seemed to offer nothing, but the stark realisation that I am a failure.

So I caught a bus from Mum’s place at Southport to the train station at Helensvale. I settled in for the one hour trip to Brisbane on the train.

Sitting adjacent to me was a young bloke wearing a baseball cap and track suit. His glazed eyes told the story, his body rocking in rhythm with the train as it moved onward, and every couple of minutes, I watched as his head slumped forward slowly, his eyelids closed and he seemed to drift off to sleep, and then he would shake his head, rub his face with his hand and return his glassy eyes to the business of watching the scenery as it passed us by.

He was on the ‘nod’, it was so obvious to me, other people might not know why he was behaving like this, but I sure did. I had seen it so many times, and right now I wanted to feel just like he did.

Glancing around the Valley mall I looked for familiar faces, yet failed to identify any. Since I had burnt all my phone numbers I had to score the hard way. I wished I still had Lee’s number, I didn’t like scoring from total strangers but I couldn’t find anyone I knew so it was my only option.

There was a young aboriginal guy sitting in an alcove in the wall. I walked over “Hey man how are you going?” and sat down next to the bloke.

“Not bad bro”, he had a stony expression on his face.

“You know where I can score some ‘harry’ around here?”

The young bloke’s eyes lit up, “Oh yeh, might be able ta help ya out. There wus a fella ere jus a minut ago, e’ll be back soon.”

“Good shit man, I’m hanging out! Look I’ll just go down the road and get some picks from the chemist.” I was breaking my own ritual never collect the picks before I get the gear.

“Oh yeah, I’ll cum witch ya, bro, by the way names Brody, wats yours bro?” He put his hand out.

“Dave”. Introductions complete we began our quest.

It was about 4pm and the Valley mall was quiet. A few workers hurried along, a handful of homeless people and junkies hanging out in the centre of the mall. The cafes that line it were sprinkled with the afternoon coffee drinkers, the young and the restless.

Waiting at the lights to cross the road, I spotted a familiar face. It was a woman in her late thirties, bad teeth but nice eyes.

“Hey love, know where I can score?”

She looked startled as if under attack, “What are you talking about?”

“You know ‘harry’…”

“No I don’t know anyone called Harry.”

“Nah, I’m talking about smack, horse, hammer, heroin, the big H, I got some off you a few weeks ago, don’t you remember me?”

“Me it must have been a long time ago, I’m not into that shit anymore!” She kept walking.

“Oh………… Ok”

I took one last look at her as the walk light illuminated and thought, her eyes were clear, maybe she was clean, or maybe she thought I was a narc. She cast doubt into my mind. I thought it was only a few weeks ago, yet she was adamant it had been many months. What had happened? The drugs created a time warp. I existed in the void, the drugs created a cloud that enveloped all. I had lost time. Like the victim of a UFO abduction there was a gap in my experience of reality that my conscious mind was unable to bridge.

I thought, hopefully this bloke will not rip me off. I remembered that time I had met those guys in Dooley’s in the Valley years ago. It was when I had just started using heroin and didn’t really have any contacts. They looked like junkies and so I asked them if they could score.

“Yeah sure I can get some good shit for ya mate, but we’ll have to take a ride out to Bardon, you got any money for fuel?”

“Yeah no worries mate. Let’s do it.”

We drove down to a service station and put $10 in the car. Then we drove out to Bardon and pulled up at a bus stop.

“Righty oh then mate you just give us the $100 bucks and we’ll come back in few minutes with the gear.”

“Come back?”

“Yeah you can’t come with us mate, what were you thinking, but don’t worry we wont be long, alright, so just give us the cash and take a seat at the bus stop. OK”

I gave him $100 and said, “But how do I know you’ll come back?”

“Look take me fuckin ring alright, we’ll be back just relax, alright, now get out of the car so we can go and get this shit the sooner we leave the sooner you can have your smack, alright.”

I took the silver ring, stepped out of the car and took a seat at the bus stop. They never came back but I got to keep the silver ring valued at about $5.00 and learned to never give money without getting the drugs.

Brody was dressed in trainers a baseball cap and had the demeanour of the defeated. He walked along with eye’s down cast,

I got the fits and went back up to the mall. After waiting for a few minutes Brody’s mate turned up, he didn’t introduce himself, just asked us to follow him and we did dutifully. The dealer walked down into a dingy alley and sidled up to me and said”What cha want bro?”

“Just a 50 would be cool”

“No worries man, you got the cash”

“Cheers, here you go” he handed me a triangular piece of paper with a small lump in it.

“Thanks man”

The transaction complete we parted company. Brody and I wandered back out into the mall.

“Ya gunna shouts us a taste arnt ya bro”

“For sure dude where we goin ta boot up?”

“Well fuckin cops are always watching the dunnies, I reckon we ga down b’side train line in nat carpark”

“Oh, Ok,….” I was a bit unsure, I didn’t like shooting up in the open, it was risky, but for some reason I just let Brody lead the way. One of those times when I failed to assert myself, that leads to resentment, frustration and for me outrageous outbursts.

Sitting in the dim light of the car park, I could see the train platform off to my left, an alley leading back on to the main street on my right and an entry to the car park right in front of me.

As I sat there I had this funny feeling and thought this is a fucking stupid ass place to shoot up, it’s right out in the fucking open. While I thought this , I hurriedly tried to mix up my shot. As I was doing so I watched with horror as a police car pulled into the parking lot and came straight for us.

Oh fuck, I panicked. I had got to the point of mixing the gear and sucking it up into the syringe, but instead of injecting it or getting rid of it I put it down my pants.

The cop car pulled up and two young constables jumped out.

“Ah Brody what are you up to me old mate? Bloody mischief I’ll bet.” The young cop smirked menacingly.

Brody looked at the ground and put his hands in his pockets.

“You got a mate with ya too, what are you boys doin down here?”

The cops knew Brody and probably thought that anyone hanging out with him was up to no good, which was true.

Visions of calamity and disaster passed through my mind. I had thousands of dollars in unpaid warrants, was wanted for questioning in regard to stealing and was now caught with heroin, and due to spend several months maybe years in gaol.

After all my family had done for me paying for the Barrister and solicitor to help me stay out of gaol, I had stumbled into it myself. At least I didn’t have a major habit I had only been dabbling since I got of the methadone, so I would not have to endure any withdrawals. Furthermore, I had been training again for a month and taking steroids so I felt strong, what little comfort that was.

Because I was busted I never got to have the heroin I bought with Brody’s assistance. I had not had any smack for nearly three weeks, and now that I was going to gaol I was assured of some dry straight ass times.

Chapter 27 - Court

2007-07-02T10:03:00.000+10:00

Feb 2000

In order to beat the rap my parents were able to pay for excellent legal counsel. Although they would pay for the lawyers and barrister no one from my family would come to court with me, I faced my fate alone.

I was able to retain a barrister by the name of Bob Brewer the best DUI barrister in Queensland no less. He had defended Jeff’s dad (my mate from uni) on DUI and now they were good mates. With this reference I was introduced to Bob.

Jeff’s Dad was Croatian, and he had be-friended

Vladko was a very friendly bloke he had come here during the fifties working on the Snowy River Scheme, but he still spoke with a heavy accent.

Mr Brewer represented one Dave Groehl of the Foo Fighters (special guest star now 65 yrs old) and Nirvana fame. While at the Big Day out, Dave had decided to ride a scooter from the concert to a local pub. However, en route he was pulled over by Police and charged with drink driving.

This story appeared in the local paper.

January 23, 2000 Dave Grohl over the limit
Foo Fighters frontman Dave Grohl was arrested for drink-driving on the Gold Coast when his moped was pulled over at a checkpoint after his Big Day Out gig. "I told them I could just walk to the hotel," Grohl told interviewers, "but they said, ‘Sorry, mate, gonna have to put you in the watch-house tonight.’ "

Dave Grohl: The Nirvana/Foo Fighters guru copped a fine and no conviction in the Gold Coast court last year, for being drunk on a rented motor scooter. Our spy reckons he might have blown .15%.

He signed a few autographs and as he waited for his limo.

We walked into court and I felt important. I had my Solicitor and Barrister with me. Everyone in the court seemed to know Bob. The prosecutor, the judge and several other people came up to him and said hi.

I knew I was going to get off. Without Bob I knew that I would be destined for prison. This was the fear that had been going through my mind. I was truly terrified of the idea.

The two Dave’s both caught DUI and both saved by the same Brewer.

Kim Tard was a loan shark to the poor, the desperate and the addicted. His business was called Shark Money Services. I knew him from the gym but the Gold Coast is a small world and it wasn’t long before I made a connection. Every time I saw him at the gym he was driving a different luxury vehicle. Porsches, Ferraris, and Harleys.

On more than one occasion I had heard Tard discussing his business.

“I don’t give a fuck, what their problem is, if they don’t fucking pay they can expect a fuckin visit.” For visit read bashing.

“Yeah we had to do an acid job on the bitch, she wasn’t fucking paying so what do you expect.”

I asked him to give me a spot one day when I was training he glared at me but agreed to assist. I never asked him again.

Ralph had mentioned that he had taken out a loan from a bodybuilder and I was always keen to raise some cash, and so wanted to use his services. However, Ralph never gave me the contact details, and I later worked out why. You see if you introduced anyone to Tard you became partially liable if anything went wrong with the loan.

While I was waiting outside the court I saw Kim Tard swagger in with his legal team. I wondered why he was in court today. I followed him into the small crowded court room and found one of the few remaining seats.

Tard was 120 kgs of solid steroid driven muscle and was about 6’ 2”. Kim was also known as BA, for battery acid, because this is what he threw in face of people who didn’t pay up. That was after he had bashed the shit out em of course.

Kim was taken to court by a one of his customers a junkie by the name of Flowing River. Kim had roughed up Flowing a bit when he failed to come good on an instalment. The court was told that Kim sprayed an “alkaline chemical like ammonia in both his eyes, leaving him permanently blind in his right eye”.

Flowing came to court with an eye patch and arm in a sling.

But Kim had a great legal team. Tard denied ever loaning him money and there were no records to back it up. Tard’s barrister said that, “The prosecution case relied on these two witnesses who were terribly unreliable and had a very long history of heroin addiction”. Tard got off and outside court he thanked the judge and jury for restoring his faith in the judicial system. What a load of crap this bloke was as guilty as sin, he just had the money to make him right. Later I saw him in the Chris Nyst movie “Getting Square”, standing in the pool with Joe Bugner as one of the bodyguards.