Friday, 27 July 2007

Epilogue - Part One

"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 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?

(All material copyright © 2007 GR Klein)

Tuesday, 24 July 2007

Chapter 42 - The Leaning of Mife

"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.

Wednesday, 18 July 2007

Chapter 41 - We are all in this soup together

“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.

Chapter 40 Game Over

``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………………………………………………… 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”

“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…..”


“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'


Saturday, 7 July 2007

Chapter 39 - Nimbin Again

"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”
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.”
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.”

Tuesday, 3 July 2007

Chapter 37 - Respawn 8

"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”

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Monday, 2 July 2007

Chapter 36 - Redemption

“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

“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.


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”.


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…..”


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.


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.


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.”


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.

Who links to me?