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Ididntcomeback
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« on: February 08, 2009, 12:10:17 PM »

                             Sense of Doubt .
                                          

This is a cold blooded factual account of my involvement in Scientology .
The factors that led up to it, what happened during my 20 year involvement
and my escape from the most dangerous cult the world has ever seen.
I will omit names only to save embarrassment of innocent parties in this saga.
However I will delete any names or identifying information upon request.

I am also open to any corrections or challenges to what I have to say.
Any legal threats or fairgaming I receive will become part of the story.
I will not be intimidated or blackmailed.

My purpose in writing this is threefold plus one.
1.) It will be therapeutic for me.
2.) It may help current scientologists to awaken from Hubbard`s fantasy.
3.) It will provide an insight to anons as to what being a scientologist is all about.
Plus one. It may inspire you to write your story.

I welcome any comments or feedback whether positive or negative.

                                    Part One.

                           From the frying pan....


   I was four years old when I realized I had no identity.
One sunny day I`d wandered, unsupervised, down the gravel road outside our home in Mangere. The road soon descended into a dirt track and there were large oak trees to the right surrounding a home owned by a reclusive German immigrant gentleman. This was 1962, and one can only wonder what stories he kept to himself. But back then I had no such curiosity.

What had taken my interest was the market garden opposite that was being worked by a Chinese couple.
They lived in a yellow one room hut. As I looked at the rows of lettuces I saw a pond nearby with a few ducks paddling in it.

Then it struck me. I was suddenly aware I existed. How can this be ? At that moment a dark void surrounded me.
I felt fear. I was nothing. I had no identity. I ran home convincing myself that I`d find a sense of security being surrounded by familiar faces and activities.

My favourite activity was putting records on our old valve gramophone and listening to stories like "Peter and the wolf." I`d snuggle up with my ear against the speaker and get completely lost in these stories.
These moments would inevitably be interrupted by my father, who would enter the house, and berate my mother for letting me sit in a cold room when I should be out in the sun. So I`d be chased outside. After a few times of this happening my father decided to put me to work in his glasshouses which covered our property.

I tried hard to keep up as Dad was leading me through the rows of tomato plants that towered above me. We got to the far end and went to the corner of the glasshouse. Then he proceeded to point out the little stems that were sprouting out where the leaves were. These are called laterals he told me.
You need to pull all these out and just remove any of the large leaves that are in the way. I got it. So for the next couple of hours I was essentially pruning tomato plants.

Then my older brother, who was six at the time, arrived home from school and had been sent down to help me with the work. I had to show him what to do.
I carried on in the row I was in and my brother set off to do a new row.
Shortly after my father arrived and started screaming at my brother.
I came out to see what was happening. I only had a chance to glance at the row of plants that my brother had virtually stripped clean when Dad picked him up in a ball, threw him to the ground and kicked him like a football. He sailed past me and landed in a heap crying in utter humiliation.
Then I watched in slow motion as Dad came to get me. He grabbed me spun me around and picked me up by the hips then threw me forcfully to the ground causing me to bounce and then I felt his foot impact the small of my back as I was drop kicked a few meters through the air.

I did not cry !!!!!

It wasn`t till 16 years later when I sat in an auditing chair that I bawled like a baby when I recounted that day.

But that`s still a long way off...
« Last Edit: February 10, 2009, 11:18:54 PM by Ididntcomeback » Logged
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« Reply #1 on: February 08, 2009, 07:20:25 PM »

                                    Sense of Doubt

                                             Part 2.

                     Second turn on the right and straight on till morning.

For now I was at the mercy of a violent, conceited, slave master. I saw no way out. My prospects were bleak. My siblings and I were a source of free labour for him.
After school, weekends and holidays we "earned our keep."
When my older sister back chatted him once on this point with the comment
"Well that would be fine if we had a keep worth earning" he beat her to a bloody pulp.
Dad had been an  athlete in the 1952 Olympic Games in Helsinki, Finland.
He was also a big wrestling fan and used to bring wrestlers to New Zealand for
Exhibition bouts.

Dad used any excuse to try out his new wrestling moves on any women or children that he perceived had an attitude. By the time this was put to an end by the justice system Dad had assaulted 16 kids from the neighborhood not counting his own.

Occasionally some luckless kid would get work during the holidays with us kids.
They did get paid. (We didn`t) But frequently they`d do something to piss him off
and they`d get a beating and kicked off the property.

When occasionally  a friend would accompany me home from school, my father
would put them to work as well. As a result I didn`t have many friends come round more than once.


Then something strange started to happen to me.
When I slept at night I used to go flying around the neighborhood.
I`d only get glimpses of it but I knew it was real as I would come crashing back into  my body like being hit by a freight train. So it was really just the falling that stayed in my conscious memory. Further confirmation came  when my mother
told me one morning when I got up, that she`d heard a terrible crash in the night and had come and found me laying on the wooden floor completely the wrong way around. Mum had been amazed that I had fallen from the top bunk, done a somersault and was still sleeping soundly.

When I was seven my teacher read us "The nursery Peter Pan."
I was gob smacked. I`m not the only one. There is another boy who can fly.
I got the book out of the school library and copied the whole story word for word in an old exercise book.

I was obsessed with Peter Pan. And then I discovered Disney had made a cartoon of it. I was in heaven. I loved the fight scenes where Captain Hook tried all he could to hurt Peter, but Peter out maneuvered him and flew away.
I found this very empowering.

After each tomato crop was done for the season, we had the job of uprooting all the old plants and piling them on a trailer for removal. But there were all these over ripe baby tomatoes that were not fit for market laying everywhere. At some point in the proceedings the inevitable tomato fight would begin. We partied hard. We were kids doing mens work and this was our release. I was a crack shot. My throwing arm was lethal.

The battle would get quite out of hand and sure enough Dad would come marching down to re-establish order. But it looked like such fun that even he couldn`t resist  grabbing a couple of tomatoes and hurling them lovingly at his children. The stupid fuck. My siblings would fire a barrage of fresh ripe fruit at him like machine guns. That was my signal. I drew my arm back like a sniper and sent my special juicy tomato straight at his balls with such ferocity he bent over to catch his breath. I reloaded and planted a real squisher right on his forehead. I`m seeing this as a slow motion action replay and smiling broadly as I write this.
He shuffled away looking like a war casualty.

"Okay. That`s enough. !!!   Back to work.!!!" he commanded

"See you next season you retarded gorilla." I muttered.




« Last Edit: February 10, 2009, 11:02:34 PM by Ididntcomeback » Logged
AnonKiwi
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« Reply #2 on: February 08, 2009, 11:07:31 PM »

Look forward to more
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« Reply #3 on: February 09, 2009, 12:14:39 AM »

You've got an amazing memory from 4 years old, and so much detail. Looks like that Dianetics might have worked after all!!!!  More please.....

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« Reply #4 on: February 09, 2009, 08:19:13 AM »

                                    SENSE OF DOUBT.

                                           

Thanks for the comments.  Yes I do have a very good memory. I figured it out
one day. The whole mega memory thing that that Canadian guy Trudeau made
a fortune with and then blew it, when he started recommending people read Dianetics, was stolen from a guy called Harry Lorraine. I was reading Harry`s book
and realized that I wasn`t going to remember all his systems for positioning information in the minds filing cabinets. I just wasn`t that interested.

Then it struck me....you remember what you are INTERESTED in.
My childhood best friend Jimmy Chung could tell you the players on every sports team , when they played, and what the score was. He was interested in sports.

My interests were many and varied. However if I was to show up on a quiz show
and be asked a barrage of sports question my pat answer would be "pass"

The other trick I learned is when you can`t recall something , like an actors name, never let it go. Stay on the case till it arrives. As soon as you allow your memory to disappoint you. The rot sets in.

Some of the above may seem off topic. My life pre scientology surely is not of
any relevance....  Well... I`m afraid that`s one of the things I want to tie up
nicely further down the track. Your life experiences are what makes you susceptible to Hubbard`s trap. I was being groomed to become the ideal Scientology victim.

                                          part 3

                                       Nature studies.

We had a large packing shed and occasionally we would spend our evenings
packing tomatoes into boxes ready for pick up in the morning.
One night a cat had made its way into the packhouse and was hiding behind some piles of paint tins and tools.

My father took exception to this and grabbed one of the tools. I don`t know what you`d call it. Kind of a machete with a long handle. Us kids couldn`t help but be distracted from our work as Dad poked and prodded at this cat.
It was hissing and snarling and trying to get deeper behind all the items piled up there. Dad was meanwhile dragging out everything in his way.

Eventually the cat had no choice but to make a break for it. But Dad was ready for it. He swung the machete repeatedly at the cat. Blood, guts and fur flew all
around. We just stood there stunned as our father hacked this cat to bits.

I don`t believe it. I`m actually crying as I write this.

There are certain things that happen in your life that just don`t leave you.
You can get any therapy you like. But these things have modified who you are.

I`ve never had a pet. Never will.

Because my father owned a few large properties he used to have sheep
on them to keep the grass down.
But when the grass was getting too long at one, he`d have to move the four sheep to it. My father realized with a bit of push and shove he could get them into his car. I`m just writing what happened okay.

The sheep really did not like being put in a car. They`d put up a hell of a fight.
But Dad was up to the challenge. He would wrestle them to exhaustion and then throw them in shutting the door promptly. He wasn`t getting enough satisfaction
with wrestling sometimes so he`d use boxing.

I`m one of the few people in the world who have seen a sheep get a knock out punch. If you ever saw a car drive by that had sheep in it with bloody noses,
that was my Dad. 

I`m not even going to get into the time he towed a horse behind his truck down the motorway. Picture truck, rope, horse.  You got it.

Because I wasn`t getting any love at home. I started looking for love in the arms of other children. Just typical innocent curious kids stuff. "You show me yours.
And I`ll show you mine.
However soon after these episodes my father would motion to me with his finger to follow him. He`d take me to his bedroom and say. "I hear you have been playing rudies." (????)

I of course realized what he was talking about and just baffled how he could know so I asked him.  His reply every time was..."A little dickey bird told me."

Then I had to remove my trousers and underwear and he`d pull a belt out
of a drawer and whip my arse with it. It`s when I learned that the hitting would
stop soon after you audibly made it sound like you were tormented to the brink of extinction.  So my "no crying" policy was the last bit of dignity to be destroyed.
I was without an identity again.

I started to wet the bed.

My mother was totally overwhelmed . She had seven kids and appearances to
keep up. Back then it mattered what the neighbors thought.
She did see a break for us on Sunday mornings by enrolling us at the local Sunday school.

I was intrigued. There is the guy called God who made me and loves me
and he had a son named Jesus who came here to save me.

Tell me more.....





 
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« Reply #5 on: February 09, 2009, 04:04:34 PM »

                            Sense of Doubt.


                          The day the sun went out.

                                    Part 4.


Religion is a very emotive subject.
Some of you believe there is a God and some of you think it`s a load of baloney.

I`ll show you why it`s such a tricky subject to cover.
I write something that indicates which side of the line I`m on and
immediately lose rapport with those on the other.

I don`t want to lose any of you so I`m going to sit on the fence right now.

Anything you think I`m saying as a definitive statement is in actuality
me just dangling my feet. Anyhow I`m talking about the early 60`s here.
A lot has changed since then.

We went along to the local Anglican church in Mangere East.
Years later I was to perform in their hall, as part of a band called "Watties baked beans"
The band leader was a guy called Wattie. No shit !!!

Anyhow the first half of the Sunday service was in the main church
where hymns were sung and a sermon was delivered by Reverend Vercoe.
I have to say...you`d be hard pressed to meet a more decent human being.
He just exuded love and had a smile that melted your heart.
For the second half the kids were tended to by parents who read us stories about Jesus.

They seemed to make him out to be some sort of a super hero.
You know.... man can`t see...In flies Jesus . Problem solved.
"Who was that masked man ? "
I don`t know but he left a silver cross.

It seemed to me like all Jesus was doing was going around fixing all his Dad`s fuck ups. I could relate to that.

And as for God. He was watching everything we do. Making sure we didn`t misbehave.
So he was the arsehole who`d been telling my father about my extra curricular activities.

I was asked to take God into my heart and accept Jesus as my savior.
I renounced them both. "Fuck you !!!"

I had started going to the local movie theater and had seen a number of
Elvis Presley movies.  Now here was a guy I could take into my heart
and accept as my savior. How ironic that when you go into those
pokey $2.00 shops these days, they have wall rugs for sale of Jesus and of Elvis.
I rest my case.

But God had the last laugh.

I`d gotten friendly with this lonely man who hung out at Mangere Railway station.
I`d told him of my fascination for astronomy and he used to cut items out
of magazines and newspapers for me.
One day out of the blue he told me that "some scientist had predicted that the sun would go out tomorrow.  " Yeah right. !!!

I rode my bike home pondering it for a moment but ultimately rejected it as ridiculous.
The next morning I was awoken early by my mother telling me to come out and look at the sun. I scrambled out of bed and looked towards the heavens. There on the horizon was the sickest looking sun I`d ever seen. It was a dull red and the thing is you could look right at it.

I remembered what the guy at the railway station had told me as my mother said
the lady from across the road, who was highly religious, had been over earlier
telling all that this was Armageddon. The world was ending. Pray for your sins
before it is too late.

This was all too big for my tiny little mind.
I was terrorized beyond belief.
I ran to my room and remembering what I`d seen in church I got on my knees
and prayed to God.

"Dear God please don`t make the world end. I`ll do anything. I`ll be good.
I`ll change. I`ll really make an effort. Just please, please please, don`t
let the world end. "

                           Amen.

I`d completely overlooked Jesus, But I figured if he couldn`t climb down off a cross, he really wasn`t going to save the day. He was no fucking super hero.
At least I got that sorted.

Later that day....

Oh...... you want to know what happened to the world.
Sorry I got off on something else. 
There had been a big burn off of timber
down country somewhere and the smoke got pushed up into the atmosphere,
although invisible from where we were, was making the sun appear dull red.
Apparently there had been an item in the paper the previous day alerting
people to the possibility.

Later that day I saw the lonely guy at the railway station.
He was highly amused by his practical joke.
I looked into his smiley face and saw a complete idiot.

In fact there should be an entry in every dictionary for the word idiot.
It would say..."A practical joker."

"Oh the world didn`t end. For a moment I was almost psychotic with fear
thinking it would. You are a very witty guy. Here peep into the barrel of this shotgun for a moment."

I met up with my good friend Jim. He reminded me that he became my friend
after I went to his home one day singing "Strawberry fields forever" by The Beatles.
I`d forgotten all about it. Somehow he dropped the word Scientology into the conversation.
"What`s that I asked?" We were only ten or so. He said "I don`t know. But
my father gets letters from them.
" Scientology mmmm ?????
Okay lets go have a smoke."

Jim`s dad had a cigarette machine, from a failed business venture, in his shed
so we`d go and help ourselves to them and eat grapes off the neighbors vine.

Grape , puff, grape, puff.  Ah heaven and hell . I realized I was unhappy to be alive.
Dad hated smokers. He could beat a smoker till they quit.
Let me just light up another one in his memory.  Ahhh !

I look back now and wonder if it was my prayer that saved the world the day
the sun went out.  I was thoroughly humiliated by the experience.
It wouldn`t be the last time I would be humiliated for "saving the world."



« Last Edit: February 14, 2009, 08:39:52 AM by Ididntcomeback » Logged
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« Reply #6 on: February 10, 2009, 12:05:14 AM »

                            SENSE OF DOUBT          

                                     Part five

                      My UFO encounter of the worst kind.

My home life was like living on a knife edge. When would the next outburst
of violence occur ? What further humiliation would I have to endure?

I`m not going to burden you with every incident that occurred.  I`m sure you`ve got the idea by now that my life sucked.  However there are just a few more things needed before I can be picked up by Hubbard`s minions.

My father owned and ran a glasshouse building company. He was away more and more as that grew. He built glasshouses all over the north island and had a staff of about 10-15 men working for him. Sometimes he`d go out of town for a few days.
When he left the house would be full of music and laughter. When he returned
everything was quiet and tense.

We`d also learned that by joining clubs and groups we could be away from the
house and out of harms way. So I joined  Scouts, Judo, Gymnastics, piano lessons, hockey, cricket, the Astronomical society.... Shit I would have joined the KKK if they held meetings in our town.
( You get that one down Mike ?)

My sister who was 4 years older than me started to become a woman.
One evening my father had been driving past the Metro theatre in Mangere,
where a lot of groups held their meetings. Unfortunately he saw my sister
then sixteen, out the front...."talking to ...BOYS."
Dad pulled the car up, marched over ,grabbed her , threw her in the car
and started hitting her all the way home. Once home he dragged her inside
and continued to beat her for maybe 15 minutes. All the while warning her
of the horrors of "sexual intercourse."

After these assaults he`d always unwind by clearing his throat and spitting
out phlegm. It was a ritual I grew all too familiar with.

The sixties had spawned a whole new cultural phenomenon in the west.
The Teenager. Dad was on a one man crusade to put an end to it.
Us boys started to let our hair grow long and our sister got a few short dresses.
Once Dad saw what was going on he went ballistic. My sisters
short dresses were thrown out and "respectable" clothing was forced on her.
Meanwhile dad discovered that one of his acquaintances had been a barber
in the army. So we were marched over there regularly to get the sort of hair cuts you
need to travel the world , meet interesting people, and kill them.

I started star gazing ...dreaming that a starman would come and take me away.

One night I watched a light moving in the sky. We lived near the airport so there was nothing strange about that. Till it stopped and went back the other way, stopped again and went back again.
I could hear no sound. This was no plane. I went inside and grabbed a pair
of binoculars and peered at this light excitedly. For half an hour it just went to and fro across the sky. It`s hard to get a reference point in explaining the size of something in the sky.
This thing was as bright as Venus , and it was moving eight moon widths across the sky at about 45 degrees from the horizon.

I could make out no shape. It did seem to be getting brighter and dimmer but it was so hard to tell.
Suddenly without warning I was hit from behind. It was like someone had clouted me with a cricket bat.
I lost my breath and stumbled to the ground. I turned around and there was no one there.

I couldn`t move for a few seconds, I was terrified. 

Eventually I made it inside and told my mother that something bad had happened to me.
She couldn`t make any sense of what I was saying but she was spooked by
my demeanor.

The next day she made an appointment for me to see the doctor.
I told him what had happened ...minus the UFO.

He wrote out a prescription and informed me I`d had a nervous breakdown.

I walked home straight past the chemist tossing the prescription in the bin.

Please save me from this .  Please help me. I asked the universe to bring
me someone to help me.   I ................................had no identity.

« Last Edit: July 01, 2016, 09:39:01 AM by Ididntcomeback » Logged
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Seize the moment


« Reply #7 on: February 10, 2009, 01:08:23 PM »

Keep going, idcb - If there was a popcorn smilie I'd put it on ....

Great read, sad, but great.
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« Reply #8 on: February 10, 2009, 04:51:06 PM »

                               SENSE OF DOUBT.

                                     Part six.

                                A Brilliant mind.

My older brother arrived home from school one day. He could smell something was up. Dad had had the glasshouses fumigated with tear gas. You could smell it all the way home from school, despite the glasshouses being sealed off tightly.
Unfortunately, my brother had come up through the back of the section and stumbled on our father laying unconscious on the otherwise bare earth inside
one of the glasshouses.

The hose was running beside Dad and further off in the other glasshouse a sprinkler was spraying water all around it.

Had it not been for my brother, my father would have perished that day.
I don`t know how we would have all coped ................with the party.

Never one to let a good deed go unrewarded dad sent my brother back into
the glasshouse to continue hosing the gas ( ???? ) while he recovered up at the house.

According to dad, if you sprayed the ground with water it would keep the
tear gas in the ground longer to kill the bugs.  My brother was to use his
finger to make the hose spray a wide area, as he walked to and fro.
Dad gave another suggestion, that my brother lean forwards and breath the
air just above the water spray. That was safest. This was very reassuring.
It had passed the strictest safety tests just minutes before.

Pretty soon it was my turn.
Once a year we would spend hours hosing tear gas in the glasshouses.
We`d be sick for days afterwards. Still had to go to school though.
Otherwise you`d spend your sick day hosing gas.

I`ve got one more for ya`ll.

There were some pretty rough kids at the nearby Intermediate school and Dad
overheard my brothers complaining about the beatings they were getting at school.

Being knowledgeable in  hand to child combat Dad proceeded to instruct my brothers in self defense.
His instructions were to stand rigidly ,place your left hand on your right shoulder,
then keeping your right arm straight, proceed to elevate it directly in front of
you till it was level with your shoulder and then bring it back down to your side.
Do this repeatedly till the assailant gives up.

Oh and to try to engage the assailant in conversation about wrestling.

All the beatings we could have avoided flashed through my mind.
Why had we not been told of this before ??

I should point out that if I hear of Miscavige using this technique
when he`s sent to the big house... I will sue his sorry arse.
As the descendant of this specimen I have first dibs on the copyright.

I should end off here. This chapter could fill a book. And I`m getting off topic.

Something amazing was about to happen and I want to get started on that.

 
 












« Last Edit: February 13, 2009, 07:39:45 AM by Ididntcomeback » Logged
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« Reply #9 on: February 12, 2009, 12:37:35 AM »

                                 SENSE OF DOUBT.

                                    Part seven.

                                 incomparable magnitude.

Well this is fascinating. I`ve had a few feeble efforts to shut me down today.
Someone doesn`t want what I have to say to get out. I did say in Part one that
I will not be intimidated or blackmailed. But for those trying to...I just want to do you a favour and explain something your mother Hubbard never taught you.

Firstly ... Everything is vibrationally based. It has a frequency. All of our senses are interpreters of vibration. The flows we emanate have a frequency.  What we perceive is based on our flexibility and willingness to tune in.

But when something comes in and sets our stuff off, it is because it has set in motion two already incompatible beliefs within ourselves that we are unwilling to inspect, yet have been aware of, on some level.

We try to remedy this discomfort by attacking the perceived exterior source.
And thus deny ourselves the opportunity to look within for the true source.
No one can do this for us. It takes guts.
I consider these attacks on myself as gifts beyond value. Your messages to me are my intentions made manifest.

Continuing my story is my gift to you. There is no other way I know of.

   " If you remember the sixties, you weren`t there."

When Neil Armstrong set foot upon the moon his first words were;
"That`s one small step for (a) man. One giant leap for mankind."

I prefer that to the a fore mentioned quote when thinking of the 60`s.

They were so pivotal in altering the course of history and indeed evolution.
The kids saw the stuffyness they were being groomed for, and thanks
to inspiration from a few great thinkers of the time, the collective consciousness of youth decided to "turn on, tune in, and drop out."

Nothing reflects this better than the music. Try listening to anything pre Elvis,
and you expect someone to come on over a loud speaker and say "medication time."

The sixties were vibrant times and gave birth to "the activist."
The young were taking to the streets and challenging the authority
figures who were telling them how to dress, what to think, who not to sit next to on a bus,  how to dis empower the fairer sex, and who to kill.

The freedoms people take for granted today were won for them in the 60`s.
Sure..... not all those freedoms came to maturity in the 60`s. But that`s
where they were born.

We`d have to wait till into the 2000`s before anything like the 60`s would happen again.
And this time without the drugs. This time for greater stakes.

Because there were non slave labour workers on our property there would
always be a radio playing. This is back in the days when listening to the radio
was something to be enjoyed rather than endured.

So I got to hear the sixties rather than experience them personally.

Elvis had kicked the door down. The Beatles came through it, and Bob Dylan
started knocking on other doors.

My dad tolerated the radio, but he really had no interest in anything that didn`t
induce sweat. He`d a really good thing going. A thriving glasshouse building company
and a team of free labourers making him a fortune from home.

But what do they say... "A fool and his money are soon parted."

As we entered the 70`s Dad announced that he was broke !!!
He didn`t say it in as many words...  What he actually did was
cry endlessly and mumble to us kids, as we kept him afloat financially,
"Your daddy`s been a fool darlings ."

When he didn`t get any sympathy from us he changed that to

"All the things I`d planned for you are now gone."

What things ? I wondered.

I heard back from one of my siblings that the plans were for us
to each go for an overseas trip.

Within a month someone who could think, looked through Dad`s psychotic
book keeping and realized he wasn`t broke at all.

Dad became his old self again. My older sister had had enough. She slipped
away one night and never slept in the family home again.

Dad set off on an overseas trip with a buddy of his.
................................................................................................
I thought something amazing was supposed to happen !!!!

Maybe it did.





 
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« Reply #10 on: February 12, 2009, 08:52:32 AM »

                            SENSE OF DOUBT.

                                         Part eight

                               There`s a starman waiting in the sky.

While Dad was away we partied hard. We watched the Television past 9 o`clock, and ate cornflakes instead of lumpy porridge.

Apparently my sister had partied hard as well by having "sexual intercourse".
She was now a mother. While dad was away she was a frequent visitor to the
house.

We probably would have toned things down a bit had we known that one of the other frequent visitors to the house was a spy.
Over the years many women had worked for my father. Every one of them had quit suddenly and unexpectedly..... Except for Alison. She stayed.
She befriended the whole family and used to love hearing what we were thinking about.
I should have known something was up when she didn`t find my "Mission Impossible " package amusing. In fact I could tell she found it quite offensive.

I`d recorded a cassette " Hello Mr. Phelps. .......  Your mission , should you decide to accept it......  . "  It was accompanied by a large envelope containing photos of my father.  I don`t remember what her mission was. But she definitely wanted no part of it. So the whole gag self destructed in five seconds.

When Dad did get back from "our" overseas trip he knew everything that had happened in his absence, right down to the cornflakes.

What annoyed him most was that my older sister had become what he`d
fought so hard to prevent. (A person) And my mother still loved her.
And welcomed her into the family home.                                                                                           

She paid dearly for that. This beating was more severe than previous ones.
When it was over mum reached for the phone and minutes later the police arrived
and took Dad to Jail.  Mum had been told to rest up and not to worry herself,
Dad would be kept incarcerated till she had time enough to get her senses back.

I felt so bad for mum. She went to bed early that evening. I took her in a cup of tea and tried to soothe her. "Everything will be alright now. It`s over."
Just then the door burst open and my father stood there glaring at us like Robert De Niro in "Cape Fear."

Nothing was said. Much was understood.
Then he was gone. A stench from the depths of hell permeated the room.

I moved in with a neighbor. I feared for my life.

It`s difficult to concentrate on algebra when you know you are going to die.
I had to keep going to school. By now I was a third former at Auckland Boys
Grammar. Dad had enrolled me there as he`d gone there as a cub.
Of course he`d done the school proud with his athletic achievements,
poor old Henry Cooper assumed I  would shine more glory on the school.

I`ll never forget the day I was just walking the  streets of New Market,
on my way to the train,
when I walked past a record shop. Like a bolt from the blue my eyes were
drawn to a massive window display with a giant sized poster of...
PETER PAN.   What the fuck ????
There he was with his red hair and green jumpsuit.

I pressed my face against the display window.

"The rise and fall of Ziggy Stardust and the spiders from Mars."
DAVID BOWIE...

I needed a seat. What was happening ??
di di  di di di di di di .....There`s a staaaaaaaaaar mAn waiting in the sky.
He`d like to come and meet us,
But he thinks he`d blow our minds.....

There`s a  staaaaaaar......

I`m gonna stop here.
I can`t get the song out of my head.
And I can`t get the feeling out of my soul.





 

« Last Edit: February 17, 2009, 07:39:26 AM by Ididntcomeback » Logged
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« Reply #11 on: February 12, 2009, 11:23:11 PM »

                           SENSE OF DOUBT     


                                      Part nine.

                           Clowns to the left of me,
                            Jokers to the right,
                             Here I am.... Stuck in the middle with you.

Thanks for sticking it out with me this far. The next two chapters are not for the squeamish.
I won`t think less of you if you skip over them.
The fact that there are further chapters should reassure you that we will survive this.

You ready...?
Here goes then....

For a week I lived next door to my family home . A dispute dad had created
with these neighbors meant there was no interaction and the high bamboo
hedge acted like the Berlin wall.

Each day I`d set off to school on my bike and race past our driveway with my eyes straight ahead.
Till one morning, early, I was called to the phone. It was my mother.
"Your father is here and he says you are to come home right now."
I could feel the psychological gun being held to her head, in her voice.

You know that feeling you get when the dentist tells you what he`s
going to do to you, but won`t make eye contact? That`s how I was feeling.
I looked at this shitty old world for the last time as I rode up the long driveway, turned left and then freewheeled into and down the driveway towards our house.

Incidentally I`ll be posting photos of all that I`m describing here soon.
Just have to borrow them off someone in the family. I don`t have them in the house.

As I parked my bike there was a strange silence, and an icy chill engulfed me
as I ascended the back stairs. There he was. And he looked pissed. Out on bail obviously.
He was never one for pleasantries. Just came straight up and clenched the back of my neck with his fist. "Come with me." he demanded as I felt myself being lead back down the stairs I`d just ascended moments before.

As we made the short trip across the back yard towards the packing shed I weighed my options.
Now we were at the door which was always wide open. Directly ahead of me, inside the pack house was the place
I`d seen my father butcher a cat. To the right was the long driveway that ran to the back of the property. I chose that.
Breaking away with a Tai chi move I was to learn about 35 years later, I ran as fast as I could across the long driveway and into a neighbors property. I had to run to the right of a large bush. As I did, I could see dad had taken the left and was gaining on me..
He`d been an Olympic athlete and held many New Zealand records for running.
In the open I didn`t stand a chance. I stopped on a dime. Spun around and tore back towards our house. My mother and siblings were near the back steps motionless in shock.
"Call the police" I yelled as I flew past them and up the back steps and into the house.

Through the kitchen , down the hall way , round the corner and out through the, thankfully open, front door. Hard left, and down the driveway at the side of the house.
If I could keep these sharp corners going, I`d stay alive. As I rushed up the back steps for the second lap my mother yelled at me .. Go to the Rothery`s. They were a family that lived diagonally across the road.

As I raced through the kitchen I was relieved to see someone had picked up the phone and was ..
Fuck I don`t know. ... It was all a blur. But Dad screamed at whoever it was to put down the phone.
I heard the click as I ran down the hallway towards the front exit again.
This time however I sprinted up the driveway and out onto the road. Don`t know if any traffic was coming. No time to check.
Next thing I `m seeing a front door getting closer. Please don`t be locked.

It wasn`t. The door opened as I crashed my body into it.
In one seamless move I was inside and slamming the door shut behind me.
Safe at last...

I started calling out " Help me. Help me."
The front door flew open and dad came charging into the house. Un fucking believable.
Years later I had enormous sympathy for Sarah Conner while watching "The terminator" movies.
I ran through the house and saw a door in the hallway.
I pushed it open and ran straight into a bedroom where our neighbor was in bed with his wife.
He was in the process of coming to his senses and climbing out of bed in nothing but his underwear.
His wife, held the bedclothes up over her chest  in a state of disbelief.

Dad just came straight on in behind me, Grabbed me and put me in one of his wrestling holds and frog marched me  through their house and back across the street.
He dragged me through the front door and made his way to the kitchen where
he picked up a set of car keys. Then into a drawer where he gathered up a large pair of scissors.

Back outside now, he`s throwing me into the car.
I seem to be the only one concerned about those scissors as he pushes me across the front seat and climbs into the car and turns the ignition key with his other hand.
Mum is crying and all I can hear her saying is "The police are coming."
Fat lot of good that`s going to do me as the car surges forward, up and out the drive way.

Nothing is said. Just a father taking his son for a drive. I looked at other motorists
going about their business. They all seemed strangely normal.

Where was I going to die ? I wondered.
 
Hey my trousers still have a nice crease.
Strange ..the things you occupy your mind with while your life is about to be
snuffed out. 

Oh no.  He`s pulling up outside his mother`s house.
What sort of a Norman Bates, psycho sick fuck is this.???

He`s dragging me round the back of the house as his mother
comes out puzzled by the surprise visit.
" Hi Nana. I drew a picture for you at school.  " I didn`t say.

Dad assured her everything was okay and suggested she go back
inside. Which she did as she started to have a conversation with herself.

Now I was taken into the shed. And the door was closed.

This is all about to get a bit Quentin Tarantino.
We need a breather. 
« Last Edit: April 27, 2009, 05:48:49 PM by Ididntcomeback » Logged
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« Reply #12 on: February 13, 2009, 10:05:42 PM »

You can't stop here....it's like one of those ghastly serials..."be listening next week when you will hear...."!


By the way...what years at AGS....I was 68 - 72!
« Last Edit: February 13, 2009, 10:07:59 PM by Roberto » Logged
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« Reply #13 on: February 16, 2009, 12:37:28 AM »

                                     SENSE OF DOUBT

                                            Part 10.

                                    Everything you wanted to
                                     know about Hell. But were
                                     afraid to ask.

I was pushed forcefully onto a seat. Maybe it was a crate of some kind. I wasn`t
paying attention. My father went around behind me, holding a tuft of my hair in his fist. He pulled on it, forcing my head back. I was silent.
Then I heard a gut wrenching Skrrrrrr sound as he cut through my hair with the scissors. Then another fistful of hair was yanked and the scissors tore through that as well. On and on it went.

I want to ask you something...
If one day you received an envelope in the mail and upon opening it discovered
another envelope with the words, "This envelope contains a map showing the exact location where you will die." written on it, would you open it ?

Think about it. You could just discard it as a cruel hoax. But if you did. you`d always be left wondering where the arrow was. If you did open it you could just
avoid that location. 

The fact is that there is an exact physical location where you will die.
So ???? What`s your decision ?



I was forced to open my envelope that day.
But just as I was unfolding the map I was interrupted by a knocking at the door.
"This is the police."
Dad`s psychotic rage melted away as he discarded the scissors and opened the door. I could hear my mother outside crying and asking Dad "what have you done to him ?"

Pretty soon We were all back out in the sunlight and Dad was explaining that I
was in need of a hair cut.
Then he strode off got in his car and drove away.

The cop tried to console me about my savage looking haircut.
And on the drive home he even went so far as to confess that his hair needed
cutting. I assured him I couldn`t give a flying fuck about a haircut.
I didn`t bother burdening him with the fact that my father wanted me dead.

I took the train into Grammar, but walked straight past the assembly hall,
across the playing field and behind the concrete terraces.

This area had been quarried sometime ago and now there were just sheer rock walls that would bring about instant death should one slip and fall from the top.
I sat there all day. Watching over Mt Eden prison. I eliminated that as a
possible new residence. I was too young.

I pictured my body laying in a bloody heap at the bottom of the sheer rock face.
That was quite weird because it didn`t ease my pain. So I discounted it as an option.
Early in the afternoon three grammar boys who were playing hooky joined me.
We chatted for a while and they went back when that period was over.

The police or my father`s lawyer must have talked some sense into my dad
because when I got home again it was is if nothing had happened.
These days he would have been sent to "anger management." But what he needed was "anger root canal."  We kept our distances.

A few days later I awoke to find some bank withdrawal slips on the living
room table along with all of our bank books.
Apparently Dad had discovered that mum had been putting all of our "child benefit" payments directly into our bank accounts.

Dad decided that we needed to all sign withdrawal slips before we went to school
so he could clean out our bank accounts and put a deposit down on a small farm.
All did except me. I snuck out and took off for school.

Mid morning a kid entered the classroom and passed a note to our teacher.
I was told to go to reception immediately as "my aunt was there to see me urgently." 

When I got there , there was my fathers secretary Allison.
She handed me the withdrawal slip and told me to sign it or I was in big trouble.
So I signed it. And was instantly broke.

I don`t know what ever happened to the charges filed against my father for
assaulting my mother. I suspect he was given a warning and told to behave himself.

I assume that he must have been notified that the charges had been dropped
because things changed for the worse.  I turned fifteen in May of 1973.
Soon after that was Queens Birthday weekend. Us kids celebrated by working
in the glasshouses. Since he was trying to impress Allison and she was the pay lady, we were now being paid. There were other school age kids working as well
and I know they got more than we did. But they didn`t have to pay room and porridge money. I was never a genius at maths. However I didn`t need to be to
work out that I was getting 17 cents an hour.  

On Monday evening just as the sun set Dad told me he needed me to follow him.
I`d done this a million times in the past. Looking at his arse was part of my daily routine.

When we got down to the end of the first glasshouse he said. "What were you doing all day?"  I thought it was obvious. I said nothing. He wasn`t actually asking anyhow.
He muttered something and then walked up to me and hit me so hard in the face my feet left the ground and I sailed back several meters before hitting the dust.  I had no idea it was coming so never had a chance to use the self defense trick he`d shown us.

I could taste blood in my mouth and the spooky thing was I was blind.
He was on me in seconds. I rolled onto my stomach instinctively to protect myself
and he started reining blows on my back.

My mouth was now full of blood and dirt as I felt my head being pummeled.
To this day, I have no idea if he was kicking my forehead or punching it.
But I was losing consciousness.

I`ve never understood corporal punishment.
Hang on a second he`s working on my limbs now.  Just twisting them enough to
cause severe bruising but not enough to break bone.

Where was I ?  Oh yeah. It seems to me that the person doing the chastising is
doing it to satisfy their own frustrations.
Sorry.... being dragged to my feet. Oh... couple of punches in the stomach.
Okay. I`m back on the deck.

While your parent or guardian is punishing you physically they are without a
doubt positioning themselves as an enemy. Not a friend.

"This could be over..."  No. He`s picking me up . What the fuck?
I`m being lifted over his head. I`ve got a bit of vision back. I see the ground
approaching. I`ve seen this one in wrestling. The full body slam.
As long as he doesn`t knee me in the back as I`m coming down.
No... He remembered.

Fuck this.  Not again.
Yes again. No knee this time. Must have hurt himself last time.

I lost count of how many body slams I got.

Its over. He`s walking away. Clearing his throat and spitting.
A ritual that symbolized his place on the evolutionary chain. 

I lay motionless for a second. Climbing to my feet.
Oh no ... the front of my trousers are soaked.
Is that blood ?
No it`s piss.


It was now dark.
I limped and staggered down to the rear exit of the property
I placed my hand to my blind eye. There was no eye there.
Not even a recess for my eye socket.
But I was getting vision back in the other one.

I set off into the night with nothing.
What was that commandment ?
Honor thy mother and they father.
Yeah ???   Go fuck yourself !!
I had no father.

As I staggered off the back of the property
I passed through the gates of Hell.
But who was I ?
I had no identity.



« Last Edit: March 17, 2012, 09:02:12 AM by Ididntcomeback » Logged
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« Reply #14 on: February 16, 2009, 12:57:07 AM »

Roberto.  Sorry for the delay in responding.
Busy weekend.  I started at Grammar the last year
of Henry Cooper`s term as Headmaster 1972.
I think the centennial was in 1970.

Do you remember the 7th formers presenting
Henry with a framed poster of an ostrich ?

I was there 72 73 74. 74 is when John Graham
(the new headmaster) asked me
never to return.

Per Angusta ad Augusta.  School motto.

From silly to sillier.

 
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