The Psychotic Cyclops Part 2

Darkness had come and I left running up their driveway and into the street. I noticed John’s car had gone and knew he had gone looking for me. I took a left at the driveways street entrance and ran like a hunted rodent to the end of the culdesac where a large drop off of about 30 feet tiered down toward the river at about a 65 degree angle. Without a 2nd guess I leaped into the air and fell about 20 feet into the heart vines and long grass that cover the steep incline. Painless was my landing although bare foot, I was completely submerged in the heart vine. I sat there covered in foliage and dirt for 20 minutes, listening to my predator’s car gallivanting around nearby streets. When it seemed far enough away I decided to move. Clawing through the scrub toward a 3 story red brick house, I was concerned with the amount of noise I was making and felt John was closing in on me. I heard the wisp of several arrows move through the trees and recalled in fact he had a high powered crossbow in his criminal arsenal. I rubbed myself with dirt for camouflage and moved in stealth toward the backyard of the red brick house. There I saw a top story balcony, there was a light on and I sensed good people were up there that would help me. By this time my bladder was busting to do a piss, but I need not make a whisper of a noise, I unzipped so very slowly and held the head of my penis very close the wall of the building and urinated while listening intently to the distant movements of the one who hunted me like a wild animal. Around the back of this large house was a tree that went way up past the balcony where the light was coming from, I scaled the tree to the balcony with apparent ease, near the top the tree was thin and a good 7 feet from the hand rail. I could see a lady inside Ironing watching TV she was ethic in appearance and wearing only a nightgown. I knew she would help me. (Even though I was covered in dirt head to toe, bare foot, fly still down with a good volume of urinal splash back of my pants) I began to swing my weight back and forth till the tree had perched on the balcony railing, climbing over, the tree flung back in to place & I began banging on the sliding door, the horror on her face was not at all comforting to me as I begged her to open the door. She ran off, and then a man, her husband I guessed returned asking me what I wanted. He would not open the door, I told him someone was trying to kill me and please help me, he turned to his wife they seemed to be arguing in panic but in another language. So I just asked him to please call the police. I then laid face down on the balcony as I was certain in a matter of minutes I would be spotted then penetrated with a fast moving crossbow arrow.

It was maybe 15 minutes before the police arrived I jumped up to greet them but they would not open the door, they told me to lay face down again, so I did kissing the cold concrete, the door opened and they handcuffed me and stood me up, I had been saved by the man and woman blue!, at least I thought.... then the questions began. "What are you doing? What's your name? Do you often climb up peoples balconies with your pants unzipped ?" The female Constable then stepped back and began telling the lady and her husband they had been trying to catch a peeping tom active in the area for the last six months. Shit ! I was 16 yrs old, barefoot, scratched up, covered in dirt and piss with my fly down. I was a scared teenage boy in the grip of psychosis not a peeping tom. I began babbling out the scenario I found myself in, I was being hunted like an animal by my deranged stepfather with crossbow. The officers seemed to be ignorant of my rabid mental state and put me in the back of the paddy Wagon and took me to Hurstville Police station.

Fear arose to boiling point again as I sat in the back of the wagon recalled stories of friends being arrested, tossed into a paddy wagons handcuffed as they bounced around the violently driven van. Fortunately I was not treated the same, I guess they were aware that I was just a boy. At the station, I was taken to an empty interview room, a worn wooden table with an old typewriter & two chairs. My mother arrived at the Station and joined me in the interview room. I felt a little anxious but safe as I maneuvered the pieces in my head into a better survival position. The banter of the interview with a different older Police Officer was apparently about to result in me being returned home. NO FUCKING WAY was I going to let that happen, I may have been calm somewhat in their eyes but the psychotic delusions were just there simmering under the surface. An out I need an out, I began crying in fear of being returned home, panicked ! I thought they only need to arrest and charge me with something to at least keep me over night, safe in a cell. So I began to tell the officer I had a large amount of weed approx an ounce of buds stashed under my mattress. As if they (the Police) almost felt my fear but realized there had to be some justified reason to facilitate my protection, they sent a patrol car with instructions to search my room. Meanwhile I sat in the interview room with my mother while the minutes passed, I moved toward the typewriter, sat down and began to tap out myself saving spell.... -if you swallow this piece of paper everything will be ok- I ripped it off the typewriter roll and then ate it. I knew this bizarre random act was solidifying a commitment to my survival.

The Psychotic Cyclops Part 1

After being introduced to beer froth at the tender age of a toddler I was well on my way to the adventures of escapism by my early teens. In fact by the age of nine I was regularly taxing my uncles endless weed supply with wanton abandon. I remember so clearly, solo smoking a joint at the bus stop, on my way to Loftus primary school at 8am. Some of my peers at that time had experimented with alcohol of which I had participated yet they were unanimously concerned that I had progressed so quickly to the evils of weed, of which they knew nothing about. My uncle was ok, he was happy, had his own Newspaper he published & smoked that shit every day from what I could tell, but just maybe not at 8 a clock in the morning.

Now a whole bunch of events unfolded between the ages of 9 and 16 of which some may be drawn upon later as I indulge you in the sordid details of my life, but for now I'll just cut to chase & capture of that moment in time. I was 16 living with my dear mother and her try hard criminal boyfriend in a large waterfront house we rented overlooking the Georges river. I was quite the pot head at that age & had taken to scouting and harvesting other people’s crops whose gardens were almost always adjacent to the bush. It was just better that way, as you could scope the area well without being notice. Then lay in wait till an hour or two after lights went out, moving in with kitchen knife and pillow case for a quick slash and grab of the sticky bulbous buds. I knew enough about the stuff now that we (me and Ricky) would always hit a backyard crop a week or two before due harvest. These midnight missions were few but yielded enough weed to keep me stoned everyday all day for months on end. At that age smoking that much bud is not a good look, let alone looking at what was going on in my head. I was probably bordering Psychotic for a year before I really flipped out, and when I did it was not without some really demented delusions.

My mother's boyfriend had his own story, so I will paint a little to give you a better perception of where my delusions seeded. He was supposedly born into a concentration camp, a Polish Jew, whose first living memory was making pillows from hair taken from other gassed Jews, including his father. Upon arriving in Australia he was living at a place called Silver City where he witnessed the raped of his mother and at age 15 was taken in by the criminal underworld that ran Darlinghurst's alternative industries, of which I believe his trade was bashing the shit out of people and stealing cars for cut-n-shut re-sale. So he always had guns, drugs and would often entertain questionable people including reasonably high ranking police inspectors and the odd general scumbag, all of whom seemed to fear him. It may be how he explained in detail some of the acts he had committed on people. I was a pacifist, a hippy of sorts, I guess trying to re-establish a 60's mindset experience in a teenage body present in the mid 80's. Not hard to do when the weed supply was almost always endless. My perceptions of John (his actual name) were that of a Pit bull with no master he could be as genuine and friendly as any dog but if angered up, just watch those teeth seek blood not to mention the lock jaw.

One day when I had returned home to Dingerra Cres, Oatley he decided to indulge me in a macabre questioning. He'd been watching some horror flick and asked me with a twisted passion in his eyes... "How could someone stab a person then twist the blade around in all directions ?" He asked me "Have you ever wondered what it would feel like ?" I can't remember if I responded or what I responded but it triggered me beyond return. I knew he did not like me, that he thought I was a dole bludger (I was) and that I was a thorn between him and my mother (I was) there had been some tension in the house weeks prior. I returned to my room smoking yet even more weed I began to play his tapes in my head, thinking about how he always said all I needed was a good bash from him. My mind had left the realms of reason and I began to see he had a plan to kill me. The fear and adrenalin kicked in like the ignition on a Harley Davidson, I was off. I climbed out the window, onto the boundary fence then up onto the neighbor’s car port roof, panicked with fear for my life I knocked on their door, spoke briefly with them trying to find some sort of calm safe haven. I think the speed of my babbling about the threat of my stepfather was half a concern for them the other half would have been my toxic anxiety with a physical agitation that accompanies the upward spiral of a full blown Psychosis.

What I am about to reveal now is the reality of what I perceived without retracting back to a subjective 3rd party view of this experience, the fear is real, the anxiety and adrenalin is so intensely intoxicating it's like I became some super human, eagle eyed, bionic ears, extra sensory perceptions of a spiritual psychic.