My friend George’s dad, Reg, sadly passed away last week. I spent quite a bit of time with him about 20 years ago, when I was often at George’s house in Mile End. Reg would come to Adelaide from his home in Mypolonga, stay with George during the week while he worked, and then head back home on the weekends.
George and I were always up to something crazy, and Reg was always this steady, calm voice in the background. George and his family held a celebration of life for Reg today in Mypolonga. I asked Mum if she would mind driving me up and coming along to show our support for George. Mum knows George very well too, so she agreed.
The reason I asked her to drive is because about five years ago, I was on the freeway and nearly had an accident when someone came speeding down the slip lane. I braked suddenly and really annoyed the drivers behind me. I’ve been too scared to drive up there ever since, but going today made me realise it’s not as bad as I thought. I think I’d actually be fine driving up there by myself next time.
Below, you can see the turn-off to Murray Bridge.
George and his sister Tess made a speech about their dad, and George got quite emotional at times. It made me realise that, in the end, all that really matters in this world is family and friends — it’s all that matters.
I remember at George and his husband Doug’s wedding, Reg got up and made a speech. He hugged both George and Doug, and there was something very special about it. Of course, he loves and accepts his son, but for a man of a different generation, it may have taken some adjusting. Not that I know any of that for certain; I just remember tearing up during that part of George’s wedding.
Every time I think I’m a sociopath with an inability to cry, I go to something like this celebration of life and I’m reminded that I’m not. I cried — not a lot, but I could really feel it, especially having lost my own dad just over a year ago.
Below, you can see the packed-out Mypolonga Combined Sports Club.
Now it’s time to go back to the letter I sent Mr Phoenix, along with a bunch of balloons and a $2000 bank cheque. I’d like to share the contents with you below. I’ve had to take out a lot of it because of the potential for identifying some people — and I have to be mindful of all that legal stuff — but I think you’ll still get the gist. It’s a long letter — the original was very long — so if you plan to read it, grab yourself a glass… or maybe even a bottle of wine. Sit back, relax, and enjoy.
Dear Mr Phonenix,
There are a number of barriers that make this close to impossible for me to say this to you without breaking a huge personal boundary, which is something I wanted to acknowledge that I am aware of.
However, I want to risk the heightened level of inappropriateness, as it is necessary for me to share elements of this story with someone, and based on the amount of times you appear within it, you are the only person I feel it would be appropriate to tell.
When I wrote that ridiculous card to you earlier this year, and said that realistically I could never be a lawyer, as my parents had always wanted me to be – it wasn’t just my parents that wanted me to be a lawyer, I had also passionately wanted to be one for many years.
I have started a number of different university courses and careers, but have always had a lot of trouble focusing and sticking to something.
I’ve got a long history of procrastination and distraction, but I thought maybe one day something would click into place and I would be able to concentrate, and I thought when that happened — sitting down and doing a degree like Law might be possible.
The reason I wanted to be a lawyer so much was because of something I read in a book called The Salisbury Affair, by Stewart Cockburn.
I am not alluding to anything or trying to be crafty with words to make it sound like I actually know anything about it, because I genuinely don’t, but I did find that book interesting and have sat in on and contributed to heaps of harmless gossip sessions about various aspects of the book whilst temping about town.
When I was 29 years old, I’d been working at Centrelink for nearly two years, and the way that they train you, and kind of indoctrinate you, gave me a level of focus and attention that I thought I might be able to use studying law.
Eventually I ended up in Sydney on the way up to Bond Uni, where I thought I could accelerate it, which I thought was appropriate based on my age.
It was serendipitous for me to get a temp job at the courts, I wasn’t there for long and I know I wasn’t suited to that role at all, but I was more professional than I probably sounded to you on the phone.
A poor judgment I made was telling a few other court officers the Judge I told you about reminded me of Count Dracula.
Another one was when I went into one of the toilets in the anti-room between a court I was working in one day and noticed how filthy it was.
There were actually flies at the bottom of the toilet bowl, so I contacted my boss and asked if I could get something to clean it up with, and she told me to call maintenance, and when I did they told me not to worry about it.
I know this might appear I was on a crusade, but the water jugs for the courtrooms were filled from these bathrooms and it was gross, so I was respectfully persistent with maintenance but they just told me to flush the flies down the toilet.
So at lunch, I went down to the shop and got a Harpic and a few cleaning bits and pieces and cleaned it myself. I know I was overstepping my authority, but I was incredibly discreet and didn’t want a medal for it or anything.
Another court officer saw me doing that and told the boss about it. I got into trouble for it, but I still put forward how I thought it was unhygienic and how that kind of thing can turn into bigger problems including cockroaches and rats.
I experienced a number of unbelievable coincidences that really appeared impossible to me whilst working at the Attorney General’s Department of NSW, and they are irrelevant for the purposes of this letter, but to give you an example—over Christmas before commencing this job, I had just read the book My Journey by David Hicks, which documented his take on his experience in Guantanamo Bay.
The content of the book was the source of a lot of discussion between myself, my brother who is in the army, and some of his military friends.
One day whilst working at the courts, I was put in a court room to relieve someone while they went on break, and Mamdouh Habib, who was another Australian detainee at Guantanamo Bay, was actually in this court for some sort of preliminary hearing.
I can’t remember now if he was in David Hicks’ book, but seeing as I’d just spent a lot of time trying to invalidate what appeared to be the credibility of the conditions of inmates at Guantanamo Bay to a number of passionately patriotic defence force officers, it mildly freaked me out actually.
I went down the lift with Mamdouh Habib during the morning tea break, and I obviously didn’t have a laugh with him or anything, but I was just looking at him thinking how unbelievably weird that was.
Then when I went to work at The Criminal Legislation and Policy Law Review, and Directors Office, they were drafting all of these laws to reform the burqa legislation, and it was surreal to me because that Mamdouh Habib guy was involved in that too.
When I quit the above job, I eventually ended up in Canberra with the intention to work, but I spent that entire period of my time pretty much hauled up in a hotel room, sleeping during the day and staying up all night writing a book.
It started as a letter to the judge, but it got so long that I decided I was going to write a book.
I then outlined the storyline of the book, which I have also done in a previous post.
And the reason it scared the crap out of me is, apart from some of the other extremely coincidental but likely, from most senior legal professionals—in particular those that have worked as members of the judiciary—things you were saying in reference to other bits of the book, I thought maybe I had unconsciously self-prophesised it in some way.
After I wrote that book in Canberra, I completely lost it.
I started making a video of myself for that judge—which started with me dressed up in a devil costume—and then it became a little bit more X-rated.
I still had the G-rated beginning of it on my computer, so I took a few screenshots of it and have enclosed it as a form of evidence of how incredibly out of touch with reality I was.
There is one photo where I look absolutely insane, and looking at it now, I can’t even believe it’s me.
But in the end I wrote two letters.
The first one is so bad, even in death I would not reveal the content. It isn’t threatening, violent or all that rude, but it was simply insane.
I realised what I had done after I sent it, and I became deeply distressed. I can’t quite describe the absolute desperation I felt to get it back, but knew I couldn’t, so I sent a second letter to apologise.
I lied in that apology letter. In general, the whole thing was a lie purely based on the way I wrote it, which I don’t understand, but there was a very distinct lie that I knowingly put in it.
I know a few politicians, but the only legal people I’ve ever really crossed paths with are one barrister that I know personally and one supreme court justice that I had met through work a few times a long time ago.
So I put the two together, and I told the Judge I had worked with barristers who had become judges before, and I actually worded it like that.
I think I said it because I think he knew I didn’t even loosely know any judges apart from him and maybe a few other judges at the Downing Centre, and it was believable.
I was desperately appealing to him as a person not to tell anyone I had done that. I swear to God, I can’t quite place into words how completely powerless I felt, I have never thought about this before and it will never be a problem for me again, but I actually ended up nearly committing suicide.
When I eventually returned to Adelaide, I made a point to stay with my parents because I was so paranoid about this, and I thought the Judge was going to call my Dad.
And if this had or did happen, whilst I understand how this may appear like a misinterpreted or a perceptually unusual way to see your father – my Dad would have empathised with the judge and would have been more ashamed of me than if it had gone the other way.
I wished time away, thinking to myself if I can get to one year without a warrant for my arrest, a restraining order, or a personal defamation suit from the judge himself for thinking to have written to him in the first place, I’ll be okay. It was the milestone I had amongst the few friends who permitted me to speculate about it anymore.
I apologise for saying this, I don’t want to be personal with you, however it is necessary for getting the point of this story across.
Your resignation from the District Court of South Australia was around my one-year landmark.
At the court they didn’t sign my timesheet for a while after they’d terminated my contract, so I don’t know what day it technically was, because I checked my online timesheets and booking confirmation after this happened and there are conflicting dates, probably because of that, but my milestone was May 13, 2012.
And when I read the article about you in the paper it said that you had resigned on that day, I think, or around then from memory, and I wish I could somehow prove that to you simply for the sick humour factor.
But it did freak me out a bit too when I read about what happened to you and I would never ever even think that I had worked for you, because it was literally a few days on the reception desk of your communal chambers and the only reason I remember it is because the Snowtown trials were going on, and I had no idea what it was about at the time and later did – which is another chain of the most astronomically impossible coincidences.
However, I remembered you specifically from your chambers because I had since read up a little bit on legal work you had been involved in that I was interested in, but I didn’t know you were a judge and when I thought back to the lie I told my judge it was a little bit weird.
And I know how bad this sounds, but on a freakishly positive note – you made one of the lies I said in that letter, which had been tormenting me for over six months, sort of technically true.
Mr Phoenix, this gets a lot worse about the huge personal boundary I am crossing with you at this very moment in time, and I know how incredibly contentious this might sound, but a few weeks after that, I went for an interview at Super SA.
The day I found out I’d be starting there the next week, there was an article in the paper saying something about your superannuation at Super SA. I know how personal that is and I never worked with any of the judicial pension stuff at Super SA – but in my own mind it reminded me again about judges and you actually.
I had wanted to write to a lawyer for a very long time to see if they might have had a personal idea of what the judge might have thought or done with those letters, as well as a number of other concerns I had about that period of time.
I appealed to the judge as a person based upon a lie, and in reality I feel that is testament to the fact that I don’t usually appeal or even know how to communicate with people that I have such a large age, social, power and existential knowledge gap with – at all.
And I am not appealing to you, but I did want to tell you that I know when I wrote you a card requesting a bill from you – it probably sounded like I was trying to be crafty with words when I alluded to the points visible within my letter, however they are the only things I don’t regret saying to you.
And to clarify that, I was referring to the anatomy of the mythological creature the Griffin. And whilst I don’t know you personally, and met you briefly probably over ten years ago, it’s a sense I get about you in general and was further confirmed after you spoke to me for a little while earlier this year.
I did contact you as a barrister and Queens Counsel because you have been a judge, however the reason was personal.
Because when I read in the paper about your resignation from the courts, I had a habit of reading sentencing remarks. So I went to the District Court of South Australia’s website and read one that you had recently made.
"I hope that you take full advantage of the opportunity you are getting and that your life is successful and happy and rewarding. It does not have to be fancy, it just has to be a decent life."
And I really liked that, because that is something I have been trying to achieve for a very long time, and I honestly wish a judge of some sort had given me such a warm and realistic send off into a second chance at life when I started navigating it in the way that seemed easiest at the time.
When I read that you were back at the Bar, I remembered that sentencing remark and in the end that’s what gave me the confidence to write you a letter and ask.
It was one of hundreds of letters I have written to try and understand what happened. I wrote to the entire District Court judiciary of New Zealand, every single judges associate in Australia apart from NSW, tribunals, ombudsman, police, international supreme courts and anywhere that administered an oath, as well as a range of other places that came to mind at the time – with simple administrative enquiries.
And I did that to measure the various crimes I thought I had committed against something.
I eventually ended up with a comprehensive collection of responses and thought to put them into a glass furnace and allow the paper to physically burn into the glass, and then blow a piece from it.
That way the glass itself would have had all of those letters actually melted into it, and the piece of glass which I was going to blow just for myself was going to be transparent to represent my genuine transparency in not knowing or understanding what was going on during that period of time.
And I thought maybe in the end it might be the only way for me to let it go.
But regardless of any alternative methods of dealing with it, letting go of it really wasn’t an option for me because I’ve been continually reminded of it.
What made me certain of this is that I read about an artist with Borderline Personality Disorder who had similar issues in life, and it was his express wish that when he died he wanted to be cremated and then flushed down the toilet.
Whilst this is not my wish, as a younger woman I discovered that when you die, you can actually be cremated and then crystallised into a diamond- or zirconia-type thing, and I wanted my remains to be made into a ring and then left to my daughter if I ever had children.
And to express to you how much I wanted to be a lawyer: if I had had a daughter, I wanted to call her Sue.
I still believe I have Borderline Personality Disorder; however, this is very difficult to prove.
But clinically, the suggestion is Schizotypal Personality Disorder, which I accept to a degree.
And I wanted to share with you the only reason I accept its credibility.
A few years ago, I was temping somewhere, and I didn’t name-drop this, but I got talking with a woman and we got onto the topic of my dad. She was amazed, and she said to me that Dr David David did an amazing job on my cleft palate.
I had no idea what she was talking about, but she told me that her nephew had been in a hospital room next to me when I was having an operation as a baby.
I was extremely annoyed that no one mentioned this to me, because it might have been useful to know at some point in life — however, that is not the first time I have found out important things like that.
What does resonate with me though is the first thing he saw when he entered the world – ox, cattle, horses, a donkey, three camels and probably a number of other beasts of burden just like everyone else.
Which leads me to believe there could be some sort of sense of unity between all people.
And that is the only thing I can draw upon when sharing the following with you.
Although, to be honest, despite that curiosity and my tentative diagnosis — which probably suggests otherwise — I’m not really into that kind of stuff, even now.
But on that platform I wanted to say that, seeing as my brother is on tour in Afghanistan, and is probably the only person in the world who might take this letter seriously — and when I tried to start a dialogue with him about this, he left a message with my parents saying the Taliban screen all of the military’s electronic communication and he can only discuss pleasantries — I hope you don’t mind me writing to you again today.
And just to clarify, whilst the coincidences with yourself did nurture a journey into what I now understand to be a Dark Night of the Soul, it was actually my belief that I had Borderline Personality Disorder that started to pull me out of it. This commenced with a link I saw between Dialectical Behavioural Therapy and a lack of it, and looking into Dianetics as an alternative.
And when I came face to face with the Law of Lafayette Ron Hubbard, my own personal interest in what things really mean led me to my own amateur translation of his name.
Lafayette may derive from the French word foi, meaning faith, and Hubbard has the potential to be a linguistic representation of the patron saint of dogs.
Since that discovery, I have started to think that maybe there could be more to the world than I first thought and have had a chain of unrelated coincidences which I have found to be quite literally terrifying.
I also realised that whilst, in most other circumstances, people don’t care about my parents, the Scientologists would — and that had the potential to be a problem for me.
I unknowingly signed a contract outlining that I wasn’t related to anyone who had been antagonistic or spoken out publicly against the Church.
But it turns out that when my dad was in a position of power, he helped ban them from operating as a religion, and would be more of an SP to them than Nick Xenophon himself.
It’s just lucky I got kicked out for asking too many questions, in particular to do with a book they draw upon quite frequently, Alice in Wonderland.
I really am stuffed if I am dying, because I doubt there was ever anyone who looked like they cried wolf more than me, but I feel as if this might happen to everyone at some point in their life — mine was just magnified because I grew up learning that so many things in the paper and in books are not always as they seem.
And as cliché as this sounds for me, this all comes back to that judge. It hasn’t been a day-to-day thing for me, but there have been a number of other coincidences, which I’m going to keep in my own chambers forever, because I’m not going to tempt fate and ever talk about this again.
I freaked out after I spoke to you because I saw a flicker of the person I think I was trying to be when I wrote to the judge.
I was seeing a former journalist at that time, but I know how loaded that could have sounded to you. I just made a point of it because I didn’t want you to personally freak out about my legal issue.
And I only wanted your opinion.
On the same token, I didn’t want any polite affirmations of my own qualification to participate in behaviour like that — I might have been okay at the time, but now I’m old and haggard-looking and have put on a few pounds.
And that is something which has always been of concern to me, and constantly brought to my attention by my father.
Based on the escalation of the amount of coincidences in my life, I really have been losing it, and I begged my parents to send me to a clinic for Borderline Personality Disorder in America because I think they could afford it, and I do believe I am worth it if I can be cured, even at this late stage.
But they don’t see the merit in doing that, because I don’t think they accept I have it.
The spiritual and mental health retreats I mentioned in Australia still didn’t fit the bill, but seeing as my dad seems to think all of my problems are because I’m fat, the only funding I could get was for a fat camp.
I’m not saying this to impress you personally, but what the world is dealing with here is curves.
And as someone who attends regular life drawing classes and draws a lot of naked men and women, I think everyone’s body is a unique and beautiful thing, and I might be cuddly-esque — and I would invite anyone to define what that really even means — but I’m not fat.
And that should give you an idea of the sort of people I was up against when worrying about whether this judge had contacted my parents, and the sort of opinion that might have been formulated about me — which, although not influential at my age, is important for the purposes of sanity.
I’m off to fat camp now, which bought me some time to work out where to next for me, which is potentially Christmas Island. However, I’m never going to live in this hell hole Adelaide again, and I also wanted to tell you — this is the last time I am going to write to you for legal assistance, and I am so sorry for having gone about it in such a clumsy and disrespectful manner in the first place.
I’m really not into the sixth sense, but the six degrees of separation around these parts is enough to drive anyone insane, and has been instrumental in my concern in finding the right professional to run this matter past.
I lost everything after I met that judge — literally.
And that happened because I lost my self-respect, and I have found it a very challenging exercise to try and retrieve it.
Despite appearances, I didn’t write to you today to invoke another conversation, and I know how much this might appear it warrants a response of some sort.
And it’s my secret hope that maybe, for the last time, I can read into a sentencing remark and hope you apply the sentiment reflected in the one you said that I liked so much, toward me.
But if $2000 doesn’t cover the time it takes you to read this, my number is 123456 — leave a message on my voicemail and I’ll pay whatever you want. And I respectfully feel this legal issue somehow warrants being recognised as one.
I put this together in a bit of a rush because I’m so desperate to get out of here, and I could have done a better job with the presentation; however, it is my hope it is received in the spirit to which it is intended.
In closing, I have taken into consideration the possibility that whilst under anaesthetic during an operation with Dr David David — what I’m guessing is his brother — the Hon. Justice David may have dropped into the operating theatre to say hi.
If this momentarily distracted Mr David during surgery, the possibility that this may have created a mild lesion, leaving me open to the vulnerability of Schizotypal Personality Disorder, cannot be dismissed.
I must have regard for the potential this may have had to record a judicial engram.
Engram — A recording made by the reactive mind when a person is unconscious — Lafayette Ron Hubbard, Scientology.
I direct myself to acknowledge that Eva Perón on steroids involuntarily possessed my body when a NSW District Court judge activated this engram, resulting in behaviours unfamiliar to me.
I see the unique psychological pressures I was confronted with, and recognise how embarrassing, shameful, and potentially criminal my behaviour was, but I show compassion for myself for the reasons that led me to behave in such a way.
I am deeply remorseful and regretful for it, and stress it is one million times worse than it may sound; however, I accept I cannot change it and commit to never even attempting to commit adultery again.
I have taken into consideration evidence provided by the expert witness and universal authority on driving away demons, monsters, and vampires from anyone who needs someone to save their soul — Professor Abraham Van Helsing.
I remain eternally ambivalent towards you and feel you are an unnecessary character, as your job can be accomplished without your help; however, I liked it when you said:
“I have learned not to think little of any one's belief, no matter how strange it may be. I have tried to keep an open mind, and it is not the ordinary things of life that could close it, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things that make one doubt if they be mad or sane.”
I acknowledge the elephant in the room — me being a woman, then under the age of 30 with a pulse — and having thought to correspond with a judge who, it could be viewed, appeared to enjoy the company of women, in a manner which indicated I was in a deluded frame of mind.
I must acknowledge the potential that he may have drawn upon his professional experience as a barrister, senior counsel, and judicial officer, having been in courtrooms where women make up all sorts of crap as a result of distressing situations.
I take into consideration the fact he probably knew I was working at Legislation, Policy and Criminal Law Review, and the Director of the Attorney-General’s Office, he knew my dad used to be an important person, and he would not have known who I knew personally or what I was saying to anyone.
Simply by the act of writing to him in such a frame of mind, I feel I may have caused him unnecessary worry.
I have reviewed the compelling evidence of the judicial gene and hope to speak directly to it as a form of transference.
I am aware this would not have been anything more than an extremely temporary passing thought, but I am truly sorry for ever having potentially planted an engram in what was really such a nice and kind reactive mind.
I direct myself to draw upon the parallels between Lady Justice being blind and love being blind, and have learned the lesson that blind love can only ever be wholly and solely applied to yourself.
As in self-love.
I have rehabilitated myself by applying this fundamental principle to all aspects of my life, and respect myself enough to let this Judge-alone matter go.
I apologise to all the judges of the world for creating so much unnecessary administrative work.
And I close this case by drawing comfort from an article in the newspaper which drew to my attention another judge.
Although I didn’t think of it like this when I read it, I now wonder if this judge might have valued having me as their court officer — at around the exact same period of time.
There is no way I could have been of any use to them to the standard of a professional; however, taking into account my involuntary physical response in a similar circumstance, along with the discretion and enthusiasm I obviously had, I feel a very personally powerful working relationship could have been forged.
I also secretly think this judge seems lovely, and has an equally hypnotic command of legal terminology.
And I find, beyond a shadow of doubt, that if I had been a court officer for this judge, there was potential to save a whole lot of people a whole lot of trouble.
In conclusion, I also find there is potential for coincidence in everything.
Evidence of this lies within the post-it note I left on the judge’s bench, which I feel got me in all this trouble in the first place.
The following outlines its content:
Dear Your Honour,
Your courtroom can be very thought provoking.
Kind regards,
Me
I answered the phone, and he announced himself. The first thing he said was that he loved the balloons I’d sent him and that he’d given them to another lawyer in his chambers who had young children. Apparently, the kids loved them too. Then he said the cheque was totally unnecessary — he didn’t want any money for our conversation and told me he’d feel bad taking it.
Because I’d mentioned in my letter that I had “criminal tendencies,” he jokingly asked where I’d gotten the money. Then he told me he’d read the entire letter and thought I should try my hand at creative writing, saying I was a very good writer. I thanked him for the compliment.
He then asked if he could come over to my house that night to drop off the compendium I'd sent the last letter in and the cheque for $2000. He said I might want the letter back to keep, and that we could talk. I instantly said no — I couldn’t let him come over. Part of it was that I didn’t want him to see me living with my parents, but mostly it was my fear of acting inappropriately around judges.
He said, “Come on… let me come over.” In some ways, it was quite audacious of him to ask to come to my house, but on the other hand, I had been very open with him about my feelings and my life, so I can understand why he felt comfortable enough to ask. I declined his offer again. We ended the conversation, and just as I said goodbye, he said “Wait,” but I told him I had to go.
We spoke again after that but never met up, and hearing of his passing in 2019 was very sad.
