Yes, I am really fukking angry. Your point is…?

Normally, when I receive comments on this journal, I moderate the bulk of them. In act, I would guesstimate that for every comment that has made it into this journal since it was first begun three months and change ago, at least a dozen have either been discarded as unwanted or filtered out as spam. One of the reasons I will delete rather than approve a comment is because the person posting it seems to believe that since I am using this journal to add some of my own point of view to the horrible miasma of bullshit that curebies keep up around autism, they have some kind of right to use my journal as a sounding board for their bullshit.

When I wrote my open letter to Tommy Hilfiger, I had very strong motivation to do so. You see, every time a Tommy Hilfiger puts out a message that it is okay to hurt, maim, or even kill the autistic for being autistic, and a Tim Burton or Steven Spielberg fails to put out a message that no, it is most emphatically not okay, it makes life that much more difficult for autistic individuals of all shapes and sizes. I have even previously cut together a video using parts of X2 to illustrate this point. “Go, I’ll be fine,” says Wolverine (Hugh Jackman), representing the ilk of Burton, Spielberg, et al. “But we won’t,” replies Rogue (Anna Paquin), representing literally every other Human being who is a) autistic and b) has not been convinced to hate themselves by the like of William Stryker (Brian Cox), aka the curebie asshole element. Now, if you have read that open letter and looked at the comments, you will have noticed the reason why I allowed that one comment to surface in spite of its basic “my voice, not yours” message. So that I can tear the guts out of the reasoning contained within and make sure curebies have a positive example everywhere of what I think of them. Which reminds me of a post from Radical Neurodivergence Speaking that I even took the time to go through point by point and add some of my own reflections here to. But right now, I feel more guided by RNS’ most recent post, in which he calls out the entire curebie movement for their self-entitlement.

But enough fukking around, let us bring on the quotes and my response.

You are a very angry person.

You see, Annie, I am entitled to be an angry person. No, wait, I misspoke. You see, I was abused physically, psychologically, and in a manner I use the word “psychosexual” to describe. That is, psychological stimulus was used to make me feel dirty and uncomfortable inside just for being in my own skin. I am going to post something soon that will further supplement this point. But to get back to what I am trying to tell you, Annie, I am not just entitled to be an angry person. When a person is mistreated to the point of suffering serious PTSD symptoms in spite of never having fired a shot in anger, they are not merely entitled to be angry about it. They are obligated to be angry about it.

You see, Annie, when a person is used as a psychological punching bag and does not allow themselves to get angry with their abusers about it, that makes it all the more likely that the children they will likely have because they have been coerced into believing everyone has to have children will suffer the same fate. Abuse is cylical, just like elections, recessions, and boxing matches.

As RNS puts it so well, abusive parents often feel they are automatically entitled to pity themselves, treat their child like second-class citizens (thus ensuring said child thinks of themselves as one), talk about their children in front of them as if they are not there, and abuse them in a myriad of ways including those I describe as having been inflicted upon me. And in spite of all this, they want other parents who might not be so abusive and self-entitled to regard them as saints.

That, I fear, is the situation that Kathleen Hilfiger is in. Notice how through all of the announcement, it is all about Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. I bet he has not even asked her once what she really thinks of Autism Speaks (For Normie Assholes). Because I suspect that he asked a similar question once, and disliked the response. Just like my male parental unit constantly whined like a spoiled child at me when a response to any input from him was not to his liking.

If you seriously think that my being angry that a celebrity with more money tied up in his house than my entire immediate family will see during their collective lifetime is calling for my genocide somehow invalidates my point, then quite frankly, Annie, maybe it is people like you who should be done away with.

firstly, you do not know Mr. Hilfiger or his relationship with is daughter.

Firstly, when a parent publically calls for his child to be eliminated based on a characteristic that they can help no more than their eye colour, hair colour, or height, there is only one fitting word to describe the relationship. Abusive. (Are you reading this, Mr. Hilfiger? How does it feel to know that you are starting to look like a child abuser to people of the same neurotype as your daughter?)

Oh, and you know how I know when to call a relationship between a parent and a child abusive? Simple: I have lived it, and will be living it for the rest of my life.

When he says he wants to honor his daughter he means it from the heart, as he loves his daughter very much.

Just like a mother who slaps her son around the head, holds his ear up to her mouth and shouts into it until he gets dizzy, or grabs him by the neck and bashes his head against a door loves her son very much?

Annie, I was fourteen years old before the words “love” and “abuse” or “violence” or “punch” or similar were not inextricably linked for me. That is the age at which I met a nice young girl of similar age whose behaviour around me today forms a fragment of the characterisation of several women in my writings.

Annie, can I be blunt here? In order to prevent a sixteen year old girl from doing her own research into herself and autistic identity to an extent sufficient to learn that her father is doing the exact opposite of what she should be doing, a father needs to lock her in a room with no means of contacting the outside world, or limit her interactions with others to such an extent that the only outside input she gets in this regard reinforces what he wants her to think of herself. That is not love.

When my male parental unit refused to acknowledge that his token efforts to aid me in my attempts to make better of my situation are insufficient, his behaviour made me think of another word to describe how his behaviour told me he felt about me: hate. Actions will always speak louder than words, Annie, and Tommy Hilfiger‘s actions drown out his words and make it clear to any educated autistic adult that he hates Kathleen for what she is. If you do not like people calling him out on it, maybe you should try what I am trying to do, and in some way slap him upside the head and tell him to smarten himself up.

You have taken this to another stratisphier that doen’t even relate to Mr. Hilfingers intentions.

Firstly, when you try to “correct” someone who could read at an adult level at the same age that you were likely still shitting in your hands and eating it, and in the manner of an angry schoolteacher at that, it behooves you to at least learn how to spell “stratosphere“. For those who are interested, the word stratosphere, after which the He-Man character Stratos is named, is the second major layer of this planet’s atmosphere, above the troposphere, which is the one we have contact with whenever we go outside. It varies from eight to fifty kilometres above the surface, depending on what part of the Earth one is measuring from.

I do not know where there would be another stratosphere. I do not know how the air on Mars or any other planet that has an atmosphere works. Yes, by the way, Mars does have an atmosphere. It is just that it has a pressure level so slight as to be negligible.

But as I said in my original response, in the grand scheme of consequences, both in the medium term and further down the line (think when Autism Speaks has been told by the government where to go and pouring bleach into the anus of an autistic child is covered by hate crime statutes), intentions mean nothing. Results mean everything.

So far, Hilfiger‘s announcement has had several results with me that are real and measurable. In conjunction with the previously-spoken of hate-box outside of Woolworth’s, it makes me feel unsafe to be me in the locality I am presently forced to exist in. It makes me feel that much surer that there is a normie brigade out there, widely known among potential members to exist but allowed by governments like that of America to operate in secret, watching me and planning when they are going to come and seize me and open up my skull. This, in turn, has made me incredibly snappy and irritable with people around this area, who have not failed to notice. I already hate Queenslanders for their sheer incompetence in services and “anything is good enough” attitude with an extreme passion. Anything that makes me feel more hostile toward them, such as Hilfiger‘s confusion of calling for his daughter to be murdered with something noble and your confusion of my anger about this with something you have any basis to complain about, may well have fatal consequences for one or more of them.

Given that others, nameable people, have also commented that it is weird to honour someone by calling for their elimination, it is also folly to try and pretend that I am the only one. Oh, and this is just the consequences of Mr. Hilfiger‘s actions to individuals. If Joseph Goebbels could have found a way to convince celebrities to openly proclaim that Jews should be murdered, he would have done so. But Douglas Adams hit upon the solution to most peoples’ aversions to murdering others in a comedic exercise during the second radio serial of The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy. One corporation, concerned with containing the infinite number of clones coming out of a badly-designed machine, goes so far as to redefine or even respell the word murder in an effort to make murder seem like an acceptable thing.

And let me be blunt with you, Annie. In 1991, a team led by Michael Burleigh brought the BBC a documentary entitled Selling Murder: The Killing Films Of The Third Reich. In it, the documentary examines the methodology used by the Nazis to sell systematic murder as a concept not only to doubters within the party, but the entire German population. You know why I bring this up? Because I have seen Selling Murder: The Killing Films Of The Third Reich. Although much of it is a blur to me now (I was 14 or so when I first saw it), I will never forget how the German schoolteacher tries to tell his students that murdering the disabled, mentally ill, or other “rejects” from this brave new world Adolf had made for them was doing those people a favour. I wish I had that documentary in a digital format somewhere now, because the similarity between the Nazi propaganda films that Michael Burleigh, Joanna Mack, and Stewart Lansley shared with the world and Autism Speaks’ ads, including those featuring celebrities like Hilfiger, is uncanny.

In my eyes, Annie, when you defend a person who wants to be a Nazi, you basically are a person who wants to be a Nazi. So I have one thing to say to you in closing:

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