This is how you do NOT talk to a Powell type

The last few days have been incredibly rough for me. The news stories concerning one woman trying to kill herself and take her autistic daughter with her have brought out the absolute worst in me. I know for a fact that one thought in the daughter’s processes would have run something like “great, mother, I know you want to kill yourself, but have the guts to not take me with you”. The fact that I am going to tell my own mother that I wish she had offed herself before I started school might tell you something about how I feel lately.

What “you” look like to me, in a civil rights model sense.

(An important note: This article was written before the school shootings and the autism strawmanning the curebies used it for took place. At the time this was written, I hated passives enough that I would throw them in a bonfire with the normies. As a result of those events, I am unsure whether I hate passives less than normies or curebies now. Go figure.)

I will admit right now, I am well aware that my superiority-based view of how the battle for our civil rights should be enforced can be rather alienating, even where others of my kind are concerned. But after the so-called 2012 Congressional hearings on autism, I have a question that not only would I like to ask what I not-so-nicely call passives, but one that I feel they should be asking themselves.

Can you blame me?

Being a President requires balls. The proverbial kind, I mean.

So, as I often do, I went looking around for examples of other peoples’ writings. I do not know quite how I came across this article on Sad Bastard Bar, but I am glad I did. In it, The Bastard, as they call themselves, talks a lot about the buzz that has been going around about the “debate” that U.S. President Barack Obama supposedly lost. Let us leave aside for a moment the fact that a victory obtained by lying so hard that your opponent will have months’ worth of material to hit you over the head with is what the expression Pyrrhic Victory was invented for.

So yeah, why all the posts about films and music lately? It is like this…

I will make no secret of this fact. What I choose to write about at any given moment is a highly unpredictable and quirky thing. One day, I might decide I want to write about a film I have just seen and been half blown-away by. The next, I might decide to write about how stupid the powers that be in the film and television industries appear. But here is the thing: I am like a computer up to a point. What comes out of me is a reflection of what is put into me.

Another look at something someone else wrote

Whilst going through links on the Autism Blogs Directory, I went back to the Radical Neurodivergence Speaking journal once again. You sort of have to be in the right mood for this particular journal, because as I have said on my small page of links to things I think people should look at, that author frequently looks at where I am at in terms of asserting my rights, and picks up the pace from there. (Metaphorically speaking, I mean. I am not even convinced that he reads my work.)

Hypothetical situation: Autism Speaks has just ceased to exist. Now what?

I find it difficult, if not impossible, to imagine an organisation that is allowed to call itself a charity being hated by the people it claims to be working for to a greater extent than is the case with Autism Speaks. In fact, Autism Speaks’ behaviour in general reminds me of one of the few moments in RoboCop 2 that even comes close to working. During the MediaBreak segment that opens the film, we are told that the police in Detroit have gone on strike once again. In the accompanying interview footage, an officer states that the company that has taken control of the police service in the city has cut the force’s salaries by forty percent and cancelled their pensions. And now, he says, said company will not even talk to them. “God knows why,” the officer opines, “but they want this strike.”

Symbols, flags, and meanings… one of many musings

Not too long ago, I posted an entry that divided its time semi-equally between the injustice of a vigilantist idea of justice and my agreement with another author about how much the puzzle piece symbol sucks. This, to my pleasant surprise, brought about a visit from its author and some commentary about the symbol issue. In my own reply (I am compulsive about replying to everything, with some exceptions), I promised that I would explore symbols and their meanings a little bit further in a future entry. Or rather, I thanked him for giving me that idea, because to be brutally honest, when you churn out three or four entries a day at peak times, your stock of new ideas does sometimes run a tiny bit dry.