Excising a cancer.

Well, sometimes we write things that we look back upon and deeply regret. Sometimes, you get people latching on to what you have written and trying to use you as a sounding board for a number of daft ideas that circulate in their brain, such as it is.

And sometimes, when normalistic keyboard warriors write and tell you theirs is the only viewpoint or idea that counts, the manner in which they do so makes you utterly regret having mentioned them in your work or anything that you do. I think the word “disgust” is what I am looking for.

So the subject that this post used to be about will not feature here anymore. Why publicise someone who speaks to or about you in the manner these people have?

A dozen things that a Powell type autistic adult wishes you grokked

I have two very specific and very unhappy memories relating to the time when I was told that the reason I was having so much difficulty in life was because I am autistic. Number one, I was told before the diagnosis and immediate plan was laid out that things would improve from this point. Very specifically, I was told, I might add. So the fact that the Commonwealth Rehabilitation Service worker who made this promise to me has not been severely disciplined for making promises she had no intention of acting or following upon makes me angry.

We need to talk about Mr. Bungle (aka Mike Patton is a genius, part one of several)

In 1989 or thereabouts, I became aware of a crossover band by the name of Faith No More. Like many who became aware of them at this time, it was through sight of a music video for a single called Epic. The video for Epic was (mostly) very simplistic in nature, with the majority of shots simply being the band in front of a very elaborate backdrop, playing their instruments. But one of the many details that stood out to me was a shirt worn by vocalist Mike Patton in at least one shot. That shirt noticeably featured the logo of the other band Patton was vocalist for at the time: Mr. Bungle.

“So… what do you like?”

It seems like such an innocent question. But when I hear people ask it of me, I sense a certain derision and even contempt in their voice that cannot help but make me angry. But it is also a reasonable question when approached correctly. The truth of the matter is that although I define myself a great deal by what I despise, have contempt for, or outright hate, I also define myself by the things I enjoy, or more specifically, why I enjoy them.