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. Continue Reading
I make no secret of this. I read other people’s online journals. I read them a lot at times. Not because I want to research “the competition” or because the “everything online” crowd says that is what I have to do. No. The main reason is because in spite of how difficult certain neurological quirks that have never been investigated make it, I like to read. I have learned more, especially as a child, by reading well-written writings than from thousands of hours of teacher effort. But the primary reason I read online journals is pretty funny: they are my primary source of news concerning the struggle to make the world at large understand that we, the autistic, are people, too. Continue Reading
Arrogance is a wonderful thing. No, really, it is. For one thing, it gives beholders a great insight into which people out there should, in fact, be kicked to the curb and left to starve, and whom should be allowed to take over whatever position of say they hold in a society. But everywhere we look, we are unfortunately bombarded with examples of arrogance so powerful and all-inclusive that they are truly flabbergasting to behold.
The arrogance of people associated with disability services, social services, and services in general is something that has the ability to turn stomachs. When I was a child, I heard a number of stories about disabled folk. Usually ones told to me (and the rest of the class) by teachers. These stories always focused on people with obvious disabilities, or the exact opposite of what I call reversion disabilities. Reversion disabilities, for those who do not speak the refined English that I do, are disabilities that, if you were to reverse the ratio between those with the disability and those without, those with would not be considered disabled. Hence the term, reversion disability. The stories I was told as a boy all concerned themselves with things like blindness or paralysis. Now, do not get me wrong, stories like those of Louis Braille are inspiring and should serve as an example to children. But the thing is, being autistic and being blind are two entirely different things.
Being blind entails the loss of one sense. Specifically, sight. And there are different levels of blindness. Just because your eyes properly focus a light signal through your optic nerves and into the receptor cells of your brain does not mean you can see well. Just like your SLR camera (cameraphones are only good for shoving up one’s arse, sorry), your eyes can only be as good as the weakest component. If the lens, mirror, optic nerve, or worse yet the sensor, in your eye is not up to spec, then you have a problem.
Before I say anything else, I just want to be clear about the fact that media of all kinds, whether it be written, audio-visual, visual, or audio, pretty much defines my whole view of life. If you have read previous posts, you know that how I define my view of myself tends to involve drawing comparisons to fictional characters, especially the way that they are represented in television or film. As I like to talk about the small fraction of good things in my experiences and consciousness, it is therefore worth taking a moment to talk about the New York-based vocalist who goes by the name of Julie Christmas.
A couple of years ago, Julie released a solo album called The Bad Wife. The cover art for which you see in the picture attached to this entry. At first, this was being thought of by some segments of the press as a stop-gap to tide us over before the next Made Out Of Babies album. Hopefully now it will be the first of many powerful solo albums.
In storytelling, writers who wish to give advice to others who want to break into the market will often tell people things reflective of their own writing style. One thing that tends to be true is that one should get their reader’s attention as thoroughly as possible, and as quickly as possible. But my corollary to that advice is that one should never let out their strongest salvo at the very beginning. In that sense, both storytelling and musical performances are like a fight. A fight consists of numerous stages, just like a story or a piece of music. You never open with your strongest attack because your opponent will be at his strongest at the beginning of the fight, and thus more easily able to absorb it.