On Being 'Human'

This is an essay on the character Aya from Green Lantern the Animated Series An essay on Aya and autistic narratives In discussing with Isaia last night I showed her and essay in which I discuss the race of aliens in Mass Effect, the Geth and allegorize them to autistics and autistic narratives. I am sort of going to repeat myself a little bit but I will try to discuss why I connected with Aya as an autist and why writing autistic narratives can be so bizarrely tricky. Aya is by far one of my favorite characters. I haven’t connected to her so strongly since Avatar: TLA with Sokka and Aang. She developed at a pace that wasn’t forced or contrite, nothing about her character seemed like a cliché and everything about her seem to sit with me in way I had trouble describing. I really liked her, a lot.

Being male identified, I had to pick out why I connected to Aya so strongly and why I wanted her to be happy the most. It was when I was running through the blog-gauntlet being ‘Autism Awareness’ month (aka, Month of Hell) and I was busy readying over blogs for my disability activism then it hit. I attached to Aya because she is an autist like me. Now bear with me, this isn’t as crazy as it sounds, nor am I projecting (I might a little), I spent years studying autistic narratives in fiction and analyzing them, I write fictional autistic characters, and I notice things. It was when I had that epiphany I knew I had to talk about it somehow. As I stated previously, Aya was paced well. Meaning her development came organically and unnoticed. You don’t noticed that she was falling in love with Razer because the writers didn’t expose it and learn to show not tell with it. Her evolution of gaining momentum over the course of the season and it was interesting watching her develop. When I realized what she symbolized for me everything seemed to be colored differently. The way she interacted with people, the way she talked, learned reminded me a lot of my own experiences and a few of my peers; to me despite being a robot, she resonated with me how an autistic person should act in fiction or narrative setting. She wasn’t helpless, she wasn’t a permanent child constantly needed the ‘neurotypicals’ to explain things to her, she wasn’t obnoxious, or made to be plot furniture. She was socially clumsy interacting with organics, communicating them had occasional snafus and there were more than one moment in which Hal yells, “Ayaaaaa” in frustration. Yet, she is brilliant, powerful, beautiful, and so wonderful to watch grow up. Watching her interact with Razer was so breathtakingly amazing to see how Aya evolved and became more human. Not by the will of her love interest but by her will and desire. It had nothing to do with Razer but everything about her own agency. And at the same time, I was frustrated. They have made a wonderful autistic narrative, but Aya wasn’t an autistic, but a robot.

Despite autistics being stand-ins for robots in many modern narratives these days. I know Aya wasn’t an inversion and most of my observations could merely be projections of my own want of a clear story of an autist that is not written just for neurotypicals. Not everyone shares my view point on Aya, and I respect that. Aya though is example on how I want autistic narratives to be written. With that same well-paced, organic feel that isn’t full of preconceived notions of what autistic should be or has to be in the eyes of neurotypical society. There was no need for a ‘Velveteen Rabbit’ story for her, meaning in which, a non-human or disabled character is turn normal or human by the loved of another. Usually a male non-human turned human by a female. Aya had her own agency and decision with her own identity. It wasn’t made as I mentioned earlier, for Razer’s benefit. But hers, Razer loved her for her. Not to make her normal or organic but truly accepted her for her. In some way, watching her in pain and anger while she was in Aya-monitor mode, made me both frustrated and in pain with her. I wanted her to be ‘saved’ but because she was hurting so much and I understood the moments of shear cathartic anger and rage at the discrimination that we both endured. I didn’t want her to burn away like I have so many times before. I think the most striking thing about Aya and her narrative, is that emotions and feelings were there and watching her build them to empathize with her human crew and still getting treated like she was soulless machine; was rather heartbreaking. I have experienced that, the idea that as an autist I can’t love, or that love is too complex for me and I lack ‘theory of mind’ to understand love; and its nuances. Watching Aya defy what was expected of her condition was amazing and so beautiful. She did feel and love, and seeing that being told was very rewarding and satisfying.

 It was proof that autistics and robots. Do have souls.

Ahh, It's that time of the year again

This is only going to get awkward from here on out. Everyone knows tomorrow is Autism Awareness month. The time of the year I sit on the blogosphere and drink cider and beer until I pass out. I frankly hate autism awareness month because it just a clusterfuck of 'feel-good' matyrism posts, AutSpks propaganda, counter protests from the autistic activists and aspies chiming in with aut-supremicy. Either way you look at it. It's fucking ridic. Dear friends however, please please don't light it up blue this month. I ask of you as your autistic friend. AutSpks does not help autistics they help NT families. Less than 2% of the money they raise goes into community services, most of it goes into 'research' or into the pockets of the board executives. They use propaganda to make us into tragic figures and strip autistics of humanity. They are not a charity. They are a corporation masquerading as a charity. Dear friends if you wish to help autistics and support them. You can donate to these charities. TASH NYLN ASAN These organizations help people with disabilities by supporting inclusion, training and support tools. Please I simply ask my dear friends to research who they are giving their money too. You never know what organization that charity is.

Sound of Rain (Fiction)

I wrote this back in April.

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Sound of Rain

C. Kramer

Hands against the foggy glass, Ian looks out watching the drips cascade down the bay window in his apartment. Slowly falling, the rain makes the sandy hair boy laugh as lightening dances in the surly clouds. He pulls away flapping his hands and rubs them on his face. A celebration of some sort, one that his lover never truly understood but empathizes in a way. Ian flapped again bouncing on his toes, swaying to the rolling roar of the thunder. A May storm always gives him such delight. A fixation that Mattie let him indulge him in once in a while; ridged schedules, planning things in advance, and a life of routine left their lives little room for things like spontaneity. Mattie couldn’t always go parties he was invited too, he left work early sometimes to deal with incidents. His life has been route and organized. All to keep Ian at peace in a sea of noise and faces, if one thing goes out of balance. There was chaos.

And people do ask: “Why do you even bother?”

The answer wasn’t simply “because I love him”, though that is part of the answer. For Matthias Shepard, life was as sea of noises and faces too. There was no reprieve for him; he went through life feeling though the ocean of emotions and thoughts constantly drowning in them. Every day, he was drowning and on one cold January evening, that is when he found an island. Ian Farthing was that island. A man who spent his life living with siblings, parents and at one point in a men’s home; never really having a place of belonging. He was a burden to some, a liability to others, but Mattie saw him differently. Telepathy with a secondary talent of empathic awareness, are heavy weights to wear. And since people never shield, he was always privy their intents, to their feelings, to their secrets. It was maddening for Mattie. Ian being autistic was relief from that. His mind functions so differently that picking up emotions was foggy and hard to pin point and telepathy was equally hard. His thoughts were various word-pictures, sounds, smells. They were in differently complex patterns that are hard to cipher though. It was perfect peace. He wasn’t open and naked like the others. He wasn’t a pulsing mass of ethos. Finally Mattie found someone that he could truly get to know, talk to, and discover.

Ian found peace with Mattie. Shoved aside by family members who saw him as a non-person; Ian found himself with little control over his life. It wasn’t until his sister Jane saw his landscapes, and then people started to care. Not about him, of course not. Just of what he could produce. Rich and vibrant fields, busy streets and stormy evenings; the latter is his favorite. Watercolor was his medium of choice and spent many of his days holed up in his room painting. Only eating when made to and only leaving the room when he had to piss. Ian spoke to his sister in the same short clipped voice explaining in great detail what he trying to say in his paintings. He went on about techniques and new methods, watercolor vs. gouache and things that Jane couldn’t give a damn about. But he made money. And greed was strong in her. So against his own needs, she made him do tours, sell in pricy galleries and showcases, dragging him around like a dancing poodle. It was that January when Ian was showing his watercolor paintings in gallery opening, the one that Mattie was at.

Swaying side to side, Mattie found a shaggy hair main with wide rectangular glasses staring at a painting of a sunset from a roof top. Mattie was drawn to him, while trying to escape the environmental noise and the psychic noise too. It was quiet where Ian was. Surprised, Mattie stood next to him. Pushing back his long black hair he took a sip of the chardonnay and started a conversation.

                “Nice contrast, I like how the red bleeds like that against the start black.”

                “Oh.  Thank you. Took me months to get that,” responded the swaying man.

                “You’re the artist? You’re Ian Farthing?” Mattie raised an eyebrow and turned to Ian with a fascinated look he is so….silent. I can’t pick out any outward resonance from him. It’s like he turned off or damped his emotions. I can’t pick them up. Mattie offered his hand to Ian, a smile forming on his tanned face.

                “Matthias Shepard, it is an honor to meet the talent behind these paintings.” Ian carefully shook his hand. Mattie’s hand swallowed the clammy artist’s, and he had to actually concentrate for once to pick up a resonance. He hates it here, he doesn’t want to be here I get those emotions, but his thoughts there are, images, some are words…but I can’t translate them right away. This…this is incredible. He’s a Dampener. Those are hard to find. Shaking his hand for a moment, Mattie turned back to the painting.

                “Does it mean anything?” he asked, Ian’s response was simple:

                “It was just a practice piece using some new tubes, but I guess people can stick whatever meaning they want to it.”

                “It looks…somber almost. Like there is a kind of dinginess to it, but seriously; what does it mean to you? “

                “It’s isolation. Feeling of being cut out from society. The roof has nothing on it, it’s bare and void and sun as its setting casting a glow to it; almost if it’s judging it.”

                “Do people judge you Ian?”

                Ian looked at Mattie with a hurt look, “Of course. I am autistic. Of course they judge.” Mattie was going to probe deeper when a stern blonde woman walked up to them. She ushered Ian way saying that some folks wanted to buy a piece from him. Mattie looked at the title of the painting that they were discussing. It was entitled: Scathing Glare.

The months that followed ebbed and flowed. Mattie spent evenings visiting Ian, at his studio. Bringing meals to him when he forgot eat. Watching him paint and the conversations dripped down like steady rain. Mattie explained to him that he was only child, and grew up rather sheltered. It was only when he hit middle school things began to change. His psychic powers manifested and nothing was ever the same after that. Ian seemed interested about it. He has met some “psychics” in his life. Most of them were just empaths that were good at cold reading. True telepaths were hard to come by and meeting one for real, was quite an opportunity. Ian started to feel a strong connection to Mattie after spending several evenings, and afternoons with him. He started to take more breaks from paintings and started visiting him at his clinic where he practiced. He made an effort more to try new things and slowly Mattie watched him come out of his shell. He was vibrant and exuberant about everything. Paintings of Ian had richness that Mattie noticed more. Real happiness, and as the months that followed from carefully nurturing the relationship that they have sowed together, the happiness flourished.

Getting Ian off of Jane’s hands however was not simple as Mattie thought. Before Ian moved in, Jane struggled to keep Ian for herself afraid her little hen will not lay any golden eggs for her. Yet Ian convinced her that he can give her some of his money he made from commissions and galleries to her once a month. Deal placated her, and without that complication, Mattie and Ian can begin their lives together.

It wasn’t always perfect. Mattie knew what was he was getting into with having a relationship with an autistic. The beds have to be always made or Ian will rant and be surly for hours. If they were late for a gallery show or a meeting or anything, Ian will panic. Mattie was patient and rational but even his own patience was tried when they got into spats. Mostly out of miscommunication than malice. Explaining things over and over was exhausting. Still despite the rough spots in their relationship. Things sometimes seamlessly flow together. Ian was tirelessly observant, Mattie often comes home late and dinner would be prepared for him. Small paintings of flowers and fresh fruit will be in his briefcase and the simple peace of them just together in the apartment was fact enough on how much it was worth it. Living with Ian took effort but all good things take effort.

In Ian’s case, Mattie was also a challenge. Like autistic symptoms, psychic powers also have its set of inferences. Ian can tolerate crowds as he was use to them in the gallery parties. Mattie can only tolerate them for an hour or so, before he started to break down and hide to escape the constant sea of resonance. Movie theaters were out of the question. Mattie had a hard time eating out too. Because even the food has resonance and nothing killed the mood more than trying to eat a steak with the sound of mooing and the crackle of static from a stun gun(One of the reasons Mattie often went vegetarian). So it goes without saying that eating out was once in a while and only if Mattie wards from various resonances and impressions. When Ian had enough of people and the mask of “normalcy” falls off; he shuts down, rocking back and forth and hands over his eyes. He will scream and try to run away. When Mattie gets over loaded, he gets violent. He made damn sure never to show that side to Ian. Until one afternoon…

It was another gallery show outside of town at someone’s property. It was warm and bright and Ian was more involved with the guests than use to be. Shaking hands and showing them some of his new pieces. Mattie was oddly more worn that day. Quiet as he followed his lover behind him watching with proud but tired expression on his face; happy to see him so social for once. He took a beer from the cooler and walked outside to get a break from the party and drank on lawn he found himself wandering to an area outside of the man celebration when felt a wave of psychic energy. He furrowed his brow as he touched a hammer that lay in the grass next to a tree stump. A sick feeling welled up in Mattie as he rolled his eyes back seeing an image two men beating the shit out of another man. Words and slurs were being thrown around muddled with the hazy image. Mattie choked back his nausea as the boy who was probably gay was beaten by two men, high school age. Dropping the hammer Mattie staggered back, beer left in grass by the weapon. He had no idea if the boy lived, or not. He didn’t stick around to find out. His own mask dropped off as he stormed to the car not noticing that Ian was behind him. His grey eyes filled with concern.

                “Mattie? What is wrong, you lo-“Mattie whirled around to strike whomever was behind him, but Ian caught his fist. Grey eyes now filled with deeper concern. “What the fuck happened? What did you see or pick up?”

                “Back off Ian, I just need space.”

                “No you’re going to calm down first. You’re seething, what happened?” Ian was insistent and didn’t let go of Mattie. Both of them looked back for a second before getting into the Jetta.

                “I picked up something in the back of the place, some kid got beat to shit.” Mattie admitted rubbing his face.  “We need to go now. We can’t be here.”

                “Do you want to tell the police or something?” Ian tried to help.               

                “No I just want to fucking go! I am tired to death of being here.” Snapped Mattie

                “Mattie we can-“ Mattie fell into the resonance loosing himself to the impressions he found. Everything feel away from him nothing was stable or real anymore as he found himself looking into the eyes of the boy that was beaten, Ian didn’t even finished his sentence when Mattie let out a deluge of words anger flavored them like hot sauce. Ian couldn’t process them fast enough but without thinking, he grabbed Mattie’s shoulders and forced him to look at him.

                “Stop! Breathe. Now. Push back the onslaught. I am gonna talk to the host, I am gonna get to the bottom of this. We will go home, get out of the ocean Mattie you will drown.” Ian solid words, and own dampening ability stopped the resonance from continuing. Mattie took a breath and managed to put himself back together.

                “Right you do that Ian. I am going to chill out here for a while ok?” Mattie said wearily as Ian slowly got out of the car and walked back to the house. Mattie rubbed his face as tried to hold on his mind. He needed Ian more than Ian realized.

Bringing himself out of that memory he watched Ian rocked to the sound of rain and heavy thunder. Mattie got up from his seat in the living room and put down his laptop. Coffee in one hand and idea in his head he got Ian’s attention.

                “Hey, Ian c’mere.” He said as he put his coffee down. Ian laughed and joined him in his favorite chair looking outside the window, still engaged to the conversation.

                “Something on your mind?”

                “Yeah Ian” there was a pause, “what do you think about the phrase ‘high functioning’?”

                “It makes no sense honestly, but in what context?”

                “What about in the autistic sense?” asked Ian sipping his coffee letting the mellow flavor relax him as Ian took his time thinking.

                “I still think it makes no sense. I am only considered high functioning because I can talk, but most folks look at us and they don’t see a gay couple. Most people think you’re my brother and get shocked when I kiss you in public. Rest of the word sees me as, semi-functioning or something. They notice my disability and see it as a flaw. You’re not even high functioning at all and they call your disability a god-damn gift.” Ian rambled.

                “You don’t think I am ‘high functioning’?” laughed Mattie.

                “Generally, you can pass. But I know you struggle daily to keep from falling into whatever resonances or psychic entropy you find. You get sick and you tire easily. I take care of you more than you take care of me Mattie. I mean. I don’t want to seem like I am complaining. This is just my-“

                “Observation, I know,” finished Mattie, “I know you’re not trying to be hurtful. So many people see the relationship as one sided. Some even think I am taking advantage of you, but you’re right Ian. It’s the other way around. Sometimes you get lost in environment yourself. Sound drowns you but you always manage to bring yourself out of it. If I start to drown, I can’t seem to pull myself out.” Mattie drank his coffee quiet now.

                “The sounds of rain Mattie, people hear the rain and are calmed by it. But when I hear it I am driven. I want to rock, flap, dance, spin in circles. We all respond to the world differently. I don’t think that means you’re a high functioning psychic or low functioning one. It means you respond to the sound of rain differently. I can’t tell you how to dance to it. But one day, you will find your rhythm to it.”

-End

FlusterCluck: Disability in Fiction why I hate the "disability superpower" trope

This topic has been floating in my head for a long time and something that I want to approach it and actually talk about it.



aiffe brought this up recently in her post about TV shows she is watching and I responded to the parts about the show "Alphas" here. One of the issues I have within in fiction, or rather Sci-Fi and fantasy is the idea that people of disabilities needs a "karmic balance" or able-body "personal Jesus". It's something I've noticed in books and in movies when the disability is turned into a hurdle to get over or the disability must be balanced with a great power or skill in order to make up for the disability.


This is a big pet peeve and one I am going to address. While the link doesn't explain the problems concerning karmic balancing it did bring up the feelings of worry I have when I see a rise of autistic heroes especially within the Sci-Fi/Fantasy quagmire. It feels that writers have to make them a tragic hero or a naive one (like Lou Arresdale in Speed of Dark), they are normally male and asexual (and yes there are asexual auties, but their also NT asexuals too and queer auties, but autie in books/movies/tv have been portrayed as hopeless cases or asexual which is because writers want to dodge sexually active autists) and he must love numbers and math and be good at computers and in sci-fi books, must have superpower.


And this is where I sigh.


I have not seen an autistic hero, be female/queer/or sexually normal. I have not seen an classic autist be useful in a plot that isn't a plot tool. I haven't to seen a happy aspie hero, that is happily adjusted as he is and contributes to the story in other ways that has nothing to do with his disability. Instead, writers feel like they have to weigh in on their opinions on autism and thus their character ends up being a soap box, like Lou from Speed of Dark and Jacob Hunt from House Rules. While characters like Hikaru Azuma from With the Light are out there(a happy and severely autistic kid in a slice of life manga), they are few and far between and autistic writers are just as rare. Yet that is another topic....


You don't need to make your autistic or disabled hero "balanced" but giving him a superpowerful skill (now before someone shouts out 'what about Tikaani', I want to say, while I don't regret giving Tikaani edidic memory, I do think I should build more of his character and re-designed his savant talent in a way that wasn't used to make him "useful" then again Tikaani was beta character and his concept is in constant refinement, to maybe it's lesson learned), you can however develop him like all your other characters with his own talents and flaws and wishes in a way that isn't showcasing a litany of stereotypes. You can make an autistic character "quirky" and "awkward' but you don't have to point that out all the time (like in Hunt's rules) you don't have to make him male. You can give him a relationship that isn't tragic. If the story does have characters with superpowers you can give him one that compliments and balances the team (say that you have one super hacker, one with superstrength maybe the autist can be a shifter?) instead of a power that is following the "auties are good with math and science" trope.


Rambling aside of ideas to improve the auties in fiction problem, the crux is the reason the disability superpower is aggravating is that accentuates the idea that "Disability is bad" and needs to have something good to even out the bad of being disabled. The fact that only autistic savants are useful in stories is forgetting the fact that not all auties are gifted some are just mediocre all around. Disability shouldn't be painted as flaw that needs to be balanced. Disability should be a facet of a character that makes it whole.

Stepping Forward

The lack of posting is mostly my fault (obviously). I have been dealing with a lot heavey emotional stuff including transidenity, my father's verbal and emotional abuse, work and dealing with the constant flow of life around me.

Because of this, my blog has little attention if December is any proof. I hate making resoultions because I could never keep them and they end up becoming more like empty promises. However, I will make an effort to post more stuff here besides art dumps and geek stuff. Hopefully I'll finish that essay I have on "Changling culture" and another post on passing as NT vrs passing as a man. I will have to do more post on my volunteer work "Tanya" but will see how that goes and Yes...more Tikaani art/fiction.

I might also start re-writing some old posts. So question? What posts of mine would you like to see redone?