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.

On Notions of Rats and Cats

Just an notice, I know I have been very neglectful with my blog. It's not quiet dead...but I have been less than interested in posting. Tikaani misses everyone and says he's sorry that he doesn't feel like playing with folks.


Onwards...

It’s twenty passed nine and after making breakfast and coffee to start my week of constant repetition, I hear the sound of ‘clikclikclik’ nearby. My two young male rats (called bucks) are thirsty and I just filled their water-bottle with fresh clean filtered water. Dodger being the more inquisitive one sits on the water-bottle surveying the living room from the cage. Fagin his brother prefers to doze in the hammock or in the blanket nest that they made. Watching them play, investigate talk to each other in high-pitched noises that I can’t hear, I think about why I love rats and why I felt a need to write this essay.

Autistics tend to be required to have certain attachment to things. It’s a sort of litmus test to prove to that we are not some sort of organic machine but a real flesh and human being. In some ironic way I wonder if this behavior is what leads to the empathy tests in Blade Runner to find Replicas. If autistics like Thomas the Tank Engine and Lighting McQueen then they are read as ‘normal autists’ it’s expected of us to like machines with faces for some reason. To empathize with them before we start with bigger and better things, I liked Thomas, but I wasn’t obsessed with it as some autistics do, I prefer Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, especially Master Splinter when I was four and five. That was my first special interest. I wanted action figures and outfits and bed-sheets. I had a love for stories, connections and crime fighting I wanted more than talking trains. I wanted more than what was expected of me to be a good and proper autist. 

This doesn’t go away once you’re an adult; now you’re expected of have the right sort of sensory issues, the right sort of special obsessions, to be a virgin, de-sexed and naïve but brilliant. To be a “Gary” from Alphas or “Sheldon” from Big Bang Theory, if you not any of these you’re considered ‘atypical’ at best, or ‘poser’ at the worst. I have been in this conundrum before. Be accused that I am not what I said I am and so forth I don’t look at it with any sort of anger, just confusion. Suddenly everyone is an armchair neuro-scientist. Out of all the expectations I have to carry, one seems to grate on me. It’s one that many autistics have in common and share, yet I don’t seem to fit that stereotype.

You hear it from autists, you see it on webpages. “This is a cat, not a defective dog, this it’s happy being a cat”. There is even a book called “All Cats of Aspergers” that even continues this idea that autistics are like house cats. Autistics are routinely compared to cats; in fact most autistics I have met love cats and talk about them all the time. It’s almost expected of me by other autists than neurotypicals that I should have a hoard of cats and being devoting myself to loving them. Don’t get me wrong. I like cats just fine. My mother has two males at home, Garfield and Andy and I love them both. I was severely attached to our female cat Jade before we had to find a better home for her. Still though, I am not a ailurophile, I don’t have a bunch of cats in my apartment and even though Josh likes them I don’t have big interest in getting one (though, we have considered adopting one, right now it’s not possible with the boys). I am perfectly happy with my curious loving bucks who make me grin every time I see them scuffle, scamper and learn new tricks with me. I have nothing against autists that have and love cats; Josh my partner has interest in them and even acts on occasion like a big lazy ginger tom. 

Yet for some reason the idea that we should be compared to a domesticated animal unnerves me. For some reason it’s appropriate to put us on the same platform as animal that wholly dependent on people. Cats are not as independent as most people think. Looking at it for what it is, it feels like it’s another metaphor that autists need allistics to take care of them. I know most people don’t think like that, but I see that perception. But let’s look at how we raise cats. We declaw them, force them in house for their safety, neuter and spay them and we should. They are cats, they don’t have agency like people do, I believe in being a responsible pet owner. I don’t castrate my males as they are brothers and it’s going be a same sex cage, but if they get too violent I will be responsible. Since autistics everywhere are fighting against compliancy and patronistic ideals of the neurotypical majority; I find it almost ironic that many identify with cats and are quiet content with being compared to a house pet. If folks choose to use a cat as metaphor for their state of being, then by all means more power to you. But as for me, I don’t see myself as laid back cat that enjoys cream and fish. 

I am investigative, too smart for my own good and have an insatiable appetite. In many ways, I am like a rat. Curious, bright, active and finding comfort with my own kind, I am social and adventurous, a lover of new things and things to explore. In many ways I throw a lot of the stereotypes of a typical autist out the window. Despite the phrase, ‘if you have met one autist, then you have met one autist,’ people don’t seem to follow it very well, including other autists. We make comparisons and we gage each other, there has been pissing contests among autistics on who is more ‘autie’ than thou. Parents to it every day picking out what traits that their child has are ‘clearly’ autistic traits. Thus using it as measuring stick against other autistics. It’s clear that in the spectrum of thing that there are other things I should fixate on. Yet why are we painting ourselves with the idea that we should be tame pets, and why are those traits that make us an autistic used to measure others? Is it because we have to prove to NTs that we are really are pussy cats? That we have to give them some sort of reassurance that we’re not like those guys? Can autistics be like, dogs, ferrets, horses, ducks or even rats? More importantly, what value is it for us to be considered typical by NTs, why should we be their ‘pussy cat’?

-Bard.

It's a matter of perspective

Josh and I have been rather hopeful about a new crime drama that has been on TNT lately. Perception stars Eric McCormack as Dr. Daniel Pierce. A brilliant neuro-scientist who helps the FBI solve complex crimes with his unique perspective and insight on people. Oh and he's also schizophrenic...just thought I should add that in.

I have many mixed feelings about this crime drama but it looks like a good foot in the right direction. However, just because you're going the right way doesn't mean you won't get lost. I suppose this essay is kind of a review on the show but not an accurate one since I have only seen the first episode. It's also dissection on the perspective of having a dual sword of a disability and a talent.

The show is something I want to bring up to parallel what is going in the James Holmes case. There is discussions that he had a psychotic break and is diagnosed with schizophrenia. Not sure if the latter is true however and I did mention my irritation on the lie that schizophrenics are always crazed killers and the denial of the fact they are more likely the victims. Yet the show takes on many of the similar tropes I have seen before. One of them is the "disability superpower" trope. I don't know if it frustrates me or rather fascinates me that his visual hallucinations are the manifestation his subconscious telling him how to solve the crime. Could it be possible for a schizophrenic to have dissociative consciousness that whatever it takes it in, it comes out garbled and skewed? Possibly, it's very likely that most hallucinations cause by different neurowiring is simply a scrambling of what is understood and perceived. But the whole idea that his hallucinations manifest to help him use his active consciousness to solve the crime doesn't sit well with me (example of this is during the episode one of the suspects gets nervous when he sees Dr Pierce he later visits the doctor saying that he is going crazy and killed someone and wants Dr. Pierce to help him. Turns out it's a hallucination that is a clue to what is going in the case). I can't buy it for some reason, hallucinations don't always manifest like that, some are just plain nonsensical (the one my friend J had are pretty damn surreal). Maybe that is why Dr. Pierce is brilliant, maybe his brilliance is because of his schizophrenia. Or is it the other way around, maybe is born brilliant and his brain schisms causing the schizophrenic symptoms?

Perhaps this is the thesis of the essay. Am I good storytelling because I am an autist who sees things in different shades? Or am I an autist that uses stories as an accommodation to communicate? It's a chicken/egg question indeed and one that needs exploration. I have high hopes for a show that works to move pass the tropes and cliches of schizo-typal people. Who has a neurodiverse hero that treasures his neurodiversity and truly recognizes it. It's good to see folks taking that bent on disability than making it "teaching lesson" for the able-bodied.

Here we go again

With another shooting in the news the same usual suspects show up and without much ado, the Mental Illness and Developmental Disability community, pretty much gets bulldozed and scapegoated. Just like clockwork. I dread hearing about these dreadful shootings (not just because they are incredibly tragic), because once again we're the face of evil and violence. In weeks time schizophrenics, bi-polar and autistic adults (and teens) will be in the front pages of news blogs with tragic reports of there "aggressive" behavior and how were "time bombs" etc etc. Same song, same dance. It happened with the Virgina Tech massacre it happened with Columbine too, and now with the horrific Aurora Cinema shooting it seems that people keep conflicting Criminal Minds with real life.

Joe Scarborough said some pretty ignorant statements in regards to the shooting, and he got told off for them fortunately, but this just a slow change. Especially since Joe kinda missed the point. And to be a bit cynical here, people are going to continue to miss the point since this is always been sort of a hard lesson to learn. People with mental illnesses are not your killers. People with schizophrenic disorders, bi-polar, OCD, DID, Borderline are not your boogieman. Kassianne made clear point on this complete with stats on the real facts that we're the victims than the victimizers. In fact I have been hearing more frequently about the deaths of autistics lately. Yet still people continue to paint us as organic robots with no feelings or social awareness. I don't understand how hard it is for people to grasp that it's more likely that my neurtypical readers are going to to murder me or my neurotypical siblings than the other way around. Hell I should start profiling all the normies on my blog for Odin's sake.

I know what your people are like...

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

Does this Unit have a Soul?

One of my more recent addictions lately has been lately the Mass Effect Trilogy that you can play on Xbox. It follows a very "choose your own" adventure sort of story where your choices do have certain consequences (Before anyone starts I don't want wank about the ending), it's enticing to me as I play through discovering planets, aliens and re-discovering a genre that I love but don't find a lot of good material on it, "Space Opera".

In the first game the big bad was a race of sentient machines called the geth. For the player they are simply crazy robots bent on destroying everything. In the second game we meet a character called Legion who explains a bit about the geth and their perspective on things as well as their view point on why the rose up against their creators the Quarians.

We have seen this song and dance before. This is an old trope done before, where machines fight against their masters and we must destroy them before they kill everything. In some cases with androids or robots, the Velveteen Rabbit trope is used to make them more approachable to humans. Over all this is nothing new and it borders on cliche even. But the whole idea of Legion recalling the memories of many geth that he stores and explains the situation in his perspective is kind fascinating and something I look forward too when I get to that part of the plot.

The reason I bring this up is because androids and robots seem parallel autistics in a sense. Writers use similar tropes to portray us. The "Autistic Killer" echos a bit of about a crazed machine that goes haywire and snaps and kills it's masters. The love of a NT woman to normalize and Autistic man is another echo on the idea the love of a human woman can give humanity to a machine. Autistics have been used lately to be the new "android" metaphor, it's common in films like Adam and books like House Rules that the autistic is used to be a figure for something that is uncanny and not truly human. It's the idea that autistics are so familiar or so foreign or so tragic that they are more like robots than people. The reader gets to know the autistic as outsider or Other. NT writers tend to write autistics as tragic context that needs a happy result for the story to be complete. Other times they come off as plot furniture. This is nothing new or needs repeating, we all know this from various books.

What I am getting at is like the geth writing it's own story without the outside perspective of the Quarians; autistics tend to do the same thing. I find more autistics writing their own novels and stories in their perspective. Their narratives and fiction have more power than the ones written by NTs, because their narratives are from their own collective, their own context. Not one made from guesses or ideas on how autistic should be but rather what they really are. This is interesting to watch as autistics are starting to craft their stories. Regardless of what the rest of community might scoff or say; we are the archivers of our own mythology.

More Than This

I haven't been avoiding this blog....I just have been uninspired