Tag: autism

The Eyes

My adoring public
I can hear your calls loud and clear
And I promise I got all your nice letters and gifts
But something ain’t sitting quite right with me
I’m standing here in a coat of saliva
Reflecting of the strobe lights, the jazzy sonics
But the brain doesn’t feel any less at ease
The cancer of isolation is slowly taking it away
Cos I’m running on empty this night
And I dunno what it is I really need
Can I find the elation that only company can provide?
Can I find the worth to which only praise can comply?
Maybe the silhouettes shaking in the smog can set me free?
As one snaps back into reality and approaches me

She moves through the night like smoke
Pins me to the wall gagging for life like monoxide
Pythons running through my shirt
While she barks through forked tongues
The haze of your 5th rum intake
Translates the howls and barks more colloquially
“I want every atom and line of code
That created your being, all the time, every time”
But when your soul starts to radiate
As soon as you unleash the locks from your jaws
Will it decay the budding rose
Will your verse turn into pesticide?
Her claws try to relax the buttons of your jeans
But does she really care about what’s inside?

You defragment and collect yourself in another scene
But try as you might you can’t escape it
The eyes undress you, they molest you
They grow in numbers as they surround you
Your so beautiful, the most prettiest thing they’ve seen
But your just beautiful, just the prettiest thing
And the panic starts to set in
The anxiety really starts to rev up
You dunno what it was you ever wanted
But you’ll never find it here
You die inside, you just want to cry
Your soul starts to quiver and freeze
What is that you’ve done?
Do you really even know?

Lnc0

From The ‘4 Nights Of Hell’ Series 

The Real Fucking Me

Fuck effort
That’s my mantra as I landmine onto the dancefloor
I can work hard for life’s little trinkets and party rings
But I never feel like I’ve earned something proper
Till I’ve nary lifted a finger to get it
Gift wrapped with a side of wine like Christmas dinner
The twisted logic on a egomaniac, that sound out of place?
It’ll come as a shock but: That’s the real me

I go for long walks in the streets
Cos I get off on the public looking me up and down
Boys want to emulate, Still boys want to gyrate
Feather clips equiped, black rings achieved, chocker on
Fuck man I look as cute as ever, my new record
And the eyes can do nowt but confirm it
Better yet the eyes coming from after dark agents
I get a real charge when my name keeps resurfacing
No matter who they choose to prey on that night
The tendrils keep coming back to yours truly
Who the fuck did you think taught them to show them fangs?
Always the rook keeping you in check, every fucking night
You better thank god’s grace for my autism
He did it to give the rest you fuckers a fair chance
But you won’t hear me moaning about the perks
As she’s drenching from a spastics level of precision
God I love when they tell me I’m their best
It makes up for never being praised as a kid
And it more then makes up for my slow start
But the greatest underdog always start in last place
I shine so bright it fucks with their eyesight
They have to beat me down to get me on ground level
But now the shackles are off my talons
I’ll sore so high I’m flossing my teeth with the constellations
Supernova their lagging influence from my light-beam
And it won’t be long before I forget their names

I put more stock in my thighs, then my future
And I can hear then already: That’s not befitting to a boy
But words like that make the investment higher
See? The boy in you is emasculated, and the girl’s pinning
I love that you can see them covered on my hands
Just shows I got bigger shit to fight, then you mere mortals
All this sounding out of character for you? Just remember
I didn’t get arrogant, my best friend ego’s always been there
He was just bound by a dragon named Switzer
One bullet in the head later; Sebastian’s out to play

And you can bet that’s all the real fucking me

Lnc0

Is it common for autistic people to be particularly attached to an object (eg a toy or clothing item), especially if it is part of their routine or special interest? I know that some autistic people are generally more attached to objects rather than people, but could this happen for only specific objects?

askanautistic:

Yes. Attachment to objects can be a general (a particular item but all examples of that item) or very specific (one specific item and no others will do, regardless of how similar they are).

Here are a couple of previous asks we’ve had about this topic:

http://askanautistic.co.uk/post/125856202174/is-getting-emotionally-attached-to-objects-and

http://askanautistic.co.uk/post/125161654294/why-are-autistic-persons-so-attracted-to-their

I think their are stereotypical objects autistic people tend to general gravitate too like rubix cubes and such, I personally as an autistic person got attached to the conman house-hold slinky, even to this day as 23-year old I still play with it on a daily basis :L so the object itself will definitely vary but I think every autistic person has the ‘one object’ they’re fond of

An Excuse Not To Try

As I take another sip of the local suds
While you sit me down at the back
And confess to me your packing some extra baggage
A Diagnosable mindset with a name you can’t pronounce
As you look at me with doom and gloom in your eyes

I can’t comprehend how I’m going to live the rest of my life
With this shadow looming over me at every corner
It won’t get better, it won’t go away, it can’t be cured
You can’t threaten to leave it’s milk out of the fridge till it moves out
My life is ruined with this monkey stuck to my back

But just Imagine if Mr. Organised succumbed to the same mindset
Threw that job application for Dreamworks into the shredder
And handed in his resignation from the local film college
Because he knew he had to live with himself forever
He’d stay awake at night, toss and turning as if he was in a grave
Because he knew somewhere in West Yorkshire
Some plebeian decided to order their The Who CD collection
By year of release but made a calculated error
They put “The Ultimate Collection” before “The Very Best Of The Who”
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because he’ll always have that image of that crime scene of a shelf

Imagine if Mr. Acne succumbed to the same mindset
Smashed that CD-r with his demo tape on it
And broke the band up before their début charity gig
Cracked the fret of his guitar in two
And slowly unlearned all the songs he’s written
Because he knew he had to live with himself forever
He’d lock himself up and stare vacantly at the walls
Because he knows after everytime he smeared that cream on his face
The new prescription medicine that guarantees clear skin
It’ll just grow back during that brief period
Of running out of cream and going to the pharmacy
A grave 10 minutes of walking down to the local Boots
Not to mention them whole entire SECONDS
Of applying the stuff two the 4 spots that remain after a shower
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because he’ll always have to check his face every now and then

Imagine if Mrs. Quavers succumbed to the same mindset
Burned up the 300 pages of her novel
Stopped going to her book club every month
Threw out all her favourite books into the ravine
Fed all her magazines to the dog
Got rid of every thing in the house that has words in it
Smoked everything in the house that has a story to it
Because she knew she had to live with herself forever
She’d stay home from work and pace through the halls
Because she knows no matter how she spends her time
Every 4 hours she’ll crave for another packet
She’ll have to endure the pain of filling out the stock report
While tasting the disappointing husk of saliva
Everytime she walks into the cafe at lunch break
With another packet instead of a Freddo bar
She’s never felt so ashamed in her life
And she’ll have to trudge back home in the rain
Because now she’s 40p short of getting a single home
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because she’ll always be thinking of the next packet before lunch

You can throw extreme’s at me all you like
Slather them all in the sauce of your sarcy tone
But it doesn’t change the hand I’m stuck with
Your Skitzofinniky, I’m Boretistic, and Mrs. Johnson has a Peg Leg
Those extra percussions are no doubt an annoyance
And the way our labels are like Abra-Kadabra
They can turn you into a three legged puppy in peoples eyes
If life can stub a toe, our’s can break their legs

But when has that ever been an excuse not to try?

As Preformed By Domestic

– Lnc0

I’ll Let You Keep That False Sense Of Superiority

It’s coming up to 5 minutes past 3
And before us all the best holligan repelling bars
Are coming under lock down in front of our very eyes
My platoon has no choice but patrol the slums
The kind of bar filled with seedy salary man
The ones who turn a blind eye to personal boundaries
The kind of gross specimen I find side by side with my rendezvous
With a sigh I walk on over to be introduced

You then turn in my general direction
Tilt your head like you would a toddler
Carrying the burden of a hastily cast, plaster cast
And put on the pout on your lips
At the news of my autistic blood
You tell me how your so sorry
How that’s such a shame for me to be this way
How I’ve roll the dice and got snake eyes

I find that funny you would talk to me that way
Like a old fisherman’s pup, missing a hind leg
Because your not to know this, but me and your ex lady
The one you’ve been awkwardly gyrating on the dancefloor
Receiving the same reactions as an electric bill in the mail
Yeah we’ve been at it for the last month
You make comments about I can’t do things like the normies
Oh she doesn’t seem to think so not at all
Reading back the reviews it’s clear I’ve surpassed you
No I might not be the talkative lad at bars
Sometimes the washing up can be confusing
But is that really a price to pay for what I gain?
You won’t admit it but you’d kill to be me right now

*Written For National Poetry Month – 28/30*

Failed Integration

Dear diary, it happened again
Society has shown me the back of it’s hand
And all I tried to do was coexist
Dear diary, it happened again
Society has spat on my brand new shoes
And all I tried to do was understand it

I tried to let my guard down again today
Attempting to slowly peel away
The years of perfecting the perfect persona
But like a moth to flame I never learn
I have no idea what it is I did
Now they’ve illuminated me with their bright red glares
It’s time to slink back away to the drawing board
And stitch together a new persona all over again

Do you see the bloody towels?
And the birthday gifts gathering dust?
That’s what’s left of your last attempt
To integrating with the everyfolk
An animal can only learn to mimic human mannerisms
No matter how convincing the mask and the dance
They can see right through you like jelly
The closer you get the harsher the kickback

Dear diary, it happened again
Society has shown me the back of it’s hand
And all I tried to do was not get in the way
Dear diary, it happened again
Society has spat on my brand new shoes
And all I tried to do was ask why it had to be this way

I’m all out of fight, I submit to your will
Just tell me what it is you want me to do
I’ll sit gag, bound and tied up by the hands
And you can pick me up by the strings
And make me act like everyone else
The type of person people are glad to see
A version of me that wasn’t born in this defective way
Maybe it’ll make them happy
Maybe it’ll make me happy…

*Written For National Poetry Month – 22/30*

It’s Hard To Watch People Squirm

Slumped with your pelvis pointing to the heavens
On a forgotten park bench underneath an oaks slouch
Caressed by the fog on a humid spring afternoon
I spot a familiar wince to trigger the mist in your eyes

There isn’t a grimoire in the land that could scratch the surface
Of the inner workings of the roulette wheel in your head
The one that decides how your going to see the world today
The one that despite all the drugs, steals control from your hands

Oh but I know that dice roll all to well
I was born with the same game of chance in my cortex
All I ever wanted was to let you know someone understands
I just wanted you walk the streets with a smile again

It was never an intention to be a pylon in your path
I just hoped maybe It’d steer you away from any more aches
But you just plough through me at top gear, as if I wasn’t there
Just to make your way to the next pothole to fall down

Oh how it ties my gut into a Shroud knot
When I see you shriek in pain from your pedestal
It’s an impulse to feel a twinge of guilt
Maybe I could’ve taken the bullet you aimed at your head?

What do I have to do to get your attention?
What do I have to do to not receive the palm of your hand?
I can’t be your distributor of impulses on the side
Is that all I could be for you to listen to me?

I never ment to make you cry
To make you lose your mind under the street lights
I just wanted to see these things though
I didn’t want leave you alone without knowing I tried

*Written For National Poetry Month – 16/30*

Wings

Oh it’s oh so clear to me now
I may of spent a few hundred million years
Scratching the desk and knocking over my beer cans
To cold call a league of philosophers at my door
Man the tantrums seems so silly now
When I’m arm in arm with comrades of old
Gliding down the streets screeching our anthem to the sky
Oh yeah it’s so clear to me right now

They told me I couldn’t find anything better
And too take the lashing like a good little slave
They swore it never got any better then this
I was lucky to even grab where I was by the fingertips
They promised they were right
Far be it from me to question your motives for telling me that
Is this what you have to do to people to stay confident?
I’m confident that’s the case

You had to make me feel like dirt
In order to make yourself feel alive
All I had to do start living my life
In order to make you feel like dirt

All you ever wanted to do was clip my wings
Use me to shield you from the deathray
You fired straight at the mirror
Hey no biggie I’m just damaged goods right?
Well I didn’t hear the others complain
The only one who’s complaining is you
As you lay yourself in the same mousetrap
Scrape another lover to use from the highway

*Written For National Poetry Month – 14/30*

Our Activity

The clock strikes around 40 minutes past 4
And so comes to end another shift as the canvas
For comrades to project their insecurities onto
Being born with a flawed blueprint, it’s the perfect excuse
Oh lucky me I’m to be greeted with an offering of h2o
Delivered from the heavens above personally

I know it sounds surreal, but their was something sweet
About being greeted with the biggest smile
Clutching your brand new set for handcuffs
It brings me right back from the soaked walk home
Shall we play cops and robbers for tonight?
Get the toppings and play DIY chef in the kitchen?
Put on the body suits and go a round of play fighting?
Or take a trip to the green in just your skirt?

I was never good to expressing myself with words
I can’t think of sentence that begins to describe
How good it feels to have a life in my life
Who can forgo all sense of verbal communication
No misunderstandings, No excess of words
Any reassurance for your daily allowance
You got in excess from our bodyflow
The only time I’m understood

And now I’m stationary in my room
Gathering moss on my flesh
Even if their words were never true
And they were planning a getaway
For the next day
Just a night to partake in our little activity

*Written For National Poetry Month – 7/30*