No Future For Us

I can tell they’re uncomfortable when I talk about it
I know it goes against every fairy tale they were ever taught
The idea that life’s virtues aren’t a guarantee
Sends a damn chill up their spines
That a house, a family, a spouse or a kid
Ain’t just gonna fall on your lap before you hit 30
That you can expire from this life just fine without them
Or even worse; that maybe forces unseen keep them out of your reach

But sit your typical ass down, you’ll do just fine
But my little autistic self ain’t safe for it at all tho
I’ve seen the future all nice and clear
I adjust my vision every time, but the image is the same
It’s me uttering my last words to an audience of no one
Even the flowers in the vases seem glad to see the back of me
Sadly no one could make it for my death you see
Their schedules are full with work and the kids
They couldn’t find the time to see me snuff it
Typical, we all only die once too….

I can’t imagine my future with the lil’ picket fence thing
Where the money coming from? Who’s renting?
Who’s hiring a spastic like me so I can afford the mortgage?
Who’s sticking around long enough to co-inhabit with me?
When the only successful love I’ve felt is on borrowed time?
Who’s thinking me man of the house, when I reject that masculine bullshit?
And even if I hid it all, brought a beautiful son or daughter into the world
Who’s to say social services ain’t watching my every move?
Terrified of the empathy I could teach a generation
Ready to kick the door down, medical papers in hands
Take my kids away, and breed them compliant in the orphanage
Who’s to say every inch of depravity wasn’t planned from the start?

But I’m getting ahead of myself here
Cos I’m still at the point of disgust at first sight
In a social ecosystem designed to keep us out
You got 3 replies to inspire their attention
When replying at all drains the energy out of you
And god help you if it ain’t about The Walking Game Of Bojack
That’s where we’re at, our down time has been streamlined
Did you spend it doing what you love? Or did you spend it correctly?

From that petty stuff to the real insidious shit
Like your co-workers looking at you like Bigfoot
When you dare walk in 5 years older, still not a wife, not a mother
They talk to you in the same tone as they would refugees
What possible calamity could’ve befallen you to be this way?
Diddums, poor girl, they ask what’s wrong with you?
No quicker way to feel the reaper crawling down your neck
Tapping his fingers on your back in time to the tick of the clock

But what the fuck do these people expect?
When they still can’t cope with us finally being the real us?
“It’s really unattractive when…” “that’s so unmanly if…”
Too queer for the straights, to straight for the queers, you know how it is
No matter how much self love you got on reserve
There’s no way you can’t view yourself defective after all that
But of course “Having no confidence is so gross”
You gotta laugh, they’ve designed our exile from affection perfectly
Designed so my brothers don’t pass enough to have ever had it
Designed so that my sisters are forced into it before they’re ready
And if they’re not ready? They’re happy to let the bio clock time out
Cos they don’t want us to breed if we don’t step in line

“Entitlement” or some shit like that right?
Heaven forbid we crave what the typicals are given in spades
That we crave a little security in our lives
That we crave a little love to come home too
That we crave feeling like our lives are equal to yours
That we crave feeling like we’re not alien
That we crave someone enjoying our company
That we crave someone lusting for our bodies
That we crave the right to feel safe in our homes
That we crave the right to feel safe being off kilter
That we crave having a little hope
That we crave having a way to stop feeling doomed
That we crave some sympathy when the sensory overloads
That we crave some sympathy if it takes us a while to talk back
That we crave thinking we can make something of ourselves
Or even that we crave feeling like people don’t want us dead
That we crave knowing people don’t hate us
That we crave knowing people don’t think us inferior
That we crave a little fucking time to figure it out
That we crave just another year to get a handle on it
Heaven forbid we wanna live like you
Heaven forbid we want love like you
Heaven forbid we get up in the morning
Heaven forbid we co-exist with you
Heaven forbid I inhale oxygen in my lungs
Heaven forbid I exhale that CO2 out of them
Heaven forbid I live at all
Heaven forbid….

karnythia:

Oh hey this is me. I need to turn this into an article so I can explain because I see in notes people thinking “black parenting” = abuse & like…nope. So far from true. It does mean we can’t handwave any misbehavior as just kids being kids. Not if we want our kids to have a chance. Twice as good to get half as far

Support your POC Autistic kids. I see a of this in the UK too, the weird notion that someone can’t be both POC and Autistic. It’s a grim thing.

Pacifier (W.I.P)

Everything fine, but is that the danger?
It’s okay from a progressive standard
But it leaves him feeling a little mismanaged
The employee tag says devoted other
But I don’t think that’s what she sees
She can call him useless to Karen down the pub
But it’s all smiles and well wishes
When she gets home and prepares the roast

Getting onto month 5 on the dole
It’s no one’s fault in theory
When the agency feels like rolling the dice again
It’ll all be back to the normal for the lad
He’s not the kind of boy they keep an eye out for
Only to be given grace, never given a chance

Until then he’s left to monitor the ticks of the clock
For the time the nursing home loosens her cuffs
His heart gives rise at the sight of her
Her heart sinks as the side job merely begins
He can’t seem to get anything right
He can’t enjoy her cooking try as me might
He couldn’t remember the chores in time
He coudln’t remember her favourite colour
He struggles to find the right words to say
Every word he digs from his pockets go down awfully

Why doesn’t his brain work like everyone else?
Why can’t he just do these simple fucking things?
Why is he such a stupid fucking cunt?
The questionnaire that pushes past her fangs
His dream is growing callous working the machine
To keep his life in permanent stasis
Did her patience eroded over time?
Or maybe he just didn’t notice it was always like this
Her eyes uncover, a lover; pacified
The feeling that fastens over time, before his very eyes

Sebastian Noël

The Lord Of The Flies And Aspergers

Your jaws stuck a gape, your mango frappe’s on the floor
All cos I took a strangers exchange, like a fly on honey
My way of camouflage, it’s unlike anything you’ve seen
Though undoubtedly in my blood, it’s invisible to the naked eye

You say I’m just like them
As the mirage colours your perception too
You think I’m nothing like you
But remember the illusion is never real

You stalk close, binoculars and notepad in hand
Demanding I whisper, the secrets into your ears
You want to blend, not to contrast so much
Despite the paint on your face, they’ll never mistake you
Because in just a moments time, when glass and floor collide
The facade will fail, and collapse on itself

You say you wanna be like them
As the poison colours your perception too
You think you can be like them too
But remember the illusion can’t ever be real

Blessing or a curse?
To be pushed into the category by society
Only to take to it like oil on water
If I didn’t learn to emulate, I’d be dead you see?
I’m really like them ey? But none of that’s me
It’s not the cure to loneliness, like you believe it to be

Lnc0

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

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

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*