An Overloaded Aspie Mind Needs A Break

Well WordPress, this is my first post to you as an adult.

Feels surreal. But also still feels like me. I didn’t change bodies, just a number. A number that entails responsibilities and consequences I didn’t have before.

With work taking much of my time, and preparing for college in fall, I have been feeling very numb as of late. I haven’t been feeling much of anything. Happiness or sadness, anger or frustration. It’s a bad place to be when you’re just…floating. I guess all the customers have gotten to me, and I didn’t notice. Or this is just my subconscious trying to save me before I have a meltdown. Maybe neither. Maybe both.

I’m still writing. More than ever actually. Words are coming from places I didn’t even know were inside me. I haven’t posted anything onto here of these pieces because I’m saving them…I’m hoping to take this blog, and you (obviously, as my reader) a little deeper into how my mind really works…what I see, think, and interpret this world to be. I’m still sending my poetry collection out to publishers, and there hasn’t been any real success with that other than the usual  “thank you for your submission but we’ve decided to look elsewhere” responses. I’m not deterred. I know I need to keep writing.

I like the work I’ve produced over the summer, and in time you’ll get to enjoy it as well, but for now I need to take a break. When you become disconnected with your heart and soul, as I have lately, you start to lose other things too. Working and being constantly around people has forced me to become distant to my feelings, because with them I’m emotional and reckless, with good intent, but as every aspergian knows they show us for who we are, and many don’t like that kind of person. The mask has been on, and will stay on, but I need to replenish the supply.

I don’t really have a timetable on when I’ll be back.

I leave you with the hottest woman from Suicide Squad (Harley truthers bite me)

 

and some of my birthday twins

 

Tomorrow’s My Birthday….Just Another Day?

(Thanks to the lovely Lisa Troedson for the Entertainment Blogger Award nomination. I’ll have to publish a separate post for that.)

Assuming nothing happens to me between now and tomorrow morning…

I’LL BE EIGHTEEN

(claps, dabs, whips, drops, and does all the other dances at once)

I should be excited, right? I’ll officially an adult, which will bring a lot of opportunities, like being legally able drive a car. There will be more job opportunities. It reminds me how close college is, and reading away the summer will soon come to an unfortunate end. Along with the Madden and Call of Duty.

(Okay. Maybe not the Madden. Maybe)

Tomorrow is, honestly, sobering. For a lot of reasons.

One, it’s an opportunity to be grateful for another day. There are countless souls who weren’t blessed to see this morning, and many more won’t wake up tomorrow either. All I can think of right now are those millions of aborted children. Why? Because I’ve done so much wrong, and they did nothing, yet are unable to truly see the light of life. Making the most of the time I have is the best way to show how much I support them.

Two, it’s a pillar (of the many) in my personal quest for defiance. honestly, if you had asked me if I’d make it to 18 a few years ago, I would’ve said no. I was depressed. I was on edge. I could barely process a few minutes, never mind looking years in advance. But it’s not just about the number, but what I’ve done with them.

I always thought myself a weirdo, so when I learned I had Aspergers Syndrome, I wasn’t too surprised. My transformation over the last five years has been nothing short of divinely inspired, and I am always grateful to the infinity on high for ordering my life in the way it has. I don’t understand it, but I am grateful.

I wouldn’t be here without it.

Part of that order is running into you. How I turned some god (awful) poetry into what this blog is today is a proof that the writing community is loyal and faithful to those within it. The nurturing, encouragement, and support I’ve received has been endless. Everyday I’m reminded by someone of how this post was amazing, or this poem left them speechless. I hear “wonderful” a lot, too. I can’t put into words how grateful I am to you all for what you’ve done. You helped turned me into someone who isn’t afraid to talk his condition, and the shortcomings of them. You helped me face my addictions, my fears, and people I could never speak to in person.

 

So, on my birthday eve, I think I did and didn’t answer my own question.

It is just another day. A reminder of not just far you’ve grown, but remembering the people that you grew with. That makes it a little extra special.

 

I work tomorrow, and I might do something fun afterwards. (Any movie recommendations?) Other than that, more reading and writing and preparing for the days ahead.

Peace out. God bless. Thank you all and I can’t wait to continue this journey.

Playing To The Beat Of The Winds

silent rolling hills

grasses still

as the trees standing above them

watchful soldiers

on the eve of battle

there’s a flower garden too

yellow

and purple petals particularly pushy

each inching higher than the other

for light

red brick preventing

further advance

Stonewall Jackson

come again

there’s a pretty little girl

dancing in the middle of it all

serenity mixed

with delicious vulgarity

as played with herself to the beat of the winds

enveloped me

fully clothed

yet confidently nude

in expression

and in awe of wonder

there’s no one to tell her

how to dress

or how to live

so she danced

she danced

and everyone that came near her

became white as the milk

that dripped

from her bosoms

 

 

On The Problems Many Seem To Forget…

there’s emptiness

on this road

stepping to the beat

of hunger

poverty

and shame

every blink of my eye

sends a waterfall of compassion

every rise of my chest

charges the air with electricity

to power the depressed

and give legs to the fallen

I was not sent here

to give the good news

I am

the news

all around me

men fiddle with lives

as a girl does with her dolls

but when she becomes a woman

she handles her children

as her very breath

these men have not matured

past the idles of babes

yet we call them masters

leaders

revolutionaries

along with the downcast

and the plagued

I spit upon their presumptuous ways

and in battle I will strike them

cut them down

divide them up among the angels of death

for their time has ended

the sons of men were given

a task from above

to watch over his creation

to love all

as he is loved

but he tore down his father

and ripped apart his mother

he turned brother towards sister

and the animals too follow

in these desolate ways

 

 

 

Daytime Is A Bastard To My Existence

 

Cast aside

torn apart

by wolves

picked clean by vultures

and sapped of any manhood left

by desperate bitches

wishing not to be able to walk

when morning light

strikes their thighs

still gleaming from my light

injected into their living

yet lifeless

souls

trudging in the desert

frost bitten by the night

the moon closes the wounds

with songs sung by starlight

till I’m asleep in a dream

sunlight opens them up again

tearing my spirit

ripping the soul

daytime is bastard to my existence

and the clouds are the mob

mocking me with cover

only to reveal rays brighter

sharper

than before

eating food takes energy

and it tastes sweet for such

a short time

I wish it never did

to begin with

where I’m walking

mishappen footprints may tell

a flock of crows

drone on and on

If only I was David

I’d strike them with thunderous bolts

and eat their brains fresh

as nature

did to mine

when I was born

I was not given eyes

to see people

nor the ears

to hear them

I can only guess

how they feel

and predict after practice

what their words mean

those genuinely cunning

and others

desperate for a one night stand

they’re all bred

from the same cloth

and the fire

turns all to dust

 

The Machine Lies To Us All

Mechanical whir
electric humming
metal earthquakes
that shake me to the core
not withstanding
I enjoy
looking at the clouds
noticing the shapes
sizes
wondering if I’ll ever get there
really
not staged landings
like they did on the moon
how do people distrust
the election numbers
yet believe NASA
when they said we landed
on an object few of us
if any
have ever seen
the shock waves
from cross country wires
must be short circuiting
common sense
how do I love
something I’ve never seen
they ask
because it’s the unseen
that keeps the seen
breathing
and allows us to choose
what to do
with our breaths

 

Thin Crimson Lines Drip Down Her Temple

thick clouds surround me
the sky is a mellow grey
air seems still
and though my heart beats slow
my brain is racing
far ahead of my skull
which bends at the pressure
of expanding thought
skin shatters
as the ceiling above it
killing my spectators
and allowing me to marry
the love of my life
thin crimson lines
drip down her temple
mixing with the whiteness
of virgin climax
she tastes like you
only sweeter
the object of relationship
is not love
but freedom
in the partnership
of two souls
bound by one
not by metal circling a digit
but contentment in connection
in a lifelong desire
to enjoy one another

 

Living With Aspergers Is Like Shadow Watching

 

Living with aspergers
is watching someone’s shadow
and guessing
who they might be
I see motions
and I think
they’re speaking
I hear commotion
and I think
they’re moving
images fade together
unless there’s darkness
then nothing at all
I hope out of kindness
but kindness is rarely returned
the mysteries of the night
confound the complexity
of unexplained sound

 

Dear Her (and the names are endless possibility)

 

Dear her
(and the names are endless possibility)
I’m sorry
I’m so
so sorry
for being a sick bastard
appearing clumsy
and dropping things in front of you
just so you’d pick them up
and I’d get a glance
at boobs
shy glances
mixed with dirty thoughts
two parts greed
one part jealousy
in a six inch tube
gives you a complete mess
even Clorox failed
to remove the stains
I’m sorry I wanted you for that
that alone
I didn’t know what I was doing
(I did)
I didn’t know what was happening
(I did)
I just wanted to talk
and I thought that was the best way to
cunning youth
lip locked with honest desire
I can tell you I’ve changed
keep a calendar, though
you’d always know
I’m just as quick to change my mind
as the leaves blow
with a sudden breeze

 

I’m Talking To You Without Mentioning Your Name

hey
you
I don’t know who you are
honestly I can barely pronounce
your name
hometown is a blank line
along with a everything else
this world seems to value
above heart
and trust
or honesty
they say I talk to myself
midnight comes
and goes
Kansas City plays on
into extra innings
as I murmur thoughts
only my pen understands
my words are sometimes
the drippings
from dry humping memories
and other times flowers
I keep tossing at tombstones
and many times
(Wisconsin knows best)
it’s me talking to you
without referencing your name
dancing with dawn
cheating on the night
I’m somehow married to both
because I’m indecisive as hell
and I missed the bus to heaven