Abscissa – Autism and Techno Blog

Greetings, a new blog tonight. More or less following on directly from the last one.

I did indeed manage to get quite drunk. Enough to try a couple of things. First off was the good old drunken dancing round the town park, it’s nice and quiet that time of late night.

Dance like no one’s watching they say. In my case I can’t dance when anyone is watching, not without lots of alcohol. A brief feeling of spirituality in dancing with the moon bright in the sky.

It was great. The only thing missing was having my newest track on my ipod. Decided eventually to walk home and get it on there, perhaps finally get my tracks uploaded to youtube. The plan was to go back out and dance for another couple of hours.

3 cans of dark fruit cider left over to get properly hammered. Well that happened but the going back out didn’t.

Been getting in touch with my dark side which is what it’s all about. Finding the inner voice to express the blackness of my heart.

The other thing that happened was that I decided to express some on anger on twitter, sending a pretty nasty tweet to someone criticising their recent output, while engaging in some nasty, emotive language. It felt like a hate tweet disguised as honest criticism.

Well it got me off twitter for a day at least as I avoided facing up to any repercussions from it. There weren’t any in the end, I don’t follow the individual and I don’t really wish to engage any further. Deleted the tweets anyway. I sat and thought about how that isn’t what I want out of social interaction.

I should say, however, how good it feels to engage the inner devil. To hate with true righteousness. The inner demons can indeed be such a warm comforting presence.

The focus of this blog is, well, let’s say my inner fantasist is winning the battle against my inner realist. Perhaps it’s a realisation that it was winning all along.

What happens when someone can no longer deal, no longer cope with living dat to day in the real world? The “real” world it could be said. Since that seems to mean the responsibility of being around other people.

Other people make our shared experience the real world. What goes on inside our own heads away from anyone else’s perception? To see things as they aren’t but how we wish them to be.

Being too sensitive really sucks, you know. I’m more connected to others in a way few people understand. Can’t actually just be myself when overwhelmed by how others affect me and they do simply by looking at me. Seeing me.

Of course I’m still human. I still want to be seen, heard, thought of. Dwelling on the notion that any kindness or affection I show to others is only to get some back in return. What truly do I have to offer anyone but struggle, suffering and darkness?

I’m not there for people anymore. Not sure I ever was. I’m only here for the false images of fictitious souls. Inventions in my mind to provide what I need. What I cannot provide for myself in reality can be represented in imagination.

I think what I truly miss is being a part of some very dark subculture where I would be accepted and welcomed into with open arms. Only fellow freaks need apply.

It explains one thing that has defined my recent struggles. I care about people who share similar struggles, to those who preach positivity, good vibes, healthy attitudes, unwilling to entertain negativity, I simply stopped caring about them.

Kindness is so patronising. Those who compel you to “be kind” don’t and never will fight for you. They’re telling you to comply, even against your own oppression.

The demons exist precisely to protect against these commands, these forces of fucking normality and one-size-fits-all decency.

It’s not the end of my journey of course, don’t think there ever will be an end to the journey. But I’ve reached a critical point. A fundamental rejection of all that is normal. A misanthropic hatred of regular human behaviour that goes far beyond media hipster misanthropy.

A rejection of that which used to provide objective reality in the human experience. A rejection of any shared experiences.

Mind-blindness, aren’t we all horrible people for lacking the ability to see other people have minds of their own? No one is a mind reader. Aren’t we all horrible people for lacking the ability to communicate effectively?

Bah, I can barely cope with my own life let alone cope with anything you shovel my way.

Are you as fucked up as I am? Do you hate normality too? I would gladly walk through hell with you and put myself on the line to be there with you.

I will see the angel and the devil in you and love you for it. You will always have a friend in me. But for selfish reasons, I will see your salvation in companionship. I will be there to save you until you save yourself.

The illusion now shattered, I will walk away in shame and ignomony. Alone once more.

Who’s left to save except myself? But then again I don’t want to be saved. The demons aren’t here to save me but to help me live.

I can’t really ever communicate how I feel in words, they just sound like trite cliches. Even the demon metaphor feels distinctly cheap. The imagery still has power though, that’s the point.

Every thought and action is based on them. Who do they actually serve? Me. They have all along. A power of sorts, even if imagined, no basis in reality. But a psychological bulwark, willing to do the dirty work.

A better friend than reality can ever manifest. They are the voice that represents self-respect. Yes, I trust them now more than any other voice. Because they are me and I am them.

A casual reminder that the only thing I ever really wanted in life is to feel that which punctures the numbness and sets my heart on fire. Makes me feel alive enough to want to live.

That which sets my heart on fire is the same thing that triggers my anxiety and robs my freedom. So I hope people can understand why I continue to be unhappy.

But then again I hope people understand why I do find so much meaning in such suffering. Why my demons love it when I suffer. Why I love and live to suffer.

It’s not a convenient excuse to be trotted out but is in fact everything about my soul. Without suffering I am nothing. And yet it is too much sometimes. Keeping myself safe is necessary but the cost is the happiness.

Who the hell worships at the font of safety? Who dreams of a life without risk? That is what the demons preach. Take a fucking chance once in a while. Risk to be wild and different. Fuck anyone who wishes to keep me safe and docile.

As much as I’d like to tell everyone to fuck their fears off, I can’t deny that I’m still hostage to my own. But I’m autistic. It’s a fucking disability despite what anyone says. Trying to overcome this terror has left me feeling totally twisted.

The demons will have their way. They want to dance. They want to feel alive. They want to come alive, manifest in reality.

I want to dance. I want to feel alive. I want to come alive, manifest in reality.

This is why I drink ladies and gentlemen.

Thank you for reading, those who still do deserved extra praise and love xx