heart

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It’s Valentine’s Day again. Social media is of course flooded with all kinds of related memes, posts, comments and messages. Too much of it is sappy, and just irrelevant to this Autistic Bunny. But the circus is unavoidable, unless one lives in a hole under a rock (not a bad thing, really, apart from the lack of modern sanitation). So… here are my own thoughts for the day… Continue reading

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anxiety at the BIG Anxiety

Big anxiety at The BIG Anxiety Festival!

Some of this narrative was introduced in my previous post, about Food Markers, but this ramble here is a kind of variation on the theme, from a different angle.

This 2017 working trip has been fraught with dramatic ups and downs, and here’s my as-brief-as-possible review of the Grand Experience, months afterwards. Beware, ye grammar-sticklers, I do move rapidly between tenses, because I am unfolding the unfolding as I am experiencing it, in the now, in the then, and in the next. And that, too, is my Autistic Bunny Authentic Experience-ing. Continue reading

Goodbye 2017

 

Sometimes, the mind gets lost inside the mire of anxiety, like a hamster caught in an ever spinning wheel, so focused on the effort of running that one can forget to hop off the relentless vicious cycle. Feeling unwell from an unpleasant juxtaposition between Christmas feasting and irritable bowel syndrome, caught in the doldrums of self-deprecation, I was just about to declare 2017 a year of absolute non-achievement (yes, utterly ridiculous but that was my mindset at the time) when I decided to take a long, deep breath, sit down and make a list of the activities I had engaged in through the year. Truth be told, 2017 was actually a literal beehive of activity. I was surprised, duly chastised for my negativity, a tad shamefaced yet relieved – I needed that stern reality check! Continue reading

Merry Theory of My Mind

Theory of Mind is a theory, or is it? Dancing around alien fires. Whose Theory and whose Mind?

While it is not true that autistic people lack empathy due to their inability to decipher other people’s mindscapes, I myself admit to being stumped, over and over again, by other people’s thoughts, motives, and actions.

Take, for example, this somewhat questionable penchant for offering help, mixed with an innate inability to make quick enough assessment of character and/or predict potential disaster. Not a good combination by far. Continue reading

gaseous exudations

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Respectful social communication 101: In this day and age of technological advancement, there are multiple ways to communicate. If a person (with or without disability) tells you their preferred mode of social communication, please respect it, that is, if you wish to communicate with the person. Insisting on your own way and disregarding that person’s repeated requests is nothing but utter contempt and disrespect. Simple.

Communication is a complex effort. However, respect can be a really simple thing.

Sadly, there are people who just cannot connect in a straight-forward way, with mutual regard, across respectful space. I’ve come across many such folk along my more than half a century of traversing the hazardous human social-scape.  Continue reading

teamwork

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It isn’t true that autistic people do not know how to work in a team. We just need clear instructions about what is expected of us, and consistency in interactions. The autistic person is just as willing as any other to perform as a team, it’s just that the autistic mind functions somewhat differently, so better understanding all round is necessary.

Today, I was reminded again how amazing the people I work with really are. Continue reading

clement space in the city

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I spent the last few nights and days in this sofa, positioned right next to the loo. For safety, because I nearly fell down the winding stairs connecting to the loft bed. And for convenience, in case I had to throw up. A good thing I am short, but still, I have not laid down properly in a bed, stretched out, for this entire time. Continue reading

lead puffs

incessant inundation

weight of the world

mired in fetid swirl

demanding bits bobs

flotsam jetsam

to you

but me

pieces of my body

painfully sliced

piece by piece

shred by shred

excruciating agony

but no

have to

look here

look there

no, this

oh, that

chat, chat, chat

 

smile

wave

read this

listen to that

what do you think?

any advice?

here’s cake

eat

there’s steak

feast

be grateful

be happy

be cheerful

be merry

but most of all

BE VERY VERY VERY CLEVER

you’ve a PhD

… right?

 

all I want to do is just sleep

accommodating Self

 

Yesterday afternoon, a friend took me to a little nooky cafe, tucked inside an industrial estate. A former hardware shop, the entrance decorated with eclectic vintage clutter served as a thematic introduction to the atmosphere within. As soon as we pushed open the creaky door, I felt a draft of musty, humid, cool air blow directly into my face, then wrap around me like a nebulous mouldy snake. My skin tingled, as my olfactory senses picked up the various miasmic odours emanating from each visually charming piece of history on display.

The waiter ushered us towards the back. Slipping within a split second into a bubble of wordlessness, I followed obediently, semi-somnambulant, my sensory system already engaged in a (routine) contrapuntal wrestling match with the onslaught of smells, sights, and sounds. As we were about to sit down at the allocated table, speech suddenly returned, and words fell out of my mouth like marbles, tumbling down and bouncing sharply against the concrete floor.

“I don’t want to sit here, it smells funny. I don’t like the smell here.”

Continue reading

creating clement space

 

As the BIG Anxiety festival draws ever nearer, I am plunged into a flurry of making, musing, more making and more musing. While crafting the installations for Clement Space in the City, contemplating the concept itself, and trying to find spaces of clemency along the way, an old song of mine wove its way into my consciousness.

The road is long and the dark night is lonely“… A line from one of my songs, “To Touch the Edge” written and recorded 1998/1999. I did not realise it at the time, but it was a plea to find Clement Space: a place – mental and/or physical – where mind, soul and body may dwell, even for a few brief moments, without threat or assault to intrinsic Beingness. (Click on title of song to access on SoundCloud.)

Days are now filled with the sensory textures of netting, organza, cotton, linen, yarn, thread, pinpricks on fingers, and the whirring gargling rattling of my mother’s trusty old Singer sewing machine. Continue reading