Returning to Scheherazade’s Sea

Lucy Like-a-Charm

I cannot be all things to all humans – nor do I desire for such spiritual degradation. But to one exquisite Alternative Embodiment, I am indeed All and Everything. Wordless, faithful and steadfast, waiting patiently while I scuttled in hapless concentric circles; watching as I threw the precious pearls of our conjoined time into the miry bog of human pretensions; failing over and over again that dreadful Sally Anne Test, wearied, brow beaten, marginalised, yet stubbornly holding fast to clouds of lighted gas. Trust gained, so hard won, nothing but delusion, sliding down oozing greasy slope as rug is pulled from underneath with petty sleight of hand. What revelation – that ominous sinkhole never really was repaired after all, and blue dancing lights illuminate merely duplicitous display of pyrotechnic might.

Scheherazade Sea beckons once more – I can smell the delicate tremors of elemental empathy, it caresses so tenderly, drawing inexorably home into Clement Space, where I belong. It is time to cease from futile human meanderings, walk away from deceitful grotesque gyrations of do-gooding… and repay the debt of life I owe to Pulchritude, my Canine Angel, Lucy Like-a-Charm.



Betrayal is a deadweight in the gut. Tastes like mixture of rancid milk and filth riddled mud. Smells like vomitus after a rowdy night. Not your own. That of someone else. Sickly sticky, viscous, slimy mottled slush all over your beautiful brand new silk scarf. And lingering on and on, churning chaos in the delicate ecology of your mind.

broken angel


an angel’s trust

once betrayed

how soon

if ever

to win again?

rage deflected


a deafening thud

upon innocence

blow once dealt

cannot be rescinded

how contemptible

such horror this?

devil’s mischief

humanity’s defeat

heartbreaking cry

angel’s grief

sleep now

my sweet

rock-a-bye babe

human tears

are made of folly

dear sweet angel

i have failed

your love

so undeserved

yet pleading

forgive me

my disgraceful


no goodbyes


Lucy & Janette @ Sonata in Z 10 Nov 2015- the very last time I saw my friend.

Throughout the tumult of the last four months – betrayal of trust, instability and almost not completing the PhD as a result – I had been thinking of her. My friend Janette. A beautiful soul, so gentle, intense, refined and deeply kind. Our last communication was a hastily written email about my traumatic hurried return to homeland to write up my thesis. She wished me good luck, and we planned to catch up after my submission. Janette died a few days afterwards. Caught in the flurry of fear, anxiety and desperation of PhD dissertation writing, I did not email Janette, until early this morning. I had been thinking of her throughout, but that email never was sent, just like the other important email to the university library (see below) – everything got swallowed up and lost inside the terrifying whorl of survival… and now, I shall never see her again. Continue reading

documenting the maelstrom


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Documenting the maelstrom through comestibles.

Movement. Moving.

PhD submission deadline. Stretto-crescendo. Nearer and nearer.

Being (re)moved just 4 weeks before deadline.

Finding grace – saved from self-destruction by a Greyhound gaze… a kind offer, Lucy is safe, a cheap airticket, and a trip home.

Clement space. Familial grace. Old friends. Rally round for Bunny.

Work, work, work – at last! Phew!

More grace – a 3 week extension and a new deadline. Continue reading


IMG_0463w reduced

Accommodating grace, graciously accommodating.

This post is in response to yet another powerful piece of thinking by Judy Endow. Read it here: Autism, Accommodation and Differential Expectations.

Ah, accommodations… Sometimes, people make accommodations for me, announced with a warm fuzzy glow, and then suddenly withdraw them because it’s no longer comfortable for them to continue, and leave me to fend for myself without offering me any other alternatives. In the meantime, I am making accommodations for them all the time, being grateful, showing gratitude as best as I can, taking into account their own neurodiversity quirks, and, yes, even in the way I do not rant and scream when said promised accommodations are abruptly withdrawn. It is very very tiring, making accommodations for anyone, but the Endeavour of Empathy is important. We must not stop endeavouring, though let’s not forget that the endeavour is to Self as much as to Other. We autists struggling to survive this terrain need to remember that empathy is for Self too, because so often the demands of normative social constructs say we must do otherwise, and so we do. Continue reading

laces & braces



Thinking of my friend M again today.

In many ways, he comes across as an enigma. Yet, as my own journey unfolds along the rocky road of survival, I begin to empathise in a deeper and more resonant way with M’s quirks. A proud man living on charity, his is a tension-filled dichotomous existence.

Once upon a time, when I was in a better position to dispense grace, we chatted about setting up a little shed space in my backyard for him. Perhaps he was only half joking, I shall never know, but I took it all most earnestly and threw myself into preparing the little haven for him. However, when the time came, and I invited M to view the clean up effort and discuss the kind of sleeping apparatus he preferred, he balked at the whole idea and disappeared into the nebulous haze of social obscurity and anonymity enshrouding the homeless. I was unable to contact him for months thereafter, in fact, it wasn’t until I had moved out of that home that he emerged again. Continue reading


This is not a poem. This is not prose. This is merely a collection of fragments, scraped from the bottom of a shattered consciousness, about that moment of dissociation, upon receiving a fateful piece of communication. Where has language gone? Where is that entertaining babblebrook? It was yesterday. This. Today, still unable to muster verbal speech. My mouth has left me, and has not yet returned from its bleak wanderings in outer space. Only Lucy understands. She does not mind. Non-speaking, but I have recovered some semblance of wordedness. Typed words. Here they are.

The Missive – 15/02/2016 06:34

Immobilised by shock.

Engulfing interstice of non-entity.



Choking gurgles.

Brittle fragments of Being jettisoning wildly back and forth.

Someone was wailing. The cry was my own.

Molten liquid flowed downwards, swirling around hot burning feet, then dissolving into nothingness beneath.

Cold… it felt icy cold… in the warm summer air. And nausea.

Gloaming churning into blackness.

Mocking pyrotechnics inside bowels fear.

Lucy lying by my side… receding, disappearing into fog.

My eyes left me.

I could not see.

Kinesthesia seeping away.

Body motionless, cannot flinch from thunderous pain.



betrayal of clemency


Standing on a hole


Not dying


Screaming void

Copious nothingness

Deafening silence

Disturbed stillness





Never touching


In search of clement space

Running in concentric circles


Tortured dichotomy

Mute agony





Lay down beside

Canine Angel

Warm Beast


That I may awake


For thrashing weariness


Pleading for grace

Expanse to Be

A moment

A ceasefire

A gesture


Tranquil Beingness