autism cure

Yesterday, I made a few comments on the Today Show’s Facebook page in response to this terrible news report by 9 News. Well, actually, it was in response to a friend’s prompting, because I usually avoid such contemptible media hype these days. It is just too distressing for me to pay much attention to. I had seen the trailer for the programme earlier on, but remember shoving that slithery visual-aural ribbon of drivel out of my mental sphere.

“How a boy learned to overcome autism”

The title comment in their “Today” Facebook page read:

“19-year-old Jake was diagnosed with severe autism as a child but recovered to lead a normal life after years of experimental therapy.

This is yet another example of a tragically all too prevalent phenomenon: utter ignorance and sickening condescension in poorly researched popular media programmes, especially when they are featuring people who are different from their perception of ‘normalcy.’ Continue reading


Lucy and I are hungry girls. We love our food at all times of the day! I am not stingy about Lucy’s treats because I empathise with her – I love my treats too! Fortunately for us both, we are well fed, despite our straitened circumstances. Continue reading



When one has touched an article of genuine worth and become steeped in its nuances, one is able to tell the difference between the ‘real thing’ and a replica.

True regard and respect is a magnificent package. I did not know how to identify the authentic item, because I had never seen it before. And the Aspie mind is a simple one, so easily convinced by platitudes, especially when issuing forth from the mouth of those I had trusted all my life. Though that trust was shattered when truth revealed itself.

I may be more than a tad slow in grasping certain complex (and often twisted) neurotypical relational subtleties, but when the Aspie mind meets a revelation, it is steadfast in its conviction. The photograph capturing that moment of dawning is embedded in the core of Being, its pigments will not fade. Now that I have tasted of the legitimate, I have no desire any more for the counterfeit. The latter belongs permanently in the mist of the past – banished forever, it must never be allowed to make a come back. Continue reading


A Facebook friend’s post caught my eye. Roughly translated, the quote declared that a truly wise man remains silent as he observes the world around him. That may be true, but so does a person oppressed and repressed. Silence is not always golden. Sometimes, silence roars louder than spoken words, not in genteel tones of sagely wisdom but writhing in pain, churning in turmoil and thrashing in ever advancing stretto of agony. Continue reading

flogging the silent howling

The title is a sentence taken from my earlier work, He(A)r(e)not – for violin, voice, video and soundscape (2009).

A lived experience. An almost perpetual circumstance. That is, for people who fall through the cracks, who are different in one way or another, who exist in the tangents and trajectories of difference, deeper depths, higher planes, unseen, unheard and ignored by mainstream collectivity.

Sydney experienced a horrific event yesterday. I am too overwhelmed with a torrid blend of grief, rage and frustration to elaborate on my own emotional responses to this. The events are reported in the news, readily available and I will not repeat them here. Google it if you want to know the details. Continue reading

no rest for the weary?


Food reflects culture and mental states. Especially the meals of a foodie. My breakfast this morning was a combination of effort at Self Cheer and textural visual reflection of a dull aching oxymoronic state of throbbing-melancholia. Soft boiled egg with mayonnaise and plain yoghurt on a bed of cheap Aldi bacon (microwaved for less olfactory intrusion) and spring onion sprinkles, accompanied by cheap Coles coffee laced with cheerful caramel chocolate. The aroma of the caramel was balm to my sensory discombobulation.

We had another rough night. No rest for the weary. The Door Slammer kicked off the fabulous evening with a supremely noisy party. Her visitors traipsed in, announcing their arrivals with less pomp than raucous ceremony, then the customary now obligatory door slam to welcome each one’s initiation into invigorating zest for Extreme Neurotypical life. Then came the cacophony, introduced by loud out of tune singing of Happy Birthday, then variations on a trio-theme of Shriek-Scream-Guffaw. In and out they went, revitalised no doubt by every sharp slam of the door. No, I was not standing outside. Our units are separated by several feet along a corridor. My door was closed. But I could hear ever single sonic embellishment. Then, thankfully, towards midnight, there was a mass exodus to another party venue, and although the exit was marked by brilliant screeching coloratura and booming basso continuo, I heaved a sigh of relief.

However, my peace was short lived. Continue reading