Under Solitude of Night From The Sun’s Light

There’s been a drought;
I suppose that isn’t news, but around half-past nine PM every night, after hours of staring at still branches and immobile curtains, the most lovely breeze blows as if from the stars

Sleeping with the windows open, living next to a busy road, is impossible. All the more so with my hyper-sensitive ears

But one has no choice when the stifling heat rings your neck in bed and turns nap time into drowning in sweat time

But that is not what I wish to blog about:
What strikes me about summer (more so than winter) and especially with the extravagant heat is how the mundane is turned into magical delights:
• Take the breeze for instance, cool and delicate, almost shy under these conditions. Yet when it brushes against my flesh I shiver with glee.
• Iced water tastes like the liquor of eternal vitality
• Rain fall, that precious hum of a thunder shower swoons me into a trance of reverie, (giddy).

Where in winter the sun is a dear friend, in these conditions the glorious night becomes a realm of reprieve from the iron-clad rays of sunlight which bombard every particle in sight
I do not know of too many texts which have seen a drought in such flattering terms.
But this will do.

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Clarity of Expression: Non-Fiction exercise deux

You Are My Center, when I spin away…
Love songs, Romance in movies and books, they do not speak to me nor do I find any remnants of myself within their concepts and depictions.

Hugs and Kisses, The arguments and make-ups, a carnival of emotions both ironic and cryptic without ever coming to any kind of conclusion unless for some inexplicable reason you find that rare old couple; they fit like a glove, they live having developing their own tailored “coping mechanisms”
For everybody else I see a merry-go-round of hypocrisy and force-fed hope
Marriages and weddings with the same script but ever changing characters.

‘Blame it on my Aspergers,’ I think to myself.

And it’s alright.
That I don’t get it, that I do not care for the Wheel of Romance.

But it would be great if somebody could explain what it’s all about!

Practicing Non-Fiction For My Studies

Sometimes the Remedy can depress you as much as the problem.
It can be as much of a trap as the situation you’re trying to run away from,
In its own way, it kills you softly

It has come to this; I cannot listen to my favourite music (which leans heavily on the minor – more depressing – keys)
All things worth consuming – in my opinion – ruminate on the world. They tend to hone in on the world AS IT IS. And there’s nothing more depressing than actuality, reality, fatality.
So I fill my ears with that oomph-oomph of club music and, it works, in so much as it stabalises my neurochemistry, removing a few dark blotches from the network of synapses.
But I equate this to being in a hole you were falling in for years and have merely slowed down your descent.
I need rescuing, but there’s only the moon staring down at me, the sun never comes out.

[TOOL, Radiohead, Marilyn Manson, Sun O))), Electric Wizard, My Chemical Romance.]

Fear: Are you scared or…

I wonder; is hiding ones reaction unhealthy?
Allow me to elaborate;
I am versed in the skill of hiding my “fear” when around other people.

When a person scares me (unintentionally), my heart races, I almost jump out of my skin,

But the person wouldn’t know because on the outside I am as still as a mouse.

One becomes a master at masking their honest feelings when the world constantly crushes you, and you develop a mistrust, a deep suspicion (is anybody watching me, waiting to see me “being weird”)

On the other end of the scale I seem to scare everyone in my family because I walk (as my mother says) like a cat. (Not literally, I’m just really quiet, my foot steps light, my breathing calm)

I am incredibly conscious about the spaces I occupy, making sure I do not stand out, (a protection mechanism; because nobody bothers a ghost)

I rather enjoy my ninja status.

But I need to solve my anxiety problems (will I be less of a ninja when/if I do?)

So many decisions I make on what I wear and how I talk seem to be a muddle of aspergers and anxiety, so I don’t know where MY identity starts and where the effects of social ills have affected me begin.

Here’s to figuring that out.
Asperganoid OUT.

P.S.: What are Lumbersexuals attracted to?
Timber!

¿What’s the Equation for Digression?

Mathematics is an exact Science….

Tell that to my Fibonacci No.5 shoes which had to be tumble dried after several recently born kittens decided to have a party in the beautifully hand crafted work of wearable art.

… And there is only one correct solution to a correctly set question or puzzle.

You’ll Find Me In The Texts

The Whole Truth Honest Truth and Nothing but the Truth subsides these boarderless realms with their dead punctuations which exist merely as ghosts and every breath stolen and every glide of the eye so smooth and uninterrupted an illusion of structure of sense rises from nothing but the grammar of perception or the perception of grammatical reason which grounds firmly the idea or belief that as long as the word which flows and runs on down stream from the bosom of honesty makes logical sense then there is no need for any of those clunky and clanky punctuation doodly marks