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Signed in as:
filler@godaddy.com
MR. GLASS: I'd like to meet the beast.
PATRICIA: I hope for your sake that he likes you.
from the 2019 film, "Glass"
directed by M. Night Shyamalan
This graphic is from https://aane.org/autism-info-faqs/autism-basics/what-is-autism/.
It is an eerily spot-on description of me, with the exception of numerous gaps and confusions in my long-term personal memory due to early trauma. By confusions I mean that I was essentially trained as a young person to doubt everything about my reality, so I sometimes do not trust memories in my head, even if they appear to be crystal clear, when they seem to conflict with someone else's assertions.
I am desperate, starved, for clarity.
My persistent, nagging, torturous doubt makes me relentlessly curious, as I seek the unfindable truth, which is not fun in the least but occasionally makes me alarmingly insightful. Combined with my very strong Roman Catholic upbringing and early exposure to Eastern religion, it also has fashioned me into a spiritual seeker who strives to learn from many traditions and integrate what I learn into a coherent whole. I am pretty far along on that project.
My pattern-matching abilities and recall of certain types of information is quite something.
While I was working as a software architect, a fellow architect called me "pattern man."
Females sometimes have different autism traits than males. And those signs aren’t always far enough outside socially acceptable norms to be noticeable, leading to an increasing belief among experts that "feminine autism" is undiagnosed in females. The presence of feminine autism in an anatomical male who was raised by women but who does not present as feminine is, well, a whole other thing.
That's me.
A whole. Other. Thing.
"I have come not to judge the world but to save it."
John 12:47
"I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you."
John 13:15
“Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?”
“No, Lord,” she said.
And Jesus said, “Neither do I.”
John 8:10-11
"Judge not."
Matthew 7:1
Duh.
Hallucinogenic babies
Hallucinogenic berries
As a boy, I lived in a house in Milton, MA.
Our next door neighbors were a family of five whose last name was Bell.
Father, mom, one son, two daughters. They had moved to Milton from Virginia.
Patricia was the youngest of the two daughters, about five years older than I was, I think.
Every so often, I would be sent next door, or have a reason to go there.
Sometimes it was misdelivered mail, Trick or treating.
More often it was some fundraiser my school was making me beg people for.
It always seemed to be Patricia, Patty, who opened the door. A total, utter angel.
The First and Deepest Cut.
That door would open and I just wanted to walk inside and close it behind me and stay there forever.
The Bells were genuinely warm to me, and also very smart, and kind.
All of that felt in precious supply next door, where I lived.
Patty was a teenage girl and I was an awkward, gangly doofus, fatherless, confused, undiagnosed autistic with an intellect and imagination that was problematic in the sense that I inhabited a different world than everyone else around me, fumbling over my words to beg for money.
But Patty was genuinely inviting and kind. Not from being trained to be polite. She clearly just was that way. It was her. There was nothing formal or staged about any of it.
I wanted the Bells to adopt me, to escape the hell where I was and enter the heaven I saw when, on those occasions when my fundraising request required a bit of paperwork or finding payment, Patty would invite me into the front hallway to wait and even sometimes make small talk.
The best of many dreams that never came true.
Every story I have ever written is about Patricia Bell on some level. The deepest level, where the God stuff is.
Pretty Patty Bell.
Pretty Patty Bell in the heavenly hallway.
Pretty Patty Bell in the heavenly hallway is why Pretty Halle Berry references abound in my fiction.
Like Berries.
Patty Bell very closely resembled the actress Shari Headley, who starred in Coming to America, but Halle had a lot more roles to use and also reminded me a bit of someone else very special to me.
It felt like this.
[1:01]
I do not play an instrument (have tried both guitar and piano and never got very good at either) but I love music and lyrics and sometimes write songs. This is me singing (for now) a couple of them, recorded on a crappy cell phone. I have a "one take" policy with these unless there is a problem with the audio, so you might hear me cracking up laughing or something here and there. For "Devil Dad Jokes," if you can stand listening to it, replace my noises with the sound of several women stomping boot heels on a wood floor and clapping to make the hooves on the ground.
This is my blood, and with it God makes his agreement with you.
Matthew 26:28
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Art is the lie that enables us to see the truth.
Pablo Picasso
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