spuerest du kaum einen hauch

Page Eighty-five

sehnen  posted on July 30, 2008 /views 59 / tags: unschuld

am mittwoch den 30sten juli 2008     gruenefeld

also auf deutsch schreiben, trotz der ganzen menge davon, die ich vergeßen habe. alles ist jetzt sowieso scheiß egal. ich bin, wie jeder anderer, was ich bin. was ik bin, zu den meisten, ist unakseptabel, verkehrt, absonders. na denn. die meisten menschen sind mir genauso unakseptabel und unbegreiflich als ich diese dinge zu ihnen bin. was wird daraus noch kommen? was schon darausgekommen ist, ist mir ganz und gar zuviel.

ich gehöre keinem anderen menschen, keiner gruppe, keinem system, obwohl die leute meines lebens haben diese rolle öfters an sich genommen. als ob ich ihnen doch gehörte.

wovon ist übel gemacht, und gemeinheit? vom standpunkt eines menschens mit aspergers, oder zumindest dieses menschens mit aspergers, sind übel und gemeinheit aus der benehmung neurotypischer leuten gemacht. das heißt nicht, daß autistische  sich auch nicht so benehmen können. aber in meiner erfahrung, müßen wir dazu gestoßen werden.

na, es reicht mir schon, nach 55 jahren. das stoßen, das zwingen, das manipulieren, das lügen: der ganze neurotypischer dreck. nach meiner autistischen weltanschauung, sind alle neurotypische angebote, ob von familie oder freund oder liebhaber, irgendwie schmutzig, unheil, verdrungen.

die tiere, die natur, die kunst, die musik, das dichten — diese lebenselemente sind rein und echt. diese elemente sind mein welt, waren meine welt, bevor bestimmte neurotypische ihre häßliche arbeit taten.

ich tat gar nichts, um die letzten zwei jahre zu verdienen. sie nahmen alles, was mir lieb und teuer war. ich leide jedem moment, im körper und im herzen und in der seele. und wenn ich neurologisch “normale” menschen schon vorher fürchtete, dann ist diese furcht jetzt vielmal schlimmer geworden. wenn ich so vollkommen unakseptabel bin, warum könnt ihr mich mindestens alleine und in ruhe laßen, anstatt anfälle gegen mich zu unternehmen.

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devices don’t equal insanity

Page Thirty-seven

friday 26 march  2010         greenfield  (new post)

In spite of the fact that I’m far from finished copying the original Sehnen posts from Soulcast here to WordPress, I’m going to write a new post. I interrupt myself in all the copying when I feel the need.

Throughout all of my online journals over the last two years I’ve made liberal use of thingies that are called literary devices. Most people who’ve studied literature have had to memorize them all at least once, and so have I. There are pages of them, and once upon a time I knew them all by heart, names and definitions and examples, but a lot of that is now deeply buried in the passive memory. Some of these devices also get carried over into conversational speech, and I come from a family who used some of them in large amounts and taught them to me long before I had ever had to memorize the stuff.

I’ve used these ways of speaking and writing with ill effect for me, it seems. Certain people I’ve talked to and certain who’ve written have taken my use of such stylistic elements to mean that I’m delusional, or otherwise insane. So, here are a few that I’ve used a good deal and with which I have therefore hanged myself in respect to being taken for a sane person:

                                                                  Simile                                        
                                                                  Metaphor
                                                                  Hyperbole
                                                                  Irony
                                                                  Sarcasm

Since I stopped teaching at the end of 1990, I’m not going to move into cyber-teaching and define these things for you or give you examples.  Certain of you will know them already, some won’t. But they’re age-old, legitimate stylistic tools, and the use of them doesn’t mean that a person is not living in reality. I’ll admit that I’m resentful over being hung out to dry as far as my sanity is concerned because I choose to use certain styles in my writing and speaking. I’m resentful that these snap judgments are made not on the basis of the events I present, but on the basis of a use of english that many undereducated folks seem not to be acquainted with.

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(gecko at http://www.whatonearthcatalog.com)

read…   Cutting the pie…   Extemporaneana

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All photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2012 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

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thirteen weeks tomorrow

Page Thirty-four

sehnen posted on Jun 02, 2008 | views: 112 | Tags: luna stellaequex

mon 2 june 2008    greenfield

1.     another message for someone remaining unnamed:

Bill said, “She’s so fat, they had to roll her in on casters.”

2.     Disobligata I

 

                            in undis
                    alma mea semota
                            natans
                   noli eam revocare
                         sub mare
                   alma mea demota
                          ululans
                  noli eam revocare.

Disobligata II                                                                                                                     

                                                                                                                                                 

                 inter stellas negras
                  alma mea remota
                       lacrimans
                 noli eam revocare
 
 
 
                      
                  sub luna tenebra
                 alma mea semota
                           ululans
                noli eam revocare. 
 
 
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      (here to poetry)
      (here for languages)

 

Update 11 June 2009:  It was thirteen weeks of homelessness, of the absence of everyone I love, when I first wrote this post. Today it is fifteen months. I never dreamed when I first wrote this that I would be homeless so long, that I would never get any of the animals back. And I still had not yet heard the things from Matthew about federal protection and people wanting to harm me and my long-dead grandfather having been a mafia man. Nor had I yet heard from him that I had Asperger’s, for he was the one who told me that little bit of news too. He did so after a series of tests had been done on me in public places, without my consent. I think anyone would have to have been brain-dead not to have recognized these things as tests of some kind, since the clodhoppers who conducted them were decidedly unsubtle. Matthew even told me what one of the scenarios (staged in the health food store) was testing for, so he was in the project up to his eyeballs.

I was pretty sure I had it anyway, but I felt that Matthew’s pronouncement after the tests was believable and real, just as I found him believable when he gave me the other, uglier information.

My soul cannot be called back from the worst trauma of my life.

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read…    Scealta liatha…    Shadowpoems

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All photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

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