Once Lost but Now Found in Translation

Tags

, , , , , ,

Dear readers:
Wow, what-a-ride….

Have you guys ever felt a surge of chaos over a long period of time? If you have, take that tirade of pandemonium and condense it into one single-state of time transitioning seamlessly throughout your day today and everyday: that is not Autism, that’s just life; which all of you I’m confident can relate. With my Autism personally, I just feel that that discomabulation is so far gone from understanding, much less controling or managing, that I delve deep, deep, deep down into what I have now affirmed is one of my primary coping mechinisms: monologuing.
With Autism, because we tend to absorb, like, every-freakin’-thing, we, and I, have found little things in our surrounding that, as we attach meaning and interest, we bury our consciousness within. For that reason, it’s perfectly understandable as to why the term “Autistic Savant” has been dubbed, although crudely in my opinion, into prognosticatable analysis of a patient tested for Autism. The word “savant” itself merely postulates to an individual with a highly erudite level of knowledge and wisdom in a field of study regardless of its school. Individuals with O.C.D. (obsessive compulsive dissorder) are as likely to be in association to a savant-like level of ability and aptitude. Life for me, personally, is truly overwhelming. At least in the sense of, well, my “senses”. I really like those simulators on YouTube. Here’s a link to an Autistic simulator which is one of my favorites. Autism SimulatorWhat I love about it is the literal attention the child has to absolutely all details of the mall. Did you notice the man’s brown shoe with the ugly shoelaces and the hideous broguing that is detestable in all fashion sense. Did you happen to at least visualize mentally what it would have been like for this child whose senses that are already heightened to be blasted by fowl smelling purfume. I’ve walked through malls before and have inhaled purfume and colognes and I about gag and am induced immediately with a pounding headache; and did I mention that it was merely from the people wearing these scents and not even yet from the samples that are expactorated throughout the area like miasma?
Mid-conclusion: I have successfully accomplished what very few in my position, to my knowledge, have done: I got married, I hold a full-time job, I finished an indipendent certified course on-line (I finished school) I pay my taxes, I manage my finances (more or less 😉 ) and I keep up a social interaction with friends and family, regularly. However…

Ripping my brain out through my ears, putting it back through my nose and then swallowing it to deficate it the next day is not entirely an act for which my proclivity necessitates inaction. Also, I would as likely scream at the top of my lungs until I become mute and then stab out my eyes to be blind as to touch the handle of a door from a Wallmart bathroom. Disclaimer: the preceeding was entirely metaphorical. At least it is now. About ten years ago, plus or minus, the preceeding would have been taken literally. No, reader, don’t gloss over that statment: when I say “literally”, I am using said word in its direct and accurate context; not in slang as is the coloquialism today: Literally, through the nose, out the anus, eye, ears, lungs, body… broken! So as to clarify, the pain of being unABLE to manage these sensory-overloaded emotions as opposed to how I CAN manage them now was so unfeesably and inhumanely execrable, it was an utter anathema.
Progressively, I am working very, very hard and I indeed have completed a course, three semesters worth, of ASL (American Sign Language). My fluency is still becoming, but I’m exploring avenues. Domestically, it’s getting really, really tight for my wife and I- financially. Pennies are subsequently counted.
Readers: I love you guys so much! You’re fans to me. I’d live in a box on the street scrapping a living off rock; with my dalmation, probably getting high and playing the gui-tar like a mother-f*cking riot. Cause life is too short so love the one you got…. this is where I imput an *lol* and ask if anyone remembers that band, Sublime. But the point is this: I love to live regardless of how rich or poor I am. I’d eat semi-rotten food and live with other homeless in tents and be content inasmuch as the Kardasians in their varioius and multiple palaces. As long as I had a good pen and some blank pieces of paper and a good place to write, I’m good. How—-e—-v—-e—-r—- I would sooner partake in my previously mentioned body mortifications and then die then subject my absolutely beautiful, delecate, lovely and infinitely God ordained wife to such a living. Thus, I love her more than anything and anyone, except God. After my love of God, my wife (and pizza) and until I get children (can’t wait *grin*) I’ve got a passion the the business world of literature, creativity, art and, most of all, YOU GUYS! The fans!
Yet, I am remiss. All apologies, what else can I say? I wish to patch up some stuf, here. Firstly, these blogs: I have no freakin’ clue as to what I’ve written in the past. I have no bloody idea what impressions I’ve made both good and bad. My emotions and thoughts and feelings scatter about worse than sand kicked-up by the winds of a helocopter and so I wish to state that every new entry I want us all, myself included, to take as a first; a new one; as in the past is in the past. Consequently, the future has not been experiences, as of yet. Thus, here in today we will be gifted; gifted every second of every moment in today, that is why we call it the “present”. So, I’m going to start new and, of course, begin a change. Here, observe.
I need you guys to help out a cause for my wife, for God and for the Autistic community and, very soon, the deaf community. Call it ironic, call it providence or whatever: people with Autism have a devilishly difficulty time communicating. As such, people who are deaf have even a greater difficulty communicating. My coping mechanism, as I said earlier, was monologuing and, subsequently, words: an absolute onomotomania. And now I’m studying ASL. Knowing what it feels like to feel feelings and yet be totally unable to express such to ANYONE, I feel so strongly and empathetically for an entire community pretty much ostricized, albeit inadvertantly, by a world in which has nearly zero accomodation for its individuals who cannot hear. I also don’t wish to be selfish, which I don’t think I will be in saying this, but the world is also quite unaccomodting the Autistic community as well. Strangely enough, the diagnosis of Autism has existed for a far fewer amount of years than the inability to hear. Yet, I see those Autistic puzzle stickers on the back of cars (no where else, really [I also, on a personal note and not to be snobby, but I really don’t like that puzzle emblem. It’s kind of stupid, if you ask me. I know the idea is behind trying to figure out the puzzle which is Autism. But, the puzzle analogy suggests that the puzzle has already been complete, when it clearly hasn’t. A much better visual analogy would be a maze; an unsolvable maze. It’s not so much that we are trying to reach the end of the maze–because we can’t and we never will–it’s trying to merely walk through it, throug it’s dead ends as well as its alternately open passages, and not FREAK OUT! If we can at least establish the emotional balance to guide the maze, whiich is still unsolvable, frustrating and egregiously difficult, then we can manage our lives to consequently live, and live well.]) But, I don’t see nearly as many deaf community paraphanelia, anywhere! On occasion I’ll see a shirt with fingerspelling. But, that’s about it. So, here’s what I need from my dear readers; the people who follow me and those who also like. I need you to comment, subscribe to my YouTube channel, subscribe to my instagram and I’m working on Twittter and Snapchat (more or less) becasue we really, really, REALLY need to help these people out, a lot. I’m going to post several links below. They will send you primarly to YouTube, because, like I said earlier, these simulators are quite something. And I really want to emphasis communication. Even married couples communicate as poorly as even one who is Autistic AND deaf. Regardless of everything, which is race, sex, relgion, sexual preference, beliefs and all that jazz, if nothing else, if all goes to how I used to feel and what I wanted at one point to do to my body, then I want, sooooooo badly to express, promote and enlighten revelationally pure, unadulterted COMMUNICATION!
How many of you saw the movie Arrival or The Arrival? If you saw it (small spoiler alert!!) do you remember when the aliens’ sent their phrase, or word, and after months of study the translation, which was accurate, came out to “weapon”? The communication was utterly lost. Because the world saw these massive and quite formidble looking devices of fear, dread and what could even be mass destruction, when the word “weapon” comes out, they panic. But, but, but and again, but, another term for weapon is, truthfully, “tool”. Here’s why communication is so crucial and imparative in this wold: does the word “tool” stand for a wrench or a drill? Or does it have to do with a needle or thread? If they were to use the word “tool” instead of “weapon”, would it have been descerned as the anglet of a shoelace, or the buckle of a seatbelt, or a shovel to dig a grave? Or would the word “tool” be assocated with hard rock music from Maynard James Keenon and his sister-band apferfectcircle? Or what about when someone calls another by a dorogotory term of “tool” as in they were being used and manipulated? Or does the word “tool” mean the fabric for a bride’s veil; was it even spelled correctly? But, if it WAS weapon, is it like a boe-staff, the biological weapons that God gives animals to defend themselves, such as claws or poison? *sigh* I could go forever. But, I think we get the point.
Can I ask you guys to help me out? Can I ask everyone to help others out there who are suffering as I once had? For now, becasue baby steps are seemingly the way anything gets accomplished, as we come and as you guys read (thank you! gracias! spasibo! merci! thanglet!) here’s a link to my Amazon page. Amazon.com I have some books and even some humble little tunes of music I composed for your auditory pleasure! If you are those types of readers in which if the book is not thicker than a brick, you wont read it, so to speak, then the two epic novels–The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal and The Rudimentum Series: Paradisium–then those are for you. However, especially considering how fast our world moves now-a-days, there are some short stories for you to read as well. I don’t have too much out there right now. But, I’m petitioning my dear readers of my humble blog, you guys who have, thus far, read this expatiation. I’m asking all of you, as brokenly yet as imploringly as I can, to buy some of my works. I need some resources to get out there are help people and help them communicate. I was telling my wife as she was telling me: “if you’re not working and doing something you absolutely LOVE to do, then you shouldn’t be doing, becasue it’ll just make you miserable.” And I told her, as a little revelation: “I love to help people. I can’t quite do the doctor or physical healing thing and becoming a therapist of psychology might not really be a benificial thing. Yet, I LOVE to talk to people and just help them out with some encouraging words; making them feel better; especially helping them feel better simply becasue they-have-someone-to-talk-to.
Hey, guys, listen, it’s the elephant in the room: I need some money. But, know that to me money is nothing more than–call back to the Arrival–a “tool”. My biggest grievence in this world is when people, no matter WHAT they are trying to say, are misunderstood. Have any of you ever watch a romantic comedy? The whole plot of just about all of them–if not all of them–is based on miscommunication or a sheer lack thereof. Inasmuch as it is entertaining, is it truly what we want in OUR lives? I just now thought of Chester from Linkin Park: how obvious was it that this guy was so depressed and sad? I mean, listen to the lyrics: I know them by heart because I felt the exact same way. I can recite almost every album vertabum. This is not a boast, this is a mourning, because as I listened, as I heard, as I absorbed and practically worshiped the sound that band made in the name of all which is “Crawling in my Skin” and what brings me “One Step Closer” to the edge, but I did break: I tried, actually TRIED hard to kill myself. Praise be to God, I was saved. Yet, what sorrow there is for a man who felt all the things I did, and unfortunately succeeded. Robyn Williams; Philp Seymor Hoffman; Heath Ledger 😥

Sigmond Freud had it absolutely right: he dubbed the now aged term “the talking cure”, becasue sometimes all anyone ever needs, truly and forthrightly needs, is someone to talk to; someone who understands; someone who can relate and, of course, speak their languge. That’s what I want.
The money I earn can buy me and my wife food and rent. I can also buy more time to write some cool stuff for you guys. Again, comment below and, as per your perogative, what do you guys like to read for liesure? Sci-fi; romance; western; Abraham Linclon stories about him hunting vampires or something? lol Let me know and I bet you ANYTHING *grin* I can write it just for your pleasure. I love to write. Have you noticed…?
My faith in God instructs me to love the same way Jesus loved. 1 John 4:19. Also, to love my neighbor as myself. You guys are not just my neighbors, you’re my readers; my fans; my followers; my supporters; those who I deem are many that can relate to Autism; that can relate to being deaf; to relate to the inability to commuunicate; who can relate to the chaos of the world and all you want is a pizza, beer and Netflix with your best friend by your side: a wife; a boyfriend/girlfriend or your sisterhood/brotherhood; man-cave or sewing circle; girls night out group boys night out group: we are all brothers and sisters. Everyone here I know just wants to be happy, they want to feel good, to be healthy, wealthy and all otherwise ANYTHING except being depressed. So I want to help you guys so that I hope you can help so many others who need you. Comment what you like to read and I’ll write it for you! 🙂 And, please, like, follow, subscribe becasue I’m tired of seeing so many people distance themselves. When I was schizophrenic, psychotic, OCD, bulemic, anorexic, self-harming and suicidal, I tell you the truth, readers, I wanted nothing more than to just sit down with just one single person who was a good friend with a cup of coffee at starbucks or something. I just wanted to sit and talk with someone; in a quiet place, just the two of us- cell-phones off and talk. Talk about Star Wars; talk about music; talk about Disneyland; talk about what’s been going on; talk about how it’s hard; talk about what’s good; maybe even shed some tears. To talk with no judgment and no criticism and no distractions. I’m still pondering on why something that seemed so easy was so drastically difficult.
I hope you all enjoy some of my works. I had published the two epic novels with a company. But, they had to close down because of a controversy 😦 It’s okay, I still have the stories. They just might not be as “pretty” as their originally published form. I’m so busy that I obviously cannot sift through over 200,000 words. But, they’re more than readable. And I hope you enjoy the short stories I have thus far. More to come and let me know what you’d like. Also, leave a review on my Amazon page and rate how you liked the story.
Readers! Thank you! Blessed be and enjoy the day! Enjoy life and peace be with you all!
-The Giver of Words.

Postscript: I prefer analog. But, alas, the majority of the world is digital. Therefore, here are links to some of my social medias. I’m going to reeeeeeeeeeee… …eeally try to post and update *sigh* *fret* I’ll do my best. I’ll remember that keeping you and everyone else up-to-date is just that same theme of communication. So, sorry Mister wants to live with sail mail and record players: gotta get out on the inter-web. Love you all again. Blessed be, always!

-The Giver of Words.

Instagram

Twitter

Schzophrenia Simulator This is pretty acurate.

Advertisements

Star Wars Analysis

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Dear Readers:

Thank you so much for your views, likes and following. Inasmuch as I love writing and have a good memory, my brain feels like its a sponge that just absorbed 30 pints of absinthe and was just ignited by a butane lighter. So, I’m actually not sure if it was five new likes or five new followers as the condition for my personal critique of Star Wars: Episode 1: The Phantom Menace. Quite frankly, I’m just going to do it anyway because I love writing, love you guys and I’m sure some of you are kind of curious as to why I believe and believe intently that the Star Wars prequels are an epitome of film-making masterpieces, yes? And originally I had planned and even outlined my analysis and formed a few drafts for a word press post. But, I just finished reading an article about, well, I’ll tell you later. Suffice it to say that it made me tired and utterly mortified at the redundancy and stupidity of the American educational system. It has to do with relatable instances that are common, at the heart of the earth which is called the core. So, here it is: my opinion and mine alone why the Star Wars Prequels are the greatest masterworks of motion pictures made, thus far.

*big huge sigh*

Elephant in the room: Jar Jar Binks. I’m going to give you a link right now for a YouTube video of Dane Cook. Watch it and associate his topic of humor to Jar Jar Binks. When you are finished (or felt that you watched enough of the video to get my point) we can continue and I just saved myself, most likely, one thousand words: summarized *lol*

Dane Cook Comedy

Moving on…

I need you to do something for me; a favor. This is absolutely vital and, quite possibly, the most difficult thing many of you might ever have to do: I need you to remove all nostalgia of Star Wars from your heart, mind, body and soul and act, hypothetically, as if the Star Wars Prequels are the first instance of Star Wars you’ve ever seen; a genesis to your senses and stimuli. Thank you for indulging me as even as far as this. Even for me adjusting to what is still just a speculative outlook of the prequels was quite perplexing. But, when I peeled back the hype, turned off–momentarily–my good feelings and magic of the original trilogy, I discovered not a silver lining to the storm clouds, but the pot of gold at the end of an already beautiful and peace-analogizing rainbow. It is, thusly, in the opening of Episode One we get the Republic cruiser commence a flyby on the screen after the cheers of the booming John Williams music and Star Wars title. Personally, I don’t know if Lucas utilized some type of binaural audio or the theater, by commission of Mr. George, released small doses of *erhm* cocaine– but, for whatever reason, that sound of the Consular-Class Republic Cruiser just made me feel so– good! Then– all of a sudden, a turbo-laser turret blasts the bridge in wanton destruction in an array of incineration that was actually quite disturbing, considering there was a young captain on board the bridge at that time; likely with an extremely bright future ahead of her. The explosion looked so real! Then, I found out in a documentary, it was real. It turns out that Lucas utilized real explosions for actually most of his incendiary effects more often than not. Then, as a fifteen year-old-boy who loved action and fighting and Jedi kicking ass, I see this tall quintessential Jedi as Qui-gon Jinn with the young Obi-wan Kenobi spinning, lightsaber-ing and just showing me exactly what I wanted those Star Wars monks doing with their weapons we all want; battledroids getting hacked and eliminated almost as if Qui-gon and Obi-wan were merely in a training exercise with non combat-efficient pylons. This opening scene with these two, and working as such an amazingly well constructed team (notice how they both know what the other will do much akin to watching well-organized sports teams reading their team-mates and the field orientation: no Force even necessary: just pure instinct) is a perfect example of just how powerful the Jedi are; giving better credence to much of the non-cannon dogma: peoples and individuals fearing the Jedi; and the Jedi’s very strong hold of peace and order: “for nearly one thousand years the Jedi were the guardians of peace and justice throughout the galaxy.”  -Jedi Master Obi-wan Kenobi. Following the entire rest of the first movie you see the Jedi –especially Qui-gonn– as these stoic monks which is exactly the point: an initiation to the Jedi order means no more fancy stuff; no more desires; no more luxuries; no more toys: you are a monk and have taken a vow of literal poverty and to guide, protect and balance the Force for the rest of your entire existence. I saw this video on YouTube of a Kung Fu master (and I mean master). But, he never leaves his monastery. He just meditates, eats some rice, trains, meditates and then sleeps. But, he loves visitors, as it seemed. He looked really funny and charming. But, again, he is under a sort of self-imposed exile, I felt. I feel that his deliberate isolation is merely the testament to his discipline. It is my theory that this monk is so strong and skilled that he does not want to use his gift and mastery of Kung Fu to hurt anyone; even if it is fully justified. Here’s the link, if you’re interested.

Kung Fu Master Demonstration

So, from the beginning, we see the stars at war, truly, and an ideal of the Jedi order in their prime. In the first five to ten minutes of the film, we’ve been besmeared (you have “besmeared” in your dictionary, WordPress, but you don’t have “Kung Fu”?) with just about every aspect of the Star Wars Universe (SWU) which is how movie making should be done. If you also notice a key feature in the beginning of Episode I: we’re not drowning in expositional nonsense (WordPress, seriously, check your dictionary, please! You don’t have “expositional”. Hire me!) Much to my disappointment, movies almost always have some sort of pointless and boring narration that explains nothing, except what our eyes can see. And the only reason for the exposition of reading at the beginning of every Star Wars film is, of course, nostalgia and tradition. And, although I asked you to oblige me by taking away all that stuff for now, that notion is still implemented. Imagine your asking a Star Wars fan why there is reading at the beginning at all. You don’t know, right? But, again, no rambling, no exposition and no blah, blah and blah: just get on with the story, already. That is exactly what Episode I does, and does well. Lastly, the pacing is not too fast yet not in any way slow or lethargic. There’s always something happening or being discussed. We as viewers have an attention span of about 1 microsecond (thanks, Michael Bay! [mordant]) and we need constant stimulation in our films without loosing the artistic and aesthetical value.

Here’s my third and last part in this segment of my personal review of the Star Wars Prequels beginning with Episode I: The Phantom Menace: the spoken dialogue and script. Okay, apologies, there are in fact two elephants in this room, isn’t there? Yes, we all did it: cringe, cringe and cringe. Awkward dialogue; sub-par acting; grossly bad conversation; poor character arcs; and little Anakin saying “Yippee!” Yippee? What, did an eighth grader write this for his social studies skit? So, heh, (I could also help you with your interjections, Word Press: why don’t you have “heh”?) here’s the thing: George Lucas is, admittedly so by his own mouth, not a very good writer. He’s so humble about it and everyone knows. The reason why the original trilogy seemed to flow in its speech so much better than the prequels was its rewrite. This rewrite was performed by none other than Carrie Fischer and Harrison Ford. So, why didn’t the prequels get a good rewrite? Well, if you were a young Natalie Portman or an ambitious Hayden Christensen; maybe a passionate Ewan McGregor; are you that young and adorable Jake Matthew Lloyd who seemed no more capable of killing an ant than his own future wife? Well, I tell you what and I tell you honestly: as a musician and one who loves to play the violin, if I received sheet music from John Williams or Alan Silvestri or Eliot Goldenthall or Danny Elfman or Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart or Michael Giacchino or Beethoven etc., I would not likely wish to add a suggestion or, much less: “excuse me, Mr. Bach, but, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me perhaps going over your score of Toccata and Fugue in d minor. I might have some inflections that would improve it.” Even though George Lucas admitted he wasn’t a good writer, he’s the creator of Star Wars possessing gifts and genius which supersede his shortcomings, anyways. I’d be nervous and a little star-struck just to speak to the guy, let alone suggest a total rewrite of his script. In the 1970’s he was still up-and-coming. Not much reputation, yet. Plus, his actors were just as old as he was. And now that that is cleared, here is the real reason why the SWU prequels were so clunky, awkward and with such oddities in the screen writing and, yes, discrepancies:

The Force was out of balance!

Look at the truth behind Anakin’s turn to the Dark Side: he was a good guy; a Jedi; a keeper of his faith and a practitioner of the Force. But, the true culprits of the collapse of the Jedi order and the ultimate revenge of the Sith lords was, in fact, the Jedi. What was the prophecy: Anakin was the chosen one who would help destroy the Sith and bring the Force back into balance. Can we please focus on this word “balance” as well as “destroy”. The Jedi order, after nearly one thousand years, grew inexhaustibly arrogant. They became far too sure of themselves and displayed just about every attribute of the Dark Side of the Force: impatience; arrogance; fear; anger; frustration; grandeur; self-righteousness. “I hate to say it but the planet you’re looking for doesn’t exist.”

“Impossible, perhaps the archives are incomplete?” (Obi-wan Kenobi)

“If an item does not appear in our record– it does not exist!” Jedi librarian, Star Wars Episode 2.

Sorry to skip ahead one episode, but honestly: that scene always bugged me: a Jedi archivist and elder of the order getting snooty? Oh, hell no! She just displayed in that one sentence every form of hatred, fear, aggression, anger… can anyone recall Yoda’s teaching to Luke in Episode Five. Okay, turn your nostalgia back on: here it comes:

Anakin Skywalker brought order and balance back to the Jedi. All the Jedi hypocrites, though tragic, were killed. The Force speaks and has a will of its own, and it spoke– and acted. Imagine your life is just a blanket of all-in-the-world-is-a-o-k…. Just then, because you weren’t paying attention–as in watching the news, staying up-to-date or just plain looking up–your home and livelihood was obliterated by a huge tornado. “Why didn’t you do anything; get insurance; protect our family, who’s now dead? Why didn’t you follow the news: they’ve been warning everyone about this inevitably disaster for weeks!”

So, what does this have to do with all the characters and individuals talking and behaving as though they were 3rd year residents for Cerebral Palsy? Remember what Obi-wan Kenobi said: “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It’s an energy field that surrounds us, penetrates us and binds the universe together.” If the Force is so radically out of balance, then so is the entire universe. Go figure, once the Jedi were, albeit, murdered quite cruelly (which I do not condone or think right, but the Force goes beyond the comprehension of even Master Yoda; from even after nearly 1,000 years of study and practice) people started talking normally, acting more fluently and speaking as though they were not a snot-gobbler at their school play. Conclusively, look at how much more powerful the Force was in use in Episode VII: The Force Awakens.

Okay, so much more to discuss and write about with these fun facts. But, I stand by my conjecture. Moreover, ever since Lucas sold the rights to Disney, I mourned the Star Wars cannon: know that that creative genius and master of sound had an entire timeline and working of the Star Wars universe comprehensively mapped out. But, now that Disney has taken the reigns, the metaphysical nature of what Star Wars would have truly been (to have been upon a much higher tier than Disney will ever achieve, in my opinion) will be forever lost. Regardless, I love conversations about these little inflections. More still to come on the SWU and my notion that the prequels herald greatness beyond any film yet made. Hope you enjoyed my analysis.

As always, please check out my page on Amazon. Buy some of my works and give a starving and married artist some bread. Because if you like my books and music enough, I can make lots, lots more. Links will be below and blessings always to every one. Love you all. Merry Christmas!

-The Giver of Words.

Amazon.com/kindle

 

 

Changing it up

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Dear Reader:

*sighhhhhhh* Geez, if my personal thoughts are not convoluted enough, I doubt that, despite the likes I’ve hitherto received (thank you very much, btw), any reader, casual or hardcore, wishes to read of the intense parts of my life and thinking and all for which makes my strain of cognitive revelry, at best, sporadic. Thus, I thought I’d change my posts up a bit and offer what I think might just be more attune to my core interest in terms of hobbies and what I inherently like to watch: movies!

I’m going to pause from the whole “here’s what goes on inside an Autistic’s head” if not deter completely and give readers informative news of subjectivity: what I think of the movies I’ve seen.

I might just make this post an introduction and start some good old fashion personal movie reviews in a latter entry. just know, however, that I am an EXTREME movie buff and I consider myself to have a good and keen taste into what makes a good movie and what ultimately does not. This, moreover, is the disclaimer: I’m going to be praising movies to which I feel the majority of the populace either disliked or totally loathed. And, alternately, I will be discrediting movies that I felt were highly overrated and do little to nothing for the cinematic world; movies to which the majority of the populace actually liked or absolutely loved. Just know that all my opinions are my own and do not reflect the opinions of ANYone else; especially the production companies and people responsible for the creation and direction of all movies analyzed hereafter.

The “why” is because I used movies as a distinct coping mechanism during my period of active psychosis and schizophrenia. My opinions and views about what makes a good movie and what does not I feel, personally, might be made analytical in much more credit since if a movie is decidedly “bad”, it therefore fails to execute a factor of fantasy; a state for the audience (me) that grounds the viewer in the movie aspect and atmosphere itself. Thus, if a movie is “good”, then someone who suffered at one point with a disorder that subsequently takes him from physical reality altogether, would be placed as if actually there in any movie in question. Conclusively, movies I will be personally critiquing will have a heavy basis on this method, although the total analytical nature behind what I feel makes a movie good or bad is not wholeheartedly reserved strictly to this conceptual strain of idealization.

Again, all these opinions are my own and I do nothing to imply that what I feel is a good movie should universally be catalogued as a good movie and vice versa. The end dogma is this: how a person likes or dislikes a movie should be totally subjective and, as I see it, based highly on that person’s own life experiences and how closely they relate to the characters and what their struggle in the movie portrays. I’ve heard of people absolutely worshiping (and I mean “worship” literally, not metaphorically) plots, characters, storylines and arches of movies that are generally received as “okay”, though not altogether bad. Concordantly, I’ve seen the public denounce a movie or film so harshly and sharply that naught remained of the poor title save for that one review it gets many years later as “it wasn’t as bad as you might have thought.” To which it makes a quite spectacular return or phoenix-metaphore rebirth.

I hope you enjoy the change in pace, here. My inspiration for redirecting my entries was ironically in a post on Pinterst: I was overlooking someone’s posts about overlooked and underrated anime/animated films both foreign and domestic. Reading and viewing his selections, I recalled an anime flick I had seen about 5 years ago, or so, entitled The Skycrawlers. In brevity, via animation, story, music, plot, character and character development–by far the greatest motion picture in its class and genre I have ever yet seen. It’s the soy milk or the tofu in terms of movies–in that it’s taste is much of one in great and lengthened need of acquisition (an acquired taste)–yet, for myself personally, by the fade to black at its end, I began debating whether ANYTHING was not just real anymore, but that which was truly real, really was; and that which was not real, really was only wasn’t real and… you get the idea *wink*

Stay tuned, I suppose, or keep reading and follow me on WordPress. I do enjoy writing and reading and watching great movies. To whet your appetite, I will be going into absolute meta-dimensional reasoning and philosophical logic as to why the Star Wars prequels are not only marvelously made, but perhaps the highest form of film making at minimum, decades away from its time: essentially three of the greatest movies ever made. No, not just in their class and genre, I mean EVER. Indulge me and click “follow” and subscribe to me on YouTube and try purchasing some of my books on my humble Amazon.com page (link will be posted below). If I get at least 5 new followers succeeding this post, I will lead off my own personal movie review of none other than Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace. Hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading.
Blessings!

-The Giver of Words.

D.B. Keosababian: YouTube

D.B. Keosababian: Amazon.com

P.S. I just have a quick question: what do you all like to read? What would you share with anyone: children’s stories; poems? When you go to the bookstore to buy a book (this still happens, right? O.o ) what catches your eye; what causes you to pull a book off the shelf, examine that front cover and back paragraph and makes you want the book to read it? For anyone out there who just LUUUUUUV’s to read a goooooooood book (game of thrones; Twilight; Harry Potter; Tolstoy; Shakespeare; Hunger Games; that book you read on Amazon.Kindle or your iPad bc you don’t want anyone to see the cover (Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter!!) I ask this in yet another elongated postscript bc I’m confident I can write ANYTHING, just about. I don’t receive a lot of comments (that has been okay). But, I’m curious for a good idea; a short story; poem; novella; even an entire novel or children’s book. I wanna write, you wanna read so let’s help each other out.

Thank you all!

-The Giver of Words.

Adulting: Not For Everyone… Especially Me

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Dear Reader:
I am afraid that I owe an apology; an apology to myself, as it were. And as I am grateful to have you all support an idiot Autism diagnosee, I do know that many of my prior posts and entries have been far below reproach. Thus, if I have ever said or written anything offensive, aggressive or down right mean, I apologize. Right before I came into work today, it was God influencing my heart and basically giving me the rundown (like always) of what he truly expects of me–despite how unimaginably infantile I have been and still am, in many ways though not ALL.
‘Why the formalities?’ I ask myself. ‘Why the suit? Why the professionalism? Why the desire to write, learn, teach, perform et cetera et cetera et cetera?’ Concordantly, God asks ME: ‘Why are you still holding on to your childhood illusions? Why are you retaining infantile ways of “thinking”? Why do you oppose being an adult in place of holding on to things that just hold you back? Why bother wanting to grow up when you wont will yourself to grow out?’
It gets worse: I know what happens when I, or anyone for that matter, procrastinates or puts off until tomorrow what could not only get done today but right this very second. Instead, I watch YouTube, stare at pictures of memes or what have thee or just stare into space faking a response of ‘gathering my thoughts,’ to someone’s walking-by inquiry of “what’s up?” Moreover, I know how it FEELS, most importantly, when things are put off, when they don’t get done and also how it feels rushing at the last second to complete them. Perhaps we can ALL relate to an infamous date in the U.S. known as April, 15: infamous for I refer to it as American Procrastination Day, or the APD.
Nevertheless, every now and again–which is not commendable at all–I do “get things done” as it were. I truly take the step to be proactive and jump on a situation and resolve its matter before it ever has time to matastisize into a quite aggressive metaphor of cancer known as procrastination and neglect. I know the absolute bliss of just getting it f*&*ing done! I just revel in the nirvana of sitting back with my wine whilst watching Stranger Things with my wife or, for me, Peaky Blinders, and just know that nothing lingers above my head that I haven’t already taken care of; to sleep at night knowing that “it’s done!” Ergo I had always asked myself, “why, David? Why, in the name of God, if being responsible, being your fabled “adult” and all otherwise every single character from every single movie you’ve ever admired for their diligence, their professionalism and all attributes which make a king makes you feel ten times a king, nay, an emperor of nations, why do you resist the responsibilities with instant gratification; why do you hesitate then subsequently neglect everything to the point of last-minute panicking? Why won’t you just do it?!” And this is the answer, which is most resoundingly NOT ‘I don’t know’. Why? because I can feel good NOW by not doing what doesn’t feel good even if it makes me feel REALLY good later. And because I don’t have the good feeling NOW, I am disillusioned by the lie in myself that it will never come. Thus, I am led to an instant gratification which is, at best, hollow, brief, empty, superficial and all otherwise hopelessly addicting and utterly destructive. Furthermore, the deeper into procrastination and irresponsibility I trap myself into, the greater disinclination I have to accomplish anything at ALL; making my misery and depression all the more bitter which necessitates a furtherance of the instant gratification-drug of all manner of forms and functions, because the burden of the “debt” placed upon my head and shoulders bears far too great a weight for regulation and my conscious will simply “gives-up”. I am only goaded into reality by extreme acts of discipline which, in their radical nature, feel so unimaginably bad that it would only come to an utter form of suicide in my thoughts and reasoning to truly pardon my body, mind, heart and soul from what would be therein classified as chronic agony and endless torture.
So, how do I fix this? How can I or ANYONE get over their bad habits, pull themselves out of some rut and, even by sheer will, come out on top of all these responsibilities? The truth is, is that I have absolutely no idea. But before such a disheartening statement plagues me or anyone reading this with such melancholy, perhaps the sheer notion that such a thing weighs upon my shoulders so heavily that, in order to overcome such a great yoke, I must begin to change the way I think about it.
I really liked that scene in the Matrix as Neo walks into the Oracle’s apartment and he encounters a young boy bending spoons. Even I, as a viewer, immediately noted in my psychology the plethora of points behind the impossibility of such a phenomenon; especially personified so paradoxically as a young and seemingly weak boy. As Neo observed the child bending spoons with only what appeared to be the will of his mind, or what have thee, the boy handed Neo the spoon and spoke quite precociously for such a young boy, as it seemed. “Do not try and bend the spoon,” said the boy. “That’s impossible.” Note the use of the word ‘impossible’ in its implied usage as if to say to Neo and ESPECIALLY me in the audience ‘nothing is impossible. You just have to look at it from a different point of view.’ “Instead,” began the boy once more whimsically and philosophically, “only try to realize the truth.” “What truth?” said Neo as engaged to what the boy was saying as he was perplexed that such wisdom came from someone so young. “There is no spoon,” said the boy. I love how the revelation of what the boy referred to as ‘truth’ struck Neo so much, for the paradox lied in the very fact that, well, Neo was HOLDING the spoon! The boy continued: “Then you will understand that it is not the SPOON that bends, it is only yourself.” Wow, I’m going to just jump right into the analogy.
Don’t try to carry your weight of responsibilities all on your shoulders; don’t try to bear it on your back; don’t think that this is something that has to be carried, moved, manipulated, accomplished, worked on et cetera et cetera et cetera. That’s impossible! I cannot any more get the car washed, do the groceries, pay my bills, go to work for 8, 9 and sometimes 10 hours whilst still going home and not forgetting my wife’s berries and water from the market she requested AND remembering the card for “Uncle Bob’s” birthday that is this Thursday which we cannot even make because my wife just had a doctor’s appointment which inhibits her from going outside for about a week. Nor can I remember to e-mail this person to officially change our already canceled appointment which, when it comes, necessitates an hour long drive whilst still remembering that the car needs gas AND new tires; especially before the holidays: Christmas shopping…. I cannot bend a spoon. No one can bend a spoon. If you try to bend the spoon, you may succeed. But, it might hurt. You might not be strong enough. You might damage someone elses good spoon. You might not even have hands or arms to even DO it! Did I mention that the very spoon might not even be bendable; it might be made of plastic? Gold? Paper? Or just on a computer screen? How are you supposed to bend a spoon on a computer screen when you cannot even reach out and grab it?
Okay, analogies and metaphors are over. What does the spoon represent? The spoon represents EVERYTHING that is us. If I have 32 things that must be finished or accomplished today, or rather, 32 things that may not necessarily need to be done today but can and should, then the spoon are those 32 things. If I have to drive a truck 100 miles across California to make a deliver then drive all the way back only to do it again tomorrow, then the spoon is just that. If I have to eat a sandwich, soup with water and coffee for lunch elapsing my break in a matter of 60 minutes before I return to my desk, then that is the spoon. Ergo, I feel that if I just looked at my life and what it is and what I have to do as a simple EXTENSION of myself in which I may do WHATEVER I please with it–similarly to the way I move my fingers, open my mouth, adjust my glasses, write/sign my name for a check–then I’m not carrying a burden at all; I’m not lugging around a huge trunk of junk or baggage; I have no yoke: it’s just me, “there is no spoon.”
Devil’s advocate: “I hate it! It feels like crap! I hate having to pay bills, be responsible and sacrifice some down time of relaxation and pleasure for some stupid and potentially meaningless duties!” And if I had to carry around a metal ball that weighed 1000 lb’s everywhere I went, I’d be very pissed, too. “My baby wakes me up in the morning and through the night and, even though my wife and I take turns, I have no sleep. I’m tired. I need a break. I need rest!” I would be tired, grumpy and in need of great rest if I too was carrying a 1000 lb metal ball everywhere I went.
“…it is not the spoon that bends, it is only YOURSELF.” Perspective is everything. Perspective is everything. The way you perceive something dictates all for which you react and function accordingly. The way something looks to you is exactly the truth of your subjective mind and not objective reality. An apple can look super delicious on the outside yet be totally rotten on the inside. A book may truly have 2000 pages, yet each page could be blank unless you opened the book to read it and find out. About 1500 people died on the sinking of the Titanic which was a tragedy. Yet dozens of lobsters lived a long life that would have not been so were it not for the sinking of the ship. To them it was a miracle. A farmer’s prize horse ran off into the fields and did not return, but he didn’t believe in luck, even though the villagers consoled him on his rotten misfortune. Then, the same prize horse found its way back to the farm with three other horses in toe ready to be tamed and added to the surplus of the farmer’s animal livestock. But, the farmer didn’t believe in luck and acted casually about the albeit good fortune whilst the villagers congratulated him on his luck. Then, a little later, the farmer’s eldest son was thrown from one of the wild horses whilst trying to tame it and severely broke his leg in three places. His son would be incapacitated for weeks and bring the farm back in its service and production. But, the farmer didn’t believe in luck and whimsically brushed the event away even though the villagers morosely swooned over his down-hearted situation (even though the farmer was not in any way down-hearted). Two days later the king’s soldiers came into the village and began ruthlessly drafting young men for the war effort which was obviously not going well. When the soldiers came to the farmer’s plantation, the farmer was too old, his youngest son was far, far too young and his eldest boy, the most ideal, was severely injured, so they passed on. The villagers, many of whom would never see their sons again, fell in arms about how lucky the farmer was. “I don’t believe in luck,” said the farmer, listlessly.
So…
How do I fix my bad habits? How can I get over procrastination and start behaving proactively? How do I become more responsible? How can I shed my childish ways and start getting my foot out of my mouth and head out of my…. Well, if there really is no spoon, then there are really no bad habits for me to shed. I’m still trying to bend the spoon myself, when such a feat is impossible. Instead, I’m going to begin to realize the truth that there is no spoon for me to bend, there is no burden for me to bear and the only hardships and “lack of pleasure” I receive is ALL self inflicted. I suppose another way I can put it is like an airplane: a plane cannot fly any more than a washing machine. But, with the right wing-span and velocity and usage of aerodynamics the literal air in the, well, AIR will lift the plane up. All we have to do is move forward and let everything take care of itself. You could also say it has a lot to do with trusting in things that you cannot see; having assurity of things hoped for. And there is certainly another word for this: faith.
I’m not God. Wait, actually, let me check…. Nope, not God. Because if I were God, if I were perfect or omnipotent or what have thee, then my foot would not have sunk into the water and I could snap my fingers (if that) and all my chores would be complete and I could play the violin better than David Garrett or Izaak Perelman (and have the wherewithal to know how to SPELL that guy’s name without having to Google it….). I’m also going to venture a guess and assume that you, readers, are also not God. And if that’s not your particular brand of Vodka–as in your not quite the God-believing type (which is all good, btw)–then you’re simply not all-powerful. No one is all-powerful and I implore everyone to stay away from those who claim to be so. Nevertheless, we still have this thing called life that looms around us all the time and drives us crazy. I know, because I was once so crazy and be-crazed BY life that I tried to kill myself–at least twice. Spent some time, two weeks total, in the loony bin, the funny farm or, to be politically correct, the place where people go who try too hard to bend the spoon.
This is by far the most difficult thing I can ever think of anyone to attempt to try and accomplish: to let it all go. To try and bend the spoon is as futile as trying to control and beat a running stream of rapid water into submission. You can either stay on shore (psychiatric ward) and do nothing and let the stream of life flow by as you do nothing, try to alter the very earth and cheat the water into a direction you want (criminality), actually jump into the flow of water but feel that you cannot control where you go, always bumping into rocks because your too confused with all the water and rapid and just want to scream (depression/anxiety/fear) or jump into the water and let the flow of the stream carry you as you look a little bit ahead and try to maneuver yourself from rocks and other obstacles, which you will sooner or later fail to accomplish; you might even get really hurt; you might even break a bone: you might even die! Good thing you have other people flowing through the water with you to help you out, right? I don’t think anyone can do this alone, though. So, if you think you have no one, or don’t want anyone, it’s not surprising that you might feel sad, lonely or overwhelmed; and still, that spoon you’re trying to bend. “I hate my life.”
Again, I’m not God. I fail, a lot. Even at grammar for which I am its worst Nazi and enforcer. I suppose this entry is entirely for me; as a sort of catharsis, which I am wholly grateful to WordPress and its liberties, therein.  Yet, the thoughts running through my mind and my heart that try to adhere to its wisdom, while at the same time sticking to a state of humility that the wisdom I feel I possess is still a wisdom that is always building and working to become stronger and wiser, are thoughts and feelings hopefully that, as I share, might enlighten someone who goes through similar circumstances. Hopefully this helps some people, and at the same time cathardically gets out onto a screen–a public broadcast, indeed–my feelings and emotions that I might start to lift up myself and enlighten my soul, heart, mind and body to a state that I know for a fact will make me happier.
You know what REALLY makes life so fricken hard? What makes it so hard, at least to me, is when I see a prize, a goal, in the hands of someone else–their success, their fortune, their “joy” the very thing that they have that I want so badly! That I could be standing right next to my aspiration yet be so incredibly distant from it. It’s so discouraging also to see someone having what I want and also to have had the means and the resources to do it- like money. And time. Ugh, time…. Money…. Money…. I need more time…. I’m stuck. Yes, such a concept is why life, actually, more times than not kind of sucks. It’s as if the very thing we pray to God for, that we ask so pleadingly for, that we spend hours and hours, days, months and decades of hope, faith and even sacrificial work to try to achieve. Worst of all is that stupid down time; when we actually do have time and even money and resources to do something that would bring us closer to our dream and goal, we’re so discouraged, physically exhausted from work (usually blue collar) and with so many other things running through our mind like doubt, fear and frustration we fall into a very, very addictive substance, and it isn’t alcohol or cocaine or things like that. This addiction, this drug, this narcotic is by far more destructive, addictive and extremely hard to break from a habitual use. It’s a plague and an actual cancer of the mind and soul that I fear has been give too little credence over the importance of our world needing to overcome it and break it and, ultimately, eliminate its communicable infectious nature for every single person in the world; regardless of sex, age, nationality, religion, sexual orientation… anyone! This plague does NOT discriminate nor does it give mercy or grace: this cancer is the most ruthless killer of mankind and I would be willing to put such a theory into practical applications and scientific methods in order to prove it fact: the cancer is fantasy. Pure fantasy is so incredibly addictive. It releases you from so much pain that it’s a wonder no one has caught onto the genocidal phenomenon of chronic fantasization.
Have you ever day dreamed whilst at work? Have you ever day dreamed whilst in your car? Have you ever day dreamed, ever? Have you ever wished you were somewhere else and give anything to be there? Have you ever felt so incredibly depressed, anxious, overwhelmed or just plain miserable that it would seem your only sanctuary is an opiate you’ve feigned for yourself as helpful? (are you doing it now?) Maybe you lock yourself in a room and sit back and listen to music; great music and amazing works of melodiously masterpieces. But, YOU want to do that. Why are you spending so much time pawing after your idols and worshiping them instead of working to become that very idol for other people? Do you read a lot? And I mean A LOT; compulsively, anything and everything; nutrition facts to Milton; Stephanie Meyer to Geoffrey Chaucer; A Light in the Attic to Dante’s Inferno? To Tolkien, to Lewis, to Dostoevsky to Lacky to Rowling to Time to Newsweek to the paper to the subtitles to the…? Do you like sports? Baseball? Football? Hockey? Soccer? Winter sports? Summer Sports? NASCAR? Formula One? Cricket? Do you like to write?
No offense, I was talking to myself. I’ve probably sat and listened to more and watched in envy and lust far more concerts and interviews of famous writers that all that time fawning could have been used to market myself and expand my dream of becoming a writer and and musician/composer. *sigh* I need to get my act together. I need to start getting into gear. If I really want to reach my goals, I’ve got to truly work on it. And if I really want to work hard and long for extended periods of time, face failure like a man and move on, endure inconvenience and remove all false thoughts and FANTASY from my endeavors, totally, then it’s time to grow up. I am here. I am a married man with a wife and a good job. I have a dream of writing and composing and learning sign language (ASL) to help people and make more money and live in the country up north where its cooler and build a business based in the assistance for families and individuals with Autism; to provide resources, education, books that I further write et cetera et cetera et cetera.
So, how am I going to do that? I’m going to sulk at my desk here and stare at mindless YouTube videos during my lunch hour. And then, finally, when I get home I’m just going to eat a meal, be with my wife, watch a stupid movie, plan something out for a trip to Disneyland or something and then FANTASIZE with my spouse about our country home and the future and our ambitions. Then, after my shower, I’ll crawl into bed with my wife and fall asleep in moderate to high depression about all that I could have done this passing day… but didn’t. Then, I wake up and do it again and wonder why I feel so down, depressed and feel as though I’m a failure when, in truth… I am…. I try to bend the spoon myself; by myself; for myself… “There is no spoon.”
-The Giver of Words.
Postscript: Like always, here’s a link to my amazon page which has some of my literary and musical works for your consideration, and for your hopeful enjoyment. Also, I’m putting in a link to my YouTube channel below, also. Hope you enjoy some of my work. I’d like to point out that, viewing my YouTube channels myself, I can detect the amount of lacking effort I put into these videos. A couple of these videos, my music videos, I really do like. But, oh dear God, I could be giving you guys so much more and better work. Hey, I love all of you. I am so very thrilled and honored that I have even you guys who follow my blog. It’s so humbling yet fills me with such joy that my words–often not even edited and a mess of grammatical maelstrom–effects people enough that they like and even want to FOLLOW my blog. Me. A guy who was at one point in his life “sucking his thumb” in a psychiatric ward because he felt that he was not meant for this world; that he was an accident; a literal mistake. Now, he’s at a desk and takes phone calls to transfer around and inputs some vital numbers for very, very expensive and valuable cars. “He’s f^&*ing married?! And is diagnosed with Autism?” Thank you all so much. Even if I had just one follower, it would be far, far more than I ever expected anyone to ever give me. So, to give back, I’m trying to work hard and offer up what I can: whether its a literary work of fiction as enticing as the Lord of the Rings or Hunger Games, music you can relax in your car listening to or just some more of my WordPress posts and blogs. Anyways, God bless, love you all and keep going.
-D.

AHHH! (I Screamed)

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

 

Dear Reader:
I simply scream internally. Then everyone asks, “why?” To which, again internally, I articulate with perfect cognitive, subjective clarity: because the inhibition of my neurological pathways which either don’t exist or utterly mis-fires in the synaptic transference of thought from its genesis to its conlusive cognition of thought derived from the stimulus in question induces a lack of production of audibal reciprication to its recevier; by which, forthwith, instinctive defense mechanisms are therefore employed constituting in either erratic, frenetic behavior or complete social withdrawl, coupled with ritulistic respites commonly encorporated with repition, numbers and all manner of subjective familarity. Conclusively, the lacking and disfunctional method of the failed social encounter, even from the simplicity of the aforesaid query, evokes even further my lowered self-esteem and feelings of extreme inadequacy tempered all the more from a late diagnosis of Autism and bullying from the young age of what was scornfully told unto me as mental retardation (in the worst possible way). Hence, the perpetual and contenual, and now better fed, thoughts of suicide with no recession in any depression are thereby increased; my observation of the past to predict educationally the future of further encouters of common people asking perhaps a quite essential and none-threatenting question and my want of abilities to answer in sociable and appropriately queued manners. Anger subsequently applifies exponentiall, stacked by over three decades of a social two-step that, despite great advances, still requires the greatest and most serious of concentration and focus, and all I want to do is to be left alone or to leave this earth and its entirty; not so much because I don’t really WANT to be here, I just don’t want to be here around people who just don’t understand; explaining to them in perfect, onomotomania of a logophilia that I have acrued. The irony is that, in my efforts to better communicate, my words are hyper-advanced and what I was hoping to gain in the acquision of the knowledge of words, grammar and sentence structure for efficient and proficient communication, puts me even further under the sardonically mocking barrier of miscommunication.

Translation (lol): I’m frustrated because so much goes on around me and it’s so confusing. I can’t keep up with it (or at least it seems I can’t) and the things I treasure most are not exactly ideal for carving out a successful life with a good and healthy marriage under a strong relationship with God: because those things aren’t exactly “real”. Not “real” but beautiful, despite; like a shiny object or the classic bright red ball which the child follows out into the middle of the street; the mother running out frantically to pull them back before being plowed by a car. Moreover, I look normal. I look perfectly functional. Indeed, my I.Q. is gifted; my speech pathology is akin to Shakspere; my general cognition and thought processes far exceed that of any average; I am exceedingly athletic etc. So, maybe you can understand my frustration. Just know, reader, that I’m not bitter, angry or begrudged to anyone; ANYONE. I love all; my neighbor, my co-workers and, yes, even my enemies. I don’t LIKE them and I want to spend the rest of my life never seeing or speaking to them ever again. But, if they truly needed something, I would help them (emphasis on need).

I don’t blame anyone if they don’t understand. I don’t begrudge anyone if they totally slaughter me in insults because I didn’t do something right as they scold me in all manner of abuse for handicap that I have; their ignorance of it notwithstanding because they can never truly know. If I was pressed to find some sort of “blame”, I would probably say that it is the fault of any lacking of love all over the world. I have worked in customer service all my life and through my experience I can honestly say that the foremost reason for hate, anger and vengeance is a lacking of any or all patience. We live in an era where EVERYONE expects to be served promptly; where everyone expects everyone to treat them perfectly, without flaw and in a perfect manner of knowledge, understanding and proficiency. I am beset by the ironies of this life. If you really want me to give my personal and only a personal opinion about the disfunctionality of this world and the sin that so rampantly infects it, then here it is (no predjudice, no hate intended; only observational and rhetorical): the people of this world who are most unlikely to function in it are those who are absent of the disfunction for which the community of the disabled are inherently diagnosed as disabled/disfunctional and therein attempt to function, only failing via the absence of patience and understanding by those classified as none-disabled. “Normal people” who seem to work well in society than any on a spectrum dissorder, down syndrom or any form of neurolgical, physical and/or cognitive disorder or disabilty–I feel–are more incompetant.

I find it so oxymoronical that in a world in which just about EVERYONE agrees is totally f&*ked up we stress the need for some sort of equiliibrium, balance, shade of grey when its lop-sided and wholly AHHHH! paradigm just might have better functionality under those who are, themselves, disfunctional.

Please, reader, refer heavily back to the two quotation marks around the term “normal people” aforementioned. Also, remember that there is absolutely no hate here, just observation and speculation (a theory, however, I hope I can better reserach and perhaps provide empyrical date, thereto). But, when I see that identical businessman standing up in congress with his suit and tie (not bad things) or the quintessencial doctor-figure with his white lab coat and stethascope around his neck, or when I see in my mind the picture that the governement wants to paint of all rights met and honored, ammendments to be held and justice to be served equally and humanely, I see this long geometrical ray beginning from point a: that transverses a plane: x, z, and travels for an eterntiy without any end whilst I sit in 3rd grade math and ask to myself: if the ray is supposedly infinite on the hypothetical level, then why bother drawing it in the math-book with a page that is only 8 and 1/2 by 11 inches large.

*sigh* I just sighed, deeply. It would be at this point to which I look back at all those words and find that my linear thoughts are not exactly linear. Re-reading this blog would most likely afford me more than just a little regret, or, at the very least, a self-deprecation of, “stupid, stupid, stupid! Idiot who doesn’t know his facts, garbles his words and makes about as much sense as the penny still used in the U.S. mint as currency for Americans. And why do I feel so stupid? I feel so stupid because…. And that’s why; from years of getting things “wrong” in world that demands “perfection” by people who are most likely “less perfect” than the disabled “imperfect” people. And all this commentary referes to world powered by money, greed, lust and all those 7 sins.

Here’s my point, uh– I, um– I guess– I just like writing and playing/composing music. I really wish I could do that all day every day. Live in a nice home with my wife and hopefully some kids. Sit in front of a computer for several hours (or whatever) dish out some meta-fiction and para-fantasy, because regular or, dare I say, “normal” fantasy/fiction these days does not quite whet my appitie for creative writing. I need to market myself; I guess my story, my autobigraphy. I do have some stuff available on Amazon.com for the kindle; some digital downloads. Unfortunately, my first book–it’s published and everything–becasue the publication company didn’t work out so well, I’m left with the rights and only the unedited version on amazon. My sequel is out, also. But, again, I’m working full-time, I have a wife and a lot of birthday parties, weddings, showers, church and I’m even back in school again. I don’t have time. *frowny emoji face here but not here becasue I thought it would be more commical to annotate exhaustively using words in the absence of the social-media-slanged image via showing my absolute adoration for writing over even the exeedingly short-handed remark of a simple emoji*

Okay, I’m done– I think. I guess I really want to deliver a message of not just Autism but also that one can function in this world that is not Autism or any neurological dissorder accomodating friendly and even be happy about it; to use humor, laughing and comical relief as one of the if not the foremost primary defense against a world with so little goodness in it, it makes the goodness all that much better. I hope to convey that message of goodness to everyone. So, it’s all good!! lol.

You, reader, can help me do this, because I can type forever, write forever and speak forever (I like to speak [ask my wife, I’ve already annoyed her to the threshold of Star Wars facts and Lord of the Rings monologues, in character!]). If I could have your help, to buy some of my stories, poems, music and, of course, my two novels (epic novels, btw. They are heavy reads 🙂 ) I can afford some more time to write more and more and more. Oh, God! I love writing and I love music so much!!

I’m working on a cute little short story fairy tale right now. Strangely enough my writing is slightly out of practice. Generating this fairy tale has become a chore that, hitherto, had come with the uttermost ease. I’ll try to get it on Amazon.com/kindle asap. I’ll let you all know in another post when it’s ready with a link. Ugh, guys, I love you all!! I have a lot of followers on this blog *grins ear-to-ear like the grinch did in How the Grinch Stole Christmas, but with far less evil/malevolent intent ;)*

Hope those who have read my book/books thus far like them. I have tended to use super fancy language in which the books would appeal rather to more of the less common crowd. Everyone tells me, “David, you gotta dumb it down, bra!” I truly make no boast or brag about my writing abilities. Just know, reader, that when an Autistic savant spends the majority of his day (in the past) reading the unabridged version of Les Miserables, The Count of Monte Cristo, War and Peace etc., just because he wants to better found his literature repetoire, and who also spent equal hours through many years carrying the exhaustive Websters Dictionary wherever he went whilst sitting in the library READING not one but two different versions and productions of a modern English thesarus; with Wiktionary bookmarked under his favorites BAR and who uses the word “etymologically” in a perfect contexual sentence in normal mingled conversation, as the seperate parties scratch their heads; who subsequently befriends the one who knew the word and its usage and the phenomon that this tall skinny guy just used it perfectly; as he and I spend our time at Sbux conversing on theroes of… I can’t tell you, honestly. I promised him I wouldn’t because of how controversial it is….

You get it. I like words. I like grammar. Bla, bla, bla. My nerdiness has afforded many laughs at the expense of me and my wife. Especially when she pronounces celery and cauliflower: it’s so addorable! I lover her!!!

Thank you so much, readers. I do suck at spelling, also becasue I’m typing like a mad-man and I can’t seem to stop. So, just as a gesture to show that I want to write some cool reads for you all and not drown you in these ridiculously esoteric words, I’m not even going to spell check this document for either spelling or grammar errors!! Ha! Ha! Ha! Take that, grammar police. You can take your “supposeblies” your “samitches” your “I can care less” and all of your “expressos” and know that I just wanna write so people will buy and read my stuff so I can pay for other stuff without working eight hours a day (and more) at jobs that, well, they don’t really suite me… despit the suite I am now wearing lololol!!!!

Thank you all for reading my little rant, vent, catharsis!! I feel a lot better. Now, back to work. AHHH!! *wink*

-The Giver of Words.

P.S. here’s the link to my Amazon page (my pen-name just below, highlighted). Just so you can check out what I have for sale. Please buy some good reads. More are coming becasue of your support! Thank you!! Love you all!!   D.B. Keosababian

*sigh* Melancholy with Joy

Tags

, , , , , ,

Dear Reader:

The sigh I wrote between two asterisks is an indication solely to my being utterly exhausted. The paradoxical title in its following is to show just how totally opposite my emotions, feelings and dispositions are currently residing within me. I was just promoted at my job. Moreover, the position that I have herein earned is the exact position/job I had been praying for since I was in high school. The short of it lies in God having thoroughly answered my prayers, yet in the course of 15 years. I wanted what I have now nearly half my lifetime ago. If any bitterness may be found in my words, it is totally unintentional, for I am not bitter nor resentful. I have firmly achieved that which I asked for and via God conditioning me to it. And, my God, did he prepare me. If anyone recalls the movie 300 with Gerard Butler and the Greek tradition within Sparta of sending the young boys of for practical torture to become solid and unbreakable warriors, now is the time to take my implication of what the past 15 years has been for me, hitherto.

Have you ever felt as if your entire self–mind, body, hear and soul, that is–was swimming in pure emotion? To put it better, have you ever felt as if your own consciousness was unclear as to how to feel: sad; happy; confused; lucid; dizzy; balanced; angry etc.? It’s merely how I feel now and I confess that I hardly even comprehend this single blog to you all; to all who have decided to follow me and to those who like my blogs and are reading this now. How does one truly give you all a good thanks and the uttermost gratitude for simply liking and following one of the most obscure yet impassioned-to-write people on the planet? I truly hope that my new promotion (which indeed affords, at last, sitting down) can allow me to write to you all. For, you see, I love to write (duh) and I really, really want to publish some more works. I was thinking I can produce a short story here, or even a child’s short book there, throw in a link at the bottom of each of my blogs and keep all my readers appeased, furthermore, with some little words I so like to give (small pun intended). I guess I’m just writing to say thanks for your support; a like or a following does far, far more for me than you can possibly imagine. And I am truly trying to get out there and write some stuff for you all to enjoy. What a ride, and adventure, as my head hangs low yet my happiness is up: thank you God for leading me to a job that, without your lessons and, yes, your intense scourging, I could not be doing right now.

All my love to my beautiful wife. All my love to my God and my savior, Jesus. And, for the love of words and my love to write, all my love herein for my readers. For, what is a good word without a good reader. Thank you all again and blessings. I’ll try….

-The Giver of Words.

I Write, Therefore I Am… I Hope.

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Hello, everyone.

I can’t see the status from here, but I think I have about 120, or thereabouts, of people following my blog. I’m not sure how much you who are following know specifically about what I’ve said in the past or why. But, it makes me happy that what I write is adequate to get that many people to follow my humble blog.

Here’s the thing: being autistic, expressing myself to my friends, family or even my wife is more than difficult; borderline impossible. Those who are following are most likely readers, otherwise short and concise blogs might not really interest you as much. But my emotions are critical right now. In fact, they are pretty much terminal.

My credit is… you fill in the blank with how dark this post should come across. My bank account is…. My job is great, but…. I’m trying to get a promotion, but….

My horizon is broad but my feet are weak. Actually, consider me, in a way, totally immobile; paraplegic. If there was a loaded gun next to me I would be at greater risk of my life ending than falling into a pit of rusty nails covered in nuclear waste while acid rain falls upon the wasteland of Chernobyl.

My dear, beloved readers, I’m desperate. I mean this literally. I will be posting links below and they will send you to my Amazon.com/kindle page. I have some books for sale. I would be ever grateful for you to purchase some amazing reads for your enjoyment. Yes, I am advertising. This is, in a sense, a commercial. The difference between this “commercial” and your T.V. ones is that, I am so tired, broken and bloodied from my hard work, that is in fact NOT writing books or music, I now go hither into your hearts to, in the name of God, help me, please.

I’m not a greedy person. I’m not a mean nor conceded person. All I ever wanted was to write beautiful words. Over and over and over, story after story and poem after poem. Casting my eyes to God, my God, I ask him, “why?” Perfect grammar, perfect sentence structure and a meteorically proficient knowledge of grammatical terminology; thorough comprehension of every form of English morphology, phonology AND syntax. My publisher of my first book, my first editor, said he was impressed by how much of my book I remember as I told him the story over the phone; during the first parts of the publication process. In his words, this literal editor of a major publication company said to me: “most of our authors cannot even remember their own setting.”

My last statement here is to tell you all of something I would definitely like to do for you all. It would seem that children’s books are quite popular. Whether from a toddler level to elementary, we can all agree that, if there is one thing a little boy or little girl loves to do, it is to be read to. I had a friend a while ago who had a daughter. Visiting her home quite frequently, her daughter took to me. She was about 4 years old. One day, whilst there with my best friend (just a little hanging out time with friends) I was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall and the little girl, my friend’s daughter, cam bouncing (yes, bouncing in excitement) up to me and presented my with the holy grail (at least to her). I read her the book she wanted me to read to her. As a child’s book for toddlers, I finished to book in about 5 minutes. The little girl proceeded, with greater enthusiasm than a nerd in a bookstore, to replace the finished epic tome with another “War and Peace” style of reading for her hungry and happy eyes and ears: Winnie the Pooh. Again, after five minutes, she came with another good read. And then another after another, another and another. After roughly one hour of reading, I became hungry for food. My friend’s daughter became anxious and wanted to read with me even more.

This is the end of the post. I’m going to write some children’s books for the Amazon Kindle app (which is free, btw) and the link to my Amazon sales will be below. Please, comment any ideas you may have or topics for writing that any of your children (do any of you have children?) might very much enjoy. And this is my sales pitch: I can write anything. I do not mean this hyperbolically: I can literally write anything including, but not limited to, meta-Shakespearean epic poetry of middle to even Old English; novels of ANY genre, from westerns to even homosexual romance (if the market so desires): fantasy, young adult, or YA, and everything else in between. For your pleasure, my readers, allow me to begin with some children stories. I begin here because I work full-time and one part time job (two jobs) and I cannot write any more than about 1,000 words in one sitting due to strenuous obligations. I’ve also begun school again. I’m studding ASL (American Sign Language). It’s an online course but very much certified.

Readers, my faith, my religion, if you will, instructs me to love my neighbor as myself; to love those who even hate me; to love because Jesus, my savior for whom I believe, told me in his word, the Bible, loved everyone first. -1 John 4:19 I believe. Therefore, I love you all. You can come to me and say that you believe in Buddha, or at least follow him, that you are a Mormon, that you are a Scientologist, that you are gay or a lesbian or bi-sexual or that you are addicted to every drug or that you cannot see or that you cannot hear or that you’re pretty much an average “Joe” or that you hate reading and you hate that I want to write children books just to make more money to support your family instead of getting a better job… I makes no difference to me. As I said earlier, I have about 120 or so followers on my humble blog on WordPress that isn’t even an official domain yet! I have extreme difficulty in keeping up with Facebook, keeping up with Twitter, keeping up with my Youtube channel… Keeping up with the Kardashians!!!!

(That was a joke, that last one….)

Readers, I am autistic. It is really, really hard for me, period. Everything I do, say and even write (I’m trying to keep my writing NOT esoterically expatiated) is done with the greatest effort. I never intended my life, my history and even my little “buy-my-product” advertisement to be some sort of ploy at pity to get the public to give me money out of sympathy. And that is not even what this is at all!! Friends, I can write! I’ll give you books and books and books and books and books of just one series of YA fiction. I’ll give you bios, I’ll give you poetry. I’ll give you abstract fiction that makes Inception look like a comic in the newspaper… wait…. If you help me, you will be able to walk through the bookstore, er hem… sorry: browse through your Kindle app (lol…) and find titles that are not so much the same cliche stories you see again and again. All writers of pop-fiction and all of those hidden treasure of lesser known writers are ALL my brethren and sisters in the literary world. But, simply put, I want to be apart of that world for the sake of taking YOU to other worlds.

I nice house, food in the fridge, gas in the cars, some nice clothes in the closet, shoes on our feet, date night once or twice a week, health coverage for my wife and me, school and perhaps college for my children (God willing). The glitz and glam of the fancy Rolls Royce and “Tony Stark” riches is actually NOT appealing. My wealth, my richness, the very thing that allows me to walk through halls of gold and silver glass, to fly to the outer fringes of the universe and start making my OWN stars… all of that lies in me, and I want to give it to you.

I thank you all and love you all. I took the day off of work today. I needed a little break. Here’s a link to my Amazon.com/kindle page. My pen-name is D.B. Keosababian. I’ll start writing my first children’s book today. It will be short and simple. But let me know, if you read it to your children (if you have any) what they think. Comment ideas for children’s books that you may have for which you’d like me to create for you. Or, do any of you have an idea for a grand novel of epic fiction or what not? I pray God for you all. And no matter your race, gender, ethnicity, religion, sexual preference or ANYTHING, “my brethren, love them they way I love them.” -Jesus.

I love you all and wish you all my prayers and as much hope for my own future as yours.

Blessings.

-The Giver of Words.

D.B. Keosababian Amazon.com

D.B. Keosababian Youtube

Have You Ever…?

Tags

, , , , , ,

 

Hello, readers…

I apologize if this entry seems melancholy and brief, for I myself am currently fairly melancholy, dictated by a want of a desire to write in expatiation to thine own preceded pleasure; insofar as those who have liked my posts and/or subsequently followed my blog whence thy eyes fall upon my humbled and all-too-often broken words. I thank thee all for your support. I truly find peace in my life, my marriage my job and throughout the albeit now scant time for which I may write, blog or even, for that lacking matter, read in the knowing that, for those who like and/or follow this small corner of the inter-web, I can grasp your much needed understanding and empathy. By a “show of hands”, I call on everyone to raise in agreement to this statement of Autism being quite misunderstood and grossly unaware in a society for which true adaptation utterly requires no Autism in any individual for societal acceptance. In other words, our world does not accommodate Autism and in order to verily live within it, I as well as all others on the fabled spectrum must act as though we don’t have Autism.

I wish to say that I truly hold no grudge, no need of vindication and absolutely no hatred against any and all who make a gross misjudgment on my account. From being truly considered mentally retarded in the most raw and absolute sense of the word (absent of all satire from which it hails) to being sorely criticized for not knowing the meaning of a fairly common word when my common vocabulary occupies an inhuman vichyssoise of verbal paroxysms; I just didn’t know what the word “rapport” meant, so sue me. Thus this leads to my purpose in making this entry here and now, for when I write… I am.

Raise your hand if managing your finances is easy. Raise your hand if you have money troubles. Do you have debts? Do you need a promotion, a new job or perhaps wish to relocate where the cost of living is more affordable? If you answered “yes” to any or all of the above, I’ve got good news for you: you’re not alone and it is normal. We are all seeking the acquisition of wealth. Until the United Federation of Planets is established by First Contact of Dr. Zefram Cochrane who sparked the world peace, we will always need money and we will always lack money… in one way, shape or form. Hear me, I beg of you, readers:

If you are reading my entry for the first time, you might very well gather that the forte behind this mass of manifold manner in mind maligning writing in my Autism is, in fact, words, grammar and sentence structure et cetera. You can imagine my level of output in endurance in seeing todays level of common knowledge of the aforesaid. I am a writer. From February 17, 2005 I have written roughly 1.2 million words in my daily hand written journal, alone. Multiply that numeral by a factor of about 10 and you have, although on a debauched estimation, my total word count of my career since its dawn. In fact, the moment my hands reach a keyboard under this current endeavor, journaling, story writing or otherwise, my previous statement of a foretold action of conciseness has been utterly obliterated due to such a drive and a compelling nature to write and write and write. This is my nepenthe. I must end, for the dishes are yet to be done:

I must ask a favor of all those now reading. With tears in my eyes and my entire blog preceding as my declaration of desperation, I need some money but I do not wish to give you faithful bibliophiles nothing in return. Much worse, my book has been taken off the market, although I still hold a title of published author. So, I am going to put my book, The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal, back on Amazon.com for the kindle, kindle app et cetera so that you, those who can empathize in Autism, you who love to read (why else would you like my posts) and I who have married the most beautiful of God’s angels and yearn beyond all else, save my desire to see God himself, to raise our family in a decent home, may thusly purchase and read my beautiful words and lead this man of God to something he’s been praying now for over ten years: I wish to be a writer. My fellow readers, my tears are herein so heavy that they can practically finish this entry on their own weighted impact upon my keyboard. I plead with you, the readers, the ones for whom my words lie in all intent to entertain, enlighten and, above all, to bestow unending joy: head over to Amazon.com kindle et cetera and get your copy of The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal. Thank you.

Yet, more bad news: the final edited and polished copy of the book is in my possession, digitally. However, it is baptized with editorial notes and highlighted portions for parenthetical analysis. In other words, it’s covered in crap *wink*. I will be posting the book, The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal, right now all the same. It will be unedited. Be patient, and the final edited cut shall be released. This is the good news that comes out of this hitherto depressing post: I will be posting the sequel. I’ve commented and posted (somewhat [I sleep on average 5 hours a night, so I am pretty busy]) on the fan page on Facebook: The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal by D.B. Keosababian, that I have been editing the sequel. I “have been” editing the sequel and I have not finished. Because you guys are awesome (I know this because you’re reading my blog) and because I love reading too and it does not matter, edited, unedited, full of notes, full of editors/authors parenthetical notes et cetera, I’ll read just about anything (raise your hand if you love reading so much that you’ve exhausted every last punctuation mark and contraction and most obscure asterisk on ketchup, soda or any food product, nutrition fact labels). In this I pray your purchase follows your conclusion of this entry posthaste for supplying a man who writes better than he, well, processes in his mind (ASD) with some good financial support so he, his wife and the children they are trying to have can, well, eat and live under a roof and stuff. Best of all, my digital books will be cheap. Then, when I can *author scratches his head nervously in cogitation of a foresighted anticipatory impossibility of balance in time*, the editing I shall finish  and the final glossy-finished copies of my books shall be out for thy much desired pleasure. For those who have already read the first book, comment and let me know what you thought of it, and… tee hee hee, the sequel. I hope your mind can bend, for the forthcoming books that I wish to write shall surely make them break!!!

Love, blessings, prayers, hopes and good willed wishes to you all. Thank you thank you and I once again thank you. You are my reason to write. You are my reason to create. You are my reason to say for all the world: I love God, I am his son, and he has given me my only one,

My love my all, the one I call,

My true love and my so true wife,

She is my soul, she is my life.

To him I thank, to him the lamb,

The Christ who’s saved me, the great I AM.

“Therefore, we love because he loved us first.” -1 John 4:19

-The Giver of Words.

 

Postscript: just type in D.B. Keosababian on Amazon and The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal for the Facebook fan page. Check out my albeit humble Youtube channel, too. There’s an interview there! D.B. Keosababian. Thank you so much!!!

-D.

A Dream is a Wish…

Tags

, , , , , ,

 

How I have prayed… How I have yearned… How, in the name of Christ, I have screamed my beckonings to God in Heaven in which my only hope to pray more is to prove Einstein’s theory correct: that time is not constant and I may be allotted more of it to fill my day with the groanings of my depressing supplications to my Heavenly Father on behalf of talents, gifts and wondrous melodies running rampant in my mind, heart, soul and body for which I only wish/dream to simply share with the world.

I wouldn’t even hire me: a high school graduate with albeit extensive experience in the work force based highly in customer service, driving and some management practice. I have no degree. I have no certificate. My commercial driving pass, vis-à-vis bobtails and box trucks, expires after but one year. My college credits amount to a handful. Yet, I know more grammar than an English professor. I know more biology than a high school teacher. My I.Q. is roughly 165 ~. I know what it means to hyperpolarize and I know the meaning of the word quixotic. I sigh and bow my head and accept that, in terms of this world, I am of low education, low experience and of no credited value to a corporation seeking viable applicants of esteemed qualifications. Writing these blogs during but a one hour interlude of my job, as chaotic as it is, is but the respite from which the smallest iota of writing in realms of minor creativity allow for my spirit its food what sustains the sanity I lost long, long ago (or what seemed so long ago).

Thee who so follow me; when I see in my e-mail that so-and-so liked my WordPress post or is now following me, it tells me that there are certainly individuals out there, a group, a cult and an actual mass of congregated sufferers who know better than all and as good as any what it truly means to suffer with irreparable and irrevocable Autism. And, moreover, what in the bowls of Christ is Autism? I shall tell you: Autism is seeing everything and acting out from everything and living amid the stimuli of everything utterly different from everyone… and everything. Einstein hated socks. He never wore them and I would deem that his final will and testament was to be buried without the licentious fabric against his feet. Inasmuch as Al hated socks, and furthermore didn’t even quite understand them to begin with, I absolutely loathe butter. I do not know nor understand what it does. It has no taste, it has an annoying texture and is crafted from curdled milk and dairy. Butter in baking I can understand as an ingredient. But why would you put it on a roll? What is its purpose in that? Bread tastes fine dry, crispy, warm, fluffy and soft. I got this as an explanation: “because it’s buttery!”

Was Einstein judged and likely criticized? Yes, yes he was. Am I criticized for my butter complex? Yes, yes I am. Do we care? No, no we don’t. So, what do we, me and Al, care about: work! Einstein busted out more theories than a philosopher can philosophize in a year. And he was able to work and work a lot in his field of expertise, because he was FUNDED! After I pay my rent and food and gas and bills… it’s old news. Finances are a struggle. However, with Al, his genius was discovered. He failed school. He sucked at it. He even hated the atomic bomb and was at the forefront of philanthropy. What could I contribute? I’ll tell you what, readers, you keep reading, you keep liking and you keep following and I’ll keep writing. I LOVE music. I LOVE good stories. And I absolutely LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to write and write and write… a freakin’ lot. I used to be mordantly opposed to slang in ANY script, journal, blog or otherwise. I wouldn’t even subject myself to the lowliness of accursed contractions. I’ve loosened up. I want to appeal to the new generation and seek out my target audience. My book, The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal is no longer on Amazon.com… at least as an official published work. I’ll get it back on there under MY publication. It’ll be a digital download; cheaper too. Please, buy my book, share it and tell people that, even though reading the book is like trying to read something from Shakespere, it’s nevertheless inticing and awe-inspiring. My youtube channel (D.B. Keosababian) has my book interview. My interviewer and I talk about it and her ravings of it. I have amazing stuff of music, books and all sorts of creative stuff that will make the marvel universe look like the movie Flight of the Navigator. Please, subscribe and help this Autistic desperate man who is married to a beautiful woman whom he loves more than life itself to see us into a realm that gives not just pleasure of art but unabashed hope. Read some of my past entries and you will understand that, amidst my even now chronic migranes, God has definiately tested me. Even now, I must post this entry absent of any editing, for my lunch break is almost over. I yearn to keep typing and I absolutely need to hear music whilst doing it. Alas, for my return to work will warrant a want of both. Ere I run out of time, know that I act, work, pray and live for love. Pure and unadulterated, sincere love. I love you all, followers and likers alike. Slowly my dreams will come about and I can write like I’ve never written before. My head spins in the pandoras box of ideas; anxious at every yactosecond to get these wonders out to the people I most want to see them…

You!

Blessings of God now and forever

-The Giver of Words

Taken it on Faith

Tags

, , , ,

Taken on Faith

I count myself as one with whom I’ve accomplished into the full adaptation of the world’s conundrum. However, adaptation to that of sole behavior of that in which verily disables me behaviorally and systemically denotes hardly natural inclinations of life and the pursuit of prosperity: I suffer this dilemma daily and perpetually wanting of all hope to fall into any such professed scheme to which my character alternately portrays; that of one who is not diagnosed with Autism. Yet, mine is unseen, unfelt and wholly unknown. The experts can only go so far as the normality of their own neurology dictates. Even those of whom can parley their feeling and notions subjectively to the objective world of the Autistic community, it is utterly unique. A paraplegic is a paraplegic and naught of much else. One who is deaf or has difficulty with their auditory perception can, indeed, be diagnosed amid their own spectrum. Nevertheless, Autism is more than a spectrum: Autism is a sheer Pandora’s Box. Identifying anything as a spectrum gives rise to understanding its particulars. We call not the Universe a spectrum, do we? Nay, it is the Universe the lot of which lies and will ever lie for many, many eons still unexplored, if it is ever explored at all. And yet, the human brain possesses far greater of an expanse of the unknown which shames the albeit great vastness of the heavens above. Thus, insofar as we can be “aware” of Autism or even fall into endeavors to “cure” Autism, the dawn of Psychology began with the cliché yet infamous question, “how does that make you feel?” over one hundred years ago. Hitherto we have naught to show for such an enterprise save for the rampant disdain of Psychotherapy and the unwilling nature of the laymen who lack the faith to believe in a proven and verifiable science. What hope, thus, do we have, do I have, in this generation what has been juggling the Autistic Spectrum Disorder for not but a few decades to which its only new paradigm was the abolishment of Asperger’s Syndrome, PDD and PDDNOS (Pervasive Developmental Disorder [Not Otherwise Specified]). Not even those who truly need care for even the most basic of physical ailments, such as a tooth ache, are guaranteed their proper and professional accommodation. Although my science and analyses in this statement are purely theoretical, any research for officiation can be sought in no further than the Google search of: Statistics on the suicide rate of Autistic sufferers in the United States. I didn’t even look that up myself because I don’t need to: I am part of that statistic. I just happened to survive. But, I continue to survive- every-single-forsaken-day. My motivation falls to one highly underrated word I will mention later. For now…

In my absence of WordPress I’ve been working and living and making my life with my new wife. I am tired yet energetic. My head is spinning yet could not be straighter. I am making this post on my lunch break. I am making this post to let you in, those new, on my book called The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal. I am a writer. A story teller. A linguist. I am a logophile (a lover of words). I use words that are not in the Microsoft word dictionary or even on Wicktionary. I use words that are obsolete are completely extinct. Help this Autistic young man and his endeavors to become a great and inspirational writer; to seek the souls of those he  knows for a fact suffer as he did in every conceivable respect; to give them something he’s had his whole life, which is the very and sole reason he even still has life: this is my word: HOPE! Buy my book; become a liker of the facebook page and check out my Youtube Channel (humble channel) and help this one pleading yet ambitious man write stories and  books and music that could move and shake your soul, if you would allow me to try. Thank you. Blessings and the love of God be with you all.

-The Giver of Words.