Living with Autism is extremely difficult. Living in a world where Autism is not physically seen is even more difficult. Tolerating a world where I must continually perform to the standard of society by literally forcing myself not to act out on my neurologically atypical impulses and function normally is utterly difficult and completely exhausting. But, what my counselor told me the other day during our session—something fairly encouraging to this affect—“but, David, you do it every day; every-single-day. Don’t you?”
Fifty million sighs later, I begin to accept this fate of mine. I so eagerly and passionately wish to exist in a world that does not judge me; that does not criticize; a world in which we, the Autistic community, are not ridiculed by our actions nor by our beliefs, our skin color, our speech pathology or the level of intelligence or how many followers we have on whatever platform. I wished to live in a world that encompassed an ideological understanding of Autism and, through influence and affects far more accommodating, I could therefore learn to function with greater efficiency despite having an atypical brain neurology. This world, alas, is not sensory friendly. I told my counselor that I desired, perhaps merely one day a week, maybe two, to retreat to a place where my sensory-overload and behaviors and my total account of built-up facilities can, for an hour or two, come crashing down without any social or personal ramifications whatsoever.
I’m suffering a loss. I am bereaved by the world around me which shall never accommodate Autism. Only pockets and certain communities may house such as we are. But I guess I’m through caring. I suppose that, through this grief of mine and through the factual tragedy that my many suicide attempts and the notion of my seemingly endless sadness only ends when I just accept this one maxim: it is what it is. Today is 90 degrees outside, it is what it is. My left ankle has moderate cartilage damage and I cannot do rigorous exercising on it, it is what it is. I have to wear glasses due to astigmatism and a lazy left eye, it is what it is. I have poor vision and hypersensitive hearing in which the world will show absolutely no mercy, it is what it is. I have Autism and the world does not fit into such a person’s neurology, it is what it is. Ergo, a room where I can be totally free and shut-down all mental faculties and become totally devoid of all whence-attuned control having been conditioned for decades will not exist; at least not for me. I’m going to have to gut-up on this one and, somehow, endure.
Readers, family and everyone reading right now who’ve just come to my humble corner on the universe that is the discombobulated internet, I absolutely adore Fine Art and I consider myself an aficionado. I took my first art class in high school (pre Autism diagnosis) and I ended up showing prowess near equal to the teacher. I subsequently failed the class (Autism, go figure….). But, because my teacher was so awesome, he let me pass with a D minus. He gave me a D minus because he said “you’re too good, David. But, I don’t know why you’re not doing your assignments.” He encouraged me to keep drawing, but I’ve never reconciled with him, at least for myself. He never found out I was Autistic. Even my own parents were totally dumbstruck by my artistic abilities: force-perspective and shading; size, shape, focal points and eye paths; color weight et cetera. I preferred drawing abstract. But, I favor the displayed for my own person collection of realism. I am not too fond of impressionism. And my least favorite is modern impressionism. To be specific, Barnett Newman, as an example, is, by far, the worst art in the world. If someone out there loves his art, then amen. I’m not here to judge taste. But, I am here to critique what, in my opinion, is grotesquely bad art.
Barnett Newman draws a black rectangle against an off-white canvas and it sells for millions. He paints a canvas that is larger than my apartment all red with but the tiniest inflections of blue and yellow. Security guards and subsequently placed lest the work be stolen. Rembrandt van Rijn was a master of shadow, light and shade; with plates upon plates of specialized works as his forte for which the age of the renaissance is eternally blessed. Claude Monett uses a contrast of blending of landscapes for which a portrait of beautiful mastery in the form of abstract mosaicism comes together at a distance as if the hand of God himself guided the brush. Michelangelo spent decades upon decades upon his back for which modern scholars and historians still stand in awe for which a mere man was gifted with such preternatural abilities for the apotheosis of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. Yet, a black rectangle is classified amongst these God inspired men? Ludicrous!
When I wrote my first book, I was never please upon which the characters and, heretofore, the narration spoke and read in my native dialect. Although I knew not any other language aside from my own speech in it, far removed from the writing, it unsettled me to think that these fictional and fantastical characters only spoke English simply due to my origin to my homeland’s native tongue. I took it upon myself to create a language, much like J.R. Tolkien for the Lord of the Rings chronology, only to metamorphosize into English from a primitive origin. Thus, Angellian was born. I’m sure I’ve made this dialect known in previous entries. But the fact of the matter is thus: my wife and I are both working, indeed. However, although our bills are paid and our rent is met (more or less) I know for a fact that I do not speak for myself when I say: I have a dream. How many of you now reading desire something greater, better and more fulfilling than what you’re doing now? And if you say you’re fulfilled, I say, “don’t make me laugh. Everyone has something they want to strive for and gain: a goal of goals!” Heretofore, my wife and I have yet to truly attain ours.
Aside from music, writing, monologuing and a whole slew of other art related talents God blessed me with and blessed me well, I have always been taken by Asian calligraphy. Oh, my God! Forgive my little outburst but it is so unbelievably beautiful. I love the way the strokes of ink against the rice paper look. The aesthetics behind how ancient the art form is. The intricacy and endless plethora of variations for a mere single word or even a phrase; capsulized in an array of strokes and curves too mystical for the human mind. I wanted it!
Angellian: this was the language spoken by the Angellus in the first points of Creation which was to be known later as Creacia: the world of origin for the characters and places occurring in the epic novel: The Rudimentum Series: Aeon Eternal. The first seven Angellus did not even speak at all; they were totally mute. It was in the beginning, the very, very beginning, that the very genesis of human speech was thusly created. Sounds began to form into gesticulations; guttural noises morphed into phonemes. Phonemes became syntax and then syntax to actual vernacular. It was fundamental at best, until a development lead the populace of Creacia the use of words in a derivative form of the dialogue of Angellian: this was known as Old Latin. The Old Latin of Creacia is indeed a true form of the real language, but with minor variances. For example, the word for paradise in Latin is Paradisum. But, in old Latin it is Paradisium, which is actually a form of Angellian and the title of the second book in the series: the Rudimentum Series: Paradisium. Hence, Latin, over many, many ages, became a form of English. And make no mistake, reader, if you’ve read this far into my blog then you’ll recognize your adoration for the digesting of the written words from your eyes to your brain: The Rudimentum Series is only to be read by truly devoted bibliophiles. It is not an easy read and it will be your greatest challenge. One of my friend’s has a father who dropped out of medical school. He said that it wasn’t challenging enough for him; that he was bored. He delved into physics and mechanical engineering and was somewhat satisfied. Apart from his double doctors sitting on his wall amidst a slew of other degrees, he came up to me after he bought my book and said: “David, I can only last 30 minutes in your book. It exhausted me! But I love it! Thank you!”
In the Victorian age of England they spoke High English. I’m sure if anyone here has ever read Pride and Prejudice or Jane Eyre then you would understand the term “High English.” I took this form of English to the next level and it is a read not suited for a quick or quiet sit down with an easy-to-read book. So, I took Angellian and turned it into the written language which is what you should have seen and can still see know at the top of this entry: calligraphy. Thusly, I have my art form. I draw calligraphy. From this point on my Autism, my gift of words or logophilia, and all manner of book writing and art display will be a devotion for our blog together. There is much in the manner of a fickle mind that is my Autistic neurology which can be read through this blog having bounced around like crazy! But, I stand true to what I am and what I want: I’m a dream chaser and I dream to have my art displayed for the eyes of many, many lovers of all things beautiful. And I can vouch for such people, since I’m one of them. I get to land my gaze upon the highest form of created beauty, daily. Her name is my wife: Martha. Only via my efforts to get out there can we send such a message of faith, hope and love to the masses.
There’s a homeless man who “lives” near our complex. Please, everyone, pray for Joshua. He’s actually recovering from drug use. He’s going to a church, about to look for some work and is on good terms with the community. He lives in a shelter when he can but a girl has offered to date him and even help him succeed in his recovery. But, he can never use drugs again. So, please pray for him. Again, his name is Joshua. Thank you so much, family.
Lastly, before I turned 30, I worked at a cafeteria or “Caf” at a locale university. There was a couple who wanted to film my story of Autism, up until that point. I was looking for it on YouTube until I realized she mixed up my name. She used “Dan” instead of “David”. *laughing*. Here’s the link for the YouTube video.YouTube Autism Hope you like it. Here’s also a link to a Facebook page devoted to my books and art etc.Rudimentum Series Main Page Love you all, always and forever. Blessed be to you all. Thanks for reading.
-The Giver of Words.