04-12-2005, 04:33 AM
I know I'm new here; and I am truly intrigued with the things I've been reading here. I never imagined there could be such a thing as autistic pride (although I sometimes imagined or hoped there would be).
I'm an aspiring writer (I guess the stereotype of the aspie not enjoying creative writing is blown out the window), and while I'm not good at writing character-driven narrative, I've taken a special interest in formal literature (I find post-modernism a particularly liberating aesthetic for those on the spectrum). I'd been toying with a series of poems about my experience with Asperger's Syndrome.
What I've written is in no way meant to be representative of all ASD individuals; it's just one man's experience. However, I would be interested (and this is why I posted in this particular section of the forum) in compiling many poems or prose works by people with Asperger's/ Autism into a book, for publication and distribution during Autistic Pride Day.
Called "Jagged Spectrum" after a line from one of my own works, it would contain pieces from many people, representing different aspects of the Autistic experience. I'll post the piece in question, so you'll have an idea of what I'm thinking of. This particular piece was written after a curious incident where I spent some time not wearing my glasses (they were broken); the blurriness of my vision seemed to make my other senses seem more feverish, and my thoughts became confused. I didn't make the connection at the time, I just wrote what I felt. This is the product.
____________________
Prosaic Caprice No. 41
Vortex. A nerveless pool. This is where I am. Shadows of substance stretch to meet the inward horizon. Dissonance, mixing with the jagged spectrum. I am lost in the spirit-question. Groping about in a four-dimensional sea of cotton, assailed by Hades needles.
Sickness. Drawing into the vacuum. I am as unreal as the shadows of this faded being. Dying fire, endless errantry. Give me the crutch and the crux of meaning. All is becoming more, and I cannot shut out the false.
Clamor and requiem.
I'm an aspiring writer (I guess the stereotype of the aspie not enjoying creative writing is blown out the window), and while I'm not good at writing character-driven narrative, I've taken a special interest in formal literature (I find post-modernism a particularly liberating aesthetic for those on the spectrum). I'd been toying with a series of poems about my experience with Asperger's Syndrome.
What I've written is in no way meant to be representative of all ASD individuals; it's just one man's experience. However, I would be interested (and this is why I posted in this particular section of the forum) in compiling many poems or prose works by people with Asperger's/ Autism into a book, for publication and distribution during Autistic Pride Day.
Called "Jagged Spectrum" after a line from one of my own works, it would contain pieces from many people, representing different aspects of the Autistic experience. I'll post the piece in question, so you'll have an idea of what I'm thinking of. This particular piece was written after a curious incident where I spent some time not wearing my glasses (they were broken); the blurriness of my vision seemed to make my other senses seem more feverish, and my thoughts became confused. I didn't make the connection at the time, I just wrote what I felt. This is the product.
____________________
Prosaic Caprice No. 41
Vortex. A nerveless pool. This is where I am. Shadows of substance stretch to meet the inward horizon. Dissonance, mixing with the jagged spectrum. I am lost in the spirit-question. Groping about in a four-dimensional sea of cotton, assailed by Hades needles.
Sickness. Drawing into the vacuum. I am as unreal as the shadows of this faded being. Dying fire, endless errantry. Give me the crutch and the crux of meaning. All is becoming more, and I cannot shut out the false.
Clamor and requiem.