『Autistic Family & Other Mysteries, Live Spoken Word, 8/31/25』のカバーアート

Autistic Family & Other Mysteries, Live Spoken Word, 8/31/25

Autistic Family & Other Mysteries, Live Spoken Word, 8/31/25

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 Thanks to everyone who tuned in! Free or paid subscribers? Join me for my next live video in the app. Gonna be a Trigger Warnings kinda take on old men with their fingers on THE Button. This week…Here’s my speaking script from this live performance. Close to a transcript, but I changed a few lines on the fly… some even on purpose.Today I’m talking family, friends, love… not known as autistic “superpowers.” So let’s start with a quick blow up of the whole fucking superpower thing.1. After the SecretI have strengths.Not one is my superpower.I have challenges.Not one is my kryptonite.I'm that kid in third gradeDropdropdroppingA mysterious blue crystalInto that test tube—Squealing in delightEvery time it explodes…In purple streams.I love cosplay.But I don’t have to flyWear a maskOr sport a capeTo be autistic.Still…I get to be the heroor bald evil geniusof my own life.2. ShamelessFamily is freaking complex. For me? More disappointment, failure to meet expectations. Not being the son… or brother… the family ordered.Live long enoughYa get a lot right,Get a lot wrong.Get to knowWell enoughYa can’t be a saintLurking in shadow…Living life perfectlyShameless.Shameless.Oh let me beShameless…No sun setsOn a painless life,So no moon shinesOn a stainless wife.Oh let me be… comeShameless.Scaling Mount MarcyThat night as Elvis died,Got branded a MountebankAs my sister grew colder.Stalking Death ValleySame sister… now dead… to meSame stars… chill my shouldersNow living life perfectlyShameless…Shameless.Oh let me beShameless…No peak capsAn aimless life,And no grave ever filledBy a blameless knife.Oh let me be… comeShameless…No mask hidesThe pain in life,So no words canExplain my fight.So, let me Be… comeShameless.I call this one it burns. I didn’t write it about autism. But families face terrible trials. This was my response to one.3. IT BURNSUp your noseOr in your armIt burnsFirst your charmThen your poseIt burnsNo one learnsThe next child will yearnTil It burnsStill burnsOh it burnsIt burns you upIn the mirrorThat dark strangerStares back at youWild-eyed dangerBut you don't fear herIt's youRight on cueShe's seen things you'd never doBut it's youCuz Baby, it's youIt's you nowWhat won't you doBridges burntTowns ashes.Poppa burntMom ashes.BeautyAshes.DutyAshes.HomeAshes.DreamsSmoke…Lovers turn to johnsBurnt.BabiesBurnt.WombBurnt.BrainBurnt.EyesBurnt out…Up your noseOr in your armIt burntFirst your charmThen your poseIt burntNo one learnedYour next child yearnedTil It burntStill burntOh it burntIt burnt you upAte you upNo one homeJust burnt bones....Okay. Hello… family? Friends? I wasn’t born to produce. I was born to observe, experience… then overshare.4. A Shooting Star Has No Purposemy autistic life...failing upwardtoward collapse...?succeeding downwardtoward joy...?it's a quantum thing.the answer is simply...yes.I was not put on this planetto produce.I was born to experience.Observe...and over share.our lives' value isnot measuredby clicks.or data mined by AI.a shooting starslashing through darknesshas no purpose.unlessit ignitesa human instant.illuminates, ya know…that ness…this breathand this moment…all we possess.All.I ain’t gonna lie. This one’s rough. And long. And complex. It may not need a T.S. Eliot pretentious footnote. But I try to intertwine family, control, and religion. And real events from the winter of 97-98. When the Hale-Bopp comet was fading in the Northern New York skies. And the memory of the Heaven’s Gate suicide cult was still fresh in the national mind.This is a hybrid piece. In my mind it’s a movie. With scenes, background music. Jump cuts. But you guys probably loved Pulp Fiction. So I pray you can follow me.5. sneaking your mother’s creepy g-d on highPrelude, December 1997I begin, “There…There's Heaven's Gate.”She fiddles with the binox dials.“Where should I look?”She asks breathless,Trudging bootless.I barely hear herOver the crackling snowBeneath my feet, but say,“There…That smudge in the sky.”I point again.UFO CultChooses Suicide,The TV said.Thirty-nine bodiesIn matching Nikes,The photo read…I close wet eyesTo the hiss & sizzleOf the Northern LightsOver my head,SilenceThen the cold murmurof the cold mother...“That's why they died?”She shrugs.My eyes open… careful, I shrug,“Maybe… they saw a signal from aliens.Or maybe God on high.Who knows what grimdark signThey read that silent night…”Wordless, clueless… a comet sailedRibbons of green and purple light.One cold blue, one hot pink tailFading from history’s sight…So we stroll on intoFake New Year’s dinnerCuz not everyoneCould schedule inThe Real One.How rare it isA two-tailed comet in the sky,A lover doesn’t lie with her eyes,To greet one free man before you die,How rare it isHow rare it isDinner Musicmy mother in a halo of candlesmy mother wrapped in smokemy mother in dark shadowsmeasuring the length of my ropeShe gathers...
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