『Live Spoken Word, "every clock is a handgun" — s05e07』のカバーアート

Live Spoken Word, "every clock is a handgun" — s05e07

Live Spoken Word, "every clock is a handgun" — s05e07

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 👉 YouTube Video of this live spoken word performance👉 “every clock is a handgun pointed at my head,” Amazon book & ebookCold OpenI feel like a brilliant creative soulas if…trapped in a damaged body& neurologytrying to communicate with the worldthrough an intermittently short-circuiting transistor radioplaying through static& the distortion& sparking circuits…to just be heard.Do you understand at all what I mean?IntroYou're listening to AutisticAF Out Loud. One voice. Raw. Real. Fiercely Neurodivergent. Since 1953.Season 5, Episode 7 is special. This live spoken word performance comes straight from my first Amazon book, "every clock is a handgun pointed at my head." Raw insight into my autism… and ADHD.No hidden meanings. Nothing to decode. Just real life. Meant for autistics who need to be seen… And for family, allies, and researchers who want to see us truly. Not through Hollywood's lens of Rain Man and Love on the Spectrum.Just one 72-year-old autistic elder's truth. I'm Johnny Profane.Content Note: Frank discussion of trauma, including sexual abuse. Because… frankly… most autistics I've known survived trauma. This material may be triggering.Subscribers to my Substack receive a free PDF of the entire book. Links to Amazon book and ebook are in the podcast notes.Btw, tomorrow, Sunday 8/31, I'm doing another live performance for subscribers. 12:45 Eastern, 4:45 UTC.With that? Let's dive right in.Live Spoken Word Performance, 8/24/251. Dancing Close to the Edge of the NoiseThought i’d start with a metaphor… something that autistics see…right away. And I think will help.. This autist at least… be seen.#AskingAuDHDists…bear with me a minute.I'm autistic+ADHD.71.i feel likea brilliant creative soulas if…trapped in a damaged body& neurologytrying to communicatewith the worldthrough an intermittentlyshort-circuiting transistor radioplaying through static& the distortion& sparking circuits…to just be heard.do you understand at all what I mean?#ActuallyAutistic #ADHD #ReallyAuDHD2. That Song I'll Never Sing to My Son So let me build another bridge. Who doesn’t relate to children.Like some angelWith a dislocated shoulderHalf f l y i n g H a l f fallingYounger to olderFrom the day I was born.Tumbling to earthRushing up belowBody on f i r eH e a r t aflameIn s l o – m o ,a horror picture show…To a silent piano score…Like that songI’ll never singTo my son.Like that songLike this song….Don’t be a dickReal talk…It’s harder than you think…Listen up…Maybe…Don’t mask… protecting othersDon’t please yourselfLess than bosses & lovers…Hold up…Most of all…Don’t forgetTo have a kidLike you mightForgetThat call-in contestYou just knewYou could winCuz you knew all the words….Gimme a minute.I need a minute…Like some angelThrown outta heavenH a l f fallingHalf f l y i n gFrom what should’ve been…The day I was born.Like that songOn that game show…That I’ll never sing…To that sonI never hadHell,Like this song.3. My Friend BillyOne last bridge. Before we maybe jump off the cliff… They say we don’t having emotions. Or make friends. Clue… I ain’t Spock.65Going on death,Woke to a frozen worldWhere no car creptA day no singing birdWas left aliveA day another friendSighed his last breathPolar vortexBlew thru my trailerWrapped windows in blanketsStale air hung like failureCranked the ovenCracked its doorSealed the entries to my lifeLike a bunker in warSettled in for a day alonePicked up the phoneMy only open door…Wars, rumors of warsDisasters revealedDisasters concealedAcross its screenA dying world's dreamsI read the news,A politician liesLocal man dies…Wind froze my heartAnother sun setsThat'll never riseAnother friendWhere I can't hear his criesBilly…I wish I were that poetSay, Yeats sweet voiceOr at least L. CohenRaised in bitter rejoiceTo toast his life of rough edgesBut I see him clearTears in his eyesLaffingHow he outraced copsAcross Arizona desertsOr burnt a scumbag dealerOr how his child came to be bornCryingAbout a woman he lovedThose kids he missed seeingLocked in his roomPicking at scabsDyingOne bottle at a timeHe lived for loveHe lived for laughsHe left little moreThan a church full of folksWho missed him for an hourHe was Billy.And now years laterHe won't leave my autistic mindAnd still laffs in my autistic heartTeaching it how to praise.AdHey… quick favor? Social media algorithms bury voices like ours. But if you hit subscribe, like, or share? A lot more people may get a chance to truly see autism. One click does a lot of good.4. every clock is a handgun pointed at my head So now we… maybe… know each other a little better. Let's cut deeper… My time? It can’t be measured. Not a dimension… perhaps yours. It’s a force. A violent force.IIIEvery clock is a handgun pointed at my headEvery tick, tick… fucking tickTolling Fear, Doom… dreadClick. Slide. Cock… click.Every night a mantra echoes through my headTV ...
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