Tag Archives: heart

Autistic girl, speaks computer

(written to a friend ps.. I am turning my email into a blog post so don’t be upset with me about it, please!!!)
 4a1bb
what a great video and now I understand more about this.
… i know i see what others do not, i can zoom in on objects seeing and seeking where others see just the scene before them or see only wild things or weeks. i see the droplets of dew on the green leaves, i hear the sound of individual insects buzzing near me or can zoom in to hear those close to a particular flower even if it is ten feet away. 
 
people, seem overwhelming to me in groups unless they are in military groups for there is some semblance of order there. malls or large gatherings bother me and i feel emotionally drained, tiring easily. 
 
me, i am different from most, this girl is similar but different from me in that she has sensory input hundreds of times more acute than i do. 
me, i see the world differently but how differently does she see the world from me, buzzing, humming, covering her ears, taking hundreds of pictures of people’s faces. 
me, i see multiple images of people at the same time, not hundreds or thousands
me, i see autistic and autism much better now
me, i thank you Carly for letting me and others learn from you! 
 
p.s. written this way on purpose fo that others see the small i, a person in a crowd instead of the bigger I that they are used to seeing in sentences or in other writings.
if you see i, perhaps you might see me.
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Filed under Blog post, Health, Inspiration, Writing, Writing Free Form

Spoken Word Poetry on Posts and words

(Read, to be read aloud like a Poet Laureate with a beatnik heart, spoken aloud with a cadence set forth, The Spoken Word Poetry on Stage performances)

Here I sit,
Pondering,
Wondering,
Waiting,
for too many things, for you, for others, for answers, for reasons, for hope.

Where are the poets and philosophers of yesteryear?
Are they now dead, gone consumed by the fires and ravages of time?
Perhaps they are reincarnated in the vestiges of self, shadows or former glory.
Perhaps they are fully reincarnated as Filmmakers, Song Writers, Playwrights of the day.

Here sit I,
wishing for a modicum of their talent, a modicum of talent that I believe I possess, evidenced thought former photos and images created, words that flowered and blossomed on the blank white page into a river of thoughts, emotions and expressions given forth from some old and newly tapped well of inspiration.

Sitting here, attempting to dispel the dullness, the cold inside, desperately attempting to open the shutters to allow the Sun’s warmth and rays to shine on this cold heart, cold spirit, dulled and tarnished like a doorknob to the dungeon entrance.

This self made dungeon for sure, made bitter and cold through and through by the hatred of self talk, echos of words remembered, words shot and flung out into time and space by people in moments of nastiness  spitefulness with mean spirited verbal attacks.

Opened up doors, opened up wells of feeling during moments of hope brought on by memories from out of the past.

Doors that should have remained closed and closeted perhaps, the eternal optimist,  the eternal dreamer, the eternal believer in shared feelings that may have not existed, though may be welled behind other doors themselves. Convoluted emotions, twisted feelings around shriveled up hearts, minds that are shattered in their present altered state of closed off corridors and rooms hidden from view.

Here I sit, me yet not me, what was is perhaps no more, what was meant to be may have no future. The future that should have and would have existed given choices made in opposite directions the path left empty and untrod upon.

Sit I here, in the warmth of the air, cold inside, broken and shattered like the reflection in the pond after the hand has scooped out the water of life, but ripples radiating outwards.

I wait,
I wonder,
I try to call forth the muse of creativity while steadfastly avoiding the void.  For to gaze too long into the void is to fall, to lose oneself forever.
Longing for the fingers to convey the allowed words, to create the flow of thoughts that will set me free, I await the rush.

Tenderly now I probe seeking  searching, sharing thoughts, fingers conveying hidden and thus far unshared words, emotions, thoughts and hopes. Remembrances of fingers brushing the skin on the cheek, brushing the stray hair away and up, finger tips warmed by the internal heat of another. The heat also of creativity, longing for either, afraid of one or both, afraid of opened doors soon to be slammed shut again, splintered and shattered on the broken hinge.

Here I sit,
Pondering,
Wondering,
Waiting,
for too many things, for you, for others, for answers, for reasons, for clarity of purpose, for clarity of mind.
The Blankness and Desolation of Blank Pages reflect the shattered and poor words I write, calling for the Muse to arise once again.

The Desolation of lost and useless hope, I sit, I ponder in darkness within and without, alone this night, alone this life, alone this soul.

Here sit I

Here sit we, the culmination of lost, of hurt of hatred of abused of bruised, of tendernesses, of shared love even if so brief, of shared memories, of shared dreams, wants and desires and hopes for the future, now all clouded up with the past, shadows and shadowed skittering and chittering like some small animals seeking hidden passageways while predators circle and peer. Looking to pounce, talons ripping, beaks and fangs gnashing endless death of body, spirit, soul, creativity and passions, die broken in the fading light of day.

Here, sit,
share, feel, comfort, hold, caress, kiss and blossom like emotions set free. No, again why, why not, allow, do not attempt, hear and hearken to pain and suffering of opened doors to inside feelings and hopes. Again hopes die or fade in the waning sunshine of yesteryear or is that the present or perhaps time yet to come. Crushed on the ebb and flows of Time.

Hope springs eternal, hope the saviour, hope the destroyer, hope the desolation of ONE. Hope while visions and memories are made, were made, will be made again, gone like the sunshine replaced by the darkness, the night settles.

Sit, here I vanquishing the beast inside again, the page fills, struggling for hope of creativity, though allowing these words to take shape, form to struggle free, to keep pace with the mind already chapters ahead. Is there hope?

Here I sit,
Pondering,
Wondering,
Waiting,
for too many things, for you, for others, for answers, for reasons, for the end, for the beginning.  I wonder as I sit, here.

..
.. a song from days ago, played on the radio, reverberates endlessly in the thick skull of the eternal being of hope; “What a Fool Believes” and “The Rose” songs flow together, around behind and in front of each other, endlessly like dueling radios at a beach, the peace of nature, shattering the voices of the night with the tones of Poetry Sung in this present, defined present by the past, the future, the now.

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Filed under Writing, Writing Free Form

Poem of the Heart

OK folks, now do not laugh at me, Poetry is not my thing though occasionally  I do try to create a Poem.

Then;
I pushed you away,
Let you walk,
and Look where it got me!

Now;
If I draw you in
Invite you to Stay.
Where will it take me?

~author me Wild_E, April 2013

Option Two  – so need help folks with the ONE work that will be in red, which version do you like as well as the punctuation! Punctuation seems odd in Poems to me and regular writing is bad enough now.

Then;
I pushed you away,
Let you walk,
and Look where it got me!

Now;
If I draw you in
Beg you to Stay.
Where will it take me?

~author me Wild_E, April 2013

My option is for Poem One as I do not beg and it takes on a different connotation. Now some will Say Poem 2 would be more in line with strong feelings, so give it a read, give it a shout and tell me what its all about! (sorry could not resist a little Rhyming poem…LOL )

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Filed under Family_Friends, Writing, Writing Free Form

Death of Freedom

” Censorship is the Death of Freedom as is
to Conspiracy Theory leading to the discovery of Truth ”
Hope is read between the words, in front of your eyes and in your Hearts and Souls 

~Wild_E

 

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Filed under Blog post, Survival Prepping, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing Free Form