problem is now that the official top-brain spokesperson has turned off the tap with his " ehh only a very small percentage have real pukka 'autism' [ errata it may be adhd i turned off my label-memory when i met her older lass up on the hill - age 10, and when she came to play with my ferrits her incredible maturity and bright eyed confidence ... only lamented at 'her neurodiversity' ... even i would have been jea;ous at one with THAT emotional intelligence peeing out from her metaphorical hard hat mum demanded! - as essential trench
dug around her battleground mind not her fault of course.... the swirly ever pervading, always, mustard gasses of the South EAst are always fatal as one sees in their Swest..] ... what is my magnificently good fun disorder, or how to create order... out of a battlefield of even her, a mental corpse...
i mean yestereve the one i wished to reencounter - the brighteyes.... there she is...
splendid!
perhaps there are however two word pictures one can sum them all up with:
1. you TELL them you were a mountain goat as a child.... and young man - how many variants of ' i was actually a pukka real shepherd on 'ills like them up there a bit more whelming as it 'appens... 10% population densty indeed nearer 1%, the amount of playground visitors i now realise... if you break your ankle up there ALONE pre helicopter times.... basically nobody .. if one were disabled due ones own fault at not having the deftest footwork you would maybe even really die of Moth Winn's dehydration.... ' and you come up to a 15cm deep bit of river with two rocks in it spaced out an ideal 80 odd cm between them as quite satisfactory stepping stones even for someone bought up in a suburb.... and its no longer wellie season and my god they get all " gosh drama.... you wont get through here take my hand drama drama.."
and 2. aside a quiet byway finishing off a slightly satisfactory meander-chat as SO many times before this utterly fake 'caring' - its always the same look of near horror that a vehicle coming up will certainly flatten you, enjoying rare conversation, with them... not one can listen " luv, a. ..i heard it from 100m back my ears work....and i assessed theres plenty of space for THEM to go around me out i speied long ago out of the corner of my eye fixed on your fine face... and b the fucking law is its MY fucking right of way... i own the space i am stood on even if i havent got on a compulsory flourescent girly jacket... it is MY right to stand here still as long as theres space for them to crawl past aside us they do not exist to me i have rural zen.... as i told you.... and if they dont know that they should fuck back off to where they have nice painted zebras to sort out who owns what bit of the land..."
So yes disorder... problem is it does or did kind of 'work' to ponder life as even the useless bard managed to Nobel speechify hiding behind some device, " its all a Homeric Odd Essay"
Seeing or even to a small extent -merely in ones head, approaching it as if its a ten year long bicycle journey around potholes and the odd Siren...
and knowing which sports field i want to die on.... high up in her mountains
thing is... it's such a successful 'mode' to endure or rather persist
even 15 ish years of maybe Hemlock
when should it really end...?
And i certainly don't want to in any way define my life or even fabulous Odesseyitis by him..
but i did meet her
on his birth
and deathday
Forget them, its just such fun, being in one .....
Anyway back to business a real insight i never knew why he - number one fizzy 'activist'
was so utterly disatrous
I always pondered maybe it was the Surrey germline which had infected his brain with rugby balls, and one of the worst cases of fabnulism ever
And then, just thisterdawn, i saw what
he had studied
...and... well if there were one other excuse for her rather falsely 3d mind
of course.....
And someone else he said so too.
