I just can’t belong to the autistic tribe. And they don’t want me, anyway.

You can’t keep all the hurtful stuff at arm’s length and that is expressed in compelling ways, I was diagnosed with autism at age 6 by school psychologists. Why. Because I was reading. Especially Marx, physics, especially physics, Voltaire, anything I could read in French, and Bukowski. We were very poor, and the Bukowski was inevitable. I shoplifted books. I still shoplift books. Love/hate. Books. Not just love. My stims have to do with maintaining my masques that can corral and contain my rage that when people see me, they see a victim. This makes you vulnerable, and it doesn’t have anything to do with how many books you read. Smart is nothing. I do not identify with anyone. I’m a runner. If I think you are going to hurt me, my dirt bike is faster than you are. I am 30 seconds from it. Anywhere. If they see you as a victim, they can hurt you. Not your feelings. But you.

Their favorite weapon of war is rape.

I have written about autism and rape but it’s too hard on Americans who do not want to know. I get it, we’re all struggling. My struggle is to be someone else. If I am raped again, I will put a gun in my mouth. Being angry is so forbidden by Americans. You have to stuff it way down inside your bowels to even know what I am talking about, so keep your pity to yourself. I have my masque to wear, and you will never get beyond it. It’s glued to me. I know things. Just being around Normals can be deadly. If they do not kill you outright when cops arrive (the probability that they will shoot you rises significantly after ten minutes of interaction with cops. they’ll they’ll do it slowly. But the results are the same.

You are a victim. Get mad about it. Make the anger articulate. Give it a structure. But when you scream too loudly, they become fearful. I had to make myself not do it. They don’t like it when you look them squarely in the eye.

I do not get into bar fights anymore. I have to grow up.