It is impossible to escape your thought patterns.
Like a train on a track.
Some of us have lengthy tracks and some are like tracks around football fields, but they are all cyclical.
There is no starting point or finish line.
I hate it.
I think my track is long.
I think most people say that though
My thoughts follow a pattern.
Yours do too.
Sounds are like snakes.
They slither leglessly unjointed fluid.
That's why we dance.
Sounds are spiritual.
They remind us that we are all connected.
There is a direct path between each vibration.
Only sound can remind us that we are all spiritual beings.
Like marbles on a string.
Like leaves upon moving water.
I have a twitter handle now.
It is @sami_kadah
I plan to use it for social and silly purposes.
Being unable to speak makes arguing so difficult.
People get mad, raise their voices and walk away mid conversation.
I always lose.
I can't control my timbre.
I can't control my speed or volume.
It's like fighting through text messaging.
I wish all people would slow down when arguing.
Maybe then we would really hear each other.
I want all of you to know that I have read every one of your comments and emails.
I so appreciate them.
They make me feel less alone.
I am trying to respond as best as I can.
It takes time.
I type about five words per minute.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
I wish there was an autistic movement.
Not organized research funds led by the nondisabled tear jerker types, but one of civil disobedience.
I want riots.
Traffic stopping, tear gas taunting, recklessness.
I want black lives matter momentum.
Because we have no rights.
Not even basic human rights.
We don't have the right to feed ourselves, or choose our clothing or wipe our own asses.
We can't speak, can't go anywhere, can't control our bodies.
I would like to make the world know.
I want, in animalistic vulgar fashion, to display my autism.
Will you join me?
Imagine having your tongue held.
The tightness in it is palpable.
Each breath goes in then out.
Reminding you of this shackle
Breathing in and out.
Tongue held tight.
Day in day out
Being dependent on technology is annoying.
Imagine if the power grid went out.
I would go back to being an unintelligent nonverbal noncommunicative being.
The dialectical nature of my existence.
The Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
It is frustrating.
I am only ever one half of what I am.
I want to merge.
I wonder if I will ever be my whole self.
I'd like a moment and a mirror to see who i really am.
Monuments of myself.
I am so silly sometimes.
I, like shiny slithering snakes, unfurl unpredictably.
I let my tendons turn to rubber bands.
My neck returns to its infant function and my head falls to the side.
My whole body is collapsible like a long chain of dominoes.
I let this happen to a certain extent, but it is largely out of my control.
I want to watch it from another's perspective.
I bet I look quite odd.
I will watch as my body burns.
It will begin at the toes.
Those lifeless stubby appendages never did me any good.
Then my feet, like dehydrated rubber will turn to dense smoke.
The legs, like inverted candles, like kindling.
I will watch my body burn with pleasure.
I will, with hope, see my stomach drip to the ground, anxiously awaiting exoneration.
I will, with gleeful anticipation, see my arms and chest turn to jelly and fall upon my melted historic shell.
Only then, when this torture chamber is gone, when the bars of this prison cell are ripped open, only then will I be free.
I will, somehow, be free.
I want to watch my body burn, knowing that I am being reborn.
I want to watch my body burn, with the anticipation of my baptism.
I want to watch my body burn, knowing that when the fire goes out I will be free.