After an Autistic writer’s Drought .

It has been many months since I wrote.

I’ve written but not blogging, I’ve been

Writing to synthesise  my thoughts and aims carefully tightrope walking across the chasm of clumsiness and possible offence.

Wanting to return to painting and poetry yet caught up in writing to promote change in approach to Autism and Research.

Hoping  to foster a desire for an autistic run mini conference so that those of us who have  past presentations given  at mainstream conferences can share with the autistic community in Oz. Travel and accommodation is so expensive here on this continent that attending mainstream Conferences is prohibitive.

Fortunately Aspect organised scholarships for autistic presenters at APAC17 to pay part or all of the registration fee…. a great move to assisting Inclusion.

Autscape in England is so far away that it is impossible for us to attend  so a mini conference with minimal costs would be great. Great to share presentations, great to meet up with other autistics. Many of us living outside major cities have no face to face contact with our Neurological peers.

It is just a seed now and with a bit of gentle unforced nurturing this idea may come to fruition. We need to start small, maybe very small but ensuring that those outside major cities have reasonable access.  Many ideas to toss around, letting form evolve so that it all fits together … it doesn’t need to be fashioned on the Typical models of conferences…..after we are not typical.

 

At present I have no idea how this will appear … will it be under my nom de plume twitter or real twitter accounts. I’m lost in cyberspace as I am still not affair with technology… a continual learning curve … and it takes perseverance and  the risk taking of one blindfolded. If that doesn’t demonstrate Resilience… autistic resilience what does?

 

 

 

 

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Authentic Presence!

What in the hell does that mean in this crazy plastic society?

EIGHTY YEARS

Grey -haired-ladies

Grace the white weatherboards:

inconspicuously

triumphing  eighty years

in unassuming suburbs

of yesterday’s Melbourne.

 

A no-nonesense-down-to-earth

warmth of times bygone and now

with a dignity unknown

to those of more prestigious

past and present.

 

It is the homeliness,

the relaxed conversation

fast disappearing  from pit-stop houses

lining deserted streets

in the rambling scrambling

flurry of heart-attack -pace.

 

A strong -aged beauty

anchors mann-abandoned homes;

to nurse a dying son or requiem

prematurely the broken candle,

warm with memories that gently

caress lives drained by death.

 

Time’s wisdom graces

the white weatherboards

supporting waiting generations;

progressively unlinked  to those of their age,

communicating an epoch that fades

into  a solitary  past life.

 

Grey -haired-ladies!

Will you grace our lives

with relaxed conversation, soothing

the aches of our pit-stop-lives,

anchoring us with earthy humanity

before we decay in deserted streets?