It seems I am “it”.

I have a difference in me. A peculiarity that separates me from the flock. Tick tock goes my clock and it’s time to share.

To share with you dear reader..

Stuck in the pelvis, half in the womb and half in the vagina and with a sucker on my soft boiled head. Sucking my cranium into a new shape and stirring the little grey lump inside. That soup is already spoiled garçon.. No amount of seasoning can rescue it now.

Was it the smoking or the whisky?

Different then. “More Doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette”..

Huff puff.

“Viceroy.. The Dentists choice”..

Drag.

Was it the genes?

Father the narcissist. Mother the submissive ready to nod and agree and praise and feed and clothe and wipe his fucking arse. Ready to let him be Spartacus.

I’m left with “it”.

It is an “it”. A nebulous thing infiltrated within my bones like cancerous marrow. Yellow with vessels and a faint pulsing. A difference that excludes me.

Saying I have “it” is like confirming I have my passport or my house keys in my zipped up pocket as I leave the house..I am “it”.

Hello. I am The Autist.

I am Autist.

I, Autist.

Autist.

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