a speck that is melting

Q47 Would you give us an example of something people with autism really enjoy?

We do take pleasure in one thing that you probably won't be able to guess. Namely, making friends with nature. The reason we aren't much good at people skills is that we think too much about what sort of impression we're making on the other person, or how we should be responding to this or that. But nature is always there at hand to wrap us up, gently: glowing, swaying, bubbling, rustling.

Just by looking at nature, I feel as if I'm being swallowed up into it, and in that moment I get the sensation that my body's now a speck from long before I was born, a speck that is melting into nature herself. This sensation is so amazing that I forget that I'm a human being, and one with special needs to boot.

Nature calms me down when I'm furious, and laughs with me when I'm happy. You might think that it's not possible that nature could be a friend, not really. But human beings are part of the animal kingdom too, and perhaps us people with autism still have some leftover awareness of this, buried somewhere deep down. I'll always cherish the part of me that thinks of nature as a friend.

-- The Reason I Jump by Naoki Higashida, translated by KA Yoshida & David Mitchell

nature is as important as our own lives

Q45 Why do you enjoy going out for walks so much?

My guess is that lots of people with autism like walking, and I wonder if you can work out why. "Because walking makes you feel good?" "Because it's great being out in the open air?" Both these replies are true, of course, but for me the number one reason is that us people with autism love the greenness of nature. Now you might be thinking, "Oh, is that all?" However, our fondness for nature is, I think, a little bit different from everyone else's. I'm guessing that what touches you in nature is the beauty of the trees and the flowers and things. But to us people with special needs, nature is as important as our own lives. The reason is that when we look at nature, we receive a sort of permission to be alive in this world, and our entire bodies get recharged. However often we're ignored and pushed away by other people, nature will always give us a good big hug, here inside our hearts.

The greenness of nature is the lives of plants and trees. Green is life. And that's the reason we love to go out for walks.

-- The Reason I Jump by Naoki Higashida, translated by KA Yoshida & David Mitchell

lives ruled by time

Q39 Why do you like being in the water?

We just want to go back. To the distant, distant past. To a primeval era, in fact, before human beings even existed. All people with autism feel the same about this one, I reckon. Aquatic life-forms came into being and evolved, but why did they then have to emerge onto dry land, and turn into human beings who chose to lead lives ruled by time? These are real mysteries to me.

In the water it's so quiet and I'm so free and happy there. Nobody hassles us in the water, and it's as if we've got all the time in the world. Whether we stay in one place or whether we're swimming about, when we're in the water we can really be at one with the pulse of time. Outside of the water there's always too much stimulation for our eyes and our ears, and it's impossible for us to guess how long one second is or how long an hour takes.

People with autism have no freedom. The reason is that we are a different kind of human, born with primeval sense. We are outside the normal flow of time, we can't express ourselves, and our bodies are hurtling us through life. If only we could go back to that distant, distant, watery past—then we'd all be able to live as contentedly and as freely as you lot!

-- The Reason I Jump by Naoki Higashida, translated by KA Yoshida & David Mitchell

a just barely overheard remark

These one-sided conversations had begun, naturally enough, during the first few days when he had tried watching television (Denton brought a little portable, thinking the diversion might help).

"Oh, let's the fuck not!" he had cried to the silver-haired uncle type who had implored: "Let's talk for just a moment about constipation." And when the prim and proper lard ass Aunt Nell walked into the young bride's new house, turned up her little snout, and made a just barely overheard remark about "house-i-tosis," Cassidy got up from his chair, muttering softly: that, really, will not do. He unplugged the set, wrapped the cord around the handle, and placed it in the oven (which he used only for heating the kitchen).

"You're going to stay in there until you goddamn well learn some manners," he informed Aunt Nell, and then promptly forgot about her. And not just her. He also forgot about the legions of thrombosed bridge partners, impotent husbands, adorably precocious children, and finicky pets. Cassidy thought: Descendants of spelling bee champions and fellers of giant trees are harangued about the slings and arrows of lower tract distress. A monk sets himself afire in the street and folks run for the marshmallows. Or am I being picky?

After that, when he wasn't running or sleeping, he just read.

When his eyes tired, he tried just sitting.

-- Once a Runner by John L. Parker, Jr.

"run through" the thing

The object, according to Denton, was to "run through" the thing, just as he maintained one should attempt to "run through" most of those other little hubcaps life rolls into your lane; everything from death in the family to cancer of the colon.

Breaking down was not a required checkpoint on the road to competitive fitness. In fact, many coaches warned against it. But Denton viewed it as an opportunity to leapfrog over months of safer, less strenuous training, thus tempering survival-hardened muscles. The alternative, total rest, was too much the other extreme, the easy way out. That wouldn't do.

The toll on the runner—and those around him—was high, psychologically as well as physically. He became weak, depressed; he needed twelve to fourteen hours of sleep a night. He was literally desperate for rest, spent his waking hours with his legs elevated, in a state of general irritability. He became asexual, rendered, in the world of the immortal limerick, really quite useless on dates. He was a thoroughly unpleasant person.

-- Once a Runner by John L. Parker, Jr.

500 meters and simply

Later that spring when Denton made the U.S. Olympic team, nearly everyone professed surprise. Everyone except Dr. Stavius and a promising young miler named Quenton Cassidy, who watched the U.S. trials on television. True to form, Denton powered across the finish line in the 5000 meters and simply jogged past the cameras over to his sweats and departed the stadium. Everyone had ignored him for so long, it seemed to Cassidy a delicious gesture.

-- Once a Runner by John L. Parker, Jr.

Trial of Miles

There is time, he would tell them; time and time and time. He wanted to impart some of the truths Bruce Denton had taught him, that you don't become a champion by winning a morning workout. The only true way is to marshal the ferocity of your ambition over the course of many days, weeks, months, and (if you could finally come to accept it) years. The Trial of Miles; Miles of Trials. How could he make them understand?

-- Once a Runner by John L. Parker, Jr.

clear, turquoise color

My first feeling was a wild desire to drive a stake in the sand and claim the place for myself. The beach was white as salt, and cut off from the world by a ring of steep hills that faced the sea. We were on the edge of a large bay and the water was that clear, turquoise color that you get with a white sand bottom. I had never seen such a place. I wanted to take off all my clothes and never wear them again.

-- The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson

through a crack

One Monday morning I was awakened by what sounded like children being butchered outside the window. I looked through a crack in the shutter and saw about fifteen tiny Puerto Ricans, dancing on the sidewalk and tormenting a three-legged dog. I cursed them viciously and hurried up to Al's for breakfast.

-- The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson

usually it was rum

He seemed honest enough with me, and in those rare moments when he relaxed I enjoyed him immensely. But it was not often that he dropped his guard, and usually it was rum that made him do it. He relaxed so seldom that his natural moments had an awkward, childish quality that was almost pathetic. He had come so far from himself that I don't think he knew who he was anymore.

-- The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson

drunk, dirty and no more

... and the best that can be said of that staff is that they were a strange and unruly lot. At best they were unreliable, and at worst they were drunk, dirty and no more dependable than goats.

-- The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson

laughing at where

'You were laughing at where I work.'

'So? You do!'

'Yes, because I work there. I'm laughing in the face of adversity, you're just laughing in my face!'

-- One Day by David Nicholls

mysterious as a secret

 Her enthusiasm was infectious and I soon lost myself in the excitement of the moment, ignoring my original reasons for wanting to explore the tunnels. There is nothing quite so delightfully mysterious as a secret in your own backyard.

-- The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

hide their feet

"You can tell a lot about a person by their feet," he mused. "Some men come in here, smiling and laughing, shoes all clean and brushed, socks all powdered up. But when the shoes are off, their feet smell just fearsome. Those are the people that hide things. They've got bad smelling secrets and they try to hide 'em, just like they try to hide their feet."

He turned to look at me. "It never works though. Only way to stop your feet from smelling is to let them air out a bit. Could be the same thing with secrets. I don't know about that, though. I just know about shoes."

He began to look through the clutter of his workbench. "Some of these young men from the court come in, fanning their faces and moaning about the latest tragedy. But their feet are so pink and soft. You know they've never walked anywhere on their own. You know they've never really been hurt."

-- The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

"time heals all wounds" is false

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying "time heals all wounds" is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

-- The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

I consented to ask the other half of me

I remember one time I looked for the stone for almost an hour before I consented to ask the other half of me where I'd hidden it, only to find I hadn't hidden the stone at all. I had merely been waiting to see how long I would look before giving up. Have you ever been annoyed and amused with yourself at the same time? It's an interesting feeling, to say the very least.

Another time I asked for hints and ended up jeering at myself. It's no wonder that many arcanists you meet are a little eccentric, if not downright cracked. As Ben had said, sympathy is not for the weak of mind.

-- The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

a chocolate too many times

"Why you can't stand Dylan the book?"

"I've read it too many times."

But when I want something I want it always, like chocolates, I never ate a chocolate too many times.

"You could read it yourself," she says.

That's silly, I could read all them myself, even Alice with her old-fashioned words. "I prefer when you read them."

-- Room by Emma Donoghue

smelled like a public john

Andy Sharma was his name - a private dick who smelled like a public john. I was very pleased with that one and knew that Cat would have enjoyed it too, had I been able to tell it to her.

This is despite the fact that it's a very unfair smear on his name. The place only smelled like a public toilet because of his attempts to get it clean but us hard-boiled detective client types haven't got time for political correctness. If it's fairness versus a half decent one liner, the one liner wins every time. I find this a very good rule by which to live one's life.

-- Infidelity for First-Time Fathers by Mark Barrowcliffe

I want you like the sea

I want you, I thought. I want you like the sea wants a sacrifice of souls.

Now that's not the sort of thought that normally troubles my thinking tackle on the mezzanine floor of a business event, I can tell you.

In the grip of such a powerful emotion, I did the only thing I could.

"Goodbye," I said, although it may as well have been "beep beep", as I made like the roadrunner out of there. There was then a very embarrassing period while I stood by reception waiting for a cab.

-- Infidelity for First-Time Fathers by Mark Barrowcliffe

pull the ear of a sleeping pit bull

However, the penalty for leaving her sleeping was to share angst and guilt until dead, so like a boy on a bet going to pull the ear of a sleeping pit bull, I tugged her shoulder at arm's length.

She stirred and sat up, clearly still asleep. Then she lay down again and started to snore. Now from an early age I knew very well the danger of returning to lighted foreworks, as my dad had always made me throw things at them to see if they'd go off while he hid behind the old coal bunker.

-- Infidelity for First-Time Fathers by Mark Barrowcliffe