『#AutisticAF Out Loud』のカバーアート

#AutisticAF Out Loud

#AutisticAF Out Loud

著者： Johnny Profane (Knapp Âû)
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One Voice... Raw. Real. Fiercely Autistic.

johnnyprofaneknapp.substack.comJohnny Profane (Knapp Âû) 心理学 心理学・心の健康 社会科学 衛生・健康的な生活
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  • When "Kind" Words… Hurt: An Autistic Elder on Microaggressions

    When "Kind" Words… Hurt: An Autistic Elder on Microaggressions
    2026/05/14
    I’m writing a memoir… out loud. Building a book. Fragment by fragment. Like I lived it.I told a small, self-deprecating… white lie.To get out of committing to volunteering for a new project.My bad.You see? I had history with this person. Co-founder of an advocacy nonprofit. Small. Neurodivergency-affirming. Big ideas. Little organization.“I’m not sure I’m the right guy for your project. I just can’t seem to do something… this big… anymore.” I just want to gracefully bow out. Yet not hurt feelings. Or challenge them.I plough on gamely, “Maybe we can chat once in a while…?”“Sure you can! I know you can do it!” That zeal of a new convert to pop psychology. Rapid-fire words ricocheting out of my headset. “You just have imposter syndrome. I know. Because I do too! I have this book you could read…”I tried to be gentle. “My friend, I don’t have a syndrome of any kind. I’m just telling the truth. No need for diagnosis.”It went rapidly downhill from there.Let’s say, I felt immediate… unease.While we were talking. But I didn’t know why. Yet.But like a persistent smell neurodivergent-dot-me can never ignore… that feeling lingered. Building as I replay the conversation over and over. Then it takes days to recover. Before I can work on my projects again.Because what I experienced? Some label “benevolent ableism.” I call it soft-core discrimination. Trying to look like… kindness.I’ll never know their motivation. I won’t risk the pain of asking.You see? “Kind” words can do real damage.All you really gotta do to cause pain? Simply speak in the grammar of help… then act out the logic of condescension.That’s it.Some research supports this… catch-22. Patronizing support? It’s one of the most common, damaging, and invisible acts one human can perpetrate on another disabled human. That I know.Cuz it’s deniable. So at best, socially dangerous to challenge. A lot like an unwanted, ambiguous… intimate… gesture. From an acquaintance. And queasiness has only gotten worse for me with every ambiguous human interchange.The weapon and pain metaphors I use in the performance piece? Intentional.Cuz the escalation you may experience?These. Are. My. Reality.This ain’t about an additional diagnosis. Or a personality flaw. It is about me being autistic-as-fuck me.Yeah. I may be a tad more sensitive to condescension than the Average Bear. Just like I need sunglasses. Even on many cloudy days.Which ought to be actually advocated for. Not patronized. By an advocate. Or employer. Or loved one.Cuz this is not something I can self-help-guru my way out of. Or be trained to control through Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.Like I need one more thought to exhaustingly monitor. Monitoring that could never “cure” my sensory issue with smells. Or my freaking balance problems. Least of all my condescension trauma…So, the only guiding principle I must remember when I navigate social or professional waters…“I must honor my limits. Or they will disable me.”One last thing…I wrote this about my real experiences as an autistic professional. In a world unkind to difference.But my guess? Folks from any “disadvantaged” background may see themselves in it.Let’s build on that kinship. Maybe make a change. Together.IntroContent Note: Contain”IntroContent Note: Contain”IntroContent Note: Contains descriptions of everyday condescension… and opinions. That may resonate uncomfortably for autistic, neurodivergent, and… other people.The Cruelest Knife Leaves No ScarYou never feel the cruelest knife Poison-tipped with a pat on the head A smugly… gentle… smile Words so softly, warmly… said.He only said… “You’re flourishing. Even with autism. Good on you.”Judgment is like napalm Dropped benignly… safely… from on high Burning invisibly… under my skin.She casually said… “You got imposter syndrome. I got this book…?”Or some radiant dirty bomb Parachuting slyly… tenderly… Silently melting my guts inside.The manual simply read… “Neurodivergents think outside the box. That makes them perfect… for certain tasks.”Leaving a foul smell in the air Mustard gas masquerading… Like piercing gas-station incense Labelled... blindingly, “Stay Calm.”Stealth Weapons of Mass Humiliation Or casual toxic caring Preening in plain sight Don’t breed even sullen gratitude Just resentment. Rebellion. Sometimes? The worship of tyrants. You never feel the cruelest knife No, Not right away. A slice so sharp it leaves no scar So weird… that instant shapes my life.This is Fragment 3 of a memoir I’m writing in public. One autistic elder’s life, told in fragments. Like I lived it.Follow the bread crumbs… Fragment 1 here. Fragment 2 here.If this landed for you… the next one lands in your inbox… free.Readings for Your Deeper DiveNot exhaustive. Just sources that made me think.Benevolent Ableism* “Consequences of Confronting Patronizing Help ...
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    2 分
  • Family, God & Vodka Neat...? My Autistic Elder’s Truth

    Family, God & Vodka Neat...? My Autistic Elder’s Truth
    2026/05/08

    A comet, a cult, an ice storm, a family dinner... and a disastrous drinking game. Winter, 1997-98. One autistic elder's truth about faith, control, and what it costs to survive your own family.

    ⚠️ Content note: offensive language, substance use, religious criticism, mental health themes, cult references. Strong feelings. A very personal truth you may not share.

    This is a hybrid spoken word piece — poem, film, mini-series. Scenes. Jump cuts. Background music. A Prelude in Northern New York, December 1997, as the Hale-Bopp comet fades from the sky and the thirty-nine bodies in matching Nikes of the Heaven's Gate cult are still fresh in the national mind.A Dinner, where my mother gathers reports from her children, one by one, while I sip vodka. Neat.A Card Game during the Ice Storm of '98 — cooped-up family, three days, no power, liquor, and a rule: ya gotta drink.And a Cadenza for the End of Time. Where I finally ask the question I couldn't ask as a kid.I'm Johnny Profane Âû. Autistic poet and spoken word performer, diagnosed at 63. Now in my 70s. I've been making work that refuses to be packaged since 2019.This piece is from my chapbook: every clock is a handgun pointed at my head: songs of autistic innocence...and experience. Available on Amazon — link below.

    📖 Get the chapbook: [AMAZON LINK]📬 Full text + newsletter: [SUBSTACK LINK]🔔 Hit the bell. New pieces drop when they're ready.💬 Drop a comment: How complex was your family history as a neurodivergent person? What refuges did you find?

    Chapters

    0:10 — Cold Open0:21 — Content Note0:45 — Intro1:58 — Prelude / Establishing Shot3:55 — Dinner Music / Point-of-View Shot7:39 — Interlude / Flash Cut9:53 — Cadenza for the End of Time / Extreme Wide Panning Shot11:20 — Outro / Parting Shot

    #ActuallyAutistic #SpokenWord #ReligiousTrauma

    #AutisticPoetry #LateAutismDiagnosis #AutisticElders #HeavensGate #AutismAcceptance #NeurodivergentPoetry #AutisticAF



    This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit johnnyprofaneknapp.substack.com/subscribe
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    11 分
  • 7 Autistic Decades. I'm Still Driven. What If I NEVER Get “There...”?

    7 Autistic Decades. I'm Still Driven. What If I NEVER Get “There...”?
    2026/02/11
    Still driven to matter. Desperately. Almost 73. And I can’t unwind… busted springs, broken dancer in a jewel box. This piece isn’t an answer. It’s an accusation. And underneath? A terrified question I can’t stop asking.Is listening more your thing? Hit the headphone icon 🎧 on the player above. Or pick your app: Apple, Spotify, Overcast, YouTube.{Music} IntroYou're listening to AutisticAF Out Loud. One voice. Raw. Real. Fiercely Neurodivergent. One autistic elder’s truth. I’m Johnny Profane.Content Note: language, psych ward experiences, childhood sexual & emotional abuse, intergenerational family harm + opinions & experiences of one autistic elder. It’s everywhere. Every where I go anyways.I’m chatting with this young professional couple ahead of me in a line. Maybe, grad students…? This long, Walmart self-checkout is just brimming with fresh faces this August.There’s an awkward break… like always in these in-line chats. Like we’re para-neighbors or something.So… I’ve gotten used to a little stimming while I wait. In the silence, I arch my back backwards then I drop my head toward the floor… Breathe out, relax, straighten up, and…They’re staring. Four eyes blinking through glasses. Two mouths open.I… I… think a moment. Running through possible causes for those gawking faces. Then, I get it.“Oh… Oh that.” I slip into my little canned moment. “Ya see, I’m autistic. I know. I don’t look like autistic. I’m old.” [Chuckle.] “But if I say… or do something… that seems, well, odd? Just let me know.”You could see it instantly. I went from bizarre, possibly fiercesome alien to… cute, harmless, possibly lovable, old oddball.A blink or two… from each. The guy, in the designer hoodie, waves back and forth between himself and the young woman. “Oh, we get it.” A bit more waving. “We love ‘Love on the Spectrum.’ Never miss it.”To my credit, I manage a… thin smile, with a little mock hand-waving and a quiet, “Yeah, doggie.”Shortly, they leave the store, waving back at me. And I wave back. It’s more like they have a cute para-social crush on an idea… of autism.But I’m thinking…That show… and that couple’s genuine attempt to connect? They’re something… for now. I guess… But I’ve been obsessing about stereotypes lately.Like everybody suddenly knows the real me cuz they read an article on Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism…TV viewers? None of them know me. It’s more like they have a cute para-social crush on an idea… of autism.I try to bear in mind I may be going through a phase ... [laffs]But…I am autistic + ADHD here. Turning 73, come June. I want you to know this reality… my personal reality. But shared by too many other neurodivergents.I’ll never know what it means to grow up withoutsensory, physical, emotional, and sexual trauma from…family, teachers, playmates, care-taking professionals,the occasional stranger.I’ll never know a life without repeated psych ward stays.So… it just may not be autism that blocks my dreams… Ya know?Just stick a pin in that thought for a moment. We’ll circle back, after a bit… after I speak my piece…“What… would I be… then…?”Like most humans, I grapple with dreams… I will never realize in this life... nearing its end. Dreams that wind my clock.The biggest? The gut-wrenching need to matter... Less noble? My yearning for fame & recognition. I fear letting that dream go.Cuz what… would I be… then...?This piece isn’t an answer. It’s an accusation. And I can guaran-damn-tee you it’ll never stream on Netflix.I call it…LETTING GOBeing born left its markThat’s how I came to fear the dark...Far back as i know I fear letting goAlways scouting for that shortcutI fear letting goCareening towards god knows whatFearing letting goDark lightning in my gutFrom fear of letting go Letting goLetting goGod i need To let go… Everybody knowsI need to let go.All life longDrempt damned dreams The kind that get you reborn,To be big, to be… known.As this long life, this dream… endsI fear letting goCuz what would I… be… then?Been saying latelyGot to unwind… Twist.Got the heart… not the chopsI got to unwindUnwind… Twist.Need a dream detoxGot to unwind Un Wind… Twist.Click…Busted springs andBroken dancer in a jewel box. Good gawd almightyI gots to unwind.Sleepwalking in the moist dark nightA toddler memory, I feared a lightShadowed crack under mommy’s doorGroans, cries, sighs… moreThen...Turning a knob on forbidden sightDaddy’s rage, a parasiteCrawling… gnawing my insides That night I first feared the light.Black thunder in a winter stormI fear the trembling lightMantra falling in a mind at warTerrified of that lightFear that lightFear that lightI fear that lightMore than psych ward nightI fear that blinding lightBeing born left its markThat’s how I came to fear the dark...But waking, startled, late in lifeI came to cower… at ...
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    11 分
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