Archive for April, 2014

Thinking Minds

Posted: April 28, 2014 in My thoughts on Asperger's

Is it not better to have a mind that thinks differently and is imaginative, creative and full of ideas than one that is merely there to be moulded into a carbon copy of all the other minds in society?

Andrew Smith 28th April 2014

‘Why do I always feel that because I am different, because my brain is wired different, because I think differently and because I see the world differently, that it is me that is wrong and everybody else that is right?’ ‘I am told that it is easier for a neurotypical to think like an Asperger’s person than it is for an Asperger’s person to think like a neurotypical’. ‘Yet in the majority of my encounters with neurotypicals is it they that expect me to think like them, not them try to think like me’. ‘I am expected to think abstractly, yet no one seems willing to show me how’. ‘What a strange world we live in, when you are expected to fit in but not told how’…………………………………………

Andrew Smith 28th April 2014

The Value of Telling Stories

Posted: April 27, 2014 in Uncategorized

The Value of Telling Stories.


Posted: April 25, 2014 in Poems


Do you think they listen to you?

Do you think they hear what you say?

Do you think they care about you?

When they tell you what you should do

When they tell you how you should do it

When they tell you why you should do it

To fit in with society

To blend in with everybody else

To not stand out

To not be you and the person you are

But to be someone else who is not you

To strip away what makes you who you are

To strip away your personality

To strip away the very essence of your being

What do you think…………………………….


She dreams of physiognomist, phrenologist and Lavater

Filled within the Dome of the Pantheon

How she dwells in the devil in the detail

Interrupted only by Spurzheim

In the never ending quest for universal knowledge

Only the ill qualified speak

The intelligencer thinking abstract thoughts

Directed at an anomalous creature

That sits on the hill like a fool

Dash the nose of the man who doubts me!

The egotistical sky appeals to me

Where nothing different is exalted to Jove’s high seat

Because she Willemeana Roberta Gertrude Alice Jones

Is here forever trapped and consequently trapped forever

In this never ending labyrinth of neural neurons mile after mile after mile

Within the head of the leviathan

As it flies through the universe

Going from galaxy to galaxy

Eating knowledge

She dreams……………..

Posted: April 12, 2014 in Poems

She dreams of distant lands
Filled with trees, with sand and mountains and streams
Far, far away from the concrete jungle she lives in
How she dislikes this place
Building after concrete building
All looking and smelling the same
Interrupted only by slabs of pavement and tarmac roads
The people here do not see each other, hear each other, listen to each other
All of them locked away in the prison of their minds
They speak when they want something, need something
Curtains open and close, lights flicker on and off
The only sign of life in the sameness of this concrete maze
How different it must be, to wake up to open spaces everyday
To wind, rain, snow, sun making a different picture for the eyes, nose and feet
To walk on, look at and smell these different surfaces, different sounds, different smells
Made even more different by the ever changing seasons
It must be something very special indeed
To walk, to see, to smell the earth as it was meant to be enjoyed
Not this manmade sameness
Nothing different here, everything the same
How she wants to roam the land and enjoy the sensations and freedom there
How she dreams about it constantly
But she fears she will never know these feelings, these sensations
Because this concrete maze of sameness that she inhibits
Has no path out of it, no branches to escape
She is here forever, trapped in a never ending puzzle
Going round and round the same streets
Day in, day out, forever
And that is her greatest fear of all


Posted: April 3, 2014 in Poems

As I walk these well worn paths

Of stone and slate and shale

Trodden before by man and beast

What secrets and stories do they hold

Within their stone hearts

Tales of happiness and joy

Sadness and sorrow

O how I wish they could talk and tell me

And then I wonder unto myself

What will they make of me

Of my stories my joy my sorrow

Of my stories many long forgotten

Of the secrets I hold and the stories I’ve told

The dreams that burn deep inside me

I walk these well worn paths

Ands wonder what they will think of me………………….