I’ve been listening to Peter Gabriel’s third solo album (called ‘III’ or ‘melting face,’ since his first three solo albums didn’t have names, and since the third one has a picture of Mr. Gabriel with his face melting on the cover). It’s the one that contains ‘Through The Wire,’ the song from my last ‘blog.

It’s always been one of my favorite PG albums, not only because of its brilliant production, but because it takes the theme of alienation to an extreme seldom heard or even really understood. There’s a story that when David Geffen first heard this album (which came out on Geffen’s record label), he called Gabriel to ask if he was OK and did he need any help with anything.

But listening to it now, I realize that this is something like the theme album for a life with Asperger’s. Above a certain functionality, of course; there are people with AS who don’t realize that anything’s wrong, and I suppose it isn’t for them. That’s the mixed blessing of high-function.

The songs: You’ve got ‘No Self Control,’ which is about mania and confusion, ‘I Don’t Remember,’ about proving your identity to others, ‘Through The Wire,’ about the difficulty of communication and establishing intimacy, ‘Not One Of Us,’ which goes without saying, ‘Games Without Frontiers,’ which is a thick, opaque demonstration of how arbitrary social roles seem to be, and ‘Lead A Normal Life,’ about being locked in a mental hospital.

All in all, a cheery, upbeat set of tunes, ready to open your heart and lift your spirits. And I left out the ones about serial killers and assassins. (And ‘Biko,’ which always seemed tacked on at the end of the album to me.)

All of which makes me want to write Gabriel and ask if he’s heard of Hans Aspberger…

Driving ’round the city rings
Staring at the shapes of things
I talk in pictures not in words
Overloaded with everything we’ve said
Be careful where you tread
Watch the wire!
— Peter Gabriel, ‘Through The Wire‘

I’ve mentioned before that I drive around a lot in the middle of the night. I get in the car with some meaningless pretext, like going to get something to eat or needing to go to the grocery store, and then I proceed to drive all over town, in erratic loops, in the middle of the night, while talking to myself.

I just pick someone out of the blue and start talking to them as if they were there. Like, sometimes it’s my dad, sometimes it’s a friend, sometimes it’s Ben Franklin or Adolf Hitler. Seriously.

“Adolf… Baby… Why all the anger?”

Tonight I talked ‘to’ a couple of people as I drove. I started out with a friend of mine who lives in another city. Then it was another person in the same city, who I only know from some usenet groups and email lists we both participate in. This is a person I’d like to open up communications with, so I can get his help on a programming problem I’m dealing with.

And then, like a crack of lightning, I saw how pathetic it all was, and has been for decades.

Since it’s so, so much work to be around people, I regain some order for myself by doing this driving/talking thing. I think that in some fundamental way I’m highly communicative, and this need can only get some kind of expression when I’m totally alone, because of the autism. Ironically enough.

I’ve always felt sheepish about doing this. I joke about it, do the self-effacing thing, “Yeah, I drive around and talk to myself. Isn’t that funny?” And so on one level I’m OK with it. There are people who are crazier than I am, that’s for certain.

But tonight, after a certain point, it was impossible to be OK with it. I completely connected with how utterly hard this work of living is.

I mean, if it’s not one thing it’s another. One part of the nervous system wants to be isolated. Some other part wants to be around people and talk to them. So we meet in the middle and pretend to talk to people while in total isolation.

So I drove around bawling my eyes out, thinking about how this would never end. How everything, the programming problem, the business it’s related to, the shareware… Just everything would all have to be put on hold until I could do the remedial how-to-enjoy-human-contact therapy I’m considering.

So just think about that. I can argue about any point you wish to make. I can show you where you’re right and where you’re wrong. I can instinctively see what’s wrong with a design. I can visualize the way a computer program flows, as if it were some kind of tripped-out cardiovascular system of light and color. I can take that visualization and turn it into an arcane and exacting language that only programmers and the machines they program understand.

But I can’t relate to you. I can play the rote social games; I can say please and thank you, and I can shake your hand, and smile when I should smile and frown when I should frown. But they’re all arbitrary. It’s not my game, it’s yours. There’s little to no meaning.

And because this is the case, I have to imagine people, and imagine them as relate-able. That is, I can imagine them as stripped of their overwhelming complexity.

And saying it isn’t sad that I do this is like saying it isn’t sad that diabetics can at least inject themselves with insulin before every freaking meal, or that paraplegics at least have breath-controlled motorized wheelchairs to get them from place to place.

This is me saying ‘grr:’

GRR.

Wanna read a great ‘blog?

Of course you do!

Today’s music: Maryan by the Seattle Guitar Circle performance team.

(There’s also a really nice free MP3 on their site, called Trapiche.)

From The 3:15 Experiment:

[..] Danika was writing her thesis on states of consciousness and the writing process with a focus on Bernadette’s work. She and Bernadette decided to create their own collaborative writing experiment and invited Lee Ann, Jen, Kathleen and Myshel to join in the planning.  It was decided they would write each morning at 3:15 AM for the entire month of August in whatever time zone they were located. It was primarily an experiment in states of consciousness and writing, recording what was happening during “3:15 AM mind.”  

In 1994, 1996, 1997, and 1998 the collaboration grew in size as they invited other poets to participate.  The format changed and they wrote at 3:15 AM in a specified time zone (i.e. 3:15 AM EST would be 12:15 AM PST). This altered slightly the focus of the experiment into writing within a “collective consciousness.” The idea was to discover what connections would be made while writing separately, but together, at the same time for a month while under hypnogogic influences.

“There is a sense of camaraderie across time and distance and process. There is process and idea clapped together, and the reverb off that clap.” –Jen Hofer

The ‘Danika’ referred to is a friend of mine from long ago. I should get back in touch with her. It’s nice to know that I shouldn’t call her at 3:15AM.

Today’s music: Graucholorfen by Hedningarna.

Someone invites you to a rave in the woods. You haven’t eaten in days for some reason, but you decide to go anyway. Off you go.

As you get closer, you hear the thumping music. Or you feel it through the ground. You’re not sure which. You go through an entryway, and feel a little faint. You feel like you’re about to black out.

Gradually, you exchange your sense of vertigo for the realization that you’ve gone through some kind of time warp. There’s no DJ, but instead a crazy band of Scandinavians. Judging by how everyone’s dressed, it could be the year 1000, but they’re waving light sticks and the music is obviously amplified. Whoa, it’s *really* amplified. And that sounds like it might be a synthesizer…

Someone hands you a piece of bread. As they disappear from view, you catch a sideways smirk on their lips. After you eat it, the word ‘ergot’ appears in your mind. You look around and think: Hmm. Maybe the forest *is* alive with spirits…

Tomorrow’s Music Of Yesterday, TODAY!

Which is to say, that, in memoriam of the American middle class, today’s music du jour is: We’ll Build A House by Martin Newell.

Martin Newell is a fairly famous punk/new wave guy from Britain, though he’s not widely known in the states. I only know about him because Andy Partridge, of XTC, co-produced the record.

Nifty neeto thing.

Look! A cartoon about me!

(Just an update: When I first wrote this ‘blog, I pasted in the wrong link. It got edited pretty quickly, but apparently not before it was sent out as email to email subscribers.

(In fact, I have to wonder, because I do a lot of editing on ‘blogs after their initially posted. So maybe some of you don’t see half of the good stuff I write, and all the bad stuff.

(Or maybe it doesn’t matter. I dunno. I guess it does. Time for coffee.)

Today’s Music Du Jour requires a parental advisory for explicit lyrics. No matter who you are, you’re likely to find this song offensive, and that’s why it’s the selection of the day.

Since “..if this ‘blog ain’t got Mojo Nixon/this ‘blog could use some ‘fixin,” today’s music is Will The Fetus Be Aborted by Jello Biafra and Mojo Nixon.