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Hope In Despair -- How It Could Be Found (Poem)

Updated: Feb 20



(2023 Note: Now that I compared myself to other autists, I've realized I have Asperger's Syndrome, which can be considered part of ASD, or the Autism Spectrum Disorders. I, however, am no longer sure if I am indeed an autist, even though I was diagnosed. Please, take this article with a grain of salt, as I expect you to do, with any of my articles).


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I expect everyone to respect me and vice versa,

Even if I try to do the latter myself.


I expect everyone to tolerate me and vice versa,

But I in no way expect to be loved by the world,

Even if I try to do the latter myself.


I expect to try and be in good relations with everyone,

But I don't expect others to not be hostile with me,

Even if I don't want to be treated with hostility.


Based on my experiences as an autist,

I know that I am extremely, socially dumb;

Permanent lack of intelligence in said field.

Hence why, even when I'm to be respected and tolerated,

I do not see any reason to expect,

Love and sympathy,

When I am a social thorn in,

Quote-on-quote,

"Everyone's" side.

This insight is my own.


Looking back,

I am not surprised to have,

Far more readers,

Than actual friends.

Whether it is my fault or not,

My autism is a great flaw,

And from this flaw there is no escape,

So I don't even try.


The call to be "less" autistic,

And the claim that I'm "too" autistic,

Have no practical solution thus far in this current humanity.

Practically, the ambition to escape my own brain,

The one that cannot be cured,

Has no reason to be successfully implemented,

For I am condemned by neurology to be trapped in my own,

Social idiocy.


I don't mind,

Dying alone and socially outcasted,

As long as I contribute with the Compromise of Philosocom.

Even when my corpse will be six feet under,

I don't see the reason to be too concerned with others',

Unintended,

Triggered reactions,

When my disability cannot be cured,

When my problem lacks definitive solutions.

Even hoping for a solution,

Won't necessarily ensure,

The existence of such solution,

In my lifetime.

I'm not even a scientist.


Sad, indeed,

But I can't do anything,

So I no longer even try.

Not try to improve,

Not try to give in to impractical emotion.

Being accused due to my own disability,

Has no reason to be entertained,

When said complaints cannot be solved nor redeemed.


I can give in to it as much as I would like,

To loneliness, to sadness and alienation.

It will bare no fruit;

No fruit that I want,

No fruit that you theoretically would want.


When I am to be a general outcast.

I don't see the reason to regard people as mere friends,

When they can easily detest me,

For the dysfunction I am.

With this computer at hand,

My place in humanity will have less reason

To be denied.

If an orthodox life is to be denied,

I can seek the unorthodox instead;

THAT I can try.

So I do not see any reason,

To not dedicate my whole existence,

For this very purpose!


Global Relevance, dead or alive,

Is m-m-m-mine.

Does it matter, if I'm "fine"?

I can't be f-f-f-ine.

Write, until I die?


...


Until I d-d-d-ie.


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Tomasio A. Rubinshtein, Philosocom's Founder & Writer

I am a philosopher from Israel, author of several books in 2 languages, and Quora's Top Writer of the year 2018. I'm also a semi-hermit who has decided to dedicate his life to writing and sharing my articles across the globe. Several podcasts on me, as well as a radio interview, have been made since my career as a writer. More information about me can be found here.

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