1) THE PRODUCERS (2005 musical) i love it so much ok it’s so good.
2) SPACE BALLS. THE ENTIRETY OF SPACE BALLS IS GOLD
3) BLAZING SADDLES AND REASONS ARE OBVOIUS
4) MEN IN TIGHTS. YOU FORGET IT’S A MUSICAL UNTIL YOU WATCH IT AGAIN, AND THEN YOU FORGET THAT PATRICK STEWART SHOWS UP AT THE END TO PARODY SEAN CONNERY’S APPEARENCE IN ROBIN HOOD PRINCE OF THIEVES (the movie Men In Tights is a parody of, it’s a hella dark movie, that I saw the end of on TV once and that’s the only reason i know it’s a parody of Prince of Thieves at all. that movie is like unknown)
5) YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN
THAT’S STILL FUNNY. MEL BROOKS AND VISUAL PUNS ARE A BLESSING TO US ALL
I like the end of History of the World Part 1 which is where the Jews In Space song comes from.
in the time they had been together, sasuke had never been good at showing her just how deeply he felt for her. she knew he loved her, had known for a long while now; could see it in the depths of his eyes when he looked at her, could hear it in the way he sighed against her neck after long nights.
yet it was all too new to him, too confusing. he was still getting used to her, to them, even after two years together–since he had allowed himself to have her, to let himself finally be submerged in her love.
but he was trying, sakura knew.
he would probably never be comfortable showing affection in public, but sakura didn’t mind, because behind closed doors sasuke always did his best to make up for it. he pressed feather-light kisses to her hair, ran the tip of his fingers softly across her arm, fluttered his lips to her shoulder on lazy mornings in a half-awake greeting. he was cautious, nearly unsure sometimes, but that was alright. he just needed time.
but there were moments sasuke took her by surprise. moments where he stared at her with such awe, and cupped her cheek with his single hand, before bringing her against him for a hard, passionate kiss. moving his mouth over hers with a kind of feverish affection, brows furrowed tight as he held her firmly, tracing his thumb tenderly at the line of her jaw.
he would take her to bed. gaze down at her as she tried to catch her breath, cheeks flushed and black eyes glazed over with such genuine fondness and appreciation. he would reach down and cup her face again, pressing his lips to hers with a less zealous touch, kissing her with a more gentle passion. like he was cherishing her, like he couldn’t believe he was so lucky to have her.
moments where she could feel his love seeping into her pores, warming her up to her very soul.
most often, moments after she whispered to him, “i love you.”
[Photo descriptions: The first three photos are photographs taken from under my hair facing the sun coming through my window. Each set of four images has increased image saturation. The fourth and mage is a picture of me somewhere between 1.5 and 3 years old. We were in the woods and my mom had picked wildflowers in my hair, and wanted a picture. My fingers on my left hand are playing with my hair. My face has what nonautistic people would usually consider a blank expression. My parents always called that expression “thoughtful”. I know because they said “thoughtful…..” a lot and I eventually (in adulthood) realized it was linked to my facial expression. My mother now says she always knew there was something important going on when my face looked like that, she just didn’t know what. For me, usually when my face goes like that it means I’ve dropped all “normal” processing if I had it in the first place, and am more likely to be experiencing the world through sensing. In the fifth image I appear to be pulling a ridiculous face, but I’ll talk about that laer.]
Wow that melatonin really worked fast, I didn’t even get all the way through the image description before I fell asleep. I just wish it worked all night. Emailing my doctor about that.
Anyway, the picture at the bottom is put in because often when i looked like that, I was seeing the world like the pictures above it. My hair, with sunlight filtering through it, turns a whole rainbow of colors and always has no matter what color my hair was at the time. I went from bald to brown to blond to all sorts of shades of brown including reddish brown, to black, and now it is brown or black depending on length and lighting. But no matter what color it is, it’s always had this iridescent quality. The only way I have altered the above pictures at all, is saturation, and maybe brightness. The first set are unaltered.
So that’s what my hair looks like when it’ between me and the sun and other bright light. And this is one reason I don’t want to cut it no matter how aggravating the upkeep can get. It’s a perfect place to hide behind. And it’s a perfect place to find rainbows no matter what the weather is.
I wonder how many other auties discover this about our own hair. I have memories of being the age in this photograph, and looking up through my iridescent bangs. This is one of my favorite pictures of myself, and one of my favorites of my mom’s, too. It seems we actually have similar taste in early chlldhood pictures. She says she likes the ones where she was most able to capture who I was in a candid way, and she certainly did so here.
here is a photo taken shortly after the last one, never fails to make family laugh:
[Image description: Taken shortly after the last image, I’m sticking my lower lip and tongue out, and my head is facing the camera but my eyes are facing off to the side. I’m still in the woods, and it’s dark all around me. I’m wearing denim overalls and a yellow shirt. And, of course, the wildflowers in my hair.]
It looks like I’m just pulling a ridiculous face at my mom. But if you look closer, my head may be facing the camera, but my eyes are turned away. My lower lip is sticking out because I’d discovered how to blow my bangs upwards that way, which I must have been doing or about to do that. And when I did that, I’d look upwards through my bangs and see rainbows.
This isn’t just about how my bangs looked when they were backlit, though. At this age, most of the time, my visaul system was not something I used to get meaning out of the world. Oh, I could stare at the hillside, as I am doing in the first picture, and totally disappear myself into the reddish dirt until we were the same time. But I couldn’t reliably use my eyes to see with. I saw visual patterns, I played with my eyes like a toy, I blinked them repetitively, I pressed on them, I focused and unfocused them, I crossed anduncrossed them.
A later psychiatrist’s report said something like “She played with her unuusal visual perceptions the way a normal chlid would play with toys.” And he wasn’t half wrong. Even when i began to be less meaning-blind, I still had all the visual distortions, fragmentation, tiled patterns, blotches of colored light, possible status migraine aura (which can do really strange things to visual perception), and all these things both made it hard for me to see things “as they should be”, and easier to just get lost in the neverending light show.
So the other thing about the above photographs, is that’s kind of how I saw the world visually all the time. Not necessarily through my hair. But I saw it as patterns of visual texture. That’s still how I see the world if I don’t put a lot of effort (and assistive tech) into seeing the world with more conventional meaning to it. But for a long time, this textured, patterned visual world was all I saw, or close to it.
All of the phoos are the way I actually saw my hair depending on lighting, what my eyes were doing that day, what my brain was doing that day etc. And I see absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying what I can out of that, even if it makes other things harder.
Also, I understand why some auties don’t want their art pigeonholed as autistic art. Or disability art. Because the words become distorted. You get a huge bolded AUTISTIC and a teeny tiny set of letters barely visible saying “artist”.
But I feel like my art – photography, poetry, writing, painting, crochet, knitting, whatever – is heavily influenced by being disabled, and especially by the perceptual patterns of being autistic (for me, not necessarily for other auties), and sensing (which isn’t required to be autistic, nor is autism required to be sensing, but they go together quite often). And my art ofen tries to depict how I see or feel things. Even when I’m not trying, it does that.anyway. Additionaly, the way I approach creativity reminds me of a lot of autistic people I know, and I haven’t met many nonautistic or nondisabled people who create things in the same manner. So “autistic artist” doesn’t bother me, but “AUTISTIC (artist)” does, immensely.