THAT DAY

I work on three furry dreams for the World Dream Bank: first Werecat Syndrome, then two mystical dreams apparently inspired by the kids' TV show "My Little Pony": Equestrian Nunavut and Friend-Ring.

Werecat Syndrome

Equestrian Nunavut

Friend-Ring

All three dreams seem to be mulling over my family's funny mix of autism, giftedness and second sight. Tell my friend Cory "This gets as confusing as the interplay between, say, race, gender & sexual orientation."

Cory objects to one of the three. "I wish you wouldn't call yourself autistic. On the spectrum maybe, but you're not AUTISTIC..." Last week my friend Catshall said much the same. Trouble is... the DSM-IV's formal definition of the syndrome disagrees! I'm well past the clinical threshold. Surprised me just how profound my sensory & cognitive differences are. I think the dreams explain why my friends are so skeptical--a freak IQ and strong intuition helped mask the severity of my autism. It's nice (I guess) they see me as a non-mess. Still, getting this reaction from friends... imagine coming out of the closet only to hear your friends say "Oh you're not QUEER, you're just sensitive..."

THAT NIGHT

I get drafted into a college class by a woman with such an aura of kind intelligence I just can't say no. She's small, and awfully young to be teaching advanced magic, but she knows her stuff, and man, you can feel the power.

Her pitch to me was simple. "I'm assembling a class of magic students. Mostly grads; they'll have degrees, training, structures, spells, and names for it that you don't. But you have just as much power--it's just wild magic, uncontrollable by spells. I want you and one or two others not just for yourselves but to represent that other magic."

"Well... I'm skeptical I have much magic--just a trace of second sight that runs in the family. But sensing isn't DOING; eyes aren't hands."

She says "I can prove you belong! Here we are at a henge-gate..." So we are. A looming dolmen leads into a roofless stone pavilion with a circular floor and rising ring-bleachers--not large, seating maybe fifty, tops. No one else here yet. "Try this test. Will the circle welcome you? Poke at it without preparing, NOW." I do. Between the standing stones, the air goes rubbery, resisting. I can't walk in.

"Now greet the gate. Hands up, palms to me and the gate; separate 'em as if pulling a horizonal thread between 'em; that'll create a glowing fuchsia or magenta line midair. Then pull down as if unrolling a windowblind. Wild magic will manifest a sort of sheet shining magenta on its outer face, even if you can't see it, and if the gate likes your magic, it'll let you in."

I try it. She's right. I can't see any resulting glow directly, except a hint around the edges of a transparent rectangle, but I can see the rosy light reflect on HER. It worked! A sheet of light!

And the air relaxes. The gate lets me in. I CAN do magic.

The class assembles on a street curb, straggling along for yards. I'm excited to be in the group, even if I'm different. Not just magically--I'm naked, shivering, my only blankets some rubbery kitchen pads/trivets with swiss-cheese holes. Not enough in winter. And embarrassing since, despite the cold, I have an erection.

Why? Well, I'm seated by two cute witches, one in her twenties, one in her teens. Surprisingly, they don't seem to mind that I'm naked, erect, or radiating wild magic without the slightest control (like smoking without permission!) Still, I feel shy, like I don't deserve to be here. I don't talk much.

Finally the teacher comes along and says, amused but impatient, "Chris, quit hiding. You four, work together!" Me, the two girls I like and a black guy with the open aura of a werewolf, not a wizard. His magic's not totally wild/unpredictable like mine, but at least it's furry nature-magic; I trust him more than the other guys here with their spells (and notions of control). I'm relieved; the teacher put me in the right group.

The others brought gifts, it's a tradition I didn't know. Twentyish Girl brought more kitchen ware--more rubbery swiss-cheesy mats! She noticed I use them as blankets and thought more'd be useful! Kind of her. I drape them on... Still not warm but better.

Our first group exercise: assemble a suite of old sepia drawings--wolves, witches, weird wizardy glyphs and sigils--into a scroll that'll come alive magically, be a script that'll lure US into its plot... of fusing in a half-sexual, half-magical orgy! Not just fun--we'll come out with bits of our lovers' mojo; a little witch, a little werewolf...

Maybe even those wizard boys will learn a bit of wildness.

The other groups sketch away. From their talk, they're focusing on plot and character and magical technology; I don't worry about those. I don't think we need to; the drawings are so lively I just aim for a good overall pattern and feel. To fit together on a scroll, the sketches must flow together mostly vertically, without 'ears' sticking too far to either side. Arranged right, they'll work both as a paper scroll--the traditional wizard way--AND online, as one big web page you just scroll down, like my recent dream-comix.

At last, I think I get all the scenes to fit and flow...

I feel a rush of joy. This scroll, this orgy, this class--things are WORKING. Working at last.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

• Summon a light to enter a ring-temple : the nature-temples in Andre Norton's Witch World books. My aura's queer-colored both for Norton's (good magic is bluegreen; rust-red is evil, usually blood-magic) and queer politically/sexually too. Pussyhat color!
• Weird magenta light: I just saw the surreal French film Holy Motors. In one scene, red motion-capture lasers scan two dancers; they become two nagas or lamias making love.
• Do I belong in class? The dream's reminding me I'm way past the DSM-IV clinical threshold. Just as I'm way off the IQ bell curve, and apparently ESP too, though THAT one's harder to measure. But it explains why I was able to pass as merely geeky despite profound sensory and emotional differences; my other weirdnesses were crutches. Where I couldn't feel my way, I thought or intuited.
• Class, right group for me: I think the dream's prompting me to explore Meetup.com
• Naked but girls accept me: in Holy Motors, a masked fashion model sings a lullabye to a madman curled naked and erect in her lap. Intense icon--of being accepted with no mask, no cover...
• Rubber mats: I'm finishing the Foam Furs, a series of soft sculptures/dream creatures/sex toys, who can stand on their own paws--because their soles are lined with rubberized jar-opener fabric (best traction ever!) Without it, they slip and fall. The dream likens autistic me to my own sculptures! Largely self-constructed, with a strong presence, friendly, but not especially human; found my own solutions, my own stances.
• Holes in mats, cold, embarrassingly poor coverage: my social insulation, compared to non-autistics.
• Orgy: echoes of Alan Moore & Melinda Gebbie's The Lost Girls. But furrier, as fits my own sexuality.
• Sex-magic: PREDICTIVE! Over the next two days, read Wen Spencer's Tinker, full of just such sex-magic. The book hinges on the idea it can be such a powerful altered state it's transformative--the same core argument as The Lost Girls.
• Fit panels into scroll (and potential webpage): I just spent months prepping and posting a decade of sexy dream-comics in Dreamtales.
• ACTION: Try some meetups... even though I fear I'll be the odd one out. I'm autistic--of COURSE I'll be the odd one out! So what? I'm seeking love & magic, not... to fit in.

  That'd be silly.

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