Behind the Interview: Thoughts on Autism and Communication

Our languages are not mistakes,
or broken syllables, or to be dismissed as mere
unintelligible nonsense. They simply need our translations
to be understood.
— “Code”

I was invited by Emma Kingsley of BBC Radio 3 to be part of an episode of “Between the Ears” called “How Was Your Day, Joe?”. In mid-May, she interviewed me at WCBE Radio in Columbus, Ohio through a high-speed connection from England. Kingsley asked me questions about communication and autism and asked me to read a few of my poems. This program aired on June 7 on BBC Radio 3: you can listen to the archived show here. I was honored to be a part of this program and to be given an opportunity to share my experiences and art to help people better understand autism.

Specifically, Kingsley centered the program around a question which she asked Joe every day but with which he found frustration – “how was your day, Joe?”. Kingsley asked autistic people to provide insight on why answering the question would be so difficult for Joe. She also interviewed clinical psychologist Andrew McDonnell, speech therapist Robert Bell, Simon Baron-Cohen (Director of the Autism Research Centre at Cambridge University), and Delia Barton, Michael’s mother. Excerpts of two of my poems, “Glass and Concrete” and “Code“, were played during the broadcast.

Communication about Communication

In preparation for this interview, Kingsley sent me a general list of questions about communication and my own experiences. The questions forced me to think about a lot of things – how I process my episodic memories, how I communicate my experiences to others, and even my own childhood and teenage years.

First, let me speak about how I process and communicate my experiences. I have said before that my mind works rather visually. Borrowing from Dr. Temple Grandin’s explanation of autistic types of thinking, I have determined that I’m mostly a visual thinker with some verbal logic thinking as well – this is how I compose my poetry, translating the images and moving film in my head into words. So when I think of my memories, I must first rewind, replay, and even freeze-frame and focus on the details I desire in order to speak about them. After that, I must find the words to reflect what I perceive with my senses and feel with my whole self.

Secondly, Kingsley’s questions about my childhood forced me to realize one horrific truth. I have little to no memory of anyone asking about my day when I was younger, and certainly no memory of this after about age thirteen…because as a teenager, no one asked me about my day. If you had asked me back then how I felt about this, I might have actually told you that it was a good thing no one asked. I would have seen it as avoiding further verbal and physical abuse through exposing myself emotionally and then being cut down with insults or hit by my aunt because of her disapproval over something I did, or ridicule by one of my cousins.

However, I realized before and during the interview that the fact that no one asked me about my day…was a bad thing. It confirms my worst feelings about those years of my life – that no one paid attention to me except to abuse me, to give me subtle and not-so-subtle messages that I was a burden…because I wouldn’t be normal, because I had needs, because I was confused about the world and made a lot of social and other kinds of faux pas, because they were afraid that my behavior would call too much attention to the lie and dysfunction that was my family of origin.

Untangling myself and communicating these yarns have sometimes been rather difficult for me because of these horrific years. I curled up inside myself and pulled a clam shell of safety around me. That clam shell was made of books, poems, stories, fantasies, dreams, and sometimes hopes, both strong and brittle. Although my silence was not as complete and total as what the late Dr. Maya Angelou experienced as a child following traumatic sexual abuse, it was none the less silence. Perhaps that is why, as I accounted when Kingsley asked me about communication and meltdowns, I often felt like I would explode. I probably had enough canon fodder in my heart for a hundred wars.

Make no mistake – silence does not necessarily mean a lack of speech. Dr. Angelou proved that this was true. Nonverbal autistics communicating through alternate means – such as Amy Sequenzia, Tito Mukhopadhyay, and Amanda Baggs – also prove that this was true. What I mean by silence here is a confining, soul-deadening prison in which all you hear is the empty echoes of your own breath. I have been there. The late Johnny Cash might call this place a chasm “between heaven and hell…[and] in that chasm is no place for any man”.

My own experiences, as well as the experiences of other autistics, underscore the human need for communication. When we chose the silence for healthy reasons, it is because we need it. But when we chose it to avoid pain and abuse…or when silence is forced upon us at our detriment to serve others’ selfish interests…or when no one asks us to communicate because they assume we do not or cannot…this is were the problems lie.

I am grateful that I can reach out, that I mostly feel safe in doing do, and that (thanks be to God) poetry has become a tongue I borrow to better speak or when my own fails. My willingness to communicate and to reach out more broadly is also partially thanks to my fiancé, who has been constantly supporting and encouraging me since we met fourteen years ago. I am grateful for other autistics speaking, blogging, and writing as well. I am also glad that explorations into autistic communication such as this radio program are taking place, but much more needs to be done.

I Was a Little Worried…and Still Am

I must admit that before my fiancé and I listened to the broadcast on Saturday, I felt a bit of trepidation knowing that Simon Baron-Cohen had contributed to the program. I tend to feel trepidation when those who are deemed experts on autism speak about it, because sometimes they get it all wrong. And that “getting it wrong” leads to conclusions which are not only errors of fact but dangerous in that they continue to promote misunderstanding and prejudice about autism and autistic people.

However, upon first listen I found the program was balanced in its look at autism and communication. I was also pleased at the fact that autistic people were asked for their thoughts, feelings, experiences, and insight – I was interviewed along with Wendy Lawson, Michael Barton, and Kingsley’s 13 year-old son Joe, who was the genesis of this episode’s theme. We observed that Kingsley was genuinely on a detective mission of sorts — to find out why Joe had such difficulty communicating about his day, and to explore issues with communication and autism in general. She concluded that perhaps the question — “how was your day, Joe?” — was itself part of the problem.

While I did not at first glance detect any glaringly obvious problems with what he said during his part of the broadcast, I still remain cautious regarding Dr. Baron-Cohen and his research, considering that his material includes conclusions such as lack of empathy on our part and the “extreme male-wired brain” idea of autism. Following the axiom of “nothing about us without us”, many of us will continue to aim a logical and critical eye at such research and counteract misinformation, fallacies, and lies contained therein.

The Next Steps

My own experiences as an autistic communicating, as well as a need to understand how these processes work inside us, are reasons why I believe that more research and dialogue needs to happen regarding autistic thinking and processing. Autistic people are the perfect individuals with which to start. Many of us have already begun to analyze our communication and thinking processes and share our experiences with the world at large. Some positive things have already resulted from this broadcast — for example, an open dialogue with my coworkers about autism.

However, science and researchers need to take our experiences and input seriously. Because of misinformation, pathologization of neurological differences, and flat-out prejudice towards autistic folk, some of us do not trust the medical, psychological, and scientific communities. Additionally, organizations such as Autism Speaks only continue to make things worse. To the medical, psychological, and scientific communications I call for a logical, even-minded approach to researching autism and a greater commitment to involving autistics by genuinely listening to our experiences and opinions. And to Autism Speaks and to the celebrity opportunists (yes, Ms. Jenny McCarthy, I mean YOU) who use autism to further your agendas, I call for an end to your propaganda, lies, and disregard for autistic involvement in how you define and speak about our unique neurology.

I and my fiancé speak about our autism openly (although I am the louder mouth of the two) and choose activism through art — with our own art and by promoting neurodiverse literature through our journal, Barking Sycamores. And we will not give up. I suspect if you are autistic and reading this, you won’t give up either. To allistic friends and allies, thank you for not giving up as well. And to Ms. Kingsley and BBC Radio 3, I offer my sincere thanks for giving me and the other autistics in the program an opportunity to share about how we communicate and process.

To allistic folk who are new to autism, I say to you these things:

Forget what you have heard from the media about autism.
Forget what you have heard from Autism Speaks.
Forget what you have heard about autism being a tragedy or a sentence to a miserable life.
Forget what you have been told about autism by celebrities pushing their cause du jour.
Forget the tenuous and invalid connections which have been made between autism and things such as psychopathy, a lack of empathy, widespread savant abilities, and gun violence.
Open your minds.

And finally, talk to an autistic. I’m here. And a lot of us are out here. We’re willing to listen. Are you?

-Nicole

P.S. Please stay tuned for a special announcement about the Woman With Asperger’s blog in the upcoming days.

What Does Jim Morrison Have to Do with Neurodiversity?

I know now that wires
poke out through my skin
and stand at attention.
I hang letters and signs
from their silver, pin-prick
heads: autism, ADHD.
And my monkey still lives.
Ask your monkey sometime
for his name, and see
what he tells you.
- Excerpt from my poem “Two Monkeys, A Raven, and A Lizard King

It is quite serendipitous that the poem from which I just quoted lines was published today in Red Wolf Journal. And today, of course, is World Autism Acceptance Day.

Notice I did NOT say World Autism Awareness Day. I am troubled by the kind of awareness promoted by groups such as Autism Speaks. I think The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism says it best when they said this in the opening paragraph of their post today:

“…to the autistic people we love, work with, fight alongside, parent, and (some of us) are ourselves, it’s instead a day to bust myths, speak out, and try to change the world to be a more autistic-friendly place.”

So on that note, I will meditate a little about another possibly neurodivergent soul: Jim Morrison.

A Few Words on So-Called “Obsessive” Interests
On many levels, writing about him today makes sense to me. For one thing, I try to understand myself, and the world, through acts of echolocation. My intense interest in things, people, and subjects happens to be one way in which I do this. As I said in another (unpublished) poem, “Elephant”:

Break off, and devour it
in chunks. I might take fifteen years to
process one picture, twelve years to
walk through the autobiography of one man’s
sorrow. Is the world made out of
music?

In this poem, I compare what has been termed by others as “narrow, obsessive interests” to the parable of the blind men and the elephant — not to compare autism with blindness but to illustrate the idea that no one ever has a complete picture of the world and that we might use our thoughts, our senses, and perhaps in the case of autistic people these interests to better understand the world.

Of course, with this discussion comes the question: who decided that there was something unusual about our interests as autistic people? I’ve been made fun of a little for my keen interest in The Doors, and in Jim specifically. When I was in college, those around me thought that my keen interest in R.E.M. was a little strange. My mother once joked that in my late teens, I had Nirvana on the brain.

With these particular groups of musicians, I studied not just the music, but them as musicians — their personalities, their personal lives, even the way they might think of and process the world around them. For example, I have found similarities between my childhood and that of both Jim Morrison and Michael Stipe (the lead vocalist of R.E.M.): our families moved around frequently as children, all of our fathers were in the military, all of us showed intense interest in literature and poetry as teenager, and that’s just to name a few. I have found that it is a human trait, not just a neurodivergent trait, to look at the lives of others similar to own and compare/contrast experiences to try to understand our particular experiences. And that’s exactly what I did, and have been doing.

Is my so-called obsessive interest in these musical groups — or some of my other interests such as the Enneagram, or social/cultural/racial issues — any more or less unusual, than, say, that of an obsessive Lady Gaga fan? Or is the keen interest of an autistic in, say, batteries or Greek mythology any more or less unusual than that of someone who’s really into One Direction? I submit that the answer to both of these questions is “no”.

I believe, however, that the term “obsessive, narrow interests” may seem to have a negative connotation depending on who’s observing, and who’s doing the judging — perhaps that judgement occurs because these interests are not things that we share with the majority of people around us. As a teenager in today’s Western cultures, it might be easier to find someone to gab on with for hours about One Direction than to find someone to gab on with for hours about a more seemingly obscure subject, such as Telugu-language poetry. (Of course, if you’re a teenager in Hyderabad, you might easily find someone to geek on about Telugu poetry — which proves that some of this depends on the culture in which one lives and is from. But I digress.)

Jim Morrison, in 1969 (courtesy of Wikipedia)

Now, About Jim
Sometime in 2008, Jim Morrison captured my imagination. I don’t know whether to thank or blame Oliver Stone for this. One spring afternoon, my fiance and I watched his 1991 movie The Doors — and it left me with way more questions than answers. So, I went off into reading, listening, and fact-finding. What I found was absolutely startling, amazing, and heartbreaking.

First of all, the real Jim Morrison was not very much like Val Kilmer’s portrayal in the Oliver Stone film. Stone may have been correct on some biographical details, but many of the events in both the Doors’ career and Morrison’s life were either rearranged, exaggerated, or flat-out fictionalized in the film. I won’t go into the exact details here, but I will say that instead of being a mystical, illogical junkie as was portrayed in the movie, Jim was way more complicated than that. He was a collection of contradictions: both a incredibly nice guy and an insensitive, misogynistic creep; both a brilliant and amazingly talented artist and an arrogant, self-important asshole; and a man who at his finest inhabited the concept of an alchemistic shaman but who was also an intensely pain-ridden, broken soul in need of healing himself.

And, my friends, I also suspect that Jim was neurodiverse.

Some might say that I am “diagnosing the dead” in the case of Jim. But consider, my friends, that we must move away from the paradigm of pathology and illness. Diagnosing suggests that there is a problem to be fixed — which is not what this is about. This is about identification.

In all the reading, viewing, and fact-collecting I have done over the last six years, a few things have lead me to believe that Jim was some form of neurodivergent. For example, bandmate Ray Manzarek documented in his book “Light My Fire” that Jim had a photographic memory to the point of being able to identify the exact book and page number of any passage read to him from a book in his collection — with his back turned so that he could not see the book from which the person read. I’m autistic with ADHD, and I have near photographic memory, but I’m not that good – my memory is much better with pictures and sound. I would compare Jim’s ability with that of Dr. Temple Grandin, who has documented that she was able to recite entire printed pages from memory as a teenager, and I have met other ADHD and autistic folks who also have this type of exceptional memory.

Of course, photographic memory alone does not a neurodivergent make. One of Jim’s own quotes may give away his own possible neurodivergence:

“I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown which always forces me to blow it at the most important moments.”

It is not in dispute that we must read into this quote to determine its meaning. Jim is dead, and is not here to explain to us exactly what he meant. And even if he could, would he? This is a man with a million mysteries behind his life — and appears to have liked it that way. But it’s not hard to use this quote as a jump-off point, to make small mental leaps and imagine his difficulties with impulse control and executive functioning. After all, this was a man who often did not “look before he leaped” — whether it was shouting racial slurs at passersby for no apparent reason, sometimes sleeping with every woman (or man) he could get his hands on, or drunken, ill-planned onstage ranting.

The above quote suggests a struggle with forethought and considering the consequences of one’s actions beforehand…and the guilt, embarrassment, and endless face-palming after one has done the thing. I think of this quote and I’m reminded of an incident in third grade when, bored with the classroom lecture, I suddenly had the urge to stand up, interrupt the teacher, and shout at the top of my eight year-old lungs, “APER – RAPER – PAPER!” without even considering that two of these were not real words in the dictionary, or that I was interrupting a lecture. I, of course, found myself red-faced as I made the trek down to the principal’s office.

And speaking of school, this brings to mind an interesting quote from one of his poems, “As I Look Back”:

I was given a
desk in the corner
I was a fool
&
The smartest kid
in class

I can’t help but think of a wise-ass with an electric mind wired in such a way that he was way beyond his peers. And since neurodiversity, after all, promotes the idea that those of us who are autistic, ADHD, bipolar, and other variations are simply the products of different kinds of brain wiring naturally present in the human genome, wouldn’t this quote coming from a neurodivergent person make sense? The same kid who gives the teachers a headache and wisecracks so much in class ends up reading material way beyond his grade level — in Jim’s case, it was books on Arab sexuality and sixteenth-century demonology, as well as his well-documented reading of Nietzsche which began as a teenager.

Ah, Nicole, but what about his drinking and drug use? you might ask. Doesn’t that complicate things and make it harder to judge his possible neurodivergence? To be fair, yes, it does. But I also point to that as another possible sign that he was neurodiverse. Consider that many of us neurodivergents have self-medicated in an effort to help ourselves cope with life — especially life in a world not built for us. I have personally known autistic, ADHD, and bipolar folks who have done some form of this: in my case, it was alcohol. For the non-neurodiverse in my reading audience, consider this: if a substance provided you with even temporary relief from excessive mental stimulation, emotional and/or energy rollercoasters, or paralyzing sensory overload, might you not at least consider taking that substance? Many do. It may not be the best coping mechanism — and it may become destructive in our lives, as it clearly did in Jim’s case — but that is a very real reality for some of us.

So, What’s Your Point, Nicole?
I started thinking about this a few weeks back when I struggled with my own sense of inhibition, which had been born out of teenage fear. My family bullied me into trying to be “normal”, so I created a LOT of facades, subroutines, and a few inhibitive ideas which would ensure that I didn’t, as I once put it to my fiance, “fuck up my own life”. I was SO afraid that I would, because I believed that at heart I was an undisciplined, feral creature that would just go “crazy” and do off-the-rails shit that would ruin mine — and now, our — lives. I began comparing what I saw as an inner impulsiveness to trying to restrain a wild monkey.

Then, it occurred to me that Jim probably had a monkey, too. He was an intensely creative mind who was also impulsive, a risk-taker, and prone to both moments of brilliance and what appeared to others to be madness (believe me, because of my new realization of how neurodivergence is often pathologized, I do not use that word lightly). That quote about “blowing it at the most crucial moments” started to echo in my own mind. From this thought process was born both my poem “Two Monkeys” and a new realization: we who are neurodivergent can only be who and what we are.

I am certainly not suggesting that being neurodivergent is without its challenges, but I believe in many cases those challenges are not because of who and what we are — they are what we encounter while existing in a world system not created by us, and at the same time we still try to cope, try to get along, and even try to conform. Many of us are very familiar with the feeling of ramming our souls against invisible walls created by others when we engage in our usual behaviour. And this happens on many levels. Consider an ADHD child who struggles with sitting still in a Western-style classroom environment, or an autistic who cannot make eye contact, or a bipolar whose emotional passion and unique life rhythms are judged to be a pathology.

Whatever Jim was, he was probably nursing wounds as a result of slamming himself against invisible walls created by those around him, and in the end, partially unfortunately due to bad choices on his own part, he paid a heavy price. And I’m sure some of us neurodivergents are still nursing our own wounds. So I will say this: I am tired of trying to conform, my friends. My monkey is slowly learning how he and I can work together, and not against each other.

While I know we are far from having “overcome”, I am thankful that we live in such an era of knowledge and advocacy with such a potential towards understanding and acceptance of neurological differences. I wish Jim had discovered these same opportunities in his lifetime. So, I leave you with another of Jim’s quotes — what I call an invocation to open, and keep opening, doors to a brighter, better future — one in which we will simply be neurodiverse, free of any paradigms of pathology:

O Great Creator of Being
grant us one more hour
to perform our art
and perfect our lives

Introducing Barking Sycamores!

Barking Sycamores is a new literary journal that just went live yesterday and will begin publishing on April 1, 2014. We’re accepting submissions now and will be publishing on a continual basis.

What we are: Barking Sycamores is a poetry journal whose primary mission is to publish poems by emerging and established neurodivergent writers . We also seek to add positively to the public discussion about neurodivergence in the form of essays on autism and poetics, with special emphasis on its interplay with the creative process.

For poetry: We seek poems that are breathtakingly beautiful, startling, sparkling, or imbued with color. We like poems that surprise us in some way; poems that perform an act of alchemy — i.e. transforming the ordinary into gold; poems that convey a vision of reality which is different than the expected or commonplace; poems that might cleanse the “doors of perception”, as William Blake put it. We particularly adore poems with a strong voice, a strong narrative, or bold, concrete imagery. We do have a preference for free verse poetry; however, we will accept poetry written in traditional forms.

For autism and poetics essays: We seek work that uses strong facts and/or well-documented observations to support a solid thesis statement. We are particularly interested in essays about:

  • how neurologically divergent traits aid in the creation of poetry;
  • neurological divergent traits that might cause a poet to break common rules and conventions in poetry (and do this well);
  • how a neurological divergent individual might use the creative arts (especially poetry) to express him/her/zirself when ordinary communication means do not suffice;
  • how an author’s work might reveal his/her/zir neurological divergence.

Main site: http://barkingsycamores.wordpress.com/
Submission Guidelines: http://barkingsycamores.wordpress.com/submission-guidelines/
About: http://barkingsycamores.wordpress.com/about/

#LoveNotFear Flashblog Event Today

Greetings, WWA readers!

Today is the #LoveNotFear flashblog event in which autistics, family, friends, and allies are invited to share their thoughts on what the statement “love not fear” means to each of us. The event is a creation of the Boycott Autism Speaks movement. I’ve chosen to participate to help indeed spread love, and not fear, and thus help promote a greater and better understanding of autism.

I’m sharing a poem for this event, “The Sky Belongs to All of Us”, which is up at my Raven’s Wing Poetry blog and the #LoveNotFear blog will also be publishing many fine write-ups by autistics and their allies today on this theme.

Speaking of which…for a very long time, I have felt that my best way of self-advocating as well as promoting understanding, not to mention the very act of activism in and of itself, is through my art. I am a poet — I speak best in verse. Some of you may have noticed that I have not posted very much here at Woman With Asperger’s for a while. My art is taking over my life, and in a way that’s a good thing.

I will be making a public announcement in more details about my plans for Woman With Asperger’s in the next few weeks. Until then, enjoy the articles and things that are here, and please keep commenting! I will try my best to respond soon.

-Nicole

Speaking in Tongues (This Is Autism)

ravenswingpoetry:

Today is the “This Is Autism” flash blog event, and the moderators of the official TIA flash blog (http://thisisautismflashblog.blogspot.ca/) have invited people to share what autism means to them. This is my contribution. Pop on over to Raven’s Wing Poetry to read it.

Originally posted on Raven's Wing Poetry:

Hello there! If you’re looking for this poem, it has been published in Red Wolf Journal.

Click here to read it.

View original

Listen (An Open Letter to Autism Speaks)

ravenswingpoetry:

Autism Speaks has decided to hijack Washington and present its own agenda about autism. Time and time again, they have not included autistic people in their leadership, promoted “cause and cure” thinking about autism, has not represented the interests of autistic people, and continually paints autism as a tragedy. I speak best in verse, so please consider jumping over to Raven’s Wing Poetry and reading my open letter (poem) to Autism Speaks. Oh yeah — and please share. :)

-Nicole

Originally posted on Raven's Wing Poetry:

after Michael Stipe

Listen: I have a voice. It is my own.
I did not install you as a little charm box
to hang in the back of my throat
and chime discordant when I send
wind from my sails up to the world

to produce sound – nor did
I rip a little patch of my soul from
the cathedral of strings inside my neck
and give it to you to own and
sound as you please.

View original 608 more words

Listen to my Appearance on “The Poetic Travels on the Autism Highway” Radio Show

If you missed this past Saturday’s episode of the Poetic Travels on the Autism Hwy radio show where I was a guest, have no fear! The show, hosted by Kelly Green and Erik Estabrook, is available as an archived broadcast for your listening pleasure. We spoke about autism, poetry, creativity, activism, and a host of other topics (yes, even the J. Cole incident). You can visit their show on Blog Talk Radio and listen at:

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/erikevision/2013/07/27/poetic-travels-on-the-autism-highway

I had a great time talking with the hosts and sharing my poetry, which included three selections from Novena (remixed): “Icarus”, “Meridians”, and “You Don’t See It”. I also read “Tribe”, which appeared in We’ve Been Here All Along: Autistic Over 35 Speak Out in Poetry and Prose. And don’t forget: Novena (remixed) is available August 14! More information about the new book is at my other blog, Raven’s Wing Poetry.

-Nicole

On July 27, I’m a Guest on the Poetic Travels on the Autism Hwy Radio Show

Autism HwyOn July 27, I will be a guest on the Poetic Travels on the Autism Hwy radio show, hosted on Blog Talk Radio by Kelly Green and Erik Estabrook. I will be discussing my poetry, how autism relates to my work, and performing some of my poems (including three from my upcoming chapbook, Novena (remixed)).

The show is scheduled for 4:00 PM Eastern/1:00 PM Pacific Time. The link below will take you directly to the broadcast:

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/erikevision/2013/07/27/poetic-travels-on-the-autism-highway

I am honored to be a guest on their brand new show, of which this is the second broadcast. Tune in on July 27! You won’t want to miss it.

-Nicole

I Am Here, Where Are You? Blogging, Autism, and Phatic Communication

Last month, Leah Kelley of 30 Days of Autism reposted my poem “Code” on her blog as well as our online exchange. It is a very rewarding experience when we can reach out to each other. This is probably one of my favorite things about blogging is the ability for echolocation — or as Susan Brackney, author of the “Lost Soul Companion” puts it, phatic communication, giving an example of how birds tweet to each other. We autistics who blog begin by saying “I am here, where are you?” and that was certainly one of the reasons for which I started Woman With Aspegers.

What else do we have to say? Listen to our language.

Thank you Leah for reposting the poem, which appears here.

Aspie Poem: Code

Dear H: for those of us to whom words
sometimes do not easily run, saunter, or even
amble: we speak in code. We think in code. We
construct our languages painstakingly
like little Tolkiens, separated by time, distance, and space:
but the Hobbits and the Elves ain’t got
nothing on us. We have the dexterity
of pictures, objects, or even
moving film to send messages to world,

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