#AutisticAF Out Loud Titelbild

#AutisticAF Out Loud

#AutisticAF Out Loud

Von: Johnny Profane (Knapp Âû)
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 One Voice... Raw. Real. Fiercely Autistic.

johnnyprofaneknapp.substack.comJohnny Profane (Knapp Âû) Hygiene & gesundes Leben Seelische & Geistige Gesundheit Sozialwissenschaften
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  • 7 Autistic Decades. I'm Still Driven. What If I NEVER Get “There...”?

    7 Autistic Decades. I'm Still Driven. What If I NEVER Get “There...”?
    Feb 11 2026
    Still driven to matter. Desperately. Almost 73. And I can’t unwind… busted springs, broken dancer in a jewel box. This piece isn’t an answer. It’s an accusation. And underneath? A terrified question I can’t stop asking.{Music} IntroYou're listening to AutisticAF Out Loud. One voice. Raw. Real. Fiercely Neurodivergent. One autistic elder’s truth. I’m Johnny Profane.Content Note: language, psych ward experiences, childhood sexual & emotional abuse, intergenerational family harm + opinions & experiences of one autistic elder. It’s everywhere. Every where I go anyways.I’m chatting with this young professional couple ahead of me in a line. Maybe, grad students…? This long, Walmart self-checkout is just brimming with fresh faces this August.There’s an awkward break… like always in these in-line chats. Like we’re para-neighbors or something.So… I’ve gotten used to a little stimming while I wait. In the silence, I arch my back backwards then I drop my head toward the floor… Breathe out, relax, straighten up, and…They’re staring. Four eyes blinking through glasses. Two mouths open.I… I… think a moment. Running through possible causes for those gawking faces. Then, I get it.“Oh… Oh that.” I slip into my little canned moment. “Ya see, I’m autistic. I know. I don’t look like autistic. I’m old.” [Chuckle.] “But if I say… or do something… that seems, well, odd? Just let me know.”You could see it instantly. I went from bizarre, possibly fiercesome alien to… cute, harmless, possibly lovable, old oddball.A blink or two… from each. The guy, in the designer hoodie, waves back and forth between himself and the young woman. “Oh, we get it.” A bit more waving. “We love ‘Love on the Spectrum.’ Never miss it.”To my credit, I manage a… thin smile, with a little mock hand-waving and a quiet, “Yeah, doggie.”Shortly, they leave the store, waving back at me. And I wave back. It’s more like they have a cute para-social crush on an idea… of autism.But I’m thinking…That show… and that couple’s genuine attempt to connect? They’re something… for now. I guess… But I’ve been obsessing about stereotypes lately.Like everybody suddenly knows the real me cuz they read an article on Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism…TV viewers? None of them know me. It’s more like they have a cute para-social crush on an idea… of autism.I try to bear in mind I may be going through a phase ... [laffs]But…I am autistic + ADHD here. Turning 73, come June. I want you to know this reality… my personal reality. But shared by too many other neurodivergents.I’ll never know what it means to grow up withoutsensory, physical, emotional, and sexual trauma from…family, teachers, playmates, care-taking professionals,the occasional stranger.I’ll never know a life without repeated psych ward stays.So… it just may not be autism that blocks my dreams… Ya know?Just stick a pin in that thought for a moment. We’ll circle back, after a bit… after I speak my piece…“What… would I be… then…?”Like most humans, I grapple with dreams… I will never realize in this life... nearing its end. Dreams that wind my clock.The biggest? The gut-wrenching need to matter... Less noble? My yearning for fame & recognition. I fear letting that dream go.Cuz what… would I be… then...?This piece isn’t an answer. It’s an accusation. And I can guaran-damn-tee you it’ll never stream on Netflix.I call it…LETTING GOBeing born left its markThat’s how I came to fear the dark...Far back as i know I fear letting goAlways scouting for that shortcutI fear letting goCareening towards god knows whatFearing letting goDark lightning in my gutFrom fear of letting go Letting goLetting goGod i need To let go… Everybody knowsI need to let go.All life longDrempt damned dreams The kind that get you reborn,To be big, to be… known.As this long life, this dream… endsI fear letting goCuz what would I… be… then?Been saying latelyGot to unwind… Twist.Got the heart… not the chopsI got to unwindUnwind… Twist.Need a dream detoxGot to unwind Un Wind… Twist.Click…Busted springs andBroken dancer in a jewel box. Good gawd almightyI gots to unwind.Sleepwalking in the moist dark nightA toddler memory, I feared a lightShadowed crack under mommy’s doorGroans, cries, sighs… moreThen...Turning a knob on forbidden sightDaddy’s rage, a parasiteCrawling… gnawing my insides That night I first feared the light.Black thunder in a winter stormI fear the trembling lightMantra falling in a mind at warTerrified of that lightFear that lightFear that lightI fear that lightMore than psych ward nightI fear that blinding lightBeing born left its markThat’s how I came to fear the dark...But waking, startled, late in lifeI came to cower… at the light.Ok. What I feel… what I experience inside? Or what other autistic adults may feel?It ain’t something you’ll ever ...
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    11 Min.
  • Autistic in a Sea of Faceless Ghosts… I Still Want to Remember You

    Autistic in a Sea of Faceless Ghosts… I Still Want to Remember You
    Feb 4 2026
    Note to long-time subscribers: You’re seeing this one again cuz I’ve given the original video a serious makeover. Then tucked it into a small archive of live spoken word pieces, for the newer folks these raw pieces brought to our strange little corner of the internet._____Someone wrote me: “These knocked me sideways… I spent so much time as an undiagnosed autistic girl, wondering if I was the alien dropped among the normies.”I can’t see faces. When I try to remember someone… even my wife… I see a shifting, indistinct swirl of features.This piece,” “A Swirl of Flesh-Colored Fog,” is about wanting to be friends. Struggling with that simple human desire… when your brain doesn’t work the way the world expects. No clinical terms. No inspiration porn. What it’s like.I don’t need diagnosed. I need appreciated for who I am.Yeah, I know the diagnostic term. Prosopagnosia. Let’s just say I’m not into masking behind tongue-twisting gig latin. Or symptom lists… that are stereotypes, in the end.Imagine my brief career as a salesman. Now… imagine a couple of lost marriages.I don’t need diagnosed. I need appreciated for who I am.How about you?Content Note: opinions & experiences of one autistic elder.Full Text Transcript.Friends? Finally late in life, I got friends… and love.And this last one is a selfie of what that’s like for me.I call it…A Swirl of Flesh-Colored Fog“Ya gotta minute?”She takes a quick scan of the aisles. Then toward the eternal sale table near the entrance. Pink and blue signs promising, “Two… If you buy just one…”It’s silent. Just me standing in front of her. Bottle of the Coke Zero I’m addicted to in my hand.Dusk. Rural Indiana. I guess the local beef cattlemen, horsey folks, and military munitions testers up at Crane Naval Base? They don’t hit Dollar General so much around sundown.“Sure,” she says. “Nobody much comes in around now. Z’up… you good?”I take a beat. To use my words… to find my words.“I’m trying to remember all you guys’… um, ya know, everybody’s names….”“Oh, no worries. You’re good. We really all should have name badges.”I take another beat. To switch appropriate gears.“No. You know. The autism thing. I have this face and name thing. It’s weird… but I can’t remember faces.”Awkward… awkward pause.If you’re listening to this, if you’re reading…Let me try to take you inside. My being…What’s that like? I only see… Well, words fail me.Take a visit to Walmart. Just a sea of faceless ghosts. Folks I greet, “I… I kn-know you… I have this thing. Can you tell me your name again?”Embarrassment. Stammering apologies…See, it’s like this…A swirl of flesh-colored fogThat’s my wife’s face in dreamsI only see her walking awayA grey ponytail… tattered jeansLove of my life… can’t see her…Not her green eyes… in stage makeup…Just homemade tats… the shape of her hair…Feelings,memories…talking after that breakup…So, I’m back talking to that DG clerk.“We don’t get out much. You guys? I… I guess it’s a job. But to us? You’re… well, friends. It means something to me. To learn your name. To… know you.”It means something to me. To remember your names. And… faces.“Oh.” Confused, she pauses. “It’s really ok. We know you and your wife. We get it.”“You know?” I’m urgent. I want her to get… I want her to get the weight of it. “It’s not for you. It’s for me. It means something to me. To remember your names. And… and put them with your faces. To be… friends.”I flash on all those parental commands to, “Make friends!”Then I say, “I just won’t get it right… right away. But I want to enjoy… doing it.”Silence. Awkward. But intimate.I stammer. “Are you… are you, uh, Ari?” When confused, my go-to fallback is details.“No, no, she’s the… she’s the short blond one.” She waves her right hand about shoulder high.“I know Kensington… cuz well I walked in on her anaphylactic…. Ya know, allergy attack. Over in the Dollar Aisle.”“Yeah. She’s the short one with black hair.” She gestures with her right hand again, just a hair lower. “And… and I’m Cyndi.”We laugh. Together.She mentions the name tags again. I make reassuring noises.“That’s Windy, right?”“No.” She laughs. “Cyndi… Just with the I and Y… reversed.”“Oh, thank god. For a moment I misremembered again. Thought you were named after that sappy 60s song.”She laughs, easy… again. “No, never that.”We share a wink. A nod.The doors slide… I walk outside.Cyndi. Just with the I and the Y… reversed.A swirl of flesh-colored fog. Framed by glasses. And twisted brown hair up on her head.About… yay… tall.CHAPTERS:0:00 — Friends? Finally late in life…0:23 — Dollar General, sundown1:54 — Let me take you inside2:32 — “A Swirl of Flesh-Colored Fog”5:35 — About… yay… tallMore Spoken ...
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    6 Min.
  • This Autistic Elder Looks Back… without Shame

    This Autistic Elder Looks Back… without Shame
    Jan 26 2026
    If you’re drawn to the raw experience born of neurodivergence, disability, trauma… or just honest storytelling that doesn’t sanitize the hard parts… Maybe this one’s for you. With full transcript, video, original artwork.Family leaves marks on you. Some visible, some not. Hell, just breathing-while-autistic… in the adult world… does a number.“Couldn’t you at least make it, Profano?” says my wife-to-be. Adding, “Who wants to be called ‘Profane??’”Conversations about changing my last name… I mean, who knew it was supposed to be a “couples conversation”?Not this smartass, but-naive-as-hell, 58-year-old autist. Not sitting on someone else’s couch. That we happen to be surfing in a backwoods Greene County, Indiana cabin.Um. I guess, my bad. But…I was busy reeling from losing my fourth or fifth career, estrangement from my family of origin, a forced 700-mile relocation… by bus… to Indiana,my new relationship with my future wife and family,joblessness, and homelessness…in under 6 months.And I never did the whole unspoken-rule thing well. Ya know, auDHD? So really not on my best game that day.I’m not ashamed. I’m not broken…“I gotta make a br-break,” I start sputtering. “They’ll tell themselves stories. They’ll make up shit. M-Make me a demon.”“They?” Her eyebrow arches. The eyebrow that raised 7 kids.This is 2011. I don’t have enough words in that moment to tell her who “they” are. Pretty much every relationship, teacher, job, and cause I’d walked out of. In my already long, getting-longer-fast life.“I’m not ashamed. I’m not broken. I don’t have a fucking clue where I’m headed. But this is who I am. I gotta own… my self.” I kinda hear myself say that. Out loud. Catches me up short.Then, after a thoughtful beat, I mutter, “Right in their faces.”My wife has a bit to say. About changing her name to “Profane.” I have a bit too much to say in my dig-in-my-heels response. We had some wild moments back then…After a few months, I went the stagename route, Johnny Profane. Kept the potential marriage alive through compromise. But still managed to keep the “in their faces” intact.Cuz family… and the life after… leave marks on you. Some visible. Some not.I choose to wear them in plain sight…Shamelessly.I choose to wear them in plain sight…Shamelessly.This piece is what it means to me to live without apology. I got some things right, got some things wrong. And somehow kept stumbling forward anyways.​This piece draws from real moments… scaling Mount Marcy the night Elvis died in 1977,leaving family behind 34 years later, complicated relationships that never quite resolve.I was finally diagnosed autistic at 63. It’s been almost 10 years. So I wrote this.Full Text Transcript.So I call this one, Shameless.Watch the 3+ minute performance (headphones recommended):Content Note: language, family estrangement, ableism, trauma, homelessness + opinions & experiences of one autistic elder.ShamelessLive long enoughYa get a lot right,Get a lot wrong.Get to knowWell enoughYa can’t be a saintLurking in shadow…Living life perfectlyShameless.Shameless?Oh let me beShameless…No sun setsOn a painless life,So no moon shinesOn a stainless wife.Oh let me be… comeShameless.Scaling Mount MarcyThat night as Elvis died,Got branded a MountebankAs my sister grew colder.Stalking Death ValleySame sister… now dead… to meSame stars… chill my shouldersNow living life perfectlyShameless…Shameless.Oh let me beShameless…No peak capsAn aimless life,And no grave ever filledBy a blameless knife.Oh let me be… comeShameless.No mask hidesThe pain in life,So no words canExplain my fight.So, let me Be… come…Shameless.FadeoutI hate it. I love that one…That’s the whole thing, isn’t it. Living with both at once.CHAPTERS:0:00 — Introduction0:11 — Shameless (the poem begins)MORE SPOKEN WORD:I share more pieces like this at AutisticAF Out Loud on Substack: https://johnnyprofaneknapp.substack.com/p/spoken-word-poetryGET THE CHAPBOOK:“every clock is a handgun pointed at my head” — art and poetry collection available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/every-clock-handgun-pointed-head-ebook/dp/B0FNLHC6SYABOUT THIS WORKJohnny (Knapp) Profane Âû spoke at the UN World Autism Acceptance Day in 2022 about his illustrations rooted in neurodivergence. Published in Wordgathering (journal of disability poetry & literature), Neuroclastic, and Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism. In a former life, founding publisher of Unix World magazine. Living in rural Indiana in a trailer across the courtyard from his wife. With his 2 dogs, cat, and an unwavering commitment to raising hell, autistic style.​#SpokenWord #DisabilityPoetry #AutisticPoet #NeurodivergentArt #FamilyTrauma #AutisticAF #PoetryPerformance #MentalHealthAwareness #ActuallyAutistic #RawPoetryConnect:* Drop a comment — What does family life look like for ...
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    2 Min.
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