I was home. Freaks, geeks, punks & junkies. Turns out the jocks were right back in jr. high. I was weird. And these were my peeps. AND I was fucking tired of dreaming it…

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🚨 Content Note: No fucking blue pumpkins were harmed in the posting of this memory.

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October 31, 1978. The night I stopped being a meditation teacher.

Roll with me here. It’ll just take too long to connect all the dots. I’ll give you a couple quick selfies. You’ll get the picture.

Let’s just say I decided to burn ALL my Bad Karma Bridges… at precisely 6:32pm Pacific Daylight Time, October 31, 1978.

Intro

“Hold that thought, my fellow misfits.

I’m Johnny Profane, and you’re journeying with AutisticAF Out Loud. Tonight, we rewind to a Halloween tale from ’78—a night of rebellion, realization, raw emotion… burnt bridges and the power of embracing one’s true autistic self.

Feel the pull…? Click ‘share’ and pass this episode on to someone who needs to hear it.”

Text

Maybe it was a few too many years meditating, fasting, vegan, … um, celibate. I dunno…

So click, Selfie #1.

I’m working as a union typesetter in Oakland. Bay Area Typographers Union. With the occasional double overtime, making more money than any 25-year-old knows what to do with.

So, I duke the waiter 20 bucks for an INSTANT seat. Yeah, nearly $100 in 2023 money. For a yuppie, Berkeley-chic, French bistro… Ferns. Organic wool sweaters. Egyptian wool napkins… The meal and tip? Another 40 bucks… $200 today.

No reservation. No plan. Just cuz I’m walking by.

Ok. Let’s burn that first Bad Karma Bridge. If I’m gonna eat meat…

“I’ll have that Filet Mignon au Poivre. For bonus Bad Karma Points, let’s start with Goose liver pâté on crostini. A little extra fig syrup on the side.”

I pause. Glancing up and down the hand-written prix fixe menu. No wonder this joint could afford a Goines poster….

“Then French onion soup… cuz anything made from beef consommé drives me wild. You got a really peppery dark red Cabernet Franc…?”

Curt nod from the vested wait person… never cracks a smile.

“Ok. Yeah. That oughta go. Bring me what ya got.”

Whoops. That was second Bad Karma Bridge I burnt. No alcohol or drugs since I got initiated. Patanjali didn’t approve…

Well, come to think of it? Maybe the third, too… Patanjali wasn’t big on greed or over-indulgence…

Click, Selfie #2.

So. I’m back out on the street. Feeling loose. Feeling fine. Stomach gurgling with all that beef… But I still need more free.

Walking down Telegraph, I hit an all-night liquor store.

“Say, I always heard about 151 rum. Gotta wonder…”

🚨 Whoa. Let’s just cross that off the old bucket list. And NEVER do that again.🚨

I wake up on a closely cropped grass lawn. Northwest of UC Berkeley. Bottle of Bacardi 151 spilled next to me. Probably within smelling of distance of Philip K Dick’s old digs.

Couple more Bad Karma Bridges burnt, probably. But hell, I’m still drunk. I lose count.

It’s about 11:15 pm. What to do now?

“I know! A really violent, disturbing, forbidden movie!”

Click, Selfie #3.

So, I walk to the UC Berkeley Theatre. It’s a repertory house. Plays a different double bill of old classics every night.

🎃 But it’s Halloween! Sign reads, “Halloween Midnight Double Feature! Rocky Horror / Mad Max!”

And under their fabulous red neon marquee is the longest line of freaks, geeks, punks, and junkies I’ve ever seen. And I was homeless on the Bowery briefly before grad school….

Most are plastered in campy dragon-lady makeup, capes, and feather boas. A group of em are dancing and screaming out the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight” playing on a boom box.

I’m gonna freak ya here
I’m gonna freak you there
I’m gonna move you
Outta this atmosphere

Another first… Sugar Hill Gang had just released the first rap song I eve heard a few weeks before. No Chuck D… but damn, that beat.

Now this whole scene… was the Burnt Karma Bridge the old guru lost his shit over. See, we were supposed to only live in groups with other meditators. Cuz non-meditators were so… so… stressed. Impure. Bad vibes. That could really kill your bliss…

And here I was bumping uglies with the loudest, crassest, smelliest mess of humans I could find. And they didn’t call it “Bezerkeley” for nothin….

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Click, Selfie #4.

What are these freaks on? Throwing toast at the screen? Spraying water into the air? Screaming, “Where’s your neck?” at every appropriate moment.

And g-d alone knows what was going on in that writhing mess of body parts in the back 2 rows. Cuz I sure never looked…

Click, Selfie #5.

They sing the hymn…

“Don’t dream it… Be it….
“Don’t dream it…
“Be it…”

We’re all singing.

I’m crying…

Yeah. I was home. Freaks, geeks, punks & junkies. Turns out the jocks were right back in jr. high.

I was weird. And these were my peeps. AND I was fucking tired of dreaming it.

Coming Attractions

Hey, it’s Johnny Profane about to wrap up another AutisticAF Out Loud tale.

Do you feel SEEN? Maybe gaining some insight into your autistic loved one’s life?

If today’s episode resonates, don’t keep it to yourself. Subscribe for free and journey with us through more raw, unfiltered… AUTHENTIC tales of autistic life.

Now, here comes the BIG FINISH.

So, that was the night I stopped being a meditation teacher.
The night I made the first crack in my autistic mask.
The night… I took the first step… of a 38-year journey…
To grow up.
And become fully #autisticaf dot me.

👉 Oh, yeah. The second feature…

Mad Max. I’m so overwhelmed by the madness of the Rocky Horror crowd that I sleep right through Mad Max.

But I kept having this recurring nightmare… boomerangs & flying bloody fingers…

Was I dead? Was this Hell?

Or Heaven.

Happy Neurodivergent Halloween! Go do #autisticaf dot you.

Originally published on Medium on November 2, 2023.

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