Say Yes to Slam

I find that most people feel entitlement towards issues of ability and disability ... entitlement to make jokes, assumptions, and generally treat the issue like it's theirs. Why is this? What hasn't been communicated? Let me tell you...

I'm a genetic mutation. That's right. I mutated. I mutated because, really, why do people need ears anymore? Time Square flashes information, the subways are coded in signs, computers send emails, cell-phones speak in text, and phone sex is no longer the only form of bonking that's safe.

I've never been what one might consider "angry" about my disability. There's a certain level of self-esteem necessary to be angry ... a steadfast, dogmatic belief that I am right, and you are wrong. There's this term that enters in: oppressor. And once there's an oppressor, there's the oppressed. The two giant Os dress in costumes: the first group is big bad wolves, and the other is sheep. We're not sure why we play this game of chase to kill. It's just nature, we figure.

Now you listen to me, those of you who have ears: I'm not a sheep. I will not be chased off of a cliff. I'm not oppressed. I'm not angry.

I'm radiant. My circuitry is rewired. I hear with my eyes. If humans are aliens, then I am the most advanced of all. I'm the head Borg. Resistance to my magnificence is futile. Your voice has my undivided attention. I guide you to my good side. I flip my switch in crowded rooms and concerts because I want to be with you more than I want to hear the music, or taste the food. I guide your face towards mine, and marvel at the shape of your lips, the way you make them dance, your tongue tapping syllables.