I used to want very much to play with you but now I see right through you. What a coward you are, afraid of your own feet and hands, your knees, your lungs. You’re afraid to stand on your own, frightened of thinking itself. Even your eyes terrify you. As the old song goes: “I don’t want to play in your yard, I don’t like you anymore…”
Yep, I’d rather play Solitaire than hang out with you. You’re so afraid of becoming crippled you actually give off a smell. It’s an odor like shoe polish and burning wires. You know exactly what I’m talking about. There aren’t enough sporting events and fast cars to save you. Not enough Botox.
I would pity you but I’ve lived all my life with yours for me so I know it’s stupid. What you really need is a just and equitable health care system but of course you’re afraid of this for thinking about it forces you to think about your bodies rather than a new BMW.
You poor poor lambkins.
Fear is the parent of cruelty. Fear is in the soup, it’s even in the drinking water as prescription drug runoff. You ableists are now peeing your fear into the drinking water.
“He who is not everyday conquering some fear has not learned the secret of life.” That’s Emerson. I think of this when you ask me how I can go places when I can’t see.
I know more secrets than you and I can’t bear your gibbering. Grow up. Conquer your terror about your own mortality. Get over yourselves to find at least one secret.
BTW Ableist America, I like my solitude. Capiche?
Planet of the Blind 
Ooops! Ableist, not abelist — Tee, hee, hee –strange Biblical Freudian slip or mere typo? Don’t wanna know.
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Hey, doncha get it, SK? You’re supposed to envy the abelists. We all are. (Or, for your own sake, at least pretend that you do, for they love nothing better than to be worshipped.) I’m thinking about Ray Bradbury this morning. About the time, many, many years ago when he arrived by bus (he didn’t drive) for a speaking engagement at an agency for the blind wearing tennis shorts, a polo shirt and sneakers with white socks (and a smile that filled the room whether one could see it or not). The Director thought his attire was outrageous, and his mode of transportation, undignified. Go figure. I heard him speak live four times in my life, once at a high school gym in Salinas, CA. He thought we all would be happier if we would “dumb up” – thought we’d all become too smart and efficient for our own good. Bon Voyage, Ray Bradbury! Gonna miss him.
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