Jon Pear (a.k.a. NeuroAster)

Posts Tagged ‘epistemology’

circumvalent cosmoswirl

In my world on May 4, 2009 at 8:19 am

Read the world

Write your life

Be a child

Guard your turf

Be an embodiment of hope

Radiant beacon in the dark

Dreams are the lessons in your sleep

Leaving you inwardly awake

Decades end

Life is brief

Read the world

Write your life

In alpha on November 4, 2008 at 7:10 pm

You are one reader; this text may not be equally meaningless to every reader

Go and chit-chat with some other mind, and look for another to become your lover

Raise your bum off a pink toilet-seat, and keep the appointments on your hectic schedule

Take your new laptop each place you go; continue your service to another devil

Minds of whole entire demographics fail to change, and the world fails to change

Let the stomach starve; let the body age its way to the grave; turn to sludge

Let the spirit sink down within the septic-tank of the heart; let it drown

Life can be a strain; life can drain an aura out until all strength is gone

Leaving our own wrists un-slashed is the final homework authority assigns

We are the blame-takers, makers of punished-efforts that nobody admires

All of our food, clothes, and shelter were left by merchants and tradesmiths on the move

Nobody owes any favors to us; we wait for our failures to survive

Nobody gets the warm-fuzzy feelings they want from news the world needs most

This is a party; real needs and public awareness spoil the fun; fxxk shxt

Why am I here? I’m now just a damper on other peoples’ free spare time

This is a party, that’s it, and if you are here with smug ideals, don’t come

I believed I could get on with life by making a difference that was never welcome

People just fail to learn how to have an innocent-person-with-a-twist around them

Go away; you have no clue about what’s really important, and it doesn’t matter

You are one reader; this text may not be equally meaningless to every reader


In schmategory on September 14, 2008 at 11:58 pm

Let a lost soul fail to make a circle of squares

Let a lost soul fail to share humanity’s cares

Better to see the sun, than to see a window filter the sun

Look in the mirror; see what you want; believe that everything’s fine

Distant, faint, raspy, husky, whispering resonant silence

Mute against frantic, loud municipal sirens and motors

Life in a world addicted to correct events at correctly scheduled moments

Traffic itself is gridlock, when the gods are punctual, cold, precise, and tireless

Wet slime, the quivering, tender warmth has turned to wet slime

Big, fat, colossal, immense ideals have been a nice dream

Get lost; your mortgage is now foreclosed; have a nice life

Get lost, and swim in a vat of thick, acidic skunk-barf

Now an angel-wing-feather floats in the mesosphere

Every eye reads alphanumeric semaphore

Voluntary motor functions feel like a twisted choreography

Everybody keeps their distance now, and it saves you time and energy

Let a lost soul fail to hide our pimples and fat

Let a lost soul fail to share our love and our hate

Let a lost soul fail to share our fears and desires

Let a lost soul fail to make a circle of squares

A new McHaiku :)

In alpha on August 19, 2008 at 11:52 am

Dollar-bills and coins

Enter and leave our wallets

Leaves and snowflakes fall

Groggy and half-awake on a Monday morning

In schmategory on July 28, 2008 at 2:42 pm

Once upon a duration of chronological time

Monday mornings were tangible, ripe salvation from shame

Interpersonal dialogue bubbled under the sun

Now we live in an age when the Eaton’s Building is gone

Queen Street died in the birth of Portage Avenue

Fast change happens, and life becomes a vertigo

Real truth never conforms to any weltanschauung

No one paradigm ever covers everything

Bite the fruit of a tree; enjoy a full meal

Break the ovary wall, and let the seeds fall

Stand where others have stood before your own birth

Stand where others may stand beyond your own death

Leaves and snowflakes fall, as the dollar-bills and coins enter and leave our wallets

These are days when elders are left in homes, and some citizens vote on ballots

Early, late, and punctual people rise and rush into the morning traffic

Early, late, and punctual people rise and rush into the morning panic

Ghost of Timothy Eaton, avenge the landmark we tore

Haunt the “Centre” we built, and create a horrible scare

We were innocent once, and we had the freedom to dream

Once upon a duration of chronological time

Roses and violets lynch the moon

In schmategory on June 3, 2008 at 9:18 am

Radioactive, toxic, volatile, flammable, explosive

Powerful witchcraft lurks around us, potentially destructive

Just when you thought the world was safe for a casual existence

Seeds of apocalyptic nightmares contaminate the surface

How do you blossom when the whole globe is hand-made, plan-based?

Live a synthetically contrived life on slick, pale, dead land

Locked in containment-fields where tensions and grudges are abrasive

Radioactive, toxic, volatile, flammable, explosive

equal variant

In Uncategorized on May 15, 2008 at 7:22 pm

Access to the second level of operations

Radiance and glory rise to the sun’s occasions

Contemplative caution quivers within the courage

Having-an-agenda shines as the prime advantage

Dark stink in the coldest silence

Deep absence of sleep or chaos

Wolves cry as they starve and weaken

Lambs crucify minds who question

We exist, and we still continue to exist

We are not an invasion, parasite, or guest

This is true, and the truth continues to be true

Let there still be a place where everyone can go

Nothing to be proud or ashamed of

Rising from the fall of perspective

Done with an instructive directive

Nothing to be proud or ashamed of

Walk tall through the low crypt of the flushed sewage-soup’s filth-broth

Take time, you who feel need for the whole world to break all faith

Sharp tusks puncture flesh under the sun, soaked in pain’s live blood

Wild beast, learn your place under the sun, prowl upon free land

Freedom of abundance in a land without epiphanies

Telescopes are useless for the souls who need kaleidoscopes

Amplitudes are screaming in the ears of friends and enemies

Headphones are the solitudes of punks within our silences

Life is a bus-stop where broken-souls wait for the Death-Bus to come

Dream of a pure globe of laughs and play, dream of a globe children claim

Access to some level over stars, access to some hive-control

Promised by some king of rooks and pawns, promised for some precious jewel

Nicotine, cocaine, and opium hide in chocolate

Cravings and addictions lurk in the legal market

Gratitude was all the power the barons gave us

Access to the second level of operations


In Uncategorized on May 1, 2008 at 2:03 am

A advances

B betrays

C convinces

D delays

E is everywhere

F is far

G is globular

H is here

I’m an intruder

J is a joker

K is the kaiser

L is a loner

M wants more

N is new

O is old

P is in the pew

Q questions

R respects

S is sly

T is tricked

U has utilities

V has a view

W wonders what the whole world is worth

X plays xylophone

Y says yes to youth

Z zooms through the zone

2 has 3ed the 5ly 7

In Uncategorized on April 25, 2008 at 8:33 pm

Teleojourney metahome before chronodark

Gobble and gulp a nourishing and hot midnight-snack

Sing for your bed-and-breakfast, as you grow, vote, and shave

Enemies, friends, and strangers are deprived slaves who give

Circulate eternally in gray streets of urban-spiral

Intimacy’s distance is confined now, in stone and metal

Flavors-of-the-months are the acquired tastes of demographics

Preferences are merging in a shared world of informatics

Cause a loud effect, bang big, then you get a cold, silent response

If, and only if, that’s that, then you take or leave anything else

Motion zooms, jumps, crawls, oozes, and flows

Live a real, true life, praise your desires

Blessings-to-count are giving you the prime spark of fire

Targets-and-gods are focusing you keen, sharp, and clear

Nobody knows your secret, the divine mother’s-milk

Teleojourney metahome before chronodark

Originally posted August 7, 2007 at

In schmategory on February 21, 2008 at 11:23 am

Pencil’s brittle graphite wire is a wetware_treeware interface

Homework from the muse the rest of my life and metasapience

Eyes to see and ears to hear and immunity from pharisees

Free in spite of endless cognitive dissonance to harmonize

Still a perfectionist after all these years

Ever refined by the inner_critic’s fires

Dazzled and swayed by the muse’s wild desires

Paradigm_shape_shifting in and out of snares

Vex experts and never applaud demigods

Stand proud with pariahs and kind ganymedes

Document the human spirit’s resilient shameless radiance

Pencil’s brittle graphite wire is a wetware_treeware interface

Matthew 27 : 24

In schmategory on February 4, 2008 at 9:56 pm

In a water-dish

Pontius Pilate washed his hands

Then he turned his back