Jon Pear (a.k.a. NeuroAster)

Posts Tagged ‘life’

littera scripta manet

In sigma on June 24, 2010 at 9:27 am

Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils cross the Blank Paper Desert

Leaving lonely abandoned glyphs and graphemes in their wake

Each text waits to be read, ignored, obscured, unremembered

Pages rot in arcane existence, quietly opaque

Why is this train-station-of-thought here, where no trains-of-thought ever arrive?

When shall deserted documents bask in the sunlight of attention?

Manuscripts wait just to be found once by one roving mind’s fortunate swerve

Manuscripts ache in Ignorance-Limbo, a melancholy dungeon

Printing-machines mass-produce our wireless, mouse-less, link-less papyrus

Organized by ISBN’s and the Dewey Decimal System

None of our schools cover all ideas and concepts published around us

Nobody on Earth knows all; nobody’s got the perfect cerebrum

Through life, even the most informed have more to discover and explore

Each true spirited soul believes in some useful effort

Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils bravely hope to enlighten and inspire

Palms, pens, fingers, and pencils cross the Blank Paper Desert

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expertus dico

In sigma on June 21, 2010 at 8:40 am

I am this introvert, born to take in only so much of your output at a time

I was never born to thrive on all that you crave

Why is it crucial to share the fast pace now in vogue, just so our wavelengths are the same?

What if this attention-span is all I can give?

Why do six-billion human beings all have to be “hip” “trendy” and “cool”?

Why do six-billion have to learn and teach at the same speed?

I am sure someone somewhere also must think what I think, feel what I feel

I am sure someone somewhere must be tired of this rushed ride

I enjoy the sun out on my own, whether or not I miss today’s hype

Spending all day just to mouse-click and to type would be a shame

I was born to walk out in the fresh-air of the planet Earth and breathe deep

Born to take in only so much of your output at a time

Spambots or humans may leave whatever comments

In my world on June 10, 2010 at 11:30 am

Why do you ask where and how I’ve been when I’m always a mouseclick away?

Why do you seem to be allergic to Facebook and Twitter?

Where is the shared, open flexibility Cyberspace once promised me?

All our conflicting “options” divide us forever

If you’re sincere, send a crapless, gagless e-mail to just me, and not a contact-list

Learn something about the first sites I rush to, not just the ONE site that you cling to

Why is this so hard to understand? I’m rushing to touch base, and gee what thanks I get

Why simply assume I’ve just vanished into thin air, and then ask me “Where were you?”???

There is a lot more to Cyberspace than just Multiply Dot Com

When was the last time that Multiply Dot Com was mentioned on the news?

Blogging allows more than telephones could first do when they first came

Yet there is chit-chat entirely throughout countless ordinary blogs

I have Googled many of you, and discovered where else you’ve popped up

Just to be asked where I vanished to everywhere I fail to make frequent time for

I should rediscover my introvert-self, and feel free to just type

Letting the Muse have her way, and accepting that I can’t appease every reader

I’m as confused at least as much as I am confusing, when and if I confuse at all

Why are you so sure the site you’ve chosen is where I’ll appear every day?

Why would your single one irrelevant, obscure chosen site have such broad appeal?

Why do you ask where and how I’ve been when I’m always a mouseclick away?

10 Things I wish were true about me (Heather)

In sigma on April 21, 2010 at 10:27 pm

1. I saved a life.

2. I was unselfish 100% of the time.

3. I was skinnier.

4. I was healthier.

5. I was a billionaire.

6. I had the cure… for anything.

7. I had all the answers to all the questions.

8. I could fly just by flapping my arms.

9. I wasn’t honest all the time.

10. I changed the world just by being born.

Ten little things about me

In my world on April 11, 2010 at 9:02 am

1) My life was not perfect yesterday. My life is not perfect today. My life will not be perfect tomorrow.

2) I laughed a few times yesterday. I laughed a few times today. I will probably laugh a few times tomorrow.

3) I was okay yesterday. I am okay today. I will probably be okay tomorrow. If for any reason I am not okay tomorrow, I will probably say that I am not okay, clearly and explicitly.

4) Sometimes I experience sad and melancholy feelings about The Human Condition. Sometimes I find it therapeutic to express these feelings. And then I get annoyed when someone responds to my expression of some of my melancholy feelings by panicking, and asking me what horrible thing has suddenly happened to me, and how can they rescue me.

5) When I am offline, I am usually outside getting some fresh air, or doing housework, or writing a blog-post, or spending quality-time with loved-ones, etc. My absence from Cyberspace has NEVER been an indication that I’ve suddenly been kidnapped or struck by lightning or anything of the kind, and it is never likely to be an indication of any such thing (contrary to what some online-community-members seem to habitually think).

6) I had autism yesterday. I have autism today. I will have autism tomorrow.

7) My spouse and I loved each other yesterday, we love each other today, and we will love each other tomorrow (July 17, 2010 will be our eighth anniversary)

8 ) I drank lots of coffee yesterday, I am drinking lots of coffee today. I will drink lots of coffee tomorrow.

9) I was a Secular Humanist yesterday. I am a Secular Humanist today, and I will more-than-likely be a Secular Humanist tomorrow.

10) I was a cat-person yesterday. I am a cat-person today. I will be a cat-person tomorrow (I like cats better than dogs; our landlord won’t allow pets, though).

#smilesandhugs #everyone

sidewalk chalk

In my world on March 19, 2010 at 8:54 pm

All of the things my sister and I wrote and drew in sidewalk chalk in our youth have long since faded away . . .

The time we pretended she was a teacher and I was a student, and I wrote:

“i will do what teacher says

i will do what teacher says

i will do what teacher says . . .”

The time we drew Pac-Man and Mario throwing barrels at Donkey Kong and The Ghost-Monsters.

The time we drew Mario walking up to a mushroom cloud and thinking “Golly, how do I get out of this one?”

The time we drew the sun smiling down on a cornfield and saying “Grow, grow . . .”

The time we wrote:

“KEN AND BARBIE SITTING IN A TREE

K-I-S-S-I-N-G”

The hopscotch-court we drew . . .

The time we drew the Middle-Aged Pervert Krishna Gerbils.

The time we drew the Care Bears versus Ewoks football game.

The time we wrote “COKE RULES AND PEPSI SUCKS” up and down the neighborhood.

The sloppy pictures we drew of our super-hero “OttoMan” saving the world from “The Evil Dr. Byzantine.”

All of the things my sister and I wrote and drew in sidewalk chalk in our youth have long since faded away . . .

The Tree and I

In my world on March 8, 2010 at 9:03 pm

One cold February day, when I was still a preteen (this was still a while before my mother died of cancer in 1993), I made up my mind that the Christmas decorations had stayed up in front of my mother’s house long enough. We were always the last people in the whole neighborhood to take down the Christmas lights in front of our house. I made up my mind that this was a priority, that someone had to take the initiative here, and that it might as well be me.

With stubbornness, incredulity, and focused determination, I suited up in my winter coat, mittens, and boots, and marched straight to the front door, where the goofy multi-colored flashing miniature light-bulbs lay draped across a wiry, scrawny, leafless deciduous tree just beside the front steps of our house. Why weren’t these dxmn things taken down by now? How hard could it really be anyway?

With firm resolve, I stomped down our front steps, strutted right up to the decorated tree, and stood in front of it, assessing the seemingly straightforward task before me. Christmas decorations up in February, how silly! This, I decided, was not going to wait a moment longer. It was time. Period.

I reached out in front of me to where part of the bulb-laden cable hung down from one of thin, limp, brittle deciduous branches. I grabbed the electric cable and began to pull. Suddenly, the tree-branch itself snapped off, whopped me on the forehead (leaving a slight scar that I would see in the mirror later), then fell on the toe-end of my left boot. I blinked, grunted, then noticed that the cable itself was no further off of the tree than when I had begun.

Undaunted, I fiddled a bit with the cable, searching for its proverbial Achilles’ heel, a place where it was more loose and more vulnerable to being removed. After a minute or two, I came across the end of the cable that extended a short distance away from the tree. I followed this extension with my eyes, and found that it terminated at the outdoor electrical outlet attached to the front of the garage, where the cable was plugged in. My lower jaw dropped to what must have been my ankles! How stupid not to have thought of unplugging these stupid flashing Christmas lights before getting them off the tree!

I took a deep breath, sighed, and plodded toward the electrical outlet to unplug the dxmn cable. Suddenly, I slid on the ice and fell with one hard WHOMP down on my ass! “OOH!” I grunted! Now, I was really pissed off!

With a sneer, I picked myself up, brushed myself off, and took slow, cautious steps toward the electrical outlet. I finally unplugged the dxmn cable, and carried the plug end back to the tree.

I wound part of the plug end of the cable around my forearm. I could almost taste victory. I reached my hand closer into the tree to get at the bulb-laden portion of the cable and pull it out. But much of the cable was intricately intertwined with the dry, cold, and prickly deciduous branches. The cable could not just be pulled; it had to be untangled.

I pried apart two deciduous branches that had a portion of the cable between them, and suddenly they snapped apart like a wishbone! The next thing I knew, my right wrist was scraped and bleeding! How did THAT happen???

An hour later, the dxmn Christmas decorations were finally down and put away in some box somewhere, and I was wearing bandages in several places. Just as I was resolving never to attempt taking down Christmas decorations ever again, my mother called me to the kitchen, where a found that she had baked a tray of delicious chocolate muffins, as a kind of reward for my labor and my helpfulness.

The adventures of my black turtleneck sweatshirt

In sigma on March 2, 2010 at 9:05 am

Black turtleneck sweatshirt that my mother gave me for Christmas when I was 13 years old:

I was wearing it when I first shaved at the age of 14.

I was wearing it on my first date (and during my first kiss) at the age of 15.

I was wearing it when I failed my first driving test at the age of 16.

I was wearing it when I found my first gray hair at the age of 17.

I was wearing it when I first voted at the age of 18.

I was wearing it when I sipped my first cup of coffee at the age of 19.

I was wearing it when I hit my first (and last) home run at the age of 20.

I was wearing it when, at the age of 21, I was handed back my first (and last) 50 page Political Science term paper, graded with a big red “C+” glaring at the top of the title-page.

I was wearing it when I first stared into a wolf’s eyes on a camping trip, at the age of 22 (The wolf ran away.)

I was wearing it when I accepted a position as a paid church choir soloist at the age of 23 (I resigned after 5 years).

I was wearing it when I took my first solo Greyhound bus trip to Ashern, Manitoba at the age of 24.

I was wearing it when, at the age of 25, I stumbled upon my misplaced wallet, after I’d already got my bank card replaced and all my personal ID and everything.

I was wearing it when I began working my first shift as a janitor at SuperValu, at the age of 26. I was wearing it the first time I held a snake (a street beggar’s pet snake; he let me hold it in exchange for some money), at the age of 27.

I was wearing it the first time I (successfully) downhill skied the hardest slope on Mount Agassiz, at the age of 28.

I was wearing it the day I moved in with my same-sex common-law spouse at the age of 29, and we’re still together and still very much in love after over seven years.

Black turtleneck sweatshirt. I still wear it sometimes. My spouse tells me that I look very handsome and very sexy in it.

Black turtleneck sweatshirt, a gift from my mother. She died of cancer in 1993. I was 20 years old.

A fish story

In sigma on March 2, 2010 at 8:59 am

When I was six years old, my Uncle Andy taught me how to fish (It was the last thing Uncle Andy and I ever did together; he died of a heart attack a few years later). That was the only time I ever went fishing, and I don’t really remember any of the technique or anything. But I do remember what we caught. That is, I remember what it looked like: It was about the size of your thumb, and it was black with a white belly. In spite of it’s small size, Uncle Andy still took the fish to his cabin and proudly mounted it anyhow. We somehow still managed to bring the little thing back to the cabin even after the canoe tipped over.

Yes, at one point, the canoe tipped over. I was scared at first (and holy crap that water was cold), but luckily we happened to have our life-preservers with us. I thought that we would drown. I experienced a curious mixture of pleasant-surprise and relief when I found myself floating instead of sinking. That was, in fact, the day when I learned what a life-preserver was. My mind had equated deep water with drowning up until then. “Unca!” I exclaimed. “We’re safe!” “We’re not drowning!” “Well we’d better not,” Uncle Andy quipped, “I payed dxmn good money for these life-preservers!” And he laughed.

I was quiet for the rest of the morning, filled with a sense of wonder and awe. I gazed into the beauty of the cloudless blue sunny sky that we were still alive to see, and I gazed into the murky foreboding darkness of the deep lake. We could have drowned. We actually could have drowned. But we didn’t. We actually didn’t.

duplicate content

In sigma on January 23, 2010 at 10:56 am

One at a time, the individuals ask “Why are you strange?

Why do you make choices my friends and I would never make?”

I shall repeat myself until I have grown wrinkled with age

Nobody said everyone writes what you yourself would like

Yes, this is how I blog, and these are the keystrokes I type

Yes, I feel the way I happen to feel

Go teach another person how to be less of a creep

Someone else can learn your personal style

Someone who cares can learn your wisdom of how doing my own thing is wrong

This is a script I must enact on my own personal stage

One at a time, the individuals come with the same question, the same old harangue

One at a time, the individuals ask “Why are you strange?”

To my online-friend http://x.vu/Qoseen who loves trees

In my world on October 17, 2009 at 10:10 am

Trees, you stand strong through the deaths of whole generations of leaves

Trees, you stand strong in summer’s roast and winter’s chill

Trees, you flex buff, macho bark, and stand high and mighty as gods

Trees, you grope stars and clouds, and tower over all

Trees, you love birds; trees, you welcome nests, never charging them rent

Trees, you let squirrels run amok across your bark

You remain calm, cool, serene throughout winter’s wearisome frost

You do not rage against the ice, the cold, the dark

Trees, I long to feel your love and embrace of the universe

Trees, I yearn to share your courage and peace

Through the many trendy zeitgeists and eras of emptiness

Through the deaths of generations of leaves

pharmacommercial

In schmategory on September 30, 2009 at 5:02 pm

Talk to your doctor first, before you take the pills we’re trying to sell

Discontinue use if your kidneys twirl or explode

Talk to your doctor first, explore your options, then decide how you feel

Discontinue use if a whirlpool forms in your blood

Discontinue use if your bones begin to dissolve

Discontinue use if your lungs pop

Discontinue use if you find yourself in the grave

Discontinue use if your teeth droop

Talk to your doctor, but we’re hoping that survivors become live, healthy consumers

What if we fail to make this product shine? Its market-value will fall

How do you advertise a product when you legally must list each of its dangers?

Talk to your doctor first, before you take the pills we’re trying to sell

CONNECTION FAILURE: Internet Service Provider wants more money. We`re cut off. I`m posting this from the library

In my world on July 30, 2009 at 9:19 am

Service Providers are free to take back the services we fail to afford

Service Providers are free to charge the fees that they charge

Shareholders only invest in big, tough conglomerates that profit from greed

Service Providers can keep themselves attractive and large

Leave our apartment as dark and bare as the Paleolithic Era`s caves

Finally, at long last, I no longer care

Cyberspace isn`t a right for poverty-cases; ìt`s not like food or clothes

Privileges are not promised, not always there

This has been waiting to happen so long, I shouldn`t be as dumbly surprised

How we`ve had access at all is quite unlikely and strange

Service Providers are free to take back the services we fail to afford

Service Providers are free to charge the fees that they charge

lots2read

In my world on July 27, 2009 at 4:54 am

Inside a public bathroom cubicle, just above the empty toilet-paper-dispenser, the grafitti reads as follows:

“LET’S USE OUR IMAGINASHUMS AND PWETEND THAT THERE IS TOILET PAPER HERE JUST BECUZ PWETEND IS FUN”

The sign floating in the toilet-bowl reads as follows:

“OUT OF ORDER”

The sign half-stuffed into the tampon-disposal-unit reads as follows:

“We at Merco take to heart every aspect of your experience as a valued customer in our store. If you find the maintenance of our public washroom facilities to be anything less than satisfactory, please notify any of our staff immediately. Thank you for shopping at Merco, and have a nice day.”

The sign sticking out of the trash-cylinder reads as follows:

“AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”

NEW WEATHER UPDATE: rainy day

In my world on May 25, 2009 at 2:05 pm

Yeah, it’s raining today, but y’know, sometimes it does have to rain

Lawns and gardens are thirsty again; so are the crops, corn and grain

Yeah, we need our umbrellas and boots, under a sky gray with clouds

Yeah, it’s chilly and windy, but don’t worry ‘cause this too shall pass

We’ll be wiping sweat off our brows in the sun’s intense heat before you know it

We shall tan again, have our picnics, and ride our bikes, once the rain has ended

May through August are sunny and hot months we enjoy while we can

Yeah, it’s raining today, but y’know, sometimes it does have to rain

just another Monday poem

In my world on March 2, 2009 at 3:02 pm

Walking from Marion Street to the Millennium Library and back

Daily routine of returning to the shelves and discovering a book

Living without the experiences others can recognize and share

Learning that nobody reads about the cares and concerns of the bizarre

Yeah, I’m still okay, for those of you who wonder how I am

Hard to entertain a readership addicted to the norm

Each day is a search for ways to entertain the easily-bored

Warm fuzzies are all that people want; whatever else is ignored

Leave me to live at a distance as remote and convenient as you like

Walking from Marion Street to the Millennium Library and back

This may offend some shopaholics

In my world on February 3, 2009 at 12:39 pm

Push a shopping-cart through the aisles of the Retail-Maze

Boxes, jars, and cans, grams and litres of wants and needs

Endless, grueling, soul-numbing task that my spouse enjoys

How I hate the grand scenic tour of competing brands

What a relief to finally haul the groceries home

Mention another “coupon” or “sale” to me, and I’ll scream

Has to be the most deathly-spiritless chore of chores

Push a shopping-cart through the aisles of the Retail-Maze

http://tinyurl.com/jordan29

In Uncategorized on January 5, 2009 at 11:13 am

You were the friend who gave me a haircut for free

You were the friend who leaned on my shoulder to cry

Now, you embody Thoughtless Authority’s fist

You have become Vindictiveness, Failure To Trust

I do not lie to a friend who cuts my hair and cries on my shoulder

That’s a rash slap on the face, but go ahead and call me a liar

All you can do is focus, command, and obey

You were the friend who gave me a haircut for free

another December in Winnipeg

In Uncategorized on December 15, 2008 at 11:52 pm

Now, a bus stop to wait beside is a final refuge

Now, a long winter seems to serve as a test of courage

I was “Jon Pear” before, but now I am NeuroAster

I am loved, blamed, and valued more by the pawns of wonder

Valued and loved by those who preach church-hype

Waiting beside a silent, cold bus stop

Busses delayed by ice and snow, held back

Schedules are nonsense; let the sky turn dark

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

Nothing was planned; each of us has grown out of a joined egg and sperm

Letting the sky darken black as deep space is a sane, healthy peace

Wallets that puke dollar-bills and coins fail to address modern tears

Moment after moment, and event after event

Zeitgeist after zeitgeist has become ancient and short

Difference-makers everywhere demand movers to shove

Only rootless membots can survive everyone’s drive

Frostbite scars human-flesh like fire or corrosive acid

Let the wind fail to pierce the walls of our own apartment

Salvage each precious, rich, and tangibly real advantage

Now, a bus stop to wait beside is a final refuge

anthropomorphic

In Uncategorized on December 9, 2008 at 8:51 pm

Full moon, gazing down on Winnipeg tonight

Pure sphere, high, aloof, objective, and remote

Proud brat loves her privileged spotlight from the sun

Still mute, never known to lecture, or complain

Better off out in orbit than mired in the Earth’s urban sprawl

Better off out in order than mired in the stressed human hell

Stay put, far from growth, technology, and shxt

Full moon, gazing down on Winnipeg tonight