Jon Pear (a.k.a. NeuroAster)

Posts Tagged ‘people’

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

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

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

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?”

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”

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

just an update

In schmategory on December 26, 2008 at 11:33 pm

Those of you who ask, please know that yes, I am okay

Tolerating life’s butt-end by living day to day

Living in a iron-fist-minded world of gain and loss

Sharing with my spouse true love, surviving every curse

Silence is not necessarily a red alert

Sanity’s down-time is healthy in a world of clout

Difficult events take place; we slowly find our way

Those of you who ask, please know that yes, I am okay

cyclojunct

In schmategory on November 17, 2008 at 8:36 am

Lift the world’s weight, drag it away, and thrust it over the edge

You do not need pressure from snobs who make assumptions and judge

Monday’s warm, soft quicksand of bed has tried to swallow you whole

Loud alarm clock blared, and you struggled up and answered its call

Take a few bites; brush your teeth and shower; get dressed

Rush and get stuck deep in morning traffic’s long wait

This routine keeps minds distracted, keeps our souls dead

Deaf-and-blind, pale zombies march to serve a numb god

Dare to leave the dirge of the forsaken

Sneak away; remember to be human

Dare to question everybody’s answer

Dare to probe the failure to discover

Dare to learn the secrets forgotten by strangers, friends and enemies

Dare to teach the secrets that everyone else has found mysterious

Dare to journey forth on a path that is barely even legible

Dare to journey forth on your own, and be barely even tangible

Someone is on the planet Earth loving you now, obscured by the a distance none can cross

Suicide is the only real failure, and inner-peace is the only real success

Tenderness and perspective keep life in the light, the ideobalm that cleanses fear

Touch me with a reminder, reach deep as you dare, and handle the cryptic self in here

Dare to reach deep into the murky septic-tank of the heart

Dare to find thick burdens of solid lead that  sicken and hurt

Take the red pill; dare to begin the ontological search

Lift the world’s weight, drag it away, and thrust it over the edge

another TGIF poem

In Uncategorized on October 23, 2008 at 9:21 pm

There is no way to know how long you will wait; thanks for your patience

We are just human; we are pawns of a boss, part of a process

We have kids; we have spouses; there shall be food, clothing, and shelter

We are all sleep-deprived and racing the clock, dealing with pressure

After we have served you, have a nice life

Nobody is here to cause the world grief

Read the large text that’s posted up on the wall; didn’t you notice?

There is no way to know how long you will wait; thanks for your patience

this poem is a kick in the 66

In schmategory on October 14, 2008 at 6:30 am

Stare for a moment, shrug, ignore, and forget

Purchase your fries and burgers; rest and exist

Follow the Monday-morning oozing routine

Cog in the big machine of agony’s groan

Sacred rubies-of-information fall in the ideodumpster of boredom

Briefly stare at a text, and then ignore and forget it; conform in a system

Macaroni and cheese is on a plate on a table with pencil and paper

There are people who know and care that I’m a survivor who tries to recover

Any voice in any wilderness can become another’s voice

Life’s quintessential moments dissolve a sense of dark loss

Set in the west, and take a deep breath before you go to your grave

Breathe deep; an open window has always been a real salve

Love the air, each and every molecule

All the sane minds are closed and cynical

I’m a text-whore for all the literate

Read me now; tell me I’m articulate

All that is left is some posterity’s hope

Go and believe that urgent-vision is hype

Follow the script that broken-spirits accept

Stare for a moment, shrug, ignore, and forget

subprime foreclosure

In alpha on October 7, 2008 at 9:20 pm

Call the state of the heart a quote “negative attitude” unquote

Thanks for saying that smiles are good; thanks for explaining the concept

Be the salt in the spirit’s wounds, cluelessly sheltered, and perfect

Call the state of the heart a quote “ negative attitude” unquote

Pencils and paper are friends without shoulders to cry on

Open, accepting, without advice, mindsets, or caution

Maybe the courage to write can survive the failures to answer every reader’s questions

Maybe the courage to write can survive, in spite of the inner-critic’s growth on steroids

Keep your distance, and have your own fun

Don’t expect me to watch or join in

Turn your back if I make your skin crawl

Kick a football, or shop at some mall

Make sense to hundreds of people; only confuse a few

Whole demographics will never learn what is real or true

Every bite, breath, and step you take for granted must be nice

You’re a team-player, saved by charm and cronies, not by grace

Drive your vehicle through Monday’s hectic traffic

Be an icon of pure photogenic magic

Call the state of the heart quote “depressing” unquote

Call the state of the heart a quote “negative attitude” unquote

This poem can has PharmaBurger or whatever

In Uncategorized on September 1, 2008 at 8:51 am

Silent, cold, and empty, kiosks and vestibules remain silent, cold, and empty

Left behind, when meritocracy promises a free, equal realm of plenty

Freedom without wisdom is just a random walk on the dark side of boredom

Right here, right now, the dirge of servants has died, and become a doldrum

Give the confused a thinking-place, out of the way of narrow minds on the move

Enemies, friends, and strangers live life on the wedge’s edge ahead of the curve

Targets and gods are dollar-bills, wallets, and coins, and all commodities rot

Sweating, collapsing, drained of all energy now, whatever happens is right

This is a poem, you dumbass, now you live and die to make sense

This is a poem, you dumbass, all you fail to love is your loss

This is a poem, you dumbass, go away, and have a nice trip

This is a poem, you dumbass, all the shxt you fxxk is knee-deep

Citizens face another day to rise, rush, and circulate

Citizens face the stress that makes the mind hyperventilate

Citizens face another test of true durability

Citizens face another waste of life’s time and energy

Questions and answers are prescribed, handed down, and final

Everything matters when you watch ghettoes crack and crumble

Eyes of the dreamers can perceive gilded lilies clearly

Kiosks and vestibules remain silent, cold, and empty

isohell

In Uncategorized on August 4, 2008 at 10:17 am

Dollar-bills and coins enter and leave the wallets of enemies and friends

Mornings, afternoons, evenings, and weekends fill with reminders of your dreams

Demographics enjoy comforts that you are failing to endure

Now you wait for a last chance to remain as innocent and pure

Kings, queens, bishops, rooks, knights, and pawns rule the face of the Earth

Feet march, left and right, race against time, forgetting to breathe

Now you wait for more lessons in sharing everyone’s frivolous concerns

Dollar-bills and coins enter and leave the wallets of enemies and friends

THE WEATHER REPORT

In Uncategorized on July 21, 2008 at 4:28 pm

Winnipeg’s heat in July and August bakes and bathes your face in your salty sweat

Sandals and shorts and our anti-sunburn-ointments, getting scorched in the rays can hurt

Days when the hornets and wasps and bees are droning, cursed Al-Qaeda of insect-life

Days when our toes and our heels go naked out on sand; we splash in the tides and laugh

Lemonade, ice-cream, and popsicles

Buildings with blessed air-conditioners

Lawns and mosquitoes enjoy the drenching rain, and humans notice the stars at night

Winnipeg’s heat in July and August bakes and bathes your face in your salty sweat