Jon Pear (a.k.a. NeuroAster)

Posts Tagged ‘ptsd’

aardsphere gesellschaft

In Uncategorized on September 14, 2009 at 1:07 am

Let the writer quietly ignore the reader

Let the writer’s heart unknowably throb

Let the reader offer to become a savior

Let the writer fail to truly describe

Let the reader say the text is “depressing” and “negative”

Let the reader fail to share the writer’s ache

Let the reader tell the writer to “simply be positive”

Let the reader tell the writer not to speak

Let the reader piss and crap on the writer’s tortured soul

Let the reader fail to follow the writer’s search

Let the reader fail to listen and hear the muse’s call

Let the reader call the writer a bitchy grouch

Let the writer give up on the reader’s bland mind

Let the writer give up on having an impact

Let the writer give up on a dead and cold world

Let the writer live life as small as an insect

Let the two go divided, separate ways

Bound by hectic schedules, and devoid of wonder

Both can live lost within the modern maze

Let the writer quietly ignore the reader

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dusk over corydon avenue

In my world on August 31, 2009 at 8:13 am

World of dudes and honeys, help yourselves to whatever’s left of me now

Every step is heavy, and every keystroke is fluff

Now, an ache of disillusioned anguish within continues to grow

I believed Authority’s hugs were gentle and safe

World of dudes and honeys, if you only knew your impact on one innocent soul

Go away. Why are you even pretending to read this?

Go enjoy the system in the void; return to places like church, school, and the mall

Go enjoy all the commodities money can purchase

Somewhere, off in some distance verging on the fringe of the wedge’s thin edge

That’s where you’d find me, if you paused and cared long enough to look

Once or twice, a few strangers listen to my silence across a burnt bridge

Nobody notices my gnashed, abused tooth-enamel crack

Go enjoy witnessing the same routines and patterns forever

Go enjoy whatever daily life has become, all that we know

Life is one voluntary-motor-function after another

World of dudes and honeys, help yourselves to whatever’s left of me now

above the ultragogue

In schmategory on April 6, 2009 at 2:26 am

Some of us experience Feeling X, even if you yourselves do not

Some of us experience Feeling X, even if you cannot relate

Someone paid attention, but no one shared the pain inside

World of dudes and honeys, you make the spirit’s journey hard

Please feel free to stare; it’s only natural to stare

Please don’t panic; I am not an entity to fear

Let me fail to answer your stupid questions in peace

I am not your servant, and you were never my boss

Draw your own conclusions, make your decisions, and keep your distance

No one’s gonna stop you; no one approves or condemns your choices

Certainly not the bites of food I chew and swallow, or the breaths of air I take

Whether or not I co-exist is immaterial, or so I’d like to think

Whether you’re having a good or bad day, I hardly give a shxt

Some of us experience Feeling X, even if you yourselves do not

a piss on you

In alpha, my world, schmategory on March 22, 2009 at 1:35 pm

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

After years of blame and pressure

After years of self-denial

Anger cracks my tooth-enamel

Call this posted text “depressing”

Why the fxxk are YOU complaining?

Every day, the world is colder

Every person’s just a soldier

Now, I fear I can’t recover

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

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

Go back2sleep

In Uncategorized on August 11, 2008 at 11:35 am

Help wanted, dead or alive; construction ahead

Rise, shine, and blossom for all you dream of inside

Flare up, and glow like a fireplace; beam like the sun

Fxxk shxt from enemies, friends, and strangers in pain

Rays of light and thought zip through the eyes of needles and hurricanes

Days and nights are gone; Time’s Chronojectile zooms with a ruthlessness

Choosers beg for big, fat gains, and lose their spirituality

Songs can open mouths; live life with no casino or lottery

Trailer-saints are starved by the greed of mansion-trash

Trailer-saints are people, whom snobs will never touch

Welfare-churches crumble within the market-state

Still, you must be strong, and endure the reign of shxt

No prayers or baptisms quench the thirst of the globe

Souls lost and found in the void continue to throb

This hiring-project is still in processing mode

Help wanted, dead or alive; construction ahead

Red is the color of love and revolution

In schmategory on April 11, 2008 at 2:53 pm

Take the red pill

Answer truth’s call

Rise and wake up

Leave the dream-trap

Shout the real news

Tackle hate’s lies

Make machines fall

Take the red pill

RANT WARNING: This is NOT rosy or heartwarming

In schmategory on February 25, 2008 at 11:07 am

Now let me finish the homework DNA has assigned

Your power-struggle is over, you lose, access-denied

This voice will never be silenced, time twists all we have known

Write more criteria-lists and kiss each object you own

Let the record hide The Only-Human Show

You do not remember, none will ever know

Great, thanks for all of the wasted years, go live as you planned

Now let me finish the homework DNA has assigned

Neurobigotry’s Absolutist Zealous Intolerance

In schmategory on January 29, 2008 at 8:38 pm

You are the apple, I am the orange

You are the warning, I am the courage

You are the normal weirdophobe critic

I am the softly harmless eccentric

What do your good-intentions accomplish?

How is your fear a strength or advantage?

You are the vandal, I am the damage

You are the apple, I am the orange

this is a poem, you dumbass

In schmategory on January 28, 2008 at 12:44 am

Why do we humans bother having a point or making any sense?

Why do we humans have criteria, norms, agendas, rules, and plans?

Most perverse kinks in all the universe never have a valid case

Why do we humans have to need a coherence-myth amid the mess?

Thumbs and fingers weave derivative kitsch and trains-of thought blend wonders

Sculpted clay and oil-on-canvas are childish toys of old-age madness

Taste and see the loudest-amplitude nostril-stinks of each brief decade

Now could be the nanosecond before the planet Earth goes rancid

Lick tongues, confess your climaxes with candid, blunt songs

Swim through the neurogalaxies where comets cut strings

Wipe the bums of meritocracy’s elect until death

Love every neurotypical and freak throughout growth

Arguments throughout The Blogosphere bloom with counterpoint

Cyberspace is where graffiti becomes a sacrament

Winnipeg is still my favorite municipality

Even the Provencher Bridge has an air of majesty

We eccentrics are tired of dark, blank zeitgeists that are all the same

Let our lenses refract the light, love enemies and hate their harm

Yes, our teleomazes change each journey where we intersect

We exist and become the real truth nobody can just accept

Let’s endure vivid dreams in the name of the mouth who sings our fate

Metaverbed metanouns are gifts for the mouth who doesn’t bite

We are all one and we, the universe, enact the tranceful dance

Why do we humans bother having a point or making any sense?