Jon Pear (a.k.a. NeuroAster)

Posts Tagged ‘world’

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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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?”

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”

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

poem for Blog Action Day 2008

In Uncategorized on October 15, 2008 at 3:26 pm

(PREAMBLE: Special thanks to http://360.yahoo.com/dews24u who has just brought http://blogactionday.org/ to my attention)

Some unthinkable future shall come without affordable air to breathe

We are building a future on sand with individual-blame and myth

Urban-spirals are made of the growing cracks in pavement and skulls and glass

We are letting it happen, and feeling self-assured at a silent price

Full moon calls the spirit like some kind of visual-bell

Glares down over cities of starved stomachs ready to kill

Some invisible crack has begun to form from True Reality’s wrath

Some unthinkable future shall come without affordable air to breathe

CAUTION: this poem is scary stuff, not4kids

In Uncategorized on September 18, 2008 at 6:40 am

You, the master of power-control, you demand blood, gold, and silver for your strength

Youth is doomed in the name of your own crown and throne; iron-fists are flattened in your wrath

Kings and pawns can be crossing a new border; just draw some imaginary-line

Take the honor, and brag at the sky; gloat and stand smug; just be proud of your design

Stand over cultures like a great giant glutton over a banquet

Shout vocal thunder to the mob; enjoy your most definitive moment

Yakkety yak and blah blah and crazy talk into microphones

Making the sense a mouth makes in front of multiple multitudes

Sicken the human stomach; play the mass trick

Tension, alarm, and panic, make it all work

All of the constitution burns to smoked ash

All of your gains are losses; even friends clash

Once, you stood by a bucket, and held the handle of a mop

Gazing into an angel, the pelvic valley of her lap

Wear a costume; forget who you were; wear a pale clay mask of archetype and myth

You, the master of power-control, you demand blood, gold, and silver for your strength

souls and loved ones of those hijacked

In alpha on September 10, 2008 at 9:40 pm

What rises when temples fall?

What virtues can then prevail?

Life breaks with the hearts and glass

Proud structures did not suffice

Worlds under surveillance eyes

Cold stares at our tearful days

Grapes to wine, grain to bread

Leave the womb, mourn the dead

dheigwh

In schmategory on August 25, 2008 at 1:20 am

Leave the soul’s wrists in legislation’s handcuffs

Leave the blamed-victim’s life as a blood-on-canvas

Ask the wrong questions; hate all the answers

Leave the soul’s wrists in legislation’s handcuffs

Proud shame oozes down the septic tank of the heart

We sick humans live devoid of tigers to hunt

Cain killed Abel, and Dorothy killed the Wicked Witch of the West

Gulp down gallons of blood; eat the nailed body of Christ

Let there be failures to communicate; who could care less?

Punish the innocent forever, and leave a huge mess

Oh, to sink my teeth into the eyeballs of the Ku Klux Klan

Pouring salt and bleach into their sockets, and be sick, wild, mean

Homework has made me a vegetable

Pressure has made me an animal

I am a Winnipeg citizen

Taking your dextroamphetamine

Go away if my presence on the planet makes you faint or scream

Hated more than melanin in the skin and semen up the bum

Eggs that you fry in the morning are like your brain on drugs

Pharmacommodities fxxk with your scrambled maze of thoughts

Open my skull and shave my brain without making difficult choices

Enemies, friends, and strangers do the same harm with different intentions

Ask the wrong questions; hate all the answers

Leave the soul’s wrists in legislation’s handcuffs

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

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