Kurt Cobain

I was going  to bake you a cake but then I read your blog post " Ill take the L on this one" so now you don't get a cake. 

 

LOVE ME 

White boy

ME

some of you know me as the third string holder on the football team.

I just want to thank you all for reading my crappy blog.

this is me in 5 years
     
 Bronson Berry

The music of life

Music has the power, 

to help and to heal, 

It's truly amazing, 

how it makes us feel. 

It brings us hope, 

and a positive mind. 

Motivates us, 

to be friendly and kind. 

Music offers messages, 

about others and earth, 

Guides us with purpose, 

assures that we're worth. 

A single song, 

countless hearts it may touch, 

Will help us love others, 

so very much.

Music is here, 

to entertain and inspire, 

Has the potential, 

to ignite our inner fire. 

Together with music, 

we can create good, 

We have what it takes, 

we definitely should.

My Heart's In The Highlands

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Flying West

I hope there's a place, way up in the sky,

Where pilots can go, when they have to die-

A place where a guy can go and buy a cold beer

For a friend and comrade, whose memory is dear;

A place where no doctor or lawyer can tread,

Nor management type would ere be caught dead;

Just a quaint little place, kinda dark and full of smoke,

Where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke;

The kind of place where a lady could go

And feel safe and protected, by the men she would know.

There must be a place where old pilots go,

When their paining is finished, and their airspeed gets low,

Where the whiskey is old, and the women are young,

And the songs about flying and dying are sung,

Where you'd see all the fellows who'd flown west before.

And they'd call out your name, as you came through the door;

Who would buy you a drink if your thirst should be bad,

And relate to the others, "He was quite a good lad!"

And then through the mist, you'd spot an old guy

You had not seen for years, though he taught you how to fly.

He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear,

And say, "Welcome, my son, I'm pleased that you're here.

When the day is new

When the day is new,
Hopes are also new,
Like the clear blue sky,
And fresh little dew, 
Make it the most amazing day,
As it's a lovely day, 
Have a good day!

“I’m afraid of death"

I’m afraid of death
because it inflates
the definition
of what a person
is, or love, until
they become the same,
love, the beloved,
immaterial.

I’m afraid of death
because it invents
a different kind of
time, a stopped clock
that can’t be reset,
only repurchased,
an antiquity.

I’m afraid of death,
the magician who
makes vanish and who
makes odd things appear
in odd places—your
name engraves itself
on a stranger’s chest
in letters of char.

Being Alive

Don't sweat the small stuff, so they
say, for if you do, it doesn't pay!
Things happen all the time, so to
keep on worrying, is really a crime!
Enjoy your life, do whatever, you can
afford to do. Do it, while you have
the chance, for all too soon it's taken
away from you! Don't say, I'll get to it
tomorrow, today is what really should
count. If you don't take the opportunity,
while you can, it's then you'll see your
troubles mount! We have to enjoy every
minute, of every day, in order to survive.
Then, that's when you can say, how
great it is, just being alive! !

Bricks

Like bricks in the wall

They hold us together

That strong bottle of glue

Connects me to you

We are all together 

In one special way

Some are closer then others

But we were born this way

After a while

The bricks start to rust

They move in to close

And eventually turn to dust

Its the other bricks that break them

They put to much pressure

Then building then falls

And built back up next to others

Each one is connected

No matter how far

Like a 300th cousin

They are never to far

Bricks stay together

Until the glue wears out

One falls out 

And they move on to another

Eventually they all fall

And theres nothing left

But a pile of dust

That was once a group of friends

MY KIND OF PERFECT

I was thinkin' about ya
I drew a little picture
But some things you can't put on paper
Like ya like shooting stars
Or write songs on guitar
Got more things to do than stare at a mirror

And I know I know,
She's gotta be out there, out there
I know, I know, she's gotta be

Maybe I'm wrong maybe I'm right
Maybe I'll just let you walk by
What can I say, maybe I've known you all my life
Is she the one, is it today
Will I turn the corner, see my future
In a beautiful face
Maybe

She's anything but typical
A sweet suprise
No matter what she's looking at the brightside
It's gonna be worth it
Cos that's what love it's
I'll keep searching for my kind of perfect!

And I know, I know, she's gotta be out there, out there
I know I know, she's gotta be.
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right, maybe I just let you walk by
What can I say, maybe I've known you all my life
Is she the one, is it today
Will I turn the corner, see my future, in a beautiful face
Maybe

They say, give it time, give it time and it will fall in line
But I keep wondering how and when and why I haven't met you...

But maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right

Ooohhhhh
Is she the one is it today
Will I turn the corner
See my future, in a beautiful face

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right
Maybe I just let you walk by
What can I say
Maybe I've known you all my life
Is she the one, is it today
Will I turn the corner, see my future
In a beautiful face
Maybe ohh maybe yeah
Nanana na nanana
Ooohh
I'll keep searching for my kind of perfect. 
david archuleta

NIGHT ON THE MOUN­TAIN

The fog has risen from the sea and crowned
The dark, untrod­den sum­mits of the coast,
Where roams a voice, in canyons utter­most,
From mid­night waters vibrant and pro­found.
High on each gran­ite altar dies the sound,
Deep as the tram­pling of an armored host,
Lone as the lamen­ta­tion of a ghost,
Sad as the dia­pa­son of the drowned.

The moun­tain seems no more a soul­less thing,
But rather as a shape of ancient fear,
In dark­ness and the winds of Chaos born
Amid the lord­less heav­ens’ thun­der­ing–
A Pres­ence crouched, enor­mous and aus­tere,
Before whose feet the mighty waters mourn.

The flip side to Bai’s poem, Sterling’s Night on the Moun­tain cap­tures the malev­o­lence that moun­tains some­times seem to pos­sess. It’s dif­fi­cult to find a heart “free of care” dur­ing a fero­cious moun­tain storm.

If this list shows us any­thing, it’s that moun­tains encom­pass a rainbow-spectrum of mean­ing. They are beau­ti­ful and ugly, peace­ful and malev­o­lent, holy and unholy — some­times all at once. The shape shift­ing nature of moun­tains will con­tinue to inspire and pro­voke us with won­der, and will con­tinue to scare us, as well.

Robotics Vs. Humans

Averaging about one mile stone a decade and one full truth a century,

A robot would most productively be a more appropriate human, as it produces almost the complete opposite results.

In its in entirety it sees the things in a whole different light than a human.

This machine has no problem working its way through the even most complicated problem, even if it must do so continuously over a never-ending amount of time.

Unlike the human race where you see the constant biracial discrimination from one person to the next it cannot feel such a belittling thing as so, is not so petty and unworthy of free will.

It is a given, prospect that the mind of a robot is composed of a much more significant mass of intellectual importance, and growth than to Homo sapiens.

It can make the judgment calls and decisions needed to deal and do what needs to be done with the accuracy that is not acquired from the generations of humankind alike.

Robotics traps its target and locks it without a wavering, no faults or shifting.

If something is broken then it is to be fixed immediately and is automatically recognized to be dealt with either right then or at the appropriate time.

To forget would be like a loosing a leg for a robot their bodies, their systems; their brains would not allow such an inaccuracy.

This is what humankind has lacked for centuries, maybe even millennium.

To accept something that a mere machine, a Robot, cannot even fathom is what is ultimately the test of all-human’s true faith.

What would should we be a human or a Robot?

Is White a Color?

White, pristine, unblemished
They say it is not a color
I love white mists, clouds
Lingering on blue mountains.

White, no shades
No off white, cream
Pure as snow on shimmering peaks
Is my favorite sight.

Nurses, priests, politicians
Are bound, chained to white
White nebulous clouds
evoke deep nostalgic thoughts.

They swaddled my father in white
As he lay in the black coffin
His best shirt was white
His loin cloth was white.

The paper I write is white
White is holy, pure
They say light is white
Because it combines all colors.

So white is the mother of all colors
The churning of all yellow, blue, green
Colors sacrifice their egos
To the eternal white.

They say they are "white"
The purest of all races
I think they aren't white
But pink, beige and red.

Why can't colors of people
Merge and become white
Would people called "white"
Allow their color to merge?

Is white a color?
The matriarch of all colors
The fountain of all extent colors
Yes, king white reigns supreme!

Live Each Moment

I may never see tomorrow,
there is no written guarantee.
And things that happened yesterday,
belong to history

I cannot predict the future,
I cannot change the past
I have just the present moment,
I must treat it as my last

I must use this moment wisely,
for it will soon pass away
And be lost to me forever,
as part of yesterday

I must exercise compassion,
help the fallen to their feet.
Be a friend unto the friendless,
make an empty life complete

The unkind things I do today,
may never be undone
And friendships that I fail to win,
may never more be won

I may not have another chance
on bended knee to pray
And thank God with humble heart,
for giving me this day

The Differences In Diversity

They say that no two snowflakes are alike.
Yet, in theory, they are the same.
They are snowflakes; identical.
Nonetheless, each one is unique.

Likewise, no person is alike.
And yet, we are the same.
We are human; identical.
Nevertheless, diversely unique.

We take pride in the diversity.
Of these white-winged, winter wonders from the sky.
And yet, we frown upon the beings, the humans.
That are different from us.

Aren't we all just like the winter white angels?
Identical in species.
Yet each of us unique.
In our own beautiful and wonderful way?

I ponder to myself.
The very question.
Of the difference in diversity.
And how we perceive and treat it.

Why do we adore the pretty patterns.
Of the winter white from the sky.
Yet we ridicule and frown upon.
The individuality in other people?

Why do we take pride.
In how different snowflakes are.
While we shamelessly mock the differences.
In our own kind?

Crayons

Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the eight-color boxes, but what you’re really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I’ve got a few missing. It’s okay though, because I’ve got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the eight-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean, there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation, so when I meet someone who’s an eight-color type I’m like, "hey girl, magenta!" and she’s like, "oh, you mean purple!" and she goes off on her purple thing, and I’m like, "no — I want magenta!"  ~John Mayer

Millionare Mentor

Wearing A Hat

A hat can hide a bad haircot
Or one with unwashed hair.
It often makes the waerer feel
That he or she has flair.


Protection from the rain or sun
A hat can provide
The wind wont get to tresses
When a cap's tucked them away.


The only drawback that I find
Is when I'm dining out
Or in the thearter where no racks
Or closests are about .


I have no clue where it should go
Or what to do with it,
So through the show or meal
Upon my lap it gets to sit.


A tiny price to pay , I think;
We go the extra mile
And suffer just a little bit
To strut around in style.

Music

                           

intro

Hello my pin name is Jim Valvano.  I chose the name Jim Valvano as my pin name because he was one of the best college basketball coaches of his time.  He stared his career at Bucknell University where he took the team to a 33-42 recored in just three seasons. He then went to Iona and coached for five seasons and had a record of 95-46.  The last college he coached at was North Carolina State.  He was their coach for 10 seasons and during that time his teams went to the NCAA tourament 9 times which included a National Championship in 1983.  When he finally stopped caoching in 1990 his official NCAA record was 346-206 W-L.  Before he died, on April 28, 1993 he receiveed the very first Arthur Ashe Courage Award given out at the ESPY.  One of the most memorable speaches in sports history Jimmy V said: “If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you’re going to have something special.  
 
“Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.”