Like I don't even know

Pineapples in the ancient wilderness of the world occasionally grew where only the youngest of sailors could reach them. These young sailors would grab hold of a stool made from the finest oak in the land of trees. These trees could only be nourished with the finest fertilizers made from the lost hopes of little children who lived without a home. They lived without homes usually because the fires of volcanoes were very common in that day. The villagers would often use the heat from the lava to smelt ores and make tools. These tools were of the very first ever used to make weapons like swords. The swords weren't always used for fighting though, because they cut away the grasses of the plain very well. In these grasses were an ancient breed of buffalo that could hear even the smallest sound from miles away. Thus they often went deaf from the loud things in the area such as the ruby throated warbler, whose shrill was so loud that it would make grown men cry. The villagers would then harvest these tears to make a special soup that the young boys would drink as a ritual to become men. After they became men they had to hunt and protect the tribe that they lived in. They had to protect them only because there were dangers back then that are inconceivable now.  Some of these young men would leave their families and travel great distances to become sailors.

BRICKS

This darn world.

                                   Always telling me what's right from wrong.

Without actually knowing what's right from wrong.

Telling lies they think are truths.

Telling old stories I've heard a thousand times before.

                      But changing them every time.

Forcing me into their frame rate.

And making me gravitate

                                         Toward what they think is right.

          And what I should do

I thought that I would have one purpose in life

               And that's just how it would be.

But it turns out I'm a brick.

 

And it doesn't even matter what the world says I'm supposed to do.

                                                          Because I choose what I want to do.

The world may say that I'm to be used to build a house.

                     But then I come in and say, nope I'm going to break a window.

The world said do well on the ACT, and then I stepped in and said

                                                Nope. 

The world said be cool.

        But what is cool?

 

Bricks have been doing the same old thing for centuries.

                                                 But they have unlimited potential.

Be a brick.

Be unique.

Challenge the world and scream, "Is that the best you've got!?"

And then sit back smugly because nobody beats a brick in a fight.

It may come back and throw you through a window.

                   But you can take it.

You're a freaking brick for crying out loud.

Are You Tired of Reading Posts?

Relieve stress. Play Pacman. COMMENT YOUR HIGH SCORE!!

Baking Love

Love.

I can't explain it.

It's not happiness, and it's definitely not sadness.

It's not even really an emotion.

It's more of a feeling.

Now of course at this point you may stop me and say, well hold up mister, what's the difference between an emotion and a feeling?

Is falling an emotion?

No

Do you know the feeling of falling?

Yes

When you mix a bunch of emotions together, you get what feeling the recipe called for, as long as you do it right.

For example... Falling 

1 cup anticipation

3 cups fear

2 cups gravity sensation

2 cups exhilaration

Note: if you want a more enjoyable experience, substitute half of the fear with safety AKA parachutes, bungee cords

But love.... Love is the most complicated intricate recipe you've ever come across. It takes time to mix everything together and even longer for it to fully mature. In the end, it is the most delicious thing you've ever made, and even the most professional connoisseurs of love cannot taste every detail put into it.

And don't forget, even the most perfectly baked love has little bad uncooked bits in, that usually make you realize how good the rest of it is.

Sometimes people accidentally cook lust instead of love and it tastes even better than love does at first, because there are hardly any bad bits and it is the only time they've ever tasted it, but it goes bad after a couple of months.

But if you cook love just right it'll last forever. And not only that, but the longer it's around, the better it'll taste. Sometimes, when you get closer to the end, a lot of the bad bits are gone, and other times they stick around forever. 

Sometimes people get a really bad bit and they forget how good the rest of it tasted and they give up on it. And throw it away, and they don't realize that they may have just thrown away one of the best loves ever cooked up, but it just had one really bad bit in it.

There are lots of different recipes for love, but it's only because people have never thought of new names for the feelings. Just like cakes. there are loads of different kinds of cakes and they all taste different for different occasions and some of them are widely different, but we still call it cake just the same.

Loving burgers is different than loving puppies (for most people). And loving a spouse is different than loving a child. They are all similar recipes but they are all different. Sometimes they seem close so people just group them all together as love. But they all know it's not the same.

Unfortunately there are people that never get to taste the really yummy baked love, but they get a similar taste from other places. Like cats. So they get like ten cats. But one super delicious cake is way better than ten okay cakes, and they don't know that, or they disagree, or they simply cannot find the ingredients to make a good ones.

So experiment. Do whatever you can to figure out your perfect recipe and make love.

Point of View

From my point of view you are a reader.
What am I from your point of view?

Am I odd?
Am I cool?
Do you think that I am only a fool?
Did you think "Is this a poem?"
Would it make you mad if it's not?
Did you notice that the weather is awfully hot?
Do you think it's annoying?
Or do you think it's still cold?
Should I stop rhyming, or would that be simply too bold?
I can't imagine what you would think.
Because it's your point of view!
Nobody can see it better than you!
And yes I am shouting.
Because it matters A LOT.
Don't think about others and what you are not.
Inspiration is simply the new odd idea.
It doesn't matter who likes or enjoys what you say
If it's yours then it's yours, go ahead, create away.
The world is your canvas
It's waiting for you
So why are you waiting? Get out and go do!

Robot

Imagine a learning, growing robot.

The first day it is created it is turned on. It doesn't know what to do with any of its parts yet so it simply makes noises. The learning part of it's brain is programmed to explore, so it sends random electrical impulses to it's parts and discovers that they can move. It works every day fine tuning the gentle electrical impulses and learning the ways that it's body can go. It charges itself every night and also picks up different materials it needs to progress it's robotic shape. It grows. It learns to move things where it wants them, to create order. It learns to do the jobs it is allowed to do to get it's daily allowance of power and parts. One day it learns how to build more, smaller robots, and help them learn how to do their work and do everything until the day when their parts get a little too old. They start creaking in the joints, and their power cells lose their ability to hold a charge until one day they can longer rise to do their job, and they can't hold their daily charge. Then, they are scrapped.

So aren't we robots?

Is this not a foreseeable future?

It is an element that robots may be able to fake, but they will never attain.

Emotion.

Love.

Hate.

Happiness.

Sadness.

In the end, what are humans?

Bits of matter that are controlled by electrical impulses and chemical reactions sent from a central hub?

NO.

THERE HAS TO BE MORE.

Without the strongest emotion of all, Love, there would be no difference. Almost every emotion is connected to love somehow, even if by the smallest bits, and without it we would be robots.

In the words of Albus Dumbledore,

“Do not pity the dead Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.”

wHATEver

I hate the word whatever.

How am I supposed to write a blog on whatever I want if all I can think about is how much the word whatever bugs me?

If you are having a conversation with someone and they say whatever it's basically saying that they don't like you or the conversation,

"Hey where do you want to go out to eat?"
"Wherever."

"What do you think about this?"
"Whatever"

"What should I write a blog post on?"
(I don't care about your life, or what you think, or why you are in my class. All I care about is you writing something to unleash your creative potential and so I can put something in the gradebook) "Whatever"

It's even more annoying if you say it in a British accent "Wot evah"

It's basically a terrible word.

I guess you can blame it on this blog if Nelson changes it so we can write on real topics.

Every time someone asks you a question just answer "whatever "and get back to me on how fast it takes for everyone to hate you.

Thanks,
Ed

Kah Ray Ons

Crayons are simple. Too simple, thus they have been equated with the simplicity of childhood.

Coloring is not drawing.

Sorry.

We are "adults" now. You can't color a picture for your fridge. If you want to make something it has to be so terrible it is deemed abstract and "modern" art or it has to be amazing.

So no more crayons, only paints, pencils, chalks, or other odd mediums like trash, but no crayons.
In fact, if you Google "crayon art" there will be an overwhelming majority of not pictures, but melted crayons dripping in cool patterns because it's "abstract and modern."

But art is all about expression right? It's all about the creation of your own new thing that you spent time on.

Get out the juice box and crayons and color your life away.

Color the blues of your bad days and the yellows of your bright days.

Color the reds of your angry days and the greens of your summer days.

Scribble the blacks of your frustrating days and the violets of your inspiring days.

Color all the pinks of your love days and the orange of your crazy days.

Color with every crayon in the box and peel away the paper until there is nothing left and you are stripped back from all of your adult days until you are a child again.

And eventually you will be stuck with that stupid, useless, forgotten white crayon.

And then you can burn it. Watch the flame with the fascination you had as a child, because crayons can burn like candles and children love candles.

But do not get stuck thinking that your art has to look good. It is your life, your emotion, your power of creation.

Life is messy.

Life is scribbled.

Life emotions are not drawn, they are colored onto the page with wild scribbling inside AND outside the lines.

Life is a box of crayons, and you choose how to use them.