a coloring book.: I bought a Dali book yesterday

Every time I go to Myopic (which apparently i've been mispronouncing for years. My pronounciation sounds better, though. It makes the place so more alluring. It's like a major chord and the right pronounciation is minor. Not that I have anything against minor, but I just feel like in this case playing a minor would be phoney. Yes, this is my brain.)
I just feel like going up to people and asking them "why are you happy?"
I wish people weren't so afraid of each other.
I understand that boundries are important, and there are certain times to let loose, but how great would it be to walk up to someone and find out that they're an amazing human being that would have just been a stranger if you let them pass you by?
I like looking at humans and thinking of how vulnerable they are. For eI lxample, today at the skatepark while my friend was hitting on Allyson, I thought of the kind of things he's done before. I remember once I had parked my bike at the corner because I was waiting for someone there and he made a remark about it and said something along the lines like "corner...suck my dick..prostitute" or whatever. And I just think of all the things he's had to grow through, all the images he had to see, all the words that resonated in his mind, that have led to this kind of behavior. And then I look at him, hitting on my friend. I personally think it's great when guys keep a distance. It says a lot about them. Anyway, I start thinking about how much this guy is capable of love. And it makes me feel alright. And I wish that was his pursuit. (and I hope it is, although I don't think Allyson is interested) Not all these plastic images. And I think of him probably blushing when he was in third grade becase he liked some chick named Sarah or whatever and how he'd have dreams about her and how it must have felt when he had his first wet dream, if he was confused or exhilerated, and how there was a time when he didn't know that girls had boobs and that bigger meant better..they just looked like hands arms and legs to him...and how he has a mom and how I think he loves his mother very much because all kids do, regardless of who their mother is.
We're all so capable of feelings. We're all going throigh so much of the same thing. Why can't we just respect each other as a human? Why do we need something to happen to be reminded of that?

This is kind of why I like feminism. I feel like a lot of negativity in this world has made the line between deciding whether a girl is a sister or a competitor in the same game a blur. Feminism calls for sisterhood. It calls for us to put aside our differences to make a real positive impact in the world. It calls for us to swallow our pride and realize that we are all in this together.

Pride. What a funny concept.

Anyway, I bought a Dali book yesterday.
And as you may now, person, my absolute favorite painting of dali is "the pharamicist of apurdan in search of absolutely nothing", and this book finally had it! I've been searching searching and searching and it's finally mine!
In this book, there is a section dedicated to War, Eroticism, Religion, all sorts of stuff.
The one that partically caught my eye was the section dedicated to Gala, his love.

"Thanks be rendered to her. When Gala's path crossed Dali's, she brought with her at last an intelligence capable of enduring tirelessly the frenzy of a paranoiac monologue. Essential counterweight to Salvador's ego, faithful signpost among the nebulous bifurcations of his undertaking, Gala in the show this assumes the complex labor of a para-Dalinian life. Having long freed Salvador from material needs, she allows him to assume his selfhood while remaining the barrier against an environment greedily demanding still more from a Dali who throws himself into the most bizarre enterprises. More than taking on her shoulders the burden of the difficult years, she remains the one who, with the final, "no" at the ultimate stopping place knows how to put the brakes on a creator. "

"It is when I feel my most atavistic thirts rising that I love Gala the most."

There's a lovely sketch of Gala, naked, looking outside the window. Undernearth is a sketch of Dali fondling her breasts. It's really intense and captures the moment well. It makes me want her, almost. It amazing me how much of a craving he had for her/it. It wasn't a longing, a want, a desire, but a craving. I'm also amazed at the fact that one person is capable of this. In dali's eyes, she was beauty.

this, guys,...
this is absolutely stunning:

Some things aren't meant to be said, just understood. I get it, dali.

"Dali, dali, dali loves Gala better than his mother, better than his father, better than Picasso, and even better than money."

I feel bad for people who can't appreciate art.

Have you ever looked at something and felt "wow. that's what I've been trying to say this whole time." or "wow I never looked at it that way." or just an overwhelming sense of wonder. of escape. of something beautiful.

Art is kind of like a book, just instant.

this is about his other work:

Timothy Leary, the prophet of LSD said: “Dali is the only painter of LSD without LSD.” This is normal for one who tries to capture, with the most exacting fury of precision, the imagery of concrete irrationality. On the other hand, nothing in the world bores me more than those who have a habit of telling about their dreams or their hallucinations; not one of them is capable of bringing to life either the one or the other. For, if the eye is a miraculous thing, it is necessary to know how to use it, as I have used mine; it has become a real, soft, and psychedelic camera. I can cause it to make photographic negatives, not of exterior things, but of the visions of my thoughts this, anyone capable of arousing his visions at will is unaware of the sorrow of all daily reality and can give free rein to the paranoiac magic of his own hallucinations. Then why should Dali use drugs when he was has discovered that our world is a world of people with hallucinations, where theories, like that of relativity, add to the three dimensions of space a fourth, which is time, the most surrealist and the most hallucinatory of spatial dimensions.

I have never taken drugs, since I am the drug.
I don’t talk about my hallucinations, I evoke them.
Take me, I am the drug; take me, I am hallucinogenic!