[Just Nikki.]

dradams:

“artists” are nice but i prefer genius artists.

you know, the real deal. i love strong willed women with actual opinions about art, philosophy, the basic idea’s about why we are here and wtf all this is.

when you take the world to heart, fully, how could one not be mystified?

all the artists i know, and when i say artist i mean, they actually MAKE their work themselves, have idea’s- do the work- they don’t sleep when they can dream out loud. if nothing else, art is sometimes just writing down the questions, the big one’s

and making small idea’s as though they might be little equations that eventually add up to a solution.

but, non artists, who dabble in that world, boy do they ever get crushed like a bug. it’s not for lack of intent. it’s for lack of determination.

punk rock, in essence, saved my life and taught me- ANYBODY can do it, but it takes some balls to fucking do it with heart, with meaning, and fuck em’ if they miss the big idea’s at play.

we are not all in tune with those things all the time, and not always in tune with each other- but THAT is called dialog. sitting in a corner with a box of crayons is called “being a handbag.”

I am not a fucking handbag. I guess I am a jerk because I actually have opinions about the world I live in, explore it fully, and think that courting fame is bullshit. it’s a thing you either have or don’t.

I have found though, that the work, if you mean it, and even if they don’t like or understand it, is the wall.

that is the wall that separates the YOU from the THEM- and by THEM i mean the camera people, the bullshit, the distractions, the doubt………………….

and it is immature sure to say this, but championing grown men trying to kill each other for money, is disgusting. NOT ART. NOT FUCKING MAKING ART. NOT THOUGHTFUL. in fact, it is awful. fucking awful.

i boxed when i was a kid. first thing i learned was, you never have to swing if you step back and let them tire themselves out. And if you must, when you ball your fist, imagine inside it was you. So that you could understand what it meant to be a part of someone else’s pain.

most people don’t take responsibility for causing that kind of pain. they just MOVE ON- move right through to the next contestant- fighting problems with new one’s, hiding loneliness with using others.

that fight is so big it takes an entire planet to fit it in.

how awful to minimize humanity in such violent horrid gestures to only play victim.

love, as i have found, is not grounds always for like. like takes dialog and work.

but you know, i have stared blankly back at shining eyes before and seen heaven inside the forevershine of a woman’s eyes.

still, with only 1 percent of what people throw away, i’d find love in that.

because people are so funny and interesting and so afraid of just being unafraid of expressing themselves.

i was getting there.

i listened to some records i grew up with last night and they reminded me of who i am.

and i don’t have any issues with expressing my opinions. i have nothing to hide. i am exactly what i am and who i want to be.

and i would say, i do the work.

how immature- to keep the wonder of newness in your heart- the same wonder i see in the aged. it is their close proximity to the gates of this kingdom of life that draws their eyes so wide.

they see that the world is not a fake smile and a shopping bag. it is a fire or hearts and souls colliding-

of shadows and light

and

possibility.

draw that. write that. but choose your enemy wisely. no matter what you think, there is only one enemy and it is internal and manifests itself in the championing of watching others shred each other apart.

this is what happens- sometimes it is more fun to watch people punch each other in the face in a ring for money than to hold a hand of a lover- or use it to match the black and white lines of a gift that could ring for a lifetime.

instead. insults, accusations, betrayal……this is bullshit.

i am complete. and that was all that was wrong.

i could actually back my shit up. even in the face of bitter company.

a fake smile is a scream.

a scream is a canyon

i am only an echo

never had any problems with subjective fame associated with modern classic artists. they know, like, big words and stuff. it’s crazy.

but artists produce work.

what that other stuff is called is “drawin’ something” and “shopping” even if it is for songs. trust me. i know. i refused.

if you can actually have a conversation that includes at least three high ranking scrabble points,

i will kindly hand you my hat.

but for now,

it is on my head-

and my mind is on fire.

it feels…….well,

amaaaazzzzzing.

(via scout)

This reminded me of the Christmas season, and my heart smiled.
I can’t wait to watch Home Alone when there’s two feet of snow piled up outside my house.
:]

(via scout)

Ethan Hawke, I loved you as Troy. I want a Troy. Not because he was ridiculously dirty and sexy, but because I like complicated guys.

Which, a fact that I am very much aware of, is probably a death wish.

(via whateverlolawants)

<3

(via sleepanddream)

I know a buttload of people have already posted this, but whatever.

Every single time, without fail, I wish for you at 11:11. And I feel like my wish carries extra magic or something, because I was born at 11:11, and I just hope and pray with everything inside of my heart and within myself that the wish comes true.
I know that one of these days it will, so I’m just gonna wait it out and continue wishing.
The more wishes out there, the more likely it will come true, right? I mean, it should be like a raffle or something. The more times you enter, the higher the probability is of your number getting called. Right?