A Quote by Charles Bukowski
There are times when those eyes inside your brain stare back at you.
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British culture loves the image of itself in the mirror; it doesn't want to look deep inside, behind the eyes, inside the brain, inside where those shivers and nightmares lie.
When you sleep your eyes move left and right and physical movement takes trauma and moves it from your frontal lobe to the back of your brain or to another part of the brain where you can store it that memory but when you think about those things that happened, you don't associate the feeling that normally comes with it. So the problem is if you have something traumatic happen and you are not getting a good amount of rest, it will stay in your frontal lobe.
Essentially, there's a universe inside your brain. The number of connections possible inside your brain is limitless. And as people have learned to have more managerial and direct creative access to their brains, they have also developed matrices or networks of people that communicate electronically. There are direct brain/computer link-ups. You can just jack yourself in and pilot your brain around in cyberspace-electronic space.
A guy out there was meant to be the love of your life, your best friend, your soul mate, the one you can tell your dreams to. He'll brush the hair out of your eyes. Send you flowers when you least expect it. He'll stare at you during the movies, even though he paid $8 to see it. He'll call to say goodnight or just cause he's missing you. He'll look in your eyes and tell you, you're the most beautiful girl in the world, and for the first times in your life, you'll believe it.
Uma Thurman is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. She has those wicked eyes - it looks like there is such a brain behind those eyes.
Staring Girl I once knew a girl who would just stand there and stare. At anyone or anything, she seemed not to care She'd stare at the ground, She'd stare at the sky. She'd stare at you for hours, and you'd never know why. But after winning the local staring contest, she finally gave her eyes a well-deserved rest.
Implicit in the stare of those eyes, the power of those knobbly hands, was labor's historic threat of violence against capital.
I can't experience my brain because I'm inside of it. If you're imaging your brain, you can also find scary things. As one ages, your brain shrinks. And how much it shrinks, and where it shrinks, relates to conditions like Alzheimer's and dementia.
Lift up our eyes to you?
no, God, we stare and stare,
upon a nearer thing
that greets us here,
Death, violent and near.
Even you, who’ve lived inside your body for 64 years, would apparently be unable to recognize your foot in an isolated photograph of that foot, not to think of your ear or one of your eyes or elbow, also familiar to you in the context of the whole, but utterly anonymous when taken piece by piece. We are all aliens to ourselves, and if we have any sense of who we are, it is only because we live inside the eyes of others.
If at times my eyes are lenses through which the brain explores constellations of feeling my ears yielding like swinging doors admit princes to the corridors into the mind, do not envy me. I have a beast on my back.
I love when it's me you look at with that laughter in your eyes. It's reassuring, as if in letting me know my heart also had colors that you enjoy seeing. It makes me sparkle inside; I adore the times we sparkle together...to me nothing is better than those.
That's what I hate about the war on drugs. All day long we see those commercials: "Here's your brain, here's your brain on drugs", "Just Say No", "Why do you think they call it dope?" … And then the next commercial is [singing] "This Bud's for yooouuuu." C'mon, everybody, let's be hypocritical bastards. It's okay to drink your drug. We meant those other drugs. Those untaxed drugs. Those are the ones that are bad for you.
Close your eyes and stare into the dark.
I appeal to you, my friends, as mothers: are you willing to enslave your children? You stare back with horror and indignation at such questions. But why, if slavery is not wrong to those upon whom it is imposed?
Fix your eyes on Jesus; it's ok to stare.
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