"She never looked nice: She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; It was supposed to make you feel something."
I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
the area dividing the brain and the soul is affected in many ways by experience-
some lose all mind and become soul:
some lose all soul and become mind:
some lose both and become:
written by Charles Bukowski