Stu In Progress

Gentle demons

stumathews — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 23:07:07 +0000

Fighting my demons, gentle and dangerous.

Detect pain

stumathews — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 00:22:02 +0000

I told him was a loser – we was a loser before but not now. Now he was low and i lost sight of empathy and i felt his hurt. I said that i was sorry.

this is not how i want to be, i don’t care if he is – i don’t want to become that.

unfunctional

stumathews — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 00:19:22 +0000

She’s got problems. I don’t want to complicate things. I want her to realise what’s important to her, in life – is to be happy by her own terms and being free. I want her to relax. I want her to be comfortable, to say nothing if nothing is what she really wants. I want her value herself more than that which she did last night. I don’t want her to be sad.

I don’t to interrupt her, she needs to realise where she is, why she is and who she is – because its only her realising it that will make it clear the path she really wants.

Mostly, I want you to see that you have options, you are not alone, you have yourself, your dreams and your ambitions – you just need to get used to knowing them more than you know that loser who’s making you sad – only, you are the only one who can untraped yourself.

Only you can do…if indeed you think you must.

Distinctly painful

stumathews — Sat, 03 Dec 2011 21:16:29 +0000

Distinctly painful

I know of a pain so pure, so sharp, so terrible that it cuts through the light. So powerful it breaks tears in half.

Its glistening crystal blades, swim through me as it shrieks the most terrifying noise that ripples and bleeds my soul.

It affects my whole conciseness with a powerful and excruciating hurt.

I am. I will. Stuart

easy

stumathews — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 01:52:48 +0000

easy doesn’t enter adult life.

How special are we?

stumathews — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 22:26:14 +0000

Are we driven in life by our actions or perhaps are our actions driven by our lives? Are we lead or do we follow?

I faced the opposite person, as we sat across from each other with only a round, dark widen table between us,we contemplated this. Muffeled around us was the communication haze that was the hotel lounge and bar.

We spoke of the fundamental being that was our essence, the inner voice that is who one really is. Too, of the facades of social familiarity that hides them until they know not if it exists – yet, like an addiction to an apparent sickness they yearn to medicate. Together in a similar dream, they are united, together.

How alone we are in this world. Being that inner voice that we listen to, separates us.

Yet, in separation lies a distinction too that feeds our soul like an addition: I yearn for knowing who I am the most, feeling compelled to be myself the most. Being only true to what I am and by being the little voice, hearing the little voice, do I live. Because of this, I live a life of solitude, simplicity, of quite desperation.

We spoke of this. I remember the lounge curtain, elegant and formal with an old ancientness to it, behind the person to who I’m spoke. The room was dim.

Because of this, of this solitude, this apartness he said there is a path, layed out before only us, one that only we could take. Only those that were true of heart, who understood the value of honesty and whom lived each day that way, listening to the inner voice that drives us to be good and so distinct.

This path we were already on – it leads us, monitors us and becomes our lives – a series of milestones reached by virtue of value of our decisions we make. We are chosen – by ourselves, and we monitored by the everything, that what we do is noted. That each of our lives is a series of events that are recorded, as such that they are highlighted.

If you become so lucky. You’ve made our own luck – yet, that luck is special that each new lucky thing that occurs is clear to you.

We ended our conversation and went to our rooms.

Are some of us really special or is this an almost romantic way to theorise our apparent lack of true interpretation, to substitute a need for distinction – to perhaps qualify our own lonely lives with a meaning of inspiration? Or is this a failure of acknowledging ones impact on oneself?

Death and it’s agents

stumathews — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 20:46:24 +0000

Death, nor it’s agents distinguish nor care for dignitary.

Deepness

stumathews — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 22:01:02 +0000

Intensely sharp, like the morning sun, glistering in the dew beneath my window – your cut is deep into my soul with acute accuracy.

With tears, they are so pure, like crystals waterfalls of pain – Life is a dramatic play.

he’s thoughts

stumathews — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 22:12:00 +0000

I may not be clever and knowledgable, well traveled or rich but I have what is the most important thing to me already, my thoughts and the life of my thoughts.

In this life of pain and uncertainty where you push down those that are already down, where you you are compared, where you socially yearn to fit in – it strips everything from me. But when a homeless sits down and settles at the foot of a bridge and looks around him and thinks about life and smiles and starts to sing – he is not alone, he has this thoughts.

You decay me.

Deep down

stumathews — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 22:45:21 +0000

Sometimes I die, deep down inside, where no one can hear me, where the pain resides, where the blackness cannot hide, where my tears never dry and nothing is a lie.