Life and Resolutions

There are people always coming in and out of our lives, some are amazing and others are toxic, I always believed that once a relationship runs its course no matter what impact it has whether friendship or a love lost it was simply time wasted, one that you can never get back.

I was reminded by a friend and once professor of mine that there is no such thing as time wasted for now it is time to reflect on what we have been through and what we have learned about yourself as well as others. I knew venturing beyond the state of heartbreak and anxiety she was right.  Yet at that moment my perspective was clouded….

I have always been one to see things from outside the box, beyond those borders of conformity that so many seem to be stuck in.  But in this instance I was locked in a prison of my own emotions shielded from the outward state in which I was so comfortable.  It is amazing how we can do that to ourselves for the days, weeks of anger, mourning, hurt….

Before I locked these feelings away and threw them into infinities inferno, I took my friends words to heart, I sat, walked, watched with nature letting these thoughts and images and feelings flow through me while also contemplating what life has in store in the very near future.

It concluded not with a frown or tears but that of a smile beaming to the sky with a renewed vigor. What my friend has said was right all along..

I see the coming weeks and months, I have gotten an excellent job in which I will start early in the coming month, I will have a house by June and a new car by fall, all the while saving up for whatever the future holds. It is an opportunity I knew would come and with it my soul has come to a calm, but unfortunately I formerly lacked the patience to be good for anyone else.

Not unlike most when reflecting I too tend to drift towards the negative. You wonder “had I been a little more patient”.  “Had she waited just a little longer how much things would have changed”.  “Why did you let that anxiety consume you”. But that’s the devil on your shoulder trying to divert your path of resolution..

You realize she was the best thing for you in that time, in that moment, those soft hands and caring touch mended a cracked spirit. I called her “The light of hope in the darkness” for that she was and a beautiful one at that.

There is no doubt I loved her, and will always love her. The memory of those special moments we shared, the touches and laughter and inspiration will be treasured forever.

Stepping outside in the light of the day I can smell the coming spring. Persephone is rising from Hades domicile to melt the cold dead hands of winter and sprout life anew  a seed has been sown in my heart and soul bringing forth new life and a new vitality to this disheveled spirit.

I wish her the best of luck, she is rising to a place in life I am not sure she ever imagined yet I knew the fighting spirit inside her would guide her if she took that first step. I have always seen the positivity in others and hers burned like a fiery sun….

Through this resolution I sit back and smile with the knowledge that from this day forward I will be more open and willing to let others see what dwells inside (as scary as it might be)..

And as this post comes to a close I know that I am not completely mended, the soul take much longer to heal but it is surrounded by a cushion of hope and the confidence that life is getting better. Through new opportunities and career paths my yellow brick road is before me but one must only take one step at a time and enjoy the path and people as they come…..

Upon Picking a Poem..

Last week my father who is a privately accomplished poet of structure and form asked me to pick one of three variations of a poem of his for publication.  Now for me this is an honor bestowed on me by my father who is so easily idolized for his writing ability in both form and prose. To be one of the few with the privilege of picking a perfectly formulated, phrased and structured poem..

But knowing my father as well as I do I wondered if my decision would truly have any clout on what the definitive choice will be. The Stuckey men in general terms are a proud and stubborn breed and typically in the infinity of life we are right, and others opinion to the contrary seem to drift off into the nether.  Even if on some phantasmal occasion we are wrong in our minds we are still right.  I am slightly more timid on this subject but not too far off.. So I wondered would my opinion really matter?

Putting all these feelings aside I looked at these three poems that varied in wording and phrase. One was far too bland, maybe not for the simple poetic laymen.  But for those who are familiar with the finite rules of structure which are esoteric at best, I would want to find the best choice..I looked over these poems which were a totality of three stanzas each (I am not at liberty to divulge them for copy write purposes) but what I can say is they were about the resolutions of life and how we process them.  The first poem was aggressive making the piece look like the writer was throwing his fist at god for the life he was given. The other was more pleasant in nature more like a recollection of life ending with a consolation of where his life has come.

I spent three days reading these and what I realized is that the mood that embraces the mind at the moment of reading anything, but especially verse can truly affect your perception of both a meaning and choice..

I was enraged over the latter part of this week, it was a difficult one. For many personal reasons from arguments with a loved one, to a family members surgery, to this infrequent joblessness, it simply pushed me to a limit that I rarely get too.. Thus I receded into myself and stewed and boiled and barked.. A most unappealing scene as I have been most abysmal to live with as of late..

In this mental state this poem that defined aggression was my first choice, because in that moment it spoke volumes within. Anger destroys reason, it may cause you to say things you regret, or see things in a way you normally do not because anger is all about instinct.  I looked at this poem and the key words of aggression burrowed into my soul and blossomed a poison vine wrapped itself around my heart and fed the monster… But that was not the point of the poem…

Three days later I read these two poems again, at this moment I was calmed at least as much I can be on a normal day.   After I finished, I realized the enchantment of the first poem disappeared when the anger receded.. No doubt it was well formed and versed, but the other, the one of contemplation, and resolution spoke beautifully about basic human nature and what we see in the latter years of our life.

This entry is not about the poem itself but about how we perceive things when we are in certain mental states or moods. I am well versed in anger as I have spent and wasted many years in that state, but this experience has truly opened my eyes about aspects of my own perception that I didnt realize and how to come to a conscious resolution because of it.

My advice here is whenever you read something that you wrote or a piece of art you completed, if you don’t like it or not sure how to perceive it. Give it a moment, a day, week or a month because depending on the mood can very well depend on the imprint it has on the mind, the spirit and soul…

“Never throw a good piece of art, verse or prose away for many of us do so frequently in a moment of impulse…. I should know, I am the king of wasted talent…..”

A letter…

Sometimes in life we get so wrapped up in what we perceive to be bad moments and get insanely self involved.  It has come to my attention that one of my most beloved teachers is battling a serious ailment and it made me reflect and write them a letter.  There were certain teachers that made me love school simply because I was in their class and caused me to look forward to the day when I knew inspiration was at hand.  I am going to share this letter because I believe everyone should have some support in their life and I hope this example will inspire all to show someone even an enemy a little support and compassion…

Dear Mr…………..

There are many people in this world who go through life and settle into the mundane, not taking life for what it has to offer but letting life conquer them by never living to their full potential. I see this every day and it saddens me a little, but then there are others that surprise you.

School back in the 90’s was an interesting time, the schooling through O…. High School was never known for being the best and you and I both know some of those teachers were beyond the scope of comprehension on how they made it where they were. Those are the ones who are so easily forgotten, their faces even though remembered seem to meld into the woodwork and lose detail with each year that passes.

I see them even today when strolling through town on a First Friday or getting a pint at the local pub. I recognize them but their names escape me, and then it surprises the hell out of me they are still teaching after all these years.. Poor students..

But beyond the faceless entities that attempted to deliver information in their best Ben Stein impression to uninspired minds, there were a few that stood out.

I cannot think back at high school and not think of you, the silliness and vocal inflections and the craziness that you exuded in class was amazingly effective. There was no play acting involved nor was there anything that could remotely be construed as fake.  It was just you, in your truest form that broke through so many walls within myself and induced me to happily let things in, and in turn inspired me to no end.
There are many memories I have taken away from your class but one stands out and ironically enough it was during a study hall. I lost my temper something fierce, shoving my desk across the room I wanted to pummel the irritating force behind me and I lashed out.  Saying things that could have easily landed me in suspension avenue, you simply told me to walk out to the hallway.. A few moments later you walked out and said “no matter how angry you get never show it to the source for they win”.  I never forgot that..

When we would have discussions in class I was notorious for bringing up subjects that would be the most controversial and sometimes not the most appropriate queries were brought up during those sessions. But you never judged, you never contradicted me, nor corrected me.  You said simply that the creative mind should never be harnessed (or something close to that affect).

So I write this to you with a heavy heart, hearing what you are going through and how much courage it takes to go head to head in battle with such an ailment. But I know how big your heart is, and how larger than life the spirit that lives in your heart can be..

I am not going to sit here and wish you well simply because I know victory is inevitable. As far as I see it, you have already won. This foreign body has absolutely no idea who it is up against.  I will say this, on this journey if you need anything whether an ear, a cup of tea, or some greasy disgustingly yummy guilty pleasure mass of deliciousness all you need to do is call…

You are one of my favorite teachers in the world always remember you are loved by one and all..

Someday I think coffee or a glass of wine together and good conversation would be a necessity.

Again if you need anything don’t hesitate to call or write..



William Stuckey




They say characters come and go with each story told and tale delivered.. I wonder if people actually believe that, or are the characters that imbue our mind become a intrinsic part of our personality. For each character is born from some figment of our personality no matter how deep into the recesses we travel.  There is not one personality I have created that doesn’t live within my subconscious brooding, laughing, murdering, maiming.  They all dance around the pagan fire enjoying their hedonistic lifestyle.  Then on the nights they need a little attention they pop to the forefront of my mind and we have a conversation but none are like the conversations I have with a gentleman named Malach Draven

I have lost touch with many characters over the past year, they have hidden themselves in the woodwork in fear of what thoughts have been traveling through my synapse as of late. Malach is the most surprising for he hides from nothing which lead me to believe I was worse off than I thought I was.

As of last week his voice started ringing out calling for me asking me to take control if for only a moment. He appeared in his perfect stance, those dark eyes gleaming at me through the shadows, that sadistic laugh under closed lips and the knowledge that pain would be the subject of this discussion.

GOD I missed him…. I have had characters in the past that I have favored and still do, but Malach……..He started as a substituted character I made for a temporary short term story and having taken him down a completely new path he snuck in and became one of the most enjoyable characters to work with. Sadly lately I have given him a disservice, although the writing I have done was decent it was certainly not up to the caliber of what I used to be and with that I feel I have failed him…

To me disappointing a character is like disappointing a lover because they are so close to your heart that betraying one is devastating.. That is something if you have never experienced it you will never understand. This may sound silly what I am about to do but I feel it necessary…

I am sorry Malach for disappointing you, I am sorry this depression has debilitated my skills and I am sorry my words have not made you shine as they have so much in the past.. You are coming back to me.. You are becoming more and more tangible as time goes on and your voice rings out once again in death and mayhem.

So who is this man who has captivated my attention, what makes him so attractive and enjoyable to write for?

“Once a brutal crusader for the church than defiled by the hypocrisy that the church stands for he is turned into a child of the night by a man of god mind you: Reason?  to make him a more sadistic killing machine destroying all who come in his path.  That very force that made him who he is attempted to control the uncontrollable and locked him away in a sarcophagus for centuries.

He is found by a Necromancer who was put on a path in which the end or reason would never be revealed so two beings, one of control and focus, and the other of hatred, aggression and psychosis, traveling together attempting to find the path that fate has brought them together for…”

There is obliviously TONS more to the story but to go into it would give away to much…

More times than not when I am writing for anyone I put so much emotional energy into what I am writing (which is a pain in the ass mind you) that when it is finished it is almost the feeling you get after great sex.  You feel that lightheaded tingling joy that encapsulates your mind and body and it lulls you to sleep as if floating on a cloud…

Malach hurts a little more than others but it is well worth it…..

It is extraordinary how one can string a line of musical notes together and imbue them with happiness, love, hatred and distain.   Music can make us see the beauty in all things and yet in an instant have that very stunning sense of serenity destroyed and turned to dust with just a change in a few notes.

Sitting here listening to music of my youth and those long before my existence was even conceived, it amazes me how the human condition can be summed up in a symphony or opera and in a lesser respect in this modern age with a music video…

I toggle between songs of love and contempt, where in one instance the clouds open up and the heavens expose and in another moment the ground splits in twine and hell rises from the terra in a burst of apocalyptic fire.  So I ask myself why?  Why torture myself with such extremes? Why create such a great chasm bridged by nothing but thorns?  This is something I do not know…

I feel the war brewing in my head, the one where my sanity and insanity fight for control, this constant tug of war for the great prize that is my mind. I sit outside myself uncaring of the victor, not even focused on the battle but looking at my soul like Arch Angel Gabriel sitting on the sideline awaiting the end of the war of the angels to side with the conquerors.  I wonder about my soul, does he exist or is here merely a figment of my imagination. It is a way to explain when emotions builds to a crescendo, or when there is no emotion at all??  There are times I wish I knew for a fact he didn’t exist…. Then I would feel nothing.

Thus we come back to music, the idea of the soul is not just a figment of one’s imagination but a very truth that we all need to realize whether we like it or not. For we look at music… How could one listen to such epic god like depictions of beauty such as The Ninth Symphony by Beethoven, or Mozart’s Requiem and believe there is no soul?   Those of us who live so closely to our hearts are masochists in the deepest fashion, we patch our scarred heart with the songs of life then tear those patches off with notes of aggression when we cannot feel, only so that in that moment we can feel something no matter how brutal and animalistic it can be.  Music does this for us……..

The past many months have been less then easy and sadly it continues to compile. I wonder when it will end, when I will be released from the stresses that plague me. When will I have the chance to take life by the balls and make it mine… I have been close to an edge that I used to fear to tread but these days I lament for that feeling. Even the sadness that dwells with the devils tease is better than a soulless depression.

This piece is not meant to be mournful or melancholy, it is music that brings out our deepest emotions and it is words that bring those emotions to light. God and the Devil sit in my shoulders pulling those strings as hard as they can.  One plays tunes of grace and the other aggression. I love them both but then again like so many others I am an emotional masochist.  So the question is who will win?? At this moment, I don’t know and I don’t care..  I will just sit back and enjoy the battle..

I will leave this post on a positive note, I will always see life as there is hope just over the horizon, it could be as big as a mountain or small as a pebble and piece by piece I will collect these pieces until I have enough to make a future as bright as the sun…. Lets hope it comes quickly…


Old writing piece…

I completely forgot about this blog I made several years ago, even though I am not a blog type person I do enjoy posting things up from time to time.  Here is a scene I wrote out several years ago I found digging through some old files.. Enjoy!

It was 12 am, the effects of the coffee slowly seeping away letting gravity carry my eyes to a slumber less trance.  

I remember her when we first met.  So full of hopes and dreams, two young lovers ready to take on the world without ever looking back.

It was her heart that drove me, fueled me, resurrecting my soul from a life of passionless conformity.  I needed her by my side always, and she needed me, well she did once.

Years of life and love made our bond ever stronger until the day I realized that I lost her.  I still don’t remember when that was.  That’s the trouble with an enamored soul; you don’t see what can be right before your eyes.

The addiction that started eating my Melissa away had grown over time.  Death was not the black robed figure that so many have perceived him to be, no he was a syringe that violated her veins.

Six months ago, she shocked me with the news, she was pregnant.  For a moment there I saw a glimmer of light in those lifeless gray eyes.  For a moment, warmth of hope filled me.  But as quick as the light appeared, it vanished.

The fire that once fueled her soul was reduced to mere ash.  Everything I tried failed miserably, escaping rehabs, hiding her poison, leaving for days on end. Everything I tried just made her use more.

I knew what had to be done; it was either me or her addiction.  I stopped in front of the door that cool spring evening.  The smell of rejuvenation seems to be just around the corner.  It was everything I could do to fight off the tears.

With a deep breath of courage I entered the stagnant apartment.  Clutter was the common décor; it was the perfect addition to make the middle class seem poor.  I called her name, no answer.

The bedroom door moved and I heard choking noises in I darted to see what was the matter when…

“Sir, sir please wake up”  a hand touched my knee. That veil of fatigue cleared, my attention burst forth seeing a man and woman in white standing before me.

“Good afternoon, I am Dr Zimmerman.  Melissa is stable, she suffered a concussion from the convulsions but otherwise she is fine.   She is lucky you got to her as soon as you did or she would not have made it.“

A look of concern filled them both, I feared the worst.  “It is the baby, it’s a boy but he is three months premature, he is stable now but we did have to jump start his heart”  My legs gave out and I fell back in my chair, suddenly the brightness of the room and smell of sterility made me sick.

“It is going to be twenty four hours before we know for sure.  We are doing everything we can.”  His voice was so at ease it almost enraged me.  The nurse took my arm and we walked. “Come with me sir you can see Melissa now she is awake” As we walked down the hall she rubbed my back, it felt good, comforting.  She guided me into the room.

Melissa laid there she looked tired, her eyes filled with something indescribable, her body frail and once beautiful blonde hair almost looked a dulled gray.

I sat down and took her hand in mine and we both sobbed uncontrollably.  At that moment I knew what that indescribable look was in her eyes.  It was my Melissa, my love and life.  I stopped crying just long enough to say “we have a baby boy”.

She looked into my eyes, “I am so very sorry”.  It was all she could say.  I hugged her tight, “just don’t leave me again.

Recent Items..

Last night I did something I do many times during the week. I logged onto my computer and checked my numerous emails,  face book, and all the other items that tend to keep me informed about the outside world from within.  Then I scanned my recent items folder, you know the one in your start menu that shows you all the fifteen things you have been working on most recently.  There were pictures I have created and changed and documents I have written both for writing pleasure and business.  But there was one thing I didn’t see, it was the very thing I never thought I would lose sight of.  My ever-growing novel……

Sitting here looking at this screen of the informed I attempted to retrace my memory banks in hopes of knowing exactly where this file was, as I had moved it only a few months ago.  I had forgotten, for a split second my memory went blank and that document was lost.  I have always looked of  an ever-growing piece of writing whether it be story or thesis, to be a child nurtured and fed and given the strength to survive, never forgotten nor ever neglected.

I feel much like a bad parent, and I wonder where the passion has gone, there are so many distractions in life but that is an excuse that so many make.  The truth is this story has fallen into neglect because I did not take the time to give it the attention it needed.  That realization makes me question my passion, it makes me wonder and contemplate maybe this was not the book for me to write first, or maybe it is just simply not good enough. With my own standards more than societies.

Or Maybe this is just another one of those hurdles that writers go through when they hit a lull in their work.  Maybe when I find that place of complete solitude my bottomless pool of inspiration can truly be unleashed. For now I think it is time for me to go and make up for lost time, with a child I was just starting to get to know..