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About Deviant Artist Stuart RMale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
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A Moment :iconstuartr:StuartR 0 1
Mature content
Diary of an Unwashed Man :iconstuartr:StuartR 1 5
The Druids of Akabar
The world of Lonne is deeply old. The Druids of Akabar say the earth remembers much, though they tell little. Lonne is separated into three distinct continents and on each continent lays a small remnant of civilisation. The Druids say remnant, not I, and when asked a remnant of what they merely smile sadly, like an old man or woman pitying the road a younger relative must soon take. These three continents are home to eight Kings, and three Senates and a multitude of tribesmen ruled over by brutal Warlords whose reign is inevitably short. Each distinct country has its own way in culture, in language and other aspects, often only colliding in blood and battle. Yet, in hushed tones the Druids speak of one thing that has brought them all together through the centuries, perhaps the millennia, one dark secret buried in the pages of history.
They tell me of King Gallingbard of Selyerie in the East, who in the second century rained fire on the cities of his enemies, and was murdered in his sle
:iconstuartr:StuartR 0 6
My Sixth Year Reflective Essay
The bridge from High School to university and the ‘real world’ known as Sixth year is a journey of discovery for many. From the famed Young Enterprise Company, to actually learning to drive, Sixth Year can hold many notable experiences, and there is no doubt I have grown as a person; in confidence and hopefully in stature.
There is no doubt that the Sixth Year is an integral part of the school, in some ways the student life of the school revolves around them. When you first enter the school as a lowly first year, you would never dream of even speaking to a Sixth Year, and you would be petrified if you had to! (Something which appears to have completely escaped the current first year; perhaps someone told them “Why, you’re the biggest first year we’ve had in a long time!” once too often) They just seemed so tall and utterly far above you (something else this new first year fails to grasp; they’re supposed to be small!) Indeed, most of my memorie
:iconstuartr:StuartR 0 0
'Only the Good Die Young'
I think i've always been an idealist,
since i was tall enough to stand.
I'd tell the truth to a fault, put secrets in a vault,
And keep trust as beffiting a man.
But i think to be an idealist,
one must always remain naive.
In a childlike way, lest the world have its say,
And lay you low as one of the bereaved.
For i fear i'm becoming a realist,
of most bitter and twisted bent.
As the world trudges along, and i fight to cling on,
I can't help but feel innocence rent.
For it seems to get along in this world,
one must compromise or one must die.
"Only the good die young," is a truth thats well sung,
And those who live long live out the lie.
:iconstuartr:StuartR 9 19
Caught Chasing
Of uncertainty that rose
'Neath my liveried breast
I did try to compose
My swiftly falling chest
And looked not 'pon the men
Gathered at this spot
But at the far distant hem
Of the horizen where we fought
For closing fast it seemed
'Pon this field, 'pon this day
O'er that horizon where i dreamed
Suddenly so very far away.
:iconstuartr:StuartR 0 8
The Burden- The Succession
As is true of many cities, the waterfront of Asheron was ruled by an underground hierarchy. The Law had no real place on the waterfront; here the beggars walked the streets like kings, and the policemen skulked. During the early hours the district was often soaked in a dense fog, a symbol of the unknown acts perpetrated on such nights, and only the most foolhardy or inebriated walked the streets alone. The entire city itself was in uproar, the old King was dead, and civil war looked inevitable. Yet the waterfront remained unnervingly still, tucked away in its dense cloak of mist, apart.
Lucius observed Ridante from his place at the drawing room table. He was little more than a callow youth, or so one would think at first glance, yet he was lean and deceptively built. He had his fathers steeley grey eyes, and set jaw, but unlike his father those eyes would often spark with an almost mischevious humour. It was hard to believe he was already a veteran of four years of the Border Skirmishe
:iconstuartr:StuartR 0 6
Step by wondering step
Were walkin' down this track
I look across at you
An you keep looking back
Sometimes we might veer of
Sometimes theres a rose to smell
So i guess we'll keep on walkin'
Keep on walkin' parallel
I suppose it makes me wonder
Question if i dare
Cross over their and meet you
But all i do is stare
I cant help but feel
That i'd be a tough sell
So i guess we'll keep on walkin'
Keep on walking parallel
As the trees obscure my view
On this isolated road
All ahead is wrapped in darkness
Like an enigma within a code
And my one comforting thought
Is to know that you are well
So i guess we'll keep on walkin'
Keep on walkin' parallel
Sometimes i feel i've lost it
As i stumble on my way
And i glance across at you
And you have nothin' to say
Sometimes i wish for someone
I wish for someone to tell
But i guess we'll keep on walkin'
Keep on walkin' parallel
This highways close to burstin'
With people walkin' along
But mostly its pretty quiet
Theres not a whole lot goin on
So i guess
:iconstuartr:StuartR 0 5
A picture paints a thousand words
Yet remains but a symbol
An image is but a suit of armour
A shiny, prickly thimble
We build it up and give it breath
And let it speak out for us
A projection of our deepest fears
As we drown them out with chorus
We cower behind this flimsy demon
And must walk in its shadow
This structure we maintain with fervour
Is but a ripple in the shallows
We build it right, and maintain it so
And make sure it is mended
The irony is that in the end
No one sees it quite as we intended
:iconstuartr:StuartR 0 7
If These Walls Could Talk
The evening light struggles through the dirty window half-illuminating the dilapidated interior. The front room of the old house sits in a state of abandon. A chair lies by the stairs near the back, the fireplace is black with soot, as is the large, once majestic rug, and only an old oak table stands in seeming defiance to this state of affairs, almost barring entry through the front door, not that many would. The house sits on a hill overlooking the small town laid out before it- as of course all old, abandoned houses must.
The front door swings open and judders back as it meets with the old oak table, prompting a muffled curse from the intruder. The door is once more opened to its full extent, and a man slips through. He has long grey hair tied back in a pony tail, baby blue eyes, slightly wrinkled at the edges, and a quiet smile. He is familiar.
He surveys the room intently, drinking in every tiny detail, noting the differences, the minor, the major and the personal. He caresses the
:iconstuartr:StuartR 1 5
Long and deep the feeling goes,
Sweet, illustrious venom.
Tongue tip poking through playfull lips,
Eyes like icy, lashing fire,
Travelling, travelling
Down, carresing.
Stretching langorously, cat like,
Ready to claw at any one, agonising moment,
To slink in close, to snuggle alongside, to bite
And dash back, with laughing eyes and a playfull swish,
And a promise.
:iconstuartr:StuartR 2 9
The Tambourine Man and Johnny
The Tambourine Mans lying
Crippled in the dirt
His fingers crushed and broken
His eyes are dull with hurt
His pure heart beats so feebly
His Golden voice ignored
There's no place for him now
Say the hypocrites and whores
Johnny left his friend
To rest by the roadside
That old Tambourine player
Finally upped and died
They'd talked about the bright lights
Johnny played guitar
The old man said "You be good son"
And left this world for afar
That country boy, he travelled
And Johnny sure could play
He formed himself a soulful band
And they played the nights away
The crowds, they thinned to nothing
And Johnny, he played on
It meant something to somebody
And that memory he would keep strong
:iconstuartr:StuartR 4 14
Then, Now and Again
I sit, I stare, I ponder
I'm still, im their, i wonder
I sip, I catch an eye
I smile, they never lie
I'm curled up, I look around me
I shudder, I think they've found me
I smile, but I long for your heart
A dream, in which I play no part
I run, right through the ages
I question, all of the Sages
Im red faced, I hate you with a passion
I promise, this will be the last one
:iconstuartr:StuartR 0 6
The Night and The Wind
The night breeze whispers solemn words
The starts are all but dark
The gaudy lights of human kind
Are cold, and bright, and stark
The Wind she roars a final call
Then seems to go to sleep
Then drifts by once again
In one hazy, effortless leap
The Night it is her lover
Mesterious and bold
It creeps up on her playfully
And leaves again untold
She likes to go unoticed
He also prefers it so
And in the darkened hours
Only they two will know
:iconstuartr:StuartR 1 4
My Nutopia
You're rich, like honey
Honey like a golden sunset
Spread across the sky
Where the bees fly
Where the buzz of life
Is not so tame
Where the birds float
And poets and words are one
Where the world beats with one heart
And acts with one purpose
Where we think with one mind
And we act in kind
Where smiles and handshakes
Are reflected in twinkling eyes
Where thought and action
Are married without compromise
:iconstuartr:StuartR 1 14
How to know...?
Are they watching me?
Do their eyes turn, and flick back?
Does their laughter envelope me? Follow me.
Does it?
How to know, if their warm ways and smiling eyes are true.
Or does their laughter run black and thick with distaste,
With my abscence.
Words once said are but wispy memories, nebulous assurances.
Do they still stand? Are they true with time?
As creepers of paranoia eat at the walls of friendship,
How to KNOW?
How to think clearly, of love, with those rumours, dark wispers.
How to know...?
:iconstuartr:StuartR 1 14



Stuart R
United Kingdom
Current Residence: Scotland
Favourite genre of music: BluesRock
Operating System: Good ole XP
Shell of choice: Tortoise? Or turquoise? Ahh, see what i did their?
Skin of choice: The obligitary "My own"
Favourite cartoon character: Sideshow Bob
Personal Quote: "Its a vicious circle..." "Just to be awkward..."
  • Reading: The Mad Ship- Robin Hobb
Well, I'm back at uni proper, and it gooood. Hopefully being back will banish the summer time blues, and hopefully I'll still keep to my writing. Actaully at the moment I'm 'working on' the Burden story. When I say working on, I mean thinking about, and attempting a little planning, although I'm afraid if I plan to much I'll kill the story, so yeah, meh :lol: But yeah, the whole thing has evolved rather a lot from the original Burden idea, and the Druids of Akabar. I've sort of come to think that they are just parts of the story, in fact im sort of thinking of five books... ambitious for someone who can barely write, I know :P I don't suppose anyone has any tips on writing a fantasy novel or five? ;P Oh, and any tips/good books, for writing/written in the first person?


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jezabelle616 Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2010  Hobbyist Artist
and again hehe...trying to take on different styles but do have a love for darkness, first comment was a photo I took myself and the other two were modelling shots, newer to photography but really enjoy both :)
jezabelle616 Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2010  Hobbyist Artist
Thanks for the photo comment :)
StuartR Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2010
No problem :)
BlueEyesCryNoMore Featured By Owner Jan 30, 2010  Student
update your journal and find an ID!!! get back to dA with a bang. :P
StuartR Featured By Owner Jan 29, 2010
Eew, Spam. Wth?
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