The Art of Pursuing the Sunrise: The Book in Grey Project

By Mathew Beasley Made Me

Art is blood and tearswith a pulse. My drawings and writings are what I transform my pain and depression into while fighting to stay true to my individuality, making it through lifes tribulations, and to stay strong through my self-torment. The meaning behind everything that I have created came from the realization on one of my greyest days, where it dawned on me that I cant be the only one feeling this way. I want to be heard so whoever is listening knows that they are not the only onewe are not the only ones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514401347

Mathew Beasley Made Me

He has his own writing style, which expresses the overlooked topic of pushing through depression, persevering through the persecution of difference and individuality, and living with self-torment into unique tattoo-style illustrations and dark, uplifting poetic reads. His influences are not any literary, but from music is where his inspiration to write came to be. His quiet demeanor and irrepressible imagination bleeds into his imagery and brings his expression and details his messaging in that there is always a light in the dark and that the sun is after the rain.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Mathew Beasley. 720610

ISBN:   Softcover           978-1-5144-0135-4

             Hardcover          978-1-5144-0136-1

             EBook                978-1-5144-0134-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 03/18/2016

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

• | ANATOMY | •

Foreword

Dedicated To

In Memory Of

In Tribute To

Book I [The Narratives]

This Place Can Be Cold Imaged Photograph

Man In The Rain; Beast In The Storm

Volition Image

Edthamus

Bleeding Time

Dragonfly

Love Image

What The Bad Things Are

Venus Of End Trails Image

Book II [The Imagery]

Burning Inside Imaged Photograph

Drug Facts_love

Anisoptera

White Knight Image

The Code

Moonlight Memoir

The Blade Image

Dragonfly Print Imaged Photograph

Dearest Nightlight

Patched Up Coffee Cup

Necrosis Roses

Stone Heart Iii

I Quoted Myself

Book III [The Written]

The Agony Of Telling Myself

Bcx

Pulsing Rose

Bled

C/O Apathy & Chest Pain

The Delivery Of The Dark Offer

Dark Matter

Harmonizing The Heartbeat

Horror With The Red Sung Within Me

Ischemic

A Gentleman’s Dozen Roses

Lithocardioclasis

Tetanus Aesthesis

Machine

Lycanthropic Hook

Ink Poisoning

Pulsing Rose Automaticity

Hymn Of The Stone Heart

Scarlet Cross

The Good Son: Rest

Panacea

Once Upon A Time Bleeding…

Sineater

Precordial Paresthesia

Rock In The Rain

Horizon Imaged Photograph

Foreword

You,

You have lived in the Dark with the Grey for so long; you want the sunrise. The sunrise will thaw the ice coating you; the void to be filled in your chest and blood in your veins again. The Dark and Grey have always been the ones that stayed around and not ever left you when all else had. The darkness and depression has been at your sides all your life so letting them go will be more than a challenge - it will be a trial. In every fiber, they have twisted into your soul. Just think of their prerogative which is to yield slow degradation and deprive you of any semblance of bliss. But they both aided you in eliminating your vulnerability to not knowing individuality and in turn, being lost.

They did almost destroy you, though and have taken a lot away from you and almost in the wrong direction. Let go or just let go. Tame and take away their power – they are a part of you after all. You can be a danger to yourself, but you have to save yourself; be as strong as you can be. You set the horizon with rising from the ashes and tears. Only you can find the sunrise to make it all bright for once. Your words are from the darkness and fire within, but reflect the light within you and maybe, just maybe, the sunlight hiding in it all.

Don’t be ashamed of your scars even though they remind you of where they came from, but you need to know what they have made you. Don’t ever let them overtake you; use them for strengthening the lamination of the light and giving the sunrise more meaning. Live as how you remember it is to have had the heart you lost and that makeshift stone heart will become something more and beat one day. This is in you, your being. You blossom with opposing the flaws of human nature and will shine with remaining true to yourself. Tame the Dark and the Grey to work in your favor and the sunrise will be on the horizon, waiting for the morning of the new day in resurrecting your hope to breathe again with your faith.

You save yourself and everything else of the light supports you. The solace of scars is that they expose how to survive. It is beautiful to push through the darkness and depression to the other side where it is beautiful. Giving reality a rest and encouraging surreal escape for the soul involves eyes for illustrious overuse of imagery with the breath of explicit presentation over the tongue of grammatical abuse, and through the teeth of subliminal messaging that possess the bite of dramatic symbolism for heartful desiring individuals.

I am not of this place, but a product of it; human nature and conjecture. With implicit allure and a silent voice written and illustrated, I could be heard and I could be felt. I am not them – not just because I refuse to be, but also, because I am just not. Individuality keeps me going; art preserves me; The Lord in Heaven teaches me to save myself and love; The Darkest Red teaches me to hate with direction and to see in the dark. I apologize if you don’t understand me, but I will not apologize if I don’t help you understand me. If this place is cold, then I have to be stone; if this place is tragic, then I have to be cold; if this place is dark, then I have to be a light; if this place is burning, then I have to be on the horizon. Oh, the lucidity of the scarlet cross I bare over my lividity of the grey scars and burns from Hell.

Read I in these words and say it with me. Don’t ever overlook your resilience. We will make it.

You are not alone.

Art is blood and tears.

-Me

†

Dedicated to

My M Image%202.tif m

In memory of

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Scot E. Beasley

My Father,

My Best Friend,

I still hear you.

Dad,

It felt like you were still here even after you had gone. I had dreams you were still here for for the few years after you were reduced to ash, but they went away. What I have left of you now is the stain on my skin and this crucifix you used to wear. I wonder why the dreams stopped. Maybe it is you not visiting anymore because your new beginning has begun. All I have to hold on to are just memories now. I remember the headlights of your truck on the window late at night when you came home from work as I was a child; I remember sitting in the rain with you.

I am starting to see your eyes in mine. I miss you and still wish you were here and didn’t go. I still hear you and I hope you still here me.

- Mathew

The value is in the work.

-Scot Edward Beasley

In tribute to

THE ONES WHO FIND THE MEANING OF THE GREY AND BE AS STRONG AS THEY CAN BE IN PURSUIT OF THE SUNRISE.

The light shines as strong as you are.

To get out of the rain…

Which direction must we move?

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BOOK I

THE

NARRATIVES

i-v3.tif

[HEAR]

This Place can be cold…

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What feels endless is my longing for warm embrace,

A challenging chase,

A fathom of mine as sweet as rhyme and lace,

For something to save me from myself and this place

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Capturing love is a hunt with the aim at yourself.

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There was a lonely stonely hearted man in the rain walking through the rain of his lost tears. He had the blood of his wounds from lies in his footsteps with even kept – he is a man without a pleasant dream. The man had a sad face with no smile ever for his human heart and him were torn apart in hate’s expenses by the Devil and Venus census. He always said, Darkly I live but lovely am I. He was so sad it felt so bad. All he had was himself to keep himself. There was a day where he began to draw on himself with ink and stain – in the time between the rains. He had a stain to keep him knowing who he was and meant to be. It is a sad scary thing to lose who you are by little or by far. Each stain became a memory he held dear without a regret or shame over a scar. Where is the sun and why is there always a rain? Scaries pace and race the shadows when he sleeps, but scream and scare when he is awake. Rain is cold and when it’s warm, it’s bold.

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Once upon a time, something very dear was stolen from him in a smile. His heart was stolen and not ever given back and now lost. There came a voice to him telling him to remember how to live with the rock heart he has and his real heart will come back to him. With this in mind, he realized that pushing past the rain and the ashes and embers with scary winds; only lovely beautiful things can then come. He ran and ran in the rain, but the cold and darkness slowed his pace as his way he tried to trace.

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In the darkly dark upon one night in his nightmares, a dream snuck in where the voice of an angel came, but only calling his name. He tossed and turned all night sleeping while awake trying to understand. He tossed and turned until he rolled over and where he heard the voice get louder – then he knew he must follow the voice. To get to this voice of the angel that speaks it and refuses to ignore, he knew he must push harder and he became something more.

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In the darkness, the man in the rain forlorn would become the beast in the storm untorn. He became something scary to scare the scary away out of his way. He ran as the man in the rain during the day and the beast in the storm in the darkness during the moon’s stay in the pineway for so long without giving up. He put the stars from the night in his eyes to see his way.

At times where he almost did, he looked the pictures he drew on himself to remember himself. Lovely am I, He said. He came to a tower with monsters and thorns all around and scary sound. He began to make way and started climbing the stone brick way. He climbed as the monsters and scaries pulled on him as hard as they could but he kept pushing through. He climbed and climbed to get to the window at the top where he saw his lovely Beauty looking like love from above. She held out her hand with a red rose by her heart and the beast was a man again. He took her hand and she said half of her heart is his and the other half hers; him in her half and her in his half to be together as one when they are together. The sun came up and away went the scaries and monsters.

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Beauty was so beautiful and she hugged him and took away his hurt and sad to live under the sun forever and ever after happily ever after with a smile. The storm clouds went away for the new day. He became the man in the sun.

Grace is where we fight for it the most; hope is always there on a dark night; faith is always about the right.

The Beginning

†….….….….….TRACK SITING

A SIDE

I. MAN IN THE RAIN

II. /// CLAWS STDK \\\

III. MOTJA’S SONG

IV. /// TEETH AND SYMPHONY \\\

V THE TUNE OF LYCANUS MOTJA

VI. DREAMING AWAKE

VII. /// CLOSER TO TOUCHES THAN CLAWS \\\

VIII. CROOKED AND OF THE CROSS

IX. HUNTING IN THE STORM

X. CRY IN THE DARK

XI. LYCANUS CRESCENT

XII. ONE SANGUINE HEART FOR TWO CAGES

B SIDE

XIII. BITE MARKS

XIV. BLEEDING THE MOON

XV.• LULLABY REQUIEM •

XVI. ~ SOL INVICTUS SPOKEN ~

XVII. REDEEMER OVERTURE (BONUS TRACK)

XVIII. A DANCE IN THE PINEWAY (BONUS TRACK)

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†

The belief of love is a timeless trial of and gift of faith:

In whom we are to track it;

In what we become to have it;

What we do to hold it;

What we are willing to do to keep it.

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i

MAN IN THE RAIN

Trusting a liar is just like catching a saw blade – you will only be willing to do it once and not ever again. It feels like I am falling away under the stars. I am sitting here beneath the Heaven and above Hell, trapped in between. I am sitting here at the bottom of a hill as the rain washes filth