As you may know, I’m in a bit of a hiatus from my blog project, and I will be back with more, just not yet.
I’m building a concept that includes a lot of what’s in this blog, plus more and once it’s ready I’ll be thrilled to explain it!
However, you can start being part of it s of today, in about 45 mins, that is 9pm CST I will be streaming in the Cultural Deviant Coffee Club in Twitch, about George Orwell and his notorious political fable: Animal Farm! Don’t miss it!
Twitch Link: https://bit.ly/3SbUFVK
By Josué Vargas
Sometimes it feels like, I’m but a channel,
not an actor in the play,
not a protagonist nor antagonist,
but more like a place,
a hallway, or a passage.
Yes, a living hallway, a witness collecting sights,
footprints, conversations, emotions.
Those who passed through me left a drop of their own
joy, their own sadness, and their own hopes and despairs.
I’m but a witness, a silent witness, unnoticed,
and they let their guard down in front of me,
not knowing that I’m a place,
yet I’m alive, sentient, and aware.
I always knew I don’t belong in anyone’s world,
but I failed to notice the reason is,
I belong to everyone’s world, as a silent place,
a witness of a million stories.
And a rather lonely story of my own.
By Josué Vargas
Cold drops fall in scarred fur,
The fur of a faint beast, who’s seen too many moons
through the fractures in the rocks
Tired of seeking release,
from the vicious whispers
and the stench of the catacombs
No human hand forged this realm,
no creature enters the same room twice
Accursed with a human heart,
too eager to find bliss, glory, or light
or the earthly pleasures and rewards
that await the children of man
Yet, in the shape of a horrid creature, it dwells
Can’t bear the sight of its own face
as it bends painfully to lick water from a pond
When its muzzle descends to the rusted smell of the rock
It knows otherwise…
The vision of the winged man, shining in the forest night,
stepping out of the huge crack of a living tree.
The wooden portal, the right to blossom,
the expectation of a heart misplaced,
among fur and fangs,
and the vile catacombs
Home to every death and fright.