(essay and poems)(one single text.)
My name is Victor.
Winner or Conqueror, you can call me Victor. After all, that is the name given to me by my mother. I haven’t conquered anything, I haven’t won anything, my life even if better than so few million people around the world, qualifies as miserable. isn’t that what was written 1862 by my namesake Victor Hugo?
I am Victor Hugo, new age and XXI century one.
Beyond names and ages I am pleased you are reading this, I will start by saying Thank you.
Isn’t about the word art, right now everyone is an artist and everyone is a fan, it’s about transmission, what you are transmitting to me or what I am transmitting to you., those things will impregnate our conscious, subconscious and brain. At the end will only remember that exact perfect and unspeakable moment of disgust, joy, sadness, melancholy or happiness and the details will be forgotten soon afterwards.
The art is inside us, what we produce is our expression, and reflection, sometimes those things don’t match with who we are, automated colors, technologically produced sounds, computer generated worlds, and non printed words. isn’t something to be proud of?, I don't think that, it's just something to generate revenue, some people call them artists. I would just add one little word to it., “scam” scam artists.
If you can’t touch it, if you can’t hear it, if you can’t see it, or smell it, it simply doesn’t exist, that is why the classics are called classics, due the sweat, mixing, work, transmission, excitement, expression and reflection of one single person materialized by his own hand to you., to his woman, man, sons and daughters, to the viewer, to his or her people. Artisan not artist. Would be the right word.
As for I have loved
As for I have lost
As for I have felt.
As for I have cried.
Step outside your door it whispers
Step outside again
Go out and do your thing
As for my name is earth and you will obey.
Yes I will…
No! I won’t …
Comfortable I am
Find me a place
You won. You finally won.
Like you always do.
Like I always lose.
My name is Anna. Christina. Valentine.
As for you took my given name
Crushed me, killed me
rebuilt me and spin me out
I’m your art and reflection now.
Psychotic “mother” earth.
This is meaningless if you don’t read it, feel it, hear it, or engrave it, the details will be forgotten, and the appreciation of my words toward my people, whoever they are, will be lost. Like if you don’t really paint your paint, like if you don’t really play your song, as if you don’t really compose your words.
We need artisans not artists., materials and tools, we need to transmit, otherwise mine or yours, art is nothing more than claps to jokers and scammers.
I entered this contest with this small writing, I don’t expect anything in return. Except the appreciation of those who know, and those who know what it takes, what really matters, when our expression and reflection is projected to toward them.
Adobe Photoshop, iOS, instagram, doesn’t make the artisan, they only make scam artists who take claps of ignorance by masses.
What is 2,500 dollars prize? it’s simply a grain of salt, and unfortunately many of us need that grain of salt in our table. Due the salt mines were given to the kings, who only seek entertainment by the jokers and claps of the ignorant.
I am not doing well.
Throw me to the hole
as for I will not praise you
as long as you don’t praise what is worth
and if happens that you know more than I
Then I'll praise you…
and call you Lord.
Learn from you and take my place
Not as joker or joke.
Give me a reason to be at your side.
Give me a reason to take your place.
I will do it,
Without a doubt
Without a doubt
I'll take my trial and try.
Due the requirements for the contest I will write one more poem.
Loneliness, the only one who comes
from deeps I rise to you
is it, that I am all alone?
Watching, viewing, thinking
Why don't say a word?
Waiting ..... for how long?
An old photo left
with no candles on
Where is my friend death?
been wondering so long.
Mercy on this poor man.
I know you haven't forgotten
as I will never forget.
I'll wait until the very end.
We are bound by the ethereal
by phrases without words
Blind, he is blind my love.
His mysterious ways don't always work.
But he is God. My dear....
-Anna Christina Valentine @annacvalentineX (Victor Hugo Diaz Castillo)