Again this chilly path, what sinister forces have driven me to it? I cast into my thoughts a frozen glance. Hidden behind their shadows are the night's spirits, taking care that these endlessly footsteps tread the spaces from where hang the underground suns. On and on I'm walking, without the hope to get tire or uneasy, for my footsteps don't have a goal. Don't look to the sides! The gloomy weaving of trees that just a moment ago shrouded the forest... it's no there anymore. No! It's the emptiness what stare at me from out there. Its domains start from each one of my flanks. The piece of land occupied by my body right now, it's its only frontier.

No, don't look! I know that it's more than the echo of my voice —it's that of my body too, and alas¡ It stand for my fears. I want to turn around, but I can't. I must to defeat this curiosity, very much to the heart of those who are dying, and long before the dead, want to know what kind of deity forged their coffin. I feel the rage of the loneliness inside me, because there are intruders, they're quiet —showing their silhouettes in the emptiness.

Of course, that lair: shelter for those patient daemons waiting for my coming, to symbolize all the monsters with which I've played drowning a whistle in the darkest nights. It always have been the refuge for the mystery that escape through my nightmares' windows —the sole substance that fill the nothingness of my soul. My eyes, that never pay any heed to my fear, dive themselves like a falling angel into the depth of the emptiness, taking along with them the remainder of my being.

The silhouettes thrive everywhere; some of them alone and others in groups. Some from ancient lives; others beginning with this one. Silhouettes of frustrated love affairs, stumbling upon forms belonging to old and forgotten mythologies. There, what I caught in a flash glance from an hallucinatory rapture, take a ride with the characters of fairy tales. Silhouettes of apocalyptic images, beholding themselves at the double mirror of a Taoist coin.

They get stronger with my sensations and fears. I need to increase the speed of my pace —I need to run. But it's impossible. They belong to me long before my drunk soul crash into the density of these dimensions. Through all my journey, I've picked up many of them, and others have been channelized in my delirium: exhumed from the common graves of fallen civilizations —wandering through all the universe's deserts. It's a circular travel around the cosmos, only to come back to them, times after times, no matter where may be the point for our meeting. Great¡ The purple stars got their silhouettes and their emptiness too. They wait for new beings; for a new nothingness. To behold them, is to recall those that I've already forgotten, but still live within me.  No, there must be silhouettes of more interesting monsters; or maybe of corpses that remind me a very old criminal impulse. There's plenty of time and the path is long. Moreover, this forest exist in the imagination of a nymph imprisoned in an awake state before a real sun. 

Yes! I'll enjoy myself watching the silhouettes of my emptiness. To see the sketches that the rational fears draw in my daily dead. Better stop the motion. It's more stimulating to see them walking around me; thus, I'll get more and more daze, while they round me at the speed of light. That way, when I forget myself the deepest part of my emptiness will be unfolded to me —where all the silhouettes will be unknown. I don't care. Once I get out of this forest, always will be nightmares showing themselves on the children's eyes —in the shiver of a mystic sentiment or, in the testament of beings I don't know who they are. Beings that just in this moment are getting down into their sepulchers. Meanwhile, the only thing that matter, is to behold, times after times, my silhouettes in my great emptiness!


    •Note: This prose poem belongs to the unpublished book: "Bottomless Tombs".


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About Me

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Odilius Vlak, is the pseudonym of a guy whose real name is Juan Julio Ovando Pujols. He was born and still lives in Dominican Republic. The pen name turned out to be his spiritual name, because it was chosen by his soul, and not by two pieces of rotten flesh, namely, his parents. As a writer he likes to explore the dark aspect of the imagination and place the result in the light's showcase with a fantastic attire. So far, his main way of expression is the prose poem. Some may be very lyric; others, very narrative. But, all of them being a kind of philosophic declaration of why the Dark Fantasy should be loved. He has two unpublished books, of which several samples will be show in this virtual temple: Plexus Lunaris and Bottonless Tombs. Currently he's writing the first story of the book "Chronicles of Tandrel". It will be a universe builded in the same way that "Zothique the Last Continent", by Clark Ashton Smith; that is, showing the whole feature of it, through a series of tales. He also run a Blog in spanish devoted in part to the sacred figure of Clark Ashton smith: the «High Priest» of the Dark Fantasy.
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