Recent home on luis angel ortega
Green and yellow a light movement toward the left to the rhythm of wind and clouds I have no choice I become grass helpless without warning Our song played our first dance as husband and wife and the weight of the world that was came down on me hollowness in my chest and the feeling of my soul leaving Six. Control. Eight. Breathe. Six— I clench. Hard. It hurts. I release. A weight. Goes. The birds…
Dried flowers solitude beer haze brown lace body a prayer so as not to drown in their hazel eyes a void in me anguish fear to be lost in their hands only to be left behind Statement This poem came out of a series of exercises in a surrealist poetry workshop: paintings, collage, automatic writing. Somewhere in that process something more personal surfaced. It’s a poem about the rituals we build to…
Four cubes in a glass — transparent. Passing. From the glass so close with no way to reach the amber horizon with white crest Unbidden a sprig of chamomile — the only one I have received keeps me company Dry flowers stay with me drinking from me Some day I will return to my balance they will bloom again and I'll become my destiny Statement This poem came out of a surrealist poetry workshop. The…
six-thirty, the sky splits— pale yellow where the sun falls, blue above my head. The greenest park in the city, tall pines that never lose their needles, a sycamore that keeps its bark. And this lilac, alone among so much that stays, leafless, full of seed pods— yellow-brown, clustered at the crown where I cannot reach them. My grandmother's lilac was the center of her patio. After she died,…
I went out for a walk this morning looking for a tree. Not just any tree, but one that would tell me something, that would give me permission to write the day’s poem. I’ve done this several times in January, at least once a week, sometimes more. Sometimes I find the tree, sometimes the insects find me, the sky, the air moving through the branches. Chihuahua has become strange to me, or perhaps…
A drywall wall in a new construction, at that hour: a perfect shadow appeared. The last worker saw it with something like devotion or sadness for a few extended seconds. He placed his sanding disc in the sight of the sun, then the putty knife behind the disc, and turned them slowly to resemble the shadow. The man believed he was approaching the form because his adjustments were minimal. There is…
A cafe warm in January too loud to think outside in the shadow of buildings a breeze green plastic leaves brown dead leaves the murmur inside music, chatter my ears hot my drink cold I chose cold wanted warm
Beside the busy road through dry grass crossing an empty lot there is a path marked by hundreds of shoes no sidewalks surrounded by cars the asphalt steams under the sun the only way to cross
At the center of the park like many in the city there is a kiosk: sheet metal roof failed Mediterranean architecture colorful paint political images on the metal Castle for children shelter for adolescents shade for adults refuge for poets So universal I forgot to stop to remember how important they are
Midday— a clear day, almost warm for winter. Under an oak's shade an agave is rooted. Pale green in the sun, dark green in the shade— yellow stripes, thorns along each blade. Tall as I am, surrounded by dry grass and untended trees, an empty park, the silence of early afternoon. I approach carelessly— the thorns cut me. This neglected park where everything seems to wither, but the agave remains.…
The sun falls behind the sycamore barely enough light— I sit and watch. Its leaves, yellow and brown, lie while some green still cling to branches. Its brown bark peels to the left, a white then cream to the right, yellow— anyone can tear off a piece.
Mulberry leaves against the rust sky— each one too bright, spinning Static hum where silence should be electric, unrelenting Reclined in the car seat jaw clenched holding back what wants to rise The taste of metal spreads The only word left: pain
On a corner, a café at the street's edge, under yellow lights, plywood walls fake white brick. In front of the olive-green chair sits: glass straw, cup full of ice cold to the touch. The taste of tea has been lost in the cream color of oat milk. Lavender and vanilla upfront, unmistakable, settle on the sides of the tongue while Earl Grey hides at the back of the palate.
I see you across the table— sprigs of rosemary decorating everyone's drinks, adorning some dishes. Ever festive, your unique herbal scent. Evergreen branches from some shrub of unknown origin, perfuming this night's gathering.
Next to the street gray fingers rise from the ground passing the white wall where some lean Gray, with green lights of porous wood, fragile perhaps— short thorns prevent confirming it, they run along each branch
A yellow and orange crown behind the hills a layer of mist halfway up them — birdsong cold smells of grass gray and blue colors filling my lungs — children cross the park on their way to school —
Always watching you up on the roof, on the lights, following you through the park. Coming and going you sing, announce yourself. Though only from afar you let me observe you. Masters of song, of that blue-black plumage, fighting for territory and their own. At home with you— wingspan of 30 centimeters, black eyes watching over the neighborhood.
Through my window crowning the hills a thin fog— scent of woodsmoke A gray mantle where blue once reigned silencing everything No rain. No snow. Only cold and my hands against the glass
Yesterday while walking I found a bird it was hurt, fallen and helpless— I should have helped it. Cold. Fear. Death. I could have spared it that. I don’t have the courage to return, I don’t want to see the body, and know that I could have prevented it— to change the future How many things slip by from having our hands full our heads crowded How many could we save?
Recently I was remembering the famous painter Bob Ross’s program: The Joy of Painting . For 30 to 40 minutes, Bob taught us step by step how to turn a blank canvas into a work of art. Along the way he reminded us that it’s okay to make mistakes and that anyone, if they wanted to, could follow his steps and create the same artwork. This American program was broadcast on public…
For more than two decades, talking about digital transformation in education has become almost mandatory. Investments are made in platforms, new methodologies are promoted, and technological advances in classrooms are celebrated. But there’s a question that is rarely asked clearly: Who are we digitalizing for? The enthusiasm for innovation has left out an essential element: accessibility.…
Some time ago, I finished Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir, and I felt like writing about it. The premise is simple: a man wakes up on a spaceship with no memory of who he is or what he’s doing there. He’s alone, his crewmates are dead, and little by little, he realizes that his mission is to save humanity. The story follows a progressive discovery format, where both the character and the reader…
This blog has been abandoned for years at this point. Since I stopped writing on Aviyel , I haven’t done anything very technical, and for more personal writings, I’ve been advised not to publish them online as freely as I used to, because some submissions consider a story “published” if it’s available on a website. That doesn’t mean I’ve lost interest in the topic…
(01/10/25) My petty gripe: not only am I losing my livelihood to AI – now it’s stealing my em dashes too (01/10/25) This is where The Booker Prize nominees write: from kitchen tables to a cemetery bench (30/09/25) Remember: Kurt Vonnegut was 47 (30/09/25) Cuentos imprescindibles del siglo XX de América Latina - Literal Magazine (24/09/25) Learning Persian with Anki, ChatGPT and YouTube (18/09/25)…
My short story Titán won third place in the 4th Short Story Contest of the Lasallian Library Network in 2024! This story will be part of an upcoming anthology currently in editorial production. I am incredibly honored to have Titán included in this collection, which features outstanding works from talented writers. Stay tuned for the official publication!
I am thrilled to announce that my works El Templo sin Tiempo (poem) and L05T P03T45 (short story) were featured in the Aventuras de Papel international literary exhibition held in Mar del Plata, Argentina, in 2024. This event brought together diverse voices in literature, and I am proud to have contributed my work to this celebration of creativity. Discover them here: El Templo sin Tiempo (poem)…
We could imagine the technologies of the platform on which I work, Build It , as a dish; where Ruby on Rails is our main dish but is accompanied by a good portion of JavaScript through Stimulus JS , and while this brings the functionality and that magical feeling of a single page application (SPA), there are things we want to keep simple instead of using a sledgehammer to kill an ant, as a…
One of the best traits of humankind is its curiosity. It is so human that in honor of it we named a Mars rover “Curiosity” in 2003. Talking about curiosity in the developer world, open source projects top the list, since by nature they invite us to experiment, modify and share what else we can do with them. This is why I propose to think a little outside the box with Docz - a software…
Have you ever spent a week just trying to run the project you just joined? Or does your application not run in production as it did locally? There are a multitude of factors that can contribute to this, which is why Docker offers us a solution with which we can have greater control over these variables across the necessary computers. With that said, in this article we will see how to make our…
During this past weekend, I found myself in the middle of a family conversation, where the topic of home office came up. My father commented that it wasn’t a good practice. “It’s not healthy,” he repeated several times while shaking his head from side to side in denial. My cousin and I did not agree with him, as both of us (who, by the way, both work in the IT field) have…
I am excited to share that my poem Una Cucharadita de Sol was selected as a winner in the Quarantine Poetry: Homemade Poems Competition in 2020! This piece was included in the international anthology Quarantine Poetry: 2020 Homemade Poems, where it was translated into English, French, Italian, and Indonesian. This recognition means a lot to me, as it captures a moment of reflection during an…
Today I read a poem by Jaime Sabines, one of his verses said the following: “The best part of school is recess,” says Judit, and I think: when will life give me a break? Damn! I’m tired. I need to die for at least a week. These words echoed in me, I also want to die for a week so that I can wake up, and more importantly maintain, the spirits and mental clarity I experience from…
There is a recurring feeling in my life. A feeling I associate with a time and a place. The feeling of a Sunday afternoon, which for some reason tastes of melancholy and even a bit of despair. As if the start of a new week signified the death of the being who lived in the week that just ended. I have had this feeling since I can remember, at least since middle school. When I walked my dog on a…
whoami I’m Luis Angel, a software developer and writter from Mexico. I’m a curious person, that has lead me to several things that I really enjoy like tech, films, music, videogames, literature, philosophy, gardening and gumpla. I write about a lot of those things in the writings section of this page, so I encoruage you to check them out. contact Nowdays I really don’t use social…
Over the years I’ve worked on several things, most of them are in spanish but here’s a list of them if you wanna check them out! active(ish) Master’s degree (education) : Currently I’m taking my masters on Education with a focus on Online Education on the Universidad Virtual de Guanajuato. The Cave (book) : I’m working on my first book named “La cueva”,…