Cesar-1-260x195When we think of Cesar, we see a surrealist rebel lost in the wrong dimension.

Reading his poems is like finding a lost enigma hidden in the Sahara desert.
The rarest of diamonds buried in the sand.

He takes us to unknown places, a plastic world filled with flying fish in the sky.
Breaking every rule, questioning every sense of reality to unravel the Universe.

A Quixote of the modern era, with the gift of a superb imagination.

Acoustic Ink is honored to feature this remarkable artist.

Cesar’s interview with our team:


Name: Cesar Augusto Cantu Hernandez
Location: Monterrey, N. L., México.

Q: How many hours a day do you write?

A: 5 minutes if I’m lucky.

Q: How do you deal with personal doubters?

A: I just keep writing the way I feel I should be doing so, experimenting with their suggestions if I feel like doing it.

Q: When you were growing up, what made you want to become a writer?

A: Reading, Literature classes, and a sudden poetic stroke.

Q: Describe a perfect setting where you can get writing done.

A: My bedroom is a fine place for doing so, yet any location displaying unusual architectonic structures
or uncommon placement/usage/construction of space would do.

Q: What kind of books did you read when you were growing up, if any?

A: Mystery/Terror novels and short stories…you know, we all need an impactful starting point.

Q: Are you a traditional type of writer (paper and pencil) or do you use your computer to write?

A: Most times my thoughts are directly digitized, yet if there’s a chance, I prefer old-school paper-pencil tandem.

Q: What’s you’re favorite part of writing?

A: Imagination and language-destruction process.

Q: How do you get past all the frustrations that come with trying to be a successful writer?

A: I don’t consider success as a fundamental part of my writing (yet I would like to be widely read by others…);
actually, writing is sort of a big game to me; so, as long as I’m having fun, I’ll be fine.

Q: What do you do when you have several book/piece ideas?

A: I write them down or record myself (audio only) giving a detailed explanation about such ideas;
later I’ll pick one and think about it as much as needed.

Q: Have you ever been published/self-published?

A: Do blogs count?.

Q: What genre(s) describes your work?

A: Poetry and short stories lately…yet, I certainly can’t find a way to describe them accurately…
I would consider myself a total failure if I could define my writing easily.

Q: Do you write under a pseudonym? If so, what is the story behind it?

A: Kaizar. Not a big deal; an ex-professor and actual friend of mine once called me Kaizar;
I liked the name, so I kept it. Not sure about what the meaning is supposed to be.
Perhaps it’s a deformation of my name translated to another language (German is an option).
Yet, I heard the name in a movie….maybe….

Q: What/who motivates you to write?

A: Every great novel, short story, poem, song, sound, space/time phenomena…anything, actually,
as long as I find it fun or fantastic enough in my eyes at the moment. Yet, my strongest motivation is…well,
let’s call it, being “the fracture”, in both literature and cognition; it’s my ultimate challenge,
and it is certainly bringing childhood back into my life.

Q: Do you have your work showcased on any website?

A: My blog is the closest thing I have: http://hatsannoyme.blogspot.com

Q: What does the future holds for you as a writer?

A: If everything goes down as intended to: I’m the cataclysm that will shake,
shred and destroy what most people have come to know as collective cognition of standard reality;
I shall twist, bend and ultimately shatter language, thus demolishing each and every boundary before constructing
a monument to chaos through my work. I’ll be hated by most traditionalists, but that’s the point:
breaking away from the pack. What a ride it will be…

Below you can enjoy a selection of poems by Cesar.


Why should the woods be caged
In order to look alike?
Multi-colored umbrellas
In the wild
Jailed in a hat

Mold makers with style
Colors, feathers, and sounds
Stomping off your mind
Vibrations dig up a smile
That cracks all the way
Up to your melting eyes
Emulators of light

Outsider tones
Flooding your speech
One slaughtered sheep
Absorbed by the void
Returns as gray, rolling spheres
With no value at all

Fish turn unable to drop
Their folded paper stones
Sand walkers of our world
Canned mushrooms lay ahead
They all look the same
Sons of a geometric shape

Nothingness growing up
Directly from your head
Falling around your neck
Stands locked, so it waits
For you to smash the jar
Revival of the white flash
Ideas should not fit in a hat…


Does the wall tick your life away?
Too much sand for a forked head?
Parricidal tyranny rules your place,
Melted into your wrist,
Breeding dodecagonal planes?

Revolution, the only way
Slow down your rhymes
Precambrian steps
Deep underwater frames
Creation dies
In the back of your head

It crumbles to the ground
Victim of ultrasonic-cotton sounds
Back into floating wires and dust
The original form
Willing to become something more

Perhaps cylindrical-prism birds
Or static twisters of masked paint
Melted light, eroded heat
Amorphous haze built out of sticks
A flock of snails flying west
Yet one flew over the cuckoo’s nest

Look around…

Non-beating chains
Plastic moments, washed away
By steam pulses, infrared
Comeback of the organic reign

[Stay home and watch the rain]


Amorphous face fold
Half a diamond bowl
Spoon of flight
Peace for thought

Collectible platforms
Metaphase approach
Fractioned subjective slides
Schizophrenic mathematical

Polyphonic bubble meal
Psychedelic breakfast blue
Like orbital vertex cubes
Cotton-stone vocal quake
Delighted taste

[Yummy yummy…]


Patterns on the wall
Blue spores
In beamed particles
Low-paced stones
Vibrate below the common tone
Stomping off
The solid state of your floor

Extended fingertips
A sixth dimension added

Sprouting from the stairs
Purple-spotted voice
Cracking academic talk
Introducing the negative zone

Cognition waterfalls
The window lost its door
Free space for a walk
Universal nature, standard road
Slide line by line
All the way through the focal point
Into the beyond…


Are there fish in the sky?
My ideas asked once
While they drank in the sink
Falling over my shoulders
Such questions produce fatigue
As I inhaled fresh transparency
With no blue still around
Thought about bubbles
Being turned into clouds
No need of green smoke
To answer this doubt
The music draws unreality
Pictures, footsteps of a child
Play with my mind
Nail your hands on it and open
Just to dig up a flash
They suddenly pop out
Breaking free
With the light
Such a surprise
Yet my ideas dance
As if they knew
What used to be breathed
Is now a liquid brick
A dense one, indeed
The question expires
Fades with a sneeze
As I come back here
Perhaps an all day dream
Effects of the morning mist
Although…I look up
Just to perceive a shadow
Swimming upstream
Towards the sun
[Why not?]


Crossroads talk like trees
Staring at the street
Backboned sights
Unable to dance around
Yet instead prefer to sink
In the inverted rock pit

Gutless planets building
The most fearful liquid
Nebular night
Flowing cracks
Drowned in beauty and salt
Diamonds with no pride

Pale language
Produces greenish blush
Fingertips crash and grow
Labyrinths of submarine talk
Paper stone steps
Keep flying straight
Fastest way to get lost

Highway notes
Portals keep them cold
Trigger every verse
Beyond and beyond
Until every cloud falls
Snails shall grow and evolve

Oh, sorry about that
Took the sharpened road
Flat spikes release coral spores
Psychedelic magma floods
Should avoid looking up…

Click here to read more of César’s work.