“I realized what the host truly is.
The interface, the space, the housing case for the transmission of your vehicle.
I’m going to break it down so I can show you it’s parts.
It has only one.
Your mind could expand it, so be careful, it is the host of your dreams, it is what encased the dream you once held.
It’s the serpent that you charm, it is the Muse you swoon.
It must be the exchange between you, the artist, and us, the audience.
It must be kept within a frame, cause if you let it out, it looks like you, it acts like you without your queue, without your say, it embellishes your soul, it envelopes your being, but not you for real, just the impression you made upon it.
It is not you, it is hosting the parts of your body and mind and sound complex that you gave it.
It works in etherical manners, it moves when you move, it holds your bar that silences your fear.
If that scares you, it gives you the bar, if you can pass it, you can be worthy of judgement upon your own work.
You be the judge.
Is the host hosting you, or are you hosting the host?
Is it real?
Is it alive?
I found that is is animal instinct, your survival expelled from your body.
When you lose the fear to die, when you stop judging yourself for the work you do, that is when you grab the reigns, the leash that is tied with silver to your being.
You control the host, it is docile, if you can train the host.
A wild animal, a ferocious animal, a creature comforts for the artists that know, it is living with you.
It wants your soul, it does not have enough power to live on it’s own.
It needs you, so you trade time for training, and the host listens to you.
It eats everything that it can before you, unless you train it.
It is a soldier, but it has no soul.
It will follow direct orders, but will not listen to another.
To everybody else, they just see you, your art, your work.
To everybody else, the host doesn’t exist.
To everyone else, the host is the devil you sold your soul to, cause all they see is talent that is so good, it must be the work of a fallen angel.
But that fallen angel is you, and your mind frame that brought this transmission back to its housing, it’s place.
And just like that, the hosting of the Muse brought you this poem. “