Gravity centers my feathers around your breath, my gears tear my body open, the steam escapes. For two weeks.

Mud keeps my size in check, crown slipping down my chest, heart held in dryness cracks. For two weeks.

Waves push my mouth below the break, birds flying through my face, drowning eyes full of moonlight. From us.

Hell steals my time within a match, lips burning on a brazen word, embracing disastrous logic. For two weeks.

Bells crash against our towers, calling saints to sign the deed, unrecognizable to our chapter... After.

No friendly shadow left behind.

Labels: artform, funeral, must i say what this is, winter passing

This is one of the first poems I wrote. Still living with my parents, I wrote after midnight in the darkness of a home office, in front of a beige computer. I was a member of an online art forum...

A few computer nerds with a penchant for word porn, before any of it was hashed out to tag trends, would gather and write to find a place in the universe where we could be a pair of heart eyes. Just a pair of heart eyes. Bleeding soul meetings were attended from Sacramento, London, Montreal, anywhere with dial-up.

Our emotions were celebrated and we tried to find more of them through a poetry community. It was the birth of my sky, made up of all these wordy constellations. Not one, but many stars guided me through some tough moments. At some point, I followed one's song to the west, but that's another story for another road.

This poem, Skinned, was written around 2001. On the mathematical scale of my growth, I was at 2+2. Perception was the main theme of the year, and remained a major traffic light for a few years after that... The fertile silence of that room was a treasure I continued to seek every time I opened a window.

This poem doesn't resurface with a nostalgic tune to take me away from my seasonal dive, it's a breath of compassion, filling my lungs with a cleansing sound. The vibration of a sun swallowed whole.

How many times will we be reborn?




More tracks on SoundCloud.

Labels: alarming truthness, artform, cult, echo, From Obscure Light, Homework, must i say what this is

At long last, the promo video for my book is out. Months have past and clues have been dropped, all leading up to this vision. A dream. An act. A message to be sent. An scene to be watched, here.

Labels: appearance, future, must i say what this is, titles, tmaol

It looks empty but it's not. There is something in that jar. It could appear uninteresting from a few feet away but if you lean in close, you'll notice... something.

It has no legs, making almost unperceived miniature movements with a strange one-armed head. Freak? Perhaps. If it's what you seek. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the show.

I couldn't let it climb up that wall and leave it be. It had to pay. It had to be observed and studied so I covered it with a jar but not in a melodramatic way. Now the new world is found on the corner of a desk, ready to fall whenever luck would have it. Gather around and gaze into the mystery. Find yourself and find some friends in the glow of this everlasting thirst to know.

A desire to understand pushes hands in directions that respect would never inspire.

Labels: must i say what this is, please feel secure

Labels: festival, must i say what this is, pictures

Allô ! sacrement.

C’est long.
Un tunnel de fille.
Pense-y. Ça prend du temps.

Pense loin.
Je ne cherche pas.
C’est le mal vu qui se montre à moi.

Le silence.
Pourquoi pas ?
Mais l’écriture de la faute se fait sans dire un mot.

Je veux écrire Simon Charles.
Mais j’attends.
Je ris.
Elle n’a pas vu l’erreur que tu est.

Labels: “Do I dare?”, echo, jargon, must i say what this is, there is no ship like championship

Not something about me.


(mp3 deleted)

Labels: must i say what this is