Egg and horse — 2013/06/20

A friend recently pointed out to me that I haven't written much for a long time and was quick to wonder if I wasn't out of inspiration.


The river and humility — 2013/02/04

Night comes back to haunt the city. It's time for bed. I am still amazed at this time that passes without me being able to take a few nourishing sips.


The calm slate — 2012/11/01

My days are tinged with tiny contrasts, with ripples licking the hourly beach as if nothing was going to happen, as if everything had to be done. It's not dawn or dusk, it's nothing, and it's all there.


The struggle — 2012/10/08

What about those empty hours of the night, when you wake up, tense, between two breaths and two dreams, between two rounds of a game that is repeated and never won?


Finding your words again — 2012/03/07

I completed the reading of the Le Gardien du feu and immediately immersed myself in Letters to a young poet from Rilke. At the same time, I continue in parallel, the review of Les Mailles sanguines. The comparison of writing breaths is inevitable even if criticism, as Rilke suggests in his first letter, is unnecessary.