Pendant que le monde brûle


The world burns in stages.
First and most succinct,
The partial flame, a pyre to the dead,
An ode to those who suffer.
Burning silently among the detritus,
Memories of the past lay broken and strewn.
Naught but ephemeral bodies in a graveyard of dreams.
The tallow burns, it burns dispassionately
Creeping inexorably towards ruin
It is a lustful flame, it consumes
Even the ashes of its own passing.
Nothing is left to mourn.
C’est la dernière flamme.
The world burns in stages,
It burns completely.


I’m just herefore, Music

Music discovery is always something that I struggle with.  Finding new and interesting artists is always a challenge.

Ever so often, I have serendipitous encounters with music that immediately grabs my attention; today it is the band: Parcels – on Google Play Music.

I have never seen this band before, and I am hoping they will have an EP I can purchase soon; aside from the Herefore Remix EP linked above.

However, in the interim you may check their soundcloud:



Metroid: Project AM2R



Nintendo has not made a Metroid game in years -not counting the infamous federation force.

However, it does appear they have given their blessings order that the free fan remake of Metroid that is now free to play, be taken down.

Edit: It was fun while it lasted.

I am a huge Metroid fan, so I thought I would share.

Download at: Project AM2R



Do Better

We lose each other on days when the sun has not shined for a while.

It is in that darkness that we grow and are able to weather the light.

You and I have not spoken, we have not shared in some time.

Welcome back to my world and the dark little corner of my mind where sits my desires to express.

Expressions of nascent ideas, or perhaps ideas not fully realised and as such unfulfilled.


Bonjour mon amies, êtes-vous là?

Sinon, j’ai besoin que tu viens avec moi!


Do Better

Viscerally coerced into your world,
reluctantly poised on the edge
flowing intermittently through fractured consciousness.
Grasping at the engines of lost inspiration.
Seeking to clothe new ideas in old tropes
Yet, falling, flailing silent and quick
Envying the agency of the last drop of blood form a cracked lip.
Following those that came before
Yet seeking distinction in a world already saturated.
Stained red with ambition.



On Coming home.

What is the strength of expression?

There are some who are positive and flow like a tranquil current through life.
Then there are those who go through life navigating white water rapids, with no oar and one arm.
I often find I fit into the latter category. Wading through a mire of diffidence, littered with detritus of despondency.
Yet, I am never able to express myself way in such a way that those in the former category can understand.
Then I find music, a collective infusion of artistry. Lifting me from the cusp of the mire and imbuing a buoyancy of spirit that I have often wished to share.
Finally, I shall just share one of those moments of artistry that I most appreciate.
Listening to great music does feel like coming home.


Often, I think adding context to what I try to expressing will – somehow – extract appreciation from at least one person who reads or experiences it.
Why should I shape your experiences? Where is the joy in having a fruit eaten for you?
its juices extracted and regurgitated. Tainted and tinted with the perception of another.
What I intend and what is received by the reading may not be the same.
There is some fun   – perhaps – in wading through this small stream in the presence of one’s own company.
Thus, I shall remain tranquil and be satisfied with the reading.


In moments of silence
I converse with the multitude.
We revel in the sensory,
No why’s or wherefore.
First, tastes blossoms
My tongue , heavy with
The nectar of summer’s flower.
As it blooms my vision alights
O’er awed in its fullness
Colours flits across a rippling surface
Suppleness flowing into taut awakenings
Brilliant green melding into cerulean blues
A synaesthetic orchestra.