What do *you* use when changing life-lanes?

******************************

LYRICS

Humans claim that they don't play games
world keeps running on 
signals signals

Cue the sting, whatchoo wanna bring
What lies in your heart bio loom nascent to mouth
let me sing

What's wrong with a bit of honest signaling?
What's wrong with a bit of honest signaling?
What's wrong what's wrong what's wrong what?

Red string, who you wanna ring
Playin' with your part toxin bloom inflamin' the south
do your thing

(People pleased just to lay down blame)
(say they're slaves to the)
(signals signals)

What's wrong with a bit of scented signaling?
What's wrong with a bit of honest signaling?
What's wrong what's wrong what's wrong what?

***

Accrue the bling, down giants with a sling
What cries through dead arts diode doom pacing you out
take your swing

What's wrong with a bit of costly signaling?
What's wrong with a bit of honest signaling?
What's wrong what's wrong what's wrong what?

Cue the sting, whatchoo wanna bring 
What lies in your heart bio loom nascent to mouth
let me sing

(People pleased just to lay down blame)
(say they're slaves to the)
(signals signals)

What's wrong with a bit of honest signaling? 
What's wrong with a bit of honest signaling?
What's wrong what's wrong what's wrong what?

*****

Signals

I've always been chasing, really...

(Shifting gears with this one, channeling a hint of retro French ballad/a dash of synthpop layering/a dollop of days gone by vibe while not-so-subtly self-retrospectively fanboy-idolizing the most important influence in my life... a wholly fictional character.)

*****************************************
Full disclosure: This is really @steve-fullyard's fault (with maybe @john-termaat 's latest track "Only You" also sharing some of the blame...). After coming across his own musical offerings a month or so ago, his timeless old-school synthwave vibe, ridiculous creativity, and a dedication to some days not that far passed struck all the right nostalgic chords and essentially forced me to come up with this latest oddity.  I wouldn't blame you if you went over and listened to his works and likewise Actively Vision-fell into the same delightful Pitfall I did...


**********************************
LYRICS

Il était une fois un p'tit garçon tête-tordu
Ah 
quelle scène pitoyable

Du jour à nuit il s'enfuit 
dans ses visions infinies 
missions vivides, le chevalier des chavirés

Chaque année, sait naviger yeux cillants d'ses idees
pas une fois encore naufré
littoral jaimais touché
s'apprend de plus à chaque journée
échapper les récifs, mots surjetés, 
ces bancs sablés cachés sous vagues, 
nausée dite  
réalité

Il était une fois

***

The windmill thrives
When the Zephyr blows

The dream survives
Where the tide swell grows
The sailor sighs
carried down by flows

The sun's slow rise
over fresh-knit snows
While rainbows cry
For all that we know

And the end draws nigh
While the Zephyr...

*****************************************

Le p'tit garçon - The Windmill

I've been accused of worse...

***********************************************
Just one of those can't-stop-brain-from-humming days today, where something pops in your head and the only way to purge oneself is to make a tiny simple track out of it asap.

LYRICS
Accuse me of magic but
Nothin's up my sleeve

While world tries to sell me
Pop-ups to believe

Guess I'll try breathing
Maybe the air sets me free

I swear it's this easy
Just open my eyes to see

***********************************************

Accuse Me

Something more traditional/folksy I've been chipping away at for a bit, struggling to flesh it out with more instrumentation. However, the more I listen to its currently bare-cupboard, acoustic vocals+piano arrangement, maybe it's simply *meant* to remain rough and rudimentary?

So please pay no attention to the little finger flubs here and there, and just let yourself get washed over by the orange waves of the Northumberland Strait, where I grew up and where my childish heart still beats.

***

Orange waves crash then go
Stealing sand with its ebb and flow
Holes dotting cliffsides' red clay
Where the swallows sleeping lay

Beyond green edge a homestead puffs away
Hurls hardwood smoke through cold blue
Rocking chairs paired, slowly rotting grey

Island smiles from across the way
Thin dark line splits Strait and sky
It flickers ghostly, hovers fey
Once Ile Saint-Jean, now PEI

Each flat stone we throw from the beach
With dreams to skip, perhaps to fly
All doomed to sink, the island never reached
Drowning jealous of the driftwood swimming by

As full moon flirts with blushing tide
Salt waters sink and sandbars swell
Before they change their minds and hide
I take their path to Mount Carmel

Beyond green edge a homestead puffs away
Hurls hardwood smoke through cold blue
Rocking chairs paired, slowly rotting grey

At Trois-Ruisseaux I wait for you
At Trois-Ruisseaux I wait for you
Trois-Ruisseaux

Orange Waves (acoustic rough)

Been accidentally projecting a false sense of normalcy of musical late. This new snippet is meant to rectify that and restore the odd-sam i-m balance...

(...or maybe I just like to make up weird vocals 'cause the Down Below wants what the Down Below wants?)


************************************************
Miss Information shoving every to and fro
Quivering mass of hips no-stare these here-oh-types you know
From the tik-tok timing of the clik-clok priming money-making 
          Shutter-griming of your neural flow

Miss Information shoving every to and fro
Quivering mass of hips no-stare these here-oh-types you know
From the tik-tok timing of the clik-clok priming money-making 
          Shutter-griming of your neural flow

But WHOAAAAA... 
take
it 
slow 

Neck Deep in the social snow
Stat-ick stream of ins-and-outs
but don't forget to breathe
and Let yourself fall
Fall to the Down Below

and Let yourself fall
Fall
Fall to your Down Below

************************************************


[and yes, all those vocals are just me and a bit of reverb -- no other effects or sound trickery. I really *can* sound that weird and creepy.]

The Down Below

Why does this You-n-I-verse allow the Best of Us to Age and Crumble when they have given us so much and asked for so little in return?

True Superheroes should live forever, g-dammit.

********************************************
LYRICS

After the first, Scared shadow of a man
stares at me 
and says “I see myself, son’s eyes scream everything”

Then he says,

“Not so long ago, I’m in your place, 
glare at own dad’s face
and hear myself, Confused and questioning”

At what moment in the growing weight 
of a life does it break one’s back
at what point does one run away from the light
and pray to fade through to the black?

He struggles to explain, 
but thought and memory soar free 
from a plaintive self
the strain so deafening

In this fluorescent silence 
a gap of decades 
and five feet separate our selves
why can’t I say anything?

Awkward moments, statements slur together, 
can’t even sense if he is still himself
where is the one who for years kept us glued together?

Where is the father who raised us from the start
that Big Red lug who moved mountains 
with his superman heart
Where is that strength when he needs it to live
Why does world take from one who only knows how to give?

***

Second time worse, three days and nights in straps and drips, 
full-intubated self
scared, darting eyes that don’t see anything

At what moment in the growing weight 
of a life does it break one’s back
at what point does one run away from the light 
and pray to fade through to the black?

Where is the father who raised us from the start
that Big Red lug who moved mountains 
with his superman heart
where is that strength when he needs it the most
how do I stop a soul from leaving its fraying host?

Moving Mountains - The Two Attempts

I am sorry for my absence. 

But I am much more sorry for having lost my father on May 24, 2022. He was far too good for this world, yet this world was never nearly as good to him in return. 

Please give me time. *He* certainly wasn't given enough, and this ungrateful world is so much poorer for it.

Still Not Really Making Progress (rough sketch of times)

Still processing my father's loss, and struggling to put fingers to keys of late. But I know that I need to push through this wail and return to the you-n-i-verse eventually.

He'd want it that way.

***************
LYRICS

The Truth about axes
is they smash through the frays
of the eyes and the neighs,
chunk rough trunks in their ways,
but harvest vines and scythed hays
are immune somehow

And then my father died


The thing about truths
is they burst veins with their use
as they bump and they bruise
debase and abuse
while made-up monks gussy down for pastel plaster plays,
giddy-thrup and are amused somehow

As they watch my father die


To axe about things
that make wishes with rings
grains of sooth waxed to wings
whether leather or feather
they weather the soul with
the truths that they bring
sun-drunk lay in their daze 
flippant, mince with loose ways
and flap lips like goosed fools

While my father dies

The Truth About Axes

It's been far too long and I may be too far gone, yet the You-N-I-verse has not given up on me... 

This June, I skulk in the Panhandle State -- 13 months after dad slipped away -- and for somewhy, my Down Below thrums again.

This is an intro teaser track, to maybe wet pallets while I weigh means to whet my Muse-aic-all Stone. Yeah, it's a word-less shortie, but I am seized by the worlds beyond, wherein percolates much more.

An album beckons. Just you wait.

Getting Back In Game -(Teaser Intro for an album)

I am ME, and I am You-min. Anything else within these two lines is simply... All Good. 

Making up boxes, no matter how one frames it, is just prop-a-gating the same ole' divisive cracks under a fresh coat of bad faith-paint. So stop marking up tribal bounds, and instead, let's all BOND within the only Spectrum that should really matter: this gorgeous You-n-I-verse that we all share.

****************************************************  
LYRICS

How do you grope about
with eyes popped wide when there's no view 
of what stretches behind the salt suss-pression of 
your sticky-sweater skin?

Do fingers ball up, full exploratory-like
Flail away in fistfuls
Fuzzy flurry of Punch & Ply
Do digits dance delicate 'twixt the dunes
to dowse what fiery diary swells within?

***

Why do we trope around
Big Lies plopped down wide open, peer-review
a spectrum skew molded by-the-bi trap within?

Genitalia vibrant stroke impressions
Hexadex or Binary, veiled hue expression
'Box be box' in spite of facets or dimension --
it still walls us in...

***

What makes a fellah-fellah
...stakes a sistah-sistah
...slakes a mallow-yellow
...wakes a mistah
Whoda howda whyda focus on special 
kindsa tribal lines and gloves?

What fakes a feelah-feelah
...cakes a mistah-sistah
...shakes a twistah-listah
...breaks a blistah
why wouldn't ya want an all-encompassing 
kinda it's-all-good full life to love?

***

Why do the hokey-pocus
...lose the larger focus
...choose the lie that chokes us
...rue the roost with spose-dahs?

You R you N you Are you-min
time to toss the tribes
and share one

LOVE

****************************************************

Gro(w)ping Thru The F(l)og

Originally this was going to be a sing-songy track, but then my fingers couldn't stop strolling in the deep end deed-tales, and now we're all entangled by yet another instru-mental.

Soar-y.

In The Weeds, Fingers Entangled Firmamently

One of my earliest attempts at figuring out how to record and mix music in my basement... for some reason, still a sentimental favorite, and not just for Rhodes sound-alike keys. (also, first time I ever tried harmonizing with myself... yipes!)

********************************************
Rain -- days where there's no appeal
to what I feel so -- plain
the wet's to blame

Each drip-drop dulls the lazy brain
it all feels the same
it all feels the same

Rain -- slicks onto bristle skin
slip-swallows pigment -- drains 
sucks sun from flame

Each splish-splash drowns the hazy stain
do you feel the same?
how can't you feel the same?

But streaming skywards
you surprise and glow
you reverse the flow
and i love you

And swimming cloudwise
waves caress you and grow
you rise and let yourself go
and i love you

Meanderthal

Blame the Rain

Cacofolie

Haven't we *all* experienced one too many of these nights?

...  O_o

*************************************************
So in the middle we start
With the story you know
Where the body screams sleep 
But the brain says no
And we can't switch off the show
'Cause heart's come too far gone to slow
And there's still
An endless loop ways to go

Towards an end we've muddled while
The pictures crow
When the bottle drains deep
And the embers glow
But you can't flip off the flow
'Cause heart's come too far gone to slow
Please go still
Nothin's

Still

How can I stop from feeling this way
How can you stop
Me
From feeling?

Falling into through I follow shadows lead me astray
The pattern 

Stops

Needle
Drips-
Drops

I'm falling

In dark soaked sheet counter
Where you just don't know
If your next drawn breath
Rattles last bone throes
Manic tick-tock undertow

Thin keening temple's wailing woe
Blood boom bloom's pounding afterglow

So in the middle we end
While the story still grows
When the embers burn deep
And the brain counts crows
And we slip beneath the snow
'Cause heart's gone too far calm to slow
Please be still
Oh can't you bleed 
still


How can I stop from feeling this way
How can you stop
Me
From feeling?

Falling into through I follow shadows lead me astray
The pattern 

Stops

(feeling)

Moon Tremors

Written while listening to waves and watching sun sink slow until completely enGulfed, in late May 2019...

Bolso de Gatos @ Siesta Key (instrumental interlude)

You left too soon. I should have been a better example of what you reached out for while you were still here.

For Austin (en mémoire)

No, really. I have no better explosions left. 

Sorry.

*********************************

I save my best explosions in a Mason jar
It keeps those fractured crystal cluster fancies close 
When my rough reach strays too far
Wet neon skidmarks ‘cross the floor
Perfumed hand smudges on your open door
I save my best explosions

You spin that golden earbox ‘till your thumbs are raw
Each brush of desktop destiny well packed with straw, 
Notes crumple, still skinned in awe 
while stagnant symbols streak slick phone;
tribal runes roam Stranger Danger Zones

HEY… LOOK… HERE….
HEY…
HEY… I’M… HERE…
HEY… I’M… HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE…

My Best Explosions

Ain't it, tho?




(image is excerpt of "Sad Clown", by artist Mark Hosford)

Ain't It Wunnerful

Always at the edge of my vision, I know you're real.
You're real. I'm not crazy.

...

(But am I crazy for craving your reality?)

************************************

Alderney, you flit seductively across my Bay
And with each wave you crest I’m hypnotized by the sway
Why won’t you stay?

Alderney, what secret truths await beyond your quay?
And will you whisper the price of passage I must pay
For you to give way

Stay with me, Alderney fairy fantasy -- but wild red hair,
Pale green eyes stare, then float away…

Alderney Faerie

Icy Whether Forecast (half-soused first scrawls)

Something stuck deep down in my craw that came gushing out about the one single person who fills me with infinite oooh and awe; the sole reason for my successful survival that I  so desperately never want to scare away...

[ADDED NOTE: this is my own final version of the original stripped-down vocal/piano snippet shared with the other two of the Tres ODDmigos when I first was thinking about seeking assistance with percussion and style, then decided to incite a wacky three-person, four-part experiment/challenge with both @goodboycheerleader and @lossketches that somehow amusingly resulted in my own interpretation of my own sketch ultimately having NO percussion whatsoever!

And for that, I must blame the magnificent Kishi Bashi (https://www.kishibashi.com), whose 2015 'String Quartet Live' album absolutely enraptured me while I was recently recovering from a nasty puck-to-throat injury...

Mr. Steak, you are truly Grade A!!!]

***************************************************

If I snuck snippets of feeling in poems or plays,
Would you divine their true meaning?
If I plunked passions toward you in some rhythmical way,
Would you catch what I was gleaning?
How could I smile at you with more than lips and eyes
So you’d know just what I’m scheming?
What can I say or do so it’s no surprise?

When you get dressed by the bed before you go away
You always set my insides screaming
Replaying that scene in my head through the rest of the day
Sweet torturous form of daydreaming
What kind of spell could I weave to hypnotize
Entice you into never leaving?
What can I say or do so it’s no surprise?

What sequence of syllables strung to suggest I come in
Will open your doors for an evening?
What password of fingers soft tracing bare glistening skin
Will crack your code, send senses reeling?
What kind of charm could I spin to mesmerize
Beguile you into true believing?
Each moment of frenzy and firework in your eyes

Heated proof that we’re not dreaming...

What can I say or do so it’s no surprise?

***************************************************

No Surprise (Francois Strung-out-O-vision)

*****************************************************

If I squint past pinhead pupils
I’d swear I see your ageless angel soul
But pill-clipped wings, sewn straight-up
Jacket no chaser—
Case-bound Sectioned 8 behind fear-filled holes

“Ça fait pas d’bon sens”
A Vinyl-scratch refrain
Too soon the Rorscharch reel resets
Bushel of minute doses whiled away
Entangled neur-emotion begets
Unsure ending rendered sun sets
Too soon the Rorscharch reel resets

Perambulated, delicately adorned 
Hospital blanketed across fear-filled halls in-
Security in-finite trappings of in-side panic
A wheelchair forth and two steps back 4B
‘Till it’s Get Me To Bed

The up-down process laid flat
Roll you in lock the wheels
Slip off sandals when you sink caught into cot, 
age forming Foetal fortress of arms and legs but
Don’t forget the pillow between the knees
Don’t forget
Don’t forget 

Then the usual Sixty or so seconds
A Clockwork of hands that start a Quaker
Shake N Bake, crescendo of tremors
Vibrato-ed upwards ‘till they strike the dour brow
A mouth alarms
“C’a pas d’bon sens” “C’a pas d’bon sens” 

amassed muscular emaciation tenses 
with frenzied emancipation 
Get me up get me up Get me up get me up
This record-skip chorus
As the psych-lical song-and-dance
Starts anew
While I stare directly into corroded steel blue

Peer into peerless black hole piercings, blanked-out bulge of irises 
And I see you ageless angel
Pinned down and dying
With each frantic breath, stepping helpless
Screaming silent 
towards the soul-owed entrance
this intricate
Inescapable 
anxiety trance

How do I help you stop the dance
How can I help you stop this song and dance
How do we stop this song
How do we stop

How do we stop

How do we stop

The View Through Fear-filled Holes

Sometimes it's okay to admit/accept that some people can be a little smarter than us, especially when they are trying to save our lives...

Science is not a conspiracy -- don't be tricked by the virus of ignorance!

**********************************************
Oboy, the news I heard today
Stay home the wary leaders say

I fear inflection’s taken me
Blue-metered prison let me be

Don't mask your words, I’ll let you through
Soap bubble said to keep me true

Oh no, then Science shambles in
Tricked, virus enters — I lose, it wins.

Indecent Social Distinsanity (phlegmy first build)

Older people should have no excuse in this day and age for outdated discrimination and intimidation based on -types-, and younger people even LESS so. 

C'mon, every YOU-n-I-verse out there. Smarten up and realize that us hoo-mans are much more than just boy/girl, black/white, weak/strong. We're freaking BEAUTIFUL.

And we can ALL be better.

Better!

********************************************
[INTRO]
Un bienvenu chalereux à tous et toutes
au sous-sol émotif François Cormier,
imagino-diffusé au plein revers de vos ondes stéréodéfinotypes...
ayant comme but ce soir de redéfinir vos délires
en haute-illusion, ces dimensions 4-cassées...


[LEAD]
In enlightened information age one would infer
Everything should logically just be better, better
Should be intuitive, to get ahead the winning trick’s simple
as People hunkering down, and all working together, together 

So why the stumble-step, with so many willfully inept, 
Living in a past that just can’t accept
How booking by the surface scratches itch, 
Aggravates a deeper wound, time to ditch
Golden-idol ideal that skin or sex sells
What’s real


Does picking on the world and raining rage on boys or girls
Make you really feel anything other than redder and wetter?
Wetter?

And I really can’t find the words to say
Why so many folks excuse it all away
And don’t try to be better, better

And I really can’t find the words to say
Why so many folks excuse it all away
And don’t try to be better, better

And I really can’t find the words to say

And I really can’t find the words to say

Why can't we be better?
Why can't you all just be better? 
Better?

Better Bitter Candid Candy

A frenetically soul-full, Frank-ciful re-imagining of a fantastic Paula Varela (@themetaphorsenthusiast20)original acoustic song, with her permission!

Original song and lyrics are all Paula's; all the weirdness and added silly gunk throughout is France-wah's fault... (sorry?)

Paula's original acoustic version can be found here: https://soundcloud.com/themetaphorsenthusiast20/half-love

Thank you so much for letting me play with your beautiful music, Paula!  :D

********************************************

Half-Love (a re-imagination)

Black lives matter. 

Racism is alive and well in Canada. I've got a lot to learn and put into practice. Some of you might, too?



****************************************************

Time to power through the white noise pollution
open ear to what un-just is happenin' here
not happenstance this deadly retribution
no victims of chance, these broad-stroke chalk-em-up smears

but a world blocking choice, 
deliberated jammin' up of gamed-out gears
en-forced silence of pained dark flesh hoisted up
in twenty score years of blood sweat and tears
message drowning in mud, hate, and fears


Stereocilia - a staircase array of ten thousand tendrils
micrometers tall should not be so high to overcome
let the ripple flow through this aqueous solution
if you would only listen crystal cochlear it would become


but no, numb and dumb to the 
shockwaves you spout, decimate
legit complaint with Mosquito Teen Buzz debate

in excessive use decibel force through each high-pitched shriek,
poor excuses piling deep like the bodies 

with every word you speak

You talking is not the point
this particular mic's not meant for me or you



social hearing loss engendered 
by prejudice not presbycusis
spruced-up wood-rot race tends to creak the loudest
But don't preach perplexing for what went on in Powderhorn
Attune your phonology don't croon forced ideology


('cause it's)
Time to power through the white noise pollution
open an ear to what un-just is happening here
the ripple flow could be crystal cochlear
if you could only listen

****************************************************
https://blacklivesmatter.com/

The White Noise Pollution

Not all is as it seems at the Palace. But surely young, pure-hearted Jibby can't be in on it, too...

...can he?

***************

(This Deranged Duo[dd] was carved up by @goodboycheerleader and @francois-john-cormier -- the 2nd release from "Land of Grub".)

***************

Hey… ho… what’s that
Poking through the Cauliforest
Whoa… Hey… is that
The Candy Palace?

Scratch its sticky surface
Slickly walls rise high like sweetbread
Fingers squeezing sky… from Grub’s Asparagully
Baskin’ in thick lick-lacquer

***

Welcome Grublords and ladies
To these heady salad days
So Nice to Meat you all
Now join us in our ingrained Rise, your harvest-Fall

Welcome grubgourds and pastries
To be-heady salad blades
My vice to grate you all
Now join us in whole grained surprise, your harvest-Fall
This miller’s tale, the cull is called

***
Burning tumour of rumour that seethes
Shallow tremors in golden layers breathe
through Duke’s sticky halls and steep deep
what might sleep in scoured floorboards Beneath

But creep discreet, as sure as Rollo’s sneak
Never openly stare at King Chunk’s derriere
They say many have sunk
Paid the price for an unwary peek

Pearlescent graze of a hapless populace
Swallowed whole by the Under Sound

But your owned eyes glaze over
you drown in his caramel gaze
honey-Hypnosis whirl, everyone obeys
The jelly haze will
Worm right through
And now it’s far too late for you

***

Oh… hey.. what’s that
Leeking out from the Cauliforest
Whoa… Hey… I’d swear that must be
The Candy Palace?

Walking the sprinkle path
These sunny ways
Will the next wanderer
Trip themselves up-
Double Down towards darker days?

The Candy Palace (a Frank n GoodBoy DUO[dd])

Something that struck me (figuratively) on way home from work tonight... going to  end up w/ Frank-like words and vox in a few days for sure, but for now here is a prelim instrumental First Impression of my most recent Feels re: 2020 and/or Life So Far.

[Nutshell sum-up: Life is indisputably Good, even if not always any Big (perceived) Payoff in a given Space/Time, and despite plenty o' causal cosmic complimacations...]

The Good Stuff Song (instrumental prelim draft)

[TLDR BLURBAGE (FULL VERSION BELOW FOR THE READAHOLOLICS)] 

I listened to an older original this week and realized how atrocious I was at mixing back then, so decided to try again. What a difference -- my ME-rror seems so much clearer now.

Muddled original version: https://soundcloud.com/francois-john-cormier/mirrors

******************************************
LYRICS

Hurry red hair slide yourself near
Over here
What’s to fear
From me... rrors?

Blurry fixture hang yourself clear
Can you hear
broken pieces
crawl

Tide’s entrancement via Janus moon
In backwards bloom
Scene reflects on silk sheet waves attuned
Consumed in rhythmic ruin

So hurry red hair slide yourself near
Over here
What’s to fear
From me... rrors?

(Sightlines puzzle out a Janus moon
In backwards bloom
Scene reflects on grayscale stale perfume
through lovers’ rhythmic ruin)


******************************************
[FOR THE READAHOLICS!]
July 7/20: For some reason, three unrelated people (as far as I can tell) this past week took a deep-dive into my humble SCloud catalogue and listened to one of my favorite older originals. I decided to listen to it again myself, and quickly realized how poorly mixed it was -- a bunch of audio effects sloppily slapped onto my vocals, strange haphazard panning and overall overcompensation all over the map, resulting in a muted, muddled mix. Just goes to show how little I understood, and how undeveloped my own ear was just three years ago...

Since then, I appear to have learned a lot more (still a long way to go, of course!).

So I decided to remix and even Master it. This actually marks the first time I have ever tried Mastering a song, in fact -- all previous uploads of mine on SCloud are self-mixed but were never mastered, because I didn't know how and/or did not try to teach myself yet. I essentially stripped down all the audio effects from 2017, leaving only some light 'verb and delay for vocals (probably my two favorite effects, anyway), and a little saturation for some of the instrumentation. Most importantly, I cleaned up the audio for the piano, letting the acoustic chords shimmer with a more natural and wholesome vibe.

I don't know about you, but I think that the difference is more than palpable... like I scrubbed down a cloudy, dust-crusted mirror with ammonia and now it shines, reflecting crystal clear like it always should have...

I hope you enjoy the difference (and for any/many of you who will hear this for first time, I hope you will enjoy it!).

[here is link to original, if you're curious: https://soundcloud.com/francois-john-cormier/mirrors ]

Mirrors (Remixed and Mastered)

There's plenty of room in this You-n-I-verse for everyone, and so much incredible experience to share. Stop being so obsessed with obsolete boundaries and hurtful self-limitation -- time to simply Grow With The Flow...

C'mon. Let's Go Play.

**********************************************
LYRICS

Let's go play
Crayon wherever you feel
Who says formal social dotted lines were 
truly ever real

What do you say?
Macro to forest scene scale
oh so much beauty to absorb
and even more love to exhale

Let's Go Play

To only Colour 'tween the strokes cross-borderlinin' obscene
Shouldn't matter who you know, from where you're born, 
or why 
you've been

Hit or miss-take, give, take a breath, that's the gist                                                 
Inspiration everywhere just waiting 
perspirate to be kissed

***

No need for complex
inter-play 
should generate a lust for life 
through all aspects
of light or dark each grain each shade of grey is still 
a hue

so why don't you brush up 'gainst this intimiate u-n-i verse
swipe away pretense, 
let's strip down -- 
context, and just 
converse

*****************************************************

Let's Go Play

Worst poet wanna-being worster singsong-person. 

Lost to learning. Living the attempt.

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