A silver mist, a moonlit glade,
Where ancient, whispered stories played.
The willow wept, a gentle sigh,
And she, the maiden, brave and true,
Whose heart knew what the wild winds knew,
With her arms around the unicorn's neck,
A bond of wonder, no words could wreck.


With her arms around the unicorn's neck

The summer's wild, a joyful chase,
Through fields of green, with sunlit face.
A tumble down, a laughing sound,
Now knees and shins, are earthbound.

A memory etched, a vibrant sign,
Of childhood's glee, a sweet design.
Where moments lived, in sunlit lanes,
Are told by clothes, with grass stain pains,
Covered with grass stains, truth remains.

Covered with grass stains

In velvet skies, a silent gleam,
Strange lights awake, a whispered dream.
No earthly star, no moon's soft grace,
But hues that dance in empty space.
A shimmer there, a sudden flare,
Then vanish, leaving questions bare.

Strange lights

Your head rested gently on my chest,
As I held you close, never wanting to rest,
In that moment, everything felt right,
Cradling you in my arms, under the pale moonlight.

Cradling her in my arms

The shadows stretched, a velvet deep,
Where weary hearts their secrets keep.
The night held fast, a somber sway,
And chased the fading, fragile day.

Then, whispers soft, a gentle gleam,
Dreams of light offered small consolation, it would seem.
A fleeting warmth, a phantom's grace,
Against the cold, time's empty space.


Dreams of light offered small consolation

In city's hush, where neon gleams,
The astral watchers lift their dreams.
Blue night descends, a velvet shroud,
As distant starlight softly vowed.

Above the towers, sharp and tall,
They seek the cosmos, hear its call.
Each silent gaze, a yearning deep,
Where cosmic secrets softly sleep.

Astral watchers, in the blue,
Find wonder old, forever new.

Astral watchers

Bartholomew, a snail of considerable experience, found himself in a predicament. He was, to put it mildly, stuck. Not in the quicksand-and-heroic-rescue kind of stuck, but more the "I've been on this same patch of concrete wall for two days and the sun is really starting to make my shell feel like a microwave" kind of stuck. A lesser snail might despair, might give up the dream of ever reaching that succulent patch of moss just inches above his head.

But Bartholomew? He just adjusted his eyestalks, let out a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh, and thought, "Not my first rodeo." He'd faced stickier situations, literally. There was the time he got glued to a discarded lollipop stick for a week, or the unfortunate incident with the particularly viscous spilled soda. This concrete wall, while challenging, was just another Tuesday. He slowly, deliberately, began to secrete more slime, inching forward with the resolve of a seasoned pro. He knew, with the quiet confidence of one who had seen it all, that eventually, he would conquer this wall. He always did.

Not my first rodeo

To try and delay the erasure of memories, she carefully preserved every letter and photograph, knowing that time would inevitably fade the details.


Retarder l'effacement

When feelings start to intertwine, And hearts begin to draw the line, One day it's clear, the next it's blurred, A whispered hope, then not a word. It's hard to tell just what is true, When all you get are mixed signals from you.

Mixed signals

A tiny speck, with shell so red,
A grand ambition in her head.
She’d climb the mountains, cross the sea,
A global ruler, wild and free.
From garden patch to city's hum,
Her tiny march had just begun.
With every step, a mighty stride,
No place on Earth could truly hide.
The ants would cheer, the bees would buzz,
"She's conquering!" the whole world fuzzed.
And as her reign began to bloom,
She stood among the chosen, facing down all gloom.

Among the chosen

I'm a French individual, born in 1970, and I vividly remember the advent of personal computer-based music production, ushered in by the first affordable digital keyboards and samplers. Music, and especially creating it with machines, is my enduring passion, though it remains a cherished hobby. My aspiration is to compose for modern dance companies, an endeavor I find incredibly fulfilling.

I'm fascinated by how technology enables us to craft intricate musical pieces and master music theory with greater ease. Throughout my life, music has been a steadfast companion during challenging times. My ultimate goal is to paint "emotional landscapes" using sounds and rhythms, evoking feelings and imagery through my compositions.

New tracks tagged #acoustic textures