And there you!  Btw,  McCloud stayed in room whaaaaat???   OMG.  And then... ?  This one goes out to the one(s) I love bc there's another CJ that told me his fav music is Folk.  #HashWhat?  #HashBrowns! :)  <3

"Je tuerai pour toi" est une incantation passionnelle, un chant d’amour brûlant où désir et révolte s’embrasent.
Zanzara y sculpte une poésie charnelle et rageuse, où l’intimité devient un acte de survie — fragile, sacré, incandescent.
Minimaliste et vibrante, leur musique porte ce texte comme une fièvre douce et tenace, qu’on ne peut — et ne veut — faire taire.

je tuerais pour toi

Lost in the Haze

A song about love, loss, longing, reconciliation, and the moon. All lyrics written and arranged by Chan

Chantel & Jimmy - Goddess Of The Sky

Lyrics:

Sometimes I wish that you could hold me tight
Sometimes I wish you’d never grow so tired
Of hearing me say how much I want you
Or even watching me fall like a fool
With you I always felt what it’s like
When everything seems to trap me inside
A broken vessel I can't find an escape
Afraid of words I’ll never get to say

Why do I miss you?
I miss you
I miss you
Oh...

I know it happens every time I think of you
But I can't help but think of all that we've been through
I lost control over my heart and want it back
Before the lies and hope take over my head
With you I always felt what it’s like
When everything seems to trap me inside
A broken vessel I can't find an escape
Afraid of words I’ll never get to say

Why do I miss you?
I miss you
I miss you
oh...

Why do I miss you? (prod. by dandarmawan)

Nanuk - Spaceships

Ugly Skin

Rebel

Free Spirit

I won't give up...

Songs From The Internet - a series of music productions I've found online, which I have written and recorded to, for your enjoyment.

visualiser: https://youtu.be/Plxyh4N8TSI?si=XEjjsscql9z2cmOm

lyrics:
The moment seemed to good to be true
Maybe we did it too soon
I’d do it all again

I feel you
The last part of me, you knew
You took me somewhere new
It’s all because of you

You knew how to take it out of me
And you flew, right over me
And I’m used to, giving it all to you

And you take every part of me
And you break
Every chance of hope
That I crave
It’s all because of you
Because of you
It’s all because of you
Sit here and accept my fate

Now I’m alone
I keep my breath close to my home
So I don’t trip and fall too soon
I’m never getting over you

You knew how to take it out of me
And you flew, right over me
And I’m used to, giving it all to you

And you take every part of me
And you break
Every chance of hope
That I crave
It’s all because of you

That I don’t wanna lose
That I don’t wanna move

Maybe I should move on
Set the fire
Set the fire
Burn it through the snow

production credit: https://youtu.be/Ep8gBs5rNI8?si=em5yU-f448phzMtX
written & recorded by me

Because of You

BREAKFAST WITH JUNG - When Morning Becomes Portal

What if your morning coffee ritual was actually communion with eternity?

At dawn's ragged edge, an ordinary kitchen transforms into a temple where the Collective Unconscious speaks through steam rising from tea, through faces rippling in chrome, through your grandmother's hands weaving histories into your cup.

This is Jung's most profound insight made tangible: we are never truly
alone. "In this kitchen, we are all time travellers, breaking bread with
our unborn children, while the dead pour tea with trembling hands." The ancestors lean in, hungry for one more taste of morning. The tui's song harmonizes with languages lost when Eden's gates swung shut. Even the sugar bowl holds crystals of compressed eternities.

The Collective Unconscious isn't abstract theory—it's the moment when time pools honey-thick between dreaming and day, when you realize every breakfast is simultaneously the first and the last, when eternity reveals itself as simply this: a kitchen full of ghosts at morning, passing cream across time's borders.

The beautiful female folk voice carries both depth and lightness,
making the mystical feel utterly domestic—the sacred hiding in the ordinary, the eternal folded into a cup of tea.

Tell me then, you who breakfast alone—do you see them in your morning mirror? All the faces time has worn and will wear, gathering like moths around your light?

"The collective unconscious contains the whole spiritual heritage of
mankind's evolution, born anew in the brain structure of every individual."
- Carl Jung 





Breakfast with Jung   ( Lyrics )

At dawn’s ragged edge, my kitchen becomes
A temple of ordinary prophecies
Coffee grounds like black diviner’s sand
Messages from the dead burned into toast

My grandmother’s hands emerge from steam
Weaving histories into my cup, while outside
Bougainvillaea bleeds its crimson alphabet
Across windows thin as memory’s skin

In the toaster’s chrome, faces ripple:
Great-aunts with eyes of burning coal,
Cousins carrying unborn stars in their teeth,
Children who might bloom from my bones.

Their reflections overlap like hungry ghosts,
All pressing against morning’s fragile glass.
The kettle screams with a thousand voices—
Every cup of tea ever poured flowing backwards

Through time’s copper throat. Even Jung himself
Pauses mid-bite, startled by its prophecy.
A tui splits the sky’s yolk with her song,
Harmonising with languages lost when

Eden’s gates swung shut. Her notes scatter
Like black pearls across my breakfast plate.
Time pools honey-thick in this hour
Between dreaming and day, sweet

With the marrow of memory. My spoon
Stirs ripples in the universe’s coffee cup.
The morning news bleeds through dimensions—
Every headline ever printed rising like smoke

From my coffee: wars, loves, births, extinctions
Spiral into one eternal moment of toast and tea.
Through the window, the bougainvillea
Drops petals red as birth-blood, each one

Carrying messages from the collective heart—
Semaphores from gardens of remembered light.
Watch now—as my ancestors lean in, hungry
For one more taste of morning, their shadows

Drinking light from my cup. Even the sugar bowl
Holds crystals of compressed eternities.
In this kitchen, we are all time travellers,
Breaking bread with our unborn children,

While the dead pour tea with trembling hands
And tomorrow whispers in our marrow.
Tell me then, you who breakfast alone,
Do you see them in your morning mirror—

All the faces time has worn and will wear,
Gathering like moths around your light?
Here at dawn’s clean slate,
Where every breakfast is the last breakfast,

And also the first, we drink our coffee
Black as memory, sweet as prophecy,
While Jung smiles from the doorway,
Knowing that eternity was always this:

A kitchen full of ghosts at morning,
Passing cream across time’s borders.
 
By Stephen Francis Hollins

11/October 2025

Breakfast with Jung

A Sunday in November when I walk alone in the streets of my city... I don't meet anyone, I'm very alone... so I dream, I imagine, I have the nostalgia of happier, more cheerful days. It's an autumn mood... (Un Dimanche du mois de Novembre où je marche seul dans les rues de ma ville... Je ne rencontre personne, je suis bien seul... alors je rêve, j'imagine, j'ai la nostalgie de jours plus heureux, plus gais. C'est une humeur d'automne...)

Un Dimanche de Novembre

S F H music Auckland, New Zealand

Poet • Performer • Lyricist • Composer

Stephen Hollins is a New Zealand-born Renaissance artist whose four-decade career spans many genres of theatre, opera, improvisation, performance, poetry, writing and music. He transforms his poetry into songs blending psychology, performance, innovation and technology to create emotionally resonant and meaningful music.

His latest project, "Breakfast with Jung," is a groundbreaking multimedia collection exploring Carl Jung's psychological concepts through poetry and music—transforming a 400-page manuscript of 135 poems into a nine-album/chapter series that makes depth psychology accessible through an intimate musical and poetical journey toward the authentic Self that mirrors Jung's work.
"Support my music: https://sfhmusic.bandcamp.com"

Breakfast with Jung

S F H music

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