Letter from an old man
The times, they are a-changin’, and your old man can barely keep up with them. Everything moves so fast, and I… I feel so slow.
A collection of words
The archive
poems X stories
100 pieces
White lights and blue gowns
The old man stood still under one of the room’s bright white lights. He sat silently on a pale plastic chair, both arms resting on his lap. His blue hospital gown barely covered his wrinkled knees.
Paint it black
We all thought we were so unique, so different, but in the end we were pretty much all the same.
Tombstone
I know it’s been a damn long while since you saw me around these parts. Here, I brought you flowers.
Bet again
Are we bound to carry our flaws until our legs fail; until our heart quits; until our mind snaps? Can we really escape ourselves?
A day in Vernazza
He got out the train. It was a beautiful, sunny day in Vernazza. He had just said goodbye to his friend in Cinque Terre’s first colourful village, Riomaggiore. A lot of people were walking around him, mostly tourists. He smiled.
Coming home
Mother, I’m coming back home. I miss the smell of your love-stuffed meals; you pressing me to help myself to another serving.
Une dernière ride de char
Avais-tu les mains sur le volant, juste avant de partir? Pendant que le gaz s’infiltrait en silence dans l’auto, étais-tu conscient d’où tu t’en allais?
A Siargao story
I am typing this on my cellphone with my left hand only. My right hand is of no use right now, stranded in an arm sling along with the rest of my arm. Five days ago I had a serious motorbike accident. A stupid mistake for which I can only blame my reckless self.
Try
Listen, I know it ain’t easy. I know the tears come more often than we’d like them to. And I won’t lie to you: it won’t get any easier. It never will. But it’s alright. The heartbreaks, the pain, the anxiety, the struggles… it’s all alright
Dreams
It doesn't happen every night. I could tell you it did, but I won't pretend to be tormented on a daily basis. Still, it happens at least once a month.
Creekside
There’s a guy standing at a busy crossroads. He’s smoking a cigarette, oblivious to the cars and lights flashing past him.
Words he never said
Now I’m dead Tell them I made my own bed And I’m sleeping in it forever Tell them about my head And how it only used to make things harder
Touché-coulé
Je veux vous noyer sous un océan de mots Et faire du langage une de vos seules vérités
Ton paquet de cigarettes
Lui? C’était pas vraiment ton âme soeur, ni ton amoureux. Ni ton chum, ni ton homme. Non. C’était plus comme ton paquet de cigarettes.
Lifeguard
Hanging in there while they stop and stare Isn’t there at least one lifeguard in the crowd? This kid’s in too deep, he’s about to drown In a pool of dark brown pricy poison
Dose
Votre voiture automatique, polie chaque week-end, vos enfants, polis en public, vos parents, fiers, vos voisins, jaloux, votre job, payant, votre vie, illusoire.
Crie
Quand tu seras plus capable Quand le silence deviendra insupportable Crie Crie fort Prouve au monde que t’as encore de la voix
Crazy
I guess the day you accept you’re crazy is the day you find peace. Nothing else matters, that kind of shit. Everybody’s crazy, you know.
Tripes vidées, engagées
J’ai un démocratique désillusionné dans la tête Un anarchiste amer dans le coeur Et un fasciste fanatique dans les pantalons Comment veux-tu que je prenne des bonnes décisions?
Summer evening (part 3)
Campfire’s burning slowly. It’s a dark, quiet night. We’re out of town, miles away from any urban center.
Summer evening (part 2)
It’s been a long, hot day. As the sun went down though, wind got stronger. It’s colder now. People wear sweaters and shorts. It’s the kind of summer evening us folks in Quebec are used to.
Summer evening
A pair of beautiful legs, barely hidden by a colourful summer dress. Killer stare, killer smile. There’s a friend by her side playing the guitar, doing a great job.
Do not give up
What suicide, love, writing, my job, my anxiety and breaking my spine taught me.
Coupures
Si vous croyez l’heure grave, détrompez-vous : le pire est à venir. Vous ne l’admettez pas encore, mais, au plus profond de vous, vous le savez.