first 50 persons who pre-order this book will be offered a color
ex-libris of one of the images in the book (see preview below)
as a limited edition numbered and signed by the author and the book itself will be
signed by the author.
the 15 first persons who pre-ordered the book only it will
be clad in a silver
colored cardboard box.
directly in English between 2001 and 2004 (plus a few texts added between 2004
and 2006), these short poems, illustrated with photographies by the writer
have travelled a lot before, accompanied with 4 short-stories (three of
them previously unpublished), they won the hearts of the reading-commitee
of Le Calepin Jaune Éditions.
The atmosphere, in the poems and the
landscapes in this book, which is also a tribute to Jim Morrison, wears a
tinge of surrealism as it evolves through the fantastic genre
short-stories (presented both in English and in French languages) and the
companion website created and maintained by the author dedicated to
this book since its conception back in 2001 to its possible sequels in the
near future is now available.
the third day, as twilight dawned, an impressively strong storm raged
above the Reservation. The trees and the waters of the lake were agitated
in green and grey waves which, mixing with the darker gray of the clouds
gave an impression of wanting to engulf and swallow us up. Big heavy
raindrops were crashing on the ground and a devilish wind was whistling in
our ears. Lightning was regularly beating down the surroundings and big
white lightning bolts were crossing the horizon.
the Thunder-Bird,” Too-Large proudly told me, “flashing lightning
bolts with his eyes while the beating of his wings generates blasts of
remained at the window of the shack, fascinated, ready to trigger my Kodak
as soon as I would catch a glimpse of the Bird himself, but I did not see
the next morning, I woke up early and proceeded to have a walk through the
forest. There, surrounded by immense trees, I felt all the power and truth
of Nature. I walked effortlessly in the luminous freshness of the woods
and came to a place where the vegetation was changing. I was not very
learned in botanic, but it seemed to me that the high trees around me now
were birches. Their leaves were a light bright green, their trunks, with
silvery shades, were outlined by the pale gold rays of the rising sun
which shimmered through the foliage as well. The cluster of trees was
getting less dense and it seemed I caught sight of the water scintillating
between the sunlight-filigreed leaves. At that instant I thought I was
transported to some imaginary country and prepared to come across some elf
or forest fairy. As I proceeded, I glimpsed a wood boardwalk, made of
light-colored logs, laid as in magic on the glittering water of the lake.
And seated there on that jetty, facing me, was a young Indian.
Ikon" (poem) :
a cult unborn
in the comfortless wilderness of pixels and binary codes
is angry and little girls are lost
women weep in the beast’s embrace