Faux départ
The clock seems to cheat: each second marks a pause that holds its breath. The streets look deserted and yet multiply silent invitations. Before leaving, everything freezes in the hesitation of an unmoving gaze.
Complete discography
Music
Each song opens its own landscape.
Singles, EPs and albums. Each release has its own light, movement, and direct listening links.
Aimant secret
They whisper in half-voices; the night receives those short phrases that stitch the world back together. One word is enough for gestures to find their route again, like a magnet that rekindles cold paths.
Glacis
The carriage runs along the north, windows stitching towns and a light folding maps; a book placed serves as a window, and the rain that comes in keeps the trajectory of names until the hesitant dawn.
Le musée à l’heure de fermeture
The key finishes its turn, the hall exhales a blue calm; footsteps fade on the waxed floor, the display cases close their eyelids. In that instant, each painting lowers its voice and catches its breath.
Canopée
The branches bend like patient sentences; someone follows their arc, finds stars caught in the foliage, and is amazed to be at once lost and borne by the heights.
Pruine (Instrumental)
Neons trace lines across the cold tiles; the space breathes in measured breaths, the window holds a wash of noise, the tension counts three beats then dissolves, a high note keeps the balance until morning.
Angle mort (Symphonic Version)
The car brakes like a startled animal; the headlights bite the wet ribbon, the white lines stitch themselves back together, and the passengers’ names return to the edges of the seats, sober, precise, ready to come home.
Sous la peau des ombres
Shadows glide over the skin like silent maps; a breath holds back time, footsteps loosen, and the mute presence between arms and gaze invents dreams that the night welcomes without asking for a story.
Givre
Under the neon lights the tiled floor reflects a crumpled ticket; the window keeps a trace of rumor and a piano note supports the outfit, while a hand searches for the code of a locker forgotten in its pocket.
Ascenseur sans réseau
The voice fades on the third-floor landing; the screen pressed to the temple, the heart grinds like an old brake as the floors count down and a neighbor with full bags exchanges a polite smile.
Cartographie des épaules
A name is spoken without hesitation; the shoulders answer in a discreet carriage; the sharp angles smooth out slowly, and the gait resumes, measured, along the line of a trust returned.
Casier 312
Twelve past midnight in front of the yellow lockers: a first name reduced to six digits, a scooter revving the night, then the lock gives. A crumpled receipt, a softcover book, the signed proof of a tenderness exchanged without witness.