Do not let yourself be paralyzed by fear, for you will live a life filled with regrets

I am reminded of this every day.


I am feeling so displaced, like I am not where I am supposed to be. Not really physically, mostly spiritually. Mostly creatively. Something fundamental is missing, and I have yet to find it. And this piece, this thing, this missing thing created a void that is all-encompassing. And it has been wrapping my creative life in its tentacles until I can only breathe the frosty cold air of nothingness.
I am tired of thinking empty thoughts. I need real air. The earth. The sun. The sea.

By body jerks with emotions, hoping for a place to live outside of my soul. Seeking solace in the lens, the paint, the paper.



Something new

After over a year of not posting a single original piece, here I am, humbly returning from wherever the hell I was.


I am not sure I want to go through EVERYTHING that happened this past year. There would be enough for a whole book, and quite frankly, I am not there yet. To sum it up in two large events: I got married and I finished school. Again. Finally. For good this time. I will probably go back to it throughout my new posts because, obviously, my life, etc…

Now on to the new stuff. I may or may not post more photography, maybe communicate in visuals more. Or not. I may write more. Who knows. Blogging is so personal, and yet so public. It’s like writing in your journal, except this time you are trying to impress the not so fictional reader. I had lost my touch. I was busy, going through the motions of life. And I needed to do just so.


I can get back to qwerty diarrhea now.


Petit Pays (audio)

When you’re friends are poets…



Petit pays de contradictions.

Petit pays avec ses contrats de diction,

où on ne comprend pas qu’entre luminaire et liminaire, un engendra un fœtus,

car le “u” prononcé “i” engage un rictus.

Petit pays à la mentalité rustique.

Petit pays où, celui qui voit consent,

celui qui se tait, un con qui sent.

Petit pays où on débat au parlement,

et on sait que celui qui parle ment

Petit pays où tout est à refaire,

le bien-être des plus démunis n’est pas nécessaire

aux yeux de nos dirigeants, c’est à se demander:

ce nez, à quoi il sert?

Ce nez à quoi il sert? Lorsqu’il n’hume pas l’odeur fétide

des bouches affamées, des ventres vides.

Ne respirent-ils pas les détritus?

Pendant qu’ils passent le pouvoir à leur progéniture qui détruit tout

Petit pays, petit pays, m’entends-tu?

Entre toi et moi, il y a un hiatus

Malgré tout,

petit pays…

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Attention Deficit

I just realized that I can never say “deficit” the right way the first time. Even in my head. “Dèefisit. Défiisit.” It is the french in me. I do it all the time, with many words. I have a diphthong problem. And I blame Madame Weiner for teaching me what a diphthong was in high school spanish classes. I have since decided to pay attention to said diphthongs when I hear words that are similar in different languages. And here I am, mixing french, english and spanish pronounciations. My girlfriend says I sound so cute when I am tired because, well, I sound even more like the french speaking haitian that I am.

And I come back to the title of this blog post. Attention Dèefisit.

The real reason for this post was to talk about my attention d… problem. I am one of the lucky who has acces to the internet at my desk. I have no restrictions of websites, or web pages I can open, so you can imagine what it looks like: fifteen tabs/windows open to every possible blog/site/social media/portfolio/newspaper I decide to look into on a given day. I go through all the blogs I follow, then the news articles my co-workers send me, or the ones i see through Facebook or Twitter. My email is open. My WordPress is open. Sometimes, I have this amazing quiz website open too. Pinterest, Etsy, The Knot (can you tell I am planning a wedding?) And of course, the page I have to have open everyday: my actual work web page. And my smartphone. And my book.

I go through pages and pages of information, from the situation of animals at the disgraceful theme park MarineLand, to the dress I am interested in wearing on my wedding day, to the beautiful article I read about this woman who is friends with a guy who is sick but later we find out he is also a killer (read it on the Rumpus), to my friend’s party pictures, to the sweet text message my girlfriend sends me, to food photographer portfolios. You name it,  I’m on it. And if I didn’t get to it already, I will now. I answer emails, between two paragraphs from chapter 5, and I answer phone calls while I text my classmates.  I have already interupted this writing three times, either because of a co-worker, or a flashing phone on silent mode.

Too. Much. Information.

And then I realize, my regular thoughts are the same. Sometimes, I don’t even need to have all these distractions.  Case in point: as I am writing this, I stop to think of my wording. As I do so, I look at my fingers on the keyboard. I see my ring, and suddenly I remember saturday. Saturday, Jess and I are meeting the jewelry designer for our rings. I am really excited. And my phone flashes. Sebastien wants to know details for class tonight. While I answer him that he is not a pest (promise),  my co-worker and I talk about some work stuff. And I just realize I have no idea what I was planning to write at the beginning of this paragraph.

Back from a bathroom break, I realize that I never actually wrote that traditional new years post. You know the one, “this year was great, blah blah blah… next year will be better, blah blah blah…” Not to disregard the importance of this tradition, but i guess my yearly review was done in my head, and I simply never got to do it here. You will be kept in the loop with what will be of this year. Promise.

Now, where was I again?

Right, focusing.