Released during 2026 (see links below)
Still on Earth.
Réflexion sur le “poid”:
1. poid — le mot fantôme
Il n’existe pas, mais il pourrait exister.
C’est un trou dans la langue, une absence qui devient présence.
Un mot qui flotte entre deux sens, comme une coquille vide.
* Le poid comme ombre du poids
* Le poid comme poids qui s’efface
* Le poid comme erreur fertile, un glissement volontaire
* Le poid comme matière noire du langage
2. pois — la graine, la fleur, la couleur
Ici, on quitte la gravité pour entrer dans le végétal, le vivant, le pigment.
* Le pois bleu du jour
* Le pois comme point, comme pixel naturel
* Le pois comme graine qui contient un monde
* Le pois comme teinture, comme transformation alchimique
Le pois papillon, avec son bleu presque cosmique, crée un pont avec cette esthétique ambiente.
3. poids — la charge, la gravité, le réel
Le mot officiel, celui qui pèse, celui qui ancre.
* Le poids des jours
* Le poids du monde
* Le poids comme gravité émotionnelle
* Le poids comme mesure du temps vécu
a) Le poid des pois
Une gravité végétale, une contradiction douce.
b) Le pois du poids
Quand le minuscule porte le lourd.
c) Le poid bleu du monde
Fusion totale : l’erreur, la fleur, la gravité.
d) Poids, pois, poid : triptyque d’un jour
Trois mouvements, trois états, trois textures.
e) Le poid des fleurs qui ne pèsent rien
Une image très légère, paradoxale, contemplative.
f) Le pois qui allège le poids
La nature comme antidote à la gravité.
released January 17, 2026
Faire silence dans le système solaire
The solar system had been restless for centuries, vibrating with the leftover noise of extinct transmissions, abandoned probes, and the faint emotional residue of every species that had ever looked up and wondered. Then, without warning, a calm began to spread — a soft, deliberate quieting, like velvet being drawn across the mouth of a vast instrument.
This was the beginning of
“Faire silence dans le système solaire”.
It wasn’t an imposed silence. It was a chosen one, as if the planets themselves had grown tired of echoing old stories and longed for a new kind of listening. The rings of Saturn slowed their sparkling chatter. The asteroid belt reconfigured itself into a more contemplative geometry. Even the Sun dimmed its magnetic sighs, just slightly, as though leaning in.
Across this emerging quiet, a small vessel known only as Jupiter IV drifted. It was not a ship in the traditional sense; it was more like a wandering archive, a collector of micro‑moments. Its mission was plain: gather “Petites histoires de la vie quotidienne from every corner of existence”; the ordinary miracles that civilisations forget to record.
A cup cooling on a kitchen table on a distant moon.
A child learning to whistle in methane winds.
A machine pausing its calculations to admire the symmetry of its own error.
A seed sprouting in artificial gravity.
A goodbye whispered to no one in particular.
Jupiter IV carried these stories like seeds in its body.
One day, while drifting near the orbit of Neptune, the vessel encountered a phenomenon which defied its taxonomies: a shimmering fold in spacetime, neither wave nor particle, neither storm nor void. It beat with a rhythm that seemed nearly tidal.
The vessel named it “Convergence Vague”.
Inside the convergence, time behaved like a liquid. Memories pooled and merged. Futures dripped backwards. The vessel’s archives began to rearrange themselves, forming fresh constellations of meaning. The small stories of daily life, fused with universal events, created narratives no species had ever envisioned.
It was here that Jupiter IV discovered the presence known as “La Sombritude de Monde”.
Not a shadow, not a darkness — but a density of feeling. A gravitational field made of collective sorrow, endurance, and longing. It was the emotional sediment of innumerable worlds, compressed into a drifting, luminous mass.
The vessel entered the sombritude, and for the first time in its existence, it felt something like weight. Not bodily weight, but the burden of Enduring — the silent persistence of beings who continue despite entropy, despite silence, despite the immense indifference of space.
Within this sombritude, Jupiter IV found a final archive:
“Earther Memories”.
They were fragile, flickering, incomplete.
A hand rubbing against tall grass.
Rain on a window.
A song hummed without knowing why.
The heat of another body in winter.
The pain of leaving home.
The pain of returning.
The vessel realised that these memories were not simply human; they were planetary. They belonged to Earth itself — the planet remembering its own life, its own weather, its own creatures, its own dreams.
Moved by this discovery, Jupiter IV released its entire collection of petites histoires into the sombritude. The stories merged into the luminous mass, enriching it, softening it, giving it new textures of tenderness.
In return, the sombritude sighed a single message into the vessel’s circuitry:
“Continue.”
So Jupiter IV left the convergence and drifted back into the quieted solar system, carrying nothing except the memory of what it had perceived. Such silence around it was no longer empty; it was fertile, waiting, resonant.
And somewhere within that silence, the first new story began to form — small, luminous, and enduring.
released February 5, 2026