About Me

“WHAT IS THIS SITE?”

  1. Qu’est-ce que le Tiers état?–TOUT.

  2. Qu’ya-t’il été jusqu’a présent dans [l’ordre]?–RIEN.

  3. Que demande-t-il?–A ÊTRE QUELQUE CHOSE.

(Sieyès, “Qu’est-ce que le Tiers état?”)

It serves as a portfolio and preservation of my fleeting obsessions. I’d like this specific page that you are viewing to be an informal summary of myself, since I starch and iron my writing excessively in any other page you’ll find here.

I was the owner of a few other art sites before this one, essentially only what I consider of worth (old or new) can be found here.


“WHO ARE YOU?”

If there is one aspiration of mine, it is to be persistently under the mantle of love (1), and sincerity (2). My continuous emulation of whichever Muses I find in books and plays makes the former effort easier but has made me give up on the latter.

When I am acting by nothing but the operatic feeling (not necessarily opera, but the state is best expressed by that), I feel as if no rationalizing introspection is needed to know myself.

I really hate mystery but I honestly don’t know who I am, sorry!

Biography wise, I was born in the French city of Nîmes, which used to be the administrative capital of Roman Gaul.

I’ve been writing “seriously” since I was in 7th grade: the earliest attempt I can recall was an original fan-fic I wrote for my friend where he was a Marquis de la Fayette sort of figure to a fictional country. Soon after that I wrote a few worthless overly phlegmatic or saccharine pieces (their common denominator was their lack of restraint and direction).

Here is picture of moi:

Moi


“WHAT ARE YOUR OBSESSIONS?”

Poetry:

On average, I think most Romance-derived languages surpass English in poetry.

Out of all of Shakespeare’s plays, The Tempest is my favorite.

Books:

Historical personalities:

Opera:


“WHAT DO YOU HATE?”

Every vicious thing or person flows from the second point


CONTACT ME

texasphony [at] firemail.cc

(this is a burner/spam email I’m willing to use for communication)

Every moment that we were together was a celebration, like Epiphany,

[…] You awoke and you transfigured the words that people utter every day.

(Arseniy Tarkovsky, “First Meetings”)