Category Archives: Music Monday

2016, A Reflection

So, yeah. After self-publishing the crazy 5-book series in one year scheme — and suffering one great loss — I needed a year off writing. Things happened far from all good in 2015, and it was time to deal with stuff they don’t teach you at school. “Death is part of life… we all go through that cycle… they’re still with us…” When it happens, you’re still not prepared. Even if you convince yourself that you are, that you knew it was coming, it’s still a shock that never really wears off. Hurt lessens with time, but doesn’t truly goes away. It’s still there, somewhere I try to forget/hide/push.

Then, The Cure announced a massive world tour. Of course they did, since the universe needs to balance itself out. Whenever they’re around, things happen. Good things. Impossible things. And this time was no exception: what happened to me (personally, not in any case globally) in 2016 can only be described as magical, surrealist, and fucking awesome. Life changing, as the impact of The Cure’s concerts.

1996: The Swing Tour. My plans to live in the UK for the first time finalized the same week as The Cure performed in Montreal. The shittiest tickets I’ve ever got to watch a band live – and this is MY BAND – but they were there, breathing the same air, performing in front of me for the first time, so I got over it eventually. Wait. Actually, I still resent sitting at the far end. They were so small on the stage, I needed to squint and even then I could hardly make them out. Seriously bad seats.

2000: The Dream Tour. Two days after seeing them super-close in Toronto (thank you, Lady Karma), I received the course selection to a 5% acceptation rate film school. Faith was sang on a stage drenched in red, I cried at From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea (as I always do), I hummed Another Journey by Train on the way home, and the pattern was set: The Cure brings me luck. Or more likely, the key plot twists of my life are connected to their vicinity.

Curiosa, 2004

Notice my fingers clutching to his shoulder. Me, touching him. Yep, it happened. I. Met. Him.

2004: Curiosa. I met them. I. met. THEM. Thanks to my friend’s DD cleavage (and a very dumb bouncer) we passed through the security check points and VIPs, to land in the presence of Robert Smith and Simon Gallup. I. Met. Them. It’s been more than a decade and I’m still not over it. And to think that I got a phone call that day telling me I was accepted in my Master’s program in the UK…and I was witness to Forever live. Both moments equally unforgettable.

Simon Gallup, Curiosa

Sweet Jesus, right next to me. And I look demented. But still, I. Met. Him.

2008: 4Tour. Sometimes it’s looking back that one realizes small changes snowball to a huge impact. That night, as we ordered the second bottle of wine that made us late for the concert (and I subsequently missed A Strange Day: it still hurts), I told my friend I was switching from filmmaking to writing. Big deal, since I was leaving life-long dreams of directing… and an eight-year education, huge student loans, and the tiny dent I hoped so much to leave behind.

2016: First row, center. Best. Concert. Ever. Like good wine, they only get better with age. They announced the tour less than a week before I bought my first car, and I went to the concert two weeks before getting the keys to my first house. I get how the law of attraction works and when we’re happy good things happen…but come on. The Cure did this, yes they did. They are magical beings sent to make my life better – as they have since I first heard Close to Me in 1987. A simple thank you seems so trivial after being the soundtrack of my life.


So yeah, I needed time to do other things than write for a while. I needed a breather, some space to let my mind wander to new projects and other horizons. And believe me, it has. A novel is in the works after finishing off a short story collection. The year off was a good thing, it brought me where I was always meant to be: home. My beautiful house filled with antiques and pets, where The Cure plays loud and proud every day, filling me with such gratitude for their existence in this dark, dark world.

Happy 2017, everyone. May it bring health, books, love…and pleasepleaseplease another Cure tour:)


I’m no fan of French music, but Mistral Gagnant by Renaud always made me so sad…which inspired me for this flash fiction. Enjoy, peeps ♥

Sitting with you on that bench reminds me of a better time, how your little hand used to feel in mine, and your laugh sounded like the sea, peaks and rolls. But then the sky fell down on our heads, on your childish hopes, and everything changed. Even you did, you grew up and I grew old, after we lost everything and everyone.

“I won’t do it,” you say, looking straight ahead just like your mother did before an argument. Before they took her away from us, leaving a kid and her old man, barely able to sustain us both.

“You have to.” I want to scream and shout, but end up breathing out in a whisper. “You have to prove you can, or they’ll end you.” After six years of hell, hiding and scrapping life off dark corners, I thought you’d knew what to do, what would happen if you didn’t.

Dawn stretches before us, hungry birds over head at war, picking at the fresh corpses. Soon, they’ll fly down at me; not fast enough, the bullet will go through my head.

“It’s time, darling.” I stare at your eyes, sad and angry and hungry. “Then you run until you can’t no more.” Something I can’t do anymore, something I used to be best at. But then one of their weapons bit my leg and ate my flesh. It smells, it creeps up, it kills me little by little – like leaving you behind. Or are you leaving me? I can never be sure.

“But we’re the good guys, Dad…” Don’t you dare, not after all this time. Please clear your throat, please wipe your nose and stand proud – I choose when I leave, and I say it’s now. “Why do I have to…”

“Kill me, so they won’t follow.” I’ve told you so many times, weren’t you listening? What can’t you understand? “Kill me, so you will be free.” And live, a vow I can’t keep, anymore. “Do it.”

You raise the gun to my head, place it between my eyes, and cry. But don’t, think of no one depending on you, how your old bastard of a father promised you a good life but gave you trouble, in the end. The end, of a worthless existence: the end of yours, with mine.

I close my eyes, seeing the wind through your hair, the sun blinking your tears of laughter. I hear it, your voice whispering my name, your cold fingers holding tight to my hand, and the promise that soon, we will be together again.

Like Cockatoos by The Cure

The mood, the imagery, the rhythm. On an album that is mostly upbeat with a tinge of melancholy, this song reaches my dreams. I see trees rustling in the summer breeze, fighting the promise of rain. I hear sounds that come alive only at night, looming in the dark to disappear when the sun shows up. I smell a forgotten garden with flowers withered to the soil. And that voice… Robert Smith takes me to another world.

Whenever I think of my Wanderlust trilogy, the first instalment being Land in Abyss, in which a girl chooses her darker side so she can go through another dimension, Like Cockatoos feeds my soul. The first steps to becoming someone else, someone knew, letting go of who you thought you were. The final look at where you come from, saying goodbye to someone, something you will never feel, see or touch again. Like birds flying high, brushing the clouds, lost in a mass of blue.

This song molds my Wanderlust writing cocoon. The first notes take my breath away, and lead to the sinuous path of inspiration. I see black melting into deep purple, losing myself in the night’s sky. I see a girl facing the unknown, scared but brave, surrounded by creatures made of nightmares. I see her give in, becoming who she fears most: herself.

I was so young the first time I heard Like Cockatoos. Kiss Me… was the third album I bought from my beloved Cureheads, and it took me a while to fully understand it. Subtle, like most Cure songs; sad, which is a prerequisite; surreal, painting a landscape of abandonment. But love, always love, whether it breaks you, engulfs your very being, or leaves you standing in the rain.

And ever since, the song pulls at my heart, leaving me wanting much more.

Kiss me

Kiss me

Kiss me

(1987), Fiction Records