Artwork
I have recorded albums and published books, and I still keep poetry hidden on my hard drive.
Well, not hidden anymore — I have injected it into an AWS pipeline to display it here.
Here is a summary of my artwork.
Music
I play drums in several bands and perform weird screams.
Presentation
I have played in several bands as a drummer. The main ones are Jamestown and Stellarvore. Stellarvore is something of a personal project, as I composed most of the songs and recorded the vocals in addition to playing drums.
I could also mention Cult of Pain or Matamoros, but let us stick to the primary projects with proper records.
Jamestown
Jamestown is a crossover band mixing metal, hardcore, rock, punk, funk — and even disco. It is almost feel-good metal — just a bit darker.
You can access the band’s SoundCloud by clicking the button above.
Stellarvore
Stellarvore is a black metal band. I wrote all the lyrics and most of the music — and yes, that weird hellish singing is my own voice.
You can access the band’s SoundCloud by clicking the button above.
Dystopie
Dystopie is a post-rock band alternating between original compositions and covers. The covers range from Summoning to Sting and Michel Sardou — you are probably not ready for that.
You can access the band’s SoundCloud by clicking the button above.
Poetry
I pretend I write deep poetic stuff.
It is rather difficult to sum up my poetic work.
There are, of course, some love poems — because I am French.
You will also find contemplative texts and mystico-philosophical verses.
I sometimes write purely aesthetic words for the sake of art.
As a musician, I also put lyrics on paper.
But in the end, my straightforward, obsessive mind just surrenders to this mess.
I simply write poetry.
You can find all my verses on the Poetry Page.
However, if you do not speak French, I have translated some of my work into English.
You can read it by clicking the button below.
First Confession (Icarus)
Seeing the eagle brush the sun each day,
Haunted by the heavy shadow of purgatory,
Like Icarus leaping from his promontory,
To escape the darkness, I wanted to fly away.
Out of vanity, I approached the ocellated star.
I wanted to match His goodness, not knowing
That too close to the Light, this power
Would disintegrate my frail winged body.
But I understood during this endless whirlwind:
He offered me darkness — a precious gift.
I need neither light nor prayer;
And when this fall finally ends,
I shall rise again, looking up to the heavens,
For dead, my soul will become pure light.
Ninon
Wreathed in long threads of gold, hetæra's adornment,
Her face radiates with a pure, feline gaze.
Subtle nitescence and imperial light
Offering the universe a crystalline brilliance
Born of her divine gifts: her grace and her smile.
Here Echoes
Here echoes
Echoes within me
Incessantly
Her blessed name
The Chamber and the Néant
The chamber,
Haven of solitude where torment swims,
Haven of perfect sobs, without pearl or blade
Where hopes drown, where the mind, gently
Dismembers.
Néant!
Cannibalistic echo and yet the banner
Of absolute anguish, of infinite terror,
Devourer of glittering stars in the soul
Seated.
Ô chamber,
Tumultuous haven, realm of the devourer.
Through the night, sidereal darkness,
The poet, the mind still scattered, horror
Remembers.
Néant!
Oh! Still néant! The vesperal fall
Crowns you, ô néant. You reign, sly,
Over the night and its spirit — agonising with a flowing
Rattle.
The chamber,
Chalice of voluptuousness, sepals as harness.
Vertiginous chasms, from the disclosed muse,
Gleam great eyes mingled with sienna green
And amber.
Néant!
Without her, witherings, death of verse, of prose
Your reign is announced, ô infinite darkness…
But beauty triumphs; and your empire explodes
Gaping!
The chamber,
Gloomy cenotaph, reminder of horror,
The heady scent of the venal muse
Whose hair flies, and who, ardently,
Arches.
Néant!
You, who devoured her, virginal muse,
What a dizzying price to believe you gone:
Agony, suffering, libidinal languor.
Yet…
Like Some Emerald-Green Marble Eyes
On the surface of two frozen lakes,
Where languished white moonlight's reflections
So troubled that Neptune's wrath
Seemed beneath the ice concealed.
And under the hæmorrhage of twilight,
The lakes, those two mirrors of green marble
Darkened, revealing in the open eye
A capital black pupil.
Encircling this sooty swirl,
The flowing water of the iris appeared dark;
It lost its pure emerald brilliance
To assume the tarnished hue of a lagoon.
Beneath the empyrean, obsidian reflections
Gleamed in the greyness of the gaze.
Faced with her I remained bewildered.
Yet rupture was inevitable:
From me, a fine word, a witticism;
And a laugh took her.
lineamented by the moon,
Her silvered lips
Unveiled my thoughts;
Those emerald-green marble eyes
Shining in the warm night,
It wasn't them I wished to kiss.
And the Hare Says…
And the hare says that by the starlight's gleam
The light fabric slips from her naked body.
Then she approaches, her gaze ingenuous
— A graceful silhouette, freed from its veils.
Kneeling by the man in the vermilion wound
She accomplishes the feat with her hands and her mouth,
To turn the lying figure on the ground
Into an ithyphallic prince, noble in his sleep.
She stands up, gazing at him with desire.
Then, like the owl on its impaled trunk,
She mounts this newly created stake,
Opposing to the dead man this sublime act of life.
And as the frenzied amazon in her trance
Offers the sleeping prince, with her eager lips,
A passionate kiss, his wide empty eyes glimpse
Her naked, warm, vibrant, and sweating body.
The Hanged Man's Smile
With a certain nonchalance,
On his tree, the hanged man swings.
How proud he is of his new necklace!
And though his two fists had to be tied,
It was to better display to the horde
His sumptuous adornment of rope.
He struts, chin held high,
He who whinnied just a few days ago.
The putrefaction gnaws at his brown skin;
Worms emerge from it like from a plum.
Yet in the evening, when the aquilon blows,
As if a violin was played,
He dances like a faun, capers,
Claps his intestine against his shin;
He flies with the wind, like a flag
— Sometimes even a piece of skin falls off.
In the morning, his rested carcass
That dripping with a fine dew
Likes to welcome some starlings
Using his bony ribs as stepladders
There they peck at his flesh,
extracting worms they devour.
A flock of crows earlier feasted
On his eyes and his pouty-lipped face.
Thus, except for a few hanging shreds,
This face has kept only its teeth.
But the hanged man does not remain unfazed:
Without lips, he appears smiling.
What joy! He can finally, carefree,
Swing from the branch of a tree.
Scripts
I wrote a play in English and a screenplay in French
Mariupol
Speaking of works in English, I wrote a play called Маріуполь (Mariupol).
It is set during the Russian shelling of Mariupol in early 2022
But even if war is obviously overwhelming the scene, the play is more about the meaning of art, the language, and the bond between the land and the people.
Souvenirs de Soleils (Memories of Suns)
On a crazy sleepless night, I decided to adapt an old roleplaying-game scenario into a film screenplay. I called it Souvenirs de Soleils (Memories of Suns).
I even sent it to a movie production house, but unfortunately they were not interested in filming a science-fiction screenplay by an unknown random guy.
Perhaps I should translate it into English and send it to Hollywood — but if you read it, you will see that it is not exactly Hollywood material.
YouTube
I made a boring YouTube channel about French poetry.
I have a YouTube channel called Le Cénacle that I no longer update.
On it, I discuss French poetry. If you do not speak French, you can use it to fall asleep, as my language is very soft and gentle.
However, if you understand French, you can still use it to fall asleep, as the content is quite advanced, technical, and truly dedicated to poetry lovers.
Perhaps I should rebrand my channel as ASMR French Poetry for Sleeping.
What else is there to say, except the eternal: Like the video and subscribe to the channel!
Short Novels
I wrote some short novels. Amazing, right?
#refugiés #viol #plainte #silence #suicide
Quel autre choix ?
Cette nouvelle aborde un thème difficile puisqu'il y est question de viol. Comment réagir quand on se fait mordre la main que l'on tend vers l'autre ?
#Tolkien #Nains #montagne #guerre #mort
L'Amour de la montagne
Une des questions qui revient souvent dans l'heroic fantasy concerne le mode de reproduction des Nains.
Pour Tolkien, l'existence de Naines est avérée, nous laissant donc penser à une reproduction par gamétogenèse.
Cette nouvelle prend un parti différent.
#aupniaphobie #nuit #sommeil #insomnie #angoisse
Aupniaphobie
L'aupniaphobie est la peur de l'insomnie. Savoir que l'on va se battre toute la nuit pour essayer de trouver le sommeil peut être quelque chose de très angoissant : on se retrouve seul face à nos peurs, face à notre solitude, face au néant de la vie.
Cette nouvelle explore les affres nocturnes de l'aupniaphobe.
#Lituanie #lièvre #sorcière #forêt #mystique #nature
Où vas-tu, Kiškis ?
Dans quelque forêt mystérieuse non loin de la mer Baltique habite Kiškis, le lièvre mystique. Il garde un œil sur ses bois, observant nobles et sorcières traversant sa forêt. Mais lorsqu’un des cerfs sacrés est tué lors d’une chasse, la forêt ne peut rester sans réagir et une malédiction s’abat sur la ville. Par quel moyen pourrait-on la conjurer ?
#Juif #Hitler #suicide #bunker #MadeInGermany
Le Six Millionième
Les blagues sur les Juifs sont drôles parce qu’elles sont de mauvais goût, mais elles sont aussi un peu trop faciles… Cette nouvelle relève le pari de faire de l’humour sur les Juifs de façon originale, sans tomber ni dans la facilité ni dans le mauvais goût. Le pari est-il réussi ?
#amour #suicide #corde #forêt #pélerinage
Une corde rouge
Au pied du Fujiyama se trouve une forêt que les Japonais affectionnent particulièrement pour se suicider. On dit que l’amour est capable de sauver quelqu’un du suicide. Mais parfois, c’est l’inverse : c’est l’amour qui pousse au suicide.
You can also read my short novel Where Are You Going, Kiškis? in English by clicking the button below.
Read Where Are You Going, Kiškis? in English[global.shortn]
Books
I write and publish books.Mostly novels.
I have published several books. The principal one is La Poétique des flammes (The Poetic of Flames).
Here is an overview of my publications.
As you can see, I am not a skilled marketer — there is not a single link to purchase anything.
Vegetal Witchery
As I mentioned earlier, my short novel Where Are You Going, Kiškis? won a contest for short novels. It was published in the anthology Sorcellerie végétale (Vegetal Witchery).
It tells the story of a healer who uses quite unusual methods to save her dying forest — and by “quite unusual methods,” I mean she kidnaps Prince Charming.
With a plot like that, how could I not win ?
Le Viol d'Europe (The Rape of Europe)
My very first novel, The Rape of Europe, depicts the journey of a lone wolf in crisis at the heart of a dying world: terrorism, imprisonment, sexual violence, politico-religious conflicts… All subjects I wanted to confront in writing.
Through this broken character, the goal was to highlight the suffering and loneliness generated by our modern societies, in a style both romantic and oppressive.
Tragedia Decadencia
Depicting a slice of life from the young Eya Materi, Tragedia Decadencia is a novel at the crossroads of romanticism and eroticism, deeply rooted in a semi-biographical reality. It traces the intimate and tumultuous journey of a young Tunisian immigrant woman torn between two cultures, two passions, two wounds.
This novel is Eya’s confidence, her confession — a journey inward that unfolds tenderness, transgression, resilience, and the quest for a fragmented self.
Between Darkness and Light
I selected 50 of the most inspiring French poems and gathered them in this book.
Then I analyzed each one — explaining its purpose, underlying themes, secret meanings and the melody of its words — and here it is: Entre ténèbres et lumière (Between Darkness & Light).
The Feminine, Essence of Poetry
Since the first collection wasn’t enough, I repeated the process with 50 poems on how women inspire creative art. Again, I analyzed each — unpacking their insights and significance — and here it is: Le Féminin, essence de la poésie (The Feminine, Essence of Poetry).
Canticle for the End ot Times
With Canticle for the End of Times, I wanted to write a dark fantasy novel where poetry and violence intertwine.
The story begins in an isolated village, where Dahlia, a young healer, leads a simple life. But the awakening of an ancient evil drives her to leave this closed world to confront her origins, History, and the abyss of existence.
This book is a dark ode to courage, memory, and what we sacrifice to avoid sinking. I weave in my passions: European and proto-European myths, medieval landscapes, Renaissance settings, and fragments of poetry interlaced in the narrative.
Aria to the World's End
A direct sequel to Canticle for the End of Times, this second volume continues Dahlia’s journey beyond the seas to lands steeped in Antiquity and forgotten mysticism. There she discovers not only different peoples and empires, but also a deeper truth about herself — and the price to pay to face the darkness.
I intended this book to be a form of aria — a long, solitary song brimming with fragile beauties, betrayals, and epiphanies. More than a mere sequel, it is a deepening of a world, a myth I built from my readings and roots.
La Poétique des flammes (The Poetic of Flames)
This novel is both the best-selling one I have written and arguably one of my most intimate texts. I aimed to pay homage to a scene I know from the inside: the independent metal scene, with its grimy tours, burned-out dreams, and rough brotherhood.
Through Ninon’s eyes — a student who chooses to write her thesis on this milieu — I explore what it means to create, struggle, believe, and dream.
The band Aorasie, at the heart of the story, is fictional — yet everything it experiences is true, or nearly so. This book speaks of music, but also of identity, inner fire, and what we sacrifice (or not) to stay true to ourselves and our dreams.
Press Reviews
Magazines talked about my book, so I shamelessly display it.
Upon publishing La Poétique des flammes, I contacted numerous magazines for promotional purposes.
As a result, many articles were published — you can find them below.
Since the book is in French, all the articles are in French; however, I have included a short excerpt translated into English for each one.
Daily Rock Québec
The characters in F. de Lancelot's metal tale are rich in development and perspective. The writing is supple, vivid, and captivating.
Despite the harshness of the story and the aggressiveness of the music, The Poetics of Flames is a novel that deals with Beauty and can appeal to both hardcore metalheads and complete novices.
Satan bouche un coin
Each character has an important role and their story is very well highlighted. We become attached to each of them, even though some are more borderline than others. The writing is pleasant and detailed, allowing us to feel the various atmospheres evoked in this book. There are also, and this is very enjoyable, poems and song lyrics calligraphed by Le Scriptorium de Cassiodore as well as illustrations by NETHER.
Metal-Eyes
An epic tale that is hard to put down. An invitation to discover a world made of noise and fury, certainly, but also, and above all, a world of fraternal and convivial spirit where community and sharing are the key words.
W-fenec
In terms of style, the reading is quick and pleasant. F. de Lancelot avoids the convoluted phrases loved by high school literature students, focusing on the stories he tells rather than the way he tells them. He prefers to play with words and literature when writing the band's lyrics, having fun with highlighted references, transitioning from the sophisticated to the popular, from the incongruous to the sacred. His pen knows the codes but does not overuse them.
Among the Living
The author does quite well in this exercise of style, giving us an accurate vision of the adversity that a music band must face daily.
Antiigone
The Poetics of flames is a novel that plunges us into the heart of the metal world and makes us reflect with its tortured and undeniably human characters. A true work of art due to the various pieces it contains, it will immerse you in this sometimes little-known universe and let you experience the daily life of an atypical band on the rise to success. Music is omnipresent and transcends everything, offering us a well-crafted, multifaceted, and thrilling plot. One does not come out unscathed from such a read, masterfully conducted. It's one of those books that you close with regret and wish there were encore chapters!
Rock Made in France
Describing musicians in their human (and sometimes painful) experiences, the author goes beyond a mere success story and opens our eyes to a complex world with codes that know no boundaries. From Finland to Japan, a metalhead will recognize themselves among a thousand.
Musicwaves
In short, this novel is for metal fans but not exclusively. Indeed, for non-metalheads, this novel allows the discovery of an almost parallel world where people fight to keep music alive, all kinds of music.On the other hand, musicians will revisit scenes experienced with their band, conflicts, difficult decisions, but also incredible moments.
Kaosguards
With Ninon, you will discover, if you don't already know, the world of self-production, the chaotic tour setups, the payment for an album from A to Z, stage setbacks... and many other things!
A book for music fans, but also to introduce this world to others.
Radio Pulsar
Here is a book that does not leave us indifferent, we in the metal sphere and you novices.An immersion into the world of extreme music through endearing characters we all know more or less closely, a world that speaks to us, an almost lived story.
Thank you!
Thank you for checking out my artwork to the end — unless you have heartlessly scrolled to the bottom :(
If you need:
• to hire an AWS Cloud Practitioner
• to hire a ghostwriter for your next book
• to publish a poetry compilation
you can think of me.
However, if you need a band to play at your wedding, I am unfortunately not the right person.