Drifting throughts, carried on a light breeze. The taste of caf, the scent of rain. It is a summer morning in Citadel, and the year is 2020. We are broken, here in the future, but we are not down.
Fatale blow [Le Sueur] [Lockdown]
Vague and ephemeral, a promising point in the sea of data, she swam forward and faded, time and again. A digital presence promising more, sensing my loneliness and my need.
A little respite [Le Sueur] [Lockdown]
Maintaing the spirit in Lockdown, a sense of cautions optimism is founf in the darkenss of the night.
Must. Resist. [Le Sueur]
In the silence of the empty life, the heart and mind yearn to find fulfilment. They know what they want, but they can only ask for what they know.
She let go [Le Sueur]
A faded hope matches the mood of a dull morning commute.
Much-needed mirth [Le Sueur]
In a small room, above a bar, a man tells his story. The audience, as he wishes, laughs.