Life is funny

Work's been good so far. Haven't had much time to do anything else though. But the projects I've been working on recently is rather fun. Writing and designing games for mobile phones is something that really fits into my dreams.

When I first started off studying computing, I've wanted to become a game designer/programmer, but then I eventually dismissed it as just a young kid's fantasy. And now, I'm actually living my dream!

It's surprising how when you least expect it, when you give up on something, when you think: "Nah... that's never gonna happen.", life suddenly turns around and surprises you?

But of course, it works both ways, when you really want it, when you're absolutely optimistic about something, it never happens. Lady Luck just turns her shining face away from you. Life's funny that way, don't you think?

Anyhoo, although work's fine, i do have to deal with the occasional annoying, two-faced, fickle-minded, back-stabbing client. But other than that, it's pretty hunky dory, so I don't really have much to complain about. :)

Met a lot of really nice people from my talent school. They're all quite friendly, and we all hang out together quite a bit. So even if I won't be a big-time celebrity (in fact, not bloody likely :P), at least I would've made some really nice friends to hang out and have fun with.

Well... I guess that's about it for now. I'll try to update more often from now on. ("try" being the operative word of course).

Ciao!

The Silence

Found this at www.poems.org:

The Silence
Philip Schultz
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for RJ

You always called late and drunk,
your voice luxurious with pain,
I, tightly wrapped in dreaming,
listening as if to a ghost.

Tonight a friend called to say your body
was found in your apartment, where
it had lain for days. You'd lost your job,
stopped writing, saw nobody for weeks.
Your heart, he said. Drink had destroyed you.

We met in a college town, first teaching jobs,
poems flowing from a grief we enshrined
with myth and alcohol. I envied the way
women looked at you, a bear blunt with rage,
tearing through an ever-darkening wood.

Once we traded poems like photos of women
whose beauty tested God's faith. 'Read this one
about how friendship among the young can't last,
it will rip your heart out of your chest!'

Once you called to say J was leaving,
the pain stuck in your throat like a razor blade.
A woman was calling me back to bed
so I said I'd call back. But I never did.

The deep forlorn smell of moss and pine
behind your stone house, you strumming
and singing Lorca, Vallejo, De Andrade,
as if each syllable tasted of blood,
as if you had all the time in the world. . .

You knew your angels loved you
but you also knew they would leave
someone they could not save.