Friday 23 June 2006
It's been a while, I know, and I fared though it anyhow.
Tonight it's still hard to write. I've tried so many times but never managed to come up with something fine. A dozen of unnamed text files lye on my laptop's desktop, bits of disordered thoughts, aborted uninspired poetry, splashes of nervous yells.
You know how hurtful those reproaches can be when they are thrown at you by beloved ones. I'd like to wash them all out and find myself back... writing it down for you I don't want to ponder my words anymore.
My company has kicked off. Since the beginning of this year I've been kept constantly busy, to the point of getting clients crowds pressuring us because of postponed schedules. In a sense, it's great, because we're going to pay ourselves a decent wage at last!
Since the age of 8 I've been passionate about programming computers. It's always been quite easy to me, I find it much easier than painting in fact. Since our Atari ST demo crew we had back in the early 92, my old friend Julien and I teamed up on many exciting projects, then finally found 2Roqs, a killer software/webdesign business that we've been running for about one year and a half now.
Here's the place where I spend all my working days; here's the second facet of my giant contradiction.
I really love my job. I couldn't have dreamt any better one and when I'm at work I barely can stop; when I finally go back home, it's an exhausted Michael who tries to grab his brushes to become again that painter he is supposed to be, until late night. Come morning, provided I got some rest, the coffee cup is not done yet that I'm already melting the colors in front of the canvas, but the damn clock of the businessman is urging me to start the routine once more.
Lately I happened to spend a full month doing a engineer's type of job at a client's, far from home. I didn't know how fast breaking my schizophrenic cycle would damage my mental stability. After that little while out there, I became unable to create anything, facing major disbelief, bordering depression. Work is the shelter that kills.
"Beware the barrenness of a busy life", Socrates wrote.
Sometimes it's really hard to figure out what direction to take, feeling like torn off between the too opposite sides of yourself, but that duality is a stressed equilibrium that allows you to stand still....I guess...
There's so much beauty down here, it puffs out my lungs with blissful scents. And I keep on walking blindly along the mountain's crest. Someday I would fight the call of the lush slope no more. Someday I would let my entirety fall.
My emotional side scares me a little sometimes. I could be so fragile in front of feelings, but there's so much beauty down there that it makes want to dive. I still have in mind the thrills for that novel I just read. About fifty pages before the end I started to feel weird, deeper and deeper touched as the words were imbuing my bare senses. I had closed the back cover for several minutes that I still was shedding uncontrollable torrents of tears. Here's that one guy who used to act tough! "The shadow of the wind" by Carlos Ruis Zafon; I feel so mystically bound to it that I'll never return it to my Mom.. sorry for that Mom...