As i grow older in days and wrinkles i feel lost in the tech savvy world which talks in a parlance of today. I am outdated in body, mind and soul. I look a specimen from the past, striving hard to understand blogs, internet and my soul wishes to be elsewhere.
I cant understand management/ I.T./ business/ literary lingo anymore----don't belong anywhere.
who does my art represent except me, whose talk do i write, all i keep drawing from is my mind's chatter.
How do i publish when i lose most of the typed work----so i happily go back to my diary.
Metamorphosed like kafkas protagonist into a heavy slow creature, i fail to associate with.
i want to write more but later when i ma sure i can post it right.
