I am obsessed with this obsession called writing. I can write for the whole of night without food, sleep or anything considered an essential. There are times when I feel that the whole of space needs to be filled with words from my writings. When I just feel that I have found my passion and my calling in life, a creepy questioner in me enquires if I can go on and on writing for which I have never found an audience, a cynical brute pops in to check the authenticity of my passion and a locigian based on circumstantial evidence from the history sees no hope of selling my self-proclaimed artistic endeavours. The only person that I(without even knowing who this is) love is the believer who madly feels that my writings are beyond audience, sales or anything conceivable(no pompousness intended as all I sense is only eccentric foolishness)
