When I sat in the cafeteria, everyone around me was in virtual society. I eat alone because I don’t have a phone. Many
people at the same table as me, but I don’t have a phone so no one would share a laugh with me. I have a phone but I
am sick of it. So I look out of the window instead of emojis. I wander off into the skies and eras before me. I think about
the interesting life they must have lived while gazing at each other faces silently. I go home and to the stories that
The attic above hides away the aesthetic ancestry. The craftsmanship of eras before that inspire us are locked above,
we take inspiration from the art and handwork of the sepia era. light from the past is still illuminated by those Lamps.
The lost time that still ticks in those watches. Literature that is still the best were written by those pens. Cups that held
tea with the exchange of secrets are evaporated. The boulevards raided by those cycles. The hats which did not only
protect you from the sun but harsh words as well and coats the dress of the empowered working women. Aesthetics
from the attic has been lost in the boxes, open the lost treasures. The marvels which are only marvels because they
hold the lives lived of the ancestors, the heritage. Neoska is the aesthetics of the attic.