scratchings.

1. the frozen food section: along aisles and aisles of the supermarket, stacked atop one another, lined beside one another, are boxes of frozen food. neon packaging promise golden-brown nights and epicurean ecstasies within minutes. lingering through these aisles are men for whom there are no wives waiting with dinner, for whom there will never be the hope of everyday dinners with bouffoned hair and hips. what lies ahead is only artificial, transient, pleasures created by the minute, unlike those slaved upon for hours and days. these are pleasures that come easily and these are pleasures that do not last; these instant dinners are void of nutrition. wandering along the aisles, they satiate themselves with the colours and bright lights, with the promise of happiness, the promise being fulfilling in itself, because they know very well the pits that lie ahead. here we are at the frozen food section. i think i'll go for the cocktail shrimps tonight.

2. his memories remained fresh and vivid, and pink the colour of a wound that kept being picked and scratched over and over again.

3. he felt like the greatest years of his life were wasted in mediocrity and a lack of colour. like a leaf among the thousand others that go unnotice during its time on the branch. he anticipated his shrivelling, his browning, when people would begin to pay attention to him, and sweep him away.

4. the days are black and/ the nights are but shadier twins -/ the days choked with impossibilities/ the nights drenched in dark possibilities.

5. disjointed - maybe it was my dislocation with everything in general that made me miss my juniors and seniors more than i did my batch mates.

6. it was a nightmare finding out that it was only an illusion that led me into the dark.

yes, lectures now are so boring they drive me to this.