|
|
2002-07-05 - 4:14 p.m. Walking from the MRT station, all his senses numbed by nicotine and sleep deprivation, he turned a corner and stumbled into the underpass, with its subtly inclined path, its phantasmagoria of advertisement billboards flanking the walls, which scrolled to show a new one exactly every nine seconds, and which frightened him, because it made desire seem so malleable, so dispensable, like beaten sheets being dragged from the ends of rolls of aluminium foils, and of course the crowd, with no particular face to anchor it and give it an identity, such that it looked like a horde of passengers each holding a ticket to a ferry bound for doom...suddenly it struck him, a sentence that embossed itself into his consciousness: 'I am yearning, for another kind of yearning.' His heart pounded with the revelation.
|