by Ang Kia Yee

I read something which made me miss a certain tenor of writing and speaking. To meander through the swamp of words and string two far-distant cousins together, coupling them to emerge uncommon genetics of feeling and seeing. How rusty is that mode of making the world? What is it to write desires, destinies, myths? I want to re-enchant my long-form writing, I want to lose myself in the elegant orgies of language.