Singed

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Fiction. Art. "The smell of singed paper haunts me. Is this a burning, is it a song? Sing, singed." Cascella's radically experimental poiesis conceives of text as a space of doing but also stillness, of transmission but also interference. In SINGED she writes criticism that includes silence, repetitions and dead ends; that retains mystery and the unspoken, in a language out of synch; that interrogates the very the necessity of using language: "Where does the necessity to speak and write arise from, and what are the hooks I can hold on to in the absence of records?"