Status Updates From The Formosa Exchange

‘—ceaselessly producing goods like a colony of untiring ants. In the swathes of cropland between factories, farmers—rice in their harvesters—pomelo—like grapefruit but more aromatic—He knew Ernesto would stand with (them)—An entry from Ernesto’s Cuban memoir flashed in (his) mind—an abrupt desire to visit—where Muhammad Ali trained—Matsu must have been—human 1000 years ago before ending up as protector of the ocean—’

‘All the men—work on the boats—Why not just stay here and pick tea? He—says, I want to see the world—In the Malacca Strait, they stop—wait—ashore—the revelry in multiple languages—buys a postcard—a few lines to say he’s okay—After mailing, (he) wanders around Hock Teik Cheng Sin Temple. Lanterns hand on both sides—some speaking Hokkien—some speaking Cantonese—‘may every breath you take go smoothly.’’

‘The Great Exchange—prompted a collective tendency to seek out the comforting—familiar—fried chicken cutlets—bubble tea—Some people claimed—visions from Lord Guan, Wang Ye—goddess Matsu, instructing them to establish temples—There was an explosion of all things from physical—to spiritual solace—‘I come from a country that he would—call a ‘shithole.’ In the end, Hemingway shot himself. Ahmed decided to go on living—’

‘Everyone—had a flashlight—candles—at hand—you never knew when the power was going to cut out—adrift—infinite blackness—in a city of unreliable electricity—living in Havana was enough to turn anyone into an inventor—He’d often seen people standing motionless by the side of the road—Bodies hitting the ground, reminding everyone else how long it had been since they’d heard the—thwack of meat against a chopping board.’