Dada lingua poesie
An experiment of composing an original content, translating it into another language by machine and then
back to the original; that leads to nuanced alternations of the original meaning..
What does it reveal?
The dynasty of Existence
On the roof, in its slit, the dim ray of vanity shines,
aftertaste of anchored vainglory, coming from afar, from groundwater.
Relatively rather faces with regular ruptures and impurities.
She asks him to rename it "Let the word take on another flesh now,
Another secretion, you know she demands it "
He listens to it, leans towards it, now in his “here”.
He fears the awkwardness that is about to reveal, he has learned, after all, to
slip away, he doesn't like its truth, it's inelegant, it sounds out of tune.
He submits yes, he does not want to deprive the moment of its transcendence,
the potential, in its genesis or after-life. But she too seeks this,
Ether.
The half-breed, Dog by name, invades the area.
He stands there, under the kentia, next to her.
And he looks at her. The mirror highlights his shadow,
an address that sounds deafening inside her.
She loses her drunkenness, she touches the tangible, her nudity.
She spreads on her shoulders the weaving she is holding.
It’s gotten cold, she says.
Surely in her recollection, in a later narrative of her,
when he would leave, recover, the moment would take on a
aftermath magic. If not, then what?
But, either way, she would impose it.
"Illusion is my truth, it feeds me.
It is the conditional sense, recorded in memory
equal to that of the "conditional truth". "
The words she repeated, the overthrow she sought.
English ⇁
Chinese ⇁ English
The faint glow of vanity glimmers in the cracks of the ceiling,
the aftertaste of vanity, drifting from afar, from the groundwater.
Comparatively, her face is more regular, fractured and impure.
She asks him to change her name, "Let the word now become another flesh,
another secretion, you know she needs it."
He listens to her words and leans into her, now in her "here."
He was afraid of the embarrassment that was about to reveal itself, after all he had learned to be sneaky.
He didn't like the reality of it, it wasn't graceful, it didn't sound together.
He obeyed, he didn't want to deprive the moment of its transcendence,
its potential, both its origins and its transcendence. But she was looking for that, too,
Ether.
The hybrid, named Dog, barged in.
He stood there, under Kentia, next to her.
He looked at her. The mirror caught his reflection.
The sound was deafening inside her.
She lost her intoxication and touched her tangible, naked self.
She drapes the cloth in her hands over her shoulders.
It was cold, she said.
Certainly, in his memory, in the later account of her,
when he's gone, when he's recovered, this moment will have the magic of later.
Later magic. If not, then what?
But she was going to impose it anyway.
"Illusion is my truth, it feeds me.
It is conditional sensation, inscribed in memory
Equivalent to "conditional truth" "
She repeated the phrase as she tried to disprove it.
