This copy just went from English -> Japanese -> English. I may turn this one into another poem, actually; i love the "cut-up" methods pioneered by people like Burroughs, and this seems a particularly interesting one to explore. *Especially* with Asian languages; i love how the word order gets all strange, and the distinction between the personal and the impersonal gets redrawn in very alien ways.
"I by the orange night still drive, if the illusion which the highway and the railroad mark end, thing I who search what that am not there"
Anywhere poem morning the knife is grasped in my throat, whether my memory my life is required. I've which is driven excessively for the second time with the night darkness for the star. And as for my amount as been able to point itchily you, from the fact that the hat which smell does is learned, and the i'm many times which inquire about the same love song pepper of the teacher of my mouth using the sour taste with CD. And I have remembered that it drives with you and it counts la Quintas, (the I that mean that with the next door “of Denny” is because of Spanish,) everyone of the world compared to laugh. But that with the next door “of Denny” is not because of Spanish, and I have not informed the Spanish for i love, because my brain was made, by the company which is discontinued 20 years ago. And soda I of that name ancestor/founder your memory just that without knowing that you drink, under any condition, there is no teacher he with anyone of pepper, does not know under any condition. But and the despair which becomes tired it made knife me where the dawn is bright, and I always tried the fact that it goes into the house, I do not know I left that somewhere. So 10 years 20 in the future I by the orange night still drive, if the illusion which the highway and the railroad mark end, thing I who search what that am not there, you do not inform. And to that time, that perhaps is your defect and with that i'm rapid increase light/write which now is driven with the darkness which turns pale, in the quiet morning which bleeds with the throat which offers my life.
This copy just went from English -> Japanese -> English. I may turn this one into another poem, actually; i love the "cut-up" methods pioneered by people like Burroughs, and this seems a particularly interesting one to explore. *Especially* with Asian languages; i love how the word order gets all strange, and the distinction between the personal and the impersonal gets redrawn in very alien ways.
"I by the orange night still drive, if the illusion which the highway and the railroad mark end, thing I who search what that am not there"
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Anywhere poem morning the knife is grasped in my throat, whether my memory my life is required. I've which is driven excessively for the second time with the night darkness for the star. And as for my amount as been able to point itchily you, from the fact that the hat which smell does is learned, and the i'm many times which inquire about the same love song pepper of the teacher of my mouth using the sour taste with CD. And I have remembered that it drives with you and it counts la Quintas, (the I that mean that with the next door “of Denny” is because of Spanish,) everyone of the world compared to laugh. But that with the next door “of Denny” is not because of Spanish, and I have not informed the Spanish for i love, because my brain was made, by the company which is discontinued 20 years ago. And soda I of that name ancestor/founder your memory just that without knowing that you drink, under any condition, there is no teacher he with anyone of pepper, does not know under any condition. But and the despair which becomes tired it made knife me where the dawn is bright, and I always tried the fact that it goes into the house, I do not know I left that somewhere. So 10 years 20 in the future I by the orange night still drive, if the illusion which the highway and the railroad mark end, thing I who search what that am not there, you do not inform. And to that time, that perhaps is your defect and with that i'm rapid increase light/write which now is driven with the darkness which turns pale, in the quiet morning which bleeds with the throat which offers my life.