你能想象一首关于蘑菇的诗吗?从这种生物身上漫溢出来的,究竟是什么?致命的芬芳,腐烂的香气,这是一首关于微生物的诗,痂下在暗涌,分子的奇观,勾结一段无器官的舞蹈。
Can you imagine a poem about mushrooms? What is this thing, that springs from the living? The aroma of destroying. The scent of decay. This is a verse of bacteria. Fermented wound. Molecular spectacle. Plotting a dance without organs.
这颗石头曾经是这个岩石的一部分,那个男人之前就坐在这上面,这里的岩石、树木、混泥土,它们纳入万物,我的身体,同样也能感受到这种余震。
This stone was part of the rock he was sitting on. The rocks, the trees, the concrete...they absorb everything. I too can feel the vibrations stored in my body.
我记得我吃的所有食物,记得我们每天的天气,记得我手在处理鱼的动作,我意识到,我并不奢求去到别的地方,更多的经历,反而无益处,他们会在我的记忆里,释放更多的混乱慌张,所以我就在此深耕。
I remember everything I've eaten. The weather we've had everyday. The movement of my hand here, on this fish. I realized that...I have no desire to go anywhere. Experiences are harmful. Experiences are harmful. So I work the land.
我写了首诗,关于不眠之夜,在花瓣背面的...那些曾快速挥动着的翅膀...风儿大声喘息...随着他的阴影一同消散。
I composed a poem! About sleepless nights. Beyond the petals...and once-fierce wings...the air gasps...as its fading shadow.
我从来没离开过这个小镇, 这里的一切我都记得,所以我会限制我的视之所及,这也是为什么我不看电影也不看电视,统统都是对宇宙美好的错失。
I never leave this town. I remember everything. So I try to limit what I see. That's why I never watch movies or TV. Miss Universe.