“The scope of what happened.
With artificial strawberry is salvation.
And the blood is the aesthetics of luck.”
I do not know what those words mean.
But they come at me with urgency from Google Translate,
As I flipped, back and forth
between English and French, English and Latin, English and Khmer…
The words made sense when it all began.
But they picked up these little errors along the way.
The problem is that we don’t randomly happen toward meaning.
There are so many more ways for a thing to go wrong than right.
Until we are left with artificial strawberry as a kind-of salvation.
Until we are left with antibiotics.
Until our blood itself is the aesthetics of luck.
Whatever that all means.
Until it comes to this.
There is some deja-vu here:
the words, they made sense when it all began…
until it comes to this.