...to read crap like this. An actual page of an actual manuscript that we're actually going to publish. I feel like this guy just decided to pick fifty words out of a dictionary and include them on that particular page as he was writing. Original text:
Una nube esbelta que va engordando de sonido, la luna fuma de los orgullosos riscos que saludan a Hitler. Hasta hace poco, no tenía antecedentes el raso cuerpo, y en la lenta escena del discreto crimen, fotografías suavizan los blancos papeles mientras dejaba mi huella dactilar entre alas sin plumas del cabalgado caballo. Y el sudor negro que las espuelas calientes que se espetan en las orillas de la noche intentan evaporar y la pubertad con once o doce hombres mas aguantan el crecimiento.
Allí escucha el silencio la dilatada pupila que la luna irá tragando. Sobre una cuchara hervía el polen de donde la abeja muere espetada, ahí va dilatada de amor, a recordar el invierno. Y el mundo duerme bajo fronteras de pesadillas que oriné para coronar mi espacio. Y los dientes que se desvisten de calor, saliban y espantan la sobriedad a las rodillas del vaso. ¿Podrá ser el hechizo de una bruja, que en un charco de ruego hirviendo, dos santos dejan caer sus caras y el sueno se baja la falda para que no estén ligando?
And the translation...rough, but still, you get the idea. Or not.
A slender cloud that is fattening up with sound, the Moon smokes the proud curls that salute Hitler. Up until recently, the smooth body had no ancestors, and in the slow scene of the discreet crime, photographs smoothed the white papers while I left my fingerprint between the featherless wings of the mounted horse. And the black sweat that the hot spurs try to evaporate, the spurs that skewer the edges of the night, and the puberty with eleven or twelve more men hold up the growth.
There, the dilated pupil which the Moon will swallow up slowly, listens to silence. The pollen was boiling on a spoon where the bee died, pierced; it goes there dilated with love, to remember the winter. And the world sleeps under frontiers of nightmares that I urinated to crown my space. And the teeth that come out because of the heat, salivate and scare sobriety at the knees of the drinking glass. Could it be a witch's hex, which in a pool of boiling request, two saints let their faces fall, and the dream lowers her skirt so that they do not connect?
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