The Unreadability of Language
On this theme, countless images emerge in my mind:
“A Japanese Who Cannot Speak Japanese”
Because of personal circumstances, I lived in China while my father lived in Japan. At the age of 17, I met him for the first time since I was one year old. I could not speak Japanese, and he could not speak Chinese. We could only shake hands, smile, and use translation software to communicate. Biologically we were the closest of kin, yet it was extremely difficult to understand each other’s thoughts.
“The Violent Spring Rain”
Later, at a public art event in Kyoto, I witnessed a Chinese poet reciting poetry while a Japanese musician improvised an accompaniment. The musician did not understand the poem’s meaning; he created solely in response to volume and tone, just as when one listens to a song in an unfamiliar language, where the words become part of the melody. The result was a poem about spring rain paired with an accompaniment as violent as a thunderstorm.
“White Noise”
Before I learned Japanese, it was nothing but white noise to me — rhythm without content. I could focus easily on my own work in a Japanese environment. But now, since I understand parts of it, I am forced to passively receive information.
“Earworm”
Songs in my native language are more likely to become earworms. For this reason, I never listen to Chinese songs before exams like mathematics, where concentration is crucial. By contrast, unfamiliar languages sound more musical. Thus, if a musical has versions in multiple languages, I prefer German, French, or Russian over English, because I will receive too much information from the English lyrics.
“I Forgot to Comprehend”
Often when reading English texts, I pronounce each word in my mind yet forget to extract the meaning. After finishing a page, I realize I must read it all over again.
“Incomplete Translation”
Many culturally bound words cannot be fully translated. Especially in literature closely tied to culture, when run through machine translation into multiple languages and back again, the result often becomes completely distorted.
Randomness and Inevitability
Randomness and Inevitability
“Trend”
Think of the “trend” logic on platforms like TikTok: one original content is replicated, remixed, and transformed countless times, producing theoretically infinite branches. Yet under the influence of the algorithm’s invisible hand, everything converges into one single outcome — the version you see on your screen.
For instance, this summer’s trend: “Jet 2 holiday”. Or this winter’s: “Ruby-chan! Hai! Nani ga suki?（ルビィちゃん！何が好き～？）”. Each began as a relatively interesting video, then underwent endless recreations. Over time, the resulting videos bore little connection to the original.
Another example is hachimitsu. In Japanese it literally means “honey.” But in the anime Uma Musume: Pretty Derby (Season 2, Episode 12), a background jingle repeated the word quickly, making it sound like “hajimi.” When this clip was reuploaded to Chinese video platforms, viewers subconsciously associated “哈基米 (hajimi)” with cute and fluffy animals. Thus in Chinese internet slang, Hajimi is now used to describe something adorable.
For instance, this summer’s trend: “Jet 2 holiday”. Or this winter’s: “Ruby-chan! Hai! Nani ga suki?（ルビィちゃん！何が好き～？）”. Each began as a relatively interesting video, then underwent endless recreations. Over time, the resulting videos bore little connection to the original.
“Honey — Fluffy Animals ”
Another example is hachimitsu. In Japanese it literally means “honey.” But in the anime Uma Musume: Pretty Derby (Season 2, Episode 12), a background jingle repeated the word quickly, making it sound like “hajimi.” When this clip was reuploaded to Chinese video platforms, viewers subconsciously associated “哈基米 (hajimi)” with cute and fluffy animals. Thus in Chinese internet slang, Hajimi is now used to describe something adorable.
“Cadavre Exquis”
I once experienced a similar process when playing the French game Cadavre Exquis with friends. We divided a piece of paper into several sections — head, body, legs, and feet. Each person drew one part, then folded the paper to hide it and passed it on. We always let a few lines extend beyond the fold, giving the next person faint clues but never revealing the whole picture. When we finally unfolded the paper, the completed figure was always unexpected and absurd.
Therefore
Inspired by randomness and the unreadability of language, the interactive work Babel Poem was created:
A sentence → translated into an unfamiliar language → continued by the next person → repeatedly passed across languages.
By the time it reaches the final participant, it has become completely unrecognizable, yet its path is unique and irreversible.
"Algorithmic entropy forces all mistranslated towers to trend as one Babel."