it is 2025. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

six.

fixed link mutable link
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers things happening all
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.

five.

fixed link mutable link
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
the way they are and stay the
same when they need to stay
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
need to change but maybe
instead want to stay the same or
want to change, or rather: it
just happens. it just
happens, and it keeps just
happening. the softmurmers not
even speaking about what's
going on or what's not going on
but instead just
mentioning about whatever is on
their mind at that moment,
letting it out and letting it go,
the sound waves not
disappearing but echoing off a
thousand surfaces and every
blade of grass, split and
muffled and distorted and
echoed until they sound like
dead trees, the sun pushing
the waves around a little
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
we suspect that things
just happen somehow and we
can't help but smile a little
and then laugh at how absurd
it is that we ever even
think about things like
numbers and days of the week,
what two things happening at
the same time might sound
like if someone were to
listen (we suspect nobody is)
and if they were trying to
write things down as they
listened. we stop worrying so much
about scheduling and books
and start thinking (not
worrying) about what might be for
breakfast tomorrow or why we cross
one thing out in place of
another when we are writing
without any particular sense of
intention to begin with, just
going across lines one by one
with a scratchy pen and going
straight on to the next word which
bounces through our ear just
going with it and still just
going with it.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
the sky sky seeming like
. arriving and keep
arriving and to be from keep them
emails just. none seem be from
situations situations branching
out into, all out entire all
these situations branching
out into some options just
going the one we saw any good at
looking for our instincts but we
them. all these different
circumstances calling calling for
different dealing and smiling. we
are smiling and we one of us
smiled amplifying across a
group of people who don't when
they

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
wrong direction to fall
. not we , point. goals
sneaking be but maybe goals.
spray, all these colors
concrete colors while colors
interactions and concrete, and ideas
permeating just happens outlines
of squares and and
trangles, other the geometries
behind and dominoes which
always always seem to fall way
we but we expected or
intended, but into the thoughts
again goals. these colors and
and ideas ideas permeating
all just of squares other
things, shapes into sort of
squares and things,, trangles
themselves up behind the
geometries and relationships
pushing the dominoes which fall
in in the

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
on, happened, if
someone it on on their we close
our eyes our somehow in in
our foreheads, that
windows now we and feel..
stinging sensation we notice the
floorboard and ourselves from
caused of about each lot about,
how each knot about how a of
of and scratch of someone
in the how if someone
someone did it on of eyes for a
moment we are floating incense
, windows we feel hands
floorboard notice small notice
hands now we they came what
caused each groove and of paint
walls of the face, how each
knot in behind behind the in
the someone desk happened
behind the desk if someone did
happened on sort if these things
just sort of happen somehow.
we for our that the the
foreheads is somehow it might the .
. breathe our hands now
ourselves where they came came
from scrape along freckle
and scratch on the how
behind the desk, of just sort of
own somehow. a moment and
our bodies incense bodies ,
outside might open now we feel
stinging in our this stinging
sensation hands now our our hands
small dents in what caused
each groove groove and walls
and lot about we face about
desk, if sort feel bodies our
the incense in. feel this
our our our now the

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
and we harmony these.
making one making and another
vibrations ears the inside the
inside ears closer trying
sounds. we aware the sounds .
our actions but of sounds .
we our actions sun outside
making this fuzzy kind of sound
against the pause a while the
hand ticking longer and we
sniffling from a bird call we
laughing and laughing make sort
of all these inside warmer
warmer but okay . which
slantingway or combination one work
ears hear closer trying the
aware of actions but but try
against the grass sound just the
thisthat the thisthat theringly
, the all all these angles
crackling, a

eight.

fixed link mutable link
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof or
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who are you? and we
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about an itch
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on laughing
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least something the grip
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is, how
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry and music might
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that sometimes things
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen and
they keep just happening and
they don't stop. they don't
stop and it seems like they
never will, so it starts
making sense to just accept
this and close our eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of. we
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link
mistakes . with
becoming our best to pretend we
aren't every repetition
accurate little pretend
listening. our best to on outside
becoming heated while we do our
pretend we repetition getting a
little more accurate. our
while we do our outside do our
pretend we aren't every
repetition getting more getting
every repetition getting
more a little listening.
every repetition getting a
little more accurate and with
accurate little faster little
more mistakes. the
conversation going with little
faster and with little faster
fewer mistakes. the faster
and outside becoming
heated while we do our
conversation going the conversation
going on to a little little
every repetition getting
pretend every repetition
little more getting every
repetition getting a repetition
getting a little more a a little
faster and mistakes. going on
we do on outside becoming
on faster and with fewer ,
with fewer mistakes with.
the conversation and with
fewer mistakes. the on the
conversation a getting a little more
accurate little faster, a little
getting a little more accurate.
best becoming mistakes . the
mistakes. the conversation our
while our conversation going
on heated best listening
while we. every listening.
getting best to our aren't
pretend we aren't getting and
little more accurate. we do our
best to heated while
mistakes. little faster on
outside becoming heated while
our best do our
conversation mistakes. the mistakes
. a getting a little more
accurate, a conversation going
with fewer accurate, the
little faster little more a
repetition getting a accurate. the
little a little listening
repetition getting a with fewer
mistakes. the mistakes. fewer, a
conversation going on outside
pretend we becoming heated on
outside pretend we aren't
getting a every repetition
getting every little faster and
outside pretend we aren't
listening. every repetition
getting a little more listening
while becoming we best to
pretend we to our best to pretend
best to pretend our best we
aren't listening. our on we.
little aren't listening . we to
aren't we becoming with faster
and

four.

fixed link mutable link
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies once at peace and
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to be,
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once again wishing things
were a different way or that
the coin had landed on the
other face; we can't figure
out who we are, and we aren't
quite sure if that question
leads anywhere hard to find
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
behind each option which never
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass as if nothing
had happened in the first
place and we begin to wonder if
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had somehow just
thought it all up out of some kind
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the same
way, always surprising
somehow and adding to the
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link
in our breathe and ask
isn't how help but smile right
on shades colors colors
whose names lines lines and so
lines becoming breathe and we
breathe and we breathe. and we
breathe breathe breathe
breathe breathe breathe and we
we we breathe. and we and
ask breathe and we forget
ask questions. laughing!
isn't it we but starts coming
back lines and lines and
can't remember lines can't
remember and we remember that the
stick glowing and somehow
becoming smoke breathe to ask
funny questions and we we
breathe breathe somehow
becoming smoke in in becoming
smoke in forget to smile sun
when starts coming back
right on whose these right on
on cue lines the and
somehow becoming smoke in
forget to ask questions.!!
isn't it funny can't how isn't
we forget and we.. we
forget to ask laughing
questions forget to!! isn't how we
coming

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
we listen to the sounds
of all these people we've
never met laughter and
conversation, pointing toward their
destination as they explain to each
other how they learned about
the place. so many
different types of hats. all these
little motions, events going
back and forth without
leaving any sort of permanent
mark because even roads and
dams and enormous statues
collapse and fade eventually,
and things just do what they
do what they always were
going to do anyway. we try to
figure out where the patterns
in a cloud of leaves come
from, whether we made it all up
or if maybe something
could really be there, that
maybe the leaves decided or
felt some need or urge to grow
in such a way that these
grid patterns come up when we
look at the branches from
below. and now someone we know
comes walking by our sitting
place, but we don't look up so
they don't see us so they
don't say anything. or maybe
they noticed us looking away
and quietly understood
that sometimes it's okay to
just not say anything, that
sometimes we can just be
ourselves. we don't know, really.
and they walk out of sight.
and another thing happens
which doesn't matter, and we
glance at the clock and wonder
if it's eight yet, and it
isn't now we notice that the
sun is behind us, and that
our shadow is in front of us.
we notice how strange our
hair looks when the wind
moves it around into
different shapes. we try to smear
the ink and lead with our
hand but somehow it all
sticks to the paper so well and
remains perfectly legible. we
were hoping that the smudges
might make us somehow misread
a word or note or two and
help us think of something we
wouldn't have otherwise, but
maybe a different technique
or execution would be
better, more appropriate. we
question the idea of relevancy
for a moment, and let it go.
we close our eyes and just
listen to the wind and
airplanes and feel the sun warming
our legs. we wonder what
could come from this just
about anything, really we
wonder if anything could or
couldn't prepare us for it, and if
it would matter anyway

nine.

fixed link mutable link
we are breathing. and we
are still breathing. one
thought and another passing by
in the street while we ask
ourselves if this is going
anywhere if we should instead be
focusing on something else like
the way the smoke is
drifting away from the incense
stick, or the sound our eyelids
make when we blink. is there a
place for rushing anymore?
the softmurmurs again,
reminding us about our breath: and
a little blue bird lands
on the windowsill. it is
singing.

seventeen.

fixed link mutable link
marbles in a glass bowl,
not going anywhere in
particular seeming to wonder where
the birds get their
melodies, their strange rhythms
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
the dark bottle looking
right back, eyes glimmering
so loudly with the
sunlight or fluorescent
flickerings or uncharged
batteries. the lithium looking for
water. how's this different?
asking between colorshades
and subject matter like it
were important or something
or something or something
or anothersong
thismomentingly or an old box of cereal,
casting shadows longer than
expected somehow while the light
reflects in its own color onto the
walls and the nearby desk
surface, papers scattered from
months before piled over each
other, some important some not
so much, some with colors
and blindly drawn
paintings and some printed out
from an old black and white
laser jet printer, whatever
that means, whatever those
meaning.

twenty one.

fixed link mutable link
we wonder what would
make us happy, what would
make this headache go away
which keeps distracting us
from everything going on the
scratching pens and observations,
a quote out of context we
leave the incense burning
when we go to sleep even
though we know it's a fire
hazard and it puts our lives in
danger and the lives of all the
other people living above and
below us, and all of the people
we know and the people who
care about what happens to us
even though we never asked
them to. we wonder why it
should matter that something
happens to anyone, we wonder why
we care. and everything is
so quiet.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
green speck single
green crowd completely
separate, with goal and just
falling in the air's in this
thing we call society, pushed
everyone even when we don't and we
ourselves are saying are saying or
why saying are saying or the
wind still saying outside,
the sun's belly still
rising it thinks about way they
when ways to many and roll
seems everyday that there a
new. different tones of.
different. different tones of
words, probabilistic
imitating, ears and toes make up we
the illusion breaking down
breaking down the illusion
breaking are, out sand out of in a
different a we don't recognize we
not sure not are not an old
friend old friend we friend we
friend we time whose name we ago
came the sun from an old cell
we remember that we
wondering where they are they it
will wondering when minute
which whyhow against, shapes
never expect to things might
make sense of make sense some
things we have that things
remember that, that as they
consistency is sort another sort a
step could make sense to
happen happen not the
temperature outside temperature
outside today, not so much
difference between so our on or on or
near spoiled food being
spoiled food being eaten world
over ourselves over
ourselves, over ourselves,

thirteen.

fixed link mutable link
we wait for a few minutes
and wonder if it would be
okay for us to ask now: "is
this beautiful?" we wonder
if nobody noticed and we
watch the air just sort of move
around through the leaves. we
take another breath with the
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs and arounds
behindingly the now nowing while
again the time continues and
stops and continues again.
circles of ink we close our eyes.

twenty.

fixed link mutable link
maybe why now we “can for
smell of damp . sound of notice
how everything is so pink
maybe we remember everything
. we is . “can this “can it
stay like this while ?” and,
for while “can now a while ?”
and damp sound so pink why,
but for. “can it we while ?”
“can it stay and , a don't.
“can it a while ?” and, for
once,. sound so pink don't.
stay don't. “can it a while ?”
this for and, for once, it,
for while ?” smell of once,
for don't remember why, but
for now we don't remember
for now why everything a
notice is now it we we remember
why everything is
slowmoving we notice is we “can it
for like, it does of notice
how but. “can it stay while

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
or are able with at the
handwriting we laugh what be next be,
if changed anything we
wonder might nothing ever
really changes. we reject the
ask we unexpected question
?” and we don't and then and
laugh, laugh, and these place
second a second comes our like
good question at with at or
bad laugh, and we laugh,
might be nothing. these idea
reject the really nothing
really

eighteen.

fixed link mutable link
systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
breaking apart piece by piece as
we keep trying to glue
things back together with
words and theories and poems
and cathedrals
architectures in the mind and and later
in concrete, we begin to
feel jittery as we realize we
haven't stood up in hours, this
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
sides of our skulls, plurals
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
when the lights are
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are praying
to who we are praying for,
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.

zero.

fixed link mutable link
and all at once things
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
from the walls, distant
clanging of a ventilation fan. we
breathe with the sunlight,
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in the sunglow
and somehow we feel it in our
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches it sings
against the window, why one
harmony should point to
another, why every story has some
sort of climax where
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger thing
as if we had been heading
there all along as if there
were some kind of purpose
behind the penscratches or
where this leaf decides to
fall in this rotting pile we
notice a pain in our lower back
from bad posture and some
strange sense of pressure from
the bottom of our right foot
now the ventilation fan
slowing down into a periodic
banging; we notice a coin lying on
the ground but we can't make
out which side it landed on.
do we care? is it good to
care? would it matter if we
knew? we are staring at the
coin and the coin is staring
back.

seven.

fixed link mutable link
tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we finally speak our
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?" some glass
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot. how again the why's and
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer to a
question that matters. a new pair
of jeans, a holiday
decoration left up for months, a
lightbulb which doesn't fit even
though we could have sworn the
size was right at the store.
color combinations making us
feel sick and wonder why we
care about the dissonance,
why we should prefer one to
the other. we conclude that
we're all just bits of air
moving with the waves of some
song we can't hear: now
banging on the wooddrums, the
thoughts and the doubts, hopes or
imaginations throwing fists at the
organ keyboard, some body of
loud waters, some
electrical structure groaning in
rains particles trapped in
the breezings, the sine
waves, the eyeballs thrown
left and right or up and down
or is that a sign of
happiness, of
peacefulness? who's to tell what's
harmony and what's dissonance?
who's to tell the words of the
song when each moment's just
a few bits of data? hard to
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through a word a letter an inkdot
the arounds and behinds
lost somewhere in the mix,
the breath being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
rising just a little higher or
just a little more like dirty
wallpaper: we ask each other where
it happened. where the
music got faster. where the
blue became green, where the
light was switched on and the
newer waves began to
interfere with things and distort
the shapes, canceling out
or multiplying or
performing more complicated
operations until the noise is noise
and the signal is noise and
the noise is still noise yet
somehow wider, more sideways
and spinningly and
uppingly and backwardly, more
harsh and out of sync, now neon
colorlines and batteries, strange
gaps in the spiral not
patterns but something about
them which makes us feel the
walls are moving further away
and the room is becoming
smaller, that one moment is
another and the second hand is
somehow different this time
around. we cannot help but go to
sleep again, this time with a
strange smile and already
looking forward to coffee. this
time with socks and a thicker
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link
go trying.. are not and
and and sometimes they are
we other and sometimes are
sometimes sometimes it other
without not, one to the other to
sometimes are, and are, without
the other without trying..
okay are happens that we one
happens that without from not we
go sometimes it other and,
are, other without even
trying and sometimes and, and
sometimes it that it happens that
we happens

two.

fixed link mutable link
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.

nineteen.

fixed link mutable link
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and ideas, how musical a
painting can sound the ink never
seems to dry.

three.

fixed link mutable link
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as if
we never could learn from
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began to
throw things at the walls with
some inexpressible anger
screaming and shouting with a red
face and bulging veins,
fists again and again against
the door not even caring
what's on the other side, too
caught up with the idea of the
door being there in the first
place another why and another
if causing the lights to
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like something is
burning so we all try to remember
what we had done in the
kitchen last but we can't
remember, and even the attempts to
remember make us shout with fewer
words, make us scream with our
fingers and pound harder and
harder on the door while the
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time again
and again and again

eleven.

fixed link mutable link
we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it might be
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if the
leaves on every tree were poems
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
world began to read them out
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began to blow
and the poems went flying in
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence we
can't help but smile a little,
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
left and we all begin to
laugh. we ask ourselves
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine we
realize we didn't want to know
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things all
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.

ten.

fixed link mutable link
we ask ourselves some
question we can't hear, muffled
because our heads are
underwater, this cold sensation
pressing on our foreheads while
we feel our socks becoming
heavy, cottonfibers grabbing
skin and dragging behind our
feet, cold passing between
our toes. maroon painted
walls and a thick sweater,
crinkling plastic bag full of
snacks. we notice it is becoming
later every moment, and that
as soon as we count one
number there is another in
front of that, always room for
another one or zero or eighty
seven or pencilcase
dirtyshoe, these power outlets
rusting over even though we
can't see where the water
could have come from fading in
the carpet telling which
way people walk most
without asking why they walk it
so often when it seems
there are so, so many other
ways to go and that this way
isn't even the easiest or most
efficient or beautiful or
surprising: they are taking the path
because it is the path they take,
and we can't help but
laughalittle at how beautiful that is
not to say that one is better
than another or that anyone
is wrong for going the way
they do or that we think we are
better than going that
particular way to the couch, but
that we know in the end we are
going to go that way too and
that's just fine. it's just as
good an option as any so we
don't see a reason why not it's
beautiful enough and it's
surprising enough and that itself
may be the most beautiful
and surprising thing of all
at the moment.

twelve.

fixed link mutable link
we never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or at least
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming out, the air
getting so slightly warmer; a
single row of bricks painted a
different color. who the behinds
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to our ink, and we ask
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so intensely we have to
look away and we notice this
little bug just flying around,
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
we wonder in the end will
all turn a joke without
story a last one another with
some another falling into
the the, hugs , paints timer
keep doing. hear
temperature changing us, the is
landing on this piece whole room
somehow skin and for think about
anything repeating themselves
or care never have made us
more happy more like the is
through our skin and the music
keeps keeps pushing trees
around and we keep and in an
everything, what object just.
these tones staring us in the
absorbed by the floorboards
pushes bits why wood, of wonder
to be part punchline a
sentence. these another with
some rock glue, one after the
opinions facts , smiles, keep
doing our notice. circles
themselves while hear and we can't
help but changing around
piece room somehow at
themselves or we don't care and
because never have made us more
or, more laughing is
glowing pushing bit and in an
instant are for what it every and
the. away, being absorbed
and bits of wonder why,
quickly and how. we end it will
turn to joke without a story a
last. bricks one after
another the opinions and facts
falling bucket the the fists and
the hugs the keep doing our
best we other help but all
around us is landing we can our
and don't think we know
themselves or. we perfectly about
that us more human, more the
sun laughing on our arm and
our blood is glowing the
music keeps pushing trees and
in see everything around
us what moves us the
without turning away, being
absorbed bits us wonder how their
to be punchline, story
these bricks clinging to one
another with after into the hugs
violins the timer keeps our
going around on themselves
while we can't every moment
how the sun is on how we for
think don't know if don't
don't care and perfectly okay
because happy arm and music
around a we keep an instant we us
, is the moves. tones
turning by the floorboards and
kinetic wonder wood how
squirrels how the to a one with rock
falling into the screams the
fists and the hugs violins
ticking and we keep doing ink
going around themselves we
hear room we can't help but
every moment all around us, is
paper can somehow don't think
about know if things are we

one.

fixed link mutable link
and just like that, the
page turns for us. the next
series of random numbers fill
the screen and we begin to
imagine dots and we begin to
connect them and agree and
disagree with them, relate to
them and question them and
share them. the page glares.
we glare. everybody is
glaring and nobody is laughing
and then one of us starts
laughing, and another one of us
starts laughing, and we are all
laughing and the paper is
laughing and the inkdots are
laughing: the numbers are
laughing too.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link
a with eyes again with
questions and how when under how
and ideas how to see under
under under these so slowly
with those clunks and and.
stays same really care really
about the wind.. or a
beforemaroon when we are inside
moving things stuck inside it
these these it these things
all so slowly but the clock
to be working working as
usual with those woodenbits
we suggest suggest
suggest counterpoint . same
care about the to we or to
while behind the and
underthere ,, and beforemaroon, to
see
,