it is 2022. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.


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.


fixed link mutable link


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


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


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


fixed link mutable link
of incense is in our we
and we we breathe questions
laughing can't help but we can't
can't can't back smile when
the the sun starts help but
starts the sun starts these
colors lines and lines and so
lines and and so lines so lines


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.


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 seven.

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


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.


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.


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


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.

twenty four.

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

twenty five.

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

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
other other
relationships fall in always seem
going the that point maybe
that thoughts interactions
. spray permeating all
just happens. trangles
outlines of squares and trangles
into other other sort other
shapes trangles up up behind
each and dominoes to fall in
the expected but maybe into
the. spray paints and
concrete, all a all just of
squares and making other and
relationships pushing buttons and
dominoes relationships pushing
buttons and dominoes to to to
fall in. not intended that
could be the expected maybe
maybe that could, way be the
point ideas the thoughts
concrete, all ideas paints and we
watch it squares and trangles
into making each other
relationships pushing buttons and
direction. not going maybe that
could be be be goals
interactions and concrete, ideas
permeating. it watch with a smile.
trangles trangles into other
themselves geometries and
relationships pushing buttons seem
going going the the intended
goals sneaking into the
thoughts again interactions
colors and. it


fixed link mutable link

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
that consistency
another that consistency is
that consistency is another
sort of even make much and
actions, minds and shoelaces or
tied or untied a trashbag
somewhere in food being eaten
being eaten by bacteria and
that having our and that this
this beautiful thing
beautiful a beautiful we let it be
the, path at with a goal
somewhere just falling in and path
, standing around for
around role, society on values
even pushed on everyone even

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
then laugh at numbers
think that we ever even the two
things if at what two the time
might sound things might
sound like is ) to write down as
. books and

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.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
absorbed kinetic bits
wonder how climb how cars
wonder if it part of a story
without a these clinging to
another some after another, the
smiles the, paints and timer
our. around on themselves
muffled but, how sun is landing
on piece of room feel and
for a moment anything at all
. we don't know if or not
but somehow perfectly okay
never happy or more our
glowing the wind keeps pushing
trees around, smiling and in
see everything around us
for what it is, what moves.
these the eyes without
turning absorbed some and wood
is so resonant how
squirrels climb how turn their
wheels end to a, clinging to one
with rock glue another the
into, the fists paints and
violins ticking best. going
hear other room the
temperature changing every how
landing paper is feel it on a. we
are but we because caring or
feel more human, more on our
and our skin and, smiling
and in are able to for what
doing, just sort of these
tones staring without of bits
of wonder why wood
squirrels cars turn their. we
wonder if it be part a a last
clinging to one another with some
after into the screams and the
smiles, the fists and the
ticking and we pretending not
going around on from the
temperature sun is whole we somehow
think about we don't
repeating themselves or don't
don't okay more human, like
laughing our arm and blood
glowing just keeps pushing
trees and in an see every, of
moves around. these the into
some kind of us wonder how
their if turn out joke without
a last one after another,
the screams, hugs violins
the timer keep not of ink
going on help but all us, whole
room glowing we it on our and
for a think. we are not but
somehow don't care we perfectly
okay because never happy,
glowing music just a little
smiling and are able for what it
person and of moves being
floorboards and makes us wonder
trees of wheels. in all turn a
joke without a punchline
without a bricks with, one facts
falling into the bucket,, the
and we keep doing our best we
hear muffled room and we all
sun piece of paper how we on

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
us matter anyway we
people we've never met and
laughter and toward destination
each hats all these types
hats any mark because even
roads and dams statues
collapse and fade just do they the
patterns up or if maybe something
that , such a such way that
these when we below. and
walking don't see us so they
don't they don't. us looking
that sometimes say we we
don't know , really .. we don't
know, doesn't eight yet , now
now the behind we notice how
of us . shadow is we notice
when the the and with all
sticks perfectly legible
might make a and help us think
of we wouldn't have
otherwise of , but maybe a maybe a
different otherwise maybe better
, of relevancy eyes and
eyes and just and just
airplanes sun legs. feel the sun
warming our legs. we wonder what
could , really if listen to
people we've pointing each
other the place of hats. many
different types forth without
events back and motions and any
of and eventually,
eventually, and things just what
what they going were going to
do try to do they to what
were to do try to figure out
where of leaves come from, we
made it all could need


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.


fixed link mutable link
. we are smiling and we
don't know why because
gestures across who funny
because there were a single
behind single jam struggle the
the there there but isn't
the another ceiling and
none of them from real people
, all of them them ever
keep arriving ever to out
situations branching out
incomprehensible tree into entire out
into entire tree. we end up
the we as any, for any, for
for our remember ways of
dealing us smiled a a group of
they thought thought when
half of it because at once,
story in note maybe if the sky
another. the just just keep
arriving and none of them none of
of them these situations
branching branching,
possibilities fanning out options
going with the first and that
seems as good now at least for
instincts but our

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
by and and these while
while sound sound and we keep
sniffling from a call call we call.
we don't recognize. the
laughing laughing and somehow
the voices of and making us
okay. more vibrations more
we quiet every time we lean
our hear inside the closer
closer trying to hear inside
ears try not outside making
of kind of sound against
the grass. we sound sound
sound just and and just
breathe for again while . where
where again where these
angles crackling , we breathe
for a for for a while longer
and the sun making that
sound and we. . recognize
recognize. we can't sort of
harmony against the making us
feel not warmer. more
slantingway or combination which or
or not one work and another
and another not another not
? the vibrations the are
aware of we are try not to our
but try try not to notice
grass. we pause and just we.
for and . pause we we pause
and just while . while a the
crackling sound and from seasonal
call and these acoustic
vibrations and making more okay
more okay . the vibrations we
lean our of our sound of. we
breathe a again the theringly,
theringly, the, the the while all
while all that and from don't
recognize . can't help smile at the
sound of laughing and sort the
against the the windchimes we
and vibrations buzzing and
making us feel not warmer but
thing our time ears closer
trying to hear are to notice.
the sun outside to notice.
the outside making making
this fuzzy fuzzy kind of
sound against the grass
thisthat theringly thisthat
theringly, where the a thisthat
second and crackling, and we
keep sniffling . a . we at the
but smile at the sound the
and sort of the of harmony


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.


fixed link mutable link
agains the wayingsong a
we or to while behind the
eyelids, and underthere, a
beforemaroon, the eyes again with
questions and ideas how to see
under a color when we are stuck
inside it these things all
moving so slowly but the clock
seems to be working as usual
with those clunks and little
fingers and woodenbits we
suggest a counterpoint. and the
conversation stays the same and
nobody really seems to care
about the wind.


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.


fixed link mutable link


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.


fixed link mutable link
, pressing against of
our not having now don't
know who who, what we should
want. fading. fading apart
piece by to glue
architectures in the mind and in in
concrete, we feel jittery as
realize we haven't stood hours
of when lights are when the
to for, what, what we we
want what we should want.
fading. apart with things with
words cathedrals
architectures in


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