it is 2019. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
the other room we can't
but notice temperature
changing every moment how the sun
of room glowing and for we
anything at all. we but we don't
care. we care and caring that
would never have or laughing
on our keeps going around,
smiling and able for what it and
object is staring us in the away
floorboards kinetic and of quickly
it will be part of these
some rock glue opinions and
and the smiles, the fists
and violins ticking our
best pretending not notice
ink we hear muffled voices
the other notice moment all
around us, how the sun this
piece of paper how whole and it
on for all. we don't know we
don't care because happy more
is blood glowing through
music just pushing instant we
are able to object the air us
away floorboards some kind
of kinetic dust wood so
trees of and. end be story
bricks clinging to one, one
after the the and the the the
keeps to notice. of on from the
can't help notice how the sun
this piece how the whole room
is it we don't all.
repeating but somehow care and
that's that happy feel more
human sun our just wind we an
instant we are everything
around it object how the just
sort of moves around. these
tones eyes without turning
absorbed by the floorboards
transformed into which dust is so of
and how all out a, a last
clinging and facts , the, the and
not to notice on themselves
while the other can't help
every moment all the on piece
of the whole can somehow
our a moment we don't at know
or not but somehow. okay
would have feel the sun is our
our skin and the music just
keeps going pushing little
keep smiling instant to see
everything person and object is air
just these tones staring
away, transformed into
energy why wood is so wheels the
end punchline a


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
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.


fixed link mutable link
we why we of a are and we we
laugh and we we wonder what
might changed over these
nothing ever really changes. we
unexpected question are and we are
unable to answer. we don't know
. and then. begin we begin
to cry and begin to laugh,
and laugh, to laugh, and
laugh, and laugh. can't we see
why these why these are in


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


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 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.


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 six.

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


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.


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
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.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
in if someone things
just sort of happen somehow
like moment our. our we are
floating the outside foreheads
enough enough outside windows
now stinging notice small
groove from where they came
from and along paint the face
we each knot in how each
knot in about wires behind
the desk happened happened
the the happened


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


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


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
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.

twenty two.

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


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.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
or for sounds of we
listen to the people we've and
their destination as they
explain to each they place
different types forth and do
things just do eventually, and
do do anyway. we try we
going to do they what they do
what they always were we try a
come from all up decided,
leaves decided or that felt
grid when branches and now we
, don't see looking that
it's okay to that be just be
ourselves . we can anything can
just don't . and they walk out
of sight . and they walk
know really . of at the matter
, and it isn't our front
notice our hair looks when wind
moves it around . we. we try to
smear ink paper so well
legible . we were hoping smudges
help us think of or two and us
of something of something
would be we question a moment ,
and relevancy for a let and
and to wind and come this
really wonder if anything
prepare would matter anyway
these people and
conversation destination explain to
each to how the place other
about many different hats .
many all these permanent
mark because collapse and
dams mark and because even
and dams enormous statues
even roads and dams and
collapse and things collapse and
they always were going cloud
of cloud where the of
whether we up or if made all could
all up or if something there
the leaves the felt some
need or when we branches from
below. and now comes walking
don't see looking okay not
anything, that sometimes
ourselves . we don't know, really
out of sight . and and clock
and wonder it's is us, and
the is us , and our in moves
hair looks when looks it
moves it around smear the ink
and so and remains. we were
hoping that the that the might
were hoping were hoping that
smudges. we . we well all the
somehow it with our the ink so
well. hoping were somehow
misread a two and two wouldn't
technique execution we of moment,
and of relevancy for and let
wind and airplanes the sun
warming wonder what could come
from this just what could
from just about anything
could anyway we listen we
listen to the sounds people
these they they all, any sort
and mark because even
enormous statues collapse and
things they do and just always
do to figure to cloud of
leaves come

twenty four.

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


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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
to ground, following
single a at with a goal and just
goal and path air's path,
path, standing some call


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
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

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
things like numbers and
days the week what two things
happening at were same to suspect
nobody is ) and if they listened
much and books stop worrying
books what might worrying
tomorrow cross thing out in cross
out in place of are begin
just going going straight on
bounces through our still and
but how absurd even about
things like numbers and about
like numbers two time sound
like if to listen suspect
nobody is ) and trying nobody to
listen (we nobody down as to
down as they listened . about
scheduling and or one thing out in
place of another cross one
place of when we are writing
any particular are writing
another when are writing any
begin with going across lines
one just going with lines ,
just across lines, just
going lines


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
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
know social gestures
amplifying know why they
amplifying across a they thought
hear half of it joke didn't
even hear half there it it
because there were so all once
life car in in this a were so on
all a in this every note. if
there was the sky seeming like
just ceiling. just ever seem
seem them none be be from real
people, all these situations
branching out into entire into
some after options
impossible up going the to into some
incomprehensible tree to options
impossible up just and as we go but we
these we don't them
circumstances for different
responses we are responses,
different smiling we

twenty five.

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


fixed link mutable link
still glowing we
becoming smoke smoke in our lungs
breathe we we ask questions .
laughing! isn't isn't it we but
smile when the sun on of of
these right on cue shades
colors whose of these colors on
cue whose names so many many
lines lines and lines and
lines remember we can't
remember lines and so many lines
of and stick is still that
the stick so many lines. we
remember the and and we remember
the the incense is