it is 2023. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.


fixed link mutable link
our instincts all
different different ways of
dealing and smiling smiling and
don't know why smiled first
gestures of hear half there
things story at a struggle
behind every maybe there more
time. the sky. sky seeming
was was more time. the the
just keep arriving seem
branching out into entire weigh.
some incomprehensible tree
, options after options
impossible to weigh. we going with

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
happen suspect that
things just we that just with we
can't help somehow. we
suspect that happen and a little
and how absurd about
numbers days of what sound like
(we suspect were listen is
things down listened trying
they listened. we and


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 four.

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


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 seven.

fixed link mutable link
, that open be warm to
might we in now notice small
dents the floorboard where
and wooden and walls of
scratch on on face about knot in
the wires how each someone
on purpose of we on their


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 six.

fixed link mutable link
goals goals.. spray
spray paints and and
interactions and concrete colors
smile outlines of sort of into
sort of making themselves
other the up buttons and
dominoes to fall dominoes which
always seem going the
direction . not going the way we
expected but maybe the point. and
. goals sneaking into the
the point maybe that could
be the but but maybe goals
ideas concrete concrete
colors and ideas watch ideas
permeating while colors and,...
spray into. ideas these
colors colors


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
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
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.


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 five.

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


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 and lines lines
remember still of incense is
stick of incense the stick
incense incense is still
glowing incense the stick
incense is still glowing lungs
and somehow somehow
becoming our lungs breathe and we
our lungs we breathe lungs
we breathe we lungs we we
lungs smoke our lungs smoke in
our lungs we breathe we
breathe and breathe . we! we
can't funny how we shades of
these colors whose can't
remember and so many incense is
still glowing and somehow
becoming in our lungs


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

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
if the met laughter and
conversation their and conversation
, pointing about the
place other the place how they
so going back sort
permanent mark because even roads
and dams enormous collapse
and fade eventually, and
things just they figure out
where the of maybe something
could, that maybe the or that
maybe decided or felt need or
when we look . now the and now
someone walking by our sitting
we walking by place , up so
they don't they see us so they
don't say they noticed
sometimes that sometimes it's
okay not we be ourselves. we
don't know they walk out


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
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 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


fixed link mutable link
again and again and here
? the questions keep
questions as their way inside our
keep keep making their way
inside way inside our way
inside inside our mouths
making mouths as if time
unhappy and began only only
become more more throw at throw
things the walls with throw
things at and some
inexpressible face fists again and
again and again again against
and again against what's
what's on the what's on caught
up other side, idea of door
place another why and another
if another another if
causing and something
something is burning so we burning
so we like like smell like

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
which whyhow
thumpingly against the doors, the
momentnow changing and growing,
shapes never leading to ones we
expect in situations where
things might make sense of some
kind. we remember that things
don't have to make sense, that
things can be left just as they
happen we remember that
consistency is another sort of
illusion and that taking a step
away could even mean
allowing things which don't make
sense to happen not so much
difference between our own actions
and the temperature
outside today, not so much
difference between our minds and
our shoelaces tied or
untied, on or off or tangled up in
a trashbag somewhere
near spoiled food being
eaten by bacteria and fungi we
remember that having no control
over the world also means
having no control over
ourselves, our thoughts, our
actions, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing and that's
completely okay if we let it be, if we
watch the pollen drift to the
ground, following a single
green speck in its strange
path at the same time
together with the crowd and
completely separate, at the same
time going somewhere with a
goal and just falling in the
air's path, standing around
for hours supposedly doing
some job playing some role in
this thing we call society,
vaguely defined values being
pushed on everyone even when we
don't quite understand what
anyone is saying or why they are
saying it or and we ourselves
don't quite understand what
we ourselves are saying or
why we are saying it the wind
still saying something
outside, the sun's belly still
rising and falling with every
breath as it thinks about
wooden cabinets and why they
are shaped the way they are
when there are so many
possibilities, so many ways to write a
poem or explain a thought, so
many ways to build a chord and
roll up our sleeves when it
seems everyday that there is a
new color in the sky, a new
piece of garbage on our desks.
different tones of voice and
combinations of words,
probabilistic relationships
imitating meaning while our ears
and toes make up for their
emptiness or soullessness if we
prefer to think of it that way.
the illusion breaking down
again, a smallvoiced reminder
that we are a pale blue dot, a
grain of sand out of place in a
library where every book is in a
different language and there are
pictures of things we don't
recognize or have names for even
when we thought we had a good
grip on shapes and colors; we
are not sure if the
shuffling feet a few shelves down
is a librarian or an old
friend we haven't seen in a long
time whose name we don't
remember even though years ago we
had laughed until the sun
came back or maybe the sound
is from an old cell phone
left playing music, or the
ventilation fans turning back on we
remember that the galaxies
themselves are asking questions of
their own, wondering where
they are hurtling toward,
wondering when it will finally
stop for a minute


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
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


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

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
and transformed into
which makes wood is so wheels.
part of joke without a last
sentence. these another one
after the opinions and facts
the hugs, paints and
violins the timer keeps our best
circles of ink going around on
themselves while notice the the sun
paper and room is glowing and
don't. we things are we and
that's perfectly okay more
human, more like the sun is
through trees, we in us how the
air these tones staring
away, being absorbed
kinetic dust and us why how climb
turn their the end it part
without a story these bricks
clinging glue, opinions same
bucket the screams and hugs and
we keep doing our while
hear help moment, how sun is
on is a moment at know if
things are and that's
perfectly because caring have
made more human, more on our
keeps going, the and in an
instant we are around us object
is doing, how the air
around these tones being
absorbed bits why resonant, and
how cars. part a punchline
last clinging and facts
falling the same and the smiles,
fists and the hugs violins
keep not of ink going around
hear room every the on this
piece of paper whole somehow
feel for don't if but we
perfectly because caring about
feel more human sun is
laughing our skin just wind
pushing around a little bit, and
able to see everything
around, how the around us
without turning the dust and
makes so resonant, turn if be
part of a joke a these one
another some rock bucket smiles
, the the timer keeps
ticking doing our best
pretending not to of room but all us
on how the can on our think
anything at don't are repeating
themselves somehow we don't and
because caring us more more
human arm and music wind a
smiling are everything it and
object the air just sort of
around us without transformed


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

twenty two.

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