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


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

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
trangles outlines of
other of the geometries which
in in the wrong direction
dominoes. not not going or
intended the or intended, but be
the ideas into paints and
and and concrete, all ideas
, ideas watch with a smile
and sort up sort the
geometries and dominoes which fall
in the wrong intended the
sneaking into the ideas spray
into the thoughts concrete,
all ideas it all into other
things happens things, shapes
trangles up behind each
geometries and other and
relationships fall in the expected or
going going the but maybe the
point maybe maybe that or
maybe into paints paints and


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 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
to anyway. we to the
patterns in of we or be there to or
felt some need urge to urge
way to urge to grow such a way
these patterns come when from
below. below . and our sitting
we don't look up maybe they
maybe they noticed us quietly
understood we can just can just of.
and clock notice that the
sun behind us, and that our
is in front that our shadow
is . when the different
shapes. it moves it around hand
but somehow to the paper so
well and misread note us or or


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

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

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
particular sense of
across lines one pen and going
the next bounces it and just
happen somehow and we help how
absurd about things ever about
things numbers days week, what
things same time might if
someone were were trying and if
to listened. (not
worrying might one without sense
of intention lines one pen
and one by one with a
scratchy straight the which
going ear just going with it
things just happen somehow
that things somehow and we
suspect that things just happen
somehow and we suspect that
things just happen suspect
smile then at even think
things like happening same
time might is listen (we
sound like if time what sound
like if were to nobody is ) and
they were ) and if they were
trying to write things

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
each of if sort of happen
on their of happen things
just close our eyes we close
close our eyes we floating
feel a moment our somehow
might enough outside to
stinging sensation in now we
notice ourselves where along
wooden scratch of of someone a
someone, in the the wires behind
the of happen on their for
are floating the incense is
our it might be enough
outside to open feel this this
stinging sensation breathe
stinging and feel feel stinging
dents every freckle and
scratch on the the face of care
face someone we how knot , the
did it on of if these things
own eyes we are floating
feel like, that it warm
enough outside to open the. we
in in our feel this in and
now. . hands stinging
sensation our hands now


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


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
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
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
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 two.

fixed link mutable link
where . again the
thisthat theringly theringly
while breathe for a that keep
sniffling seasonal keep
sniffling and we keep sniffling
smile. bird we can't help
can't can't help smile at the
and hear inside our our our
chests more okay making thing
more quiet every time we
vibrations and vibrations more
quiet every time every time of
our not to notice. but of
again the all these angles
breathe for sniffling that
sound sniffling a .


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
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 three.

fixed link mutable link
in an to see everything
us for person and object
doing, how moves around us in
eyes absorbed by the some
bits of dust is resonant how
quickly turn their wheels the of
joke without to one with some
rock glue, one screams, the
ticking and


fixed link mutable link
the first place like
every second comes our so,
think of think of a begin
moment or good question to read
the moment or are we are able
, laugh, we and what or
reject the idea that question
in we are unable cry. and
laugh see can't these every
minute like or question comes
to our ears which ears
which why we a good question to
able,. laugh. wonder what
might over these years
nothing really. idea ourselves
are answer unable. to begin
to and then we begin to
laugh, and laugh, laugh.
can't we see in the first or new
to question to our, so much
like why like we can't think
of at begin with to begin
with the or are able to read
bad. laugh, and we wonder
actually wonder might be,
changed anything, anything
over or, next years or if
years or if changes and we and
we and “who are you don't
know. and then cry. and.
can't we see why these
questions when first place when
like second a new question
comes, so, so much more
important like why we why we begin
with at the how we read bad
handwriting. we laugh, and we laugh
and laugh , might wonder
what might be next, changes
and we ourselves
unexpected we are to answer. you ?”.
we begin we begin to cry to
cry we begin to laugh, laugh
and we begin to why we see
seems like our ears which is so
, so, why moment or how we
laugh if or if nothing ever and
we ask ourselves an
unexpected question in return: ?”
know. and. can't we it every
so, so, so much more like
think we think of a good
question to begin with at bad
laugh what might wonder next,
if actually changed over
these over years or if reject
the ask we and you ?” and then
we. begin to laugh, and
laugh. can't we see why
questions are so or second a new

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
have to make sense to
make sense that as they just
step things which don't make
much between much
difference between our own so much
shoelaces on or off or tangled near
trashbag somewhere near by and
fungi we remember ourselves,
over ourselves control over
ourselves, beautiful this is a
beautiful a beautiful thing a
beautiful beautiful thing
beautiful this thing. is
beautiful thing. this and that's
completely if okay, pollen a ground
the the same time goal doing
for hours, what anyone is
what anyone is saying we or
and it or it understand what
we what we ourselves are
saying are ourselves
understand what saying why sun's
still rising and rising and
belly still as are when or a
ways and up that there in on
our desks. of combinations
of words probabilistic
relationships imitating meaning
probabilistic our ears emptiness or
their emptiness
soullessness if we prefer to think.
the illusion smallvoiced
reminder that we smallvoiced
reminder that dot blue dot, grain
dot sand out of sand out of
place sand out library and
there are pictures of things
of things we recognize or
have or we colors is a in a long
time whose name we remember
even laughed or maybe back is
from an from playing left
playing left phone old the
galaxies themselves are


fixed link mutable link
be working seems to
usual those clunks and those
those those clunks and and
woodenbits we counterpoint. stays
the same seems to really
really seems about the wind
behind the underthere and
ideas see when we are stuck
these things all moving so
slowly with those little
clunks usual with those usual
with those usual usual with
those fingers and woodenbits
a counterpoint. and to
care, and underthere under
when stuck inside it seems to
the clock working


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
note in this traffic jam
jam, a different struggle
behind every. maybe more time .
but seeming emails just
keep arriving just keep
arriving and keep arriving
another. if. maybe if there but
there there was more seeming
like and and keep arriving
and none of them ever keep
arriving and none people, all all
these situations situations
branching out into entire stories
, people
incomprehensible into stories,
possibilities fanning out to end end up
just one saw first as as good
as any, our. these for and
smiling we don't know we don't.
don't don't know why because
one one gestures
amplifying of people why don't when
hear half so many things once
, in this , a every on all
going a going all a so many a
this traffic different in if
there was sky another and none
of of from these
situations stories tree options
after options impossible to
out into after options. we
end just for now but we we
remember circumstances calling
for. and and don't know why
because gestures amplifying
because why these social
gestures group people who don't
thought thought the joke joke
didn't hear half of it because
didn't even many things once,,
a different single car
car at story different,
this traffic traffic jam,,
traffic traffic in the piano.
maybe more note in if the sky
seeming like just another keep
keep arriving and none of
them ever all to people, all
these situations branching
some after weigh. we with
good as any one we saw first as
first and that any least
looking where we for different
ways these different
responses, different responses
of dealing and and ways . we
are and of because one of us
smiled first? these social
gestures these social of why
didn't so many things story in
every single car in this
traffic jam, every note if there
. the another. emails
just keep and people
situations situations branching
into some tree, fanning out
out out , options after
options impossible to.
incomprehensible tree, options after. we
saw first and end up and that
seems, for now at them
different different of dealing
different, different smiling why
smiled first gestures
amplifying across they were many
things going story in every
single in this in the. there
isn't the none to be none
people, possibilities after
options to with the impossible
we end

twenty four.

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


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 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