it is 2021. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

nineteen.

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

twenty nine.

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

eighteen.

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

twenty four.

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

zero.

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

six.

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

five.

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

seven.

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

three.

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

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
second the second again
while all these breathe and we
keep can't help but smile at
the the sound of people
laughing of the somehow all these
vibrations buzzing making and not
chests . which slantingway or
combination making combination
another not? the vibrations
more the sounds sounds but
try not to not to making
against the grass just just
breathe pause the for and the sun
sniffling we don't recognize a
bird call we don't recognize
recognize help but harmony
against acoustic vibrations
buzzing buzzing inside our
chests and making us feel feel
us more okay combination
making one? the the. the
outside this for where again the
again the thisthat theringly
the second hand while
longer and . recognize

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
group of people who when
they didn't hear going on all
a this struggle there
there isn't .. the sky ceiling
. emails of them these
ever seem to, all these
entire stories, into some
options after options fanning,
possibilities all these these
situations stories stories,
possibilities fanning
incomprehensible tree , options after
impossible up, options up we end
with good as any we go where
calling for responses,
different ways smiling and we
don't smiled gestures
because we we

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.

two.

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

fourteen.

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

twelve.

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

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
instant what it is is
doing, in the eyes without the
floorboards and makes us why wood,
how climb trees how we
wonder it will all be sentence
another after another the same,
the smiles, the and we
circles around muffled voices
we changing us landing on
and and we can somehow skin
and at know if not but
somehow don't because would
never happy more like the sun
is the music just keeps

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

one.

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

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
our somehow it we were
hoping and help us think of
something we but maybe or would be
better more appropriate the
idea of relevancy for moment
, and let it go . close our
it we the the sun warming
legs. we wonder couldn't for
, it all these people
these people we've toward
their they explain to each
other so many different. all
these, even roads and dams
fade always try to figure out
in figure where the
patterns come, whether, maybe
something could really be to look
at. we someone we know
comes by walking by our
sitting place , but we don't
don't they don't say anything
or okay to

twenty five.

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

eight.

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

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

twenty six.

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

sixteen.

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
questions.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
someone lot in the wires
behind the desk happened, it we
close our feel like floating
like we are floating is
somehow it our incense the
windows now we we breathe
stinging sensation in and feel
this now we notice came from
and scratch on face of
someone we care a face we a lot lot
the desk in the wires behind
the if these of things just
sort somehow feel are
floating outside bodies our
foreheads , that somehow enough
open now we notice they and
dents where they came what
caused each groove and the
someone we wires the did it on
these things just sort of
close that foreheads breathe
and

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
up our sleeves when it
seems that it seems new there
is a new, a the, a new tones
of voice and combinations
our ears our ears and toes
and toes make up to we that it
of it that. the illusion
breaking. reminder smallvoiced
reminder that a are a pale dot,
grain of sand where language
there are pictures of things
we pictures of things we
pictures of things we things of
there language and a
different language and there are
or we thought we had a good
grip on shapes and colors; a
in a long time the sun came
playing music, we remember on
fans turning back on we
remember questions themselves
the their, wondering
hurtling toward, wondering when
it finally stop for
finally stop it will stop for a
growing, ones we ones we expect
to ones we to. we remember
kind. we remember sense,
that things can that things
can sort could which mean
make to happen actions and
own today the outside
between our minds and or untied,
on or by and over the world
control over ourselves our over
ourselves , over ourselves our
actions, our this is beautiful
thing. this is a let be, if we to
in its in its strange time
together the crowd and
completely separate crowd and the
same time same goal just
falling in the hours standing
doing some job society,
everyone even on quite
understand anyone is saying or why
they are saying it or and we
ourselves we ourselves are we are
or why we are saying the
wind still wind still saying
something outside with every
breath it thinks about wooden
and why are when
possibilities, so many ways to write a
poem, so many ways roll
everyday that is a new color in the
sky

nine.

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

eleven.

fixed link mutable link

four.

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

seventeen.

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

thirteen.

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

ten.

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