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


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
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
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
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 three.

fixed link mutable link
and transformed into
which bits dust makes us
wonder, squirrels cars turn in
the end it out joke without a
story without these some
facts falling and keeps
ticking and best pretending to
notice. around hear help but
the temperature, paper on
skin for a about know things
are repeating themselves
or don't care. we that
would never or the sun is
laughing on our arm and blood our
skin and music, and we keep an
to see everything around,
the air these the
floorboards and transformed of
kinetic energy which dust is and
how turn we wonder if all
turn of punchline without
last sentence these one glue
opinions and the the screams and
the and the hugs, paints
keep doing best notice on
themselves while hear the other and
we can't the changing
every moment the sun is
landing on this piece room feel
for think we know if things
repeating themselves care. we
care and about that made feel
more, more like our skin and
the and are us is, object is
doing. these, kind of kinetic
energy why wood quickly and
cars wonder if in part of a
joke , clinging to one one
after another the opinions
the same and the hugs
violins to while other and we
can't help changing around us
is and it we repeating we
care and that's caring about
that more, on our glowing
through our skin going bit and
able to see for what person
and object how the eyes
without transformed kinetic
energy which pushes bits us
wonder trees of quickly. we it
will be part a joke a, a story
one another with some one
after the opinions same
bucket and fists the and
ticking and pretending not
circles themselves from the
temperature changing moment the sun
this piece the whole we can
skin. don't themselves we
don't because happy human is
blood is glowing through


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


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
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.

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


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


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


fixed link mutable link


fixed link mutable link
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 two.

fixed link mutable link
the sun outside making
this breathe breathe for a.
where a while where breathe
just the thisthat theringly
, the second hand ticking
all that. we can't help but
smile at the sound of of people
the can't but smile at at the
voices the voices this sort of
we hear chests making
making or thing work and not
work the time we inside the
sounds hear of our actions but

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
somewhere with going
the air's path the around
for some in this thing we
call we being values quite
when we everyone is saying or
and understand what we are
saying it the wind still wind
still rising and falling it
thinks about wooden cabinets
and why there are so many
possibilities, many possibilities,
many possibilities or
explain a thought explain a
thought, so many our sleeves
when it is a piece, a sky


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
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

twenty seven.

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


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 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
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


fixed link mutable link
. incomprehensible
options we end up we we go looking
as any for go looking for
our for for different
responses, different ways of
dealing and why because . we are
smiling why smiled first? these
social why smiling because why
social gestures gestures
across a group of people who
don't know why why was funny
when they didn't even hear
half on all at, story in
single car, the piano. maybe
more time. if there there
isn't.. emails of them emails
of them ever seem to be and
keep arriving and of from to
fanning these these , all these
stories possibilities fanning
out into,
incomprehensible tree some
incomprehensible tree, options,
possibilities, branching out into
entire stories into some
stories out into situations
branching out into entire
incomprehensible impossible up just end
up that seems as for now at
least we go looking we we
looking for our instincts

twenty one.

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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
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 four.

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


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 five.

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

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
as. and books and (not
worrying or why we cross one thing
breakfast one thing out writing
without any of just one by one a
scratchy to ear just things.
suspect that we then how is that
numbers and days at the same
sound like if time might
someone to they were things down
. we stop worrying so and
thinking about what might be
tomorrow or why cross one thing
out in of another when
particular sense of with, just
scratchy going straight on ear
just going things just
happen somehow and and but how
and then laugh at but smile
it is that think about and
days two things same time
might like if were trying much
about scheduling and books
and start thinking (not
worrying ) about what might be for
thing writing without any of
another we are any particular
sense writing without any
particular sense of begin with
going across lines one by on
with a the just going with it
just going that somehow
laugh it is that we absurd it is
ever even think things
happening if if trying to write. we
stop worrying so much they
start thinking (not worrying
) about thinking (not
worrying might tomorrow or why we
might be for thing when we to
with one by the next pen and
going on next word which
bounces it just going with it.
that we can't help but is that
we ever about things like
numbers and days even think
things numbers at the same time
what two things happening
same time listen (we suspect
they trying down as they
write things down as and books
start (not worrying ) about
what might be for tomorrow or
why we breakfast tomorrow
cross out we breakfast
tomorrow we cross one place of we
cross one thing place of
another are writing without any
we thing out in place we are
, just one with a and going
straight on next just going it and
still just

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
we listen to the sounds
of all these people we've
never met laughter and
conversation, pointing toward their
destination as they explain to each
other how they learned about
the place. so many
different types of hats. all these
little motions, events going
back and forth without
leaving any sort of permanent
mark because even roads and
dams and enormous statues
collapse and fade eventually,
and things just do what they
do what they always were
going to do anyway. we try to
figure out where the patterns
in a cloud of leaves come
from, whether we made it all up
or if maybe something
could really be there, that
maybe the leaves decided or
felt some need or urge to grow
in such a way that these
grid patterns come up when we
look at the branches from
below. and now someone we know
comes walking by our sitting
place, but we don't look up so
they don't see us so they
don't say anything. or maybe
they noticed us looking away
and quietly understood
that sometimes it's okay to
just not say anything, that
sometimes we can just be
ourselves. we don't know, really.
and they walk out of sight.
and another thing happens
which doesn't matter, and we
glance at the clock and wonder
if it's eight yet, and it
isn't now we notice that the
sun is behind us, and that
our shadow is in front of us.
we notice how strange our
hair looks when the wind
moves it around into
different shapes. we try to smear
the ink and lead with our
hand but somehow it all
sticks to the paper so well and
remains perfectly legible. we
were hoping that the smudges
might make us somehow misread
a word or note or two and
help us think of something we
wouldn't have otherwise, but
maybe a different technique
or execution would be
better, more appropriate. we
question the idea of relevancy
for a moment, and let it go.
we close our eyes and just
listen to the wind and
airplanes and feel the sun warming
our legs. we wonder what
could come from this just
about anything, really we
wonder if anything could or
couldn't prepare us for it, and if
it would matter anyway


fixed link mutable link