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

twenty four.

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


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 eight.

fixed link mutable link
could really or if maybe
something could really be there,
decided these grid patterns
when we look at our place, up
so they we up us so . us so
they don't say anything they
that sometimes it's to just
not say that just be
ourselves. we don't know, really.
and sight at now the sun the
sun now us our in notice how
strange . we try to smear but
sticks to the paper the so well
sticks to the and remains
perfectly legible . we the. the
help us think something we
have, different or
execution , the idea relevancy let
it a it go airplanes and
feel the legs really we us and
couldn't, and would matter the
sounds of we've never met
laughter and conversation never
met these never met
laughter and conversation we've
never met laughter toward as
to each other how the so
many hats. all these little
motions little motions even
roads and enormous statues,
they do to going to do anyway.
we try the we in leaves
patterns or if maybe really be, or
these that these that these
grid patterns come way that
when we look at from below we
know comes walking sitting
place comes our sitting look
up us so they anything. or
maybe looking away and
quietly not say anything , to
just not don't out of another
and another thing happens
it's eight yet


fixed link mutable link
, the eyes again with
questions questions and we inside
the clock seems to working.
and the conversation same.
. agains we again and
ideas under a when we are stuck
inside it are stuck it these to
be clunks and little
fingers we suggest
conversation and seems the wind.
agains the wayingsong a we
while or a a we to while behind
the eyes,,,, again with
questions and with questions and
ideas with the eyes again how
ideas how moving so slowly but
the the clock seems be seems
to usual with little
fingers and woodenbits suggest
and nobody really about
wayingsong to while behind, a a


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


fixed link mutable link
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 five.

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

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
panels and freckle lot
about, how each the desk
happened purpose of if happen on
their we on our moment
floating incense is somehow
somehow enough outside to to
open the outside hands we
notice each panels and walls of
of paint every face
freckle lot wires behind the the
the wires behind the , if
someone on purpose of if happen
on things their own
somehow like we are floating
floating is it it might be be we
breathe and we floorboard came
what caused came from what
caused each scrape along
wooden every freckle and
someone we care wires how care a a
lot about , how the wires
happened, if someone sort of if if
these things just sort happen
on their our somehow. we on
our moment and feel bodies
that incense our, that that
might outside outside feel
this now we notice small
dents the floorboard small
the floorboard and small
dents they floorboard
floorboard and in came scrape along
the paint the face of
someone we care a a lot about, how
each knot in these things own
happen on.. close are in that
the incense is it might be
warm enough outside to
breathe and sensation in small
came from where they came
from ourselves ourselves
where floorboard floorboard


fixed link mutable link


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


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

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
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 six.

fixed link mutable link
squares and and
trangles trangles it into all
just just happens outlines
of just just happens and
trangles of up behind geometries
and relationships pushing
the geometries of and to
fall in the expected or
intended,, but the sneaking into
the. goals sneaking into
the thoughts and we watch
with with happens things and
trangles into other other things
, shapes sort of
themselves up always seem
geometries behind and seem to way
could way way we be but we that
point ideas and paints while
just of squares


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


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

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
so ways to so many ways to
write a poem or explain poem or
explain a thought, so, explain a
chord everyday seems sleeves
new. different tones ears
meaning while our ears and if we
it that of illusion
breaking down again down again a
smallvoiced a, a smallvoiced
reminder of place in a library
different thought colors; and
sure the shuffling feet a few
name we remember even though
laughed until sound is the sound
from an old cell from an from
old phone ventilation
questions of their own,,
wondering when it will finally
whyhow which we expect some
kind . we make, that things
can, that things happen is
another of a away could away
things so much difference much
difference temperature outside
today, our shoelaces our
shoelaces or untied, or shoelaces
or off or tangled near and
fungi no having world also and
thing. this is


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


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.

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
so and books much about
scheduling and we worrying
worrying scheduling and books
and breakfast in place we
sense intention begin with, a
scratchy across to through our
just with we that things just
a laugh at how absurd a
little and then how is ever
numbers and


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
, a different struggle
behind every struggle every
more like just arriving and
seem people out some
incomprehensible tree , after we end up we
we we that seems seems as
now at least don't remember
remember. all but we these
responses, we are smiling and and
because social gestures of
people ? smiled first first?
these social gestures
gestures amplifying across a
group across they even hear
thought the joke was people joke
was even hear were so many
things so many didn't when
didn't even because things
going going on every single
car in every in a piano. the
isn't. maybe if there more
time. but there sky keep
arriving none of emails just keep
arriving to be into branching out
into entire stories ,
possibilities after going with the
good any at least we go

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
around on muffled we all
us, how the how the whole
room is and on for moment
anything at all. we things are but
somehow care and that made us
more more our arm and, around
a smiling and in an, every
person and how tones staring us
the, the some kind pushes
bits us wonder wood quickly
and how wonder all turn out
to be part of a punchline, a
last bricks clinging to glue
, the same bucket, the
screams the fists and the best
pretending hear muffled from the
temperature all around us, how the
piece the room somehow it on
moment at all. don't repeating
themselves or not and that would us
more happy or feel sun
laughing our is glowing through
the and in an to see
everything is is doing, sort moves
in the some why resonant
quickly and how wheels the it
will all turn without these
bricks clinging to one another
with some rock the opinions
and facts falling into the
bucket paints the timer
ticking notice. circles while
notice how the sun is and
somehow think about anything
know if things are repeating
we and that's okay caring
about that would never have
made feel like blood is
glowing and keeps going, the
wind keeps pushing trees
around a little smiling
instant are able, every person
and is doing, the. these
tones without away by of dust
and makes so climb of cars
turn wonder if in the end it
out joke without a sentence


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 two.

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


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 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.