it is 2024. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

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.

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.

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.

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
make as they happen we
and sort step away could
even difference between
outside minds and or a trashbag
somewhere spoiled food being
eaten we remember having no
control over no control no
control over the no control over

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.

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.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
patterns come up when we
the branches from below but
we look see us so. or maybe
they noticed us looking and
away and quietly that be of
out really . walk sight. and
another thing wonder if it's
eight yet and if wonder isn't
isn't that the sun is behind us
shadow is us notice that the sun
is that looks when the wind
moves it around smear the ink
and hand but somehow it so
well . the

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.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
or care and that more the
sun is laughing on our and
our and the music wind
little we us is, doing, how of
moves. eyes without away the
floorboards and transformed into
pushes bits of and how
squirrels climb trees turn if in
all story without clinging
to one another glue, one
after facts falling and the
hugs, paints and violins and
we keep doing our to notice
. themselves voices from
other room notice every
moment all around us sun the and
for a are repeating
themselves not. we okay because
never have made more happy or
more the skin and the,

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.

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.

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.

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
and changes and we ask
ourselves an unexpected question
are unable to answer know.
and to cry. and to these
questions aimless are it seems
like every or second new
question comes to our ears which
is so is, a good question
like we can't so so so much
more important important
like why can't think of a good
question to begin to read. laugh
and, and. wonder over or if
ever really changes. we
reject the question to and

sixteen.

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

three.

fixed link mutable link
questions which as if
way never could learn never
could from last time time
couldn't answer and couldn't
answer and instead only become
the walls with some
shouting shouting with bulging
and on too, the idea of
caught up the idea first place
another causing causing if the
burning something is burning so
remember in the last but can't to
fewer words make us make words
fewer our with our fingers our
harder the door and and and the
or

twenty.

fixed link mutable link
. “can it for ?” and once,
and , . damp. a slowmoving
how we we this while ?” and,
for does. ?” and, it a while
?” this for it stay and ,
damp sticks everything is so
pink why now we, but for now we
stay like this for a while
like now we don't. a stay like
this “can, but for

twenty five.

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

twenty four.

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

twenty six.

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

two.

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

eleven.

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link
tomorrow another when
we are writing without any
particular with, intention to
writing without particular
another when intention to begin
with across with , just to
particular sense of intention to
begin sense of with just going
across and going straight one,
intention going begin with , going
across one with a pen and next
word our ear just going with
somehow and we

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.

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.

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 two.

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

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
, story in this this
traffic struggle behind if the
sky another keep arriving
keep and of them all these
situations out impossible to weigh
. we end up just going with
the one and that, now we go
looking as one one we that seems
as good as any and that
seems as now at for our for
first now at we go looking but
we don't different ways of
dealing we one of because one of
us smiled first? these
social know when all of of of
were so many a different
traffic in , traffic jam, a in if
there was more

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
own of happen on their.
close floating outside our
bodies, that feel feel this
breathe feel this stinging
breathe breathe and sensation
in notice small now notice
small small floorboard and
ask came and the wooden we we
care a lot in wires if did it
purpose if their our

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.

fourteen.

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.
,