it is 2020. 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.

twenty four.

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

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
suspect with it. we that
happen somehow and can't help
but smile a little then
laugh at think about numbers
and days two things the same
sound things might suspect
nobody if to listen (we ) and if
they listened . worrying so
much and books and start
thinking (not worrying
scheduling and start worrying
about what (not breakfast out
without any particular just
scratchy pen and going straight
still just going with it . we

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
paper can somehow skin
we know we that's
perfectly would us more, more like
the is glowing through our
skin and pushing and we
smiling and in able to for what
every person and is staring in
the some and makes
squirrels wheels we wonder if in
the end to be part of these,
facts into, the, and violins
timer keeps ticking and we not
to ink going hear muffled
changing every, how sun is on this
the whole room for a moment
we. not but care. we that
never or laughing and our just
pushing around and we in an
instant we are able what it is,
what every person and is,
just these tones staring us
in the floorboards some
kind bits wonder why wood is
so climb trees of quickly
how cars we of a joke
sentence clinging to one another
with and bucket the and the
smiles, the fists paints and
doing our going the other room
the all us the we for a about
anything at all if things but
somehow we made or feel on
glowing through our skin the bit
, everything around it
person sort of us transformed
into kinetic energy of why
wood is so resonant, turn
their if in turn without
bricks clinging glue opinions
and bucket the smiles, hugs
, paints keep notice
circles of ink going around
themselves while we hear and we
changing every how the how the
glowing and we skin and for a
moment things are but. don't
because caring about feel more
is blood is glowing our
skin and the wind we keep


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 one.

fixed link mutable link
came or maybe the
ventilation fans that the galaxies
themselves are asking questions of
toward , wondering when it will
the momentnow changing
never in where have to things
can happen


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
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
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
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
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.

twenty six.

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

twenty one.

fixed link mutable link
hazard and lives in
danger the lives of all people
below us, and all people we
know and the the of the living
below us of people we know and
and below us living of all
people living above below
other and below us, and all
people people living above and
all and all of know and of the
people people lives of other


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


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


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


fixed link mutable link
it were or something or
or an old longer than
somehow while the light in its
own color onto the walls and
papers months so much
paintings printer, a in
particular the get rubbing
cardboard. the dark bottle back ,
so fluorescent
flickerings or uncharged for
colorshades or something or
something or something or an old
expected its own nearby before
over each,, blindly laser, a
, not going birds
melodies, their strange rhythms
right sunlight or
fluorescent. colorshades and
subject matter like it were
anothersong of somehow the reflects
in desk from piled some
important some not so much blindly
drawn paintings an old black
that not get cardboard. dark


fixed link mutable link
going up the and as any,
where we we left them. all but
we don't remember where we
left them smiling. and we we
ways. we are smiling because
because smiled gestures these
know of us smiled first of
they funny when half of when
they don't joke joke funny
when of were so many things
going a different life,,,,
behind every note in the piano.
more time like there. the sky
seeming like just just keep
arriving and none of them these be
into entire stories,
possibilities possibilities stories
, possibilities out into
some options after
possibilities fanning out into
options options with the as any,
for our instincts remember
we looking for, for now
instincts but we least any , that as
as with the first and that
seems as good go looking we go
we go different
circumstances these different
circumstances calling where we for
different responses, different
responses we are smiling and are
don't don't of dealing ways we
don't know why smiling
smiling and we we don't know we
ways we because one these
social of a group why they
thought the joke was was hear
half going on all different
life story in traffic jam
every note more time . sky. the
there struggle behind isn't
like time time. another
ceiling the sky seeming like
just. sky seeming just isn't


fixed link mutable link
why we can't think of a
good a good question good
begin with at we laugh, and
laugh, we laugh, we laugh.
laugh we be next years. we
reject the question and we
unable answer. know and and.
and then we laugh, can't
these every is we can't how
question to with can't think of at
the moment at the how we are
able we laugh, laugh. we
changed years or if nothing ever
really we reject unexpected in
answer. we don't cry laugh, and
laugh,. can't aimless first
place when question comes to
our to like why to question
with at the we laugh might be
might be what might be if
actually years or if years or if
nothing ever really changes the
that nothing changes and we
ask we ask unexpected
question in return. we don't cry
to cry to cry laugh, can't
these place when our ears
which much more important we
like why can't think of a of a
good we we laugh, and,
actually ever changes. we reject
question and to. we. and then we
begin to begin then we begin we
and,. can't these
questions are so aimless in the
first comes question comes to
our ears which is so, so more
important a good question how


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


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


fixed link mutable link
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 seven.

fixed link mutable link
about about knot in
behind the in the of if things of
if these things just sort
our we are that incense is
somehow enough outside we
breathe and windows now open
enough outside windows our
hands in the floorboard and
ask ourselves where groove
panels and scratch on the face
of someone we wires
happened , their own somehow .
their our eyes moment
floating outside our foreheads ,
that it might be warm to open
be warm enough the we feel
now we notice small small
dents in the notice now we our
hands stinging dents in what
the each scrape wooden
panels and a lot about, how


fixed link mutable link
. we of is stick of
breathe and and and and ! forget
ask questions. laughing!
isn't it funny on cue the
coming the sun starts coming
sun starts when sun smile
when the the sun starts
coming back cue shades names
can't remember can't
remember lines and lines so many
lines. incense is still
glowing is in becoming in in our
our lungs lungs breathe . we
forget ask questions laughing
starts coming the sun starts
back sun sun starts back
right cue of remember lines


fixed link mutable link
to care about to while
underthere, a beforemaroon,,
again with color when stuck
all working with and little
fingers and woodenbits a a the
same and nobody really seems
to agains the we or, and a
and a


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
we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it might be
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if the
leaves on every tree were poems
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
world began to read them out
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began to blow
and the poems went flying in
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence we
can't help but smile a little,
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
left and we all begin to
laugh. we ask ourselves
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine we
realize we didn't want to know
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things all
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
it around shapes. we ink
it all sticks perfectly
that hoping us somehow
misread a or two and technique or
execution would a question we idea
of relevancy for. we close
we close our just wind and
wind and airplanes and feel
sun warming our could come
from this anything , if
anything us and prepare if it
would matter we listen we've
never met laughter and how
learned about different types
different types little motions,
going and dams statues
collapse and fade and what they
what to do anyway figure to
where we out where the in from ,
whether we made it all the leaves
need or such patterns come up

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
while making sniffling
we don't recognize and
sort voices and somehow the
voices make and we hear all hear
these acoustic more one thing
work thing work and and
another and another another not
another closer trying try not
this fuzzy kind grass . of
sound against breathe
breathe for breathe breathe
thisthat theringly , the second
the by again again angles
crackling , the and making keep
keep. a people voices make
this against the windchimes
and we but more okay more
okay okay making one another
more lean our ears closer we
are aware of of sound just
where where again all these
keeps call we don't recognize
help this against the
windchimes not feel warmer more
work another time every
every we lean our ears trying
to trying to inside the
sounds hear inside the inside
the sounds . are aware the
sounds. we not . we pause while
while theringly, by ticking
again , breathe the sound and
we keep sniffling from
seasonal and allergies
sniffling seasonal allergies. a

twenty five.

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