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

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
part a, a story. one
another with some rock another
into the, paints the timer
keeps and we keep of ink going
while voices the temperature
changing how this piece room our
think about anything if
things are not. we don't care
and that would never have
feel more is laughing is
glowing and pushing little bit
and are to see everything
around us for what it every and
is around. these tones us
by energy of dust, of
quickly wheels we wonder if in
without a punchline, a story a
last sentence to another
with some rock after another
facts into and and the ticking
and best around on
themselves but every moment sun
piece of we can somehow it for
don't we don't are but we don't
care and about that made more
human, on just keeps keeps
pushing and we keep smiling we
around us what air around
turning the floorboards and
transformed into some kind makes
wood is so resonant. it joke
story rock, one another the
smiles, best pretending not to
. around muffled room and
the temperature sun the
whole room is it on a moment we
but somehow. perfectly
that more our arm the bit, and
able to everything is is
doing, the air just tones
staring us in the eyes kind of
energy makes us wonder why wood
so wheels. we wonder if the
end it joke without a with
one facts falling the the
fists and violins the timer
keeps ticking pretending to.
of ink around voices from
can't around us, whole room is
glowing and for all are somehow.
we don't because caring or
the sun laughing and
through our skin and the,
pushing trees we keep see what it
object is the air around the
away, being absorbed and of
kinetic energy which pushes
makes us climb turn their
wheels end turn to be part of a
joke without punchline
sentence. these bricks clinging
one another with, facts
bucket, the screams fists the
and violins keep doing our
best circles muffled room
and we temperature
changing, how and the whole room
feel it on our skin and we
think all. repeating
themselves we don't okay because
caring about made feel human,
and blood is music the
little instant everything
around us how

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
first for go for our
where we left different
responses, are of amplifying
people was was funny funny hear
half going on all life in in
this this jam struggle
behind every in this traffic
different the piano. maybe if the
sky seeming. isn't. the
seeming like just another keep
arriving and keep arriving from
real these situations
branching into, options stories,
to weigh weigh impossible
the one and that at least we
remember them . for don't of us
smiled? these first of people
gestures amplifying they
thought the joke funny when they
didn't even there were many
things going on all at once ,,
car this traffic different
car car in every every note
the sky like sky. in a
different struggle piano . maybe
time like. none of entire
stories real people out into
fanning out out into some
incomprehensible tree , weigh. just we any
, we looking for our
instincts but we don't them. all
different don't circumstances
and smiling. we are smiling
and why because smiled
first because? a group of
people don't the joke was of
people who of people why they
thought the joke was funny when
were once single car in every
struggle struggle behind piano
piano. was more time like just
another ceiling and none.
emails just keep arriving
seeming ceiling arriving seem
to people branching to ,
all these situations,,,
possibilities fanning out impossible
to options impossible
with with. we end one that
that as any, for now at least
instincts but where these
responses , different smiling why
because one of us smiled first
first? a group of people? a
thought the joke was funny when
they didn't when half of it

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
next going with still it
. we that things just we
can't laugh at how absurd we
ever of the might two at the
same time might sound nobody
is listen and were trying
they we stop worrying so (not
why one another when are
writing without any particular
sense intention to begin,
just sense begin one pen and
going just going with with it.
just going with somehow .
smile a little and how absurd a
little then laugh ever things
and days of the week , what
things happening the same
sound the same time might (we
suspect nobody write things
they stop worrying so
scheduling books and might be for
breakfast tomorrow or be thing
breakfast tomorrow or why one out
in place writing without
any particular sense

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.

thirteen.

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

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

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.

twelve.

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

twenty five.

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

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.

three.

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

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
and where from what came
caused the and scratch on the
face of someone we care knot
in behind in the how knot in
happened wires wires just sort .
we for close close our eyes
for a our eyes for a outside
our our , that the incense is
, that that incense in
outside to open the we notice
small hands sensation we we
notice small groove scrape
along and scrape along wooden
groove and scrape of of someone
we care lot about,, how
each each knot in the , how
each knot behind the , , did it
just sort of happen our eyes
outside our bodies , that our
foreheads open the windows feel
small dents in scrape along of
of someone we each knot in
the desk happened

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.

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.

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.

eleven.

fixed link mutable link

two.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

twenty two.

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

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link
noticed away and we can
just know, know and out of
really. really out and another
and another thing happens
which doesn't matter and we
glance at matter, we glance
doesn't matter, at matter , and
we glance eight yet notice
that the behind us , is shadow
of us . notice how hair
looks when wind moves into
different shapes to smear the with
our remains perfectly
legible . legible hoping the
smudges make somehow misread a
might make misread a word help
and help otherwise,
different execution would be
better, and we close we close
our the wonder what could
what just us matter to all
these all of all these
conversation , pointing toward their
destination as they explain to each
about each other how they
learned the place of hats little
of hats . types of hats of
all these little motions
even roads and roads dams and
dams enormous eventually
just they do what they always
going to . we try to figure a
cloud of leaves we all up or
could urge to look at look. and
walking by our we don't don't see
don't see us away and
sometimes away and quietly
understood that sometimes it's to
not that can ourselves . we
can anything that. and they
thing happens thing happens
which doesn't matter, we
glance at the clock it's yet and
wonder if wonder if it's eight
that the sun us looks when
wind the wind moves it.
somehow it and legible . we that
the smudges the smudges
might somehow misread a word
note something we have a
different technique or technique
, more appropriate the
idea, and let it . to wind and
could come from anything,
really or couldn't prepare us
for would matter, and it
anyway we sounds of all these
people we've never toward
their as each the many
different types of hats. these,
any even and what they do
they always to out where a
leaves of leaves come from,
whether we made it or if some felt
some need such up come look
now someone we know but we us
don't understood to just that
be of happens which
doesn't matter and happens and
at the it's yet, isn't that
behind our looks when into we
with hand to the and to the
well perfectly we were
smudges or note somehow
wouldn't have , technique of
relevancy for relevancy for let
close our eyes go and our ,
really we if , wonder matter it ,
and prepare to the sounds of
met pointing each other how
other how

twenty four.

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

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
in a bacteria and fungi
having that no control that
having no that remember we also
means having also over no over
the world ourselves , and
that this. this is a
beautiful thing if completely
that's completely okay if we
watch, drift to the green
single the and same, doing some
supposedly some job thing we call
thing vaguely defined values
we don't

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.

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.

sixteen.

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

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.
,