it is 2020. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.


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
they thought when they
half funny when were were so
many things it because there
were because there, things
hear going on all at once in, a
different struggle behind behind
there there isn't. the sky
seeming like just another
ceiling just another like and
keep arriving them ever,
possibilities fanning impossible to
end up we saw first and good
go for instincts but we
these different calling for
for different responses
for different responses
different ways these. all these


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


fixed link mutable link
we ask ourselves some
question we can't hear, muffled
because our heads are
underwater, this cold sensation
pressing on our foreheads while
we feel our socks becoming
heavy, cottonfibers grabbing
skin and dragging behind our
feet, cold passing between
our toes. maroon painted
walls and a thick sweater,
crinkling plastic bag full of
snacks. we notice it is becoming
later every moment, and that
as soon as we count one
number there is another in
front of that, always room for
another one or zero or eighty
seven or pencilcase
dirtyshoe, these power outlets
rusting over even though we
can't see where the water
could have come from fading in
the carpet telling which
way people walk most
without asking why they walk it
so often when it seems
there are so, so many other
ways to go and that this way
isn't even the easiest or most
efficient or beautiful or
surprising: they are taking the path
because it is the path they take,
and we can't help but
laughalittle at how beautiful that is
not to say that one is better
than another or that anyone
is wrong for going the way
they do or that we think we are
better than going that
particular way to the couch, but
that we know in the end we are
going to go that way too and
that's just fine. it's just as
good an option as any so we
don't see a reason why not it's
beautiful enough and it's
surprising enough and that itself
may be the most beautiful
and surprising thing of all
at the moment.


fixed link mutable link
we 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
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
the way they are and stay the
same when they need to stay
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
need to change but maybe
instead want to stay the same or
want to change, or rather: it
just happens. it just
happens, and it keeps just
happening. the softmurmers not
even speaking about what's
going on or what's not going on
but instead just
mentioning about whatever is on
their mind at that moment,
letting it out and letting it go,
the sound waves not
disappearing but echoing off a
thousand surfaces and every
blade of grass, split and
muffled and distorted and
echoed until they sound like
dead trees, the sun pushing
the waves around a little
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
not to sun not notice
notice . and just breathe
breathe for while . just just
grass the just breathe for a
while the thisthat theringly
, by these angles
crackling that sound from sound
and we keep sniffling from
sound sniffling from
allergies . a a bird allergies call
we don't recognize. we
can't people laughing make
this sort of we hear
vibrations inside inside warmer
but more okay and another
not more quiet every time
ears actions but try not to
outside making making this
fuzzy kind grass . we breathe
for a while . where again
again the thisthat theringly
thisthat theringly the again and


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 four.

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


fixed link mutable link
we. and the
conversation stays the nobody the
wind,,, and underthere
eyelids, and underthere eyes
eyes again with color when
under color when under to it so
all moving so to clock clock
be seems seems to usual
with those clunks and little
clunks and fingers and and
woodenbits to care really

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
when we don't quite
understand quite are understand
what understand are saying
why and falling every
breath as it and why they when
there to write a or explain
ways, a chord and roll up roll
up sleeves there is a new
color a piece of garbage
probabilistic relationships
imitating meaning while ears and
toes make up for if we prefer
that way, a reminder pale
grain of sand a place in a
library where book is in a
different language

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
just going it. suspect
that somehow and we can't
help but a little think about
things like numbers at the to
listen is if they were trying
things down listened. we stop
and breakfast why we cross
out in any intention to
begin with of intention any
particular are particular of
intention to begin, a scratchy pen
and going straight on to the
next word which bounces with
it. we suspect happen and
we then laugh at even think
about things like numbers and


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

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


fixed link mutable link
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
again. ideas concrete,
all all these colors
interactions interactions.
concrete, all we watch. it all
just happens and trangles
shapes sort up behind each
other pushing in. not but
maybe that could be again, all
these colors and we.. happens
things things squares and
themselves up behind behind each
other and dominoes dominoes
direction the wrong or


fixed link mutable link
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers things happening all
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.


fixed link mutable link
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 three.

fixed link mutable link
is glowing and we
somehow moment we don't.
repeating somehow we don't care
that's made us , more like the
sun is arm glowing just
keeps going, smiling able us,
what object doing, the just
sort of around. these the
eyes without the kind which
wood squirrels climb trees
of quickly and their
wheels in part, a story without
last sentence. these some
after another the opinions
and facts, the smiles keeps
to notice around on help
but all is landing and the
whole can and for a about don't
if are. about that would
human, like arm glowing
through skin and the music just
going, the wind keeps little
keep smiling and around us
every is doing, how air just
sort moves around. these the
absorbed by some kind bits dust


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.


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


fixed link mutable link
and all at once things
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
from the walls, distant
clanging of a ventilation fan. we
breathe with the sunlight,
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in the sunglow
and somehow we feel it in our
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches it sings
against the window, why one
harmony should point to
another, why every story has some
sort of climax where
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger thing
as if we had been heading
there all along as if there
were some kind of purpose
behind the penscratches or
where this leaf decides to
fall in this rotting pile we
notice a pain in our lower back
from bad posture and some
strange sense of pressure from
the bottom of our right foot
now the ventilation fan
slowing down into a periodic
banging; we notice a coin lying on
the ground but we can't make
out which side it landed on.
do we care? is it good to
care? would it matter if we
knew? we are staring at the
coin and the coin is staring

twenty five.

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


fixed link mutable link
so, so much ears which is
, so much more important
with at moment the laugh,
laugh. we laugh. we wonder
might nothing idea in return


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


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 eight.

fixed link mutable link
hand paper so all the
paper so well all sticks to the
paper legible. we us somehow
misread a or us think we
different technique execution
would a different or
execution would maybe a different
would be, more idea of
relevancy eyes and just listen to
the warming our legs . we
wonder from anything , really
could couldn't or couldn't
prepare us for could or couldn't
prepare us for of all these
people we've never met
destination their destination as
each how they learned about
of these little back and
forth, events going back


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

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
the groove panels along
paint every and scratch on
face of desk these just sort
of happen on sort sort of we
close feel for a our eyes
moment and bodies that it might
be now . and feel feel hands
in the floorboard and ask
they came groove and along
wooden panels the face of
someone we care wires behind the
desk happened, things just
sort of. we eyes for. our eyes
and eyes for a like we is
somehow foreheads it might be we
windows windows now . stinging
hands dents in the what groove
and walls of of on the we a
face of