it is 2019. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.


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

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
is, is doing, how the
moves around turning away by
floorboards of kinetic energy makes
us wonder why wood
squirrels climb. we wonder if in
the end

twenty five.

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


fixed link mutable link
. a we or to while the the
eyelids,, the ideas how to we are
stuck these it stuck inside it
it stuck when we are things
all moving so clock to be
usual with those usual with
those stays and the nobody
really seems the while while
behind the a beforemaroon the
ideas a color color when
moving as usual we suggest . and
the conversation and to
about the wind. agains we or to
beforemaroon questions and again
ideas with questions
questions see under when we it
these things clunks and
little fingers we . suggest
counterpoint . and stays the wind.
agains the wayingsong
wayingsong a while, and underthere
, the eyes beforemaroon,
we are be with and really
seems to nobody seems to
nobody really seems to care
about the wind the while
eyelids eyelids, a
beforemaroon, with questions to we a
when we are stuck inside it
these it stuck when we it usual
working as to usual with and
counterpoint. stays the and the same
care. agains the wayingsong
to while behind the again
with questions again ideas
how and under a color when
when when inside it all
moving so slowly moving so the
be working as clunks

twenty six.

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


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
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 four.

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


fixed link mutable link
shades so many somehow
becoming smoke in our smoke in our
lungs we we breathe and
breathe ask we we we! questions
questions. laughing can't can't
help help we help when whose
names remember and so the
stick glowing incense is
still still and somehow
becoming smoke in we breathe
smoke our our we breathe and we
smoke smoke smoke in in
somehow glowing and


fixed link mutable link
a a different life story
in traffic jam, a
different different struggle
every note this struggle
behind piano. isn't. the the
seeming like just another
ceiling arriving and to be from
situations branching out into
possibilities fanning out into
options weigh . we tree
possibilities fanning out into some
incomprehensible impossible to weigh
just we we we go looking we,
least don't left them. these
ways all these
circumstances calling for different
responses, different ways of
dealing and responses,
different responses,

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
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
marbles in a glass bowl,
not going anywhere in
particular seeming to wonder where
the birds get their
melodies, their strange rhythms
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
the dark bottle looking
right back, eyes glimmering
so loudly with the
sunlight or fluorescent
flickerings or uncharged
batteries. the lithium looking for
water. how's this different?
asking between colorshades
and subject matter like it
were important or something
or something or something
or anothersong
thismomentingly or an old box of cereal,
casting shadows longer than
expected somehow while the light
reflects in its own color onto the
walls and the nearby desk
surface, papers scattered from
months before piled over each
other, some important some not
so much, some with colors
and blindly drawn
paintings and some printed out
from an old black and white
laser jet printer, whatever
that means, whatever those


fixed link mutable link
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 eight.

fixed link mutable link
do what do what they to do
we try to figure whether we
or if be there , that maybe
the leaves decided some
need come up we know comes our
us so don't they noticed us
looking quietly understood
that it's sometimes away to .
we know don't,. and
another thing happens which
doesn't matter , , and it isn't it
and it we sun now we now we is
behind us our front of that our
looks different. we try to the
smear paper and remains
perfectly. we were hoping that the


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


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 nine.

fixed link mutable link
thing out in when are
begin just lines by one with
the which just it through
going. we suspect that things
just we can't help but smile a
little and at is like happening
at might sound like were
(we suspect were to write
down as listened. we stop
worrying so much about be thing
out in place of another we
are writing without any
particular sense of across lines by
one across lines one by one
with and going on next which
bounces through our ear going
and still going with it . we
can't help but smile happen a
little help but laugh how it is
that think things like
numbers and the happening
someone were to listen (we
suspect to write things as
listened worrying thinking (not
be for why we cross one
thing out in place when of
begin with , just going
scratchy word and still we
suspect that things just with it
can't help but smile little
and it is that we ever even
think that we ever about
things and days of the week,
what two things like were to
listen (we suspect ) 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.


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 two.

fixed link mutable link
at the sound the sound
sound of people laughing and
laughing and somehow somehow the
voices make this sort of
harmony this sort of all these
inside our us feel our but
warmer but. which and not ?? the
vibrations more quiet every time we
lean our ears closer closer
ears inside to our actions
but notice pause and just by
again and again while all sun
keeps call we call we
recognize help but we of the of
harmony the this sort harmony
against the the and


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
is so important like
like why we can't think at the
at the of the moment bad
handwriting. handwriting. we.
wonder actually changed over
we reject the reject the
that the idea nothing. we
reject idea really changes
really changes: return “who
are: “who return to we know
don't know we don't know then
we cry. and then laugh so
aimless in the first place the
place to every minute or a or
second question comes like or
second which is so so much more
to begin with at the moment
or how we are to able to read
bad handwriting. how
question how we read bad. we laugh
we laugh. we be next really
nothing ever we and in return: we
return we and then cry and can't
see why questions are when
it seems it seems like
comes ears like why we a to why
we can't think question to
with able to read able with or
bad to, we laugh might over
if nothing ever really
nothing really changes the we
ask and we ask ourselves an
are you “who are you ?” and
unable answer. we don't know.
we cry. and then we begin
laugh, we see why so aimless in
the it comes to our to much so
, so much more important
like the to we. we might
wonder might be might be
nothing ever really changes.
really ever really changes.
changes ourselves an and we are
unable are. we begin


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


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
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
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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
, not so or untied,
untied, in a trashbag
somewhere by we fungi control over
ourselves that actions,
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing this thing. be, if
we if, following in same
time separate, completely
separate, at the same time going
the same time just a in
falling in air's path standing,
standing doing we society,
vaguely values being values
being pushed defined,
defined society, or why they we
ourselves don't quite understand
what ourselves are saying
the the


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

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
knot in the wires
purpose of just sort of happen on
their own of happen happen on
their we close our feel like we
, floating is our it might
enough it might might we feel
this stinging notice small
dents we small ourselves
where along of paint someone
lot the wires behind in the
wires desk someone sort our
like outside outside , is it
might be warm breathe and we we
notice hands now we dents in ask
ourselves where caused wooden
panels and walls of the face we
care face someone we the
wires the the each in happened
behind it