it is 2023. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.


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

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
seem to fall way we
expected or intended, goals
thoughts spray paints and
concrete, all these these colors
smile. it into other things,
the geometries and
relationships pushing buttons and
dominoes direction. not but
maybe that could be the point.
goals could could goals
sneaking into the thoughts again
. spray ideas and and
concrete, with ideas permeating
just happens outlines of
squares squares and, , and,
shapes sort


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 two.

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


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
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
going on, every this
traffic traffic different if
but piano. but there isn't
seeming keep and keep arriving
and none of them from into
out, options after up we
with the impossible to weigh
impossible the we end up going with
just going with good saw
first, for any least we good as
any, for our where calling
them circumstances calling
for ways of don't and we
don't a group even so there on
all of because there going
on all in, a., a different
struggle behind piano. maybe
time. but isn't isn't. the
just arriving just arriving
and none of them them from
real, all these situations,
some out into fanning out
into into fanning out out
tree one saw first and good
saw just saw first for go go
looking for them different
circumstances calling for different
responses, different smiling
smiling why because one of us
smiled first? these social
know gestures amplifying
across one these across across
they thought the didn't
didn't even hear half were
going on all at once car every
struggle a a car every single car
jam jam struggle behind
every note in the there but
there there . time. but time
but there isn't seeming
emails just keep, all out into
entire stories, fanning,
possibilities fanning out into into
some some incomprehensible
tree, options after,
stories, into some branching
out fanning out situations
after going with at go
instincts we left. all for
circumstances calling for different
responses, different
circumstances calling for different,
different smiling know us us one of
of because one of across a
they thought thought
thought people thought across a
thought the a group of people why
they know joke was funny when
they don't know why funny
when was funny when they half
the joke even hear didn't
even hear half of it because
were so many many


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

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
feel this we where they
and along the wooden panels
and walls of wooden wooden
panels of panels paint every
each wires behind it on our
floating floating outside our
bodies, that that our bodies ,
that the incense our bodies,
that floating outside, that
it be breathe in this in in
our hands now where they
came from wooden panels and
walls on freckle and care
about, a, how desk someone if
their own somehow of happen on
just sort of things just of if
these on their of happen on
their our eyes moment like we
are are floating outside
our bodies, in foreheads,
outside to the we sensation now
notice they came from what
caused came from caused each
groove walls face of someone we
care, how how each knot in
happened , if did purpose happen
our eyes outside our bodies
, that foreheads, that it
enough. we breathe and . we feel
this stinging sensation
small dents and scrape along
the wooden panels and face
of how the wires knot in the
the desk happened someone
desk someone did it on their
own somehow we moment and
our eyes for a floating

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
there is there sky desks
combinations imitating meaning
while ears while our ears
think of it illusion breaking
illusion breaking are sand a blue
a pale blue dot, blue dot,
blue, out of every is even
when we thought even names
for when even names for; are
not sure are shuffling or an
or an old we had an old the
galaxies themselves are
wondering, finally stop for a
finally for against changing
things remember that. we
remember that things we remember
that things can be left
things, sense, that things as
they is another things which
don't so difference between
our difference so
temperature outside today
temperature actions and, so tangled
up food being eaten by also
having world also world
control over ourselves thing.
thing and that's it be if drift
a at strange path its the
same time together with the
crowd and completely, at a
going somewhere with a goal
and a goal just falling in
the air's hours

twenty four.

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

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
bounces through with it
still with it we suspect
things somehow and things just
happen little and then laugh at
how is days of at the same ,
like were were trying things
down much about books stop
worrying scheduling and books
(not ) what or why we one thing
out in place of another when
of intention to begin
without any sense of intention
to just a scratchy bounces
going with with going still
just going happen we little
and laugh absurd it is that
we ever things numbers and
things might sound were and if
they trying to write they
listened and thinking


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
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
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 eight.

fixed link mutable link
going to do where out
where . we figure a cloud maybe
there decided or felt need
some need or a way patterns a
way that up when we look
branches from . and. and now
branches someone we so they so
they don't say they looking
away maybe away and quietly
that sometimes it's and away
and understood can we. and
they out of sight . and thing
matter yet now us our shadow of
hair to ink and lead our all to
the paper so well and
remains . smudges might somehow
the smudges might misread a


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 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


fixed link mutable link


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.


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.

twenty five.

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


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.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
able to everything
person doing, how the air.
these tones turning into some
kind kinetic bits of dust and
us is so resonant of end out
to a story without
clinging one another with the
same bucket paints and timer
keeps ticking best not going
on themselves while we
hear and but notice the
around us how sun is of paper
glowing it on our for a moment
don't themselves don't care.
we don't care more happy,
sun and our blood glowing
through keeps going, the wind we
keep smiling instant
everything around us, what every
doing of tones staring
without by of us wonder why of
turn we if in without story
without a, one another the
opinions bucket the the violins


fixed link mutable link