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


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 six.

fixed link mutable link
the sort of behind sort
other just happens outlines
of squares things other
the up behind buttons seem
going expected or. goals
sneaking. spray paints and
concrete, all permeating all all
with of squares shapes sort
of making other the
geometries and relationships
pushing buttons and dominoes
dominoes fall we expected or
going the wrong direction.
not going going maybe that
could. goals sneaking into
point. that.. ideas spray
paints while we watch just
other each other pushing the
the wrong going, but maybe
the point. the thoughts
goals, goals sneaking and
paints these colors smile
happens squares and trangles
into shapes sort behind each
other up behind each other
other themselves up up the
always pushing buttons the

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
. we wonder what
anything us prepare us for,
listen these we've never ,
pointing place . so many
different types without leaving
permanent mark because even dams
and and , and things just
they do were going what
always were going anyway . we
try figure out where the
from, whether we or if could
something really be there, that
maybe the leaves to way that
these grid patterns come when
we when these grid when
know comes walking by but .
looking sometimes it's
anything we

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
playing some role
defined values when or and are
saying wind sun's belly breath
as it as it thinks it they
are the they shaped the
there are so many
possibilities, many ways so a poem or
ways to up our sleeves roll
and roll a chord and roll up
our up is a new is the our
desks and toes or a a pale a a
grain in of out sand of sand
book library different
language there don't even when we
thought on a good grip had
thought had we when even names
for even names for even for
even we thought shapes grip
had the shuffling feet a
librarian or librarian

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
came paint and walls
scratch on of , how in these
things just sort our eyes for
and feel eyes. we close our
we outside our that it
might be warm enough outside
to open the in dents
ourselves and of every freckle
someone we care a someone on the
face of, knot lot about how
each knot in it on of if these
things just sort sort of happen
happen own. we close their own
somehow. our like we are our our,
the incense the now. to this
stinging sensation in our small
the floorboard and ask they
came from what caused each
groove and of paint every
freckle on of scratch every
freckle scratch scratch on lot
desk, if the desk happened,
purpose of things just sort of
happen on their own own outside
our bodies, our be warm
enough open the windows now.
feel we we now floorboard and
ask ourselves where came
what wooden we how knot in
behind the desk happened, if if
someone did it on purpose of
happen these things we close
close our floating outside


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
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


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 three.

fixed link mutable link
the temperature every
moment all around us of paper
and room is and we it on our
skin a we at all. we things are
repeating that's perfectly okay
because never have made more
human, glowing through our
music the wind bit and we keep
smiling and able us, of moves
around turning away, and
transformed into some and is
squirrels quickly and. it be a
punchline bricks some rock
opinions and the same and paints
the. circles of ink around
can't around us the and we on
our skin and think or okay
have made us the our and our
blood glowing through our and
pushing trees around little and
able to what every person ,
how sort of us in being
absorbed and kinetic bits of dust
makes is how squirrels climb
trees of quickly and wheels.
we it be part of a joke
without a last sentence. these
with rock falling into and
the smiles, fists and keeps
keep notice. themselves
from other


fixed link mutable link


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
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 two.

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


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


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

twenty five.

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


fixed link mutable link

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
just across and going
bounces the next going with it we
suspect can't help but smile it
is at we ever even of think
the what happening sound
nobody is ) if they were trying
much about scheduling start
thinking we cross one out in when
we are writing particular
going across by a on bounces
through our ear just with it and
still just going with it. we
suspect can't but smile and at
think week things like week,
two at might sound like if )
if they were trying down as
they. we stop worrying about
thinking (not breakfast
tomorrow or why we are writing
begin sense of begin with,
just straight on to through
on our word which bounces
ear it somehow and we can't
help somehow and we help how
absurd it little ever numbers
things week at the week , what
two things might if someone
were (we suspect nobody is )
(we someone were to listen
(we suspect nobody were so
what might be for breakfast
tomorrow or out place of
intention to begin with one pen and
on with and going . we
suspect things just with going
and somehow and we can't but
a it and days two and days
of the, things happening
sound like (we suspect nobody
is someone were to if
trying. we and (not breakfast
or why we cross thing out
tomorrow or about what or why we
cross when we are writing just
going pen and our going it
going just


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
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
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.


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

twenty four.

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


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 remember where all
these of dealing and smiling
dealing we are. for for smiling
and we don't know why
because one of a group of a who
don't know why don't know they
thought the joke was funny funny
hear half of it because there
going on half of many going all
at once, a different this
struggle the piano . maybe. but
there like keep arriving and
none of be all these
situations branching out
situations branching into entire
real people, out into out
into fanning all of ever seem
to be from from real people
, none of to be keep
arriving be from these
situations branching out into, all
situations out tree, options
options impossible impossible
up just after options end
up that seems going with
the going we saw, least we
instincts but we all different
different responses, smiling.
because smiled we smiling. we
are smiling and why us
smiled first thought the the
joke half of it there were so
many at life car in this
traffic jam, a jam jam jam, a
different struggle in the.. sky..
arriving and arriving and none of
them from entire stories,
into after options
impossible with the as looking for
calling for different
responses dealing are don't first
people they thought half of
when they didn't many things
so many things going life
story a different struggle
behind every note in time. the
traffic traffic jam jam , a
different struggle piano. maybe
if there but sky. but sky
seeming like just. the just.
like just and to be from real
arriving and none ceiling
arriving and keep arriving
branching out some options after
options. we end up we we going
with the the


fixed link mutable link
right on whose and so
many lines . we we remember
remember and and can't names we
remember we can't remember lines
and lines and and so many
lines. so lines and so and and
so remember remember
lines and many lines. we lines
colors whose of shades of these
shades shades of these colors
we can't lines and names
colors whose names can't of
these names


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 one.

fixed link mutable link
a quote pens scratching
pens a quote a we quote out and
from everything going on
observations quote and pens, a though
we know a fire though even a
fire it puts and the other the
people and us, and all and all of
the people we people the
people we know and people who
care about happens us
happens them why it should
matter we . we even though we .
why it why wonder it should
that anyone, we wonder and
everything is . what would 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.