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

eleven.

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.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
from don't don't
recognize. we can't help but smile
against the windchimes all
these vibrations buzzing
inside our but more okay. more
warmer but okay slantingway or
combination or or thing our closer
trying to hear inside the
sounds we hear inside the aware
notice. but try sound sound
against the grass. pause and
just while the thisthat
again again while again and
again while all keeps while
longer the and seasonal
allergies. don't recognize smile
laughing and the voices voices
buzzing inside our chests and
and warmer but more okay
slantingway slantingway
slantingway slantingway or
combination okay. vibrations more
quiet time we lean our hear
inside the sounds

twenty four.

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

five.

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

zero.

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

three.

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

thirteen.

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link
we listen to the sounds
of all these people we've
never met laughter and
conversation, pointing toward their
destination as they explain to each
other how they learned about
the place. so many
different types of hats. all these
little motions, events going
back and forth without
leaving any sort of permanent
mark because even roads and
dams and enormous statues
collapse and fade eventually,
and things just do what they
do what they always were
going to do anyway. we try to
figure out where the patterns
in a cloud of leaves come
from, whether we made it all up
or if maybe something
could really be there, that
maybe the leaves decided or
felt some need or urge to grow
in such a way that these
grid patterns come up when we
look at the branches from
below. and now someone we know
comes walking by our sitting
place, but we don't look up so
they don't see us so they
don't say anything. or maybe
they noticed us looking away
and quietly understood
that sometimes it's okay to
just not say anything, that
sometimes we can just be
ourselves. we don't know, really.
and they walk out of sight.
and another thing happens
which doesn't matter, and we
glance at the clock and wonder
if it's eight yet, and it
isn't now we notice that the
sun is behind us, and that
our shadow is in front of us.
we notice how strange our
hair looks when the wind
moves it around into
different shapes. we try to smear
the ink and lead with our
hand but somehow it all
sticks to the paper so well and
remains perfectly legible. we
were hoping that the smudges
might make us somehow misread
a word or note or two and
help us think of something we
wouldn't have otherwise, but
maybe a different technique
or execution would be
better, more appropriate. we
question the idea of relevancy
for a moment, and let it go.
we close our eyes and just
listen to the wind and
airplanes and feel the sun warming
our legs. we wonder what
could come from this just
about anything, really we
wonder if anything could or
couldn't prepare us for it, and if
it would matter anyway

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
are particular sense
across lines one with word
through our ear still just. we
suspect that a how is days, time
might at the sound like if to
listen (we nobody is ) and we
books might tomorrow or why we
cross thing out in place of
another when we with going lines
one with pen and just going.
that things happen somehow
little think about numbers two
at like if listen and
suspect nobody is and as they
listened. we stop much about
scheduling and books and (not
worrying and start so much about
stop worrying scheduling
and books and

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
actually changed over
we and ask and an
unexpected an you ?” and we don't
know we are unable to answer.
know. don't cry., and laugh.
to begin, why these every
minute or minute or question
comes to ears which, like why
of can't good to bad
handwriting read, and might, and we
laugh anything changed over
might be anything actually
anything changed over the idea
that nothing really changes
ourselves an ourselves an
unexpected question in and we and.
and then and laugh and laugh
and questions in when it
comes new second minute or, so
, so much more important
of a good question to able
to. we laugh. bad laugh we
wonder what might be next,
anything actually changed the

twenty five.

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

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
saw and that as any, for
now at least we go looking
but we don't remember where
we left them. all
different calling for smiling . we
are smiling gestures
across a know why thought the
they it it because there were
so , a different every this
this a different struggle
behind car behind was more time
. the sky ceiling and them
ever just keep ever from real
people, out some
incomprehensible tree some
incomprehensible. with the that first and
that seems any, for now at for
remember where where we left left
them. all different , are...
. we these social social
gestures amplifying people they
was funny when hear there
there even things life story
in this note note in the if
there. the sky seeming
arriving of them ever seem to ever
situations branching out into
entire out into impossible to
weigh, options,
possibilities fanning out these
situations branching, into some
incomprehensible options impossible to
weigh . saw first and that
seems at for our remember
where we left them. all these
different circumstances of are
why because of us smiled
first? across a group joke it
because there were so many life
in single car in note in the
piano piano. behind. behind
behind every note in the piano.
. maybe if. just just just
keep arriving and keep just
another ceiling. and of ever
ever of from people from real
real stories,, branching
real entire out into after
options impossible to weigh . we
end. we we end up just going
saw and that seems we go but
but we we left left them. all
these different responses,
ways of dealing and calling
where where we we these
different circumstances calling
for different ways these
different different
circumstances calling for different
ways we know and. because one
are smiling we don't know
why us us social gestures
amplifying of

six.

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

eighteen.

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

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.

nineteen.

fixed link mutable link
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and ideas, how musical a
painting can sound the ink never
seems to dry.

one.

fixed link mutable link
and just like that, the
page turns for us. the next
series of random numbers fill
the screen and we begin to
imagine dots and we begin to
connect them and agree and
disagree with them, relate to
them and question them and
share them. the page glares.
we glare. everybody is
glaring and nobody is laughing
and then one of us starts
laughing, and another one of us
starts laughing, and we are all
laughing and the paper is
laughing and the inkdots are
laughing: the numbers are
laughing too.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
allowing things which
don't difference much
difference not our much not so
temperature much difference so
tangled in a trashbag a trashbag
somewhere spoiled fungi by
bacteria being eaten we remember
that having that having no
control over world also means
having our, our actions our
beautiful a is is if we watch the
pollen drift to ground, in at
with a goal and a goal
somewhere with a air's path,
standing around some job we call
society understand what don't
quite or why we or ourselves
are ourselves are
ourselves understand ourselves
don't quite don't quite
understand what we ourselves are
saying or why we are

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
and interactions
interactions. spray permeating
while we and ideas permeating
while we and ideas all just
smile . trangles trangles
themselves geometries and
relationships pushing buttons wrong
going the could could be the
ideas spray paints and
interactions and concrete, and, and
ideas ideas permeating while
while while just happens
things of making making the up
sort behind each other
themselves up pushing buttons seem
the wrong direction to
wrong direction. in in not
going going or be. ideas and
interactions

two.

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

fourteen.

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

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
somehow and don't if or
care and that's or more the
sun is laughing and our
through our wind around a little
bit, and keep smiling and
around us for it object moves
around turning the
floorboards kind of kinetic which
makes us resonant, how
squirrels and how cars we end it
will of a punchline without
clinging rock glue one after the
opinions and the same, the and the
hugs the keeps and keep doing
our circles on muffled
voices the we temperature
changing every landing on how
glowing feel

twenty seven.

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

twenty.

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.

twelve.

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

four.

fixed link mutable link
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies once at peace and
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to be,
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once again wishing things
were a different way or that
the coin had landed on the
other face; we can't figure
out who we are, and we aren't
quite sure if that question
leads anywhere hard to find
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
behind each option which never
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass as if nothing
had happened in the first
place and we begin to wonder if
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had somehow just
thought it all up out of some kind
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the same
way, always surprising
somehow and adding to the
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.

seventeen.

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

eight.

fixed link mutable link
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof or
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who are you? and we
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about an itch
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on laughing
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least something the grip
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is, how
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry and music might
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that sometimes things
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen and
they keep just happening and
they don't stop. they don't
stop and it seems like they
never will, so it starts
making sense to just accept
this and close our eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of. we
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.

sixteen.

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

nine.

fixed link mutable link
we are breathing. and we
are still breathing. one
thought and another passing by
in the street while we ask
ourselves if this is going
anywhere if we should instead be
focusing on something else like
the way the smoke is
drifting away from the incense
stick, or the sound our eyelids
make when we blink. is there a
place for rushing anymore?
the softmurmurs again,
reminding us about our breath: and
a little blue bird lands
on the windowsill. it is
singing.

seven.

fixed link mutable link
tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we finally speak our
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?" some glass
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot. how again the why's and
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer to a
question that matters. a new pair
of jeans, a holiday
decoration left up for months, a
lightbulb which doesn't fit even
though we could have sworn the
size was right at the store.
color combinations making us
feel sick and wonder why we
care about the dissonance,
why we should prefer one to
the other. we conclude that
we're all just bits of air
moving with the waves of some
song we can't hear: now
banging on the wooddrums, the
thoughts and the doubts, hopes or
imaginations throwing fists at the
organ keyboard, some body of
loud waters, some
electrical structure groaning in
rains particles trapped in
the breezings, the sine
waves, the eyeballs thrown
left and right or up and down
or is that a sign of
happiness, of
peacefulness? who's to tell what's
harmony and what's dissonance?
who's to tell the words of the
song when each moment's just
a few bits of data? hard to
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through a word a letter an inkdot
the arounds and behinds
lost somewhere in the mix,
the breath being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
rising just a little higher or
just a little more like dirty
wallpaper: we ask each other where
it happened. where the
music got faster. where the
blue became green, where the
light was switched on and the
newer waves began to
interfere with things and distort
the shapes, canceling out
or multiplying or
performing more complicated
operations until the noise is noise
and the signal is noise and
the noise is still noise yet
somehow wider, more sideways
and spinningly and
uppingly and backwardly, more
harsh and out of sync, now neon
colorlines and batteries, strange
gaps in the spiral not
patterns but something about
them which makes us feel the
walls are moving further away
and the room is becoming
smaller, that one moment is
another and the second hand is
somehow different this time
around. we cannot help but go to
sleep again, this time with a
strange smile and already
looking forward to coffee. this
time with socks and a thicker
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.

ten.

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