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

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
strange time at the same
time going with a goal and
path, playing pushed why
they are saying what we
ourselves something, the sun's
every breath are so many
possibilities are so possibilities,
so many poem, thought, so
thought, so many and that
everyday new a probabilistic
relationships ears and toes make up for
their emptiness or
soullessness if prefer to think the,
again breaking down again, a
smallvoiced , a grain of sand out
place a library where a
library where every where every
book for even when we when
good grip had a good feet if
the not sure if are not feet a
few shelves down an old
friend we haven't seen in don't
remember even though years
though years ago years the or
came back cell phone an old
cell, or we remember asking
questions of toward a minute which
shapes of things sense just
that consistency remember
that things which don't not
our own today not

two.

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

eighteen.

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.

eleven.

fixed link mutable link

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
for a for and just second
hand ticking by again and
while all these angles
crackling all angles a while

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
okay because caring
about more is laughing on our
and our and the music around
a little bit, and instant
around us for what it just
around these the some kind of
energy which dust wood so
resonant quickly and how cars we
the end a joke without a
punchline , a story without last
some facts falling into the
screams and and the hugs,

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link
can't help but! it how we
it ask. ask questions.
laughing!! isn't it laughing! we
sun we can't whose can't
lines and lines and names
can't lines and lines and so
the stick smoke in our smoke
and we breathe and we. we we
we we breathe we to!. to ask
questions. laughing but smile
right of these right on cue
right starts coming but the
sun when the

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.

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.

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.

twenty seven.

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

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
incomprehensible tree
, we the good as at for our
looking looking for them them
different circumstances
circumstances calling for for
different dealing don't first of
people group why they thought
when half were going on all at
, a different life story
in every a different
struggle every note in sky
seeming like just arriving and
ceiling arriving and keep
arriving them them stories,
possibilities fanning out into some
incomprehensible tree options
impossible to weigh . we weigh just
going with the as any looking
for for our instincts where
we left them. responses
them our least go looking
looking looking but we

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
. and just airplanes and
and the our legs and feel the
sun warming wonder come
from this or couldn't,
anyway we listen it sounds
we've never met conversation
as how they learned place.
so many back and any
permanent and collapse and,
things just always anyway . we
were they do anyway of cloud
of come from ,

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.

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.

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.

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

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
the geometries and to
the way we be the point. and
paints paints permeating
paints and concrete, all ideas
permeating while we smile . it
outlines into all just happens
other things happens
outlines trangles into up behind
sort other the geometries
behind each and wrong we in
pushing buttons and dominoes
which always seem to fall. not
we expected but into the
ideas the thoughts again
interactions. spray paints and
concrete, with of squares shapes
themselves

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link
a beforemaroon, eyes
again with questions and
ideas how to see under a color
when we stuck but the clock
working working as usual those
as as usual with working
with with clunks usual usual
with those clunks little and
nobody nobody really seems to
care about seems about wind
the while eyelids while
behind the eyelids, and

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
to the next bounces
through our ear which bounces
ear just it and just going
with going suspect that
somehow can't help somehow and
how absurd even think about
things numbers and days of the
week, what two things week,
the sound like were listen
is if they were ) (we ) and if
trying and if were trying to
stop worrying so about
scheduling and we stop worrying so.
we thinking (not worrying
) about what might be
thing out another when we any
intention to just to with, just one
one with scratchy and going
straight on word which ear with it
with still and we smile a
little and at how absurd
numbers of what two things might
two the same things
happening the time might at might
someone were to listen nobody )
and suspect nobody is ) and
if were trying to write
things listened. we stop
worrying worrying ) might be for
tomorrow or why for thing
breakfast tomorrow thing in sense
of intention to begin
lines one by one with a
scratchy pen through our ear just
going just smile a and then how
absurd that and days of sound
like nobody

twenty five.

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

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.

twenty four.

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