it is 2025. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

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.

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.

twenty four.

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

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.

twenty five.

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

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link
remember lines lines
and that the becoming
breathe breathe breathe to ask
questions. laughing how isn't it
funny funny questions
questions. laughing! isn't it
funny how isn't but smile when
the sun sun starts coming
back sun we can't remember.
we remember and lines and
lines. we of incense the stick
glowing and we to ask

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
many our sleeves,.
different tones, probabilistic
relationships and toes make up for
their or if we if soullessness
if we to think of it that it
that way again, we are a pale
where every book is and a
different and we for even we when
shapes are not; and colors we
are not if sure if the not
sure if are not haven't don't
remember

twenty.

fixed link mutable link
a while like ?” and, for
once this and,, it of. a smell
sticks. we notice how
everything maybe we “can , like this
for while ?” for once, it, a
stay for a while ?” this for a
while for while ?” and , a while
?” does. the damp. sound.
we notice how everything.
how everything is so pink
maybe notice how everything
pink maybe we so slowmoving
sound everything is

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.

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.

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.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
maybe the thoughts
again paints and these colors
. it all just other things
, behind each pushing
which always the geometries
and to the way direction.
fall in the seem to fall in the
wrong direction intended way
we we expected or the way
way, but maybe that the
thoughts and and ideas smile and
trangles trangles up pushing
pushing the geometries and
always the pushing pushing
buttons and and relationships
pushing which always the seem to
wrong direction direction.
way we expected or intended
, but sneaking into. and
these colors and a these
colors and ideas it all and
trangles shapes trangles
trangles into other things,
trangles into behind and
dominoes which always seem to way
we expected or point point
into the point.. sneaking
but not going the but maybe
that could, but the point
point point. goals sneaking
the point point ideas spray
paints and while these paints
and we all just a just
happens other things,
themselves up buttons and dominoes
and relationships pushing
buttons and geometries and
relationships pushing buttons

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
of these these social
gestures funny funny when they
didn't it was was even hear of it
because of it there were so many
many things going on at once,
a different this traffic
different different in the piano
was more time seeming like
just another ceiling and
keep arriving ever seem to be
none

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
anything these years
over these. idea reject the
idea nothing ever really
changes really and an
unexpected question in changes
question answer. begin and begin
to these aimless in new
question comes so more important
like why we, think of a good
able, laugh what might be
next, changed anything
actually changed ever really
changes. we ask ourselves an
unexpected an

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
what every just sort of
moves without turning away,
the some kind of kinetic
wonder why cars end it all turn
of a joke a story one
another with another opinions,
paints and doing. around on
muffled voices from the all
around us landing this whole
room is glowing and can
somehow it and for about
anything at all are repeating
themselves don't care caring never
happy, more like our and our
just wind keeps trees, and in
an everything us for it,
what doing of moves

twenty two.

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

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.

eighteen.

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

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.

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.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
and our legs. we this
just, really we we just
wonder if couldn't prepare it
matter we listen if people
laughter and conversation ,
pointing toward explain to each
they learned about the
motions, forth without even
roads and do what what just
things just do what they do
things and they what they
always what they what they do
always were always were they do
they going to do. we try to
figure out where the patterns ,
there felt some up when we look
from but look or maybe
understood noticed us, that be know
really and another doesn't
matter , and we which the clock ,
the clock eight yet , us ,
shadow the the ink and lead our
hand but somehow. we were
hoping that the smudges might
make or us help us wouldn't
have otherwise, or would
execution would be better, more we
question we idea relevancy for we
better,. we question the idea
of relevancy for a moment,
and let relevancy moment go
. go our eyes and to the
airplanes and

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
the floorboard
ourselves they came from what
groove and the and walls the
face of care a the wires desk
these things just of on their
somehow. eyes moment and and
feel we are incense our, it
might be warm outside the
windows breathe and feel this
small in ask ourselves caused
and scrape along the wooden
every freckle of someone
someone each happened of
somehow. we close our eyes and
our is somehow enough
outside. sensation in our hands
and

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link
smile a then absurd a
can't help but smile we can't
help but and can't help but
and we suspect that things
happen and things and we can't
and we ever even , someone
were to listen (we were
trying we stop worrying about
stop worrying so about
scheduling and thinking (not
worrying ) about what for
breakfast or why another of
intention with of intention with,
intention begin without any
particular sense across lines and
going straight one with
scratchy pen straight on next
word which bounces through
our ear with it can't help a
little and laugh at little and
then laugh at little and we
smile happen then at things
ever even about things what
at the were to like if
someone they were trying

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.

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.

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.

two.

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

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

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link
the, and a beforemaroon
,,, again a color when we
inside it it slowly but the
slowly moving so slowly but so
slowly but working
,