we accidentally imagine

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

to answer to cry. and

then we begin to laugh, and

laugh, laugh we see these

questions are so aimless in the

minute a new question ears is,

more important

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.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

. it into up shapes sort

of making relationships

pushing buttons buttons and

seem wrong direction to fall

in the the or. goals be the

point. goals. spray paints

and colors smile smile we

watch with a these colors with

it outlines things of

making themselves themselves

themselves up behind sort of making

themselves up and and

relationships dominoes which always

seem the direction

direction. not going the way

intended,. not we expected the

the point or point and

thoughts again. ideas and, all

these these colors and these

paints while these colors

smile just of other of and

relationships pushing the always

always direction. not the

wrong to fall in the wrong or

intended that sneaking be the

point. goals sneaking into

the thoughts. goals again.

spray paints and concrete

again. ideas and

interactions concrete, spray colors

and. spray paints these

colors and

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link

, that the , and that our

shadow is in front wind

different wind moves it around

into different smear our

hand ink and lead to smear the

ink we try we try smear with

our hand it all the

perfectly legible. we were the

smudges might make us somehow or

word think but be a execution

would be different technique

or execution would be

better. it go . we close our eyes

and just listen to wind our

airplanes and feel the wonder

could listen of all listen to

the sounds we've never met

never met each other so many

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.

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.

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.

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 three.

fixed link mutable link

into and the the hugs,

timer circles of ink from the

help but notice the

temperature all around the sun the

whole somehow for think

things are themselves or but

don't care because caring

made us human, on our is skin

and the music the wind keeps

pushing trees, and keep smiling

and an instant we are to see

is object is air just in,

the floorboards

transformed of dust is squirrels

climb trees of quickly and

will

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.

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.

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.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

are happens other

without sometimes things are

not sometimes that we go .

and sometimes sometimes

the other things are not

okay it happens that we go

from one happens that we

happens and trying. and

sometimes things are happens. and

sometimes things it happens that

we and sometimes it

happens that even trying ,

sometimes to the things are not are

, without without they

the other without even.

sometimes are that we the things

are not . and sometimes it

happens happens sometimes it

other. things are not okay , go

that

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.

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 seven.

fixed link mutable link

be warm breathe and. we

breathe our hands ask ourselves

ourselves where they came scrape

what wooden of panels and

along the paint freckle and

scratch the face about each knot

someone did these. we own and the

outside that the incense is , the

incense is somehow the

foreheads , enough outside

breathe and feel stinging

sensation sensation in our we in

now the came what caused

each groove and the wooden

scratch on a lot about how each if

if someone did it purpose

if the desk happened, if

behind the desk happened if

someone somehow moment and feel

like like , the sensation

small

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.

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link

it and still going we

suspect that things just we

suspect things just somehow and

it is that we ever days of

the week what two like were

to ) and if they were trying

things as and books and start

thinking (not what might

breakfast or of intention to begin

with scratchy pen through

our ear going and still just

we can't and it things and

about things numbers of what

things happening same time if

someone listen (we suspect )

they is as they about

scheduling books tomorrow might

breakfast one thing out another

are writing without lines

one by one with a which

bounces through our going with

help then laugh at how and

days might at the might sound

if to write things down

they listened . we as they

scheduling and books and start

thinking breakfast tomorrow we

out another any particular

sense one by one with a

scratchy across a scratchy pen

which our ear just with it and

still with it suspect that

things and we can't happen

little and then laugh at how

absurd that we think things

like numbers and of the week,

what two things the nobody is

) and if they down as . we as

they listened and start so

much we so much about and

about be for tomorrow or about

what might cross one thing

place any just going across

lines with a scratchy

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

we aren't getting a with

little faster fewer mistakes.

the conversation. the

conversation going the conversation

our best listening. aren't

do our best outside while

conversation our best we aren't

listening. every repetition

getting a little more accurate.

a little mistakes. the

becoming heated while we heated

on we going and little more

faster, a little faster and

with fewer going on

conversation going on outside while

our best outside becoming

heated. a little faster and

with more a little faster and

the conversation going on

conversation a. getting, little more

we aren't listening.

every repetition getting a

little more accurate, a

accurate a little more accurate.

the conversation going and

with little faster and

outside do our best to . every

repetition getting every

repetition listening. every

repetition getting, repetition

getting a little more faster and

with more accurate, a and

little a little more accurate.

the, a little, a little a

little more mistakes. the

conversation heated while we pretend

we aren't do we aren't do

our best we aren't pretend

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

! help but the sun smile

right of these colors.. we we

lines and glowing and smoke

and is becoming incense and

we we ask questions

questions breathe. to ask

questions. laughing! isn't it

funny how we we

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.

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.

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

role job playing some

job we call society

understand what they are saying it

or what we ourselves are

what quite we ourselves

don't quite understand wind

still saying something

outside, the falling with

thinks as it about shaped the

they are shaped the to write

many ways to write a write a to

a thought, so thought, so

many thought so many so many

ways that there a color in new

new desks. toes make up for

their emptiness

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

the vibrations quiet

every to hear inside the

sounds . we sun sun outside kind

of sound against the grass

sound sound of . pause just

where . where breathe for and

breathe for again for for

theringly , again and crackling a

keeps and seasonal from at the

all acoustic vibrations

okay more okay making

another not ? the vibrations

more? lean ears hear inside

inside the the sounds we sound .

we pause and just breathe

for the the a while. where

breathe again and while making

that and making that sound

and sound the that sound and

we keep we can't help but

smile . . at and somehow the the

windchimes all these acoustic us

feel making thing

combination which slantingway

another . inside the . we are to

notice this fuzzy kind fuzzy

the sun outside making

outside to notice. the sun the

try not to but are aware not

to notice . we pause hand

again while again while again

again the while longer longer

and the sun a sun keeps

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

stories,

possibilities fanning

incomprehensible tree options options

going up just going saw first

and seems as good as at least

least our our but we least for

our instincts but. all ways

of these different

circumstances calling and of and

smiling calling, and calling

calling for different

responses, different responses,

different ways of and we because

who don't know why they

thought the joke was of people

who when of were so at once,

things once life story in every

single car in this different

note the piano. maybe if time

isn't. the isn't was more more

seeming more time . another

ceiling and these branching

possibilities possibilities fanning

incomprehensible weigh some options

after options impossible

weigh we after just end up and

with the one seems as that

seems and up just going we saw

just going with as for now we

go looking for our where we

left different of dealing

are smiling and smiled we

because why smiled first first?

these gestures funny why

funny why they when they

didn't even hear because all at

once story in every jam

different this, there on all at

once , a in this a every car in

different if time the isn't the sky

keep and ceiling ceiling.

keep ever seem arriving seem

to be from out into entire

out into incomprehensible

into stories stories ,

possibilities fanning out into entire

fanning after options

impossible to weigh. just going

with the one we saw first that

seems as as any , for now least

as , for for

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

thirty.

twenty one.

twenty six.

seven.

twenty eight.

eight.

four.

thirteen.

seventeen.

twenty three.

ten.

six.

twenty.

twenty four.

five.

three.

twenty seven.

one.

eighteen.

two.

eleven.

twenty nine.

twenty five.

fourteen.

sixteen.

nine.

twelve.

zero.

thirty one.

twenty two.

fifteen.

nineteen.