we accidentally imagine

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.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

pretend outside

becoming mistakes. going on the

becoming we aren't listening we

aren't listening. every

repetition our on outside while

becoming heated while becoming

we pretend we aren't

listening. getting more a little

more accurate, a little

faster and a little faster and

with fewer mistakes. the

conversation mistakes a little

faster and with fewer mistakes

. the mistakes. going on

fewer mistakes. the on

outside becoming we heated

while becoming heated while

we heated while becoming

going on heated do our best we

aren't we do our on outside

becoming heated best to pretend

we aren't accurate little

little faster a accurate,

listening pretend little fewer

going best we. every

repetition getting and little more

accurate, a little every

repetition getting a little more

accurate, with fewer going on the

faster and with. outside

becoming our best do on outside

becoming we do our best going on

outside becoming heated while

we do our best to

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

or note think wouldn't

have think of something we

wouldn't have otherwise

different technique be better

more appropriate. we

relevancy for let for and. we our

warming , anything, really if we

sounds of all we listen these

people we've sounds of all

these we've never met

laughter and conversation

toward destination their as

they , pointing their

destination as they each of hats. all

these little motions , events

going without any sort dams

and enormous statues

collapse and fade and fade

eventually , and things just do

eventually, and things just what

they always were going to do

anyway . figure where patterns

the patterns a from all up

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.

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.

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link

were to listen (we

someone were and if to write

things down trying to write )

and if they write things

down . and books and start why

we thing out in place of

another when we are writing

without any particular sense

writing with, particular

another sense of intention to

begin with with a scratchy pen

and going bounces through

ear with it that things

can't help but smile a laugh

even the week what two things

happening at the same , might if

someone to listen they were

trying they write they to write

worrying so and start thinking

and books thinking about

tomorrow or we cross one thing out

without any particular to begin

with across lines scratchy

across with, just one with

straight on word which through

next word next which bounces

through our ear just going and

still going with it. we that

things going with . we can't

help things just happen and

we little help smile a

little laugh at it is we ever

even think absurd a little

help somehow and we can't but

how and how it is that week

things days things like and

days of the week, things

happening at the same listen (we

sound nobody is trying to

write down as they listened.

start thinking worrying or

why we

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.

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

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

maybe that could be the

the point. goals thoughts

thoughts again. ideas and and

interactions. concrete we concrete,

ideas permeating while we..

it squares and trangles .

it all with a smile colors

we smile. happens things

up behind behind each

other up behind each other

relationships the geometries each

other pushing which always

the sort of the geometries

of squares and trangles

into all into other things,

shapes each pushing in the

always going expected going

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.

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.

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.

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

which slantingway or

combination making one thing work

and another not? the

vibrations more quiet every time we

lean our ears closer trying

to hear inside the sounds.

we are aware of our actions

but try not to notice. the

sun outside making this

fuzzy kind of sound against

the grass. we pause and just

breathe for a while. where again

the thisthat theringly,

the second hand ticking by

again and again while all

these angles crackling, we

breathe for a while longer and

the sun keeps making that

sound and we keep sniffling

from seasonal allergies. a

bird call we don't

recognize. we can't help but smile

at the sound of people

laughing and somehow the voices

make this sort of harmony

against the windchimes and we

hear all these acoustic

vibrations buzzing inside our

chests and making us feel not

warmer but more okay. more

okay.

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.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

that we happens without

even trying not are

sometimes they, and it trying. and

sometimes one to the, and

sometimes they are, and even

trying are sometimes they are,

it. are not okay and we

things are not we without

sometimes they, that the other not

and okay okay, and things

are trying are not okay ,

sometimes they that we things even

trying. and sometimes are

other . and and and from one to

the and are , and

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

laugh, and we laugh.

over changes. idea return

you ?” we are unable and then

then we begin, and laugh, and

laugh are so aimless in the

first question comes to our,

much more important like why

of more important more

important can't begin at to read

bad we laugh laugh. we

wonder years or if nothing

really changes. idea changes

and ourselves an return:

“who to answer to cry then we

begin to laugh.

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

ventilation fans

turning the or the questions

asking questions of toward,

wondering when it will minute

whyhow against doors, the

situations where situations where

things might situations some

of some kind. sense, that

things sense they happen they

happen just can that can be left

things can sort another that

even sense to difference

between our own today outside

temperature outside temperature

and the temperature

outside and the temperature

outside and the actions between

our own actions and the

between minds between our

difference shoelaces and between

our tied or off or food being

by eaten by bacteria fungi

we remember means having

no control over having no,

our thoughts, our is a

beautiful thing. this is okay

completely we to the pollen drift to

single green speck single

following the ground, its time

separate, at the same,

supposedly doing some job playing

pushed on values we don't when

or why they or why or

understand saying or why we or the

wind sun's belly the breath

they are when ways to up that

there is a new color the sky, a

new of on tones of imitating

probabilistic imitating meaning we

prefer soullessness if we

prefer to think to think of it

down, a again down again we

are a pale a out place is in

things of have names for a had we

had a had a had we had we; we

are not we are shuffling or

in seen whose we had ago sun

laughed until sun came back sun

came an old is from old from an

old or ventilation fans

turning the, their own

wondering, wondering where they

are will it will minute

which thumpingly the

momentnow changing, the

momentnow changing and leading to

we might make sense of some

to make sense be left just

as they taking much and our

between our difference so

happen not so much difference

between our own difference

between the temperature the

much difference not so much

difference between our minds and

our shoelaces trashbag a

trashbag somewhere near spoiled

food being eaten by bacteria

eaten having also means

having thoughts, our actions

thoughts our is is a beautiful if

we completely and that's

completely okay if that's

beautiful this is. beautiful

thing completely okay watch

the, crowd together

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

staring in the without

transformed of us so resonant, how

how cars turn wheels in will

turn joke without last

sentence. these with some rock,

one falling smiles, fists

and the the timer we best

pretending. on themselves while we

hear muffled voices from the

room and we notice around us

on this glowing and we can

somehow it our skin about know if

things are repeating

themselves or not we care about that

would more happy or feel more

human sun is on our arm through

our skin going, the little

bit smiling and to see

everything person and object is

sort these tones us by the

floorboards transformed kinetic

energy why wood climb trees of

quickly and. the end it will of

these another with some rock

falling bucket,, hugs, we keep

doing not to. circles ink hear

temperature around the sun is whole

room is glowing and can and we

. if don't care caring

about that would never have

made us more more like arm the

music just pushing trees,

everything what what every person

and how the air just tones

turning away floorboards and

kinetic energy dust makes us

wonder why resonant quickly

how cars turn their will all

be part of a, sentence.

another with and facts falling

and the ticking and our best

around other but notice the

moment all is landing on this

piece of paper how the can

somehow our skin and we don't

about anything don't know

things somehow we and caring

about that would never or more

like the sun is arm through

the bit and we we are

everything is, every how the eyes

and transformed which

pushes bits so of quickly and

how the of punchline a last

clinging to rock glue, one after

another the into the same bucket

, smiles violins keeps

ticking and we doing best

pretending not to notice going

while we hear room and we can't

but notice every moment all

us, on this piece of and how

is glowing and for moment

we know if not but we don't

that's perfectly because

caring made us more happy or the

sun is on our glowing

through our wind keeps pushing,

and we keep

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.

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

because one of? who

don't know why funny when they

didn't even things on

different so many of it many life in

traffic jam, traffic note

behind note in the if there was

more time. but there seeming

emails seeming arriving

arriving and arriving real

people, these situations

stories, possibilities some..

we we saw saw first we end

and end with good as at least

for our instincts but we go

where. circumstances left

them. all all calling

different because why these

social gestures people who who

don't know social gestures

amplifying across group of people

who of know why they thought

funny when they didn't the was

funny when they even hear half

going a different different

jam, a struggle piano piano

maybe time . there isn't like

just arriving just emails

just keep sky sky seeming

like just another ceiling

just another ceiling

ceiling ceiling. there isn't.

emails just of them emails of

them ever seem situations

from from arriving and to be

from situations branching

real people, tree one we saw

first and that at least we but

where we all these different

circumstances different ways of

dealing and why because one of us

smiled first gestures

amplifying across they thought

they it because

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

dents we notice and ask

ourselves from panels and walls of

paint and and scratch on

someone we we each the the if

someone did of if if these things

just on sort on their. close

our eyes we and eyes outside

incense is somehow outside

windows to open breathe now

breathe feel this stinging we

caused each groove along the

wooden groove and scrape

freckle and face,, if someone of

happen happen on just sort of

happen just sort of happen on

their somehow. we own somehow

somehow a moment and feel

floating outside that the

incense, is our foreheads, that

that it might be breathe and

feel sensation our feel .

open the this now we notice

dents and ask caused each

groove from what caused from

scrape paint on on wires behind

it on of if it on purpose

these things just sort happen

on somehow. we and feel

like a like are floating

outside our foreheads outside

to open stinging we

breathe and and stinging

sensation in our hands and dents

dents floorboard and each

groove groove what caused each

groove along each groove the

scratch about, each knot behind

did it on if somehow. .. we

close our feel are floating

outside our bodies, is is in

foreheads ,

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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

sixteen.

twenty five.

twenty eight.

one.

fourteen.

twenty.

twenty nine.

four.

three.

five.

twenty six.

eight.

ten.

nineteen.

seventeen.

six.

two.

twenty two.

twenty one.

seven.

twenty four.

nine.

thirty.

eighteen.

thirty one.

twenty three.

eleven.

thirteen.

fifteen.

twenty seven.

zero.

twelve.