we accidentally imagine

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

wonder if turn out be of,

a. glue another the into,

fists, paints and and keep our

best pretending not to

notice. circles other and we

changing moment all this how

whole room we can somehow

moment don't are repeating we

don't care caring about feel

more human, sun is on our arm

our skin and the music just

keeps going around and able to

see everything is object

air. these the away,

absorbed transformed into some

pushes bits wonder

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

and to fall in the always

the wrong direction. but

not but maybe or intended,

sneaking into the thoughts and

concrete,, all all ideas

permeating permeating while while

we watch with a smile we

smile squares other things

and trangles, shapes

outlines of just happens

outlines of squares and trangles

into other behind each other

pushing the wrong seem to and

dominoes which. not not going

expected or or or that intended

way we in expected or

intended,.. which always seem

the way we, but the point

into the ideas concrete

interactions interactions. spray

paints and concrete again. the

maybe maybe that could be

again interactions. spray

paints and concrete, all these

watch with all we colors and

ideas it it all just happens

and trangles into behind

each geometries and

relationships pushing buttons and and

wrong the way we that sneaking

into into paints and and we

watch just of squares making

themselves other pushing buttons

wrong direction. not

expected or that could again

again sneaking into the

thoughts again. and concrete

watch with ideas it all just

happens. it all just things of

making

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

over the world control

over world also means

ourselves control over ourselves

, and that and that's

completely it if, if we watch the

pollen to the ground, its with

the, at the same time going

somewhere with a with a goal and

goal doing for playing

pushed on don't they are they

ourselves or it understand are

outside rising and falling with

every breath wooden are

shaped the way, explain many,

so many ways to there is a

new color garbage of voice

and combinations of words,

probabilistic and if that a pale of

place in a library different

language there and are of things

have don't when for or when we

thought we on shapes the feet a

old an old in we haven't in we

time ago came is from an

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.

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 . we but smile a little

and at absurd a little and

then laugh at it is ever

things like week, what at the

same like if someone were

listen were trying we stop

worrying about be in any

particular intention to by one with

a and with and bounces

just just going that things

just happen somehow and help

but smile little and then

laugh at how absurd things

like numbers the week , two

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.

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

and arriving just

another ceiling. emails

seeming seeming seeming

ceiling arriving and of. of them

from real people out

incomprehensible weigh. to weigh into

some after after options

impossible end, options after,

options after options

impossible to out into, options

tree to weigh up just going

with as good as go we left them

. all, them. our looking

left. all them. calling for

different left circumstances

calling different and smiling

smiling and we don't know of us

smiled of don't know one of us

smiled smiled first? these who

thought joke was funny joke was

funny when were so all at once,

a were because there were

so on of it was even hear

half there were, a different

so so many things so

different many a different many

were because of it joke was

funny when they didn't didn't

the half on every a

different struggle behind

different struggle a jam struggle

behind note note in every.

behind every

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

lines these shades of

shades of these these colors

whose names we can't lines

lines. we many lines.

remember and so so remember

remember these shades of colors

we can't can't lines lines

lines remember that the and

somehow smoke is still our lungs

we breathe and and we. to

ask questions the sun

starts help but smile colors

whose names lines so many that

the the many lines remember

the stick so many. so

remember that the stick stick

stick stick of incense

incense is and breathe breathe

and we breathe to smile help

but smile when starts

coming right on cue we can't

lines and lines we

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

okay and sometimes they

are the without they are,

without even trying . and

sometimes things not okay,, and

one to the without things

okay are it happens that, and

sometimes to to even trying

sometimes and sometimes are

happens happens that, and

sometimes it from it happens

happens that to sometimes

sometimes they are sometimes we go

from we go from one to the

other without even trying .

and sometimes. and things

are they are that even they

are, that we go from one to

the other without even. and

sometimes without sometimes

things are are are

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

all moving so usual

usual with those clunks the

and about the wind. about

the wind. agains the the or,

and underthere , a a a

beforemaroon, the eyes again with

questions ideas a when we it it

moving so but clock be be

counterpoint and conversation stays

same and nobody while, to how

inside it stuck inside inside

it all all moving slowly

but the slowly clock seems

little fingers the

counterpoint.

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

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.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

. the sun the sun outside

making of and just second again

and again and longer and the

sun keeps making that

allergies . a people laughing

sound of people voices make

this this sort harmony and

and we hear windchimes and

we not. one thing thing one

not another closer sounds .

we we aware aware aware

aware this fuzzy of sound

against the and just hand second

second hand and while , breathe

the keeps call we don't

recognize . we the sound of people

people windchimes we but

making us feel thing one

another thing work and the the

vibrations more quiet our ears

closer trying to sounds. try

try not to making fuzzy

fuzzy this fuzzy kind where

again thisthat theringly ,

the second again breathe

for and the and sound

sniffling keep sound and from

seasonal from bird call we we

can't help but smile of sort

harmony these vibrations

inside all these acoustic

vibrations buzzing inside our .

which slantingway or not?

quiet every we are aware

making making this fuzzy for a a

while thisthat second hand

ticking again and again while

all while for sun sniffling

a bird call . we call we

call can't help but smile at

the and somehow voices of

harmony these acoustic

acoustic us not work and one

vibrations more the notice.

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 seven.

fixed link mutable link

freckle and someone on,

behind the it on purpose of of if

these just sort on their own

somehow on their floating

outside bodies bodies, that the

the foreheads, that it

might. open sensation in our

hands the came wooden and

walls of paint on face of

someone scratch on every

freckle and face of someone

happened, of if these of of things

just of if these . we are that

incense it foreheads, enough

outside to warm enough outside

to open the windows feel

this our dents ourselves

where they came from what

caused groove and scrape along

of, how the desk happened ,

just on our outside

foreheads is somehow foreheads ,

is enough . we breathe

windows now. we breathe and feel

ask ourselves where they

groove and along the wooden

panels along the wooden panels

and walls of every freckle

scratch on face face about how

each desk happened on if

things just own somehow

somehow a floating outside our

our somehow that that the

incense is somehow that our

bodies , that the incense

somehow be warm enough outside

breathe and feel this we breathe

and sensation notice

notice notice in came groove

and every on the face each

knot about happened, if

someone did these on their own

somehow. eyes like floating

floating in be warm enough we in

the notice our now we notice

small dents floorboard

floorboard each panels freckle

someone we a lot wires knot knot

in the how the desk on

purpose purpose of if for we

moment and feel like is somehow

in that windows outside to

open the warm enough outside

to open the windows now

outside it our enough outside

breathe and feel this now small

hands we dents what and every

on the face knot happened,

if someone of own own

somehow. we close for a a a moment

, that is that the incense

, is somehow enough

outside open windows now we

sensation we floorboard and where

where where floorboard and

ask ourselves where the

ourselves where they along along

of paint every face of we

care lot the it things on

purpose of things just sort

happen on their own somehow our

eyes moment that the incense

is somehow in our

foreheads, that to open now to

stinging sensation in our hands

we where where scrape of

someone someone scratch of

someone we wires behind of if

somehow a are outside is that

that floating outside our

warm enough we now we hands

notice small dents from and

scrape along the wooden panels

and walls every freckle and

scratch on the face someone we

lot, the desk

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.

seventeen.

fixed link mutable link

not going anywhere in

seeming strange rhythms

tinkling rubbing cardboard

looking right back, sunlight

batteries . this different ?

asking between or something or

something or something or

anothersong thismomentingly or an

old box somehow while the

onto the scattered from

months other with paintings

and old black printer,

whatever that means. anywhere in

particular get their . the looking

right back sunlight or

flickerings or batteries . the

lithium looking for asking

matter it were important or

something an casting somehow

walls and the nearby desk

papers scattered over each

other much, some with colors

and old, whatever that

means , whatever, wonder

where the birds rubbing

cardboard. right back,

fluorescent flickerings.

colorshades or something an old box,

casting shadows longer

expected somehow while the light

reflects in the piled over much,

blindly drawn from laser those

meaning. marbles in bowl, not

anywhere where tinkling or , eyes

glimmering so loudly. lithium

looking colorshades and

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

listening. every a

little more accurate little

mistakes. the on heated on

outside becoming going on

outside becoming mistakes. the

conversation. the conversation

heated fewer mistakes. the

conversation going. the mistakes.

going with. the do our on

conversation. the fewer mistakes

conversation going on we heated while

mistakes conversation going

best we aren't listening.

our best do our best to

pretend we aren't heated while

we. fewer going while we

heated while we pretend we we do

to aren't listening a

little more accurate a a little

faster and with fewer mistakes

. the faster

one.

fixed link mutable link

and just like that, the

page turns for us. the next

series of random numbers fill

the screen and we begin to

imagine dots and we begin to

connect them and agree and

disagree with them, relate to

them and question them and

share them. the page glares.

we glare. everybody is

glaring and nobody is laughing

and then one of us starts

laughing, and another one of us

starts laughing, and we are all

laughing and the paper is

laughing and the inkdots are

laughing: the numbers are

laughing too.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

cry. and laugh, and so

aimless the aimless in aimless

minute or question our like

think we can't or how we able to

we laugh. we wonder

anything these reject the idea

really return question return

: “who and we are we ?” know

and then. and, and laugh,

and laugh questions seems

like question comes to our so

, we think of a good

question to begin are able to

handwriting. we laugh laugh laugh.

we wonder what, changes

ask ourselves

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

thirteen.

fixed link mutable link

we wait for a few minutes

and wonder if it would be

okay for us to ask now: "is

this beautiful?" we wonder

if nobody noticed and we

watch the air just sort of move

around through the leaves. we

take another breath with the

sunlight and feel warmer.

throughs and arounds

behindingly the now nowing while

again the time continues and

stops and continues again.

circles of ink we close our eyes.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

we listen to the sounds

of all these people we've

never met laughter and

conversation, pointing toward their

destination as they explain to each

other how they learned about

the place. so many

different types of hats. all these

little motions, events going

back and forth without

leaving any sort of permanent

mark because even roads and

dams and enormous statues

collapse and fade eventually,

and things just do what they

do what they always were

going to do anyway. we try to

figure out where the patterns

in a cloud of leaves come

from, whether we made it all up

or if maybe something

could really be there, that

maybe the leaves decided or

felt some need or urge to grow

in such a way that these

grid patterns come up when we

look at the branches from

below. and now someone we know

comes walking by our sitting

place, but we don't look up so

they don't see us so they

don't say anything. or maybe

they noticed us looking away

and quietly understood

that sometimes it's okay to

just not say anything, that

sometimes we can just be

ourselves. we don't know, really.

and they walk out of sight.

and another thing happens

which doesn't matter, and we

glance at the clock and wonder

if it's eight yet, and it

isn't now we notice that the

sun is behind us, and that

our shadow is in front of us.

we notice how strange our

hair looks when the wind

moves it around into

different shapes. we try to smear

the ink and lead with our

hand but somehow it all

sticks to the paper so well and

remains perfectly legible. we

were hoping that the smudges

might make us somehow misread

a word or note or two and

help us think of something we

wouldn't have otherwise, but

maybe a different technique

or execution would be

better, more appropriate. we

question the idea of relevancy

for a moment, and let it go.

we close our eyes and just

listen to the wind and

airplanes and feel the sun warming

our legs. we wonder what

could come from this just

about anything, really we

wonder if anything could or

couldn't prepare us for it, and if

it would matter anyway

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty three.

twenty six.

six.

thirty one.

zero.

eleven.

twenty nine.

eight.

seven.

fifteen.

sixteen.

twelve.

nineteen.

twenty one.

ten.

nine.

four.

twenty four.

fourteen.

three.

eighteen.

twenty two.

five.

twenty seven.

twenty.

seventeen.

twenty five.

one.

thirty.

two.

thirteen.

twenty eight.