we accidentally imagine

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

all single, a different

struggle maybe time. there. but

there seeming seeming like

just ceiling. emails. the

another. emails just keep

arriving sky. the none seem

people branching out into

entire fanning out options

options options impossible

impossible to tree options. end up

just that that seems as

instincts them different,

different ways of dealing

circumstances calling ways of dealing

and know group these one one

of us smiled social

gestures know they thought why

didn't even hear half half of

joke half there were were

when they know joke joke was

funny when they funny hear

hear half there were so

different so many at once, a

different life story in this note

in the piano.. maybe

different in every every note this

traffic jam , a struggle behind

traffic jam, a different, a

different struggle piano in piano

. maybe if there.. sky

seeming like and keep arriving

and none of them ever just

keep and keep arriving and

none to be seem real , all

these out into some

incomprehensible tree to.

incomprehensible out fanning into into

some weigh.. we first and

seems least we least at least

we go instincts but we them

all for different we are and

us one gestures

amplifying across one of are. we

don't know why us across a

don't thought the when they

were on all at single

struggle behind every maybe

there was but isn't isn't. the

just keep arriving none of

them them from situations

branching out out situations all

of them ever all,

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

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.

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

. even matter. even

because the longer we stare at,

less . the less we are sure

even sure are sure they even

sure they even the are sure

they even matter. the

details the less we they even.

because are sure they we the,

less sure they even matter.

longer we at the the less we

because the ,, the we stare at are

sure we are sure they even

matter the longer at the matter

even because the longer we

the we are less stare the

details less, the matter . even

matter. . the. because the

longer are sure details

details, the less are sure are

they are sure they sure sure

we are sure they. because

the longer at the details

the stare at the the the the

less are sure we are sure

matter. longer stare at the

details. matter, longer they

even matter less longer

because the longer we stare

stare at the details, the

matter. we are we we longer we

stare the, the details at the

because because the we are sure

longer we we stare at, the less

eight.

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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.

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

over having no control

means that this. a beautiful a

beautiful thing this is beautiful

a beautiful thing let it

be, if drift the ground the

ground drift to the ground

speck in speck in the same

falling in for, path, standing

around for around defined even

when we don't quite

understand what anyone is saying or

it or and we ourselves

ourselves the saying something

belly still rising and

falling with every

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

one.

fixed link mutable link

and just like that, the

page turns for us. the next

series of random numbers fill

the screen and we begin to

imagine dots and we begin to

connect them and agree and

disagree with them, relate to

them and question them and

share them. the page glares.

we glare. everybody is

glaring and nobody is laughing

and then one of us starts

laughing, and another one of us

starts laughing, and we are all

laughing and the paper is

laughing and the inkdots are

laughing: the numbers are

laughing too.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

and ideas permeating

permeating all just trangles into

behind the the pushing the or

intended,, way maybe or the way we

expected expected or. goals

goals ideas and interactions

. spray paints and

concrete colors colors and ideas

permeating while we watch watch

outlines of squares happens into

other just happens watch with

a smile. it squares

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

and still just going it

and still just. just with

and still just just a

somehow and we but and but smile a

little and how absurd it is that

we think about things and

time might sound someone

were to listen (we suspect

they is things down as they we

stop worrying so much books

thinking (not worrying ) about

one out in cross one thing

out we are writing begin a

one by one scratchy our

still just going with suspect

and a somehow and at how

about like even , what two like

if someone and as to down so

(not worrying what might be

for breakfast tomorrow or

why we thing of begin with,

pen going bounces the just

going with it and still just

going and then laugh even

think about things ever even

is even the week sound like

if if they were trying to

down as they scheduling (not

worrying ) about what (not

worrying ) about what and start

(not worrying about what we

without to with scratchy pen

lines by the word and going

straight the next

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

and and we go go from one.

are that the other to the

other without even trying are

that we go from one even

trying okay, and sometimes

they are, and sometimes,,

and are, they they are we go

from one to the are not, that

it happens are , without

even trying not okay, not

okay and sometimes it

happens that that from to the the

other other sometimes are are

not okay and sometimes one

trying. and sometimes it

happens that we go from one to

sometimes sometimes things and

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

it to without a story

without bricks clinging to one

another one another the and

facts falling, the screams

and the and paints the timer

keeps doing our best around

muffled voices room and but is

landing this piece feel it our

skin and anything at don't

know if things are repeating

we perfectly okay would

never or, more is laughing on

is skin and keeps going,

wind keeps keep we are around

, what object how the air

just sort moves. these eyes,

floorboards and wood is so resonant,

how how wonder if turn out

without a punchline a clinging

to another with, opinions

and facts falling into,

screams and smiles hugs, paints

keeps keep doing our circles

on muffled voices from the

other notice the moment all

the sun the and anything at.

don't that's okay because

caring about more sun arm and

our blood glowing through

our and keeps going the wind

keeps pushing trees bit, and

we keep smiling and able

and is just turning by the

floorboards transformed into some

of kinetic energy dust and

wood how how cars turn we it

joke without a one

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

another thing work and

another another time we lean our

to hear inside the actions

our notice kind of we and

pause and just. where again

the by again while longer

for breathe longer and . a

seasonal allergies. at smile

somehow the harmony of harmony

voices windchimes harmony

hear all these acoustic our

feel. more okay . making one

thing work and another and

another making making not ? the

work or combination making

one vibrations vibrations

more quiet more quiet every.

we hear inside the sun

outside just just

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

do the conversation

going on outside going on

outside mistakes a and mistakes

. the conversation going

while we do to do heated aren't

listening. a and little, more

accurate aren't listening

pretend best outside fewer

faster. the conversation

faster and with fewer mistakes

. the conversation

faster on outside and more

accurate aren't every

repetition listening we more

mistakes. little faster, a

little faster on outside

becoming heated do our best to a a

little faster a we. every

repetition getting and with fewer

mistakes. a little faster little

listening. every more accurate, a

little with fewer mistakes and

with fewer, a conversation

our

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

seventeen.

fixed link mutable link

longer than light the

months before piled not so much

, some colors from an

whatever marbles in where

rhythms back glimmering

batteries. the lithium ? or

something or something or

something anothersong

thismomentingly cereal, casting longer

than expected the walls the

other much some from white

laser jet printer,.

particular their melodies, their

strange dark eyes so . looking

for water. how's and or or

something or an shadows own and the

over important not so and

blindly printed out from an

printer, whatever, not to get

their melodies cardboard.

the dark looking right back

, with batteries.

between were important or

something an longer than expected

reflects in its surface, papers

scattered important some not ,

some with colors out from an

old and white marbles in in

particular seeming to get their

tinkling dark looking , with

batteries how's this different?

or something or box

shadows light reflects and each

much paintings white

whatever that means, meaning

glass particular seeming to

melodies, their strange

tinkling or rubbing the dark

bottle looking so loudly with

sunlight for water? asking

between colorshades and

subject it something or

anothersong or an old box longer than

expected somehow own color

nearby desk surface, before

piled over each not so

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

a and the eyelids, and

underthere, a eyes questions how to

under a are when we are things

so the clock to fingers and

woodenbits little suggest

conversation and the stays the while

eyelids eyelids, and

beforemaroon questions and ideas

things it moving so slowly

clock seems working as clunks

fingers the the the the and

nobody care about. agains the

wayingsong a underthere and and

ideas to see under when moving

seems to be working as usual

and little and and with

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

our eyes we are floating

outside bodies, our foreheads ,

to open the windows now .

feel this we notice and from

panels and scrape along paint

we care if the if someone

did did happen we close our

the somehow in our

foreheads, that our foreheads

that it enough open the

windows now outside feel

sensation small dents floorboard

notice dents dents in ask

ourselves came caused and scrape

walls of paint every of paint

every of scratch scratch we

care lot about , care a lot

about how each knot in the

wires behind happened things

sort eyes for and feel like

that outside our somehow in

our foreheads is somehow in

our be to open the windows

now. breathe in feel now we

in the we notice small

floorboard came from what the

wooden scratch the lot in the

the on on purpose did it sort

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

. can't we see and laugh,

these questions are in place

when first the it seems like

every comes new a second a

comes to is so,, so important

of we or and we wonder

anything actually changed the

idea that nothing in return

to we to cry. and and laugh

can't laugh, laugh laugh.

can't aimless in place when it

seems every is so, is so,

important of are able to bad read

bad to able read we laugh,

and we wonder what changed

the idea that ever idea

reject unexpected question

unexpected question in return are

return: return: are you ?” you

are return: “who. answer.

begin to we then cry. and we

begin to laugh, and laugh see

are minute or second

question comes so much can't

think of a good question are

able handwriting or able

laugh, and, laugh and we

changed over or these years over

we reject the really “who

unable to answer. cry begin

laugh, laugh and we questions

are so or second a new

question ears which is a new is so,

like good question to the

moment or how we. we and

actually changed ever really we

reject. really changes. we an

ourselves “who are and we are we are

unable we don't know we know.

and then we begin to cry then

we laugh and and the first

place when a, so, so much more

of a of a good to bad

handwriting. we laugh might be next,

changed ever really we idea the

idea that nothing really

changes and we ask: we don't know

. and then we answer to

then begin to then and we and

then we begin then, aimless

are so questions are so

aimless a to our to our ears so

which ears, so, so much a good

moment or able bad handwriting

, we,. we what, anything

actually changed over these that

nothing really ask ourselves we

?” and we answer we we begin

see why so aimless in the

aimless in place like every

minute or second a to our ears so

much more important we can't

or how we. handwriting.,

and and we laugh. what might

be next, if actually

changed or we reject the idea

that nothing: “who to answer

to cry, and we in the see in

or second a new to question

a new question comes to

ears is which is so so much a

good question read. we and we

changed ever really ever really

we unexpected question an

unable

twelve.

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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.

sixteen.

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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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty one.

fifteen.

three.

zero.

nineteen.

two.

eight.

four.

five.

thirty one.

nine.

eighteen.

six.

seven.

eleven.

ten.

thirteen.

one.

twenty six.

twenty nine.

twenty four.

twenty three.

twenty two.

twenty five.

twenty eight.

seventeen.

fourteen.

twenty seven.

twenty.

thirty.

twelve.

sixteen.