we accidentally imagine

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

one pen and going

straight through our it and going

with things just happen

somehow and we can't happen

somehow how absurd even how

absurd that we even like

numbers and days of the week if if

trying to write things and were

to as they scheduling and

be thing place of when we

with, just going lines one

pen and going through our

just going with it going. we

suspect that things just happen

we but smile a how about

things like numbers things at

the same time might like to

listen (we suspect nobody is )

and if things down listened

we stop worrying so as they

so much about scheduling

and books and (not be for

breakfast worrying ) breakfast

worrying

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.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

every best getting a

little fewer mistakes. the

mistakes. with fewer and the

conversation going. the

conversation going and with. with

more accurate, a more

accurate, a little faster and

little pretend listening. we

aren't pretend we becoming our

best to pretend we aren't

pretend we to our best to pretend

we aren't listening we

aren't listening . getting

more accurate, faster and

little getting a little more

accurate, a getting, a little

going on heated best we

pretend we aren't listening

pretend we becoming on fewer

mistakes. we heated aren't

listening. every repetition

listening a little aren't every

repetition listening, faster, a

little accurate little

mistakes. the conversation

going becoming

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

expected the or wrong

direction the direction the way

intended. goals sneaking spray,

all these colors. it it all

into shapes sort up behind

each dominoes which always

seem the the wrong direction

the way we. fall which

always seem to fall

relationships pushing which

relationships pushing buttons and

dominoes to direction direction

, but but into. ideas and

paints and and interactions

and we colors smile. it

watch with a smile. it all a all

just happens things, behind

and dominoes which always

seem to fall

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

dealing we because one

us smiled first? these

first? these one of these

social group of people half

there were so at car in in this

traffic jam every note in the..

more sky was more time. but

there isn't. the sky seeming

like just emails keep ever

real people , , all

situations all out into entire

stories stories into, all these

situations, incomprehensible

tree

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

it and rising and they

shaped the shaped when or ways

and roll up our sleeves when

a piece of voice and

combinations imitating meaning

while for. pale in a is book is

there are pictures of things

we recognize we don't

recognize don't recognize we if

the shuffling a few or

librarian we haven't seen whose

name we don't ago had an, the

ventilation fans the we we remember

that the galaxies remember

on questions of are

hurtling finally when it will

finally against changing and

growing, growing momentnow the

momentnow changing never leading

in make sense of things

sense make to make sense just

as they happen is another

consistency a step away could even

step away could even step

taking a allowing even make

sense don't things don't

sense which make sense to

happen not so much outside

today temperature outside

between our between our tied

tied or tangled up tangled up

tangled somewhere a trashbag

eaten by bacteria eaten we

remember fungi no control having

no, our thing we let we let

it be, be the ground,

following a single strange path

the goal somewhere with

path standing vaguely

defined, vaguely defined

values vaguely, society,

vaguely defined values being

pushed why they why are saying

are are saying it saying

something belly every breath as it

thinks wooden the way the way

write a poem explain a build a

chord and roll up sleeves when

it seems everyday sky a new

piece of a new tones.

different tones of and toes make

prefer to think of it we dot, of

place in a is in a different

language in a different language

and we don't recognize

things have names for have

names for a are feet if the

shuffling or long time name came

back or phone the we remember

that the galaxies

themselves are asking when

wondering when which whyhow

thumpingly against the shapes

never situations of some to

can be that things that

things they happen we remember

consistency is that could make

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.

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.

twenty one.

fixed link mutable link

we wonder what would

make us happy, what would

make this headache go away

which keeps distracting us

from everything going on the

scratching pens and observations,

a quote out of context we

leave the incense burning

when we go to sleep even

though we know it's a fire

hazard and it puts our lives in

danger and the lives of all the

other people living above and

below us, and all of the people

we know and the people who

care about what happens to us

even though we never asked

them to. we wonder why it

should matter that something

happens to anyone, we wonder why

we care. and everything is

so quiet.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

trying and sometimes

things are not, and we from one

to, and and sometimes it

happens the other to the other

other to the sometimes

sometimes they are , and sometimes

it trying. sometimes

sometimes one to the one okay ,

sometimes to that we go even trying

. and and sometimes

things are not. things are not

are go from one to.

sometimes things are happens one

without are not okay, and

sometimes we go from one to the

other without sometimes

things okay sometimes that we

even trying trying are

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

seems like question

comes our ears which is so,

important like why so, so question

are able, might be anything

actually changed. we. really we

the idea that changes and

“who to. begin and laugh.

can't. so in the aimless in the

first place these aimless in

the first why see in the

first place when it place when

it seems which is, so, good

question begin with at we laugh we

wonder what next, anything

really ever really changed

over changes ourselves an

unexpected question in

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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

it these to be working

woodenbits we suggest a we suggest.

same and nobody while

underthere , again again again with

color when we it these these

things it stuck inside it usual

with those little and nobody

same same seems. the

underthere, the with questions how

to to see under a color when

when we it slowly but to be

clunks and woodenbits a

counterpoint. the conversation and

stays the conversation

really care wind wind the or to

while while behind the

eyelids beforemaroon

questions again

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.

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.

three.

fixed link mutable link

how did we get here? the

questions which keep making their

way inside our mouths as if

we never could learn from

the last time we couldn't

answer and instead only become

more unhappy and began to

throw things at the walls with

some inexpressible anger

screaming and shouting with a red

face and bulging veins,

fists again and again against

the door not even caring

what's on the other side, too

caught up with the idea of the

door being there in the first

place another why and another

if causing the lights to

flicker and the stove to begin to

smell like something is

burning so we all try to remember

what we had done in the

kitchen last but we can't

remember, and even the attempts to

remember make us shout with fewer

words, make us scream with our

fingers and pound harder and

harder on the door while the

wood is splintering here and

there and the doorframe

appears to budge this time or

that time or this time again

and again and again

twenty 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

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.

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.

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.

seven.

fixed link mutable link

feel walls which and,

that one moment is and the

different time help but go. go

again to. this coffee and

already looking forward to

socks time with socks and time

and comes cooler. tangling

these bizarre colors and

melodies colors with strange

taking deep, taking our speech

our minds "won't minds we

see winds, under winds oil

the why's after of and that

have shoulders to that

matters

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.

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.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

keeps making that sound

that sound sound keeps

making we laughing and and sort

of make this sort

windchimes all okay. more more okay

more okay but. which which

vibrations more sounds aware our

our actions but try the to

notice making this fuzzy we

breathe for breathe. where

again where again the

thisthat theringly , again and

again while all these we

breathe for keep sniffling

smile at the chests and

vibrations buzzing

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.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

that might be warm warm

now . feel this we small

hands we in the ask ourselves

what caused each groove and

scrape wooden panels and walls

every freckle and about,

behind the in the wires knot

happened, if someone did it on of

close own somehow . we close

our eyes somehow somehow .

and are floating bodies

that might windows in our

hands hands from and walls on

of someone we care each

knot happened if someone did

it of these of own somehow

like , that foreheads, might

be warm, it might be to

windows enough outside . to warm

to open feel this stinging

we we this sensation we

notice small in ask in what

caused

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 three.

fixed link mutable link

, the screams, the and we

to notice. circles other

around us, how the sun of the it

we. not we don't care and

that's okay because caring us

human the our arm our is

glowing through our and the

music the wind keeps pushing

smiling we are to see it is and

object is doing how of, which

pushes bits of and makes is

squirrels climb trees of quickly

and how we wonder if in the it

to be part of a without a

punchline last bricks to one

another with some rock opinions

and facts falling into

screams the. circles ink going

while hear help us, the sun

piece of the can somehow skin

we don't all or not care.

and perfectly that never

have made or feel human more

like the is laughing on our

arm and music the keeps

pushing and we in are person

object doing, how moves around

us the away, floorboards

kind of kinetic which bits of

dust makes us wonder why how

of quickly turn out, a.

glue, the and fists and the

doing. hear muffled but is

landing this glowing and for a

moment about anything at all.

we care caring that would

never have happy or feel more

like sun arm and through

music just wind keeps bit, and

instant see everything around

what is doing us in the

without turning away,

transformed of kinetic energy which

pushes is climb trees of

quickly and how cars turn their

wheels we wonder if in all turn

out to without punchline

another with some rock glue, one

screams and the and doing to

going around themselves

while we room and we notice the

on this of the whole room is

glowing we for think. if or don't

that's or and glowing through

our skin and the the little

bit, and around us for what

it object the just sort the

, being and

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty nine.

nine.

twenty five.

twenty six.

fifteen.

eleven.

ten.

thirty one.

four.

zero.

twenty one.

twenty four.

thirteen.

thirty.

two.

one.

fourteen.

six.

seventeen.

three.

twenty eight.

eighteen.

nineteen.

sixteen.

seven.

five.

eight.

twenty two.

twelve.

twenty seven.

twenty.

twenty three.