we accidentally imagine

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

. and and one the are that

we things, and sometimes

to to the other without

even trying trying.. and

sometimes and sometimes they are,

sometimes sometimes it from one to

things are are not okay,

sometimes they are it happens that

, and sometimes it one to

trying not , and that from

without even and and sometimes

it they they and sometimes

happens go go go to the and

happens. and sometimes things

are okay and sometimes

things are not okay are not. and

sometimes things are not okay, it

trying trying. and, and

sometimes they not okay, and , and

are, and sometimes trying

without not sometimes they and

and sometimes happens that

we go that we the other . not

okay go sometimes sometimes

it happens that sometimes

things are not not and go from

one go trying sometimes

sometimes things are not okay, and

from one one to the one to the

other other without not, it to

the other other to things

are that that even are not

okay, one to the we go from one

to the and sometimes it to

the sometimes, and

sometimes and that we to the other

without even . and not okay , it.

sometimes , and sometimes they are

from not okay

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.

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.

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 seven.

fixed link mutable link

where scrape along the

and and walls paint paint

scratch on the face of and we

wires if on someone it happen

on our eyes moment moment

and feel like a floating

incense is windows now this

stinging in our this stinging

dents they came from the

wooden wooden and walls of on

the every care a knot in the

if it

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.

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link

laughter these

laughter and , destination as to

each destination they

explain different types of hats

. all little events all.

all these little back and of

and forth without forth

leaving any sort roads and

collapse and fade eventually ,

going were to do figure out

where come from, whether

cloud of leaves come from , if

could be maybe the leaves

decided or or

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.

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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.

eight.

fixed link mutable link

we accidentally

imagine ourselves as having for

a head this strangely

shaped box or a bird feeder with

a triangular roof or

something similar and we are

sitting in the front passenger

seat of an old car and someone

we care a lot about asks,

who are you? and we

think for a minute, and then

another. we aren't able to answer

with anything except a held

hand, and we somehow find

ourselves caring more about them

just because they asked.

they can't answer either,

and the grip gets tighter

and they aren't making eye

contact but that's okay because

we aren't looking anyway

and we are both these

strange wooden boxes attached

to bodies, heads without

eyes which still say so much,

eyes without laughinglines

which always find new things

to smile about an itch

behind our ears, the way this

piece of paper falls on the

ground, the sound of an overhead

lamp switching on laughing

about nothing in particular

and everything in

particular, wanting to want

everything and wanting to want

nothing, to feel everything and

to feel nothing, or at

least something the grip

getting tighter and we remember

how okay it is, how

beautiful it is and how funny it is

that poetry and music might

be the same thing after

all, that hiding is okay

sometimes and being naked is okay

too, that sometimes things

lead to other things, and

sometimes they don't, and

sometimes things just happen and

they keep just happening and

they don't stop. they don't

stop and it seems like they

never will, so it starts

making sense to just accept

this and close our eyes and

smile a little but somehow

this feels impossible. we

get frustrated and start to

do things we don't want to

do, blaming other people

for things nobody had

control over in the first place

and jumping to conclusions

and making assumptions

about other people and their

intentions and what they want or

what they are afraid of. we

forget that they are us, that

their grip is getting tighter

and that nothing is okay for

them either. we remember

that their boxy head is

crying and we have been trying

not to notice. we remember

that we are all the same

person born into different

bodies, and that this is a

beautiful thing. this is a

beautiful thing.

four.

fixed link mutable link

it's hard to speak

sometimes. we are frustrated with

ourselves for our

inconsistencies once at peace and

allowing things to be just the way

they are and want to be,

always taking action and never

taking action,

leftandrighting with the leftandright

once again wishing things

were a different way or that

the coin had landed on the

other face; we can't figure

out who we are, and we aren't

quite sure if that question

leads anywhere hard to find

the energy to say anything,

too many responses waiting

behind each option which never

seem to go anywhere

positive, anywhere that doesn't

hurt anybody or dissipate

into the grass as if nothing

had happened in the first

place and we begin to wonder if

anything actually did or does

happen or if we had somehow just

thought it all up out of some kind

of desperation and

confusion aimed at nothing in

particular, cycles going back and

forth but never quite the same

way, always surprising

somehow and adding to the

confusion and lack of any sense of

place, the feeling that we are

nowhere and the feeling that we

are getting nowhere.

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.

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.

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

we prefer if we the

illusion breaking down again

illusion way. the. the illusion

down again, breaking down

again, a, again breaking that

smallvoiced reminder that are we are

a library where every

language there are there

language recognize even when we

thought we when we good grip on

shapes and colors on shapes and

colors feet a feet few shelves

down a the shuffling or seen a

long until or maybe the sound

phone left music, or the

ventilation the we back we remember

that the that the themselves

asking questions their are

hurtling they, hurtling toward,

wondering when, wondering when it

a minute , the momentnow

changing and might that things

don't have left we we remember

that consistency mean

allowing things not so and or

untied, on or untied on up in we

remember fungi we remember fungi

we over, our thoughts, is a

is beautiful thing that's

completely thing and that's

completely okay if we let be we let

drift to the pollen same time

together with the time together

with separate, at the same

time somewhere with goal and

a supposedly doing some

thing we call pushed on pushed

on anyone saying why they

are they are ourselves the

wind it the outside, outside

, the and still rising and

rising about as it thinks

possibilities many write thought a

thought , thought, chord

sleeves when it in on our ears and

toes we if again that we are a

pale are, a grain in place a in

a different language and

there are of things we don't

things we don't or have a good

grip on shapes and colors and

colors we shuffling or long

time remember even though

the sun sound the maybe cell

or the ventilation fans

turning back on we remember

asking themselves asking

questions hurtling toward are

toward finally stop changing

and momentnow, the,

against which a, the momentnow

ones we make can we remember

happen as they is another sort

of illusion and even could

away step away could own

difference today, not, so and

shoelaces or off or tangled being

near spoiled food being food

somewhere near bacteria remember

having that we remember that

also means having no control

over beautiful and

completely okay that's okay and

that's completely okay if okay

that's completely okay if if we

watch the speck in its same

goal and, supposedly doing

some doing role playing some

role in, vaguely defined

everyone even we why they are we it

as it thinks about wooden

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

in the floorboards

transformed into some kind of dust

makes is and how the end it will

all turn part of joke, story

a last. these bricks

clinging to some another the

falling smiles, the fists and

violins and we around on while we

from the other room we all the

sun is and we somehow skin we

don't think. don't or. and

about that would never have

made us more happy or feel

more is on blood and the the

around a keep smiling we every

how the air just sort

staring in the, floorboards of

is so resonant, how and

cars end turn out be part

without these bricks clinging

glue, the the and and paints

and violins our best

pretending not to. circles while we

hear other room notice

temperature all around us, how

landing on the whole and

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

try not notice. the sun

outside kind the pause against

thisthat thisthat theringly,

the the second all these

crackling ,, we breathe keep

sniffling from sniffling smile at

the the voices make harmony

against windchimes and we hear

all these acoustic us feel

not warmer but more us feel

warmer but more more okay and

one or combination making.

. quiet every time we lean

more quiet every time every

time trying to aware of to

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

scheduling and books

and start thinking (not

worrying what might tomorrow or

about what breakfast

tomorrow cross one are writing

just one with a scratchy pen

one to the word just going

which through our just going

with we can't help but smile

that things like days of the

week, what two the week,

happening if someone were suspect

nobody is ) and

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.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

permeating while we

happens and trangles it all just

things,, and trangles into

other other sort of squares

and things other

themselves relationships pushing

buttons always the wrong

direction expected expected the

or the to to fall in the the

always seem to fall in always

not going the way we

expected not intended, be the

point.. and while we. it

outlines it all and trangles into

other things, shapes sort of

making making and always the

way

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.

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

damp sticks from

outside so pink maybe we

remember why for now. “can it stay

while ?” and it the smell of. a

we so pink why, but so

slowmoving we notice maybe we

remember but don't for it once , it

a don't but for now why

maybe, now we don't. a, for

once the smell of damp sound

notice slowmoving sound how

everything.. the damp sticks a

slowmoving sound how we remember

why, but we, but for. , for

smell outside. damp sticks.

we maybe we notice how we

how everything maybe we

remember for now like this “can

now we it stay like this

while like this for and,. the

damp sticks from outside .

pink remember why, but don't

for a while like a, for while

?” once, it does

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

what if changes really

that changes and we ask

ourselves an ourselves an return:

“who: “who unable. begin

then we then we and laugh,

can't. can't we see the second

a new question more

important like can't think we how

moment or how able, we laugh

laugh. we wonder we wonder be

these. changes. we reject the

that an unexpected question

in question really

changes we ask we ask: don't know

and then we begin to. and

then we begin to laugh begin,

laugh. so aimless in the every

minute or second new our ears

which is so, so much

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 five.

fixed link mutable link

a and with fewer heated

best to. every more accurate

a little, a fewer

mistakes more a every to pretend

we while becoming heated

while we do our best to pretend

listening. every listening

repetition getting a little more

accurate little with fewer the

conversation heated while we do our

best to pretend outside

becoming heated while

conversation going while we. every to

pretend heated aren't

listening. aren't listening

repetition

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

, possibilities

branching out people, seem seem

real people

incomprehensible tree, options after

options impossible that as we up

one saw and now at least we go

where we

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty four.

ten.

twenty one.

thirteen.

twenty seven.

seventeen.

nine.

twenty eight.

five.

twelve.

two.

fourteen.

eight.

four.

one.

zero.

eighteen.

thirty one.

twenty three.

twenty two.

twenty nine.

six.

seven.

twenty six.

nineteen.

sixteen.

twenty.

thirty.

three.

twenty five.

fifteen.

eleven.