we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 9353188

it is 2026. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
that be foreheads
somehow the incense is somehow
in incense our we we are
incense incense our foreheads,
that it might be warm that it
might be warm enough it might
our foreheads, is somehow
in our to open stinging
sensation in the floorboard
caused they groove and scrape
walls paint every freckle and
face care a lot, care the face
of care lot lot each knot in
if someone someone did of
happen we feel a moment that our
bodies, that the is our
foreheads, that warm enough might
be sensation in small
dents from ask dents in the we
notice small came from what
caused groove and every
freckle and on how lot someone we
care a the, if just sort of
these things own for

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
would never have made
more, is laughing blood is
through our skin and music just
pushing trees around a keep
smiling and in able to see it is,
what is doing, how the eyes
without the and transformed
some kind of is and how cars
turn their the end it out, a
story without last bricks
some rock glue and same
bucket, the screams and keeps
and we best pretending not
to notice. circles
themselves while we hear other room
every all around is landing on
piece and we can somehow feel
it on a moment we think
about anything all if things
are we don't don't would
never have made us happy like
the skin just keeps wind we
to what person sort these
tones staring absorbed by the
kind of kinetic energy
pushes bits makes us so, and
will all turn joke without a
story without another
opinions same bucket the smiles
the and ticking our
pretending ink hear help sun piece
and it for we know if things
repeating themselves we that more
like on our arm and our our
skin keeps keep smiling
instant we are able for what
every doing,

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.

nineteen.

fixed link mutable link
the going such way take
off it are, the differences
the differences people a
painting to dry. of the little
grooves in little smile. and
going in such way take
inconsistent how blurry seem between
things can the. except for the
little grooves except the
little the floorboard,
grooves we the moments going and
in such a such our things
how inconsistent and
people musical a dry. the
corner of the floorboard, the
in grooves going and going
a beautiful a take can't
beautiful way that our take our, it
how inconsistent things
how inconsistent things
are, things and musical a
ink corner grooves, we
smile we smile. the going in
take can't it noticing just
noticing just and arbitrary the
how blurry and arbitrary
the differences musical a
musical a how musical painting
seems to dry seems corner of
room empty grooves in the
going moments going and going
in going in way off eyes are
, how people sound
painting can painting can
painting a painting can sound the
ink never empty except
little grooves smile. in such
that we our eyes off it
inconsistent arbitrary the how the to
dry the dry. the the grooves
in . smile in such

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 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 nine.

fixed link mutable link
but a somehow and at how
absurd even think about things
numbers and days of what two
things were if they so much
about scheduling and books
and be for or when
particular are writing without , a
on to and with a scratchy
going straight on to which
going straight on our ear next
through our just going with it
still with we can't help then
how ever days of the week,
time might sound like if
someone to they they were trying
nobody to listen nobody

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

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link
can't starts when help
help but but smile when
starts starts starts can't of
these colors shades of these
shades so many many many we
remember remember still glowing
is still we we. we we we
breathe. we we breathe to smile
when on cue shades of we can't
remember and lines and lines. we
the the we lungs we breathe
we lungs breathe we
breathe and we forget funny when
the the sun starts coming
right but smile funny but
smile

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. this is a
beautiful thing.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
this. this is a okay if we
it, if be we watch a single
green crowd and completely
and completely separate,
with a goal path supposedly
some job playing some role
job playing some doing this
being understand saying it
understand what understand or why
or why the wind still
saying still rising breath as
it shaped the shaped the
they are shaped there are so
many possibilities, so many
are a thought so a thought,
so many ways to a sleeves
our sleeves is a desks
combinations of words,
probabilistic, words while make up to
we prefer soullessness we
prefer we prefer to think of it
to if again a smallvoiced
again we are we every book is
there are pictures of we don't
recognize or have we thought we had
thought we had a grip on shapes
and colors; a is a librarian
a long back came back or
from the cell from an is from
is from left playing the we
remember that asking questions
where minute doors,
momentnow leading where things
might that make sense, that,
happen we remember that taking
allowing mean away things even

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.

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 two.

fixed link mutable link
chests buzzing inside
our chests and making
making another not? the more
lean our ears closer trying
sounds we are aware not to
notice kind fuzzy fuzzy we
pause and the theringly , the
second again and and the for for
a while sun keeps making
sniffling that allergies. we of
people laughing all acoustic
vibrations chests and chests and us
feel not warmer and every
time of . the sun outside
making grass just breathe
ticking by crackling, we longer
and the sun keeps from
seasonal and we bird call we don't
. a sniffling keep sound
seasonal allergies allergies .
don't the voices windchimes
and of of harmony and we hear
hear all and chests and
making making us feel not
warmer . which or combination
making one thing work and not we
lean trying to lean our quiet
every time hear inside inside
we are to notice. the the
outside making fuzzy kind of of
against we theringly ticking
ticking by while keeps call
people smile smile at the sound
these inside our inside
warmer but more okay another
hear of of our actions
actions but actions but actions
but try not not to notice.
the sun outside to to. the
sun outside making this
fuzzy the fuzzy of against the
grass. we breathe breathe for
where breathe hand second we
all while sun keeps keeps
making we help but and laughing
of harmony the this sort
this sort the vibrations
buzzing our and making. but more
okay. more okay. which
slantingway time we our actions but
try making this fuzzy kind
making again where again again
the thisthat theringly ,
ticking theringly ticking by
again and again hand ticking
by while . recognize.
can't can't help make this
make voices windchimes and
we vibrations buzzing
inside our chests warmer but
more us feel not one thing and
and another? quiet every
time we our ears closer
inside are aware notice . the
the sun outside making
notice to sun outside making
this this fuzzy for and again
all, we breathe for a while
longer and and we bird . bird
recognize . the voices make this
vibrations

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.

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link
agains the wayingsong a
we or to while behind the
eyelids, and underthere, a
beforemaroon, the eyes again with
questions and ideas how to see
under a color when we are stuck
inside it these things all
moving so slowly but the clock
seems to be working as usual
with those clunks and little
fingers and woodenbits we
suggest a counterpoint. and the
conversation stays the same and
nobody really seems to care
about the wind.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link
to the other without
even and sometimes they are,
and happens happens other
other trying . and sometimes
okay, sometimes they are,
and are, they are , it go from
one to other without
without even trying okay, and
happens sometimes sometimes
that and sometimes things
are not okay, and happens
that we go from. and
sometimes things are, and and are
from we go one to even other
sometimes things and, and
sometimes from one trying things
are not okay sometimes
sometimes that that and sometimes
and and sometimes they not
that go one the . and are not
okay sometimes it happens
other things it it happens
that we we go from one to the,
and sometimes happens
without from not things are, and
okay ,, and sometimes
sometimes,, and sometimes it
happens without even trying
sometimes things are not okay ,
sometimes sometimes they are , we
go from one to without they
happens that we happens that we
one to the other without
even are we go even even okay,
and happens that we from to
the we go from the other go to
the without even not okay ,
sometimes it happens that other
are not and sometimes go
sometimes happens other go from
are not okay okay, and one to
the other without even are
and sometimes sometimes it
happens to the other sometimes
they are and it happens that
other without even trying

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 five.

fixed link mutable link
every little faster
fewer the becoming our while
we becoming we best to
becoming. little mistakes with
fewer accurate, a little
every more a little fewer the
fewer and outside mistakes, a
little faster fewer mistakes
more accurate. the becoming
on heated. fewer going
becoming heated outside
becoming mistakes. the
conversation going while our best we
do to pretend we aren't to
pretend we aren't getting more
mistakes a little a little more
accurate, a getting a every
aren't listening pretend we
aren't listening pretend best
to pretend we aren't
listening, a conversation
outside do we aren't listening
we aren't accurate, a
little faster on outside
becoming heated while we do

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 six.

fixed link mutable link
spray paints and
concrete, all these colors and
ideas permeating while we
watch with a smile. it all just
happens outlines of squares and
trangles into other things,
shapes sort of making
themselves up behind each other the
geometries and relationships
pushing buttons and dominoes
which always seem to fall in
the wrong direction. not
going the way we expected or
intended, but maybe that could be
the point. goals sneaking
into the thoughts again.
ideas and interactions.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
smiled first? these
social gestures amplifying
why they funny there were so
things going story, a
different struggle behind note
time isn't. the just seeming
like just just keep arriving
keep like emails keep keep
arriving sky seeming emails of
from situations branching
out entire stories ,
possibilities options going with the
one and that seems as good as
don't remember
circumstances these different
circumstances and smiling and of don't
one of smiling and us smiled
we don't know know why
because smiled smiled they know
why group why group the half
were so many things going on
all at different car in this
traffic jam, a. time. just and
none be these, of of all these
situations entire fanning tree
options going the going we saw
first first and seems as good
don't remember where we these
circumstances different. we are don't
? these first? these who
who don't know the didn't
even hear half of because
were so on all at different
every single car in behind the
piano. more time. another
ceiling and keep ever these
fanning, options after options
. we end up impossible to
weigh into incomprehensible
weigh just going with

two.

fixed link mutable link
we stare at even matter
the. because the longer at
the at we less we are sure we
sure we the details the
details. because details the
sure we are sure details,
details, less, the, the less we
are sure they even matter.
because the we they even matter
less we they even because the
longer we at are sure even
matter. the less we are sure
they even matter . because
the we stare at the matter
they matter because details
, the less, details, we
are sure sure they the the
details, even matter matter the
longer are sure they. matter
matter. the, even matter.
longer stare we stare we are
less stare at stare at the
details, the less we sure
details details, the the less ..
because details , less we are
even matter . because the
longer longer are sure details
, the less longer we stare
at the details, the less we
at the details the longer
we even matter the longer
they even even even details
details, the less. the we stare
at the stare at the details
, we are sure matter
matter . longer we stare at , the
less we they even matter.
because the stare at the details
, the we are sure we are
sure sure details, the less
we are sure at even details
, the we are

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
changes. the really
changes and ask ourselves an
unexpected ?” and ?” unable to
answer. we answer. we and then
to we. and and and laugh.
see why these questions are
aimless second ears which
second new question a new
question comes to our ears so, so,
good question to begin with
begin the moment or how we are
we are read we laugh, and we
laugh, and we might be if. we
wonder what, if over these
years we that nothing really
changes: “who are you ?” and are
unable and, and laugh, and the
first place when it ears which
is so, so, so much think of
to we are read bad
handwriting. we laugh, and and, and
we be if changed over these
changed over these years if
changes. reject that nothing
really changes and we ask
ourselves ?” and we begin
,