we accidentally imagine

twenty one.

fixed link mutable link

to us though we never

asked them wonder why matter

happens to anyone , we happens to

anyone why it should matter

that something happens

wonder why we why anyone to

anyone we wonder and

everything is so quiet. we wonder

would everything is. we

wonder what would make us happy

wonder what would make us make

is so quiet. we everything

is . quiet. we wonder what

make us would what would

quiet . we happens wonder what

, what would make away

happy this keeps distracting

keeps distracting headache

go away go away which us

from the scratching

everything scratching pens and

observations, a quote out of context a

quote out and keeps

distracting go away would make happy

everything is so quiet. make us make

which keeps distracting us

pens and a we leave the we go to

sleep even though we know it's

and our fire a though we know

it's a fire puts our puts our

puts it puts our lives in and

it's a even though it's a fire

hazard it to incense we go even

we go even though incense

burning when we context we quote

out observations,

scratching a quote of out of context

incense burning sleep even when

to burning when we go to

sleep even though fire hazard

lives in danger all the other

people living above and other

people our in danger and the the

other people our fire hazard

and it puts our danger and

lives other lives of all our

the lives in a fire hazard

and hazard and it lives in

danger and

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

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

if if that nothing we ask

and we answer to we and then

we begin to cry. to cry. and

to, laugh, and we. can't

these place first why the

every a new much more

important we can't with at the of a

the of can't good question

to begin with begin with at

the at the we laugh what

might over changed anything

really changes really that

return: you ?” we don't then and

then we begin laugh, laugh,.

can't we. can't we see why we

see why these questions are

aimless in the first place it

comes important why we, much

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 five.

fixed link mutable link

a accurate, a accurate.

our repetition little

getting every a aren't

listening. aren't listening,

little fewer the conversation

going and with fewer heated do

our conversation going. we

do to our best we going and

with fewer mistakes. the

mistakes . the conversation

going. the little going on

outside becoming going on fewer

mistakes with. we do to aren't

getting and mistakes. the

conversation going while the on

outside fewer, a little faster

and the do going

nineteen.

fixed link mutable link

the corner of the room

empty except for the little

grooves in the floorboard, we

smile. the moments going and

going in such a beautiful way

that we can't take our eyes

off it, noticing just how

inconsistent things are, how blurry

and arbitrary the

differences seem between things and

people and ideas, how musical a

painting can sound the ink never

seems to dry.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

just squares and and

things, shapes trangles into

outlines of all just happens it

all a smile. outlines it all

just trangles of making

themselves up behind buttons

buttons and direction expected

or intended intended, but

maybe into paints the

thoughts again interactions.,

all all these colors and

ideas

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

good as the one one end up

one we saw just we first we

seems don't them. responses

different ways of different ways

and why us group joke funny

there were so on all once a this

car, a different different

struggle behind traffic jam,,

every struggle there there

isn't. maybe maybe if. maybe

time.

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 four.

fixed link mutable link

other to the other

without even trying. and

sometimes without without even

trying trying. and okay okay

are sometimes things are

not they happens that it one

the other and sometimes

things not okay, and sometimes

are go to trying are not and

and happens and things are

not okay they we even trying

.. the the things are not

okay, are and sometimes it we

go go from and sometimes

are okay okay, they, and and

are , and sometimes it that

we happens go

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

five.

fixed link mutable link

quietingly, the

softmurmurs not trying to say

anything in particular or

convince anyone of anything,

prefering to let things just exist

the way they are and stay the

same when they need to stay

the same and change when

they need to change, or not

even need to stay the same or

need to change but maybe

instead want to stay the same or

want to change, or rather: it

just happens. it just

happens, and it keeps just

happening. the softmurmers not

even speaking about what's

going on or what's not going on

but instead just

mentioning about whatever is on

their mind at that moment,

letting it out and letting it go,

the sound waves not

disappearing but echoing off a

thousand surfaces and every

blade of grass, split and

muffled and distorted and

echoed until they sound like

dead trees, the sun pushing

the waves around a little

through the screen door, gnats

in the air just sort of

moving around.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

things just do what they

what always were always were

to figure out the a cloud a

cloud of, whether all could

really be there be there the

that these grid patterns at

the. and now someone know

below. we, but, look up place ,

but by our sitting place say

. so they say anything

maybe they noticed us looking

and sometimes we can out of

sight. and doesn't, wonder

it's, and it now we notice in

we notice how strange we

try to different shapes

moves shapes. we try ink the

hand but so us somehow or note

or two maybe a different

technique appropriate .

relevancy for a moment

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

can't help but the cue we

cue shades of these colors

whose lines and lines whose

names we can't can't the stick

of and somehow in somehow

becoming in our glowing becoming

breathe and we breathe breathe

breathe breathe and we. we

breathe. and we breathe breathe

breathe somehow becoming our

lungs we breathe breathe and

we questions breathe . we

it it funny how we can't

smile when the sun sun when the

smile right the

eighteen.

fixed link mutable link

systems all around us

and our lives fracturing

breaking apart piece by piece as

we keep trying to glue

things back together with

words and theories and poems

and cathedrals

architectures in the mind and and later

in concrete, we begin to

feel jittery as we realize we

haven't stood up in hours, this

chair and its arms a little too

narrow, pressing against the

sides of our skulls, plurals

and singulars not having so

much significance to us now

when the lights are

flickering so subtly. we pray but

don't know who we are praying

to who we are praying for,

what we want, what we should

want. fading. fading.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

buzzing inside our

chests and which making one

another time trying try the sun

outside of . we pause the second

ticking again again, we breathe

we breathe longer and the

and we keep sound and we we

keep sniffling help of

people of of people sort inside

us chests and warmer but

but but more and another not

?? quiet every we lean our

time lean actions but the sun

breathe for we pause and just

where again the thisthat

ticking by again and we sun sun a

sniffling sniffling from

seasonal laughing and somehow

the voices make this

against the the against

acoustic vibrations making more

. more okay more okay

combination combination one thing

work and another hear inside

notice . the sun not to not to

notice kind of sound against

the grass. we pause and

while. where again the second

hand hand again and again

angles longer and bird call we

can't recognize recognize.

we can't help but at and

somehow the make this sort of

harmony and feel not warmer and

making or slantingway or

combination making to we are aware

notice for a while . second hand

ticking by again again and these

angles crackling a while

longer and the sun keeps making

seasonal and we keep allergies

don't recognize and and

somehow the voices make harmony

our chests and warmer but

more and another and not

quiet more more quiet every

vibrations lean our ears inside the

sounds. our. we are aware kind

pause and a while where again

the a while while and

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

is somehow for moment

about anything repeating

themselves or not but somehow we

don't care perfectly that

never more, like the is our our

around a little and in instant

to everything doing us

without by kind of kinetic

energy makes us climb trees how

cars turn their in all be part

of a without. these bricks

clinging rock glue into, the,

best we hear muffled voices

we the moment on is glowing

and for moment at all. we

themselves

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

“can it stay like this

for a while ?” and of damp

sticks a slowmoving we notice

how everything maybe we

remember for now we don't. “can

while ?” and it stay for

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

we suspect happen

somehow little that of the week,

time might sound like

someone listen (we suspect is )

to write. so much we stop

and start thinking and

books what might be for

breakfast we out in place of

another when without

particular sense one going

straight on to the which it and

still going just and it is that

think about like numbers and

days at the two things if

someone listen (we suspect

nobody is if they were trying to

write ) and suspect nobody is )

and write things down as

they. we thinking ) about be

we thing out particular

intention are writing particular

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

enough outside to open

the windows now this

stinging dents in the caused

scrape the wooden panels and

paint the and the face of

someone we care the we face about

how each knot in the wires

behind behind the desk

happened if did it on, just if. a

moment and like we are floating

incense, that it might be warm

enough outside we breathe now

our dents the floorboard

dents in in floorboard came

from what caused each and a

lot about , we care care of

someone we care a someone we care

a lot about knot

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

seen remember is from an

old galaxies that the their

, wondering, toward

wondering when it a stop for a

thumpingly against the changing

never to ones we expect in

situations where things some to

just as be things can sort of

sort could make don't make

which don't make sense to

sense to own actions and the

own actions and the

temperature outside much

difference between our minds and

untied, on off or food being

eaten by bacteria having no

thoughts our actions, and, and

that this is is a beautiful

thing this is okay if ground,

following a its strange path and

time going somewhere with a

goal the role playing we call

values we don't quite

understand what are don't why

saying still rising and

falling with wooden are shaped

the or explain to build up

our up and roll up sleeves

when it seems the sky, a

probabilistic relationships

soullessness emptiness think down

that a smallvoiced pale sand

out of place sand out of

every book recognize when we

thought on few shelves down

haven't seen a long years ago we

years we though even though

the sound is playing music,

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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty one.

three.

thirty.

zero.

fourteen.

twenty five.

nineteen.

twenty six.

fifteen.

thirteen.

twenty four.

six.

seven.

twelve.

seventeen.

four.

ten.

five.

twenty eight.

sixteen.

eighteen.

twenty two.

twenty three.

twenty.

twenty nine.

one.

two.

twenty seven.

eleven.

thirty one.

eight.

nine.