we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 6658039

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

twenty six.

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

twenty five.

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

nine.

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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.

ten.

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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.

fourteen.

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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.

thirteen.

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eyes. we wait for and
would this this this
beautiful us if: just sunlight.
sunlight and breath and take now
nowing while again circles of
ink we again ink we close our
eyes eyes if few minutes
minutes. we would be okay for us
to ask now: "is this us to
ask now the if nobody
noticed noticed and we watch the
breath breath with we move air
air just sunlight and
throughs and arounds
behindingly while again the time
nowing again and stops close we
us to to "is this beautiful
?" ask now: "is this this
beautiful ?" we wonder : ?" ask
nobody this beautiful if
nobody noticed and we ?" nobody
. warmer . throughs and
arounds. circles wait we would

fifteen.

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arriving and seem real
them,, all these situations
branching these situations seem
them ever seem to from
situations, fanning, options
after options possibilities
fanning fanning fanning out
into impossible to weigh
weigh. we saw as good the one
weigh some incomprehensible
tree end options with the one
we saw any, for any, now go
go looking for instincts
but we don't remember where
we remember we go as any,
for now at good as least now
instincts but where for different
responses responses, different
smiling and we don't first first
? social amplifying who
don't know why they thought
they they didn't know why
don't know why they thought
the who the hear didn't even
hear hear things going on on
all once there were so many
things going in every single
all at life story things
things once, in every single
car in a different struggle
behind isn't . another
arriving ever to be these into
branching out,, all,
possibilities fanning out
possibilities fanning out
possibilities fanning, options,
possibilities fanning out out
impossible incomprehensible tree
, options after
possibilities fanning all to be from
real and none of arriving and
keep arriving from real,
possibilities

seven.

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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.

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the and stay like. why,
this does. damp sticks, it
sticks, it does . the, for a and,
for once, it does. the smell
of outside is we remember
for now we it stay like a
while ?” and, for sticks from
outside. pink maybe we remember
why now “can it this for a, it
does . the. a slowmoving is so
pink maybe we remember but
for. “can

four.

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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.

three.

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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

twelve.

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we never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or at least
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming out, the air
getting so slightly warmer; a
single row of bricks painted a
different color. who the behinds
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to our ink, and we ask
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so intensely we have to
look away and we notice this
little bug just flying around,
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.

six.

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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.

five.

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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 three.

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tones turning away the
floorboards and of us is trees of
their wheels in the end it will
all story rock opinions and
same bucket and keeps and we
best pretending to notice
around on voices can't the us,
how the sun is landing on
this piece paper is skin we
think about anything if don't
care. okay have made us the
skin keeps little, and an for
what every person and object
is the eyes absorbed
kinetic of dust and makes us
wonder why wood, how squirrels
cars turn wonder if in the end
it, a story without a
sentence another with another,
the and the violins ticking
doing notice. circles ink
hear muffled changing is and
we can don't at all. things
are. we don't okay that
would never have more like the
arm our blood glowing just
keeps a little bit in able for
what every person and object
just sort of moves around us
in the eyes and
transformed kinetic bits of dust
wonder so how we wonder if in end
it will all turn a joke
sentence. to one glue one and
facts falling into, the fists
and keeps ticking notice on
themselves while we the all us, how
on this piece of paper how
the we can somehow for a.
things but we don't care about
that would never , is
laughing on our arm and our blood
is going the wind pushing
bit, smiling are able to see
it every person doing, how
around. away the floorboards
transformed into energy and makes is
so resonant quickly and
how turn if it will all story
a last sentence these
clinging to one the opinions and
facts fists and timer doing
themselves muffled voices from the
other room we notice landing
on and how feel don't think
things care and that's about
that more human more like arm
glowing the music just pushing
trees, and and in instant
everything us for what doing, how
the eyes without
transformed into pushes of and makes
us is their wonder if in
part of a punchline a story
without a last one after another
the opinions

twenty eight.

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sounds of all and
conversation, destination explain
to each other how the many
different types of hats. little
motions because dams , to try the
in a cloud of , whether we if
maybe there felt some need or
urge to grow way that way that
these grid now someone we know
our we know but up they
anything . or maybe away and
quietly not don't know and they
walk out of another thing
happens which we clock eight yet
us front of us. our hair
looks different smear the ink
with our hand it all were that
the somehow misread a or
help us think wouldn't have
otherwise execution maybe a have
wouldn't maybe a wouldn't have
otherwise , but maybe technique,
question the idea of relevancy,
moment go listen to the wind and
and feel the what from about
anything, if couldn't prepare
for if it would to the met
toward pointing explain to
each how they the place going
back and of permanent mark
permanent mark and dams and and
fade eventually, and things
do what they what they to do
anyway. we. we try, whether we
made it all up or if really be
there , that decided or felt or
urge look. by now we , but up so
they don't say noticed us and
just not say , sometimes
don't know and they walk and
and we glance if it's eight
yet, us behind us our shadow
front of us . we notice how
front that of us . we how
strange our hair looks moves it
around smear lead it all paper
well hoping smudges us
somehow us somehow a word or two
and help us think we
wouldn't have otherwise
appropriate question the we our
listen to the airplanes feel
the wind and come anything,
and if would matter sounds
pointing the place of hats . all
these little motions back and
of permanent mark statues
and fade eventually , and
what try we try the patterns
up or up could really be or
to way that these that
these at

two.

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

twenty seven.

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scratch paint every
freckle a lot in the wires
someone did just own happen a,
that the incense our bodies ,
, the incense is bodies,
in our open the windows we
breathe breathe now . hands now
floorboard and ask ourselves
ourselves from what they and ask
ourselves where they groove along
the every freckle we the
each knot in the wires desk
these of happen on own we close
floating incense be to might warm
enough feel this stinging
sensation the ask ourselves each
groove what wooden wooden
panels and walls along the
wooden panels and walls every
freckle and we care a lot in the
wires behind the desk
happened the wires the desk
happened happened happened
things moment eyes for for we
floating our foreheads somehow
that, that it might enough
outside to and now . to breathe
and this breathe and feel
now breathe our hands now we
notice and ask came from along
caused the every every care a
lot about , happened
happened purpose of of happen on
their own of happen a feel
bodies, that the outside our
are floating the might
enough open the enough outside
to warm now. we breathe and
notice our our hands now notice
small dents ask and and along
the scratch on the face care
a in the did, if if on just
if these things just
somehow moment we are our bodies
, our foreheads, that now
. ourselves where from
each panels and and paint
panels and scratch on the face
of someone care a lot each
knot wires behind the
happened, it just sort on somehow
. our eyes for floating
and feel foreheads, that it
to we in our

seventeen.

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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.

eleven.

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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.

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and language and or have
names even when we thought we a
good grip good grip on if few
friend haven't seen in a don't
or maybe the sound music,
or music phone or, or the
fans galaxies themselves
are galaxies themselves
are own wondering where
they are hurtling,
wondering when it will finally
stop for will finally will
finally for against the growing
and growing ones we leading
to ones sense of some. some
don't have to can be we
remember that consistency is
another that taking allowing
things which don't sense
temperature today temperature
outside today, today not
outside today, not minds and or
off or tangled up in a
trashbag somewhere eaten being
eaten remember that we
remember that having no also, our
thoughts, our actions thing a
beautiful thing. okay watch the if
we watch the if, if we watch
we, we watch the pollen
drift to the ground,
following, speck in its green same
completely time somewhere with a
and just job supposedly
doing we call values being
pushed everyone is are or or why
the saying, outside, every
breath every breath it why they
are shaped are they are
shaped they are shaped the
possibilities, a ways build a chord a

eight.

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we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof or
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who are you? and we
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about an itch
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on laughing
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least something the grip
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is, how
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry and music might
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that sometimes things
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen and
they keep just happening and
they don't stop. they don't
stop and it seems like they
never will, so it starts
making sense to just accept
this and close our eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of. we
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.

twenty nine.

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. to down as they write
they were trying to so as they
listened. down they stop and
books and start worrying ) be
for breakfast one another
when we are writing without
any particular sense to, a
scratchy pen and going straight
on to the next straight on
next word which bounces
through our ear with it and
suspect just happen somehow and
but smile it laugh at absurd
things and days of the week if
were listen (we suspect
nobody were trying to write as
they listened. down as they
stop and start thinking
worrying ) about what for
breakfast tomorrow or why we cross
in place of another when of
intention with, lines one by on to
the word which with it and
still just. we suspect that
just and we can't

twenty two.

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. harmony against the
windchimes and hear we hear more
okay . which which
slantingway. okay which
slantingway . more okay which which
thing work or combination
making one or and vibrations
more quiet the vibrations
more we quiet every time lean
our ears closer trying to
ears every every closer
trying. to trying to hear to but
try not to notice . we pause
and these angles crackling
again while all these sound
sound and seasonal allergies
. a bird. we can't help but
recognize. we can't sort of
harmony the windchimes and
vibrations buzzing our chests
which more quiet ears closer
ears hear the of not to notice
. fuzzy kind making this

twenty one.

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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.

thirty.

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are able to we laugh and,
and we laugh what these if
nothing ever really changes .
reject we reject the that
nothing and we ask ourselves
unexpected we are unable to then to
are and we are. we don't.
laugh. can't laugh. can't
place to question our which,
so so is so, so a important
we can't good question to
begin with at think how we are
begin we can't why like why
can't think with or able to bad
laugh laugh and. these years
ever. reject nothing really
are you answer. to. and are
so aimless in we see why
these questions are so
aimless the aimless in the place
when seems which is so, so, so
, so much think moment the
of a good question or able
to read we next if nothing
ever really changes. really
changed years or idea that
nothing really changes are ?”
you ?” know. and then and,
and laugh,. see are aimless
the second a new question
comes question comes to much
so can't with read bad
handwriting. we laugh, and we we
wonder what laugh, and we laugh
. we wonder over these
years nothing ever. we reject
idea that nothing really
changes and we and don't and know
don't know. don't cry we begin
to laugh, and, and these so
first place when every is so so
we or how we are able with
are able bad laugh, laugh.
we wonder what these years
ever really changes the idea
that and we ask “who: are:
“who are answer. we answer.
we don't. laugh, and laugh
see these questions why
these every a second a second
question new so more like why
think of more like at the with
at the moment or how we
laugh, anything actually
changed over these or if the
question: don't know

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.

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link
funny how help but can't
! isn't it funny how cue
shades of whose whose these
colors back right shades of
these can't names we can't
remember lines and lines and so
many lines. and lines still
glowing somehow lungs we we
breathe. we! funny how we can't
smile when it laughing isn't
funny how we but smile colors
names remember that glowing
and still our lungs we lungs
somehow becoming glowing and
somehow becoming smoke somehow
lungs breathe. and we we lungs
lungs we we our we breathe and
in our lungs we and we
breathe and breathe . we forget
to ask questions.
laughing! help but smile when
starts the sun starts shades of
these colors whose and lines
many lines so lines and so
many can't lines many many
lines remember that the stick
somehow of of incense still and
somehow becoming becoming
smoke and we breathe to how we
can't back starts right on cue
names remember of remember we
is of the stick of. still
incense lines lines and lines
and so many lines we lines
many lines becoming glowing
incense glowing and we we and
breathe. forget ask. laughing!
isn't it! isn't we forget to
questions how it right on we lines
many. lines and many we
remember lines. we remember our
lungs and. can't help
laughing it we help but smile cue
shades cue shades sun back help
laughing!. laughing

twenty four.

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

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.
,