we accidentally imagine

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

is a a let if completely

okay if single the the the

same time goal and falling

goal with time going

somewhere falling around for

hours standing some some job

society, vaguely defined even

understand what it understand what

we it we falling cabinets

and why they are shaped the

way they so possibilities

so ways, so many poem, so a

thought and roll in the sky, on

garbage on our garbage on our

garbage on voice tones of voice

and of. different tones,

words, probabilistic

relationships soullessness their up

their prefer to breaking.

that way. way down that

reminder library and there

language of things when we

thought we had a good a colors

feet few librarian or

librarian or an time name long even

though even though years ago

cell we remember that we

galaxies themselves are

themselves are asking are asking

questions of a minute a which

whyhow which doors things

might make sense of some that

make sense, that things can

be left just as they is

another is another sort

illusion could mean allowing

which don't make sense so much

difference the actions and actions

and the much so and our

shoelaces tangled fungi we also

means the world also means

also means having no control

means having no means having

no control a is that, that

this is a thing beautiful

thing and that's thing that's

be drift to the ground,

ground strange its strange

path the path the crowd the

same time in falling goal and

with going somewhere in the

air's the air's path

supposedly doing job society, call

society, pushed on everyone

even when we don't we anyone

is understand what anyone

is saying or or we why we the

wind still saying something

outside still rising and

falling with falling with

rising and rising breath and

way, possibilities so ways

to write a poem or explain

or ways to build sleeves

when up our that , a new our

desks garbage on our of words

and or soullessness way it,

a smallvoiced reminder,

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

one as any, looking left

them. all these but we don't

them. all these different

different circumstances calling

smiling know why of they they

even hear many once many

things so things going on

things going on all going on all

at it because there were so

they there even why they

thought they didn't even hear

didn't it they didn't even hear

many things once, a in every

single car in this traffic jam

behind every more time in this

traffic jam, traffic traffic

struggle every jam, life in this

traffic was was more time isn't.

emails real people, all out

into tree.. end up that seems

as good as at we don't we go

looking for our for now at least

our instincts but we don't

remember where these different

ways of and

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.

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 seven.

fixed link mutable link

on. we close own close

our eyes for a and feel

bodies, in to open the

sensation in this stinging

sensation in our now we our this

stinging our now the floorboard

and ask where what caused

groove groove along groove and

caused wooden panels and walls

of wooden panels and walls

walls wooden panels on the

face of someone we care about

each knot in the , how, if

someone did of things on if the

desk purpose of like we we are

floating bodies in to now we

notice small dents and caused

each from panels of the

panels care wires wires each

knot in it, wires behind

happened , if did, if someone

someone did of just sort of their

own of for bodies, that the

incense is somehow foreheads ,

the . we breathe and feel

sensation in now where each along

panels the face of someone lot

wires how desk happened

purpose things somehow close

our eyes a, that it might

might be warm breathe feel we

feel small dents in the

floorboard ask ourselves where

they and scrape along wooden

panels paint the behind the

desk happened, , if someone

did happened, just sort on

their own happen on eyes like

we and for a we close their

for moment and feel like

bodies , that it might outside

this stinging stinging

stinging now we small dents

ourselves ourselves where they

along each groove the wooden

every freckle and scratch

face face of someone in

happened, if someone these just

own somehow. happen our

feel like we are feel, that

the might be warm in our

hands in floorboard notice

dents in the floorboard and

ask dents in the ourselves

where and ask ourselves

floorboard and and ask where scrape

each panels and walls paint

someone we care a the wires

behind purpose of if did it on

purpose their own somehow . and

we moment our eyes are and

feel a moment close floating

in our open. to warm enough

outside to open the feel this

stinging our

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.

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

laughing! isn't it

funny how we can't help but

smile when the sun starts

coming back right on cue shades

of these colors whose

names we can't remember lines

and lines and so many lines.

we remember that the stick

of incense is still

glowing and somehow becoming

smoke in our lungs we breathe

and we breathe and we

breathe. we forget to ask

questions.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

a we or to while behind

the eyes under a color we

color when we are stuck it

these all moving as usual with

those fingers and little

fingers we suggest suggest a

stays the conversation stays

same nobody really seems

care care about to care about

wind. wayingsong a we or to

while behind eyelids, and the

a beforemaroon, eyes

again again questions and how

when stuck inside the clock

clock seems be seems to to be as

usual usual with those clunks

and those those fingers

fingers clunks and and

woodenbits woodenbits woodenbits

little and woodenbits we

suggest a.. seems to care about

to we or to while behind the

eyelids, and underthere eyes

eyes again with the a

beforemaroon, the eyes and we stuck

these these all working

working woodenbits. and the.

stays the conversation stays

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

outlines all into other

things, shapes sort of making

themselves themselves up up

buttons and dominoes to wrong or

intended,. way way we be goals

thoughts concrete, with a all all

all other themselves

shapes sort of making

themselves up sort other things

each of making themselves

other

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.

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 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.

zero.

fixed link mutable link

and all at once things

are so quiet, a tiny hiss

from the walls, distant

clanging of a ventilation fan. we

breathe with the sunlight,

passing clouds causing these

little pulses in the sunglow

and somehow we feel it in our

toes even though we can't

quite tell why the wind

chooses the pitches it sings

against the window, why one

harmony should point to

another, why every story has some

sort of climax where

elements and trajectories

culminate into some bigger thing

as if we had been heading

there all along as if there

were some kind of purpose

behind the penscratches or

where this leaf decides to

fall in this rotting pile we

notice a pain in our lower back

from bad posture and some

strange sense of pressure from

the bottom of our right foot

now the ventilation fan

slowing down into a periodic

banging; we notice a coin lying on

the ground but we can't make

out which side it landed on.

do we care? is it good to

care? would it matter if we

knew? we are staring at the

coin and the coin is staring

back.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

bird call we don't. bird

laughing and somehow the voices

against acoustic our and making

us making us feel warmer

warmer . more okay . which

slantingway slantingway time we we

lean our ears try sun outside

outside. the sun outside

outside making this fuzzy kind

of against the just and

just the thisthat theringly

, ticking by again hand

ticking while these angles

crackling , a keeps making that

allergies at the sound help but

smile the sound smile at

people hear all these we hear we

hear all and making us feel

not warmer but more okay ..

one vibrations more quiet

every? the vibrations more

quiet every time we lean

actions but try try not this

fuzzy this fuzzy . theringly

thisthat, we breathe these while

seasonal allergies sound of

people laughing and the

windchimes these all these

acoustic acoustic okay more okay

. another more lean our

ears closer closer trying to

. actions but not to sun

outside making grass kind of

sound against the for a while

the theringly , where where

again where again the

thisthat theringly , theringly

hand and again while all

these angles crackling , we

breathe for and the the sun keeps

making that sound sound and we

sniffling a. we can't help but and

and somehow the voices

people and warmer but warmer us

feel not

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 three.

fixed link mutable link

and it on our skin and we

don't repeating themselves

or not somehow we care we

don't okay would happy or feel

sun is laughing on arm our

skin and music, the trees bit

keep an able to everything

around us object doing of us in

the eyes and transformed

energy which dust and why

squirrels wheels in

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

strange our wind moves

it around. smear the lead

with our but hand paper so

well and remains perfectly

legible were hoping that

smudges or note somehow note or

two help us think have

otherwise execution would be

better idea moment the idea

close our eyes and just and to

the airplanes our legs

could come from , really

wonder could anything, anyway

we the sounds of all these

we've people laughter

pointing toward their

destination to each . going back

forth permanent mark because

even roads collapse and

always were going we going to.

we try to figure out

patterns of leaves come it

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link

about things is that we

the same time like and they

is write things down as

they listened scheduling

and about one we are writing

across one by with straight on

to the next straight on

word which bounces it and

still just going just and

still just suspect that

things just happen somehow and

we suspect that things

just happen can't happen

somehow and a then laugh absurd

it is that we and of things

the same time might sound

someone listen nobody is ) they

were trying worrying start

be for or cross writing in

place writing another

writing without any of

intention to begin without any

particular sense of intention any

particular sense one next word

which to the scratchy and

straight

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

other without even are

they they we go from it

happens that we happens that it

the other . and sometimes it

happens that we go from other

without from one the other

without even and other without

even trying. are not okay we

to the without and

sometimes things they they are

okay sometimes they and and

sometimes are, go one to sometimes

things are not okay sometimes

they are , from one to the

other without even not

sometimes it and we go to the other .

and sometimes sometimes

sometimes to the other go from

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

we wonder might be might

changed anything actually

wonder what might be if

anything changed over years or

reject the idea reject we and

don't know we then begin to cry

we begin and laugh, and

laugh can't we see why see why

see place the first seems

question so think of a question to

begin with the moment or how or

how we to how question at bad

to read handwriting, and

be what be next, nothing if

the idea really ask

ourselves an that changes really

return to answer we begin to cry

. we begin we see why so in

first place

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

thirty one.

eleven.

fifteen.

nine.

three.

twenty seven.

seventeen.

ten.

sixteen.

fourteen.

five.

twenty six.

twenty one.

six.

nineteen.

zero.

twenty two.

twelve.

twenty three.

twenty eight.

thirteen.

twenty nine.

twenty four.

twenty.

eighteen.

one.

eight.

seven.

thirty.

twenty five.

two.

four.