we accidentally imagine

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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.

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.

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

unable.. don't. we

don't begin and, and we to

begin see why these questions

in the first place the

every or second a new so so much

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

of of many stick of

incense incense is still

glowing and becoming smoke in

our breathe and we breathe

ask forget to ask isn't it

help of these colors whose

names on these these shades of

of whose names lines. we

remember. remember that the

stick remember remember that

glowing and we breathe. to ask we

breathe. we forget breathe and

we to ask questions can't

smile can't help but it

laughing! funny to how we we can't

help but smile when the sun

coming can't but smile sun

right coming back right

colors whose can't so we that so

lines lines. incense lines

and so many lines. we

remember the stick of is of still

glowing remember that the stick

of incense is and our lungs

and we breathe breathe and

our glowing we our

questions.. we we forget to.

laughing! isn't how.. we we to ask

questions laughing isn't how how

it funny how we on shades on

cue shades lines the

remember remember that. that

lungs we. laughing ask isn't

it ask.. we forget to ask

isn't funny how how how.

laughing ! isn't how starts

coming back right on cue shades

of these whose names we

can't and names shades of

remember we can't whose names we

that so many lines becoming

smoke in and we breathe. and we

isn't it funny how the but

smile when the sun starts

coming right on cue shades

can't remember so lines and so

many lines the stick is lungs

we. to ask questions

laughing! isn't it funny how we

can't smile the shades sun

starts coming back on we can't

remember lines lines and lines

and so many lines lines and

so many we remember that

the incense is in becoming

incense is still glowing

glowing remember the

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.

seven.

fixed link mutable link

tangling wires into

these bizarre shapes, rugs

with strange colors and

melodies waitingly, taking deep

breaths before the speech where

we finally speak our

minds: "won't everybody

please, please stop this

cruelty? can't we see how

unnecessary it is?" some glass

window creaking under winds,

some oil spilled in a parking

lot. how again the why's and

who's before and after or some

some behind throughingly, a

manual for writers of research

papers about electrical

engineering and game theory,

complex analysis and early

marxist painting; the

walls of this place have

shoulders that are

sagging, somewhere in these

pages an actual answer to a

question that matters. a new pair

of jeans, a holiday

decoration left up for months, a

lightbulb which doesn't fit even

though we could have sworn the

size was right at the store.

color combinations making us

feel sick and wonder why we

care about the dissonance,

why we should prefer one to

the other. we conclude that

we're all just bits of air

moving with the waves of some

song we can't hear: now

banging on the wooddrums, the

thoughts and the doubts, hopes or

imaginations throwing fists at the

organ keyboard, some body of

loud waters, some

electrical structure groaning in

rains particles trapped in

the breezings, the sine

waves, the eyeballs thrown

left and right or up and down

or is that a sign of

happiness, of

peacefulness? who's to tell what's

harmony and what's dissonance?

who's to tell the words of the

song when each moment's just

a few bits of data? hard to

see the picture from a

pixel, hard to find the poem

through a word a letter an inkdot

the arounds and behinds

lost somewhere in the mix,

the breath being exhaled

before we even noticed it was

inside our bodies, each note

rising just a little higher or

just a little more like dirty

wallpaper: we ask each other where

it happened. where the

music got faster. where the

blue became green, where the

light was switched on and the

newer waves began to

interfere with things and distort

the shapes, canceling out

or multiplying or

performing more complicated

operations until the noise is noise

and the signal is noise and

the noise is still noise yet

somehow wider, more sideways

and spinningly and

uppingly and backwardly, more

harsh and out of sync, now neon

colorlines and batteries, strange

gaps in the spiral not

patterns but something about

them which makes us feel the

walls are moving further away

and the room is becoming

smaller, that one moment is

another and the second hand is

somehow different this time

around. we cannot help but go to

sleep again, this time with a

strange smile and already

looking forward to coffee. this

time with socks and a thicker

blanket. this time with the

windows open: and in comes the

cooler air.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

the desk happened, if

sort of own somehow a moment

our bodies the that it

enough outside feel this this

our now we notice small

dents in where they what along

paint walls of every freckle

on the face lot the, did on

if did it on purpose of on

somehow on their our somehow .

close our eyes we are the the is

windows outside windows our

hands now we notice hands the

floorboard and dents

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

a little more accurate,

a fewer, a and with

conversation heated while we do our

best outside becoming

heated on faster and with a

aren't heated the

conversation mistakes . the

conversation mistakes. with fewer

mistakes. outside becoming with

fewer the conversation going

while we do while we do our

outside becoming heated

outside becoming heated while

the on we do heated best to

pretend heated while we. best to

pretend we becoming on to

pretend while we do our best do

our outside

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

they are it one to

without things not and

sometimes they to the other . the

trying and sometimes things

are not . and , and sometimes

they are, and from one to the.

and and sometimes things

are sometimes things okay,

and sometimes are trying,

sometimes it and sometimes it they

it. okay, sometimes they

that and, sometimes

sometimes go that go from one other

to the other., and it go

from one other are okay, and

and sometimes trying are,

happens and sometimes things

are and from one to trying

okay, , and that we go that we

trying. are not we trying. and

things are not . and sometimes

sometimes things and happens that

we sometimes things they

are, and sometimes one okay

are , and that without even

trying trying.. and and and and

that one to the other are not

and and sometimes trying

things okay are from it and from

one without even trying.

and and happens that

without trying. and sometimes

things they are, from to .

things are not okay go from one

to without from are not

okay and sometimes trying

and sometimes things are

not okay okay, and

sometimes to and trying. and are

are sometimes happens are,

from one to, and are are, go

the other without even

trying okay they are it it

happens are happens to to the

other without even

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

sun is landing on this

piece how the whole is and on

our moment at things are

repeating themselves not but

that's would never have made us

happy or, more like on arm and

our is the the a little bit,

and an instant we are able us

every person and how the air

around us in the floorboards

kinetic dust wood is so resonant

, how climb and how the out

to joke, a story these

another with some rock the

falling smiles violins best

pretending of going

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

which whyhow

thumpingly against the doors, the

momentnow changing and growing,

shapes never leading to ones we

expect in situations where

things might make sense of some

kind. we remember that things

don't have to make sense, that

things can be left just as they

happen we remember that

consistency is another sort of

illusion and that taking a step

away could even mean

allowing things which don't make

sense to happen not so much

difference between our own actions

and the temperature

outside today, not so much

difference between our minds and

our shoelaces tied or

untied, on or off or tangled up in

a trashbag somewhere

near spoiled food being

eaten by bacteria and fungi we

remember that having no control

over the world also means

having no control over

ourselves, our thoughts, our

actions, and that this is a

beautiful thing. this is a

beautiful thing and that's

completely okay if we let it be, if we

watch the pollen drift to the

ground, following a single

green speck in its strange

path at the same time

together with the crowd and

completely separate, at the same

time going somewhere with a

goal and just falling in the

air's path, standing around

for hours supposedly doing

some job playing some role in

this thing we call society,

vaguely defined values being

pushed on everyone even when we

don't quite understand what

anyone is saying or why they are

saying it or and we ourselves

don't quite understand what

we ourselves are saying or

why we are saying it the wind

still saying something

outside, the sun's belly still

rising and falling with every

breath as it thinks about

wooden cabinets and why they

are shaped the way they are

when there are so many

possibilities, so many ways to write a

poem or explain a thought, so

many ways to build a chord and

roll up our sleeves when it

seems everyday that there is a

new color in the sky, a new

piece of garbage on our desks.

different tones of voice and

combinations of words,

probabilistic relationships

imitating meaning while our ears

and toes make up for their

emptiness or soullessness if we

prefer to think of it that way.

the illusion breaking down

again, a smallvoiced reminder

that we are a pale blue dot, a

grain of sand out of place in a

library where every book is in a

different language and there are

pictures of things we don't

recognize or have names for even

when we thought we had a good

grip on shapes and colors; we

are not sure if the

shuffling feet a few shelves down

is a librarian or an old

friend we haven't seen in a long

time whose name we don't

remember even though years ago we

had laughed until the sun

came back or maybe the sound

is from an old cell phone

left playing music, or the

ventilation fans turning back on we

remember that the galaxies

themselves are asking questions of

their own, wondering where

they are hurtling toward,

wondering when it will finally

stop for a minute

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

a in every single

traffic jam, piano. if. maybe if

but there. the another

arriving and of them seem people

branching out into entire real

people, these situations

branching out , possibilities

fanning out into some

incomprehensible tree, we

incomprehensible tree, end the one seems

one that seems as good as now

at looking for left them.

for responses them

different. we ways of don't one

these social gestures funny

why why they of they the joke

things going a different many

things once in this traffic jam

, a piano. maybe maybe if

note more time. but there

isn't. the seeming just just

keep arriving and none of

them ever seem to be , all

these fanning out into weigh

one seems go remember where

calling smiling. we we don't one

? amplifying social

gestures amplifying who funny

people who know why they

thought the was funny even hear

half of it because there once

, a different jam, note,

life story in traffic

different, this traffic traffic

in the there was more time

like keep to people out out

entire incomprehensible into

from from real people,,

possibilities fanning out into some

incomprehensible after

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.

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.

three.

fixed link mutable link

or that and and how did

how? way if we never could

learn from from the become

unhappy began to throw at face

and bulging, the door the

the idea with the idea the

another if and is we can't

attempts remember make shout

with fewer our door the is the

door while the wood

doorframe and the doorframe time

doorframe appears to this time

this time time again and and

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link

to the sounds pointing

toward their so. so many

different types without of

because dams collapse statues

collapse and dams collapse and

things they do anyway we try to

figure the in a, made it all up

could really to grow in such a

grid such a that these up know

comes place, but we don't

don't us don't us looking away

and quietly understood

that looking away that

sometimes, that sometimes we we

know which doesn't matter at

the, we that the sun is our

shadow is in wind moves it

around into but so well legible

. we smudges we were

hoping might make us a word two

and help think of something

otherwise, different a different

or technique idea let it go

close our eyes and just to

airplanes listen to the wind

airplanes and our legs. we wonder

from just really, and

couldn't we anything could or

couldn't prepare us for it, and it

we all these people we've

never met their explain to

each other destination they

all these little without

leaving any fade do we try figure

out in a cloud of leaves all

if be there, that maybe a

way that up branches from

below and now someone we they

don't looking away that

sometimes we can just know , know

happens which doesn't, and we it

isn't

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.

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

which slantingway or

combination making one thing work

and another not? the

vibrations more quiet every time we

lean our ears closer trying

to hear inside the sounds.

we are aware of our actions

but try not to notice. the

sun outside making this

fuzzy kind of sound against

the grass. we pause and just

breathe for a while. where again

the thisthat theringly,

the second hand ticking by

again and again while all

these angles crackling, we

breathe for a while longer and

the sun keeps making that

sound and we keep sniffling

from seasonal allergies. a

bird call we don't

recognize. we can't help but smile

at the sound of people

laughing and somehow the voices

make this sort of harmony

against the windchimes and we

hear all these acoustic

vibrations buzzing inside our

chests and making us feel not

warmer but more okay. more

okay.

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

we with , going across to

the next going with. we and

suspect that just happen and

can't help but smile a little

and at we the week , what two

at the same time like same

time might sound if they were

stop worrying much we stop

things down as they listened

things down as they scheduling

and books and start

thinking ) about what for why we

cross one out in place of we are

of intention to by with of

across lines one just going pen

on just we suspect little

and then is that we laugh

that things like what two

things might sound like if at

the were same suspect were

to (we someone were to

nobody is they (we suspect

nobody is listen is trying

write things down stop

worrying books stop worrying

thinking breakfast worrying )

about what cross one thing out

in place of another out

without any particular sense of

we sense writing

particular sense of to begin going

begin with one pen straight on

to the with it and still we

going with . we somehow and we

help but smile a laugh ever

even how smile a little and

laugh at even about we laugh at

how about

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

two.

five.

four.

ten.

nine.

thirty.

sixteen.

zero.

seven.

twenty seven.

twenty five.

twenty four.

twenty three.

thirty one.

fifteen.

six.

one.

three.

twenty one.

twenty eight.

thirteen.

eleven.

twenty two.

twenty nine.

eight.

twelve.

nineteen.

eighteen.

twenty six.

twenty.

seventeen.

fourteen.