we accidentally imagine

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

without these bricks

some rock opinions into,

hugs, paints and violins the

keep doing to around on

themselves while we hear muffled

but, is paper and the it on

skin and don't all. don't if

or not but somehow. we

don't caring about would

never or feel more human, more

the sun is laughing on our

arm our blood is glowing,

the wind keeps, and we keep

smiling and we are able to

everything

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

matter anyway matter

sounds of met to each

destination as they many. motions

little these all little

motions back and without mark

because and what do they always

patterns up or if made it all

something could really, leaves or

to or, that the be the

leaves decided or felt need or

that grow in that way that

these we look at the place, but

we up us don't maybe they

noticed us say be know , really .

out which doesn't. thing

out of sight and another

thing which doesn't matter at

matter, at the clock the clock

and if it's is behind that

our we our hair looks notice

how shapes somehow it all

sticks paper well and remains

perfectly legible hoping that

legible a or or two and us think of

we wouldn't we, we

question relevancy for, let it go

and just listen. from this

just just about anything

from this really if anything

or could or couldn't we

wonder if anything could or

couldn't it we to never each about

the place other about the

place how they learned about

the hats. all events

without any and dams enormous

statues collapse and fade they

to figure in or if maybe

need way that look now look so

up they us so so they don't

see say. and quietly

sometimes we can ourselves know,

which doesn't clock and

wonder it's if it's it isn't now

we notice behind our

shadow us into try to smear the

ink and all hoping might

were two and help word or note

or two or help otherwise ,

or execution appropriate

for let it go

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

different every single

all different story in this

traffic jam, different

struggle there there isn't but

time but there sky sky just

keep arriving and keep

arriving just another ceiling.

from real people,, after

options end up the the one we saw,

for now at least our where we

left them. left different

circumstances circumstances calling

different of different responses

, different different

smiling . we are smiling we don't

know why because one because

gestures amplifying across a who

don't know a don't joke was

funny even hear were so many

life note. maybe if there was

more seeming like just

another . but there isn't. just

keep them ever to be into out,

options options after options.

we end up up we end up just

going with impossible to

weigh we up just going with the

the that now at and with just

with impossible to weigh

impossible to weigh . we up just

going with the one we weigh up

that up going going with one

saw saw, for

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.

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.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

on someone we care a

someone the wires behind knot in

the it it on of on a moment

outside our bodies our be enough

outside breathe breathe the

sensation in floorboard and ask

ourselves caused wooden panels

and walls lot we care a lot we

a about each knot in wires

behind behind the if their own

close our eyes eyes for a a

moment and are and and feel are

floating outside our bodies ,

that it our that it warm

enough that it to open the we

breathe and feel this stinging

now we dents in the

floorboard and where they came from

groove groove and scrape every

freckle freckle and someone we

wires on purpose sort our eyes

for moment and feel like a

like like we are incense is

somehow in be warm enough. we

breathe and feel this small

ourselves where from and scrape

walls of paint on on care a

about we care behind purpose

of their own outside

somehow somehow that somehow in

, that it might might the

warm breathe and our hands

hands sensation in now we and

ask groove and caused and

scrape along caused each

scratch the face of someone we

care behind happened the if

just sort of happen on our

moment our eyes

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

are asking of questions

of their own their of their

own wondering when it

minute a minute doors, growing

, growing shapes we make

things to have things, that

just as happen we remember of

step away a away don't make

sense to happen much

difference between so much

difference between our minds and

minds and our, on a somewhere

near trashbag somewhere

near spoiled food being

eaten by bacteria and no

control over the over the world

means no control over having

means no control, our actions

, this. this is this thing

. this is a let it if we let

it pollen drift to the

ground green speck in same time

same time separate,

somewhere with a in the hours

supposedly role in

nineteen.

fixed link mutable link

the corner of the room

empty except for the little

grooves in the floorboard, we

smile. the moments going and

going in such a beautiful way

that we can't take our eyes

off it, noticing just how

inconsistent things are, how blurry

and arbitrary the

differences seem between things and

people and ideas, how musical a

painting can sound the ink never

seems to dry.

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

down if they were as they

listened we stop worrying down as

they listened. worrying

down as they listened. we

stop worrying start

thinking (not worrying ) about

one place of another when we

are particular sense of

begin with any particular

sense of by with a scratchy pen

going to the next word which

bounces through on to the next

just going going with it.

help but smile a little at how

absurd it like what were to

listen (we suspect nobody is )

things down as listened much

about books stop start

thinking and books and about

scheduling and books start what

might out

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.

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.

eighteen.

fixed link mutable link

in mind and realize we

haven't stood up we up, pressing

against so subtly are

flickering so to should want

fracturing as piece trying trying

glue things theories and

poems and cathedrals

architectures and and , to to, of our

skulls skulls, so much

significance to but praying praying

for we are are want. fading

fading fading. fading. fading

around us breaking apart piece

with theories and poems and

to, and its arms and lights

are flickering so subtly

pray subtly subtly know are

praying who we are are praying

for, what we want, what want

. fading around us

breaking apart and theories and

in the mind we haven't

stood up up narrow, not

flickering so subtly know want ,

what we want

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

trying . sometimes

things are not okay it happens

that to the without even

trying not okay they are it

happens sometimes that and

sometimes things not they are, and

sometimes even one to the.. are and

sometimes even trying without

even trying. things are that

we happens without they go

from one go from one go

without even trying. even

things it other without even

one other even trying to

okay sometimes it they to the

other without trying. and are

not not okay, and sometimes

they happens that one

sometimes things are are, they

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

we wonder what might be

next, if anything actually

changed over these years or if

nothing ever really changes. we

reject the idea that nothing

really changes and we ask

ourselves an unexpected question

in return: “who are you?”

and we are unable to answer.

we don't know. and then we

begin to cry. and then we begin

to laugh, and laugh, and

laugh. can't we see why these

questions are so aimless in the

first place when it seems like

every minute or second a new

question comes to our ears which

is so, so, so much more

important like why we can't think

of a good question to begin

with at the moment or how we

are able to read bad

handwriting. we laugh, and we laugh,

and we laugh.

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

does of slowmoving

sound of damp sticks a maybe we

remember why , but it stay like ?”

and, for this for once,

outside. a slowmoving sound .

sticks slowmoving is so maybe

we remember everything.

we notice slowmoving

sound outside. a slowmoving

from outside of damp sticks a

. we from does slowmoving

sound. we why is so we don't.

“can it stay like this ?”

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

wind. a the eyes and

ideas how to how under a color

color stuck inside these it

things all moving as be with

those clunks and and fingers

fingers and we counterpoint the

conversation about the the wind

agains the wind. agains the we

again ideas under we are when

when inside it these things

all clock seems to those

clunks and with those clunks

and little clunks and

little clunks with clunks and

little

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

every a little more

accurate, a. little more

accurate little, a accurate,

listening. we aren't listening we

. every repetition

listening. every repetition

getting pretend listening .

every repetition getting a we

repetition getting a little, every

best to. best to pretend we.

getting pretend best we do our

pretend we aren't listening.

little more accurate , a little

with conversation going

becoming heated while we . a

little faster and little

faster and little more

mistakes while mistakes. the on

outside conversation

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.

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

and somehow becoming in

forget laughing! isn't how we

it funny how smile when the

sun when but the names these

colors whose we can't lines.

many. lines and lines we and

so many lines we remember

that the we remember

remember the stick is still

glowing and somehow becoming we

breathe and we breathe breathe

and ask questions ..

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

thisthat theringly

thisthat the a while where again

ticking by again the sun keeps

making sniffling from

seasonal allergies. a bird help

laughing and of people laughing

and somehow the voices

against we hear all these

acoustic hear hear vibrations

buzzing inside our chests and

making us feel us feel not

warmer warmer more okay. more

one thing the vibrations

more quiet every time are to

sun outside sound we pause

and just the. where again

second second ticking hand

ticking by again again while

again all these again all

these angles breathe for a

longer and sound keeps sun the

sun keeps sun a bird call we

don't recognize . we we . the

voices make this us feel not

warmer but more okay . making

one thing work vibrations

and another making

slantingway or thing thing one thing

work thing the vibrations

more lean our to hear to

notice . not to notice outside

making this fuzzy kind kind of

sound against this breathe

for a. where again the the

second we breathe the sound and

sun keeps making the keeps

keeps making that don't we

don't recognize we we can't

can't help but smile of and we

hear vibrations buzzing

inside warmer but more but okay

the the every quiet every to

hear inside sounds. the sun

outside and just breathe for a

pause and just we theringly ,

the second again while the.

we. can't sound of people

and harmony and against the

and inside feel thing work

and and combination which

slantingway time time lean more

quiet . we the closer inside

trying sounds. try try not to

notice . but. making the while

while all angles these again

by and again while we

breathe for a crackling , we

breathe for sniffling keep call

can't sound the can't sound of

people laughing and somehow

and make inside our chests

and inside making us more

okay. making one thing work

quiet more vibrations.

actions but not this this

against pause just breathe just

and just for breathe for

while. where again the again

the theringly . where the

the for sniffling that

sound sound and keep

sniffling from call but and

laughing somehow the voices make

this sort chests and us not

chests and

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

and making themselves

up the geometries to fall

in not going wrong going

the direction fall in the

always always seem to fall in

always seem the way we we

expected expected or intended,

but maybe that could into.

ideas these colors and ideas

ideas watch outlines of a

squares and trangles trangles

into into up behind behind

the geometries behind

geometries of of making themselves

shapes each each other which

always seem to fall in not going

maybe goals sneaking

sneaking again., and ideas, all

paints and ideas all just

happens smile smile squares

squares and trangles into other

things, shapes into

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty three.

twenty eight.

fifteen.

one.

twenty one.

six.

twenty seven.

thirty one.

nineteen.

twenty nine.

ten.

two.

four.

eighteen.

twenty four.

thirteen.

thirty.

twenty.

nine.

three.

twelve.

zero.

eight.

five.

fourteen.

twenty five.

seven.

seventeen.

sixteen.

twenty two.

eleven.

twenty six.