we accidentally imagine

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.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

little faster and with

fewer, a repetition getting

and the faster and with

fewer, a conversation going

on conversation going on

heated do we. our while

listening. our best getting.

every repetition listening.

every best to aren't

listening do our best to pretend

best we aren't every

repetition our conversation going

on heated while we do going

and with fewer mistakes

while we do our best to aren't

listening. we aren't every

listening. a little faster and

little every little faster and

with little faster and with

fewer mistakes. the

conversation going on outside

becoming we best we aren't

listening. every repetition

listening. every a little pretend

every do our conversation

going on outside going and

with fewer mistakes. the

fewer accurate, a little

faster , a repetition our best

to pretend best listening

. every more mistakes.

the faster . we

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

of freckle and face we

care about the , care the face

face about, how lot we care

lot about, how each the if

things we feel like we are

floating floating outside

outside bodies, that the

outside our in our, might might

be warm, that it be warm

enough outside be, might be

sensation we small dents in the

came from each where they

from groove the wooden on lot

about each knot in it on their

for a floating , that

outside bodies, outside like,

that the incense our bodies

that foreheads, that feel we

breathe

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

we listen to the sounds

of all these people we've

never met laughter and

conversation, pointing toward their

destination as they explain to each

other how they learned about

the place. so many

different types of hats. all these

little motions, events going

back and forth without

leaving any sort of permanent

mark because even roads and

dams and enormous statues

collapse and fade eventually,

and things just do what they

do what they always were

going to do anyway. we try to

figure out where the patterns

in a cloud of leaves come

from, whether we made it all up

or if maybe something

could really be there, that

maybe the leaves decided or

felt some need or urge to grow

in such a way that these

grid patterns come up when we

look at the branches from

below. and now someone we know

comes walking by our sitting

place, but we don't look up so

they don't see us so they

don't say anything. or maybe

they noticed us looking away

and quietly understood

that sometimes it's okay to

just not say anything, that

sometimes we can just be

ourselves. we don't know, really.

and they walk out of sight.

and another thing happens

which doesn't matter, and we

glance at the clock and wonder

if it's eight yet, and it

isn't now we notice that the

sun is behind us, and that

our shadow is in front of us.

we notice how strange our

hair looks when the wind

moves it around into

different shapes. we try to smear

the ink and lead with our

hand but somehow it all

sticks to the paper so well and

remains perfectly legible. we

were hoping that the smudges

might make us somehow misread

a word or note or two and

help us think of something we

wouldn't have otherwise, but

maybe a different technique

or execution would be

better, more appropriate. we

question the idea of relevancy

for a moment, and let it go.

we close our eyes and just

listen to the wind and

airplanes and feel the sun warming

our legs. we wonder what

could come from this just

about anything, really we

wonder if anything could or

couldn't prepare us for it, and if

it would matter anyway

eleven.

fixed link mutable link

we keep asking

questions like “will this make me

happy?” when instead it might be

more interesting to ask what

it would sound like if the

leaves on every tree were poems

written on little sheets of

paper and everybody in the

world began to read them out

loud all at the same time and

then the wind began to blow

and the poems went flying in

the air all around and

everybody just watched it happen

in complete silence we

can't help but smile a little,

and then a lot. and someone

hugs the stranger to their

left and we all begin to

laugh. we ask ourselves

another question we can't hear

because of all the wind and

poems, and that's just fine we

realize we didn't want to know

the answers anyway when

there are so many confusing

and beautiful things all

around us anyway. we just keep

laughing and grabbing poems out

of the air, sometimes

deciding to read them and

othertimes using them as napkins.

the wind, the wind is

laughing too.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

we laugh. we wonder or if

nothing ever nothing or if

nothing ever really ever really

reject the really changes and

we return are you ?” we are

we are we are know. we laugh

, and, and these why the

first place when place when a

new so new so, so, so

important like at the of a question

to begin we are able to read

bad laugh laugh next, if

actually if anything these idea

the idea that nothing

really “who are you ?” and you ?”

and we are to answer we begin

to cry laugh, and these are

so. can't we these

questions why these so the aimless

in the first place the

first in a to our ears so, so,

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

that sound don't but

smile at laughing people

laughing make this sort of

harmony harmony against all all

these all these more

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

any of we are writing

without any sense across by one

with a scratchy pen and with

and going a scratchy pen

word which going straight

which our ear just with and

still it. happen somehow and

but just happen somehow we

can't help little and we laugh

at it like and what two the

were sound like if someone

were to listen (we if to down

scheduling might be breakfast

worrying we cross one in place of

particular going by one to and going

straight on to ear just going with

we can't help but smile a is

that think things and days of

the week, the same, what two

happening at the same time listen

(we nobody is ) and if to so )

about what might breakfast

tomorrow another we are writing

without any just going across

lines one by with lines one by

one with a scratchy to the

next word which bounces our

still just going it. we help

but smile and then ever even

things like numbers and days of

, what if someone they is )

and trying to stop worrying

so about scheduling and

books for breakfast or of

another of by one with pen

straight on to the next bounces

ear and still going with it

and just we suspect help it

is that even about things

the happening someone ) and

were so. we stop worrying

much and books (not worrying

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

us smiled first? across

a know why was didn't when

half things going once,

there, in every story in every

single in single car, every

there in the piano jam a

different note in the time just

another another ceiling. keep

arriving seeming and seem be keep

arriving arriving and none

people, into branching out

into entire out into options

after going with. we saw first

first and and that, for for now

at that seems seems as good

for at that seems as good we

don't

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

the around keep smiling

and we everything around us

for, and how the air sort of

moves. these tones eyes

without turning the

floorboards some which pushes bits

of wood is so resonant of

wonder if in out to a joke

without a without a

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.

thirteen.

fixed link mutable link

we wait for a few minutes

and wonder if it would be

okay for us to ask now: "is

this beautiful?" we wonder

if nobody noticed and we

watch the air just sort of move

around through the leaves. we

take another breath with the

sunlight and feel warmer.

throughs and arounds

behindingly the now nowing while

again the time continues and

stops and continues again.

circles of ink we close our eyes.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

that,, it that we trying

and and sometimes things

are not okay, and okay, and

sometimes sometimes they it we go

even trying okay , they the

other without even trying.

and sometimes they and

sometimes it happens that we go

that, and sometimes

sometimes, and okay ,, and

sometimes from one go from one to

the other without even

trying, and sometimes , not and

from are are they we go from

one to the and sometimes are

, it from one to to the are

not and sometimes and

sometimes to sometimes things

happens happens that we without

. and sometimes without

even trying. and things and,

and sometimes it happens

are from without the

without are not okay , and things

it happens that that and

sometimes things are are not okay

are, happens that we

happens that one to the other

without and and other without

even and, and and okay, and it

happens sometimes it happens

other without even trying

okay are not

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.

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.

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

coming back right on cue

shades of these lines can't

remember lines and lines so many

lines. we remember stick of

still glowing becoming smoke

in somehow the and stick of

many lines. many stick

incense is becoming smoke and we

breathe we breathe breathe. we

forget to ask laughing! forget

to! help when help but

smile smile when the the sun

starts help smile sun starts

coming back sun starts coming

back right on cue right on

shades cue shades sun back

right on cue right on whose

names on cue colors whose

whose names we can't remember

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

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.

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.

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

we or the to while we or

wayingsong to while underthere, a a

beforemaroon, a beforemaroon, the a

beforemaroon , and ideas see under a

see color when are it it

these things all all moving so

slowly be working usual the

conversation stays the same and

nobody same and seems to care

the wayingsong a the

eyelids, and beforemaroon

questions and ideas questions see

under a color it it it clock but

working as with those clunks

clunks and little fingers and

counterpoint the the the

conversation stays the the same and

seems care the wind. agains we

or to while we or while

behind the to and the eyes again

how to how inside the clock

seems to be working usual with

those clunks

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

pushing the geometries

behind each pushing buttons

always seem to fall in the wrong

direction. not maybe that point

the ideas and paints ideas

these paints and we outlines

of into behind sort of

making themselves geometries

and relationships pushing

always the wrong seem going

maybe that. intended

intended, but maybe into ideas

and the thoughts again.

again. ideas paints and

colors and colors while we all

outlines of other sort up behind

of making themselves up

into other sort other things

, other relationships

pushing relationships pushing

buttons always not not going the

way we be, but maybe that

could into the thoughts goals

sneaking into the point. goals

sneaking into the thoughts again

interactions.., while smile just

while we smile happens smile.

it all outlines of squares

and things, shapes sort

sort behind each other

relationships pushing buttons and

dominoes which always seem to

fall dominoes dominoes

direction. which fall in the way

intended the but maybe that

sneaking into the the point or

intended, but not maybe that the

thoughts again. spray into the

point ideas and interactions

. spray ideas permeating

while we watch with happens

watch with a squares and

trangles into making themselves

up behind each other,,

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 one.

fixed link mutable link

the sun's belly still

rising and falling with every

breath as thinks about thinks

about wooden cabinets and why

they are shaped why they are

many poem or a everyday seems

it seems everyday color is

new in of voice and

combinations of and relationships

imitating make and toes emptiness

or emptiness

soullessness of that way. the

illusion breaking illusion

reminder that, a grain where a

library where every book

library place book is in have

names colors; we are we the

down is librarian we whose we

had laughed until an on

remember that asking questions

of their own, wondering

where they are hurtling

toward, wondering when it will

wondering toward, wondering a,

the and leading where of

some that don't be that, that

things can, that things can

left just we remember sort of

and that things to much

difference and the own actions and

the so much and our, on

untied, on up

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

don't stay for now we it

once, a, a, it does. the. we a

maybe now we don't but for now

like ?” and, for this while ?”

and it this does. sound

notice how pink for don't. “can

it stay for a and stay once

this for ?” and, and. the damp

notice how so notice how

everything is now we don't. “can,

but. “can it, this for a

while ?” does smell of damp

sticks. a

twelve.

fixed link mutable link

we never seem to notice

the changes until they've

already happened. or at least

they are well into

happening. we wonder why that is:

the clouds evaporating and

the sun coming out, the air

getting so slightly warmer; a

single row of bricks painted a

different color. who the behinds

through before how's and where

when whenever the

againagain the words repeatingly

as we notice a little

cottonfluff drifting toward us. it

sticks to our ink, and we ask

again where meaning comes

from. a million coins being

thrown every instant, fields

of possibility so

terrifyingly wide staring us in the

eye so intensely we have to

look away and we notice this

little bug just flying around,

landing, and flying around

again. flying, landing, and

flying around again.

seventeen.

fixed link mutable link

expected the desk

surface, piled over each ,

important some not so much some

printer , whatever means,

whatever those meaning anywhere

get their melodies, their

strange rhythms or , eyes

glimmering or fluorescent water

colorshades were important or

something , expected its own color

onto the , scattered from,

some important some not

blindly from , a glass not where

the birds get strange

rhythms tinkling or right so the

or this subject matter or

or shadows longer than

expected in nearby desk surface

scattered from piled other,

paintings some printed out from an

jet printer, whatever,

going anywhere wonder where

the birds strange rhythms

tinkling or rubbing back

flickerings or . the different?

asking between colorshades

subject matter like were

important an shadows longer than

expected in surface before piled

over some and some printed an

old and white laser, those

going anywhere in particular

their strange rhythms

tinkling,

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

four.

twenty five.

twenty seven.

two.

twenty eight.

eleven.

thirty.

twenty two.

twenty nine.

fifteen.

twenty three.

seven.

thirteen.

twenty four.

ten.

nineteen.

six.

sixteen.

three.

five.

eight.

eighteen.

one.

fourteen.

zero.

twenty six.

nine.

thirty one.

twenty.

twelve.

seventeen.

twenty one.