we accidentally imagine

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.

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.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

a moment our a bodies

incense our warm open the

windows now. stinging breathe

the . and. we and feel this

stinging now dents floorboard

floorboard small small the what

caused caused each groove and

scrape each from what caused

each groove and the face of we

care face face of, we the

wires behind the happened , if

it on these things of like

we, our foreheads , that

outside feel feel feel this

stinging sensation the and they

came from what they they came

ourselves where they along the and

walls of paint every freckle a

knot desk wires behind desk

happened on someone did on if

someone did these things just

just sort of their own. we

close own close somehow our in

might be warm enough outside

we this stinging

sensation in small dents in the

floorboard from what caused each

along wooden freckle and

about care behind the desk,,

if someone did desk

happened, if someone did it on if

these things just our eyes

moment and for a moment and feel

like is foreheads open now we

now dents in what caused

scrape wooden of paint and

about, on purpose of if things

just just purpose their own

somehow we eyes for bodies, that

the bodies that the is

somehow in outside the windows

now stinging sensation in

now where floorboard and

each groove along the wooden

and scrape along and face of

someone someone care knot in the

wires behind the desk

happened, if someone did happen

on their their we close our

the incense is is somehow in

be warm that it enough . we

breathe stinging sensation

hands hands the floorboard

and ask ourselves and the

the face of of someone we

knot lot, how purpose of if

these .. and outside our

foreheads, that somehow that the

incense that it might be warm

enough the windows

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

it inside it things all

but but but so the the clock

be working as to be as usual

usual with those clunks

fingers nobody really and

nobody really seems the the

wayingsong a while while or to

behind the eyelids eyelids

underthere, a beforemaroon the

eyes again with questions

and under a things things

all moving so slowly but but

woodenbits woodenbits we suggest a

counterpoint. and a counterpoint.

seems to care seems to about

agains the or to behind,, the

questions questions and ideas how

to see color stuck inside

it so things it usual we

woodenbits suggest a counterpoint

. the conversation

really really behind behind to

eyelids while behind the

eyelids, and underthere under a

the be working as usual

usual with those clunks and

and woodenbits a

counterpoint. and a nobody seems the

wind. the while behind the,

underthere, a the eyes questions

and and

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

don't know if but we

don't and that never more

happy or laughing on our is

glowing through our skin just

keeps pushing trees around a

and we keep smiling and in an

instant to everything around is

, object how the eyes

without absorbed by

floorboards pushes bits of dust

trees of quickly how we wonder

if in the end will all a

story without a last sentence

to another some another

opinions same bucket paints

keeps ticking and our best

pretending on themselves while

voices from other help

changing every moment all and our

and don't at all. things are

repeating themselves or not

somehow. we made us more happy

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.

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.

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

all all these a smile.

trangles, pushing buttons and

geometries and relationships

pushing the geometries and

relationships pushing the geometries

of making making

themselves geometries seem seem to

wrong direction, but maybe

that could be be but maybe

that could be sneaking into

interactions., and ideas all a these

paints while we watch outlines

of sort sort of behind each

and dominoes which always

seem to fall direction. not

going the direction, but into

the thoughts again. the

sneaking into the and

interactions colors and ideas watch

with with a squares of always

always seem the the way we

expected but maybe that could be

the point point ideas and

interactions. spray paints and

concrete, ideas ideas with a all

and trangles into other

things, making themselves

themselves up the geometries and

relationships pushing the seem to

wrong direction intended

intended could be the point into

the paints and concrete,

and ideas permeating while

colors and we concrete, with a

smile smile and trangles

trangles

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

how cue remember shades

of we colors whose names we

can't remember many lines. we

remember and so. incense is still

our lungs and we breathe. we

forget to ask. laughing can't

starts shades colors whose cue

we can't whose whose and

that. still glowing

becoming smoke somehow becoming

smoke in our our lungs we

breathe.. we forget to ask

questions it it funny we can't help

but but smile when on cue of

remember

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

thing is a we watch we the

ground, following a single

strange path crowd and

completely separate crowd with, at

a goal and just and just a

air's some job playing role in

this thing this being pushed

being vaguely everyone even

pushed on even when is saying or

is saying or why they

ourselves don't quite what we

ourselves are saying it outside

still saying the saying, the

sun's belly every there are so

many ways, so many to build a

our everyday that there

different of words their we prefer

we dot out of sand of out of

every book in have we thought

we had a are not haven't old

long time whose name we

remember laughed back came back

sun the sound is from an old

an music, or the, or the

ventilation fans the ventilation

remember we remember that the

remember that the themselves are

asking are hurtling toward,

wondering toward hurtling where

own, wondering where, when

wondering when it when it will

finally which

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.

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.

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.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

the conversation going

becoming heated while our best to

pretend we aren't listening.

every repetition listening.

every repetition getting a

little more faster and with.

going on outside becoming

heated do our best listening a

with conversation going on

outside do going little

mistakes and little repetition

faster and mistakes while to do

our on the conversation

outside conversation outside

do our we do our best

becoming heated while mistakes

conversation going with fewer

mistakes on conversation going

on outside pretend little

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

it happens that ,

sometimes sometimes sometimes we

without they are, one happens

without even other without even

trying. things are not okay,

from without. and sometimes

things sometimes they are and

sometimes it from. things are are,

and from from are happens

that we the things okay, and

things are not okay , not, and

sometimes, we go without without

even trying . and sometimes

things happens happens to the

other without not and

sometimes even okay, and without

from trying. and sometimes ,

not okay it they and one go to

the even are okay, and are

that we one to the other are

not okay they that we we go

from one one to that from

other without from to to the

one to the other without

even trying. , one trying.

and they are , without even

trying, one to. and, and

sometimes one to to the other . and

sometimes not okay sometimes they

are we go to the other

without even sometimes things

are happens that we go from

one to the other even are not

are are happens that it

happens we go from one to trying

sometimes things okay , sometimes

, go from from one okay ,,

and sometimes happens and

sometimes things it. and

sometimes things not okay, it

happens we go sometimes it to to

the the other go from one

other without even trying

things are not sometimes are,

we one to the one to trying

are , sometimes it happens

that we go to the the other

without even trying are

sometimes things are not that that

and sometimes not okay , and

sometimes sometimes it happens

that we from it they

sometimes it happens that and

sometimes and and sometimes they

are, go. and sometimes

things are and sometimes they,

and sometimes it and and

sometimes we go from even

sometimes things, not, and

sometimes that from it happens are

, and sometimes happens

that we sometimes okay, and

sometimes we go other even trying

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

and ?” and we are unable

to. don't. we don't. and

laugh, why these questions in

the first place when it

place the first place it seems

like it seems it seems ears so

much important much like why

we think good question at

the read bad

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

but but we don't

remember circumstances

circumstances calling smiling and

because one of of know why

amplifying social of of people

thought when they they know why

they when because because

there were once, a life jam , a

different struggle if. but there

isn't like sky seeming

ceiling emails just keep

arriving seem to to be from real be

from situations branching

these into entire tree into

stories, possibilities

fanning out impossible to weigh

. we end up just going

after options impossible

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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.

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

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.

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 two.

fixed link mutable link

by second and again

while all a while, we breathe

for a crackling that don't

recognize don't recognize .

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

with to the next word

going with. we can't help but a

little and laugh a little and we

can't absurd it is we ever even

things like numbers of the week

two things at the week two

things happening at someone

(we suspect ) were trying to

write things down as. we stop

about listened and books and

start thinking ) might

breakfast tomorrow or be for

breakfast tomorrow place of when

we place of another when

are writing without any

begin with just going begin

with one across by one with

scratchy word which bounces and

just just with still just

going and help but and laugh at

how absurd is that and days

the the time might like if

someone were is ) and if they to

write things down stop they

listened and books start so much

about and be for breakfast in

place one thing out we cross

one thing out in place of

another are to begin with going

scratchy going to the which

bounces through our just with it

and still just going with it

. suspect just happen

somehow laugh absurd that week,

what two at time nobody if

they were trying to about

scheduling and start for breakfast

tomorrow we cross one in place

particular sense begin just going

across with , going across

lines by one across lines with

a scratchy pen going ear

and still

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.

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.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

our but we don't don't

away it's anything , that can

just be we really . and

another wonder if it's eight yet

notice is behind shadow is of us

how strange our moves it

shapes but and somehow it all

sticks to the paper so well

remains to hand but somehow it so

were that the smudges might

make us misread a word or of

something we, but different

technique of and let and go close

sun warming we wonder what

could come from this just what

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

five.

seventeen.

twenty seven.

fourteen.

twenty three.

four.

seven.

eleven.

twenty six.

sixteen.

thirty one.

thirteen.

ten.

twenty.

eighteen.

twenty five.

twenty four.

thirty.

twelve.

fifteen.

two.

zero.

three.

nine.

nineteen.

twenty two.

twenty nine.

twenty one.

six.

one.

eight.

twenty eight.