we accidentally imagine

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

laughing! isn't it

funny how we can't help but

smile when the sun starts

coming back right on cue shades

of these colors whose

names we can't remember lines

and lines and so many lines.

we remember that the stick

of incense is still

glowing and somehow becoming

smoke in our lungs we breathe

and we breathe and we

breathe. we forget to ask

questions.

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

they were as they

listened much we scheduling and

about what (not worrying )

what might be we might

breakfast tomorrow or why in place

of another when without

particular sense of to across a and

to the just through ear

just going going happen

somehow and laugh ever think

that things and the two

things days of the week ,

someone to listen (we someone

were to suspect nobody is )

and if they were things and

if listen (we suspect they

listened scheduling about might

be or why one in place

particular sense begin going of

with, by one scratchy pen on

next word which bounces

through our it going with it. we

suspect that it we suspect that

things happen somehow smile

and it is that and the week,

what things week, what

things happening at the week,

what sound like someone (we

suspect they to is ) were to

listen (we suspect nobody is )

and were trying to as we stop

and (not worrying ) about

might be for about what might

tomorrow or why we are of

intention to across by one with a

which just going suspect just

happen somehow and we smile

absurd is we ever think about

things is that we ever even like

numbers and days, what

happening of the happening at the

same time happening of what

two at the might if were and

if they were trying

worrying so much worrying for

thing out in place of another

when begin with scratchy pen

going straight next word

which still just going it just

happen somehow and we can't a

little and then laugh at how it

is that we about week time

nobody is ) were listen is if

things they listened . about

and books and start (not

about what for tomorrow or why

we thing out of are writing

without any particular sense of

intention to with a scratchy pen

and going to the word with.

just

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

make sense our own tied

our our difference between

our tangled up food over the

also means having also means

having no our is a beautiful

thing. thing. thing is a

beautiful thing and, if we watch

the if, following a single

green following a single

speck in at the path at strange

the crowd and somewhere

going the air's path hours

supposedly doing in this thing

defined don't even understand

what they are saying or

saying ourselves are why the it

saying are saying we still

saying something cabinets and

why there are there are so

many there so to write ways to

many ways, thought, so up

seems it our sleeves there is a

new there is a there is a is

sky in the our garbage of

voice and combinations of

words, probabilistic make up

their emptiness or

soullessness down illusion breaking

that we a grain in a of place

every book is in a different

language we we thought shapes and

colors; and on we not are

shelves down friend we haven't

seen name we years ago we had

laughed until the maybe old cell

the are asking questions of

their are hurtling it will

finally stop thumpingly

against whyhow which the

momentnow changing and growing,

shapes never to ones expect

might make sense of some to

have to make sense be left

just as they happen

consistency is another sort another

a allowing mean could

even mean allowing not so

much

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

laugh. why these

questions these like every minute

or second a to, so of think

of a good with able to read

bad handwriting. we what

these years or , if. changes

really changes and ?” know we

and laugh, why are so

aimless in the first place new

question comes to our, so much, to

like at. wonder might what

might be next, if anything we.

ourselves an unexpected: don't

know we. and then begin laugh

, and are so aimless in

every minute every to comes to

our so, of a good question at

with at the laugh, and we

laugh, and we laugh over

actually changes nothing really

changes you an are we are unable

to answer then and laugh.

and laugh are aimless in the

aimless seems like every minute

or, so, so, a good able to

bad., changed really

changes over these years or if

nothing ever changes we

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 three.

fixed link mutable link

, the opinions and facts

same smiles, ticking

pretending not circles around

muffled other room and moment

around us the whole for we don't

themselves don't care and that

would never have more like the

on glowing through just

the trees around and we keep

smiling able to us is, is doing of

moves around absorbed some

why wood how squirrels cars

. we end to be punchline

bricks to another with and

facts falling into and the and

the violins the timer our

circles of ink we the room every

moment

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.

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.

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.

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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.

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.

five.

fixed link mutable link

quietingly, the

softmurmurs not trying to say

anything in particular or

convince anyone of anything,

prefering to let things just exist

the way they are and stay the

same when they need to stay

the same and change when

they need to change, or not

even need to stay the same or

need to change but maybe

instead want to stay the same or

want to change, or rather: it

just happens. it just

happens, and it keeps just

happening. the softmurmers not

even speaking about what's

going on or what's not going on

but instead just

mentioning about whatever is on

their mind at that moment,

letting it out and letting it go,

the sound waves not

disappearing but echoing off a

thousand surfaces and every

blade of grass, split and

muffled and distorted and

echoed until they sound like

dead trees, the sun pushing

the waves around a little

through the screen door, gnats

in the air just sort of

moving around.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

. and and sometimes we go

from one to the, and

sometimes they are, from trying

without from from are are

sometimes, and one without they

are, that we go go go from

without even trying things are,

and sometimes and

sometimes the trying. and and

sometimes they to sometimes

things are are, and to the

sometimes things okay, and okay

sometimes happens that one

sometimes things , and sometimes

they not okay sometimes they

and sometimes that without

even trying. and sometimes.

and sometimes they happens

that we go go from from one

other are are not . sometimes

things , and sometimes it

happens we go from from one to the

. and not okay, and and

sometimes they are sometimes

sometimes it the other without

even are, and sometimes , and

sometimes, and one go from one to

the other other without

even trying.. the other

things not and sometimes they

sometimes it happens we happens

that other. and and, and

sometimes happens that from from

one to sometimes are and

sometimes it happens sometimes it

happens that sometimes and

sometimes happens happens and

sometimes it happens that we even

trying are not we go one to the

other and sometimes

sometimes it and sometimes the

other without even trying and

trying and sometimes okay,,

and sometimes, and to even

trying. and sometimes things

sometimes that even even even are

we go things are not,

sometimes it go without even

trying . things are not that and

sometimes , and sometimes happens

that we go the other without

they are and without the the

other sometimes not they the

other sometimes they they and

sometimes they are, and are,, and

sometimes sometimes from trying

trying, and sometimes they

sometimes it

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

our instincts but these

different calling for

circumstances and and smiling. we

these these people group of

people who? these social why

these who they thought the was

funny it because there were so

on things going on a a

different single in in this

traffic struggle single car

every note. maybe if there was

more there keep arriving

arriving and none of emails just

keep emails just keep like

there isn't. the sky. emails

ceiling. emails just keep

arriving and of of them

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

the wind. a the

wayingsong a we or or to while behind

the eyelids, the to the

eyelids, a beforemaroon

questions see and ideas how how and

ideas with questions and

again with questions eyes

again with questions and how

to a color under a we to

those clunks and fingers and

conversation really seems seems to

care about

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 seven.

fixed link mutable link

enough open the feel

this this in hands dents and

and scrape along freckle

and lot about knot someone

did it if just of close our

eyes for we our bodies, is

that is is somehow that the

incense is somehow in foreheads

, that it might enough

open sensation hands

stinging our hands ask in and from

what where groove and scrape

along the and scratch on the we

care a a how knot in the, if

someone did things somehow .

like a moment and like we are

floating outside our, that the be

warm enough outside feel

this stinging in our hands

now notice small dents we

notice small

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

permeating while just

other things of each other and

relationships pushing buttons and

dominoes which relationships

pushing in the always buttons

and dominoes dominoes

which always seem the seem and

dominoes dominoes which always

not but maybe point. goals

again. ideas ideas spray all

permeating while we we watch just

just happens. happens

happens shapes shapes sort of of

behind each other other and

dominoes which always not the

seem to fall in the seem to the

way fall in in always going

the way direction dominoes

which always seem the way we

expected not going, but maybe

that could be again. and

these colors and, all with a

smile. trangles into other

things and outlines of other

things, shapes each other

themselves up buttons geometries

which pushing the wrong and

geometries to not going the the to

way we expected or maybe the

thoughts again. ideas concrete.

ideas permeating permeating

all all ideas and thoughts.

that intended, be the point

or intended, but maybe

that sneaking 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 five.

fixed link mutable link

every repetition

pretend best getting a little

more a little faster and

outside becoming heated while

we going. the

conversation going on conversation

going on outside becoming our

best we aren't accurate,

little more accurate and with

fewer mistakes. we do to our

best getting pretend we

aren't listening repetition.

we more accurate and the

conversation mistakes. the

conversation going on we do our

conversation going becoming heated

while listening while we do

our repetition getting a

little little faster and

little faster and with more

accurate a little, a little

faster and little more

accurate little listening we

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.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

not sometimes we walk of

sight thing happens at the if

it's eight, and we notice sun

behind us , and front of hair.

hair into around into to

smear the ink with lead sticks

the perfectly legible.

legible hoping two and think we

wouldn't have otherwise

appropriate. relevancy a moment ,

let it eyes airplanes and

feel to the wind and just we

close we close our eyes just.

we close wind sun wonder

this just could come this

just, really and anyway the

to the sounds of all we all

met laughter and

conversation, pointing toward their

place going back and forth,

going back without, events

even roads and enormous

things just do do they always in

of, be there, that decided

or felt or felt maybe or

decided or felt some or urge to

grow a way that these grid

patterns look at the branches

when we look now someone we

know our sitting place we

don't look up so see us so say .

or looking away and

quietly understood okay to say

really . and they sight. and

clock and wonder and it isn't

now that the sun us, our

shadow is front of us . we our we

smear lead with our hand

sticks to

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

one thing? the we we lean

our closer trying the to

hear closer trying to hear

inside ears the inside the

sounds the try try not this

fuzzy of sound against grass

the thisthat theringly ,

the second hand ticking

hand ticking while all these

keeps that from seasonal

allergies. allergies . recognize

. we can't help but help

but smile at the sound make

this this make the of harmony

of and we but okay okay.

which thing work and another

not ? the ? the vibrations

more every time ears closer

trying to hear the sounds but

notice notice. fuzzy kind

fuzzy kind of sound the grass.

we pause and just breathe

for by ticking angles that

making that sound . of laughing

somehow the voices make this

sort somehow sound and

laughing voices make this sort of

harmony hear all these acoustic

slantingway or work and another not

work and one not? the

vibrations time ears closer trying

the to hear inside the

closer closer lean our ears try

not outside making this

fuzzy kind of sound against

the just and ticking by

again again all these angles

crackling , breathe for making

longer and longer and the sun

keeps from bird call and and

somehow and somehow the voices

people laughing of windchimes

and we the the this sort sort

this windchimes and we

harmony the windchimes and we

buzzing buzzing more warmer

warmer but. making .

slantingway time we lean our ears

closer trying to notice. the

the the sun sun outside

making just breathe. again the

thisthat theringly angles

crackling , we longer and breathe

for for sniffling and and we

. recognize. we can't

can't recognize call. at the

laughing and windchimes and

inside us not warmer but more

but more which slantingway

another quiet not more quiet the

vibrations more quiet every every

closer time we our our kind

fuzzy kind the grass . we pause

and just breathe for a the

the a just just just the

second hand ticking hand while

all these sniffling can't

the sound of people

laughing

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.

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.

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.

seventeen.

fixed link mutable link

marbles in a glass bowl,

not going anywhere in

particular seeming to wonder where

the birds get their

melodies, their strange rhythms

tinkling or rubbing cardboard.

the dark bottle looking

right back, eyes glimmering

so loudly with the

sunlight or fluorescent

flickerings or uncharged

batteries. the lithium looking for

water. how's this different?

asking between colorshades

and subject matter like it

were important or something

or something or something

or anothersong

thismomentingly or an old box of cereal,

casting shadows longer than

expected somehow while the light

reflects in its own color onto the

walls and the nearby desk

surface, papers scattered from

months before piled over each

other, some important some not

so much, some with colors

and blindly drawn

paintings and some printed out

from an old black and white

laser jet printer, whatever

that means, whatever those

meaning.

ten.

fixed link mutable link

we ask ourselves some

question we can't hear, muffled

because our heads are

underwater, this cold sensation

pressing on our foreheads while

we feel our socks becoming

heavy, cottonfibers grabbing

skin and dragging behind our

feet, cold passing between

our toes. maroon painted

walls and a thick sweater,

crinkling plastic bag full of

snacks. we notice it is becoming

later every moment, and that

as soon as we count one

number there is another in

front of that, always room for

another one or zero or eighty

seven or pencilcase

dirtyshoe, these power outlets

rusting over even though we

can't see where the water

could have come from fading in

the carpet telling which

way people walk most

without asking why they walk it

so often when it seems

there are so, so many other

ways to go and that this way

isn't even the easiest or most

efficient or beautiful or

surprising: they are taking the path

because it is the path they take,

and we can't help but

laughalittle at how beautiful that is

not to say that one is better

than another or that anyone

is wrong for going the way

they do or that we think we are

better than going that

particular way to the couch, but

that we know in the end we are

going to go that way too and

that's just fine. it's just as

good an option as any so we

don't see a reason why not it's

beautiful enough and it's

surprising enough and that itself

may be the most beautiful

and surprising thing of all

at the moment.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

sixteen.

twenty nine.

thirty one.

zero.

thirty.

one.

twenty three.

three.

twelve.

twenty.

four.

thirteen.

two.

seven.

nineteen.

five.

twenty four.

fifteen.

fourteen.

eleven.

twenty seven.

twenty six.

twenty one.

twenty five.

nine.

twenty eight.

twenty two.

eight.

six.

eighteen.

seventeen.

ten.