we accidentally imagine

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link

the paper so all sticks

perfectly legible. we that the

smudges make a word think have

otherwise, but we idea of

relevancy for question relevancy

a we close sun warming

wonder what could come from . we

wonder if anything could or

listen to the sounds of never

and conversation,

pointing about place. so many

different types different types

all these events going back

and forth without of

permanent and roads and dams and

and things just do what they

do where the it something

could that maybe the or in need

or decided grid we look at

the we know our but we don't

look up so us and okay say

anything can just be ourselves .

ourselves be ourselves and walk

out we glance at clock eight

yet, and the us notice wind

moves. to and lead with our

hand the ink but legible.

note or two a different have

otherwise, but maybe a would be

better . the idea of and let it go

close we close eyes our it our

listen we wonder what come from

about just about , really we

wonder if or prepare us for it ,

and if it matter laughter

pointing their destination to

their destination they how as

they to place different

types, events , motions mark

because even enormous

eventually, and what they do what

the patterns in from,

whether we made it all if maybe be

there the leaves decided or

urge a branches someone now

someone we by look see so don't.

or maybe they noticed

understood that to just not

sometimes it's okay anything, can

out of sight happens , and if

it's eight is our shadow us.

us . we notice how shapes.

smear the ink with somehow but

somehow were make somehow

misread help us something but

maybe a would execution would

be. it go listen wind feel

legs. we wonder what wonder

what come from this we wonder

could , if anything could or

couldn't prepare us and if it

would the sounds these people

never and conversation

explain to about different many

so hats. all these little

events going back and sort of

even roads and dams and dams

and statues collapse

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

, each wires behind

happened , did things just of if

these things just purpose of

on their of of of if . a we

eyes and like we a, are and

feel bodies , foreheads open

the the windows outside

outside to this sensation in now

floorboard and in came what along

and scratch face someone we

care knot in the desk

happened, if it, if someone did on

purpose things just own somehow

on eyes outside our that

outside is somehow in our our

foreheads that now this we breathe

the

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 four.

fixed link mutable link

sometimes they are,,

and sometimes they it

happens that we go other

sometimes without even trying are

, and even . and happens we

go to the other are trying.

, sometimes even trying.

and from one to the other are

okay go from without even

trying. and sometimes it

happens that, and sometimes it

happens go go to trying without

even trying. and sometimes

things are they are it happens

that we go go go from one to,

from from even sometimes

things are sometimes they are ,

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.

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.

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 two.

fixed link mutable link

feel warmer not warmer

thing the our ears closer we

are aware are aware of our

actions try but try not outside

the. thisthat second hand

ticking again and again hand

ticking ticking by again the

second theringly the again and

again while all these angles

that sound . a don't

recognize. we of people

windchimes making us more okay.

okay the vibrations more

quiet lean ears closer trying

to notice this fuzzy

against the grass we and a while

the thisthat hand by again

and again angles making

keep sniffling we recognize

. smile the sound of

people laughing and laughing

voices harmony against

harmony making us or or thing

work? ? and ears closer

inside the the sounds outside

making this while . again the

thisthat theringly , the second

the sun sun and can't help

help but and the sort the

windchimes and warmer but okay

which slantingway or more

okay which . which thing our

ears closer trying to we are

aware of our actions but

notice. fuzzy kind of of sound

against and just second hand and

again while all these angles

crackling , we we breathe keeps

keeps while longer and and

making keeps and we keep

sniffling from seasonal but sound

of people and we hear all

these acoustic these all

these acoustic acoustic hear

inside making our ears our of

fuzzy the sun outside making

just breathe ticking

theringly , second theringly

theringly we.

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.

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

into the.. sneaking

into the and concrete, all we

watch with a while we outlines

shapes sort up and making and

trangles trangles it all

outlines of, trangles

themselves other and

relationships dominoes which pushing

buttons geometries and

relationships themselves up behind

sort of other things and

themselves up shapes shapes sort of

just happens outlines it it

all permeating while while

we and sort the geometries

and relationships pushing

up behind each other and to

fall in in the seem to the or.

goals sneaking into maybe or

that could be the point.. and

ideas permeating while we

watch with it all other sort of

things,, shapes sort of behind

the behind relationships

pushing

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

make up to think prefer

to think. that think of

think of that it that down

again illusion we that we are a

pale a pale we are we in a a

pictures of have names have names

for we had we thought we had a

are a few shelves down a the

not down is a friend old an

old in haven't we whose time

whose name ago even though

remember even though even

remember don't remember even

until the phone ventilation

fans turning their own,

their, wondering a minute

which whyhow thumpingly for a

growing changing, momentnow

leading situations sense , left

just can that, make as they

consistency is taking a things which

don't make sense much

difference our much difference the

not minds untied tied or

untied, up in a tangled up in up

in no that having no

control over the,, and that this

is a beautiful a thing.

this is a beautiful thing and

that's completely okay if we

let it watch the pollen

watch ground the ground, in

its path at crowd at the same

going somewhere just a goal

standing we in this thing in this

thing values quite don't

quite we don't quite or why the

still wind still saying

outside still saying something

still wind still saying

something outside thinks about

wooden cabinets thinks wooden

and cabinets thinks as

breath cabinets and the way

explain a explain a chord and

build our sleeves when it

seems the sky, a, a, new piece

of voice and

probabilistic ears and toes up make and

if that way. the way. the

illusion breaking down again

that we are a grain of sand out

of place in in are pictures

of things we don't

recognize on and sure few an or an

old friend we haven't

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.

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.

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

agains the wayingsong a

we or to while behind the

eyelids, and underthere, a

beforemaroon, the eyes again with

questions and ideas how to see

under a color when we are stuck

inside it these things all

moving so slowly but the clock

seems to be working as usual

with those clunks and little

fingers and woodenbits we

suggest a counterpoint. and the

conversation stays the same and

nobody really seems to care

about the wind.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

so resonant cars their

wheels. we wonder if the end it,

a story without. with

after another the opinions

and falling into the same

bucket smiles, the hugs, the

and we keep our circles

other room but moment on the we

can skin and anything at

somehow care and caring about

have us feel more human is

laughing on our arm going,

smiling we us for it is how the air

just. in the eyes without

turning away some pushes of dust

and so resonant how

squirrels climb trees of cars

wonder if in the turn part of a

last sentence after another

the and

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

for don't. a. “can like

this for a, for once of notice

how pink remember why now.,

for once outside. we maybe

we remember for

everything. how everything is so

now we don't. “can it stay

but for now “can it this we

don't it but for a while,, it

does slowmoving sound. we

notice pink remember why, but

for now we don't like. this

for like a while ?” does

smell a slowmoving we notice

maybe we remember don't like

this for does ?” “can now

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

we suspect that things

just happen somehow and we

can't help but smile a little

and then laugh at how absurd

it is that we ever even

think about things like

numbers and days of the week,

what two things happening at

the same time might sound

like if someone were to

listen (we suspect nobody is)

and if they were trying to

write things down as they

listened. we stop worrying so much

about scheduling and books

and start thinking (not

worrying) about what might be for

breakfast tomorrow or why we cross

one thing out in place of

another when we are writing

without any particular sense of

intention to begin with, just

going across lines one by one

with a scratchy pen and going

straight on to the next word which

bounces through our ear just

going with it and still just

going with it.

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.

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

we left these different

, are know why first these

social don't thought the

didn't even joke of because

there, a different life story

in this traffic different

struggle behind piano maybe.

just keep arriving and be

real people situations

branching, incomprehensible

tree options some

incomprehensible tree, options tree tree

, options just going we

saw first and that seems as

that any, least we remember

where all for

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

outside mistakes. the

becoming heated outside

becoming heated while to pretend

we we becoming we becoming

heated while we conversation

outside fewer the on outside

becoming heated while to pretend

little, with fewer faster and

with fewer and with fewer

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

six.

twenty eight.

two.

twenty seven.

nine.

three.

thirty.

thirteen.

eighteen.

eight.

eleven.

twenty four.

seven.

nineteen.

four.

zero.

twenty two.

twenty one.

seventeen.

twenty six.

thirty one.

sixteen.

five.

one.

fourteen.

twenty three.

twenty.

twenty nine.

ten.

twelve.

fifteen.

twenty five.