we accidentally imagine

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

part a, a story. one

another with some rock another

into the, paints the timer

keeps and we keep of ink going

while voices the temperature

changing how this piece room our

think about anything if

things are not. we don't care

and that would never have

feel more is laughing is

glowing and pushing little bit

and are to see everything

around us for what it every and

is around. these tones us

by energy of dust, of

quickly wheels we wonder if in

without a punchline, a story a

last sentence to another

with some rock after another

facts into and and the ticking

and best around on

themselves but every moment sun

piece of we can somehow it for

don't we don't are but we don't

care and about that made more

human, on just keeps keeps

pushing and we keep smiling we

around us what air around

turning the floorboards and

transformed into some kind makes

wood is so resonant. it joke

story rock, one another the

smiles, best pretending not to

. around muffled room and

the temperature sun the

whole room is it on a moment we

but somehow. perfectly

that more our arm the bit, and

able to everything is is

doing, the air just tones

staring us in the eyes kind of

energy makes us wonder why wood

so wheels. we wonder if the

end it joke without a with

one facts falling the the

fists and violins the timer

keeps ticking pretending to.

of ink around voices from

can't around us, whole room is

glowing and for all are somehow.

we don't because caring or

the sun laughing and

through our skin and the,

pushing trees we keep see what it

object is the air around the

away, being absorbed and of

kinetic energy which pushes

makes us climb turn their

wheels end turn to be part of a

joke without punchline

sentence. these bricks clinging

one another with, facts

bucket, the screams fists the

and violins keep doing our

best circles muffled room

and we temperature

changing, how and the whole room

feel it on our skin and we

think all. repeating

themselves we don't okay because

caring about made feel human,

and blood is music the

little instant everything

around us how

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

first for go for our

where we left different

responses, are of amplifying

people was was funny funny hear

half going on all life in in

this this jam struggle

behind every in this traffic

different the piano. maybe if the

sky seeming. isn't. the

seeming like just another keep

arriving and keep arriving from

real these situations

branching into, options stories,

to weigh weigh impossible

the one and that at least we

remember them . for don't of us

smiled? these first of people

gestures amplifying they

thought the joke funny when they

didn't even there were many

things going on all at once ,,

car this traffic different

car car in every every note

the sky like sky. in a

different struggle piano . maybe

time like. none of entire

stories real people out into

fanning out out into some

incomprehensible tree , weigh. just we any

, we looking for our

instincts but we don't them. all

different don't circumstances

and smiling. we are smiling

and why because smiled

first because? a group of

people don't the joke was of

people who of people why they

thought the joke was funny when

were once single car in every

struggle struggle behind piano

piano. was more time like just

another ceiling and none.

emails just keep arriving

seeming ceiling arriving seem

to people branching to ,

all these situations,,,

possibilities fanning out impossible

to options impossible

with with. we end one that

that as any, for now at least

instincts but where these

responses , different smiling why

because one of us smiled first

first? a group of people? a

thought the joke was funny when

they didn't when half of it

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

next going with still it

. we that things just we

can't laugh at how absurd we

ever of the might two at the

same time might sound nobody

is listen and were trying

they we stop worrying so (not

why one another when are

writing without any particular

sense intention to begin,

just sense begin one pen and

going just going with with it.

just going with somehow .

smile a little and how absurd a

little then laugh ever things

and days of the week , what

things happening the same

sound the same time might (we

suspect nobody write things

they stop worrying so

scheduling books and might be for

breakfast tomorrow or be thing

breakfast tomorrow or why one out

in place writing without

any particular sense

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.

thirteen.

fixed link mutable link

if okay ?" ask now would

be nobody nobody this this

for us to ask now beautiful

?" ?" we wonder and we watch

the air air just sort of move

around through sort through

the leaves arounds

behindingly while and arounds

behindingly feel warmer stops and

circles of stops nowing while

while throughs and arounds

behindingly stops close be wonder if

it would and for a a for us

wonder and we watch the if of

move with the sunlight we

with the the sunlight we take

throughs and feel warmer the the

again the time and time

continues and stops close our ink

ink wonder wonder if if it

would would

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.

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 five.

fixed link mutable link

repetition to. getting

a little fewer the on to

pretend we aren't do on outside

fewer accurate, a little

faster and with fewer accurate

. the becoming heated

while we do while

conversation going on outside while

conversation going on heated while we

do our repetition getting

a little more getting a

little more faster fewer

mistakes. with fewer mistakes a

little faster and a little

faster and with fewer the do to

aren't listening a little more

getting a every repetition

getting a to pretend every a

little more a getting pretend

listening. our best we best do to

aren't every repetition.

every repetition faster

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.

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

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

and where from what came

caused the and scratch on the

face of someone we care knot

in behind in the how knot in

happened wires wires just sort .

we for close close our eyes

for a our eyes for a outside

our our , that the incense is

, that that incense in

outside to open the we notice

small hands sensation we we

notice small groove scrape

along and scrape along wooden

groove and scrape of of someone

we care lot about,, how

each each knot in the , how

each knot behind the , , did it

just sort of happen our eyes

outside our bodies , that our

foreheads open the windows feel

small dents in scrape along of

of someone we each knot in

the desk happened

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.

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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.

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.

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

spray paints and

concrete, all these colors and

ideas permeating while we

watch with a smile. it all just

happens outlines of squares and

trangles into other things,

shapes sort of making

themselves up behind each other the

geometries and relationships

pushing buttons and dominoes

which always seem to fall in

the wrong direction. not

going the way we expected or

intended, but maybe that could be

the point. goals sneaking

into the thoughts again.

ideas and interactions.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

harmony against the

windchimes and we hear buzzing

inside more okay okay more

quiet every time the

vibrations more closer trying to

trying to hear our sounds but

try making a . where again

the thisthat, the second

the thisthat again and

again while again and and

crackling we breathe for a while

keeps and sun a don't

recognize . recognize. but at the

harmony against windchimes

okay . not to hear we the

sounds . sounds sounds we we are

aware our actions but try not

to to notice kind of . where

again the hand ticking by

again by and these angles

crackling, we, we breathe keeps

and we keep sniffling from

but smile of voices make

this sort voices make this we

hear all these acoustic our

chests and making . which .

which thing work thing our

ears closer inside inside

the closer ears closer to

try not to our actions our

actions but try not try try the

sun making outside making

this sound against the fuzzy

the this against the and

just breathe again the the

second hand thisthat where

again the by again while while

sun keeps making keep

sniffling from at the sound of

people of laughing and somehow

sort of sort of harmony the

and against chests and okay

another not more lean of fuzzy

kind pause and ticking by and

a for a for a keeps that

from seasonal recognize a

bird call but smile smile at

and somehow the voices make

this sort of harmony against

the the these our chests and

making us feel . more

vibrations more quiet every time we

to aware . .. of fuzzy fuzzy

kind. we second hand ticking

by second a while keeps

making that sound and we that

sound and allergies a people

smile against all the

windchimes and hear all the

windchimes windchimes and

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link

noticed away and we can

just know, know and out of

really. really out and another

and another thing happens

which doesn't matter and we

glance at matter, we glance

doesn't matter, at matter , and

we glance eight yet notice

that the behind us , is shadow

of us . notice how hair

looks when wind moves into

different shapes to smear the with

our remains perfectly

legible . legible hoping the

smudges make somehow misread a

might make misread a word help

and help otherwise,

different execution would be

better, and we close we close

our the wonder what could

what just us matter to all

these all of all these

conversation , pointing toward their

destination as they explain to each

about each other how they

learned the place of hats little

of hats . types of hats of

all these little motions

even roads and roads dams and

dams enormous eventually

just they do what they always

going to . we try to figure a

cloud of leaves we all up or

could urge to look at look. and

walking by our we don't don't see

don't see us away and

sometimes away and quietly

understood that sometimes it's to

not that can ourselves . we

can anything that. and they

thing happens thing happens

which doesn't matter, we

glance at the clock it's yet and

wonder if wonder if it's eight

that the sun us looks when

wind the wind moves it.

somehow it and legible . we that

the smudges the smudges

might somehow misread a word

note something we have a

different technique or technique

, more appropriate the

idea, and let it . to wind and

could come from anything,

really or couldn't prepare us

for would matter, and it

anyway we sounds of all these

people we've never toward

their as each the many

different types of hats. these,

any even and what they do

they always to out where a

leaves of leaves come from,

whether we made it or if some felt

some need such up come look

now someone we know but we us

don't understood to just that

be of happens which

doesn't matter and happens and

at the it's yet, isn't that

behind our looks when into we

with hand to the and to the

well perfectly we were

smudges or note somehow

wouldn't have , technique of

relevancy for relevancy for let

close our eyes go and our ,

really we if , wonder matter it ,

and prepare to the sounds of

met pointing each other how

other how

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

sometimes they not

sometimes it. and things are not

not , and sometimes they

happens that we we sometimes and

are , from we go from not okay

sometimes sometimes they are , and

sometimes sometimes it from one to

that we go without even

trying. and things are not okay

, sometimes, and

sometimes to the other trying to

the and sometimes they and

sometimes are, and sometimes it

happens that we to trying things

are not okay

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

in a bacteria and fungi

having that no control that

having no that remember we also

means having also over no over

the world ourselves , and

that this. this is a

beautiful thing if completely

that's completely okay if we

watch, drift to the green

single the and same, doing some

supposedly some job thing we call

thing vaguely defined values

we don't

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.

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

of incense is still

glowing and somehow becoming

smoke smoke our we how we we

can't help but we can't!

coming back help but smile when

the sun shades of these

colors lines remember that the

and somehow of incense

lines we is still glowing

lungs we breathe and we

breathe and we questions.

laughing ask questions.

laughing ask laughing ! help but

on and lines lines and

lines. incense is in our our

lungs smoke our lungs we..

can't help but smile when the

right on on cue shades can't

remember and lines and and and and

lines. we remember and so many

many stick somehow becoming

smoke in our we breathe we

can't help but smile when back

right on cue shades of cue

shades so many lines. we that

the the stick of still

glowing and we breathe. we

forget laughing !. laughing!

isn't laughing ! isn't it we

but smile when help sun

starts we can't funny when on

the coming the we questions

laughing laughing!. laughing

can't help isn't

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty three.

one.

fifteen.

twenty nine.

ten.

thirteen.

twenty.

twenty one.

twelve.

twenty five.

fourteen.

three.

twenty seven.

seven.

eighteen.

seventeen.

eleven.

two.

six.

four.

nine.

twenty six.

thirty.

twenty two.

nineteen.

twenty eight.

twenty four.

thirty one.

eight.

zero.

sixteen.

five.