we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 7455272

it is 2025. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

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 four.

fixed link mutable link
, and sometimes to and
and sometimes it happens go
from one to the other without
things are sometimes they are,
and to the other without
okay it it happens that that
we go from one to the other
without even trying. okay , and
things are are okay,, and
happens that we go are not okay ,
and sometimes sometimes
are not okay and sometimes
even sometimes things and
that we go from we go from one
to okay sometimes they are
go . okay , they are,
happens happens that sometimes
sometimes to and sometimes things
not, sometimes things are,
from the without even other
without sometimes they that
without even are, and even
trying things are okay, and
sometimes sometimes one. the
other . and sometimes they ,
happens happens happens that we
go from we go from it it we go
to to okay sometimes it
happens that we go trying to , and
are, sometimes it happens
that, and that we to the
trying. things they that we
sometimes they we go from one
without even trying . and
sometimes . and sometimes things
are not sometimes they that
we happens sometimes, and
sometimes that we other things and
sometimes they not and sometimes
they are are sometimes, and
sometimes from one one even they
are are sometimes from and
sometimes they it happens that
without even trying , and are we
go from it happens the
other things are not not . not
okay and it from trying are,,
go go sometimes it to the
and sometimes sometimes
they are, and sometimes from
one to the even trying, and
one to the other and ,
sometimes even sometimes things
are are happens that and
sometimes things are are that from
without the other without. and
sometimes and things even trying
to and sometimes
sometimes that we go sometimes it
happens that from one to from one
. and sometimes. and and
trying to the other and
sometimes things and from one to
the trying . and sometimes
things are not. sometimes
things, other without even
trying . and sometimes it it
happens and not okay are happens
we go

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
all of squares happens
it all just smile just
happens outlines of squares and
trangles into up behind each
pushing which always direction
. not not going the the
could be goals... spray into
the thoughts again., all
these while we watch, and
ideas all into other each
dominoes.. not going seem
buttons and direction. not
going the way, point.
interactions thoughts could be the
point. goals sneaking but
maybe that could intended.
thoughts again. ideas into the
and colors colors and ideas
smile . happens happens
squares squares and outlines of
other themselves the
geometries behind geometries and
to fall relationships
pushing buttons and dominoes
which always seem going
expected or intended,,. we we
expected or intended, but but
maybe into the point . goals
interactions. these watch. it watch
with a a smile. and a smile. it
all with with a outlines
trangles into other squares
other

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
this the fuzzy of sound
against the grass grass. we. we
sound . where while we for, we
longer and sun bird voices make
this of harmony against the
the windchimes and we hear
these acoustic acoustic hear
windchimes acoustic more okay .
which or we lean lean our hear
inside the sounds. we are aware
notice making against the
pause and again again the
again the thisthat theringly
again , by by all angles a while
. we help but smile at
sound and somehow the voices
make voices make harmony
against windchimes making or
more? the vibrations the
vibrations time we lean our ears
closer time we lean ears closer
trying to hear inside we aware
are aware of actions but not
to not to making this
breathe for a thisthat
theringly the thisthat theringly
ticking while making that sound
seasonal allergies . .

two.

fixed link mutable link
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
anything we are
repeating themselves somehow
perfectly would or more laughing
on just keeps going, trees
around a little , smiling and in
an instant we around us,
and object the just sort of,
absorbed by the of of dust and us,
squirrels climb of wheels we
wonder it be a punchline last
some rock the opinions
screams and the, paints and
ticking and. around muffled

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. 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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
looking for for our
instincts different of dealing
and. we don't know first?
amplifying across gestures
amplifying why amplifying one
gestures amplifying social
gestures amplifying across a
group thought the they were so
so many even half of of it it
because there were because
there so many things going on
all at once,, a different
car car this traffic jam in
the piano there isn't. sky
like sky seeming was isn't.
just ceiling ceiling.
emails just. emails and be from
real real people situations
branching out, possibilities
fanning out into options after
weigh. we end up just going we
we we saw first we
incomprehensible tree , options after
options with just with the the
one we saw seems as good as
any for now at least looking
as any one we saw first and
seems as good as any,, our left
for we all ways of we are. for
different responses we different
responses, different ways
smiling. and why these social
gestures across a group of people
? these social of across
why don't know why why don't
why they thought the was
going in every jam, story in
this there was isn't.
another arriving and keep

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.

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.

fixed link mutable link
slowmoving of from does
. and, for smell of for
this ?” and for and once. the
sticks a pink we don't it this
for and, for. the smell of
notice is a slowmoving sound.
we a slowmoving sound how
everything is so pink remember but
for now we “can it stay like
this ?” and of notice maybe
but this “can now. remember
why we stay like. “can it
stay like this while ?” and,
for once, damp sticks
everything remember why now we
don't ?” it stay while like
this for while ?” and, for
smell of outside. the sticks
the smell. pink why now.
stay like ?” and, for smell,
for once, it does damp a pink
remember for “can it ?” and for
don't. “can while ?” and, it
does. the from outside sound
. we notice maybe is so ,
but for. “can it stay and for
a, a while ?” for once , it
does. damp. sticks . how
everything is so pink maybe we
remember don't stay don't it once
, it. a. we notice how so
pink remember why, but for
“can for a while like it of
outside of for sticks from
outside is so pink everything
maybe is for for does. the
smell outside . a don't. for
now we stay while ?” and stay
like for now we don't it this
and it sticks. we notice how
everything is so sound.. a
slowmoving how everything
remember pink but don't. “can it
stay like this for once for ?”
this now we don't remember
why, we we how everything .
we “can it a while ?” of from
we notice how, but don't
for a and . the smell of damp
sticks from we from outside so
slowmoving we notice how
everything is so pink for don't. for
now we don't for a and, for
smell of from outside so maybe
we remember why like this
for a while the smell of from
is so sound. everything
maybe we remember pink maybe
we how pink for now we don't
like now we don't. “can now.
this for a while ?”

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.

eleven.

fixed link mutable link
we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it might be
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if the
leaves on every tree were poems
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
world began to read them out
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began to blow
and the poems went flying in
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence we
can't help but smile a little,
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
left and we all begin to
laugh. we ask ourselves
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine we
realize we didn't want to know
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things all
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
we begin begin to laugh,
and, laugh and these
questions are so second or second a
new question, why we can't
think with at able bad we laugh
laugh. might wonder might if
actually wonder actually
changed over these or really
nothing ever really we
unexpected ourselves in
unexpected question in unexpected
question in unexpected question
in question: “who are you
?” are you are return we
don't. and begin, and can't
see place when like is we or
and we wonder next if
anything changed reject that
ourselves in we and and. why these
questions minute every is more
like why we can't think with
to we to begin

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
ask ourselves where
they came and what caused and
caused of on the face of, how
each knot the someone did,
purpose of these things just if
things own and like we the
incense is might the windows now
this now notice dents and
wooden scratch on someone we
care in wires behind the the
desk these things happen on
their somehow feel like
bodies that the is in that it
might be warm enough outside
this stinging now we we
notice ourselves where they
came and ask ourselves from
caused each paint and scratch
on wires behind did it
purpose of happen just happen
somehow . we we our we are
floating and like we are our the
that it now now we breathe now
. open now stinging
sensation breathe and feel this
stinging we and ask came from what
caused each panels and of
someone in the behind the desk
happened, if of if their sort
happen on moment and eyes eyes
for a moment and feel for a ,
floating outside like we,
floating in foreheads foreheads
the the we breathe the in
small where caused each came
came from where where they
what they they they along
each each of panels of the
paint the face of someone we
each knot, someone did
happened , of of if their own
somehow . we we are floating

thirteen.

fixed link mutable link
we wait for a few minutes
and wonder if it would be
okay for us to ask now: "is
this beautiful?" we wonder
if nobody noticed and we
watch the air just sort of move
around through the leaves. we
take another breath with the
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs and arounds
behindingly the now nowing while
again the time continues and
stops and continues again.
circles of ink we close our eyes.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
we listen to the sounds
of all these people we've
never met laughter and
conversation, pointing toward their
destination as they explain to each
other how they learned about
the place. so many
different types of hats. all these
little motions, events going
back and forth without
leaving any sort of permanent
mark because even roads and
dams and enormous statues
collapse and fade eventually,
and things just do what they
do what they always were
going to do anyway. we try to
figure out where the patterns
in a cloud of leaves come
from, whether we made it all up
or if maybe something
could really be there, that
maybe the leaves decided or
felt some need or urge to grow
in such a way that these
grid patterns come up when we
look at the branches from
below. and now someone we know
comes walking by our sitting
place, but we don't look up so
they don't see us so they
don't say anything. or maybe
they noticed us looking away
and quietly understood
that sometimes it's okay to
just not say anything, that
sometimes we can just be
ourselves. we don't know, really.
and they walk out of sight.
and another thing happens
which doesn't matter, and we
glance at the clock and wonder
if it's eight yet, and it
isn't now we notice that the
sun is behind us, and that
our shadow is in front of us.
we notice how strange our
hair looks when the wind
moves it around into
different shapes. we try to smear
the ink and lead with our
hand but somehow it all
sticks to the paper so well and
remains perfectly legible. we
were hoping that the smudges
might make us somehow misread
a word or note or two and
help us think of something we
wouldn't have otherwise, but
maybe a different technique
or execution would be
better, more appropriate. we
question the idea of relevancy
for a moment, and let it go.
we close our eyes and just
listen to the wind and
airplanes and feel the sun warming
our legs. we wonder what
could come from this just
about anything, really we
wonder if anything could or
couldn't prepare us for it, and if
it would matter anyway

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
have that we remember we
of illusion and that
illusion could even happen not so
much so temperature outside
today, not so or off somewhere
near spoiled food being
eaten food remember that
having our thing. thing thing
and let okay if we let okay if
that's completely that's
completely we be, it be if we watch
the green speck in its in the
same going somewhere in just
, supposedly doing some
in playing, when we don't
quite understand what saying
something outside and wooden are
shaped the are so many
possibilities many ways a everyday
there is new piece of voice and
combinations words, probabilistic
relationships probabilistic
relationships soullessness or
soullessness if emptiness or
soullessness if soullessness if
again, a down the illusion
breaking down again pale of place
out is a we of or we even when
we thought we when we
thought we had a colors an a
librarian a long years ago we had or
came sound is maybe or maybe
the sound is phone playing
music, or back on we remember
that the remember wondering
their own,, wondering

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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 five.

fixed link mutable link
and with conversation
going little faster a
accurate little faster and with
fewer heated do our best we
best to pretend every a
little repetition getting a
accurate, repetition little
more mistakes a little
mistakes. the conversation
heated best we aren't getting a
little aren't listening.
little pretend

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link
we can't help smile a
then how is ever even the week
what two and happening at
same like if suspect nobody
is ) and if they were trying
to write things down as to
write things worrying so much
might breakfast one without
any intention are any
particular intention to begin, a
scratchy pen which ear with it
things just happen we but smile
a and we can't help but
little then think about things
like that we ever days of the
week, what two things
happening at might at same time
might sound someone were to
listen (we someone were (we
suspect like if someone were
same time might suspect like
if to write things as they
about scheduling and books
thinking much about and books and
about books what be for cross
one thing out in place of are
of when we are any of
intention begin with going
scratchy going word which

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link
eyelids, and a
beforemaroon how a to see see under a
color when under these things
slowly the be working
woodenbits seems to we while behind
the the eyelids, the
eyelids, and underthere eyes
again with questions ideas
under under stuck inside
moving so slowly but the seems
to clock seems the as
little fingers and woodenbits
stays the same or wayingsong a
the eyelids,, with how and
ideas questions and ideas
questions and with questions and
to questions when we so
clock working those clunks
and and and suggest and
nobody seems to care about the
to wind wind. agains
eyelids, and a, the eyes again
with questions and under
these things be working usual
working working with as usual
usual with those usual with
those clunks and and little
clunks and fingers woodenbits
we. and conversation
conversation stays the same same same
care. agains the

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link
and stick lines
remember many stick is remember
lines we the many somehow
becoming smoke our we and breathe
we breathe. forget forget
to ask forget to how we
can't help help but smile help
smile smile when when the sun
coming back right on cue shades
lines and and so many lines. we
remember the incense is is of. we
in our lungs we we breathe
and funny we can't starts
cue shades can't can't
names we can't of of these
colors we can't of these can't
lines remember and that the
stick of incense is still of
that the of becoming incense
is still glowing and and we
breathe and we we breathe and we
breathe and we we forget breathe
forget forget isn't it it it
funny sun coming back right on
cue we and we many lines. and
that the stick of in our smoke
and we breathe it help but
when the coming the the sun
starts coming back these
colors lines and lines we
remember that that that the and ..
we! it funny how we can't
help but back starts these
colors colors whose names we
can't remember stick of
incense glowing and somehow in
our lungs ask ask ask
questions breathe. isn't it funny
funny how help but back right
lines and and so the stick of
the remember and somehow
becoming. we forget to. laughing
!. funny how we can't
can't back on whose right
,