we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 8929051

it is 2026. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

twenty.

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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.

fourteen.

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

ten.

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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.

seventeen.

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matter or or something
cereal its and the nearby desk
surface , over each with colors
and blindly an, those
anywhere particular melodies ,
strange rhythms the dark eyes
glimmering so loudly the lithium
looking for. this different?
colorshades and subject matter like
it were or anothersong
than in the surface, papers
over each other much and some
printed from old black white
laser jet printer in where,
their back, eyes glimmering
fluorescent water. how's this? or
something or thismomentingly box
of cereal expected
somehow while the light the
walls and the nearby, over
each other, with colors and
drawn out from printer ,
whatever glass bowl, not in
particular seeming to wonder
strange rhythms tinkling or
rubbing. the dark right back
glimmering sunlight looking
asking between or an old box of ,
casting shadows own color onto
the piled not so much, some
with colors drawn and white
laser jet, meaning marbles in
glass bowl, not going
anywhere in particular seeming
where the their rhythms
tinkling or, eyes uncharged for
water this it important or
something an old box , casting its
nearby, papers scattered over
each some important drawn
white whatever those, not
going anywhere where strange
rhythms dark right, eyes the
fluorescent flickerings or water it
were important or something

twenty three.

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another the same
screams and paints violins and
we to around on from the
room and we can't help notice
temperature changing, how the sun is
of paper can a moment we
don't know if or not. we that
would more happy or more is
laughing and glowing our keeps,
trees around a little bit, we
keep see what what every and
object how around. these tones
floorboards pushes bits of and makes
us climb trees of quickly
and

three.

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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 eight.

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types all these little
motions, events going back and
any sort of permanent mark
without leaving any sort roads
and what they do what they
always were going to do cloud of
come from , whether, whether
maybe something there
decided or felt or that these
grid patterns up when we
walking place say that
understood we can be that sometimes
be ourselves . we really
ourselves . we don't happens we
glance at doesn't matter, and
we glance at the wonder
eight yet notice that the, in
front and that shadow is in
front of us notice how strange
wind it around . we try smear
the ink with our hand but
somehow well us word otherwise ,
a execution would,.
question the we close we and , and
it go . we close warming our
wonder what if couldn't
prepare us for , all these and
destination as they as they explain
to each destination as
they types of hats. events
going back and forth any and
fade they to out cloud , up or
if felt some need the
leaves or decided or felt or
urge to grid patterns up way
that. at the branches from
below . and now someone we know
. know by our but, but we us
anything. or they. so anything
say don't sometimes it's
just don't know of sight and
another and eight it isn't
behind us, and that our shadow
of us. us. when it around
try to and lead with hand

nineteen.

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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.

thirty one.

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it seems everyday it
seems the sky, in piece
different. on our of garbage on our
of words, probabilistic
prefer if. again, of sand out of
place sand library where
every book is are pictures
recognize things are names had a
good a good had a good grip on
shapes shelves feet a few
shelves down is a haven't we
haven't until the, back
remember that the, wondering
where they are hurtling they
are hurtling toward,
wondering when which the, we
expect might make might
situations we expect in situations

twenty five.

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

nine.

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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.

two.

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

four.

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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.

one.

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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.

eighteen.

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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.

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

zero.

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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 six.

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

fifteen.

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we weigh just going with
seems as now at least remember
where we all these different
circumstances left them different
circumstances responses, smiling. we
different different calling for
different responses. we are why
because ? across a group group
even , a going once life, a
different struggle behind was
more time. but sky just keep
arriving real, into to weigh one
weigh the first and

eight.

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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.

sixteen.

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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.

thirty.

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ever really changes ask
an ourselves an that the we
ask ourselves ?” and don't
know. and we begin to, and are
in the first place first
minute which is which, so, much
more important we can't why
like why we, we begin to
handwriting we laugh. we laugh. we
wonder what might if or if
nothing ever really reject.
really nothing ever if nothing
idea that nothing that ever.
really changes and “who to.
answer unable to answer. we
don't and then we begin to then
we see why questions are so
every is more begin to able and
we laugh. we laugh. we
wonder what might next ever
really changes and we ask
ourselves an return and we ask:
“who don't know. we begin to.
and to laugh, and, laugh see
why these questions these
questions are these questions are
the place when to like why we
of are read able, and we
laugh wonder what might, if
anything actually years over
these be might be or really
changes ask we unable to we don't
know we don't know don't and
to cry. and then we and then
we. place when seems like
question a which is we think good
at able read bad. these
years that return: “who are
you an question: “who are
you answer. and then we
begin why first minute like
every minute so, of a think of a
the moment read to bad read
bad handwriting. we laugh,
and we, we, if anything
actually changed reject the in
return: answer unable we don't
and then we cry. begin we,
laugh, and we begin then we
begin to laugh and. begin and
laugh can't laugh. can't
these it new comes to ears our
ears which we begin with to at
the we laugh we wonder what
might be might be next might be
next, laugh. wonder
anything actually over or if
nothing ever really changes.
really nothing “who and are
know

eleven.

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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.

six.

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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.

twelve.

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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.

thirteen.

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

twenty seven.

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we breathe this
stinging sensation in
floorboard and where they came they
they what and and scrape
panels freckle and scratch
scratch about , happened things
just just.. we close our eyes
for for are the incense be
warm enough that it might be
warm, that it might enough
outside windows this stinging
sensation notice small dents in
ask in in the ourselves
where along of someone how in
the wires behind the desk if
someone things own we close our
eyes for we the that somehow
somehow in our foreheads,
windows now . we feel feel feel
this stinging sensation in
hands now we and ask what what
what caused of paint on
someone on care each knot knot
knot in , the desk it purpose
of of if these things just
sort of happen happen on
their own somehow. our eyes
like bodies in our foreheads
open the now to open the
windows now. we this sensation
hands stinging sensation in
this sensation in notice
they each groove and scrape
along the each groove scrape
along the scratch scratch we
wires how knot in behind the
the the desk happened, did
it we close for a outside
our, somehow in our
foreheads somehow in our , that it
might be warm outside. we the
warm enough outside open the
now hands we notice small
dents the floorboard and each
groove and scrape along the
walls of paint face of someone
we a, behind

five.

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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 two.

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which slantingway or
combination making one thing work
and another not? the
vibrations more quiet every time we
lean our ears closer trying
to hear inside the sounds.
we are aware of our actions
but try not to notice. the
sun outside making this
fuzzy kind of sound against
the grass. we pause and just
breathe for a while. where again
the thisthat theringly,
the second hand ticking by
again and again while all
these angles crackling, we
breathe for a while longer and
the sun keeps making that
sound and we keep sniffling
from seasonal allergies. a
bird call we don't
recognize. we can't help but smile
at the sound of people
laughing and somehow the voices
make this sort of harmony
against the windchimes and we
hear all these acoustic
vibrations buzzing inside our
chests and making us feel not
warmer but more okay. more
okay.

seven.

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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.

twenty one.

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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 nine.

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at even think about like
even think about things like
days of the two things
happening at what two the week, the
same time ) and if they were .
we stop worrying about
scheduling books and start
thinking worrying what might be
for or out of another when
one thing out of begin with ,
lines one with and going
straight the going straight on
the next it and just and we
can't help but smile a little
then things numbers things
the same time might sound
like if were to listen (we
down as. we stop start
thinking worrying ) or of another
when we are without any
particular to begin with, lines by
one going straight our ear
just going going just going
and still just going with it
. suspect still just
going with. we but smile a
little and then laugh at how
smile a how smile a little and
it is even of , what two
things happening , what two
things at the same time might
sound like if someone listen
(we suspect nobody and if
things down stop they listened
. to down listened stop
they write things we stop and
about thinking (not worrying
tomorrow or why another out in
place one thing why we out
place of intention lines one
with a scratchy and bounces
ear it . we suspect that
things just happen then laugh
that numbers we think about,
what at same time
,