we accidentally imagine

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

the smell of damp sticks

from outside. a slowmoving

sound. we notice how

everything is so pink maybe we

remember why, but for now we

don't. “can it stay like this

for a while?” and, for once,

it does.

zero.

fixed link mutable link

and all at once things

are so quiet, a tiny hiss

from the walls, distant

clanging of a ventilation fan. we

breathe with the sunlight,

passing clouds causing these

little pulses in the sunglow

and somehow we feel it in our

toes even though we can't

quite tell why the wind

chooses the pitches it sings

against the window, why one

harmony should point to

another, why every story has some

sort of climax where

elements and trajectories

culminate into some bigger thing

as if we had been heading

there all along as if there

were some kind of purpose

behind the penscratches or

where this leaf decides to

fall in this rotting pile we

notice a pain in our lower back

from bad posture and some

strange sense of pressure from

the bottom of our right foot

now the ventilation fan

slowing down into a periodic

banging; we notice a coin lying on

the ground but we can't make

out which side it landed on.

do we care? is it good to

care? would it matter if we

knew? we are staring at the

coin and the coin is staring

back.

twenty 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.

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.

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

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

glowing and somehow

becoming in our smoke we forget to

to ask questions laughing

! funny how can't how we

can't help but smile when the

sun back shades these whose

and colors whose can't

remember stick of incense

incense is is still somehow

becoming and is still smoke in our

breathe and we breathe. forget

to ask we. laughing ! it

funny how we can't help but

starts help coming back right

shades sun starts coming on

back these shades of colors

of these colors shades so

and lines still glowing and

somehow we we breathe laughing

it funny on cue remember we

can't remember lines and

lines still incense somehow

of incense is remember

that the many lines and and

many lines. incense we

remember that the

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

stays the the nobody

really same and the really

seems care about wind about to

about about the wind . agains

the or to we or a

beforemaroon, the eyes again with all

moving the clock seems but the

clock seems to those fingers a

a counterpoint. and the

nobody really and agains to

while underthere eyes stuck

all but the clock seems to be

clunks and little fingers and

little and really seems to wind

. agains we the

wayingsong or to while we or,, a

beforemaroon the eyes again with to so

to be working as usual

working as be working as usual

with little fingers clunks

clunks the conversation same

and and to we or behind and

the and underthere a

beforemaroon, eyes questions and

ideas how to see when under

color when we are stuck inside

seems to be working with those

usual usual with those clunks

and and suggest and the

conversation and nobody really to

care about the wind. agains

we behind the eyelids, and

underthere, a color are stuck stuck

inside are stuck inside it

things be as we suggest and the

conversation same really to care

about the underthere, ideas

to color stuck inside it

these all these things all so

slowly but moving moving so

slowly slowly the clock seems

but the clock seems to be

with those woodenbits we

suggest a stays and seems to care

about the wind about

wayingsong we or with

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.

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.

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

sort of another taking

which don't make sense to

happen not so much to happen not

so much outside much and

our our and or or tangled up

food being the world control

over the control means

having no actions, and that

this is a beautiful

beautiful this okay if we watch the

, following a at

completely separate, at the same

time at completely separate

, at the, separate, going

somewhere going falling in the

air's path standing around

for standing path,

standing some job playing some we

call society, society,

defined values being pushed on

everyone even on being don't when

we don't understand what

anyone is understand what they

are saying it or ourselves

sun's falling still belly

still rising belly every and

as and why are shaped the to

write many, many ways to build

a seems sleeves when

seems sleeves when seems it

new. desks combinations of

words, words, probabilistic

relationships ears for make that think

of think down that

smallvoiced reminder that we are a we

are a grain of sand out and

there and there are of things

we don't when we thought we

when thought colors; a few

shelves a feet

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link

time might sound like

(we write down as they were

trying write things so. to

write stop much they about

scheduling worrying so. we write

things down as. we stop

worrying so much about

scheduling ) about for breakfast

tomorrow another when intention

to begin with just

scratchy pen straight the going

straight which our ear next word

which bounces

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

sun against we

theringly crackling, while again

angles making that sound the

sun keeps making making

seasonal recognize. we can't

help but recognize. the

voices voices the voices make

this sort windchimes we hear

all and making us feel

combination making another not?

lean hear inside the actions

actions but not. pause against

the grass sound just

breathe just breathe for a while

. where again the

thisthat where again angles for a

sun a while longer and sun

keeps call we can't help but

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

things are not,

sometimes it that we other without

okay go from even trying

sometimes., sometimes from one to

the other even trying to the

one. and okay, and go from

one even okay and they are

okay, they to the. things it

happens that we sometimes

sometimes things it happens that

to other without. and they

that we go to trying , they are

, and are happens

sometimes it it happens that we go

one to other without. and

trying and sometimes we go from

one the other trying

sometimes things are not okay,

sometimes okay sometimes that we

go from other other

without. okay , and they , and

sometimes it we go from other other

go from the trying. and and

sometimes, and one happens that

one to other without are not

okay, and sometimes

sometimes that without even

trying trying not things

sometimes and sometimes trying

trying. and sometimes things

not and sometimes it it

happens that we go from one the

the other and, from one to

the sometimes are, we go

things are sometimes not okay,

and sometimes they are, and

go without without even

even trying and sometimes,

from one to okay, and one the

other without even other

without even trying things are

and okay , and sometimes

sometimes it from one the without

sometimes not okay , go from from

one happens that it they it

and without., sometimes

they sometimes to the other

go sometimes one other

sometimes things are not okay and

and sometimes are, one go

from one to from one not okay,

, sometimes sometimes it

that we trying. and

sometimes they are other without

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.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

to and each pushing

buttons and dominoes which

always seem to fall way we we but

maybe that the thoughts.

goals sneaking be. ideas and

interactions goals sneaking into

maybe that could thoughts

again sneaking into ideas

spray paints and concrete

watch and ideas permeating

while while we we watch with

happens , shapes into other

things each geometries which

always seem buttons buttons

the dominoes which always

seem to fall direction. not

expected or wrong to dominoes

which pushing buttons

geometries and relationships seem

. we expected or wrong

direction. fall relationships

pushing buttons and dominoes

which in the the wrong the way

we expected or intended,

but maybe into the. spray

all permeating while we we

watch with a smile smile smile

. it outlines of squares

and trangles into into

other

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

, absorbed by the dust

and is their wheels. wonder

in end it joke without a one

, opinions into, the

screams and the we doing ink

going around on muffled from

help but moment around us,

how room glowing and we can

our skin a. repeating

somehow we don't would never

have made us more human, more

like blood glowing through

the music wind keeps

pushing around a little bit, and

and in an we are person and is

just. these tones without

turning away the floorboards

and transformed into some

kind of kinetic wonder why,

how squirrels climb trees

of cars turn their will be

story without these some rock

glue one opinions and bucket

, the screams and the

smiles, fists paints and timer

keeps ticking our pretending

not ink hear muffled from

the we can't help

temperature changing every moment

all us how piece whole room

is somehow feel at all or we

care we don't care more happy

or more like on blood is

glowing and, around a little to

everything around for person doing

, how the air just sort

away, being absorbed

kinetic energy which pushes of

dust wonder why is climb

trees of cars end a last some

the opinions and facts

falling bucket, the hugs paints

and violins we

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

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

all these different

circumstances calling for different

responses, different ways of

dealing and smiling. we are

smiling and we don't know why

because one of us smiled first?

these social gestures

amplifying across a group of people

who don't know why they

thought the joke was funny when

they didn't even hear half of

it because there were so

many things going on all at

once, a different life story

in every single car in this

traffic jam, a different

struggle behind every note in the

piano. maybe if there was more

time. but there isn't. the sky

seeming like just another

ceiling. emails just keep

arriving and keep arriving and

none of them ever seem to be

from real people, all these

situations branching out into

entire stories,

possibilities fanning out into some

incomprehensible tree, options after

options impossible to weigh. we

end up just going with the

one we saw first and that

seems as good as any, for now at

least we go looking for our

instincts but we don't remember

where we left them.

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

eight.

fixed link mutable link

we accidentally

imagine ourselves as having for

a head this strangely

shaped box or a bird feeder with

a triangular roof or

something similar and we are

sitting in the front passenger

seat of an old car and someone

we care a lot about asks,

who are you? and we

think for a minute, and then

another. we aren't able to answer

with anything except a held

hand, and we somehow find

ourselves caring more about them

just because they asked.

they can't answer either,

and the grip gets tighter

and they aren't making eye

contact but that's okay because

we aren't looking anyway

and we are both these

strange wooden boxes attached

to bodies, heads without

eyes which still say so much,

eyes without laughinglines

which always find new things

to smile about an itch

behind our ears, the way this

piece of paper falls on the

ground, the sound of an overhead

lamp switching on laughing

about nothing in particular

and everything in

particular, wanting to want

everything and wanting to want

nothing, to feel everything and

to feel nothing, or at

least something the grip

getting tighter and we remember

how okay it is, how

beautiful it is and how funny it is

that poetry and music might

be the same thing after

all, that hiding is okay

sometimes and being naked is okay

too, that sometimes things

lead to other things, and

sometimes they don't, and

sometimes things just happen and

they keep just happening and

they don't stop. they don't

stop and it seems like they

never will, so it starts

making sense to just accept

this and close our eyes and

smile a little but somehow

this feels impossible. we

get frustrated and start to

do things we don't want to

do, blaming other people

for things nobody had

control over in the first place

and jumping to conclusions

and making assumptions

about other people and their

intentions and what they want or

what they are afraid of. we

forget that they are us, that

their grip is getting tighter

and that nothing is okay for

them either. we remember

that their boxy head is

crying and we have been trying

not to notice. we remember

that we are all the same

person born into different

bodies, and that this is a

beautiful thing. this is a

beautiful thing.

eleven.

fixed link mutable link

we keep asking

questions like “will this make me

happy?” when instead it might be

more interesting to ask what

it would sound like if the

leaves on every tree were poems

written on little sheets of

paper and everybody in the

world began to read them out

loud all at the same time and

then the wind began to blow

and the poems went flying in

the air all around and

everybody just watched it happen

in complete silence we

can't help but smile a little,

and then a lot. and someone

hugs the stranger to their

left and we all begin to

laugh. we ask ourselves

another question we can't hear

because of all the wind and

poems, and that's just fine we

realize we didn't want to know

the answers anyway when

there are so many confusing

and beautiful things all

around us anyway. we just keep

laughing and grabbing poems out

of the air, sometimes

deciding to read them and

othertimes using them as napkins.

the wind, the wind is

laughing too.

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.

seventeen.

fixed link mutable link

marbles in a glass bowl,

not going anywhere in

particular seeming to wonder where

the birds get their

melodies, their strange rhythms

tinkling or rubbing cardboard.

the dark bottle looking

right back, eyes glimmering

so loudly with the

sunlight or fluorescent

flickerings or uncharged

batteries. the lithium looking for

water. how's this different?

asking between colorshades

and subject matter like it

were important or something

or something or something

or anothersong

thismomentingly or an old box of cereal,

casting shadows longer than

expected somehow while the light

reflects in its own color onto the

walls and the nearby desk

surface, papers scattered from

months before piled over each

other, some important some not

so much, some with colors

and blindly drawn

paintings and some printed out

from an old black and white

laser jet printer, whatever

that means, whatever those

meaning.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

what caused walls face

of someone we a lot how each

desk happened , if if these

things of their own of close

eyes incense is somehow it

might be warm outside to open

the windows outside to open

the windows now to now we

breathe and feel this our now now

floorboard small dents in the and

they ask ourselves where

from and scrape along

freckle walls of wooden freckle

freckle and scratch on the about

, care knot knot, how in

how each knot happened , if

someone

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

going becoming heated

while listening while we do

heated while we do we aren't

listening. every repetition

getting a little getting

pretend we. every more accurate

, a repetition accurate

and with . the conversation

a and little faster on

outside becoming going on the

conversation and little fewer

mistakes. with fewer mistakes

with fewer faster and with a

repetition getting a little more

getting a accurate, repetition

getting a we aren't getting.

getting every repetition

listening. our best getting a

little fewer going little

faster and with little faster,

a and with accurate, a

little with fewer going while

listening. little

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

we begin to, and, and

questions every minute our ears

which is a or second a new

question seems when it a is so, so

more important like why to

able handwriting., laugh.

we. we wonder over these

reject the idea that ourselves

?” unable to answer. begin

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty.

zero.

twenty one.

nineteen.

three.

six.

four.

sixteen.

eighteen.

fourteen.

one.

ten.

five.

thirty one.

thirteen.

twenty nine.

twenty two.

twenty four.

twelve.

twenty six.

twenty three.

twenty eight.

fifteen.

seven.

two.

eight.

eleven.

nine.

seventeen.

twenty seven.

twenty five.

thirty.