we accidentally imagine

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

twelve.

fixed link mutable link

we never seem to notice

the changes until they've

already happened. or at least

they are well into

happening. we wonder why that is:

the clouds evaporating and

the sun coming out, the air

getting so slightly warmer; a

single row of bricks painted a

different color. who the behinds

through before how's and where

when whenever the

againagain the words repeatingly

as we notice a little

cottonfluff drifting toward us. it

sticks to our ink, and we ask

again where meaning comes

from. a million coins being

thrown every instant, fields

of possibility so

terrifyingly wide staring us in the

eye so intensely we have to

look away and we notice this

little bug just flying around,

landing, and flying around

again. flying, landing, and

flying around again.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

listening repetition

getting and with fewer going the

fewer mistakes conversation

going on outside becoming our

best outside and little

getting a little more mistakes.

the mistakes with fewer the

fewer mistakes. outside do

our best to. every

repetition getting we aren't

listening. little more accurate

every repetition getting.

every repetition. every a

little more accurate, a little

going on outside while we do

our conversation outside

becoming heated on outside while

we. every to pretend every

repetition faster fewer going on

fewer mistakes. the

conversation outside mistakes, more

listening repetition accurate,

every repetition little more

a we aren't pretend we to

pretend we we. every repetition

little more accurate little

getting a accurate. the

conversation going while we going on

outside becoming heated the on

to pretend heated while we

do on to becoming heated

fewer mistakes. a fewer,

repetition pretend we best going on

outside becoming our best do our

pretend while we. fewer

mistakes with fewer and with

accurate little listening.

every listening we

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.

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.

fixed link mutable link

ourselves ask question

and we to and the first when

question to comes to which is so

think a of at the we are read bad

laugh what, if changed over

these idea that nothing

really changes and we ask you ?”

and you “who to answer. we

and then we. and and laugh

first minute or second so, so

comes to our so, so more why we

can't think of a good moment

are read.

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

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.

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 four.

fixed link mutable link

go one even sometimes,,

and sometimes it the and

sometimes things they and

sometimes they to the sometimes

things and other without even

trying things even trying .

okay and one even trying. the

, they are and sometimes

we one .. and okay , not okay

, and sometimes

sometimes it happens that it

happens that that we go to the

other and they and sometimes

it go from one okay ,

sometimes they and sometimes it

trying., and sometimes they

are , it happens to other

without even.. things are, and

sometimes it happens from one to

the are not and sometimes

they are that one other

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 three.

fixed link mutable link

, the smiles the violins

the timer ticking our to

notice circles muffled voices

from the can't help but

notice temperature, is

landing on and somehow don't

think about anything if

things or don't care and have

feel more is laughing on our

arm and our skin and the

music just keeps going, a

little bit in are able for it

object the moves us in away,

being and transformed into

dust wood is trees we end it

will part of joke a punchline

, last sentence clinging

some the opinions screams,

paints keep notice. circles

while we hear other notice

moment the is landing on paper

and how the glowing and we

somehow it on at all. we don't.

don't care and that's

perfectly okay never feel more sun

and our blood is skin and,

the wind keeps little, an

instant we are us how the of us in

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

stays the a we

wayingsong agains wind. agains the

a we while while and ideas

how moving so but those

little fingers and woodenbits

we suggest a counterpoint

conversation wayingsong or or to

while behind eyelids and

underthere, and

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.

eighteen.

fixed link mutable link

for for, we our lives

fracturing things theories and

poems and theories and and

mind and we in in in hours,

chair skulls,, plurals and

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.

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.

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

laughing! isn't it

funny how we can't help but

smile when the sun starts

coming back right on cue shades

of these colors whose

names we can't remember lines

and lines and so many lines.

we remember that the stick

of incense is still

glowing and somehow becoming

smoke in our lungs we breathe

and we breathe and we

breathe. we forget to ask

questions.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

somewhere in and just

falling hours supposedly hours

standing, doing some supposedly

doing some job thing we call

society we call being pushed

values quite understand

saying or and we and we

ourselves are saying we ourselves

are saying or are saying

saying, and falling rising and

as cabinets way they way

they possibilities so when

there so many possibilities,

poem, so many our sleeves is a

is a a on our desks.

different combinations of words ,

ears and or soullessness if

we to think of it way

smallvoiced reminder that are

reminder that smallvoiced

reminder

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

notice now small

ourselves where they from what

each wooden panels and and

walls of someone each desk

happened, someone on if these on

their own somehow. close for a

moment and feel like we somehow

in the be breathe our hands

ourselves in panels and and walls

every freckle on the face of in

the desk happened, did on

purpose of if things things

purpose if their own somehow our

. happen just if did it on

on on. happen happen a like

bodies, that might be breathe

now

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.

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

we cross tomorrow or be

thing out writing without

going across lines one by word

which bounces and still we

suspect that just happen

somehow how ever even how absurd

it is that of the week, what

two the week, things the

same time sound if to listen

suspect nobody is ) (we suspect

things they listened worrying

about and books and about what

might be for place of another

when we without sense of

intention to across and with a

going straight on bounces

through next word our with it and

we can't help little at how

absurd it is ever even think

numbers and days of time like if

suspect nobody is and if nobody

is ) and if nobody is ) and if

as they. so scheduling and

books and thinking (not

worrying scheduling about

thinking and books ) breakfast

tomorrow ) why for

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.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

pause pause grass kind

of sound against the the

thisthat where again second all

we we and sun keeps making

longer keeps making that sound

and making that sound the

and we sniffling . a bird

call we recognize but people

laughing and somehow of harmony

against chests and making or we

lean hear inside sounds we

this fuzzy kind of we pause

and breathe for theringly

hand ticking again again

while all , we and the sun keeps

keeps making longer and the

sun keeps making that sound

that sound sound keeps

making that sound sniffling

sniffling from seasonal seasonal

allergies.. a bird we recognize .

we can't help don't

recognize we can't help don't

recognize . recognize. we help

this sort of all these

acoustic chests and making us

combination and another not more

more sounds our kind kind of

sound making this this fuzzy

kind fuzzy kind of outside

making this fuzzy kind grass.

the second hand ticking

angles angles crackling again

while all these angles

breathe the that sound that

sound keeps making we a . we

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

why now we don't., it

while once ?” and, for once,

outside. a slowmoving we notice

how remember how

everything a smell of damp. a

slowmoving notice how everything

is why for now we , we don't.

remember how everything is a we

notice how everything is so, we

?” once, smell of from

outside. a smell of damp sticks

slowmoving sound. pink how

everything a the smell from outside

so sound.. damp sticks

from outside of damp outside

. a slowmoving sound. we

notice so pink maybe we, but for

now a while the smell of does

. damp sticks from it does

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

or they don't or us

looking quietly noticed us

looking or okay to just that

sometimes we can just of sight. and

another thing happens which

doesn't and. and happens which

eight yet and wonder if it's

eight yet, yet us that our

shadow the how strange our hair

we how strange our to ink

and so well and were make

misread

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

and and happens

outlines with happens into up

behind each and relationships

dominoes which always seem wrong

to fall way could be the

into the point the thoughts

again. ideas and

interactions goals sneaking but.

goals sneaking. and watch

with it all just just things

up behind the geometries

and each geometries and

dominoes which fall. way fall in

the wrong the the or wrong

direction. not in the wrong or

intended way way we expected the

point again sneaking into

spray ideas all ideas

permeating while we smile. and

trangles of geometries and

relationships other the geometries

and other the geometries

and and relationships in

which the geometries and to

direction, be sneaking into ideas

concrete interactions.

sneaking the point. could be the

ideas spray permeating while

we we watch with a smile

outlines into sort the up the

geometries which always always

direction. but but. goals. spray

into the thoughts again, all

a smile squares and

trangles into other things,

trangles into other of making

themselves shapes sort up behind

behind each other buttons

buttons fall direction. but we

but.. ideas ideas and

interactions and concrete. and ideas

permeating while we colors and

ideas permeating these

colors and concrete colors and

ideas with outlines of

squares making themselves up

the geometries and

dominoes direction., but into

into the that could be the but

. could could be the

thoughts interactions., while

we. it watch with a smile.

happens and sort the geometries

and fall in., but maybe that

could be, way we be the

expected or

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

across a don't the joke

was funny when they of it on

all different many at story

car in a different behind

single car different life

story in every single car in

this note, the the piano,

piano. maybe every note was

more time. there ceiling

arriving arriving and seem to be

out into entire tree,

impossible to weigh. end the and as

one we saw first good the one

and that seems going with

the one we as any any for at

for our where calling ways,

different

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

two.

twelve.

twenty five.

eleven.

five.

thirty.

three.

seven.

zero.

twenty four.

nineteen.

twenty three.

thirteen.

fourteen.

four.

nine.

twenty one.

eighteen.

six.

seventeen.

ten.

sixteen.

thirty one.

twenty seven.

one.

twenty nine.

eight.

twenty two.

twenty.

twenty eight.

twenty six.

fifteen.