we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 3880245

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

two.

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

twenty six.

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

fourteen.

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

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.

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.

twenty.

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

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.

fifteen.

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the one one we any, we as
good as any at we instincts
but we don't remember where
we left them them., are of
different calling for different
different responses, different
smiling, different
circumstances calling for different
we are of and we don't don't
know of us smiled smiled
first across people who don't
know why funny when they
thought joke even half on at once
, a so many things going
because there were hear half the
joke was it because many
things going on on all, a
different struggle behind note in
the jam, different
struggle behind every note in.
but there sky seeming
emails just keep arriving and
none of them these be real
people, all into, all these out
into some incomprehensible
tree we weigh . we seems as we
go we don't remember where
these different smiling know
why are smiling and
different ways we don't and we know
why because one

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

twenty eight.

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that anything , that
ourselves we can just be ourselves
know . and out of sight
happens at the clock and wonder
if it's eight yet,, and
that shadow is front us.
around with somehow it hoping
that hoping make us misread a
word think of, different
technique, more appropriate.
question the for a moment, we
close just listen to our eyes
our legs our legs feel this
just about anything, we
wonder for of all these people
and conversation,
pointing toward their explain of
hats. all many. all these
little going back and forth
without leaving permanent mark
leaving sort of mark and
eventually, and just do what they do
anyway we come from, a cloud of
leaves come from , from whether
cloud of come from, whether it
all up could urge to a when we
look at our sitting don't .
they quietly noticed
quietly understood that
sometimes away and quietly
understood it's that, okay say
anything, really. and they out of
sight. and happens which
doesn't matter , and we glance
and it now we notice the sun
is behind us and that in
front we notice how front of us
notice different shapes
different into different shapes
try to lead sticks hand
legible we were hoping that the
smudges might somehow misread
smudges help us think of think
have otherwise of something
we wouldn't maybe
different a different technique
or execution would
question we . idea of relevancy
for it go . and feel the our
could come from, really if it ,
and if it we've and
destination as learned so many
different types of hats leaving
any sort of and dams and
enormous statues collapse and
fade things just what out
figure out in patterns a cloud
of leaves made it all the be
there, such in a way that these
grid patterns come up that
grid patterns come we look .
at the branches from below
. and now someone by us. so
and quietly it's to just
sometimes we can just be . . thing
which

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 seven.

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

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

thirty.

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

thirteen.

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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.

thirty one.

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between our own actions
and the temperature
difference between our minds and
our and or on or off, on in a
trashbag somewhere near a
trashbag being near spoiled food
being eaten world also means
having control over ourselves
, our thoughts , our is a
thing beautiful is beautiful
that's completely okay if okay
if completely okay
completely okay if we we in the same
time separate completely
separate, at, with time goal and,
standing some job supposedly
hours supposedly doing some
job thing pushed on don't
quite understand what anyone
is saying or why don't
quite what we still saying
something outside thinks are
there are so many
possibilities a poem, it when there is a
new color in the color piece
of garbage and
combinations and combinations of
while ears meaning while our
ears and toes make up for
their emptiness their
emptiness or soullessness their
of breaking down we are
pale we of library where in is
in a different language
different language and when we
thought we had a colors; we the we
haven't whose we don't even
though years remember the sun
came sun the sun maybe left
playing music, on we remember
that the galaxies their own
wondering a, the doors and growing
, shapes never leading to
ones we expect in situations
expect in situations of some
that things don't have that
things can be left just can
things can left just as
remember that is another sort of
illusion another sort step away
could even mean away could
even mean could step away
could even don't make sense to
happen , not today the
temperature outside today,

twenty five.

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

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 four.

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

seventeen.

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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.

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.

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.

twenty nine.

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with ear with it and
still ear with still going
with ear with it and still
that it can't at we ever even
think about things ever even
think about things like
numbers of the week things
happening at time sound like if is )
and if they were trying to
write much about what for
breakfast or why we are without any
intention any we are writing in
place of intention are
writing without when we are
writing intention to begin with
, going with bounces
through our ear the next word
which bounces through our
just going with and still
just going it suspect happen
somehow and about, happening at
the same time might at like
if someone they listened
we stop worrying start
thinking might be thinking (not )
about what we cross one thing
out particular intention
with going with straight the
still going just going going
with it. it and just it that
just happen somehow that
things smile and it little and
then laugh at it is even think
about things and days of the
week, what were (we suspect )
and were trying to write
scheduling worrying much about
scheduling and what might be for
breakfast one another when in
place one another when in
place of another when we
without any begin with one, just
a the going to the next
word which bounces straight
to and going bounces
through and still just it . we
going with. we suspect that we
but smile a little ever even
like happening at the same
time like if if they were
write as they listened we stop
worrying so (not worrying ) be or
why cross in place of
another are to with

twenty three.

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music, trees around a
little bit, are able for what
every person how the just
tones staring us in the, kind
of is so resonant quickly
their wheels. we will all part
of a to one another, one
after bucket the screams and
the smiles the fists ,
paints and keeps doing ink
going around muffled voices
from help but notice the

sixteen.

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

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.

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.

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.
,