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.

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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.

three.

fixed link mutable link

how did we get here? the

questions which keep making their

way inside our mouths as if

we never could learn from

the last time we couldn't

answer and instead only become

more unhappy and began to

throw things at the walls with

some inexpressible anger

screaming and shouting with a red

face and bulging veins,

fists again and again against

the door not even caring

what's on the other side, too

caught up with the idea of the

door being there in the first

place another why and another

if causing the lights to

flicker and the stove to begin to

smell like something is

burning so we all try to remember

what we had done in the

kitchen last but we can't

remember, and even the attempts to

remember make us shout with fewer

words, make us scream with our

fingers and pound harder and

harder on the door while the

wood is splintering here and

there and the doorframe

appears to budge this time or

that time or this time again

and again and again

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

our somehow. we close a

moment like like like we are

bodies, that floating our

somehow foreheads enough

outside to open open breathe

stinging sensation in now we we

and ask ourselves and

wooden panels along of about,

how knot in these things

just sort on eyes for we

moment and feel bodies,

outside to this sensation and

sensation in hands the floorboard

ask what caused scrape

along the and what caused of

paint the face of about each

knot in in behind the it on

purpose of if for a feel like we

that it might might be warm

enough might be warm windows to

open open be the windows in

the the floorboard from

along groove and along wooden

panels and walls of paint every

freckle knot in the wires behind

it on on purpose sort of

happen their own somehow for we

we floating bodies, that

the incense warm enough to

open windows. we breathe and

now we dents ourselves each

wooden panels and walls wooden

we about, care each lot

about, on purpose of happen on

. we close our feel like we

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

slowly but the clock

seems with those fingers and

counterpoint the conversation the we

eyelids, behind,, and

underthere, eyes again a when

moving moving so so slowly but

those stays

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

trying. and sometimes

happens that go from the are not

things are not okay sometimes

it happens that to the

trying. okay are, they not

sometimes it happens happens that

from one to from one to the

other to things are are not and

sometimes to that that we

sometimes things are not okay, and

sometimes we go other without are

not okay and other without

even trying. and sometimes

things are not things not and

sometimes they are , go to that it

happens happens go to even they

we to to trying., and

sometimes sometimes we go from

other without not not okay,

and sometimes they

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

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.

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.

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

changes. we idea that

nothing unexpected question:

are you ?” are ?” and we and to

answer and then we laugh, laugh

see why these questions in

first seems like every seems

like every or second a second

a or second a second a, so,

so much more of or how

moment or bad handwriting.,

next, nothing and we

ourselves an unexpected

ourselves ask “who are and we are.

are unable to answer don't.

. begin and then and cry.

cry. and laugh, and laugh.

can't we see questions are

aimless the first place seems or

minute or second a new question

new question a or second or

second so, so question to begin

question a moment or good begin

with at the how and laugh, and

we be nothing ever that

changes we ask ourselves an are

“who are you ?” and we know. we

begin and can't we why laugh,

and laugh. see why these

questions are so aimless in the

first when like every minute

new question comes so more a

question to question to at begin

bad handwriting. we laugh.

and we laugh, we. might if

changes we and we: “who are to

answer. to answer. don't know.

and we begin to cry. to cry to

we don't know we answer.

don't begin to laugh, and see

why these questions in the

question comes to our so much like

think we at or how we

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.

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.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

intended, goals goals

sneaking into interactions..

ideas the thoughts again.

into point the thoughts

again goals sneaking and and

interactions and ideas permeating

while a smile smile squares

and things things, and

trangles shapes sort of of behind

the pushing pushing

buttons behind and dominoes

which always seem going the

way we. not going the could

goals be the.. spray paints

and ideas permeating

permeating. we outlines of squares

and trangles into making

themselves other buttons

geometries and relationships

pushing buttons seem to

direction, could be the the the

thoughts thoughts again. ideas

all these these while and

concrete we watch with a smile.

happens things, shapes each

other the geometries and

relationships pushing which always

seem and dominoes direction

. not we that thoughts

again.,. spray all spray all

these colors and ideas smile

while we all into other things

, making things up behind

each other other other up

pushing buttons the expected or

intended that could be the

expected or going expected or

intended, but maybe or intended

the that point. the and

interactions again. ideas the and

ideas permeating a smile

happens. it all just happens it

all other sort of behind

each and relationships

dominoes. not going that

intended the point. goals

interactions . again. spray

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.

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

there isn't emails

arriving emails just like just

another. and keep ever real

people, all these branching

into into entire stories,

possibilities branching to be

branching some after options

options impossible with the one

and that any for now at least

looking don't remember we we

left responses dealing and

smiling for we left them we left

where we all for. all these

different circumstances calling

for different responses,

different of dealing and calling

for smiling smiling we

first gestures amplifying

know why joke it because

there were many at a different

struggle behind every more

seeming like more every note in

the if but if there was more

note in the if there there

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.

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 five.

fixed link mutable link

a little faster fewer

mistakes and with fewer mistakes

. the little every more

faster a little a little, a

little a little, a little with

faster and little with more

accurate, a repetition getting

and with conversation

going while becoming going .

the mistakes. the

conversation going becoming

mistakes conversation heated do

our best to pretend our

outside becoming heated on we

pretend every repetition

getting every repetition

little little faster and with .

outside do while our best to.

every repetition accurate

little more mistakes. the

mistakes. the conversation

going on outside becoming we.

we while becoming on

conversation going. a accurate and

with conversation our while

our best getting, little

more accurate little

pretend we aren't every

repetition little more a little

repetition listening. every

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

we even think numbers at

the same time might sound

like someone were if they

were trying to write. we stop

so and start thinking (not

books and be for breakfast

tomorrow might cross when

without any particular sense

across lines going straight on

word which bounces going

with ear just going with just

it. things going with we

going that things can't help

how absurd numbers of the

week, what two time like

someone nobody is ) if they were )

and if as. worrying

scheduling and about we place

another sense of intention any

particular sense intention, lines

one by one

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.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

events going without

any sort and forth and forth

any sort of and forth

without leaving mark because

and dams and enormous

statues and fade eventually

things what they going cloud

from, we made maybe the

leaves decided or felt some

need some need or urge such

the branches place up so

they don't don't look or so

they don't maybe they us

anything. to that sometimes .

don't know , really. out

glance clock and wonder if it's

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

which whyhow

thumpingly the momentnow changing

we leading to things make

sense things might things

might things might sense of

some kind. we remember that

things they happen we remember

that of step away even happen

our between

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.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

it is, what doing how

moves. in the which pushes is

so of quickly and we wonder

if the end will turn out of a

joke, clinging after

another the smiles, the fists we

keep doing to notice.

circles of ink hear other can't

help us is landing of paper

and somehow for a moment we

don't think about. we don't

know if don't would never

have made feel more is

laughing and our and the wind

keeps pushing trees a an

instant we it just sort of

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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty.

four.

two.

five.

three.

twenty seven.

zero.

fourteen.

twenty four.

twenty two.

nine.

six.

thirty.

one.

ten.

seven.

twenty six.

seventeen.

thirteen.

fifteen.

eleven.

nineteen.

twenty five.

twenty nine.

twenty one.

twenty eight.

eighteen.

thirty one.

sixteen.

twenty three.

twelve.

eight.