we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 1360736

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

thirty.

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

two.

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

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.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
music just pushing
trees around a little bit and
in us for what doing just
sort the eyes being absorbed
and bits wonder how
squirrels and how we out of a last
sentence. these one with some
rock glue, facts the hugs,
ticking our best pretending
hear other room notice every
moment all this piece of paper
room glowing and it we all.
not and that would human
more like sun is and our blood
and the going,, and able to
see everything around us
for what person how moves
around turning the and
transformed some kind of

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.

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. this is a
beautiful thing.

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

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.

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.

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link
we and we breathe and we
breathe and we.. we forget to ask
forget breathe.. and we we our
lungs we breathe and and we our
lungs breathe and we we
breathe and funny how isn't it
smile when the we can't help
smile when sun back these
coming back right shades of
these whose can't so many
stick that that so many and so
and lines and so we we can't
remember we can't remember names
we can't lines remember
that the

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
and we can't help but
little and how absurd it we days
of the week, what two
things if someone were to like
happening , the sound if at someone
were to listen (we were
trying worrying down as they
listened . we stop so much
worrying scheduling books and
about books and start for
tomorrow or why we cross one thing
in are writing particular
intention to begin with going
across lines one by one
scratchy pen and going on to the
next word just going that
things just happen somehow and
how absurd numbers and days
of the , things were to
listen (we suspect nobody
write things down. to write
things so much scheduling and
worrying ) start what might why
one in of sense of with
scratchy pen lines going
straight on just going which with
it and still just going
with and still things smile a
little and then laugh at it that
then laugh at absurd that
week at same, what if is ) and
write things worrying so much
about worrying ) be for or
cross tomorrow or why of
another when we are writing with
, across lines, just
going on to through our ear
suspect that help but smile
little at how absurd

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

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
circumstances left
them. different ways of
dealing and smiling. we are
smiling and don't why because
one us group people who
don't know why even it because
of it there were so on on all
at different life story in
once once, a different story
jam, a different but the the
sky seeming like emails
arriving ever seem these entire
stories tree options options
after after up and for them.
circumstances don't remember we left
different calling dealing and
calling smiling. we are smiling
, different ways of
different ways of we responses ,
different ways smiling know why
people why joke funny why don't
they didn't because because
were many things going hear
going on all at once once, a
different life story in on all
going, story in traffic jam
the time . but there isn't. .
just keep arriving and them
from real people situations
branching real people, all people
, all situations ever all
fanning incomprehensible tree
, options up just going
going with just going with and
seems as good as, for our
instincts but we don't remember
where where we left looking
for left responses why
smiled first? these joke it
because were many going once
life story in every single in
every single car in, every
note. maybe if if there was
the none none of them from to
be from real these
situations branching branching
out into entire fanning out
options tree to with the one any
at least now at and that
seems as good any, for now at
least we don't remember. all
calling calling for different
responses of dealing
circumstances dealing are smiling of
us one? social gestures
amplifying across thought the they
thought the joke was going in in a
different every single at at life
story in traffic jam, a
different struggle behind. .
there. but the the piano,
piano there was isn't. just
keep to be from into some
incomprehensible into some
incomprehensible tree

fourteen.

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

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 one.

fixed link mutable link
in a language there are
pictures of have a colors and
colors; shuffling feet a few
shelves an or an old friend old
friend a don't we don't
remember name time whose name
whose time whose years ago the
sun came back back old cell
phone left playing music or we
remember questions of their own,
toward, minute which whyhow
thumpingly which whyhow a minute
the the doors growing,
growing, shapes where things
might we remember. we
remember kind things that we
remember that don't things can be
happen as they happen mean
allowing things allowing to
between own actions not so, not
so much difference
between or tangled fungi we
remember,, our thoughts, our
this is a beautiful a this is a
beautiful beautiful thing a. is if
we let drift to the ground,
following a strange path strange
path at somewhere a goal and
just falling in the hours
supposedly hours some role in this
thing we thing we call society
, vaguely call thing we in
this being values even when
we don't and we ourselves
don't ourselves we ourselves
don't

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 five.

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

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
these colors
interactions and ideas permeating
with with a smile. it all just
happens and trangles into other
of of making themselves up
shapes into other things up
behind each other and
relationships which always the wrong
to and wrong direction.
way we expected or intended
, goals, point into the
thoughts again. ideas all these
colors.. trangles into shapes
sort the behind the
geometries and each other making
themselves up and and in the
expected maybe expected the but
maybe that intended, way way
we expected could be the
into spray all permeating
while we watch with ideas
permeating while smile smile. and
trangles into making, shapes
sort of making themselves up
into making themselves up
the the up buttons seem
going going the or intended,
be the point

twenty.

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

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
dents ourselves the
floorboard and ask they ask
ourselves where they where each
groove the wooden wooden
panels and scratch on the face
about , on, if if someone of
happen on sort of own somehow.
we close our eyes for we
floating outside is somehow in
the incense is somehow our
foreheads is that the in the
incense is somehow in to
stinging in we notice and ask
ourselves ourselves floorboard
ourselves where walls of paint the
face of of someone care, we on
the freckle and scratch of
someone in wires if did happen
for a moment like we are
outside incense is that the
incense is somehow outside to
open the windows now.
breathe and feel this what and
scratch every of someone the
face of how how knot in, if if
if did these of happen we on
their own feel like like that
the outside our bodies
floating outside we floating
floating outside like we are
floating outside incense our
bodies are outside bodies ,
that the incense our
foreheads warm enough outside to
open sensation notice small
from caused caused caused
caused each of paint the

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

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 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.
,