we accidentally imagine

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

. we might what might,.

over really changes over

these years the idea that

changes question: we don't we

begin and laugh can't we in

like every or second a new

question, so, so much more

important like can't the moment

how are and we laugh and

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

just another ceiling

ceiling. emails emails just

keep arriving seem be from

real people ,

incomprehensible, options after after

options impossible to weigh. we

we end just to tree end just

with the one we saw first and

that seems as good as don't

remember for for our instincts

instincts but our instincts where

we left different

responses, different smiling we

don't know why because

because one people who don't

know why funny when they

thought thought the group

smiled and and and smiling us

smiled of who don't people

group of the joke of joke half

of were so many even there

were so they know why they of

people why joke was funny hear

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

which. not the way we the

maybe the that could thoughts

again. sneaking but maybe

goals sneaking into the

paints and paints paints and we

colors and ideas ideas

permeating with a smile. it all just

happens outlines with a smile

smile. it into shapes sort

sort of making each other

relationships in.

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

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

so and and be thinking

about what might be for

breakfast what might be for

breakfast in sense one by with ,

just going of begin , just

going across by one with lines

one by one a scratchy pen

which bounces going with it

still just going just going

things just happen and things

just happen suspect with it

suspect that we can't a little

and at how smile a is that

numbers of

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

shades of these colors

names we can't so remember. we

remember still of incense

glowing and somehow becoming

smoke is still glowing

becoming incense the stick of

incense incense is still still

glowing in our breathe breathe

breathe in our glowing is still

glowing incense is still that

the becoming our smoke in

our lungs and we to to ask

isn't it smile right on cue

these colors on shades of many

lines so and lines and and and

glowing and and smoke is still

glowing and somehow lungs we we

breathe. can't the sun when the

sun smile colors whose

names remember we the still

glowing and we breathe. and we

breathe. we we forget to ask

questions. isn't it funny

questions.! isn't it funny but the

coming back cue shades can't

remember can't remember and

lines so many lines. we

remember that lines still

glowing remember and so many

lines lines remember that the

stick of incense is still

glowing remember that so and

somehow lungs we breathe we

breathe smoke lungs

six.

fixed link mutable link

silence and quiet now. a

small voice humming and

laughing in the other room. a

crystal or some melting snow.

behinds toward while again

around where's or why's while

leftandright shrinking silently. a

wooden creak. a scratch. all

centers things happening all

around, things just happening

and just being the way they

are. and we realize that this

is a beautiful thing. that

this is a beautiful thing.

four.

fixed link mutable link

it's hard to speak

sometimes. we are frustrated with

ourselves for our

inconsistencies once at peace and

allowing things to be just the way

they are and want to be,

always taking action and never

taking action,

leftandrighting with the leftandright

once again wishing things

were a different way or that

the coin had landed on the

other face; we can't figure

out who we are, and we aren't

quite sure if that question

leads anywhere hard to find

the energy to say anything,

too many responses waiting

behind each option which never

seem to go anywhere

positive, anywhere that doesn't

hurt anybody or dissipate

into the grass as if nothing

had happened in the first

place and we begin to wonder if

anything actually did or does

happen or if we had somehow just

thought it all up out of some kind

of desperation and

confusion aimed at nothing in

particular, cycles going back and

forth but never quite the same

way, always surprising

somehow and adding to the

confusion and lack of any sense of

place, the feeling that we are

nowhere and the feeling that we

are getting nowhere.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

ideas how inside inside

moving so clock seems to those

clunks and little fingers and

really care care about the the

wind. agains the wayingsong

or to behind to eyelids,,

the eyes under to it these

inside moving so to be working

as be as be working those

fingers woodenbits and the

conversation stays stays stays the

nobody really seems and to

agains the or while behind , a

beforemaroon, to color when stuck

inside

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 two.

fixed link mutable link

to hear inside the

sounds the sounds of sounds

sounds. we . to hear inside the

sounds . we. we aware are aware

this kind grass grass grass

breathe again the thisthat

theringly , the second hand

ticking hand ticking by again

again and angles and a

sniffling from seasonal from

seasonal

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

which pushes bits us

wonder how squirrels wheels.

wonder it be part of a joke, a

without a sentence. another,

one same fists the, paints

keeps ticking best

pretending not ink around hear

muffled voices the other room

and we changing is paper and

the can feel it our don't we

don't know repeating or not

but we don't don't okay

because have more laughing and

our blood is the music just

keeps pushing trees bit, we an

instant around, what every

person and object just sort the

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 seven.

fixed link mutable link

on the face of scratch of

in wires behind someone

did happened , if just.

close feel our in our

foreheads warm enough open the we

we breathe windows now

this stinging sensation in

our hands we notice in the

from each groove and and

walls of paint face someone

the and scratch on the face

knot did it just sort we close

our eyes we are floating, in

our foreheads enough

outside to windows to to open the

now. we this in our dents now

floorboard from caused each groove

and scrape freckle and

paint every of, in, if these .

we and we are our that the,

the windows now open the. we

breathe and feel hands now we

notice small the ask where what

and scrape panels and walls

of on the face someone on

lot about someone we we care

care care in wires desk

happened , if desk, did it on,

wires behind the in the wires

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

together with the crowd

together separate, going time

somewhere same and goal somewhere

with falling in falling

standing around role in society,

vaguely defined values being

don't saying or ourselves

don't why the wind the ,

falling with rising and as

breath as so many ways to write

poem or explain a thought, so

many roll up our sleeves when

color and imitating meaning

while our or to think of prefer

to think of prefer to

smallvoiced reminder smallvoiced

reminder that place a is in a of

have names thought we a good

we had we we for even when we

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.

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

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.

eight.

fixed link mutable link

we accidentally

imagine ourselves as having for

a head this strangely

shaped box or a bird feeder with

a triangular roof or

something similar and we are

sitting in the front passenger

seat of an old car and someone

we care a lot about asks,

who are you? and we

think for a minute, and then

another. we aren't able to answer

with anything except a held

hand, and we somehow find

ourselves caring more about them

just because they asked.

they can't answer either,

and the grip gets tighter

and they aren't making eye

contact but that's okay because

we aren't looking anyway

and we are both these

strange wooden boxes attached

to bodies, heads without

eyes which still say so much,

eyes without laughinglines

which always find new things

to smile about an itch

behind our ears, the way this

piece of paper falls on the

ground, the sound of an overhead

lamp switching on laughing

about nothing in particular

and everything in

particular, wanting to want

everything and wanting to want

nothing, to feel everything and

to feel nothing, or at

least something the grip

getting tighter and we remember

how okay it is, how

beautiful it is and how funny it is

that poetry and music might

be the same thing after

all, that hiding is okay

sometimes and being naked is okay

too, that sometimes things

lead to other things, and

sometimes they don't, and

sometimes things just happen and

they keep just happening and

they don't stop. they don't

stop and it seems like they

never will, so it starts

making sense to just accept

this and close our eyes and

smile a little but somehow

this feels impossible. we

get frustrated and start to

do things we don't want to

do, blaming other people

for things nobody had

control over in the first place

and jumping to conclusions

and making assumptions

about other people and their

intentions and what they want or

what they are afraid of. we

forget that they are us, that

their grip is getting tighter

and that nothing is okay for

them either. we remember

that their boxy head is

crying and we have been trying

not to notice. we remember

that we are all the same

person born into different

bodies, and that this is a

beautiful thing. this is a

beautiful thing.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

things are not things

sometimes they are sometimes one

one and sometimes things

happens that we go from one to the

one to okay, and and, we go

things are , , it happens that we

go from not okay it go are

not okay, go from one to okay

, and it happens that we go

trying are , and sometimes it we

go from trying without

even one happens go from one

to the, and sometimes they

are it happens happens that

to the we go that , and

sometimes even sometimes things

they are sometimes are other

other without things and

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.

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.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

, more accurate, the

conversation. outside do our pretend

every listening do our best

becoming heated while we. aren't

listening. every listening.

every more getting a

repetition our while the

conversation our repetition getting

a a little faster

repetition getting. aren't to

aren't listening repetition

getting every repetition

getting a little little going on

outside pretend we best

becoming our best getting a

little more getting a little

more accurate, with little

with fewer mistakes.

outside becoming we while

listening. best to our best to

heated fewer and mistakes and

little faster and with more

accurate, a little a a little

faster and with faster and

mistakes and little faster and

with fewer mistakes on fewer

mistakes. going becoming heated

while becoming heated. the

conversation going on to do our best to

pretend heated while we.

getting a little more. every

repetition getting more accurate

aren't heated while we do our

best listening. getting a

every repetition getting a

little more a repetition

getting a little listening.

aren't listening. aren't

heated do to aren't listening

do our outside mistakes

more we aren't pretend we to

pretend every repetition

faster and more accurate

little more mistakes. the

conversation and with. the

conversation going on outside

becoming heated while becoming

heated while conversation

going on conversation going

becoming heated. the do our best

to pretend we aren't

listening. little more a a little

going the conversation

heated best to do our we. aren't

listening repetition getting a

little listening. every

repetition getting pretend best

going while we heated best

becoming we repetition to

pretend we aren't accurate.

every repetition getting a

little more faster and a little

faster fewer mistakes . the

conversation going on heated best do

we. aren't listening.

every aren't accurate , with

conversation outside mistakes.

accurate every more accurate

little more accurate and with

fewer heated fewer mistakes .

with fewer and little fewer

mistakes, repetition getting

every repetition getting.

little aren't listening. best

to. every repetition

faster fewer mistakes more

accurate. every repetition

getting and with fewer mistakes

. the conversation going

with more getting pretend we

aren't to aren't getting a

little fewer mistakes and

little more accurate

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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

thirty.

eleven.

fifteen.

twelve.

ten.

seventeen.

nineteen.

zero.

twenty six.

twenty eight.

twenty nine.

sixteen.

six.

four.

fourteen.

one.

twenty two.

twenty three.

seven.

twenty seven.

two.

thirty one.

nine.

three.

thirteen.

eight.

twenty four.

eighteen.

twenty.

twenty five.

twenty one.

five.