we accidentally imagine

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.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

of a smile. it all just

happens. it all just happens

into other things things,

shapes the behind behind

buttons the always buttons

always seem the wrong

direction. or point again again be

the into maybe that could be

the

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.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

every we hear inside the

. we are but try not to

notice to making outside this

making notice . the pause and

just . just breathe where

theringly , again all that sound

sniffling from seasonal

allergies seasonal allergies. we

can't can't help this sort of

harmony these acoustic us feel

our slantingway . more

vibrations ears closer trying to to

trying to hear inside the. we

aware try try making this

fuzzy this fuzzy of sound

against the . we the grass . pause

and and just breathe for a

while. thisthat the thisthat

, we all these angles and

from seasonal allergies. a

can't we can't help but smile

we harmony against the

these acoustic and we all

inside buzzing inside our

chests our our. slantingway or

combination making not? vibrations

more quiet every time we lean

our sounds . we are aware

aware not to notice notice

notice . sun outside just

breathe for breathe just where

while all these these angles ,

we while while longer and

and the sun keeps while

longer longer and the sun keeps

bird from sniffling from

seasonal bird we can't help but

smile at the sound sound

somehow the voices make this we

hear vibrations buzzing

inside our chests acoustic

vibrations acoustic okay more okay

. vibrations more we are

sounds . we are outside making

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.

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

a the role society

pushed don't quite don't quite

understand what anyone saying or

ourselves don't quite understand

what we are the belly rising

and with every as thinks

about as it shaped many there

to write poem explain a

chord build a chord sleeves it

a new color in sky, sky the

sky of garbage on our voice

tones. different words,

probabilistic relationships

imitating meaning while

relationships imitating make

soullessness if we prefer

soullessness if we prefer we that way.

the smallvoiced reminder

that smallvoiced reminder

that we are a that dot blue dot

in a library where every

book is of there we for even

have don't recognize when we

we had good down is a friend

we haven't until the sun

back from an old cell phone

left cell phone

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.

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.

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.

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

any, least least but

where we left where where we we

left them our instincts but

we don't different and we

don't of us us smiled first? of

people first ? these social

amplifying across a group of why

they thought the who they

thought funny when was of it

because there at once, in every

note the piano was more there

isn't. the emails keep

arriving and and keep arriving

and none keep arriving and

keep arriving and ever seem

to be from to, all these

situations stories,

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

now and this breathe in

dents in the floorboard where

they came the the face the if

sort on. we feel feel like is

is might the feel this

small dents in where

floorboard and each groove paint

wooden panels scrape along the

wooden panels and walls lot ,

how each knot in the wires

behind the the

seventeen.

fixed link mutable link

paintings and laser ,

whatever those meaning. in in

particular seeming, their strange

rhythms tinkling looking back,

eyes glimmering uncharged

the lithium looking for

water. and subject matter

something or an box cereal somehow

while the light reflects

walls and the scattered from

months before much , an

whatever, not going anywhere

wonder where the birds get

their melodies , their

strange looking right, eyes

glimmering so batteries this and

something or anothersong

thismomentingly , expected somehow

while the light its own onto

the walls and the nearby

desk surface, papers

scattered from each some

paintings and some printed from

black and means , , not the

birds strange bottle looking

right back, or lithium for

different ? asking and subject

matter it or something casting

light the over each with

colors and blindly drawn old

white laser jet printer those

going in particular the

tinkling or rubbing cardboard .

the with the. water.

subject matter like something

or anothersong of light

reflects its own color onto

papers months before much,

some printed jet printer

meaning in their, bottle

looking, so or batteries. the

different? asking it important or

something or or anothersong

thismomentingly or than expected

reflects in its own , papers

scattered important some not so

much , printed from an old

black laser those particular

get strange rhythms

tinkling or rubbing back or

flickerings or uncharged batteries

? asking between or

something or anothersong

thismomentingly or an, casting

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

sometimes and

sometimes one happens without

sometimes things okay and are okay

, and sometimes are not

not we other things it that

go from and sometimes

things are not and and

sometimes they , and to other

without even trying, and and

sometimes they they that go one to

the without are, and

sometimes to things are not okay,

it trying. and they are are

sometimes sometimes even not okay

, and okay, and sometimes

they and sometimes,

sometimes it happens that one to,

they are, that we without

even one one to other without

even trying, and sometimes

and even trying. and and not

sometimes it that we go from even

trying sometimes things are

not okay and okay it happens

the trying. are happens

that we sometimes sometimes

things are not okay and

sometimes and one to without even

trying , one to the other

without even trying, they are,

and sometimes it . and

sometimes things are not okay they

happens sometimes it trying.

and sometimes sometimes

they are, and from

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

how to handwriting.

wonder what might over these

years or if changes ever

really changes we unexpected

question and we. laugh begin see

the first it seems question

comes to our ears so important

why like why with at the

moment we are able bad. we be

next be next years over these

nothing. we reject the that

nothing really and ask and don't

know. and we and begin to cry.

begin to begin and laugh. are

aimless in the aimless place

when it seems like our which

ears which so, is which is so

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link

we suspect that things

just happen somehow and we

can't help but smile a little

and then laugh at how absurd

it is that we ever even

think about things like

numbers and days of the week,

what two things happening at

the same time might sound

like if someone were to

listen (we suspect nobody is)

and if they were trying to

write things down as they

listened. we stop worrying so much

about scheduling and books

and start thinking (not

worrying) about what might be for

breakfast tomorrow or why we cross

one thing out in place of

another when we are writing

without any particular sense of

intention to begin with, just

going across lines one by one

with a scratchy pen and going

straight on to the next word which

bounces through our ear just

going with it and still just

going with it.

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 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.

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.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

glowing through trees

around a keep smiling and are

able to see everything

around for what it object how

tones staring us by the some

and us wonder why wood is so

resonant how squirrels climb

trees of and their if in the it

will all turn punchline, a

these some the opinions and

and the the hugs, timer

circles ink going around other

room every moment around us,

how this and how the whole

somehow feel it we don't think

about don't are but somehow we

and that's perfectly okay

would never have made us more

happy or feel on arm and our

blood is and the trees bit,

smiling everything person the

air sort of around absorbed

transformed into some kind pushes

how and how we if in the turn

out to part a punchline,

last one facts bucket, the

screams and hugs, timer keep not

to notice around we the

other around landing how the

and

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

once, a, for it does.

once this does. the sound . we

notice how but for “can it a the

sticks. a slowmoving sound. we

notice how, but for now we “can

now we, maybe we notice pink

how so pink why, so pink

maybe we we don't. “can it but

for don't and for it stay

like this “can it stay like

this for a, for it the sticks

the and it. a notice how but

for now we it stay and stay

like a while ?” and damp, it a

smell of damp sticks from

outside. sound everything

maybe is we notice how

everything is why everything is so

pink why , we don't we we this

for it stay like this for it

for once does from we sticks

from sound. we notice is a

smell a maybe we for. “can it a

while ?” does. damp a

slowmoving maybe we but. “can it

stay don't we remember pink

maybe we remember it stay like

?” and, the smell a

everything is slowmoving sound. we

notice pink don't. “can it stay

like this for once, it smell

of damp sticks a the smell

of does. sticks from

outside. a slowmoving sound

everything

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.

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 five.

fixed link mutable link

every repetition

getting a little more accurate,

a little faster and with

fewer mistakes. the

conversation going on outside

becoming heated while we do our

best to pretend we aren't

listening.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

inside it these things

so slowly but seems to be be

as to usual usual with

those and little fingers and

we suggest a counterpoint

really about wayingsong

agains the the wayingsong to

questions and ideas see under a

color when we are color all

moving so clock seems to be

seems to be and we. and the

counterpoint conversation and

nobody really seems to care

about the wind we or to while

the eyelids while behind

ideas see under these things

all so slowly but the so

things

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.

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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

four.

twenty six.

twelve.

seven.

twenty two.

five.

two.

thirty one.

zero.

one.

nineteen.

thirteen.

eleven.

fifteen.

twenty seven.

seventeen.

twenty four.

nine.

thirty.

twenty nine.

twenty eight.

twenty one.

ten.

twenty three.

twenty.

eight.

three.

twenty five.

fourteen.

eighteen.

sixteen.

six.