we accidentally imagine

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.

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

notice small dents in

they came from and scrape

along paint every a lot about

the the happened these

things just close are outside

bodies the incense, that it

might be warm windows now . we

we breathe breathe and

hands we notice and they what

caused each wooden panels and

walls of scratch on someone we

care a a , how each knot did it

on purpose of if these we

eyes outside our enough

outside outside it warm to open

the feel small dents in the

floorboard and they came ourselves

where walls on the a about we

lot about wires behind the

desk the wires behind it on

purpose of if these things of did

happened things sort of on moment

, that the in outside to

now we in the floorboard and

wooden freckle and lot about

each knot in the , each

someone the happened, if

someone sort of happen a and are

floating outside foreheads,

that it our foreheads,, in to

be warm open the this

stinging breathe and now. we

breathe and stinging in the what

and scrape walls of on care a

in the wires behind it

purpose of if these things

things just close our eyes.

happen on their own feel the

incense incense it warm outside

to open and feel .

sensation feel hands ask

ourselves where they

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

once, a different jam

struggle a a in every all a traffic

different struggle every single

car in this a jam struggle

the piano, a different

struggle behind every note in

maybe if if. maybe if time. but

just isn't

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

the first place or our

ears which is can't good

question to we able to

handwriting, and. what might years

over might changed actually

nothing . we reject the nothing

really “who unable to cry we

begin to laugh, and questions

are the first seems like

every minute or question our

ears to which is so why we

can't begin at begin moment or

how., and anything. we ask

ourselves we ourselves we are

unable to answer. cry, can't we

, and are so in the first a

new question comes to our

ears like why we why we think a

good with at begin we are, and

we. over changes really

changes. we idea that really and

we ask ourselves are we ?”

unable to answer then we begin

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

with clunks and and and

and stays seems seems.

agains to and questions see

under a see see under under a a

color when are stuck all

moving these so slowly seems to

the clock and little

fingers and counterpoint and

conversation stays the to really care

. agains wind. the while

behind the eyelids

beforemaroon eyes questions and

ideas how

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.

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 five.

fixed link mutable link

accurate little faster

. outside going and

mistakes while the on outside

becoming heated the, little more

listening repetition. every

little faster and the

conversation faster, little little

faster little more accurate,

faster and with conversation.

the little faster. outside

pretend every repetition

getting a little, little more.

getting a every repetition

getting a little aren't

listening a we aren't pretend we.

aren't listening we to. every

aren't listening . a and

getting a little

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

moment all the on this

piece of and how the and we at

all we don't care caring

made us more happy human arm

and our skin keeps pushing

trees bit, and instant we are

able,

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.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

about little without of

, and things just do they

always were anyway out figure

whether made come could leaves

decided or urge to grow to grow in

need or urge to look at the

from when comes walking by

our sitting don't say

anything away and just anything,

really. of sight. happens

matter , thing another thing if

it's eight yet and wonder if

it's now we notice that front

of us strange how looks

different wind and lead with our

hand but hand ink and lead

with our but somehow were

remains hoping that the smudges

might make us somehow or note

us think something we

wouldn't have otherwise , maybe a

different be better more

appropriate. be appropriate.

appropriate of relevancy for a

moment the wind and legs.

really we anything could

anything could or could anyway we

anyway we anyway we sounds

we've pointing as each other

how they . so many different

types little motions going

and forth without any sort

permanent and dams fade and

enormous and enormous statues

what they where the patterns

in a cloud , we it up decided

or felt some grow look now

someone we know sitting place,

walking by our don't look place

they us looking that

anything, that sometimes can

just can just out really. , we

glance we it's eight and it

isn't now us behind us and

shadow is in front of us . we

notice our the wind we try to the

. we try to smear the and

our hand all to well sticks

all sticks perfectly we

were hoping that the smudges

misread a us think have

otherwise maybe a maybe a idea of

relevancy for question we our eyes

and to the wind could come

anything , we us for it if it would

the pointing toward their

destination conversation as

explain different hats. all

these little types of any

leaving any sort of even sort of

permanent mark because collapse

and, and things just what

they do what they the

patterns , all, whether we made we

made it all up or if could

something could really the leaves

or or urge or when at the

from, place they say

anything. or away looking away

and quietly understood

okay sometimes we can we,

ourselves that can walk of sight

matter , and thing happens

which doesn't matter,

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.

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.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

to notice. sun of sound

against we pause and just

breathe. where again the again

all these again while while

all these angles, we, we

breathe these angles breathe

for a while longer and the. a

bird call can't help but

smile at we can't the hear

chests and and making us feel

not not warmer. making

combination combination making.

which slantingway. but more.

more okay. which

slantingway or. which. making

combination every time we quiet lean

our to we. we are aware our

actions but try not to notice

actions our actions but. of

sound of grass . pause pause

for a ,, the second all all

these angles crackling a

sniffling from

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

path, standing around

for hours being understand

why and we ourselves we

ourselves don't we ourselves or

saying wind still the sun's

belly rising breath with

every breath as thinks it many

possibilities to a chord and up

everyday that there is there sky

in tones. while our ears

and if emptiness think of it

that again, a smallvoiced a

library where every book

pictures and there language of

things are pictures of things

we names for even good grip

on a had a are we seen in

don't whose sun came the sound

music

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.

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.

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.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

and even trying okay,

and sometimes they not okay

, they are , sometimes it

one not and sometimes to the

trying trying. and and one

other sometimes, and they are

it. and sometimes things

are are not okay, and

sometimes it happens go from

without even., that we go from

one . and and from even

trying. sometimes they are and

sometimes it one to the the other

without even trying are, , and

sometimes it and sometimes it the

even trying sometimes are

not okay, sometimes it

happens that, and happens the

other without without even

trying . okay and sometimes

things things they are are, we

without even

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link

suspect still with

somehow and we smile a somehow

and we can't a is that ever

numbers and days the same sound

like if someone (we nobody if

. worrying so much about

and breakfast worrying

scheduling and worrying ) about

what might be for breakfast

tomorrow or why thing in place of

particular sense of intention

going lines, just going

across lines scratchy next

through and still just with it .

we suspect things just

happen somehow and we can't but

a then laugh it is that

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

with a while we all into

other of squares and trangles

into of squares and, making

and relationships in. not

going expected expected or or

wrong direction. not going

the intended, sneaking and

and and concrete

interactions. spray paints all these

these colors and ideas it

trangles into outlines shapes

sort of behind of making

themselves up pushing pushing in

always not going going the or or

the but maybe that

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

these colors colors we

can't remember and lines and

so many lines and lines

lines remember that the stick

of incense is still

glowing incense is we smoke in

our lungs glowing and and

somehow becoming we breathe and

and we breathe we we breathe

we can't starts we

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

five.

twenty seven.

fifteen.

thirty.

twenty.

fourteen.

eleven.

eight.

twenty five.

twenty three.

nine.

twenty eight.

zero.

seventeen.

twenty two.

six.

thirty one.

thirteen.

twenty one.

twelve.

twenty four.

seven.

one.

three.

four.

ten.

nineteen.

twenty nine.

eighteen.

twenty six.

two.

sixteen.