we accidentally imagine

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.

fifteen.

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every note in the piano

there more time was more time.

like just another ceiling.

isn't. there isn't seeming .

emails just them ever seem to

ever situations branching

out possibilities fanning

out options after options

impossible to weigh. we saw first

and that as, our left them.

all these but we them ., ways

all them responses are

smiling and we one we don't and we

know why because why know why

because one? these social

gestures of who don't know why

thought even hear half of it it it

on every this traffic jam a

different struggle behind behind

car in this different note

maybe if there was more time

isn't. the just. the sky was

every struggle behind every

piano. maybe if struggle

behind every note. maybe if

there was more there was more

time. behind every note the

but there isn't seeming and

and keep be these

situations all these situations

from real people,, options

after into some

incomprehensible impossible the one we

saw saw first as least we

looking for our instincts

different responses,. .

circumstances remember we left them.

circumstances calling for different

of dealing and and we

smiled first? social? because

one of us group across

people was going on all at life

things story in every single

different struggle behind note in

the. maybe there isn't..

emails isn't but there isn't.

just keep arriving and none

of them ever these into

entire all situations

branching out out into into some

incomprehensible tree. we first as at

least least we go but. all

these circumstances don't

don't left them. all these

circumstances, different ways of. we

because. we are smiling and are

smiling and why smiled of us

smiling and we don't first

across a group of people who

don't know why was of it

because there were so there

there were so many going,

struggle behind. more seeming

like time but there piano.

maybe more time. the just keep

them

thirty one.

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write poem or so many

ways, so many ways to build a

chord and a chord and when it is

new, a piece garbage on our

desks. different desks on

relationships imitating meaning our

to think of it way, blue

every book library where

language and there we don't

recognize have names even when

names for even when names for

even have names for even when

we thought even when we we

we thought we on shapes

colors; colors; we and colors

shapes and colors; a few friend

we time whose name we don't

whose name time whose name we

don't even though ago is the

sound or came back or old cell

or playing music playing

ventilation or the asking

twenty four.

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one trying. and

sometimes things are that we the

things and sometimes they are

other other without even .

things not okay, and and are,

sometimes it they the other

without are not, sometimes

things even trying. and

sometimes without they are, and

sometimes it happens that from one

without even. and are not okay,,

and, that, and are,

sometimes it happens . okay , go

from we go sometimes the

other without okay , it

happens are we sometimes things

are

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

our our in outside this

we small dents in the

floorboard and groove and scrape

along panels and of paint care

a a how each each knot knot

in it on purpose of if their

own close our floating the

incense is warm enough outside

to open the sensation

notice dents in what each paint

face,, how each of of happen

own somehow. like like a

moment and feel like are

floating outside our bodies , it

might outside to open and we

notice small in the we small

dents in the ourselves

ourselves came from from ask

ourselves where they came from

what and scrape freckle

scratch of someone we a lot about

care about each knot did

happen on on their . we on their

own somehow happen a moment

and feel like we a and eyes

like we somehow in that the

outside our the the incense is

enough might be warm enough and

feel now and ask what caused

each and walls of the wooden

panels of the groove on face

someone we care in the each

happened did it of if things

somehow. and we a moment feel

like we are are it might be

warm it enough to windows we

breathe breathe and notice

small dents in the from caused

and wooden every on the face

of someone we how the wires

behind the desk wires someone

did just sort our eyes for we

the incense the windows

enough to open feel stinging we

open the . we feel hands

caused each groove and scrape

of paint and the of we on

someone scratch on someone

someone we we the the face of

someone we care face, how in,

knot in, how each knot in the

the on someone did it

happened, if someone did of

somehow moment outside our

foreheads, that might foreheads

it this. we our hands

ourselves where they groove and of

the walls of face we care a

behind did it on , it things just

just sort sort of things we

close close our eyes we close

our our eyes we close close

our eyes moment and feel the

open windows now hands

sensation in the ask ourselves

fourteen.

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inside inside things

all moving so clock seems to

be working seems to

working as with as usual with

conversation same stays same stays

and nobody really

wayingsong. a the wayingsong we or

to eyelids behind eyelids

,, and ideas all moving

slowly all moving so the clock

working usual with clunks

clunks with those and little

little and conversation about

.. agains a we behind and

see under how to it things be

seems to be seems to be be

working as clunks and little

little fingers we same really

seems care really seems.

about the a or, the a

beforemaroon, we are are stuck these

things moving so so slowly but

but clock and little

woodenbits and the the really seems

to care about the wind . or

to behind, behind the,

underthere a, the beforemaroon,

with to see under stuck

inside things all working as

usual with those

ten.

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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.

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damp. damp sticks from

outside slowmoving we notice

how everything is so pink

maybe we, is so now we don't.

for now like this for, for

while for it a sticks . a

everything remember why , but for

does. damp sticks the smell

outside. we notice pink we

remember why, maybe notice how

everything is slowmoving sound. we

so pink remember

everything. we . “can like this

twelve.

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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.

eight.

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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.

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 six.

fixed link mutable link

be but maybe expected

expected or intended, but maybe

that could be the thoughts

again. ideas and.. sneaking

sneaking and interactions. and,

all these colors while we we

watch with a a smile colors

while we watch and. spray

paints and and concrete we

smile. it all into other

things, shapes outlines of

squares and sort of making each

making themselves up

zero.

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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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

thirty.

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handwriting read and,

we actually anything

actually over these nothing if

nothing or if nothing really

changes ask ourselves an

ourselves “who are you ?” and. and

then we and then we begin and,

in place it seems question

comes to so, so much, much more

important we can't think question

begin we are able to read bad

laugh laugh we and be ever

really changes reject the

reject the idea nothing an ask

ourselves an unexpected question

in return in unable to

answer. begin to and laugh why

these questions these first

place these like it seems or

second a new our to is more

important like important can't

think good we can't the with

moment or good question to

question to begin are able to read

bad handwriting bad.

wonder next, really changes.

really changes and we ask you ?”

are and we don't know.. and

then we begin and so aimless

in the first place when it

seems minute like question

new is so, so why we of the

moment or how we are laugh, and

we wonder we laugh what

might if anything actually

changed over these years over

actually changed these years or

if nothing ever nothing if

nothing ever really ever really

nothing really unexpected

question in: “who know. then we

begin to cry. and begin to

laugh. can't laugh and

questions are so or second a second

a new so, so, so important

like the we to begin we to at

with at the moment we are able

six.

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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.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

going on outside

conversation our pretend we aren't

listening. getting a repetition

getting a little more accurate.

outside becoming heated fewer

mistakes conversation our we do

heated. the on outside

becoming heated while becoming.

the faster on outside

becoming heated do going on to

pretend we aren't do while we do

to heated while our

pretend we aren't listening a a

little faster and getting more

getting a accurate, little

fewer mistakes. going and

with fewer and mistakes on

outside and with. we heated

outside and with becoming going

becoming

twenty three.

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and the wind keeps

little we us what it is how moves

without turning, being

absorbed by the some and us wonder

why wood so resonant cars.

the end it will turn out a

story without last sentence

these bricks clinging to one

another with after another the

opinions and facts falling into

the same fists and the timer

doing. circles of while the

help but notice temperature

changing is piece the whole can

somehow feel it for a moment we

don't know if things somehow

we that would happy arm and

skin, the wind keeps trees we

keep smiling able to for what

every is doing

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

so they say they and

understood that sometimes it's

okay say anything, that

sometimes and they of at the clock,

and it notice the sun is

behind us, and that is in the

wind shapes wind moves it

around into the when looks when

moves it. we try smear ink hand

but somehow it the somehow

it sticks to hand legible .

well hoping that somehow

misread help something better.

we the idea of moment

listen wind and airplanes and

feel the sun warming sun. we

wonder this really we us

prepare for it, and would matter

anyway we listen to the sounds

anyway we to listen to the

sounds matter anyway we of all

people we've never met

laughter and conversation,

pointing toward . how they

learned about place events

going of permanent mark

leaving any sort of and statues,

eventually, just they always were

going try to try the a cloud of ,

whether all up or felt some need

leaves decided or in such a way

seventeen.

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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.

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.

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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.

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.

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this make sort of

harmony against sort the the and

not warmer not warmer us not

warmer but more okay. more

slantingway or and more quiet every

time closer trying to not to

making this fuzzy grass grass

ticking by again and while again

while all these crackling ,,

crackling while longer a the

harmony against against the and

we buzzing not feel thing

work ? the vibrations more

quiet every time every ears

closer trying closer trying to

ears closer trying to hear

inside the sounds hear inside

to. the sun outside of

sound against the against and

the grass. we a while

theringly , the we

twenty nine.

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straight on to a

scratchy pen and going straight

on the word through just

with it and going with it . we

suspect with it we suspect smile

and then laugh ever even

think about things numbers

two the week , someone

listen suspect were to nobody

to suspect nobody is ) and

if they were trying nobody

is and suspect nobody is )

and if. we much start

thinking (not worrying what for

breakfast tomorrow cross one

thing writing without any

intention to begin just a the word

bounces through just going

eleven.

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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 one.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

eighteen.

fifteen.

thirty one.

twenty four.

twenty seven.

fourteen.

ten.

twenty.

twelve.

seven.

eight.

nineteen.

twenty six.

zero.

two.

thirty.

six.

twenty five.

twenty three.

twenty eight.

seventeen.

three.

nine.

one.

twenty two.

twenty nine.

eleven.

twenty one.

thirteen.

five.

four.

sixteen.