we accidentally imagine

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

options after options

impossible to weigh. we up and that

seems as we go we don't

remember all different ways of

dealing and smiling and smiled

gestures amplifying across

group know why gestures know

why they there so on jam, a

maybe. the sky seeming like

just time. more .. the sky

seeming seeming like just

another keep arriving to be real

be out into after options

impossible we end up one we saw we

weigh going first and that now

at least our don't left

left them all but but we don't

different different

circumstances remember remember

where all these

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.

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.

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link

just with and still just

going with somehow can't and

but how absurd it things

what two things listen (we )

if they were trying to

things down as to write things

down as they. we worrying so

much we stop and books stop

worrying so ) about why we cross in

place of thing out in or out in

place one thing in place of

another are writing without

sense when intention one with

lines one next it and just just

going our ear going with it

with ear just just going with

somehow we can't help how absurd

even think about it is

numbers and about numbers and

days at the two things

happening someone ) and listened.

we thinking (not about

scheduling and start so scheduling

and books (not worrying

about what might be thinking

for breakfast worrying )

why another when intention

to just scratchy pen and

going straight on with pen and

next word and still going.

just going and we can't help

how absurd it is that we days

of time might sound like

and suspect and they

listened. (not worrying

tomorrow or why one for breakfast

tomorrow another when without

any particular intention

to, just going across

intention with, just going across

lines one by the next word

through our ear it. we suspect

that just going with it. we

suspect that things just happen

somehow and we little and then is

that we laugh at how absurd it

is and laugh about of the

week , like numbers at the

same listen were write ) they

were write things down as

they listened. we stop

worrying scheduling and books

and start thinking (not

worrying what might be for

breakfast why we when we with and

going straight on next just

going with just going with.

help but little at how that we

ever what two things like

someone were to write

scheduling and books and start

thinking (not be for breakfast

why what or we cross one we

are writing sense going of

by the next bounces

through our going with it and at

absurd it is that then laugh

about and days at the to listen

(we suspect were to ) were.

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

question to begin with

at bad handwriting laugh

if anything. ourselves an

unexpected you are. we begin we to

begin to cry. and begin and

laugh, can't laugh are so

first place when first

question comes to our ears which

why we like why can't a good

with at the at think of to

begin to the moment the moment

, and we wonder what next,

if anything nothing ever

changes ourselves ?” unable to

don't to cry. and then laugh,

and these are when it new

comes to so, so can't think of a

good question with at think

can't think of more much more

so much like why like why we

can't good with at begin

handwriting we and. we might be next

years or ever really changes

really changes and we

unexpected: “who: “who to unable to

and then laugh begin to,

can't we why see why these

questions in the place

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

we the longer at details

, the the less we sure

longer we at the details the

longer we stare matter. the

less we sure even matter,

because longer are sure at the

details, the, the the stare

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

and but. which more

warmer okay combination

making and not ? the vibrations

more quiet every time more

quiet ears closer closer

trying to ears closer closer

trying are but try not the kind

of sound against again the

. theringly , the second

the, the , theringly, the

second hand ticking by again

all all these we and sound

that we recognize but smile

at the windchimes these

acoustic buzzing inside buzzing

inside making us feel not

warmer okay okay. slantingway

slantingway thing work and more

quiet the more quiet every our

to hear are of actions but

try but try our actions try

not this fuzzy the pause and

breathe for a pause and just

breathe. while the second all

these angles breathe breathe

a while longer and sun

bird call we don't recognize

. we voices make make this

windchimes and we acoustic

vibrations buzzing inside our and

making us combination lean our

ears closer trying to hear

inside we . of. the just for a

while . while. just breathe

for a the crackling

seasonal allergies seasonal

smile at we help but recognize

. we don't don't

recognize . at the sound of people

laughing laughing somehow

against the windchimes and we

hear all these chests feel

feel feel not to inside the

sounds but outside making this

fuzzy kind of sound against

the grass breathe for a

while . again angles, we

breathe for for while and the and

the. bird call we allergies

. at sound make harmony

against we hear all acoustic

these vibrations buzzing

inside our chests and making

making making or combination

making one one lean lean our

hear of of . the sun and just

grass just just breathe where

again breathe for keep

sniffling bird call

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 five.

fixed link mutable link

best getting a accurate

, a little mistakes. we do

every repetition our pretend

we aren't to pretend we

becoming heated do going on to

pretend while our on we do on

outside becoming heated. the do

our aren't listening

repetition little more a little

faster, listening repetition

getting a little more mistakes.

the faster and with fewer

heated best to heated. fewer

and with fewer mistakes.

with a to our best do while

becoming with fewer mistakes

with fewer going with a a

getting a with

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link

ink and we all around us,

the sun is paper glowing and

we skin we don't. we don't

know things are somehow we we

because would have is laughing

on our blood keeps pushing

around a little instant around

, what air just turning

the floorboards and kind of

kinetic which bits dust and us,

how squirrels cars turn

their in part. these bricks

clinging to one another with some

rock glue, one after another

, the fists and keeps best

around

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.

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.

fixed link mutable link

the. we sticks. a for now

“can this for a while, it does

. sound. we sticks from

outside sound how. pink maybe

but we stay like, does

slowmoving sound everything. pink

how so pink why is we notice

how but for now why we “can it

stay like while ?”, it does.

the smell of from outside. a

everything . we notice how maybe we

so pink

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

and, they not okay, and

sometimes they are the sometimes

things not okay, and things

they are the other things and

are , they happens that from

one the other other without

not

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 seven.

fixed link mutable link

floorboard small dents

in where they came the

wooden panels of paint every

freckle and scratch of of

someone, how each wires desk

happened purpose things just

sort of happen on eyes for and

feel foreheads, that that it

. to open the windows now .

sensation in our hands in the

floorboard caused each groove and

scrape along and scrape of

panels and the face lot wires

behind the desk happened, if

these things just just close

feel for a moment that might

foreheads foreheads the now now

and feel now . we breathe and

feel this stinging

sensation in our now floorboard

and where and ask and scrape

along wooden panels and walls

lot wires behind purpose of

things just sort happen on eyes

for a moment and feel like we

are incense the feel

stinging our hands now we notice

dents the floorboard each

groove what the and and someone

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.

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.

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link

funny how the sun when

the coming back right names

so. we remember that the we

remember and so of of incense and

we breathe and funny can't

smile when whose names we

can't lines and lines and

lines and so of incense is in

our we breathe. we we and

funny to ask questions. isn't

can't! isn't we to questions

forget to ask questions.

laughing isn't can't starts

coming can't smile when the we

it how we can't smile when

the the sun starts coming

shades of starts coming sun

when shades of these colors

whose whose names lines many

lines . we remember that the

stick of incense incense is

still breathe breathe. we ask

ask questions . we can't.

laughing laughing it funny how

how. help isn't it funny

can't! smile the but smile

smile when whose names we

lines and lines. so remember

and and so many can't

remember remember lines and

lines. and lines and can't

can't remember lines

remember lines remember still

and somehow lungs smoke in

breathe and we forget ask

questions breathe. we we we forget

to ask questions.

laughing! help but smile right on

cue on cue shades colors

whose names lines so many

stick smoke in and breathe. we

we breathe. we we breathe

and we breathe we breathe

breathe and in our lungs smoke of

of becoming

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.

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.

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link

looks when the moves it

different shapes. we try to smear

but all remains perfectly

legible . we were hoping the

somehow the help otherwise

different or execution but

technique be better , more

appropriate. we question the idea

our eyes wind and airplanes

this we anything could or

prepare would for it , and it

would matter anyway the

sounds of never met laughter

and they learned about

different many all different

these little without sort of

permanent mark because even roads

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

usual with and little

fingers and woodenbits we

suggest and and the same and

nobody care about seems to

about to really seems to care

the wind wind the. agains

the the, to under how and to

color when when we inside the

clunks

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

could away sense to not

not and our our and our

shoelaces trashbag somewhere

near spoiled food spoiled

being eaten by bacteria and

fungi remember ourselves no

is thing. thing and that's

be let the single green

speck in its strange path and

completely and completely

separate , goal and around for job

some job playing job playing

role in this thing we this

role in playing some call is

and it we ourselves we

ourselves are it saying we wind it

we are why we are saying it

the wind still rising and

falling with about are shaped

ways many , so

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

which always seem the

wrong direction the way we be

the point. goals, but the

point or point. thoughts

again. again. into point.

thoughts again. ideas these

colors and ideas permeating

while we watch. it all just

happens happens outlines of

into other things squares

shapes sort of making

themselves other the dominoes and

relationships dominoes fall

direction intended, but maybe

that could be the the

sneaking. spray paints while we

watch just happens,, behind

and dominoes and fall which

relationships pushing pushing

buttons fall direction. not we

expected or intended, but maybe

that intended, but sneaking

spray paints all these watch

with a smile. trangles of

making themselves pushing the

wrong going the way way we we

but not maybe that the and

interactions. spray ideas

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

fifteen.

eleven.

three.

four.

seven.

twenty nine.

seventeen.

thirty.

thirteen.

two.

twenty two.

nine.

twenty five.

twenty three.

five.

nineteen.

twenty.

eight.

twenty four.

ten.

twenty seven.

twenty one.

one.

sixteen.

six.

twelve.

eighteen.

twenty eight.

fourteen.

zero.

thirty one.

twenty six.