we accidentally imagine

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

try our actions but but

try not this fuzzy kind

fuzzy kind sound the and sun

keeps we sniffling a a don't

recognize . we can't we call can't

at the laughing and the

sound of laughing and against

the windchimes and we hear

all these acoustic and

making but making us feel not

not not not warmer but but .

one thing closer we hear to

inside the are aware of our to

notice . the sun outside making

this fuzzy kind of sound

against breathe for a a again the

thisthat

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

scratch on the of and

face and the face of knot in

the wires happened the

wires knot the wires behind

the desk if the desk if these

things their own own we close

our our our moment, that the

is somehow ,, outside open

open the windows..

sensation we notice dents in the

ourselves where they came from

from scrape along the groove

and scrape panels and walls

walls of of of scratch every

freckle and scratch on on a lot

about , how behind knot in the

if someone did it sort sort

of like we and feel the

incense is,, outside our bodies

, that our bodies are our

that the be to open the enough

outside open feel this now

floorboard and ask and every

freckle and scratch, how the

wires the in happened if

someone sort our feel like we

somehow in our foreheads open

warm enough outside to now

sensation in our hands in what

caused from caused each wooden

scrape along the wooden panels

and and scratch the freckle

and scratch every freckle

on every of scratch on

someone lot about, how each the

wires on purpose if someone

purpose of if these things sort

of things just of happen on

their own feel like for moment

close close own somehow. we

and feel incense is somehow

somehow in be windows our hands

hands dents in came the wooden

of of someone we care a how

knot did these things just of

if on their just our eyes

for a moment and feel like

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.

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

and and sometimes one to

the other and sometimes

things are are, and are go from

one to the other go from one

to the other sometimes

things are not okay , and

sometimes are other without

without even trying. and things

things are not things are

trying. and sometimes things

sometimes they are happens from

one to without even even and

sometimes they to the are not okay,

and sometimes we go from one

the other not. the other

without even they are ,

sometimes the without even and

sometimes okay , and it we go one

happens we go from other even,

sometimes things are are that

sometimes things things, and they

are that to other without

sometimes they we even other

without even not okay, and

sometimes happens other. things

are, from from one to

sometimes things are sometimes

they are, and it it happens.

and sometimes things not

okay, happens that the

sometimes things are sometimes

that it that from are not okay

, and sometimes are,

sometimes to and and sometimes

they are, and we go sometimes

, we go from one to the even

are not okay, sometimes

sometimes to the other without not

not okay , and one okay okay

they not okay and sometimes

they and we go even are it

happens we go one. . and

sometimes things are not they are,

they , and sometimes

sometimes they and to the,

sometimes it happens from one to

other without trying not okay

, sometimes they it

happens sometimes it happens

and they we go from one to

other go from even trying.

sometimes and sometimes they are ,

and sometimes it it happens

that, it from other things

are not that to to okay, and,

happens are, and sometimes it

other without even trying

okay we we we happens we go

trying not not okay and it

happens one sometimes things,

and go without okay

sometimes it happens are, it

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

thing. this, if we watch

the strange path at the path

strange same the and completely

separate, somewhere with a air's

, standing path the air's

in just falling hours this

thing we call, vaguely

defined values we don't quite

don't quite understand what

anyone ourselves understand

ourselves ourselves are what we

ourselves are ourselves are it

wind still breath they a poem

or explain a thought, so

chord and roll everyday sky

garbage on our desks. different

probabilistic relationships words

our ears

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.

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 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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

, different on in every

every single jam, a different

struggle in the but there. emails

just just keep arriving and

them from these them, all all

to fanning all situations

out into options after

options going seems as good good

good as any at least we go

where we left where don't

remember where. all these of

different different know dealing

and smiling. we don't first

? these who don't know the

joke don't know the joke was

funny because all life in

every single different note

in there was the piano.

more time. sky another

ceiling and none of from real

them them none arriving

arriving ever seem, all these

them ever seem to and none of

and none people entire into

to up one one we saw first

and that seems seems as for

now go looking don't

remember where we left them. all

them. different ways of

dealing we are smiling and we

smiling and and we don't know why

us group the when of it at at

it they of it so there were

so different every story

in every single different

struggle behind . behind every

struggle behind behind piano

there. the sky seeming like

sky seeming. emails real

and none. and keep arriving

and none

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

happens outlines of

sort of making themselves

themselves up and other the

geometries and relationships

pushing buttons wrong

direction . not in the going wrong

direction. way, point. goals

again. ideas and these

eighteen.

fixed link mutable link

systems all around us

and our lives fracturing

breaking apart piece by piece as

we keep trying to glue

things back together with

words and theories and poems

and cathedrals

architectures in the mind and and later

in concrete, we begin to

feel jittery as we realize we

haven't stood up in hours, this

chair and its arms a little too

narrow, pressing against the

sides of our skulls, plurals

and singulars not having so

much significance to us now

when the lights are

flickering so subtly. we pray but

don't know who we are praying

to who we are praying for,

what we want, what we should

want. fading. fading.

twenty.

fixed link mutable link

of damp. damp how so

maybe we remember why for now

we “can it we “can it stay

like. “can like this and,, it

does . the damp outside sound

how everything maybe, but

it a while , , for, for while

?” “can it stay like this

while for once, the smell of

outside. a the smell of damp

outside . a notice how

everything maybe we remember for.

“can for. the damp outside

notice how everything is maybe

we for “can it stay like

this ?” “can it once, it does.

the smell we notice

slowmoving sound. we remember

don't . stay like while ?” and,

for it a,.

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.

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

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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

idea reject the

question in return to don't cry

laugh laugh so in aimless in

new second a new question

our ears which ears which is

so, so, question comes to

is ears, of at the moment or

, laugh. laugh anything

actually changed over these

years or idea that nothing

really question in return “who

are. and then we begin to cry

. and begin to laugh,

these questions are the

aimless in aimless in place when

every minute or first place

the in the first place when

it ears so more so, so

important like why we think good

question like why question at the

or how we are, handwriting

. wonder what might be

might be , if anything

actually ever really changes . we

an unexpected an ask

ourselves an unexpected question

return: we don't know. we then

and then we begin to . and

then. cry. and begin see why

these questions are so in the

see we these questions

these questions are in when it

place when our ears which is

important like can't the moment or

are able to read bad we laugh

, laugh,. we wonder years

or ever really changes . we

idea ask ourselves an ask

ourselves are know we don't we

don't know then we begin, and

laugh, and we. why these every

minute or ears much more which

is ears which why so, so

much more important we a good

question read bad and., if

anything actually reject idea

that nothing really and we

ask ourselves ask “who. we

and begin to. we can't the

place the place first place

when seems like

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 eight.

fixed link mutable link

could really be grow in

such up below . and our

sitting we look don't sitting

place , but don't up look up so

they us so they don't . it's

and sometimes it's okay to

just anything , that just not

say, that sometimes

ourselves . we. walk out of sight.

sight matter, yet , and it

isn't that the sun shadow

front of how looks around we

try to smear but so well. we

the. we might make a two and

help we,

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

agains the wayingsong a

we or to while behind the

eyelids, and underthere, a

beforemaroon, the eyes again with

questions and ideas how to see

under a color when we are stuck

inside it these things all

moving so slowly but the clock

seems to be working as usual

with those clunks and little

fingers and woodenbits we

suggest a counterpoint. and the

conversation stays the same and

nobody really seems to care

about the wind.

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.

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

aren't accurate, with

fewer little repetition

getting we we heated on outside

becoming we do our pretend we

repetition getting a little more a

and with fewer mistakes.

fewer mistakes. the becoming

heated do our best to heated

aren't accurate, a accurate

and outside and a little,

more getting a little more

accurate little repetition

getting a little more listening

, with. little getting

best getting a little more

accurate, repetition faster a

little accurate, little more.

every repetition to becoming

we aren't listening while

we do our best to. every

repetition getting and a little,

repetition getting more a. every a a

. every repetition

little more. every more

accurate. our pretend we

repetition listening. best to.

every repetition to pretend

our aren't listening.

every repetition to pretend

listening repetition. every

repetition getting every

repetition to aren't listening

while the conversation going

best getting a with fewer

accurate aren't listening.

getting a little repetition

getting. best outside

conversation going best listening.

little repetition getting

more we aren't heated while

our best becoming we do to

aren't listening. our best to.

aren't listening. every

repetition little more accurate.

the mistakes and the do

every repetition getting

every to do our best to pretend

listening. aren't to our best to

pretend we . we while mistakes.

the conversation going on

outside becoming heated while

we do our aren't listening

a little more accurate, a

and with more accurate.

getting a aren't getting a

little repetition accurate,

more getting a little

repetition accurate little aren't

we do our aren't listening

do our best to on with

conversation. the becoming heated

while to pretend listening.

we aren't listening. our

we do our best to. we aren't

getting a little getting a

little more accurate, a little

, a little going becoming

we aren't every

repetition. every repetition

listening. every more a little

getting every repetition

accurate little getting a little

more a we more accurate. we

aren't listening. little more

listening. we aren't listening a

little more accurate, a little

accurate, a little getting.

every repetition. every

repetition getting. every aren't

listening. best we conversation

going on fewer mistakes. the

conversation going best to pretend we

. every repetition

getting more mistakes with

fewer faster a repetition

getting pretend we aren't we do

we aren't listening

pretend we. every little going

the conversation and

outside conversation going.

the fewer mistakes. fewer

mistakes on outside becoming

heated do our best going on to

aren't every repetition

faster a little repetition

getting a a more we aren't

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 three.

fixed link mutable link

bucket and the and the

doing our. circles of ink

going around hear help but

notice the temperature

changing every moment around us,

how the is a we think things

are repeating themselves

or not but we don't don't

care and that's about would

us more or feel more our arm

glowing through our music wind

keeps trees around a little

keep smiling and

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link

write they listened.

about and start what might one

in another to by one to the

next word and suspect that a

somehow and then laugh at how

absurd it think about two

things happening at the same

time sound someone they were

as and books and be for

breakfast why we cross one thing

out another

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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

twenty two.

twenty seven.

six.

twenty four.

eight.

thirty one.

ten.

nine.

twenty one.

fifteen.

twenty six.

eighteen.

twenty.

nineteen.

thirteen.

three.

sixteen.

two.

seventeen.

thirty.

five.

twenty eight.

fourteen.

zero.

one.

twenty five.

seven.

twenty three.

four.

twenty nine.

twelve.

eleven.