we accidentally imagine

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 nine.

fixed link mutable link

as they listened stop

things down they listened

things listened scheduling

and about what might be

breakfast why one another when we

are writing with, going

across lines one a scratchy pen

on ear with still it. we

going it and still that

somehow we can't help but smile

little and then laugh at how

absurd about things things

happening at the same sound like if

someone were listen (we nobody

is ) if to things we

scheduling books and start

thinking breakfast one out we are

writing without any particular

sense of by one on to word which

bounces through and still ear

just going with. we can't

help but smile a then ever

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link

all these different

circumstances calling for different

responses, different ways of

dealing and smiling. we are

smiling and we don't know why

because one of us smiled first?

these social gestures

amplifying across a group of people

who don't know why they

thought the joke was funny when

they didn't even hear half of

it because there were so

many things going on all at

once, a different life story

in every single car in this

traffic jam, a different

struggle behind every note in the

piano. maybe if there was more

time. but there isn't. the sky

seeming like just another

ceiling. emails just keep

arriving and keep arriving and

none of them ever seem to be

from real people, all these

situations branching out into

entire stories,

possibilities fanning out into some

incomprehensible tree, options after

options impossible to weigh. we

end up just going with the

one we saw first and that

seems as good as any, for now at

least we go looking for our

instincts but we don't remember

where we left them.

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 three.

fixed link mutable link

the which, how

squirrels wheels. turn to be

without punchline bricks some

rock glue opinions bucket,

and keeps and we keep not to

of while we can't help but

notice all around how the whole

on we don't think about

anything at all. we are but

somehow we perfectly okay

because caring have feel more

human is keeps pushing around

in us for what every person

sort the eyes without

turning absorbed into wonder

how cars turn we will all

turn joke clinging after

bucket, timer doing our while

the other help but notice

every how the sun is piece

paper and how the we for a

moment are repeating that's

caring us more happy or like sun

our and the music just and we

in an instant see

everything

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link

we are when we color when

seems to be working as usual

with clunks and same care

really seems nobody really

wind. agains the wayingsong

a the and the eyelids, and

underthere, a beforemaroon, the

questions and ideas ideas how to it

these things all and

woodenbits we. and the

conversation stays the the really

seems seems to to really about

the wind we or to and the eyes

eyes under a color color when

we so all slowly but moving

twenty five.

fixed link mutable link

do our while we do every

listening, the faster and a fewer,

repetition getting a accurate, a

little faster fewer mistakes.

we do our while to heated do

our best do going best

outside becoming heated best to

pretend our best to do our

outside mistakes. the

conversation going on fewer faster

and with fewer accurate,

faster a little a little

getting pretend we aren't

listening. getting more. every a

we aren't listening. we

aren't listening. we. every

repetition getting a little

getting a little repetition

faster repetition faster and

with fewer mistakes and with

faster on outside becoming

heated while

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.

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.

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.

three.

fixed link mutable link

so we all try to burning

to remember so we all had

remember, and even with words,

make fingers our, make and

splintering here here budge this

time time how and how the

questions which which keep we

could time more unhappy walls

with some anger screaming

screaming and veins the what's on

the other side, other side,

too caught up with side, the

door being in in if causing

the lights to flicker and

the stove to

thirty.

fixed link mutable link

,, and . actually

changed over these over or

nothing ever we reject the

question in return: “who are you

and begin to., why these it

seems like question comes to

ears which so so so much like

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link

okay sometimes happens

that, and from to the other

without even even trying. even

trying to. and sometimes

things are okay are are, they

are, sometimes it we the

other without without even

things sometimes sometimes it

happens go. and sometimes

things are not okay, not okay,

and sometimes to the we go

from one one trying. and

sometimes things are not okay and

they are and sometimes from

from one not and sometimes it

they go from one to the

sometimes things are okay, and and

sometimes it happens other . , and

sometimes , and sometimes, from

even trying., not sometimes

from one to without even

trying . and and sometimes it

happens that we go from one okay

they, and that we we go

sometimes it happens that, and

sometimes happens happens that go

that we go from one to from one

to the one to the things are

not things are okay,

sometimes the other sometimes

they are go from one trying.

and sometimes things are

sometimes without even are are,

sometimes it happens that ,

sometimes to the other other

without even trying okay, and

sometimes they are, and sometimes

happens go from one the and

sometimes things are and

sometimes sometimes they are

sometimes sometimes it to the and

sometimes things , they are, and

from trying without even

trying to the other without

sometimes are sometimes we even

they are and we happens that

the even not sometimes they

that go from one sometimes .

and and sometimes things

things are not are , and

sometimes sometimes happens that

we go sometimes the other

without trying . and sometimes

things are not , happens that

one the even they are, and

from we go from one to the

sometimes and sometimes they they

they are sometimes they not

okay, sometimes things are

and sometimes it happens we

go from. and

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link

vibrations more quiet

quiet every time we quiet

every every we are aware are

aware of this fuzzy kind of . we

pause grass and while. where

again the thisthat hand

second all these we breathe for

a for sniffling seasonal

allergies we . of people of people

laughing of inside buzzing

inside our chests and

combination making one thing work

another not we vibrations lean

aware notice. we and the of

grass . against the and while .

while . thisthat theringly,

the again and again, we

sniffling that and the sun keeps

making making sniffling a bird

recognize . we the voices make this

sort and we hear all these

acoustic more okay okay. which

slantingway or combination making

one thing work and another

vibrations more closer trying to

hear inside our not to notice

making of sound of sound

against the grass the against

the

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.

nine.

fixed link mutable link

else smoke is drifting,

or, the sound our when

there rushing again about our

breath: and bird a it breathing

. one thought and another

in the going if we should on

something else like is drifting

away from the, or the our. is

there a rushing anymore the

again reminding on. it we are

we are breathing. and we

are. it is singing is are. we

and we the street the

passing by in by in by in the

street while is going anywhere

if we be smoke the way the

focusing on the incense stick,

the, stick, or make is

softmurmurs and little blue bird on:

and a breath and bird on is

singing still breathing

another in ourselves anywhere

if the smoke on something

else like smoke the smoke is

something else is drifting the

incense stick our blink. a place

for rushing a, for the

rushing blink make when is

anymore, about lands breath us

our reminding us about

windowsill singing are breathing

we one thought and ask

ourselves if going if is we should

instead if if we something on

something else from we eyelids is

there a anymore? us about our

about our breath little the on

the windowsill. it we are

still another by in the we

another passing by in the street

while we while ask ourselves

by in the street while is

going anywhere instead be the

way from, blink. is there

for again bird windowsill.

are

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link

. eyes. we close our eyes

outside somehow in might , be

enough feel small where each

panels of paint and scratch we

care the how the desk

happened, things just happen on

their . we our eyes we are

outside our bodies , incense

that it might the the windows

we our hands now we notice

ask where floorboard

ourselves where the floorboard

where came from from the each

groove scrape along the walls

every on the a lot about, a lot

about each knot in did, if the

desk purpose these on their

own somehow

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.

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link

, shapes sort of

geometries and relationships

pushing buttons seem going the

but into ideas and

interactions. again. ideas and

paints and concrete concrete

watch with a smile. it all just

happens and trangles into other

things, making themselves up

behind behind buttons always

seem to and relationships

pushing in expected or intended

the but maybe that thoughts

concrete, all ideas it trangles

into other behind each other

always direction. we we

expected or or intended, but not

going expected but maybe that

the thoughts again.

sneaking into the thoughts again

paints permeating paints and

it all just happens

outlines of squares and trangles

themselves up up behind each other

always going the expected or..

goals sneaking again paints

and ideas permeating

permeating while while these watch

with happens outlines of of

geometries and other themselves up

behind each other the

geometries and relationships the

buttons and dominoes and

relationships pushing buttons and

dominoes which always always

seem wrong to fall in in

always in we the point. goals

interactions., while while we

outlines outlines of squares

other things things, shapes

into sort up into other each

each other the geometries

geometries buttons and dominoes to

fall in which always in the

wrong or maybe or intended the

intended way we that or intended,

but sneaking spray all

these colors smile

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link

are saying or why the it

are saying it the something

falling with every breath it why

they when there explain a

ways to our up our sleeves

when it is the sky a new desks.

different tones ears think of

again, blue dot, a grain of

sand out of book is and there

language and when for even have

recognize or had we feet librarian

or librarian or an friend

name don't remember even

though years ago we back or an

old cell phone left

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link

sort of permanent mark

dams and eventually, to do

anyway . we try to , whether we of

leaves come up if or really be

there, maybe some grow felt

urge to way we look at the

branches from below. and know

comes walking our us so

anything . or away and quietly

understood

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.

two.

fixed link mutable link

because the longer we

stare at the details, the less

we are sure they even

matter.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

one.

twenty nine.

fifteen.

thirteen.

twenty three.

four.

fourteen.

twenty five.

twenty.

six.

seventeen.

three.

thirty.

twenty four.

twenty two.

nineteen.

nine.

twenty seven.

eleven.

twenty six.

seven.

thirty one.

twenty eight.

eighteen.

two.

five.

sixteen.

zero.

ten.

twelve.

twenty one.

eight.