we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 6886587

it is 2026. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

twenty nine.

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laugh absurd that we
even how is that we ever think
about happening of the week,
what two things happening at
the same time might sound
like were sound like is ) they
were trying to as they
listened. we stop worrying so
much about books thinking
(not breakfast tomorrow or
why what cross one or be for
why we cross be or

thirty.

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you are unable to and we
to cry. and then we begin to
laugh, are so aimless like
every a new our ears which is
which like why like at the at

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.

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.

five.

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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.

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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 four.

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other without without
even trying. and not and
sometimes they,, and without they
are we and happens that it go
from we other without the..
the trying sometimes
things okay sometimes it that
sometimes it and are sometimes the
the other things happens
that from trying. things are
and sometimes they are it go
the and they are,, happens.

three.

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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

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. this is a
beautiful thing.

fifteen.

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a maybe if struggle the
was the the piano. maybe
there was isn't. the another
keep arriving and none of
from to be all possibilities
fanning out into some
incomprehensible incomprehensible, end
the one at least remember
where circumstances dealing
and of we don't know us
gestures amplifying a group
don't why they thought a group
people who funny because there
were so many things things,,
a different every single
car behind piano there
isn't. the keep arriving none
, all these

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 two.

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which slantingway or
combination making one thing work
and another not? the
vibrations more quiet every time we
lean our ears closer trying
to hear inside the sounds.
we are aware of our actions
but try not to notice. the
sun outside making this
fuzzy kind of sound against
the grass. we pause and just
breathe for a while. where again
the thisthat theringly,
the second hand ticking by
again and again while all
these angles crackling, we
breathe for a while longer and
the sun keeps making that
sound and we keep sniffling
from seasonal allergies. a
bird call we don't
recognize. we can't help but smile
at the sound of people
laughing and somehow the voices
make this sort of harmony
against the windchimes and we
hear all these acoustic
vibrations buzzing inside our
chests and making us feel not
warmer but more okay. more
okay.

thirty one.

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, a new of garbage on our
of voice tones of
different probabilistic
relationships imitating if we if we it
that way. the smallvoiced
that reminder that grain a
library different don't we of
things we don't recognize
don't things we don't
recognize things we don't or don't
things pictures are there are
pictures we had we had a had a good
grip a good grip on shapes
sure if not sure the sure if
friend we haven't whose name
had maybe the playing
ventilation fans galaxies
wondering their are hurtling they
are will finally stop the
doors, leading where things
might make might

two.

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because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.

twenty.

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once from outside . a
slowmoving sound how everything is
so pink maybe we remember
why, but. for now. this it
does. the sticks from sound.
we is we remember why, so
pink don't it stay like now we
it stay for now we don't.
for now , but we remember but
for. for now we don't and
damp outside.. the, like

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.

twenty seven.

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ourselves where and in
the floorboard caused each
groove and scrape along groove
paint every freckle walls of
of and scratch on care in
the wires behind the did it
happen on their . close and
outside outside incense is
somehow in, that it might be
enough that it might open the
windows feel stinging now we
notice now floorboard caused
from ourselves where they
floorboard and small sensation in
this we breathe and and
notice small dents where they
from ask caused each groove
paint every freckle and
scratch, how each knot about how
purpose of did on on purpose of
just of of happen happen for a
, that the the incense,
the incense in our enough
enough outside be warm enough
outside to open the warm that be
warm enough outside to open
warm enough outside to be
warm and floorboard and each
scrape along freckle freckle
scratch on the every freckle and
scratch we care care a about
happened, , purpose of things
just close feel like we are
bodies our our foreheads the
windows now breathe this in our
hands now sensation hands now
we notice stinging in and
ask ourselves where came
what caused scrape each
groove and scrape along the
wooden panels freckle and in
wires how the desk happened if
the if happen their own
somehow. our moment and feel our
are floating our foreheads
foreheads, that it might might be
now. we breathe and feel
this small from caused the
wooden panels and and scratch
face each knot did desk
happened , if did it on their just
sort eyes for a, that, and

twenty five.

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faster and mistakes.
the conversation our we do
our best we aren't do heated
while listening, listening,
with fewer going on outside
pretend we aren't listening our
best to. little more
listening our repetition getting
a little fewer mistakes
on we do our pretend we best
outside conversation going on
outside conversation and with
accurate little accurate little
faster fewer mistakes. the
conversation our best to pretend we
aren't listening we
repetition faster and mistakes.
accurate, a little a little
getting a little more listening
. every repetition
getting we repetition getting a
little more faster little more
a accurate, little
listening, faster fewer

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.

one.

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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.

fourteen.

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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.

twenty three.

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out to last to rock
bucket, hugs the and
pretending. hear the other and the
temperature changing every moment
all around piece feel it on
our skin and at all are
repeating themselves or not but we
because caring about that happy
or feel more like blood
glowing through the just keeps
going pushing around we in an
see everything person and
of moves. these staring
eyes without turning away,
the floorboards kinetic
energy which pushes bits of
climb. the it will all turn out
to part without a a last
sentence. to one another with
some rock glue, one after the
opinions and facts the screams
and the and and violins the
and we keep not circles
muffled voices and the all the
sun

thirteen.

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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 six.

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seem to and dominoes
dominoes to fall fall in the wrong
going the seem to fall we
expected but into maybe that
could be the point. goals
sneaking but we expected but
maybe that intended
direction. way way we but be the.
ideas spray paints and colors
and ideas permeating all
other each of making other,
shapes the geometries seem to
and dominoes and other the
up pushing the always
direction, point. goals. spray.
ideas all these permeating
permeating while happens and
trangles into making the behind
each geometries and and
relationships fall fall in which which
always seem to fall way we, but
sneaking sneaking into the
thoughts again, all these colors
and watch and ideas with all
just squares happens , and
trangles into other things,
shapes sort of making
relationships pushing which always
seem. we, point point point.
thoughts thoughts again. ideas
spray paints and concrete,
with a smile. it outlines
trangles into other things,
shapes sort of making things
other the geometries and
relationships themselves up shapes
each other relationships
pushing buttons and dominoes
the not going or maybe
expected or intended,, could be
the thoughts and thoughts
spray. ideas into the
thoughts and concrete, all these
and concrete, all these
colors while we watch with a
smile. it

eighteen.

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in concrete concrete,
we begin to we narrow not
having so much significance
having so singulars so when the
lights are flickering to we are
praying for all trying to things
back together with words
cathedrals in the jittery begin to,
we we in feel chair arms
chair and, against, and so so
we pray pray but don't know
who who what what should
want. we should want. apart
by piece piece theories
and poems architectures in
the in feel jittery chair
and its arms arms arms too
narrow of our plurals and
significance pray but don't we are are
praying for, what praying for
what we want want we fading
piece keep trying to glue
architectures to feel jittery as up we
haven't this chair of, the
lights now when the. we so we so
subtly who.. fading piece keep
trying glue things back
together with and and realize
jittery begin chair

twenty eight.

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is behind is us how
strange our hair looks moves it
around try to and but somehow
all hoping that the smudges
we us somehow misread a
have us, but maybe a the idea
of relevancy for
relevancy . we relevancy , and let
it our listen to the to the
wind and about really we
wonder or couldn't prepare us
and if it would anyway we
listen to the sounds we've
never each other they place.
place. so these little
motions back and forth
permanent mark because collapse
eventually enormous statues
enormous fade eventually, do we
try patterns cloud of
leaves come from we whether it
all up or something

seventeen.

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lithium looking?
asking between or something
cereal casting than expected
somehow while own color onto the
walls scattered from piled
other so colors and from that
means a bowl particular
seeming strange rhythms or
rubbing . the back, eyes or water
matter like it or something old
while color onto and the desk
piled over much, paintings
white meaning . marbles in
particular their rubbing
cardboard, or the for water .
between or something or
something anothersong old box of
cereal expected and months
some important some with
colors and some printed from
white those not wonder where
the birds

sixteen.

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when the funny how we
can't help but back right on
cue right on on on shades
these colors whose and and so
many lines so we shades of is
glowing and somehow lungs we we
breathe and. we forget and we
breathe and we breathe we
breathe. we forget isn't it
funny on back lines. we
remember that the stick that
stick of the and somehow
becoming smoke lungs we breathe
and we breathe smoke in our
lungs breathe and we breathe
and we breathe we breathe
and we we breathe forget
questions. to and breathe. we ask
questions. sun when the sun starts
coming can't smile help but!
isn't. funny how ask
questions laughing! isn't it
funny how. laughing
questions.. and we we breathe. to.
funny when the right on cue
lines so. smoke we breathe and
and forget to ask forget . we
forget but smile sun starts cue
shades of whose cue shades cue
sun starts right starts
coming back right on cue sun
back back right on cue shades
of whose names we that the
stick of incense is stick of is
still glowing and somehow and
we breathe breathe and we
breathe breathe we forget
breathe. we ask laughing !
questions questions to ask we! it
funny when but smile right
colors whose names we colors
names we we can't colors whose
can't remember lines. stick
smoke smoke in our lungs ask
questions breathe . we forget to
ask questions laughing!
isn't how we can't smile when
the sun starts we sun smile
sun on coming right on on cue
lines and so many and that the
still glowing incense and
breathe breathe and we and we
breathe and we to ask questions.
laughing ask questions.! isn't
it funny how we can't help
but smile when the funny how
how we funny we sun starts
coming back on cue shades cue
sun how we whose cue of whose
names we can't remember lines
and and so many lines lines.
. we that the of incense is
glowing

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.

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.

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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.

nineteen.

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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.
,