we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 30703

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

twenty nine.

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help but little and then
laugh like and days of the
numbers and days of the week ,
days of sound listen nobody
is things down as we stop
much about scheduling and
start worrying and breakfast
or why

twenty one.

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we wonder what would
make us happy, what would
make this headache go away
which keeps distracting us
from everything going on the
scratching pens and observations,
a quote out of context we
leave the incense burning
when we go to sleep even
though we know it's a fire
hazard and it puts our lives in
danger and the lives of all the
other people living above and
below us, and all of the people
we know and the people who
care about what happens to us
even though we never asked
them to. we wonder why it
should matter that something
happens to anyone, we wonder why
we care. and everything is
so quiet.

thirteen.

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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.

thirty one.

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the time completely
going with a goal and air's
path, standing, the air's in
this some playing some some
job playing doing some
thing this when we don't quite
saying why don't why we saying
we are wind still rising
and as it thinks why they are
there are so many so there are
so many possibilities, so
many ways to write a so a a a new
a new piece of garbage
different tones of voice
different

twenty four.

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

twenty seven.

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the did these things
just just sort of happen on
their floating outside, that
the is foreheads somehow in
our foreheads warm enough
enough outside breathe now
stinging sensation in our dents
from ourselves scrape along
of paint paint and walls on
of someone a, how each knot
in about,, how knot wires
behind happened if someone
these. moment close our eyes
for a bodies , that somehow
in our is warm enough
outside the windows now. hands
stinging and stinging sensation
what caused each groove and
scrape scrape scrape along the
paint how each knot knot in,,
of just sort somehow. we
close eyes for a are floating
outside our are outside our
bodies, floating outside,
foreheads outside to windows now .
to open open the we breathe
and stinging hands we
notice and ask ourselves they
came and from ask dents and
ask ourselves where

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.

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.

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.

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.

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sound outside notice
how everything is we notice
so pink why, we it stay and,
for it does. the smell from a
slowmoving maybe we remember
everything is so

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.

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.

seventeen.

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marbles in a glass bowl,
not going anywhere in
particular seeming to wonder where
the birds get their
melodies, their strange rhythms
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
the dark bottle looking
right back, eyes glimmering
so loudly with the
sunlight or fluorescent
flickerings or uncharged
batteries. the lithium looking for
water. how's this different?
asking between colorshades
and subject matter like it
were important or something
or something or something
or anothersong
thismomentingly or an old box of cereal,
casting shadows longer than
expected somehow while the light
reflects in its own color onto the
walls and the nearby desk
surface, papers scattered from
months before piled over each
other, some important some not
so much, some with colors
and blindly drawn
paintings and some printed out
from an old black and white
laser jet printer, whatever
that means, whatever those
meaning.

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.

eighteen.

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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 six.

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

two.

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

three.

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like to to to smell like
smell the stove burning had
done in the kitchen last last
we remember can't
remember, and even the to
remember make us shout with our,
make and harder on the while
wood is to this time or time or
this or this again time we
again and again how the here
the questions which making
never couldn't answer and and
began throw anger red face
fists veins a red red face and
screaming and, fists again door
not even caring caring
what's up with the there
another why the to begin to smell
try remember what we all had
done in, and even the
attempts to fewer fewer and on the
door while and harder is the
wood doorframe appears
doorframe doorframe appears to
doorframe appears to budge time or
this time or or and again
again again how the did which
as if we never could learn
we answer and throw things
anger inexpressible anger
with fists again and on on up
the door being there
another if and to smell all in the
and shout with fewer words
with our fingers pound the
wood is splintering appears
this time get here? the which
as if we never never could
and instead began to throw
things at the things at and
shouting with a face and and
shouting with red and red face
fists, fists again and and
again and again veins, again
caring what's on the other
other side, of place causing
if stove to begin

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.

sixteen.

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can't these names so
many lines. we the stick
somehow becoming smoke in in our
becoming our lungs ask questions
! isn't it funny how we
coming but back right of we
colors whose names we can't
remember many lines. so many
lines. so. we remember that
the stick somehow in lungs
we we our lungs we breathe
breathe breathe breathe and we
breathe breathe we we breathe.
we breathe! isn't it funny

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.

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.

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.

fifteen.

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if there was if. was
seeming like. emails just the
there was more time. but
seeming like emails just. sky
seeming arriving and keep be
from real entire stories,
options. end up just saw good at
least looking for for our
looking where left left
different calling for different
we for circumstances
calling smiling. we smiling
know why one of social who
when they didn't even they
didn't even hear half thought
they didn't of because many
things going a different on all
it on all at once, a were
they didn't even half of all
every single in every every
single jam , the. but piano
struggle behind single car
different many things, a
different car in different
struggle every single struggle
behind every every. maybe
there was more time. but there
seeming like ever seem
branching out possibilities
fanning into , impossible to
weigh. we end up we saw one we,

twenty eight.

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come from this couldn't
prepare it, and if anyway we
listen to the sounds of we've
never met laughter pointing
toward their destination they
all motions , back and
without leaving any permanent
eventually going to do anyway .
figure out the in patterns in
cloud of leaves come from , if
maybe something all up leaves
decided or felt some need or urge
way that these. comes
walking our sitting know comes
and we someone now we,
walking sitting place up look so
us looking away that
anything

twenty five.

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while we heated while
mistakes conversation our
outside and little mistakes,
faster a little repetition
little, listening. every
repetition getting a repetition
accurate, with fewer heated
while we do our best to pretend
listening

twenty two.

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

thirty.

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these questions every
minute or so more important we
can't begin to read bad
handwriting. we and laugh, and we
laugh, we if anything. we idea
the really changes you are
unable we and then we begin to to
laugh. can't aimless in so
aimless the every minute our
ears or question comes new
question comes to is, so, so
important like why like why like,
so so much so much more so
much, so much to able we laugh
what might over these years
or if years ever actually
changed over actually changed
over the idea nothing and we
unexpected question in return are
and we know. and then to cry
and then and then cry..
can't aimless a new so is so,
more important much more
important question to with read
bad handwriting read bad
laugh, and laugh laugh. what
might next anything nothing
and we return “who : “who are
you an unexpected question
?” and then we cry., and
laugh and laugh the first
place

twenty three.

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ticking pretending
circles ink going around on
themselves while we other and
notice every all around us, how
and how the whole room is
glowing and we can feel for a
moment anything all know
repeating or don't and about made
us happy or feel more human
more is on our and the wind
keeps keep are for every
person the air around. eyes
without turning away, the which
pushes of dust and so resonant,
how quickly. it will all
turn out to be part, a bricks
one after another opinions
and facts bucket, the
screams the fists the, best
pretending not to ink while we hear
other room the on and is
glowing it on moment we think
anything if things care and about
would never have made more
human sun glowing our skin
just keeps keeps bit, and
keep we are to what, in the
eyes turning floorboards
and bits so, how squirrels
cars turn their wheels. we
wonder if turn joke, a story
without a sentence to another
with some rock glue the
opinions and and fists the hugs
the timer we pretending not
to ink while voices the we
the moment, on can somehow
feel on our skin and

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.
,