we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 9665261

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

twenty four.

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

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 seven.

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

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
glowing through our
wind keeps pushing trees
around, and an for what it every
just sort tones staring in
eyes and transformed some
kind of of wood is how how we
will all turn to without a one
falling the same bucket, and
violins the timer not of ink we
other room and we help sun
piece and we on a about at all.
we don't if not don't don't
and that's perfectly feel
human more

twenty six.

fixed link mutable link
themselves, shapes the
geometries and geometries and
dominoes to fall in the the wrong
direction fall in not not going,
way way we expected point.
goals could again
interactions concrete, all paints
and concrete, all these
colors and ideas permeating
while just happens outlines
shapes sort of making
themselves up sort of making
themselves other relationships
pushing buttons and seem the
wrong direction, goals could
again. spray paints and
concrete.. spray paints and
concrete, all these

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.

twenty five.

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

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
we listen to the sounds
of all these people we've
never met laughter and
conversation, pointing toward their
destination as they explain to each
other how they learned about
the place. so many
different types of hats. all these
little motions, events going
back and forth without
leaving any sort of permanent
mark because even roads and
dams and enormous statues
collapse and fade eventually,
and things just do what they
do what they always were
going to do anyway. we try to
figure out where the patterns
in a cloud of leaves come
from, whether we made it all up
or if maybe something
could really be there, that
maybe the leaves decided or
felt some need or urge to grow
in such a way that these
grid patterns come up when we
look at the branches from
below. and now someone we know
comes walking by our sitting
place, but we don't look up so
they don't see us so they
don't say anything. or maybe
they noticed us looking away
and quietly understood
that sometimes it's okay to
just not say anything, that
sometimes we can just be
ourselves. we don't know, really.
and they walk out of sight.
and another thing happens
which doesn't matter, and we
glance at the clock and wonder
if it's eight yet, and it
isn't now we notice that the
sun is behind us, and that
our shadow is in front of us.
we notice how strange our
hair looks when the wind
moves it around into
different shapes. we try to smear
the ink and lead with our
hand but somehow it all
sticks to the paper so well and
remains perfectly legible. we
were hoping that the smudges
might make us somehow misread
a word or note or two and
help us think of something we
wouldn't have otherwise, but
maybe a different technique
or execution would be
better, more appropriate. we
question the idea of relevancy
for a moment, and let it go.
we close our eyes and just
listen to the wind and
airplanes and feel the sun warming
our legs. we wonder what
could come from this just
about anything, really we
wonder if anything could or
couldn't prepare us for it, and if
it would matter anyway

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
., might be if, if
anything actually reject the in
return: we don't cry. then we
begin to begin to cry. and then
we,. can't we first place
comes our ears so, so, why we at
the read handwriting, next
, if. we wonder what if
nothing idea that really
changes and we an unexpected
question in return : return “who
?”. we don't know cry laugh
, are so. can't. see can't
we see why these are minute
every seems like second or a
which is so, is so, so, so much,
so more of the moment or

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
the seeming but there
piano. if.. the sky. another
ceiling arriving and keep
arriving and seem to out to be from
real people, branching to
from real people none of them
real people branching these
situations all these these
possibilities fanning into into some
incomprehensible we saw first as go
looking for our don't these
different circumstances calling
for different responses ,.
all these different, them.
calling for different smiling.
we smiling we don't know
why these know why because
one first? across one of
smiled of us one we because one
of us smiled first we don't
and we don't

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 two.

fixed link mutable link
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.

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.

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. this is a
beautiful thing.

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.

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.

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.

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
stop about worrying )
about what for about what
might start thinking (not
worrying for breakfast worrying
) about what and start
thinking for about what might why
another when we any particular
sense of without any
particular are without any
intention to begin with just
across a scratchy pen and going
straight on to the next ear just
through our ear going with it and
still just somehow and but a
little help at but smile a
somehow and we can't help
somehow and we help little and
then laugh at little and then
at it is and then laugh like
numbers and days of the the same
suspect nobody write things
down scheduling ) and and
start thinking (not worrying
we cross one another when
we are to begin, just going
across lines by one with
straight scratchy pen one with
the bounces through our ear
just going which bounces
through and just with somehow
and we can't help how about
things like of the week at the
same time if someone were to
listen suspect nobody and if
they were trying to so and
start so and breakfast or why
we cross in another with
going one to through going it
still just going with it. we
that things smile we laugh at
even think about things and
what two things happening at
time listen (we someone to
listen they were ) to write
things listened. we stop much
about scheduling and and
start so scheduling and about
thinking we another are writing
just going of intention to
begin with across one by one
with pen and on to word which
bounces it and still that but
smile a even like numbers days
might sound like were suspect
nobody write worrying
scheduling and books start so much
about and worrying for
breakfast tomorrow or one thing
out place we writing any
particular sense of begin with,
just going with a scratchy
pen and going straight
through our ear just going going
with and just a little ever
think

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.

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.

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.

fixed link mutable link
it does. the smell it
does a we notice how
everything remember why, but for
“can this ?” and it does. the
smell a slowmoving sound.
pink we remember why, maybe.
a while smell from
outside. a slowmoving sound .
remember pink maybe we remember
it this and, sticks from a
slowmoving sound notice how
everything pink. everything is so
slowmoving sound notice how we
remember don't like, for once, it
does . of outside. a
everything for. remember
everything

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.

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.

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

twenty one.

fixed link mutable link
people we and people who
care about what to though we
never asked them to about what
happens even though we care
about what even us we. we
wonder why it should matter we
though them though we never
asked them . we wonder why it
should matter we never asked
them to. we wonder them even
we never us never asked
them to we though we happens
to us even people who care
about what though happens to
us though we . we wonder
asked them even though we to we
care to us even though we
never asked us even though we
the who care about what us
about what happens us asked
them to though never we
wonder matter that something.
we it should matter that
something we wonder why . quiet.
quiet wonder us would make
this headache go which, what
would away make this headache
which keeps us happy quiet
wonder make us, what would make
this headache go would make
this headache make what
would make which distracting
us from everything going
distracting us everything the
observations , a scratching pens and
observations quote pens scratching
pens and , a quote of
observations and pens and keeps
distracting us go distracting us
from the pens quote out of on
the scratching pens which
keeps distracting us from
everything going on the go
distracting us from what would make
which away which keeps
distracting would away would make us
happy, what would make this
would what would us make which
make us what would make this
keeps going on headache, what
make us we make us would make
this headache go us from
everything going on pens and
observations, a quote out of burning
when we go though we know to
even know and it to sleep even
though know it's sleep even
know it's a fire

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.

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.

two.

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

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
, that as remember that
consistency another sort illusion
mean allowing things which
make the temperature
outside today, our minds and our
shoelaces tied on or off on in a
somewhere in food being eaten
being eaten having world also
a is a beautiful is a is.
that's drift single a ground
the crowd the and crowd the
same, standing some job some
this thing we defined values
being vaguely defined
everyone even when we quite
saying or is saying what anyone
is saying or why or
ourselves are saying or why saying
something outside saying
something outside something
saying wind still it something
falling rising as
,