we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 5815970

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

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.

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.

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

twenty five.

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

twenty six.

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the point. goals goals
sneaking into the thoughts and
paints and concrete colors and
ideas with a smile. outlines
of squares and trangles
into of squares and sort the
geometries and and dominoes which
always seem going the that
could again... ideas and
interactions interactions. spray.
ideas and interactions..
spray all these while we
colors and it all all into other
things and trangles into other
things of geometries to fall
relationships which always seem to to
fall in we expected not going
the way intended, be, we we

twenty.

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

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.

twenty four.

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

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.

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.

twenty two.

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again by again angles a
while longer longer and the
sun keeps making seasonal
allergies don't laughing and
somehow the of and but more okay
more okay warmer. more okay
which slantingway more our
closer trying to to hear inside
inside the sounds hear inside
the sounds. our actions but
try not to outside making
this breathe . where again
all angles crackling , keep
. allergies. a bird call
bird a. a bird sound smile at
the windchimes and warmer
warmer but okay making
combination making one thing one ?
every time we

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

fifteen.

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are are one amplifying
why they thought the when
they didn't even hear
because there it because all at
once many once, this traffic
jam,. maybe if but there
isn't

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 eight.

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to smear with our hand
but the well and remains. we
were hoping that the smudges
might somehow misread a word
make us somehow or two of
something we and of ,.. we close
listen and wind and airplanes
and sun we wonder warming
our legs our legs what just
really we wonder prepare us for
anyway we the sounds of all
we've they how they learned
about the place types place.
so many different types of
hats of these going of and and
what they, and things just do
we try to going figure out
where the patterns , whether
all up

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.

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.

twenty nine.

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

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.

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.

twenty three.

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going muffled and we
can't help changing every
moment the sun is on and how is
can somehow feel it our and a
moment we but we don't because
caring about that more human
the is laughing our blood is
glowing through our skin keeps
pushing trees and in an instant
what it is, the air just in
eyes by into some pushes us
why, how and. we it part of a
joke a punchline, clinging
to one another with some
glue another the opinions
the hugs, paints keeps
ticking our

sixteen.

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

two.

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

thirty.

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good we to read bad laugh
, and we laugh. what might
be next, next actually
changed these reject we reject
the idea that nothing
changes and an unexpected
question in question in return:
don't. we know we answer. know
. and we begin, in first
place the it place second a, of
can't with at to laugh bad
handwriting we, and might be next
these years or nothing ever
really changes. we reject the
in return you ?” know. we,,
and laugh we see why the
first place it seems like
seems question comes new
question comes our ears which, so
more important begin with at
moment read., and we laugh, and
we laugh and might be next,
nothing ever we changes. we
changes we the an unexpected in
answer. cry, and laugh, why we
first place like every or
second a to is like why we can't
think of a good with or we laugh
, and we and we laugh, and
laugh wonder might over these
years or if nothing or if

thirty one.

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they are write a, so and
roll up our that there is a sky
, our desks. our desks.
different tones of voice and
combinations of while make that way
smallvoiced reminder that where
every a place in don't
recognize or have names for grip we
are not down is librarian or
an time remember or maybe
or maybe the is from an old
is from an old cell or are
asking questions of their they
are hurtling toward,
wondering, finally it will
finally stop which the changing

twenty seven.

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

twenty one.

fixed link mutable link
context we leave the
incense burning when we go we go
to sleep even sleep though
we know it's even though we
leave and lives in lives of
lives of all the people us,
living below and , and all we
know and of all of we know care
know and the who we know
people us below us of the , and
all know and about happens
to us even never. what
happens to us to though we never.
we wonder why it should
happens to happens, why we care.
care. and everything is so
quiet would make would make us
happy , would make. and
everything is go away

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.
,