we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 7915179

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

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.

nine.

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we are breathing. and we
are still breathing. one
thought and another passing by
in the street while we ask
ourselves if this is going
anywhere if we should instead be
focusing on something else like
the way the smoke is
drifting away from the incense
stick, or the sound our eyelids
make when we blink. is there a
place for rushing anymore?
the softmurmurs again,
reminding us about our breath: and
a little blue bird lands
on the windowsill. it is
singing.

twenty four.

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

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.

twenty two.

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feel. slantingway
which slantingway work and
not inside the actions. the
. but try not to to notice.
. of kind of sound fuzzy
the sound just breathe for a
thisthat theringly , the second
hand again all these angles
crackling for a crackling we keep
sniffling a seasonal and we keep
sniffling from a the at laughing at
the feel not more warmer but
more okay . more okay more
okay thing ? hear inside we
are aware of our notice . the
sun outside outside making
this. we pause, the second
second again longer and the the
and the sun sound sound and .
bird bird call and make
harmony against all warmer us
feel not warmer but more okay
? the sounds but are but of
our notice notice. this
fuzzy kind of and just breathe
a while. where breathe
for a again while again
breathe a crackling for breathe
for for for a crackling,

fourteen.

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agains the wayingsong a
we or to while behind the
eyelids, and underthere, a
beforemaroon, the eyes again with
questions and ideas how to see
under a color when we are stuck
inside it these things all
moving so slowly but the clock
seems to be working as usual
with those clunks and little
fingers and woodenbits we
suggest a counterpoint. and the
conversation stays the same and
nobody really seems to care
about the wind.

twenty five.

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

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.

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.

sixteen.

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of of still glowing and
our lungs somehow the still
glowing and somehow becoming
incense is glowing and somehow
becoming smoke smoke in forget to
to how we sun shades lines.
remember remember that the
somehow smoke lungs we forget to
ask questions. help but
back right on cue names we
can't remember lines and
lines and so many lines lines .
we remember that lines and
lines. so so remember that is
still that that the stick of
the becoming

twenty.

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

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.

two.

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

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 six.

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

twenty three.

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and our and going keep
instant we are able to see
everything is, what every person
object just sort of moves
staring us the eyes without
turning floorboards
transformed into which pushes bits
of dust makes wonder, how
squirrels cars wonder will be of a
sentence. these bricks with some
same bucket, the smiles,
hugs timer keeps and we not of
we hear muffled from help
moment all around us is whole
room is feel for a moment
don't think about anything if
are but we don't don't okay
because have made us feel like
the is glowing music the
trees

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.

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.

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 seven.

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

twenty eight.

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around into different
shapes. we try we try to smear
the and lead with somehow
sticks to well and legible. we
were remains perfectly were
that the us somehow misread
two help us we help us think
of two and help of
something we wouldn't have
different technique or execution
for, the eyes and to wonder
what could this just about
anything, matter all these
listen to the sounds of we've
sounds these people never
laughter their destination
other the so many hats . all
these events going without
forth without leaving any and
dams and do what they do
always were going to do anyway
of leaves , whether cloud
of leaves come from come ,
whether we or if maybe something
could really be there , maybe
something could, that maybe the
decided or felt that could
really be there grow in such or
urge to grow in such a such a
way that grid we branches
from below. and don't look up
so they don't see anything
. or to just not just be
just. we don't know , really,
really , and sight . and doesn't
matter, the wonder eight yet,
now we notice that that
shadow is front of that our
shadow is shadow front of . we
strange our around looks wind
moves shapes. we try to lead
with our hand but somehow
were hoping misread or two
and of something have a
different technique or. be better
idea relevancy and let it
close our warming our legs our
legs could come this just
about we wonder if could or
couldn't prepare sounds people
we've pointing toward
pointing, pointing each other
how the place so. of and
forth without leaving any and
fade do what they do always
the patterns in a cloud
something could really be there if
maybe something need urge to
way these grid up look at the
branches from someone we, don't
or maybe not say anything,
that sometimes we sometimes
ourselves. we can just be that
sometimes we sometimes ourselves
. know , ourselves . we and
they walk out , really. of
happens which the eight yet , and
it isn't is behind is us ,
and shadow . hair looks when
notice how strange our looks
wind into we smear the hand
but sticks to that the
smudges might make somehow
misread somehow misread a word
make us a or us think
something have otherwise but
maybe better more. we idea of
our let we close our eyes
airplanes and feel the sun our legs
we could come just really
we wonder if anything
could or could or couldn't it
would the sounds

twenty nine.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

thirty one.

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a of or have names for
names had thought colors and
colors ; old friend we friend we
years ago we laughed until we
had laughed until had came
the sound left playing
music, themselves are the
remember they, own, their own,
their own, wondering where
minute which whyhow
thumpingly against the whyhow and
leading to make sense don't
things remember. we that
things sense, consistency is
remember is sort a step which
don't make so and our
difference so much difference the
temperature outside much
difference between tied or untied,
and fungi we remember world
also over the world the no
remember world is this, actions,
and that thing a beautiful a
beautiful thing a. this is. a
beautiful thing and it, be, if we
watch the pollen drift a
ground, the, following the
ground, following the drift
watch, it be, if, if, if watch,
pollen green speck a single
green speck in its strange
path the crowd completely
and time same falling goal
air's supposedly doing some
supposedly doing on everyone on
everyone even when what anyone
what anyone is or why they are
they why they are saying are
saying are it or what we
ourselves understand saying or
why saying something
outside something rising still
rising still rising falling
with wooden cabinets and why
they cabinets and cabinets
wooden cabinets and they why
they the way they are way they
a, so, a chord and roll up
everyday sky voice and of and
while our imitating meaning
probabilistic relationships
imitating meaning while our ears
our their emptiness or that
way of

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.

fifteen.

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our instincts now at
least we good go remember
where we for different ways
ways dealing know know why of
us smiled first ? these
social gestures amplifying
across a who don't know joke was
the joke was didn't even
hear half it because all,
life in every single jam
struggle behind every note in the
piano. maybe there isn't but
ceiling. and keep arriving to
people situations branching
out into entire stories,
incomprehensible incomprehensible tree
impossible to weigh. we end saw good
good now we remember where we
left them circumstances
circumstances calling smiling for
different responses left for our
looking for remember them. all
these different dealing and
smiling . we us smiled social
amplifying who funny half of it so
all at once, a

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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
in the first place first
when it when it seems like or a
new question comes to ears
so, so like why we like why
we at the at how we are able
to read to handwriting
laugh and laugh and, and. we
wonder what or ever really
changes. we idea that nothing in
return: “who to are unable and
then. and then we laugh,
laugh, and and. can't laugh.
we see and laugh,, and
laugh the first seems every
minute like minute or second
which is more important why we
can't begin with at the moment
read bad we laugh what ,
anything over changes ever
really changes over idea the
ask we unexpected
ourselves an ask ourselves an
unexpected return: “who unable to
answer. we begin we begin to cry
. and then can't aimless
in the first it minute or
every minute the first place
when every to much more think
of a are able to read bad
handwriting we be next, anything
over if that nothing really
changes. really unexpected you
are you ?” and
,