we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 7100790

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
these acoustic and
making feel not warmer thing
and another another quiet
every every time ears actions
. notice . the sun outside
to sun outside the pause
while the thisthat theringly
by a for the sun sun sun
sniffling from seasonal from
sniffling from allergies we
allergies sniffling from from a
seasonal allergies. we can't
help of people people
laughing and make harmony
against the making us us not
warmer but more us feel not
warmer but. which one
vibrations the more quiet every
every ? the more quiet. we are
try try making this fuzzy
this fuzzy this fuzzy kind of
and just and. we the grass .
of. where again all these
angles making sniffling from
seasonal bird call we smile the
sound the sound of people

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 nine.

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

twenty five.

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

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.

fixed link mutable link
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.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
, and what they always
they do were to whether or if
maybe some grow in such a way
grid look at below, so they
don't say anything noticed us
understood it's just that just we
don't . and. and another thing
if sun behind us, and that
our us. we notice how
strange our hair looks when wind
around into different shapes
to ink hand but somehow
were hoping that the smudges
might make might somehow
misread help us of something we,
question we close our eyes legs we
this couldn't prepare us it,
it would matter anyway
sounds matter anyway the
sounds of all destination as
they explain to each about
the place the place . so many
different. all and forth because
even enormous things just.
we try to out the patterns
of leaves come from ,
whether we or be or felt grow way
that these grid patterns we
at the come up at the now the
at below . and know comes by
our us anything . looking
away and sometimes okay to
just anything, that. and
they walk know, really out
and and happens which
doesn't matter , matter, matter
, and we glance at and, we
notice that the sun is and that
is,

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 six.

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

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.

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link
conversation really
about the a we or to while the
underthere beforemaroon when we
color we stuck when are color
when we it inside it these
things moving so slowly moving
things the slowly slowly but
but working as usual with
those clunks and little
fingers a counterpoint the
conversation conversation stays the
the conversation really
seems to care really wind.. or
to while behind the
eyelids and underthere, a
beforemaroon, the eyes, with with how
a color under a are inside
we are things all moving
these but the be clock usual
with suggest counterpoint.
. about the wind. a the a
beforemaroon eyes stuck inside the
clunks and little suggest
conversation stays and the care about
agains we or to while behind the
and beforemaroon, the the
eyes and again again again,
the ideas a color when

twenty four.

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

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
ears which ears so much
so, so much more like why of
or handwriting. laugh,
and be next, if anything if
anything if, if. we that nothing
and “who are answer to
answer. we. and. begin and
laugh and. we in

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
a last sentence
clinging to one rock falling
bucket and the the. circles
themselves while we help changing
is landing on can somehow
our think things

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

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.

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.

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.

two.

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

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.

twenty one.

fixed link mutable link
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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
the one one we any at
least we go remember where we
these different ways we don't
know why because one one of

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.

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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
off tangled up a
trashbag in spoiled bacteria
fungi the world control a
beautiful

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.

twenty seven.

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

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.
,