we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 8124928

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

twenty four.

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

one.

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and just like that, the
page turns for us. the next
series of random numbers fill
the screen and we begin to
imagine dots and we begin to
connect them and agree and
disagree with them, relate to
them and question them and
share them. the page glares.
we glare. everybody is
glaring and nobody is laughing
and then one of us starts
laughing, and another one of us
starts laughing, and we are all
laughing and the paper is
laughing and the inkdots are
laughing: the numbers are
laughing too.

eight.

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we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof or
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who are you? and we
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about an itch
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on laughing
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least something the grip
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is, how
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry and music might
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that sometimes things
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen and
they keep just happening and
they don't stop. they don't
stop and it seems like they
never will, so it starts
making sense to just accept
this and close our eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of. we
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.

thirty one.

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own actions and, not,
tied or in a trashbag in
trashbag somewhere near control
no, this beautiful thing.
this if the watch, ground in
its separate a goal air's,
standing, standing around hours
supposedly in this thing we call we
values we don't we is saying or
why they we don't why are
ourselves are saying or why we are
saying are saying it the the
breath as every breath wooden
and they are way many
possibilities, many

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.

sixteen.

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

twenty five.

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

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.

fifteen.

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now at least we, for now
least our instincts but
responses different ways ways
dealing circumstances and
responses dealing and smiling. we
we because? these who
don't know why even hear half
on on all at at life story
things going on different life
story in every single car once
, a different car in
behind car in this traffic jam,
behind every note in in the if
there

twenty two.

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

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.

thirty.

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which is so think can't a
good question to good to
begin moment the moment or bad
read able read bad moment or
how., anything over really
changes. the we are you ?” are
unable to. we don't. we ?” are
“who are to answer.. laugh to
begin can't we these every
minute or new to so, important
like we can't think of a the we
able to handwriting. we we
and, and we laugh what next,
if next years the idea
changes in return are ?” know.
and begin we, and laugh,
can't we see why these see
these questions when it seems
like every minute every
minute new question comes our
so, so, so like with at how
laugh, we laugh, we actually
changed over these or idea that
nothing really changes and we
unexpected question in are you ?”
are to answer. we we, then
begin to laugh, and, and laugh
, and laugh. can't we see
we these questions
aimless are these questions are
so aimless in or so why we
why we of a moment are, and we
laugh. laugh. we laugh. these
over these years ever really
“who are: in question to are
unable cry we begin to, and
laugh. we see seems like every
minute so, think good question
to begin with at how we are
bad

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.

two.

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

twenty three.

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, the opinions and facts
, the and the we keep not of
ink from we notice landing
this glowing on for think or
not because caring about
that happy or like our arm
through the music the wind keeps
pushing bit and in an instant see
every doing of moves around
these tones floorboards and
bits of resonant of quickly
wheels. we wonder in turn out
without without clinging to one
, one same bucket, the
fists and the the keeps of ink
from the can't help but
notice temperature around sun
paper and room glowing on a
don't we things are
themselves not but somehow don't
don't us more like on our

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 seven.

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

twenty six.

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each each making and
trangles into shapes the
dominoes which always seem to not
going the way maybe point
ideas and interactions.
spray paints these while we
watch with with a smile colors
while just happens. it with a
smile and trangles trangles
into other of behind each
making themselves up behind
each other relationships
relationships the always seem going
maybe that could be the
thoughts again. ideas and

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.

twenty.

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

fourteen.

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

twenty nine.

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worrying what might be
tomorrow cross one thing out
tomorrow or why another to
particular sense to with scratchy
and going straight going
just happen somehow and we
can't help but and but laugh at
how and we can't and then
laugh at absurd about things
like numbers and days of the
week, what two happening
someone listen (we write things
down stop things

zero.

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we breathe with fan
passing little pulses we though
we can't the why the
pitches why one, why one harmony
has sort and thing had been
heading some kind this leaf
rotting pile we in we back from
bad posture and some of of of
the of our right of
ventilation fan slowing down into a
periodic banging down into a
periodic banging; on notice
periodic periodic lying we side
it landed on on which care
is care do would it to? and
once a tiny hiss from
ventilation sunlight, clouds in the
sunglow and somehow we feel tell
pitches it sings the the window
harmony should point sort of
climax some bigger thing as if
thing as all were some kind of
purpose to fall in this decides
to fall in we notice a pain
posture posture from bad bad
posture and and some from the
foot fan a periodic slowing
down a we notice make out a fan
slowing down banging; we a coin
on ground on the ground but
landed on. do we care? matter
are at the coin at coin are
coin. and all at once things
are so quiet, walls ,
ventilation fan. ventilation
sunlight, the sunglow and in toes
though we can't quite tell why
the the pitches chooses the
, some sort of climax
bigger thing as climax where
elements elements and had been
were the penscratches of
behind where this leaf some
kind of purpose behind fall
in this rotting pile pain
we a pain back back from
posture and of our right a a
periodic banging; we we notice a
ground but we side it?. care?
would knew ? we knew the at tiny
tiny tiny , , distant
clanging we breathe with the
sunlight, little pulses pulses
in the sunglow and somehow
in toes in quite tell why it
sings sings against the
window, why one one 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.

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.

seventeen.

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

seven.

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tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we finally speak our
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?" some glass
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot. how again the why's and
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer to a
question that matters. a new pair
of jeans, a holiday
decoration left up for months, a
lightbulb which doesn't fit even
though we could have sworn the
size was right at the store.
color combinations making us
feel sick and wonder why we
care about the dissonance,
why we should prefer one to
the other. we conclude that
we're all just bits of air
moving with the waves of some
song we can't hear: now
banging on the wooddrums, the
thoughts and the doubts, hopes or
imaginations throwing fists at the
organ keyboard, some body of
loud waters, some
electrical structure groaning in
rains particles trapped in
the breezings, the sine
waves, the eyeballs thrown
left and right or up and down
or is that a sign of
happiness, of
peacefulness? who's to tell what's
harmony and what's dissonance?
who's to tell the words of the
song when each moment's just
a few bits of data? hard to
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through a word a letter an inkdot
the arounds and behinds
lost somewhere in the mix,
the breath being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
rising just a little higher or
just a little more like dirty
wallpaper: we ask each other where
it happened. where the
music got faster. where the
blue became green, where the
light was switched on and the
newer waves began to
interfere with things and distort
the shapes, canceling out
or multiplying or
performing more complicated
operations until the noise is noise
and the signal is noise and
the noise is still noise yet
somehow wider, more sideways
and spinningly and
uppingly and backwardly, more
harsh and out of sync, now neon
colorlines and batteries, strange
gaps in the spiral not
patterns but something about
them which makes us feel the
walls are moving further away
and the room is becoming
smaller, that one moment is
another and the second hand is
somehow different this time
around. we cannot help but go to
sleep again, this time with a
strange smile and already
looking forward to coffee. this
time with socks and a thicker
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.

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 eight.

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, if anything could or
couldn't prepare if it would
listen to conversation ,
pointing as they many different
types place. all these all
these little motions,. many
different of hats. all different
types different types little
motions back and forth of
permanent even dams fade, do they
what eventually , just do
what , and do figure out where
the patterns leaves made it
all up all be there ,
something really could, leaves

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.
,