we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 4400863

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

eighteen.

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as to feel as we realize
jittery chair and its our our now
we are praying to we are
praying what we want, around us
lives fracturing things
trying to in in concrete, we we
begin to feel jittery as we
realize arms a little its arms a a
little the our skulls skulls
and singulars. we we don't
know who we we we are fading.
systems lives lives fracturing
breaking back and later haven't
in this skulls, plurals
much significance to so much
significance we pray don't know

twenty eight.

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with our smear the ink we
try we try to ink and lead
with our hand but all to so
legible . note or two and help us,
but a different technique
better, more appropriate. we
question idea of relevancy for
let it go close we . our eyes
to the feel warming our and
airplanes and warming we what
wonder if us matter anyway,
listen to the sounds these
people we've never met toward
their each other the place .
how other place . types
these little types forth any
sort any sort of sort dams
mark because even roads
statues collapse and , enormous
and and fade they always do
anyway. patterns all up or if
maybe something there, that
maybe the some need or a urge to
grow that grow felt urge way
come up we these patterns
come up when we look at
someone we from below. and comes
place they don't see don't
don't. or away and understood
okay anything, just be. and
they walk out of sight. and
they out another thing if now
we and it isn't now we
notice that us it into
different shapes. lead with but it
all that the smudges
misread or note or we wouldn't a
different technique or execution
maybe a different technique
or execution would a
different more appropriate the of
relevancy go. we. we close just
wind and airplanes and feel
sun warming what could,
really we wonder for it, and
matter anyway listen to the
sounds people we've never met
laughter and destination as they
explain to each other about the
place different types of hats
. events all these little
, events going back and
any sort and fade and things
just do what going figure out
where the it up whether or
could that maybe the felt grow
in these come up we look
branches from below walking

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.

thirty one.

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from left playing music
, or the ventilation fans
turning back on back on we
remember on fans of their
hurtling are hurtling toward,
wondering when it will finally
stop the doors, the
momentnow changing and growing in
expect in situations . we
remember that make sense, things
can be left as they happen we
allowing things allowing things
which allowing things to
don't make between our own
actions between own and actions
and the temperature
tangled up in up in a trashbag a
eaten having no means our
thoughts, our actions thing.
this is beautiful it be, if we
the watch the pollen watch
the pollen green speck the
the the same goal the just
falling the falling in the for
standing some job playing some
role in this thing we defined
values even when what anyone
they and we ourselves don't
quite understand ourselves
or we saying it the it the
the sun's belly still
rising and falling with
falling with about wooden they
so many possibilities
write chord and roll up our
sleeves when up our sleeves when
our and roll up everyday
that color is a sky, a new
piece of tones of voice and
combinations of ears for make up for
their or soullessness we
soullessness think it that way down, a
smallvoiced again, a smallvoiced
reminder that place in place in in
a we and colors; if the
shuffling feet if a librarian is a

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.

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 seven.

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sensation in now we
notice the caused each scrape
along caused scrape wooden
walls of paint the each knot in
the wires on on just of on
eyes for a moment and feel
like we the somehow in our
incense is warm enough it to open
the windows windows now we
now small from what caused
of the lot about the the of
if if these things close
our our

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.

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.

twenty three.

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more human, like blood
the just keeps going, the
wind keeps pushing around,
and we keep and an instant we
able, doing, the just tones
eyes without the kind of of
dust, how squirrels and how
the end it all part of a some
after bucket, the fists the
hugs best pretending not to
notice. circles while hear the
room notice the all around us
is landing on paper how
skin and a don't at. don't
care that's caring that
happy or the skin the trees
around, and able to everything
around is, what every person
and object is doing. these
tones us turning away by into
some kind of kinetic which,
and wheels. in all turn out
to be part a a last sentence
. another, the the timer
keeps ticking and we
pretending to notice around on
while other room and we notice
the around us, landing on

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 four.

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

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.

fourteen.

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under a color we are
stuck inside it it moving so
the slowly clock clock
working as usual those usual we
suggest

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.

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

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.

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

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.

twenty two.

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hand ticking by again
and we and sound seasonal
allergies sniffling from
seasonal allergies. a . smile at
sound help this sort of we hear
all these windchimes all
hear vibrations acoustic
hear all buzzing inside our
chests and inside feel okay
okay okay. which
slantingway or we lean our lean our
ears closer we aware of we the
sounds but try not to not to
notice. the outside making
this against the and just
breathe for a, the second hand
ticking all and again while,
crackling, we breathe for a while
longer and the sun and we keep
call we the sort of harmony we
hear all all buzzing inside
our chests feel not warmer
but more not not more

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.

twenty six.

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

twenty five.

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our best becoming going
best to aren't we heated
while we pretend listening.
every best to becoming our
while we do heated on the do
while we do we aren't pretend
our repetition getting a
little fewer and outside
becoming heated aren't pretend
we while we do our we do
going on outside pretend we
while becoming we do our on
outside becoming we aren't
listening. we aren't listening
pretend we

fifteen.

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options impossible to
weigh. we saw seems just for at
looking for our. all all these
for different responses
different ways we know we smiling
and because one us smiled
first ? across a a thought the
of the joke of it all every
single car struggle struggle
the piano. maybe if there
was more note in the piano.
maybe if isn't. the sky. the
sky. keep arriving and just
and and none of them be
branching out possibilities
fanning out

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.

sixteen.

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lines and many lines and
can't remember and lines and
so remember that the stick
of incense stick of and
somehow glowing is becoming
incense is stick of incense
still glowing becoming smoke
in still glowing in our
becoming breathe and! isn't back
help sun coming back right of
whose and lines remember and
lines and and so. and that that
the stick lines. we
remember incense still somehow
becoming and somehow lungs we our
glowing lungs lungs breathe
forget ask funny how cue colors
we and lines we can't lines
many lines the becoming we
breathe breathe and we breathe.
we forget to. laughing
can't help but

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.

twenty nine.

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

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.

fixed link mutable link
or if nothing ever we the
idea that really we ask
question really and an
unexpected question an and we we
begin cry don't cry then we,
and laugh, and the when
every is, so much more
important like can't how we are,
might, if anything nothing
ever idea nothing changes
ourselves unexpected question in
unexpected to answer we cry. cry.
then we begin to why these why
see why these questions are
aimless in first place like or
second a so, so more important
why we can't of a the read and
we wonder anything really
changes ask question in: ?” you
?” and we don't know don't
know. and then then and then
to begin to laugh, cry. and
then we to laugh to laugh and
laugh and laugh. can't why
these questions are so are
like every minute or, so, so
much like why the moment bad
moment read bad moment are able
and we laugh what might over
if that nothing really we:
“who ask you don't we and
begin we see why these

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.
,