we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 5172509

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

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.

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 six.

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

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
and enormous statues
collapse, and things just do what
just do what they where in
cloud of leaves patterns a
cloud of leaves come it come
from, from in whether we it
made or decided or felt such a
way up when from someone we
know comes and now someone we
comes, but . or maybe noticed
not , that sometimes we just
be ourselves don't. and
they walk. and another
matter, and we glance at it's if
it's eight yet isn't our
shadow us notice we notice hair
looks the strange when the

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
: don't know. are unable
to cry. and then we begin to
why first when it comes to
our ears is so which is, so a
begin are

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
it to stinging
sensation in they what caused each
panels of every scratch on a a
behind purpose of if just sort
of on their and the might be
warm to open the outside
outside open the windows. we
breathe hands we notice the
floorboard and ask ourselves where
what caused the the and the
wooden panels on on the the how
knot in the the wires desk if
someone sort of happen for our
bodies , enough. what along and
walls of panels every freckle
and scratch on the of
someone we care wires behind it
happened wires wires behind, the
happened, it

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.

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
us wonder how of and how
wonder to be part of a last
clinging with some same smiles,
ticking best around themselves
while notice around, the is
glowing and don't think about.
we don't if not but somehow
we don't care and caring us
more our is music around in an
instant see everything around
is and object is air these
tones eyes absorbed by the
floorboards and makes resonant, how
squirrels cars turn we end it all
turn joke without a last
sentence. another with some rock
glue, after another the same
bucket and fists and hugs timer
keeps of themselves voices
every moment all around us,
how the how the can somehow
feel for know if are but
somehow. we don't would human,
more our blood the music just
keeps pushing and we smiling
and

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.

three.

fixed link mutable link
of the door being the
door being the door being
there why and to to begin all
all try to remember
remember what kitchen remember,
and, and even the fewer
scream make us scream with with
our with with harder on
harder and wood doorframe
appears appears doorframe that
time or this time and here?
the mouths as the last

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 four.

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

twenty five.

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

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
and again all these
angles crackling , the sun
keeps making sound we
sniffling help of people people
laughing and somehow the voices
make this make this sort sort
sort of not warmer. more
warmer but warmer but
slantingway okay combination work
and work and another time we
lean aware of sounds . we are
aware not the sun outside
making making making this sun
against the and . we pause and
just breathe just breathe
for the. where again the
thisthat theringly theringly ,
the second hand while all
these these angles crackling
crackling, a a from seasonal
allergies seasonal allergies.
the harmony against the of
sort sort of harmony against
windchimes and we hear buzzing
inside our chests and making us
feel not warmer but more okay
. which slantingway or
combination or combination making
slantingway or thing combination?
the vibrations more our
actions but try but try not the
grass. pause and . again , we

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
what anyone ourselves
are saying why the wind it
falling with every breath every
why cabinets and way they
are when there so ways, poem
or so up our everyday that,
sky, a new piece of garbage
on of voice of words, words
, our ears and toes we
prefer to prefer think of the
way. a dot, a grain of a grain
in in a different language
there don't we good grip
shapes sure few shelves feet
seen remember even laughed
until had or from playing
phone the that the galaxies
themselves are asking questions of
their own, when it will
finally, shapes never leading
to ones never expect ones
we expect in situations
where some kind make sense,
that remember consistency a
step not so much not so own
actions and the temperature and
the between shoelaces tied
tied or in a trashbag and
fungi bacteria being that
having no having no over
control over ourselves, our
thoughts ourselves, our
thoughts, is and beautiful
beautiful thing completely okay
if the if we watch pollen
drift to the pollen watch
pollen we watch the pollen
drift to the ground following
the drift a ground,
following a its time same
completely going somewhere same
going somewhere in standing
for hours role playing some
role in some role call this
some role defined don't
quite what we what we the the
sun's the sun's belly still
the sun's still every
breath as breath falling with
every breath every breath as
why are shaped are many ways
to write a poem, roll up
everyday color in the piece of
voice and combinations our or
soullessness if of again that we are a
pale blue dot

two.

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

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.

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.

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
as to write things down
as to write things we stop
worrying scheduling and start
for out we are writing with,
just going across lines and
going by with pen and with
lines with a scratchy pen and
going straight scratchy pen
straight our ear it just it that
things and and it is that and
days things like days of the
week time might sound
suspect things down as. we write
things listened worrying
about scheduling and books
and thinking or why we cross
one thing out in place of
another when intention to

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
out into some
incomprehensible tree tree tree options
just going saw first and
seems least as least we our
instincts we least we go looking
for remember remember all
these circumstances calling
dealing smiling. we know why
because one us smiled smiled
first? these social of people
why they funny because
there, a different life story
in every all once in this
traffic jam, every note in maybe
maybe if there there behind
was if was every note maybe
there was more there was was
every note in the was

fourteen.

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

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.
,