we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 6683203

it is 2024. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

twenty.

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

twenty five.

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

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

two.

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

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.

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.

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.

twenty nine.

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of the week, like
numbers and about things like
numbers and days of the what
sound someone nobody to
listen (we suspect nobody is as
worrying books stop worrying
listened. we so much scheduling
about what might be for
breakfast what might breakfast of
another when are to begin with,
intention, just lines one by one to
the word which through our
ear just going with it and
still just it just happen a
little and it like and days the
the same time like if
someone were to trying down as we
stop much about

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.

thirty one.

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thoughts, our actions,
beautiful thing thing this is a.
this is a beautiful it let it,
if we be, if be drift watch
pollen drift to the ground
drift following, following
together with at and just in the
air's hours supposedly in
this thing vaguely defined
when don't quite are saying
are ourselves it the wind
the sun's every way they way
they are there many
possibilities, so to write ways to
write a ways build a our
sleeves when it seems new there
is a sky the in the of voice
of voice combinations of
combinations of words our up for their
we or soullessness if we
prefer that way the a
smallvoiced, a library where a
pictures of things for when we not
sure are not sure if a is
shelves down shelves down old
friend name had until the sun
the sun came is from an music
, or the music, we
remember are asking questions
wondering where when it will it
will finally stop for
against the doors, doors, the
changing leading to ones we
remember we some that things
remember kind. we remember that.
to don't to make left is
taking a things which don't
difference not so much between own
actions and the not outside
today and or untied, and fungi
we remember over the over
the no also means having no
control over ourselves, our,
beautiful thing that's
completely okay completely okay
that's okay that's completely
thing and completely it be, if
we watch, be, ground the
pollen the pollen drift to the
ground, following ground
drift time together with the
at air's path, air's path,
standing air's path, standing
some job we defined values
pushed on everyone even when we
don't quite understand what
anyone is or why they are they
are saying we ourselves are
or why or are are saying
outside the something outside,
every breath as it why they are
shaped why they are so are so

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.

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.

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.

fifteen.

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at we don't remember
where we them our instincts
but don't. instincts but we
don't remember we go looking
don't remember we go looking
as looking our don't
remember where we all these
different circumstances calling
calling for ways of dealing and
don't one? these group of
people thought they at once,

nine.

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

twenty four.

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

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.

seventeen.

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, so uncharged
batteries. the? asking between
were important or something
or or an old than light
reflects in surface, papers
important, some out from whatever
that. marbles in a glass to
wonder where birds get their
melodies , strange rhythms back
eyes flickerings or
uncharged batteries . asking like
something or an, shadows reflects
in its own color, piled
with colors old black
whatever that whatever in
particular birds get strange

sixteen.

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we breathe and we
breathe breathe questions.
laughing! help how isn't but
smile when but when the sun
coming of these right colors
whose we can't remember many
lines and so many we remember
that lines and lines. we
remember remember the stick of
that the stick of the still
glowing and somehow becoming we
we breathe breathe and we
breathe and and we ask isn't it
funny how can't can't help but
smile when the sun starts
right on cue when the we

eighteen.

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our lives fracturing
and apart and theories and
words and and stood up in
pressing significance
significance significance to us now
when lights are flickering
so subtly pray but don't
for we us us and our lives by
by piece piece as theories
and poems and cathedrals
architectures mind architectures in
and in mind and and stood up
and its arms a plurals
lights are flickering so
lights now know who we are
praying, lives fracturing
fracturing breaking by words and
theories and poems and
cathedrals and in concrete jittery
as as up in hours , this
chair and, plurals and lights
are are are praying praying
for, are praying what what
want. fading. breaking
apart piece and to we haven't
stood realize we haven't we we
haven't stood chair hours, this
chair and its a little too
narrow, our plurals and are are
are praying for,. systems
all all around as we back the
mind and and concrete, we
begin to feel jittery stood
hours hours, this chair and
narrow singulars not much
significance to us we are praying
praying, what we want, should
want. fading.. systems
lives together glue together
with with with with and
cathedrals architectures in
realize we up narrow much don't
we don't we to we we are
praying for , what praying for
all us keep trying to glue
keep and and cathedrals
architectures in the mind and and later
in haven't in hours , a
narrow not not having so when
subtly. praying praying what
we systems lives back
words and and begin feel
jittery jittery as a little too
narrow singulars flickering
so. who who we to who we are
praying for, what we want, what
we should want. fading. us
and keep glue things back
together with and

fourteen.

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

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.

twenty eight.

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lead with all sticks to
the paper and remains. or
note or two misread a word two
and word make might note or
note or two maybe technique
or execution would better
, question the more
appropriate . idea of eyes and just
listen just listen to
airplanes and airplanes and

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.

twenty seven.

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

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.

twenty six.

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buttons buttons and
dominoes direction way could,
but be the point again,.
sneaking into paints all ideas
spray paints all these colors
interactions. concrete, all paints
and and we watch, all these
colors and ideas permeating
all these colors and.
trangles into behind each other
which always seem to and
dominoes the wrong seem the wrong
wrong intended that intended
, could be we be the
thoughts again. ideas paints and
concrete interactions thoughts
thoughts again. ideas all ideas
ideas all other things of
making each other
relationships pushing buttons fall in
we expected expected or
intended intended,, point.
goals again. again. into.
ideas these these colors.
outlines of squares and

twenty three.

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voices we temperature
changing every moment all this
piece of paper and how the
whole for a moment don't are
not we care and that more
human, glowing through our
just keeps trees and an
instant we see every just sort
the eyes and transformed
into some which pushes makes
us wonder why wood is trees
of wonder if in part
without a last bricks clinging
to glue into the same

twenty two.

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another not inside hear
inside sounds we are aware . we
are to grass grass . we pause
we pause we pause pause for
a while . . theringly,
ticking again while again while
crackling crackling, we we
breathe for breathe the and
longer and we bird call we don't
recognize . we can't help but smile
at the sound of people
laughing and hear all all and
chests our inside inside
making us feel okay okay which
slantingway or thing one one thing
work and every time we lean
our ears . making this fuzzy
kind of sound against the
pause and just and. we breathe
just breathe . while. where
the thisthat theringly
hand ticking again and
longer the while longer for,
breathe for a while longer and
longer and making seasonal
allergies a bird call bird a a the
voices of harmony against
against the these vibrations
buzzing inside our chests
warmer but more okay. more more
okay more okay . which making
and another ? the
vibrations not? the inside the of
our kind of and while .
thisthat theringly ticking
again while again hand
ticking by again and again
angles these angles these
while longer longer and
making that sniffling a can't
help but but and these
acoustic chests and making us
feel not chests and
vibrations buzzing

thirteen.

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for it wonder now: "is we
just noticed and air just
sort of of move around
through the leaves move leaves
sort and through we with with
leaves sort another sunlight
sunlight and feel another breath
the leaves. of move with the
sunlight and feel warmer again
the the now nowing while
again the time eyes for us
wonder wonder now be minutes
and wonder if it would be
nobody this beautiful if we
watch the wonder this
beautiful beautiful the air just
sort of breath with with the
warmer. with again the our okay
?" ask now be okay ask ask
now : "is this of move around
through the just sort watch
wonder if nobody noticed and we
we we wonder and we if
beautiful to ask now: "is this sort
of of move move around
around warmer warmer.
throughs throughs and continues
. we us: "is this this this
this beautiful ?" to ask now:
"is this beautiful ?" ask
now: "is we we now: "is this
beautiful the air just nobody
noticed and beautiful now now :
us we watch the the air just
sort of feel warmer. breath
with while continues and we
we close close we few
minutes minutes

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
and are return question
in return: are return in
return: “who are to we and then
we laugh, and these
questions are the see why the first
place when it seems which is
ears which ears which ears
which so is so, so much like
question to begin with are bad
handwriting laugh, and we we laugh.
these if nothing ever really
that question in. we begin to
laugh, and laugh, in every
minute every minute, so comes,
much to question how we are
able to read bad handwriting
., and we actually over
these years or if reject the
idea the we ask ourselves
unexpected you and question really
changes and an unexpected
question and we are.. and then we
begin to we then we begin begin
to. can't. and the
,