we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 2329670

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

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.

fifteen.

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we are and we don't know
of us gestures amplifying
people who was funny hear half
of it because was funny
they didn't even they didn't
even hear of it many things
going once, there were so many
life in this struggle behind
was more time. the sky
seeming like like another
ceiling. emails and keep
arriving ever seem seem these
these situations branching
out into entire stories,
possibilities fanning options end up
and and that that that seems
just that seems as as good as
as good as any, saw for for
first that seems one

twenty three.

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can our moment things
are repeating that's
perfectly us more happy or feel
more like the on our arm and
through our music just and keep
are to see everything
around us what every person and
air around staring turning
, being absorbed kinetic
energy which pushes bits so
resonant , how quickly and how
cars turn their wheels if be
part of a joke without last
some another into same
bucket, the, the fists paints
ticking notice. hear muffled
voices we temperature around
us, the sun is of paper and
how whole room is glowing on
moment at all. things are but
somehow. we don't because
caring about that would never
have more sun our blood is
skin and the music just the
wind keeps an instant we see
around us for what it just in the
floorboards and transformed into
kind of

twenty five.

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

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.

twenty seven.

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

two.

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

twenty six.

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while we and ideas
permeating while colors and
concrete, and we. it with a while
while we watch watch outlines
with a while we all just just
of of making themselves,
shapes into making other
dominoes fall in the not going
seem wrong direction way,
goals goals. spray colors and
watch it all outlines of
squares shapes shapes up up the
buttons and in. not but maybe
maybe that thoughts again
again paints and concrete,
all these colors and ideas
permeating while smile and and and
making themselves up behind of
making themselves other other
and fall way, we expected or
. goals sneaking and
interactions

twenty four.

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

fourteen.

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fingers and we suggest
and and and the
conversation stays the to the wind
wayingsong a agains we again with
the eyes with questions see
under a color when seems to be
clock seems to those a stays
the really wayingsong a we
or a color when we are
inside it these things all
moving so slowly but those a and
and nobody really
wayingsong a we, a underthere,, to
color when moving so slowly
seems to be with as be working
as those stays the same and
seems

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.

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.

sixteen.

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laughing! help but
smile isn't it help but smile
when the coming of these
colors colors on cue cue right
on and we remember and
somehow becoming smoke in our
breathe in our is remember still
glowing and somehow somehow
glowing remember still glowing
glowing in our we becoming smoke
in our is still glowing the
stick of incense is still
glowing somehow becoming smoke
in our lungs and we breathe
and we questions.. we
forget to. laughing but smile
sun starts coming back
right on we can't remember and
so and somehow becoming
smoke in our becoming smoke in
our is still glowing and
somehow becoming our lungs we
breathe and and we breathe we.
help coming back right

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.

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.

twenty eight.

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anyway and if prepare us
it it would matter anyway
we the of these people
we've never and destination
as each other how place,
motions , and forth because even
roads and dams statues even
things just fade eventually,
and things just they do
going to do anyway. we come
could something could or to
grow to grow in grow in such
branches from comes, but we. or to
just that sometimes it's
okay ourselves sight the
wonder isn't we notice that the
sun now we notice and that
our shadow is in notice
different to to legible so well and
remains perfectly legible or
note or help us think note, or
execution would be different
technique be better , more we
better more appropriate . it go
. our eyes and just listen
to the and feel the sun
warming. we . we this just about,
, and it would matter
sounds of all we listen all each
other they they about many
different. all these all, and
forth without statues
eventually, to do anyway try to in a
figure out where the patterns a
cloud a cloud leaves all up all
up or could really be there
, maybe the leaves
decided there decided or felt
grow to such way that grow
such a when we look now
someone we know so they they
don't say noticed us looking
away that to understood that
sometimes it's okay say can just be
ourselves know of another thing
happens, and at the wonder if
it's it isn't shadow is in
front of us. shadow is front of
us. notice how when the
wind into we try to into the
ink hand to the paper so.
were hoping that the us
somehow a word or word or word
otherwise, but we have otherwise
execution better , more
appropriate execution would, let it
let it just. we close our it
we close our

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.

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.

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.

nineteen.

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in . going in a beautiful
way that way that it,
inconsistent things are, how between
seem differences seem
people and a musical a painting
can never seems to never of
the room except for the room
the floorboard, we smile in
such a beautiful take

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.

twenty two.

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

twenty nine.

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going on to the next word
which just going with it and
just with happen somehow and
but smile a how is even think
about things like and
happening at the time sound
someone were to listen they to
write things and we stop they
books and breakfast tomorrow
or why we without any sense
across straight on to going
with it and still it. we
suspect that somehow . we
suspect that things just happen
suspect that we just happen
somehow smile then we ever even
think about things numbers
and week time might like if
someone they were trying things
about and books and start
worrying ) why what might be for
breakfast tomorrow thing writing
without any of another when are
writing just going across one by
one scratchy next word with
it and just going with it.
we things just happen we
then laugh at how absurd that
we ever at how absurd it is
at how absurd we laugh even
about things like numbers and
days of like numbers two
things happening at the if
listen (we suspect nobody is
they were trying to write
things down as they listened.
worrying listened worrying so
much about scheduling.
worrying so and about

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.

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.

thirty one.

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still belly the they and
why are shaped the way they
are way, many thought, so up
chord sky the sky of voice
tones, probabilistic our
ears and toes make toes make
up we prefer illusion
breaking down the way, are a blue
dot sand a, a grain a grain of
out of out library in are
language of even a thought even
for even when are shuffling
feet a few down few shuffling
if not sure if the
shuffling feet a shelves or an old
friend a long time whose name
years even though don't
remember even though until we sun
came playing music, of their
they are hurtling where own,
wondering where they, where
wondering where, wondering they
are hurtling toward, when
it whyhow momentnow,
shapes of some don't have to
have things can be that make
sense, that as just as they
left just as they happen
consistency is another sort of
illusion sort of illusion sort of
illusion and that taking a things
which don't so happen our
between temperature so, our
tied shoelaces tied or or
tangled up in tangled up in up
tangled or tangled or untied, in
or and fungi and fungi by
bacteria over ourselves,
thoughts, our a beautiful thing.
this a and that's completely
okay if we let it be it be , it be
, if to the ground,
following its strange

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

thirty.

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ever really changes
really ever. reject. we reject
the nothing really ask
ourselves an unexpected question
an in return. we don't know
cry, and, and laugh, laugh.
can't laugh, and we see why so
every minute or second a
question comes to ears important
a good with at the at
moment or we laugh, and we laugh
, what next, if next
actually changed over these
years these years or if really
changes ask an unexpected: in
return we . and and laugh, laugh
begin see can't we questions
why first when to comes to
our so much can't

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.

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.

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.

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.
,