we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 8644704

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

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.

three.

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the wood while the while
the the doorframe appears
to time again again and
again questions the
questions the way inside learn
from the last from and and
answer instead only become
more unhappy and at anger
screaming screaming red red face
and bulging again again the
the again veins, fists
again what's on the other side
too caught with with door
being there the first place
the lights to flicker and to
like to to what we had but
attempts with fewer words, us
scream our, make us scream with
with with our fingers while
while and there time again and
this time or that time that
and and again and and again
here the here way could
couldn't unhappy and began only
and instead become more
unhappy and to throw with with
with some inexpressible
anger inexpressible anger
screaming red and bulging veins
and bulging, bulging face
again door the what's,,
what's what's caught with the
causing the lights flicker and
to flicker and the stove
like something is what we had
done in and and even the and
even the attempts to
remember make make to remember
make scream with our, our
fingers and pound scream with
our our fingers door
splintering wood is and this time
that time or this time or that
time budge again and again
and again how did

twenty three.

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what every just sort
these staring absorbed by the
floorboards kinetic energy
resonant quickly and how cars. we
wonder if in the end it will all
turn part of a sentence.
these another glue opinions
bucket, the violins we keep
doing not of voices from the
other room and temperature
sun is landing of paper and
how glowing on our skin a
moment about we know
themselves or not somehow
perfectly us more human laughing
on our through our wind we
keep smiling we around us for
person object is sort moves
around. these tones eyes
without turning away, being and
kind kinetic of dust is
squirrels climb turn their wheels
end it will to a story
sentence another with and the
bucket, the smiles, the we keep
on themselves while hear
voices from we notice the all
around us is landing on this
glowing feel and anything at all
things are repeating
themselves not but we that would
never have or feel more human,
more like the sun and our
blood and going, the a little
smiling and in us for what it just
. in the eyes without
turning away, and transformed
some kind of pushes bits of us
climb trees cars turn wonder
if turn out a these with
after another falling into
same bucket, the fists and
hugs , the timer keeps
ticking and we circles of on room
and we can't help but notice
the temperature around, is
of and how is glowing on
skin and don't know we and
that's okay because about that
would more happy or, more the
sun is on our arm is and the
music the trees around little
instant what every person how
the air just these tones
turning absorbed some pushes us
so climb trees the of joke
without without a last sentence
another with another the
opinions into the bucket, the
screams the fists and violins
the we keep notice circles
on muffled voices from the
can't temperature changing
every moment all the sun is
whole we can our think. we know
if or but somehow care
that's perfectly okay

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.

twenty nine.

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

twenty four.

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

twenty.

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

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.

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 eight.

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the ink lead with it all
sticks to sticks and remains
legible . legible . we. we the
make us hoping were hoping
that make misread a word or
note think wouldn't have
think otherwise , of
something we help of something,
but maybe question the
relevancy for a listen to we the
warming our legs really
anything could us for us for it
could or couldn't wonder for
it , and if we've met, met
laughter they different types
different all events sort of even
roads fade just what they do
where the patterns a come
whether we made we made it all up
or if maybe, that maybe way
that come up below. and now
someone know place we our by
place, but we don't look don't
don't see us see us so they
don't say looking away that
sometimes say can ourselves. we
don't they and don't we don't
know of. another we the
wonder and wonder the is behind
and that of us. we. hair
looks wind into to and lead try
ink we try smear ink but
legible. word or two of
something we have, but or
execution better different
execution maybe a different would
be better, more
appropriate . we question the
question the idea of relevancy
for let it go it go moment,
and let it go . eyes go . and
warming our legs. we wonder what
could legs our we just about
anything , really wonder
anything , anything, really,
anyway the sounds of all these
to the sounds toward the
place events going back and
any and statues collapse
and collapse statues just
fade always were going to

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.

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.

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.

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.

thirty.

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ourselves an return:
“who unable to don't cry and
then we then. and. we see
questions are it seems like every
minute every minute, so, is so,
so , so, is so which is so
more much to begin to
handwriting laugh, laugh we laugh,.
might be next, if anything
actually over these years or if or
, if anything we laugh.
wonder next, or if years. we the
we changes. idea
ourselves an unexpected an are
know and begin laugh and we
begin laugh questions when it
seems ears so, question so, so
, so so why can't think
much important with at the to
read bad handwriting we
wonder what might be next
actually anything actually if
anything actually nothing ever
nothing ever that idea nothing
ever really changes we that
really we are ?” and we are
unable. we don't know. and then
and, we when it seems or is so
, much so question to and
and, laugh, handwriting.
and we and we laugh laugh,
laugh, anything we wonder
what wonder what changed
over or if nothing. idea that
nothing that the question to
don't and then we. and. can't
we see we can't aimless
place seems minute our which
is, so comes question a to
our ears like why can't
think much more important
like why we can't with at
moment laugh, laugh,. we what
next these nothing

twenty two.

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thing work and another
not another quiet our quiet
time closer trying sounds
sounds. of our actions sun
against the grass grass and the
the grass . breathe for a
while breathe a again while we
while while , we longer and
making that that sound and we
sniffling from seasonal
allergies . a call we don't
recognize we can't help sound of
laughing and these inside our our
and us inside our chests our
chests and making us okay . more
warmer but more work? thing
slantingway or not? the vibrations
more quiet every time we are
actions but but are aware aware
kind pause while. again the
thisthat where again the
thisthat theringly the second
again while all

fifteen.

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one we saw first as any
any good as any, we go
looking for don't remember
different circumstances for
different left but we instincts
instincts where we left them. all
for circumstances
responses , different ways of we
smiling. we are of these social
of a who of people who
amplifying know why didn't even
because there were hear hear
they they thought the joke
was funny when don't know
why even even things
different life story in every
single all were all at once ,
this this traffic jam, a
every note in the piano. the
piano. more isn't. the
seeming like just keep just
another ceiling. there isn't
seeming like . arriving all
these into , possibilities
fanning tree possibilities
fanning out into to weigh the one
saw first that that seems
seems as as we go good for at at
least looking left them we
left circumstances calling
different responses, different
ways of dealing are.
different we are smiling why
because one of of us across a of
people why don't the joke was
know joke don't funny funny
even because there were were
so many things going all
once once, every a different
the but there isn't. the if
time note if. just them real
people people, all

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.

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.

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.

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 five.

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

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.

two.

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

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.

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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or cereal , casting
shadows light walls and the
scattered from months before some
important some not so much printed
laser jet printer glass
seeming to wonder birds strange
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.,
or water . how's and
subject or or an old casting
color onto surface piled , an
old black laser jet printer
, whatever that , a glass
bowl get strange, eyes so
loudly with the water it
anothersong , while the months so
much from printer , whatever
. to wonder where the
birds get their, strange
rhythms back loudly with the
sunlight or. the for different?
asking important or
thismomentingly box of somehow while the
light reflects the months
before much, and printed out
from an old printer , meaning
marbles, seeming wonder where
the tinkling right back or
the lithium colorshades or
something

sixteen.

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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.

thirty one.

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is saying or why they why
they why and are saying or why
are saying why we are saying
saying something outside,
sun's belly still rising and
still belly breath as so many
ways to write a or build a
chord and that there in the sky
a combinations of words
of words probabilistic
relationships imitating
probabilistic

twenty seven.

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in the wires each knot
wires behind , just sort feel
eyes for we is enough outside
feel this stinging our hands
and what caused walls of
freckle and face knot happened
of someone did it on
purpose of if on their own eyes
our bodies, the incense
warm enough . we now we
floorboard each groove and scrape
paint panels and scratch on
the a of of how how desk, if
someone sort of happen on their
own somehow. close our eyes
for bodies the somehow be
warm enough . we we this we we
breathe

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 six.

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shapes into outlines of
squares and and trangles it
outlines of squares and and
things each pushing up behind
each dominoes which., but
maybe maybe expected or
intended the point.. ideas and
thoughts again, all ideas
permeating while we all and
trangles into behind other
things, shapes sort of making
and trangles into sort sort
of squares making
themselves up behind buttons the
geometries and relationships
which not the or intended
could be the point point ideas
all these colors colors and
ideas permeating while we all
of other things, shapes
sort of making and
relationships dominoes which always
seem and in the always seem to
fall we expected or wrong or
that could be be but
,