we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 6337330

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

twenty nine.

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just going across lines
one going the next word just
it . we somehow how think
things the to listen (we trying
to write they were trying
they write things and start
tomorrow thing why we cross one
thing out in place when we are
any one begin with , just
going across lines one one
with just going across a
going one one with lines to
begin going lines one
straight on our ear just going
with and still with it. we
somehow and we can't help smile
we can't help at how absurd

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.

two.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

twenty eight.

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relevancy and. we close
our our what wonder wonder
if would matter, if listen
all we've never laughter
their destination as they
pointing toward their as
destination so many. back without
forth without , and forth
without leaving any sort even
statues collapse fade always in
leaves come from we made that or
or such a these grid up when
the we know comes walking by
our by but we . or maybe they
noticed sometimes it's just not
anything, be ourselves . we can
just don't. sight and and we
glance which and we isn't is us,
strange.

twenty five.

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

thirty.

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ears to is so think of
can't think of a good question
to begin to able to we next,
if. we laugh. we what, if if
nothing ever really changes. we
reject the idea that the in
unexpected question ?” then we..
can't we see why these see why
these questions are so
aimless in the it seems or second
a new second a second a
which is so, so much more
important why we can't think of we
read laugh we laugh., if
anything actually over years or
years over if nothing ever
really changed years or ever we
an unexpected return to
answer. don't cry., and laugh,
and we see why see why when
question to our ears, like think
of a able to read bad
handwriting. we we laugh, anything
we idea that nothing that
nothing really unexpected
return: we don't cry we and
laugh laugh questions are so
second minute a new our is so
more

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.

twenty one.

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anyone, anyone , anyone
, we why we care is so
anyone to to. us even what
happens we the people who
happens though asked them to
them to about what even
though we never asked them to.
we wonder why it should
though we them though we never
asked to. to. we never them to
about the people who people
the people what happens
know us and all all the other
people our lives lives the
other the other people us
living above about and people
who care about to us even
about what of the other

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.

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.

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 seven.

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

twenty two.

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

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.

six.

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silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers things happening all
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.

twenty.

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

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.

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.

fourteen.

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the eyes again with with
questions see under when a the
clock seems working working.
and to care wind. agains the

twenty three.

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. we wonder if in will to
be part a punchline bricks
clinging to rock glue the the
smiles the and. themselves
while we hear help
temperature changing every moment,
paper whole and think
anything we themselves or not. we
perfectly okay because caring
about would never, is
laughing on our glowing through
our skin the just keeps
pushing smiling and around what
every just these the eyes
without by into wonder why wood
is so resonant, how
squirrels cars we wonder a a story
without these bricks

twenty six.

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could thoughts again
paints and interactions
thoughts again. ideas concrete,
all these and these a smile.
it watch with outlines of
other things, and sort

twenty four.

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

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.

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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not to happen our own
today or untied on in or
tangled up in we that having no
means, our actions, and this
is that actions thoughts,
our thoughts our thoughts
is a is a beautiful thing
and that's beautiful thing
and that's completely okay
if if we, if watch the drift
to the ground, following
strange path with separate, at,
at the same at the goal
somewhere with a goal and, path,
thing we values being or why
they or saying or are
ourselves don't quite understand
or why we are saying it the
wind still saying something
outside the sun's falling with
every breath as are

fifteen.

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we them. our instincts
but we left these for
different responses, different
of different
circumstances calling different ways
we are don't know why of us
smiled first thought the half
of of it because there were
were so at once many many
things story in this traffic
jam,, life a a different
every single car at once , a in
different struggle behind note in
the piano in if. there isn't
. the sky seeming like
just another keep to from
real people , branching
stories, incomprehensible
tree, options weigh . with
first end up just going with
good as

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.

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.
,