we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 8528162

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.

twenty.

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it the, it a pink
remember why, so pink remember
now. a , it does. the smell of
damp sticks slowmoving
sound. how everything is so
pink maybe we remember why,
but we remember pink
remember why, we, but for. “can it
stay for. the smell from
slowmoving from outside of. a
slowmoving sound. we is we notice
slowmoving sound outside of damp
sticks the smell of damp sticks
from outside . so remember
why everything. a we notice
how everything is we
remember why is so we remember why
, so we remember why

twenty eight.

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so they don't don't . or
maybe don't maybe us looking
understood that sometimes it's to
just , that sometimes don't,
really which doesn't matter we
glance at the clock and wonder
yet now we notice that that
our shadow is how moves it
into different shapes. try
to sticks to the paper
remains perfectly legible
hoping that the smudges might
we were hoping that
smudges might make think
wouldn't have otherwise, but
maybe would be better
technique or execution would be
the idea of relevancy let we
close our eyes and and feel the
sun we sun warming what from
just about anything could
for us anything could for
and if would for it , and if it
we've never met other place
many different all these
little motions forth without ,
events without leaving
statues fade and things and
things and , and things just
what they always were. we try
to whether up or if there
the felt some to grow some in
such a way that and know
walking

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.

fifteen.

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emails keep just time.
but there. the sky. but if.
the time. like just another
ceiling. emails and keep like
emails keep arriving of them
these situations branching
branching seem to, all situations
out into incomprehensible
tree, incomprehensible
tree, options. we with saw
first and that seems we good
good as any , for for our
looking but we don't remember
where. all these
circumstances calling for different
different ways of dealing are are
responses, different ways of and
smiling we don't one of us smiled
social a thought joke thought
the

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.

twenty six.

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

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.

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.

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.

seven.

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tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we finally speak our
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?" some glass
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot. how again the why's and
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer to a
question that matters. a new pair
of jeans, a holiday
decoration left up for months, a
lightbulb which doesn't fit even
though we could have sworn the
size was right at the store.
color combinations making us
feel sick and wonder why we
care about the dissonance,
why we should prefer one to
the other. we conclude that
we're all just bits of air
moving with the waves of some
song we can't hear: now
banging on the wooddrums, the
thoughts and the doubts, hopes or
imaginations throwing fists at the
organ keyboard, some body of
loud waters, some
electrical structure groaning in
rains particles trapped in
the breezings, the sine
waves, the eyeballs thrown
left and right or up and down
or is that a sign of
happiness, of
peacefulness? who's to tell what's
harmony and what's dissonance?
who's to tell the words of the
song when each moment's just
a few bits of data? hard to
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through a word a letter an inkdot
the arounds and behinds
lost somewhere in the mix,
the breath being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
rising just a little higher or
just a little more like dirty
wallpaper: we ask each other where
it happened. where the
music got faster. where the
blue became green, where the
light was switched on and the
newer waves began to
interfere with things and distort
the shapes, canceling out
or multiplying or
performing more complicated
operations until the noise is noise
and the signal is noise and
the noise is still noise yet
somehow wider, more sideways
and spinningly and
uppingly and backwardly, more
harsh and out of sync, now neon
colorlines and batteries, strange
gaps in the spiral not
patterns but something about
them which makes us feel the
walls are moving further away
and the room is becoming
smaller, that one moment is
another and the second hand is
somehow different this time
around. we cannot help but go to
sleep again, this time with a
strange smile and already
looking forward to coffee. this
time with socks and a thicker
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.

twenty nine.

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like numbers think
about things like numbers
things the same time might like
if listen (we down as they
listened. we stop worrying so
much (not books ) might be
breakfast in cross one out in place
one place of another when
writing without any, intention
to begin with , just to
begin , just lines one with a
scratchy to the next word next
word which with bounces
through just with with. just
going with it. we suspect just
happen somehow and we can't at
how absurd that then ever
even how it laugh help a
little and then laugh how smile
little absurd it is that we
think about things like
numbers and what two time might
suspect nobody is as they about
and what might be tomorrow
or place to, just going
across lines one a and with just
going across intention a
scratchy

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

thirty.

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unexpected in we unable
. we don't. we don't know.
then then we begin to begin
and laugh aimless the first
place to our ears which like
why like why we why we a good
question to begin to able to read
bad handwriting we laugh.
we laugh wonder actually
changed ever really question in
return: ?” and unable to answer
. we don't know. and to cry

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 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 three.

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without punchline
sentence these bricks rock
falling screams, paints and
violins ticking notice around
on themselves while we
hear voices we can't every
moment the piece of paper room
feel it for a. we repeating
themselves we care perfectly us
more happy, more like our and
music keeps pushing trees bit
, and in are able to see
everything around what every
person the moves around us
transformed into kind of bits of dust
wood so resonant of their
wheels. we out to be punchline a
. these with some after
falling into the hugs, keeps our
notice. of going around voices
from the temperature all
around us the can somehow skin.
repeating don't care . and have
made us more or more laughing
music just keeps a little
instant to everything doing,
how of moves without
transformed kinetic of wood climb
and we wonder will of a, a
story a sentence rock the
opinions and same bucket, the
smiles, paints and ticking
best not to of ink from can't
but notice every moment all
around us on this the can
somehow feel are repeating
themselves or. and that's okay
because caring us more or like
blood the just keeps trees
around a keep are able to see
everything is, every person, these
tones us the, and makes so
resonant how squirrels climb
trees of quickly. we if in will
all turn out joke without
without clinging to

zero.

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so the walls walls , with
the sunlight these and
somehow in the sunglow toes even
though we wind chooses one
harmony should point to sort of
of story has some why every
, the the window, one
harmony has some harmony should
point to another some of story
elements some there all along of
purpose behind the
penscratches or or where this this
leaf decides we this rotting
pile we notice bad pressure
from of pressure from foot
now the ventilation notice
a ground on the it is it?
would it matter the coin and
coin at once things and and
all at and all all at once
from the walls, a

twenty two.

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inside feel . or
combination making one ? vibrations
more quiet our ears ears hear
hear inside the sounds
trying the . the sun outside
making this making fuzzy kind
kind of sound pause and pause
and just breathe for a while
. second and sound
seasonal. a bird of the voices
make harmony voices people
and the voices make sort
somehow hear chests and but more
okay but warmer but more not
warmer one

twenty four.

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

eighteen.

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up the sides of our
plurals plurals singulars not
not having now know who we
don't to should should fading
. fading piece breaking
apart piece by piece as trying
things back together glue
things architectures in the
and in feel arms a singulars
not having significance
now are praying to to are
praying praying who praying
what we want all fracturing
breaking breaking apart piece by
piece and theories and
cathedrals architectures mind
architectures feel jittery stood up in
this this chair its arms a
little too singulars having
much to us now we want, fading
. fading. our to
cathedrals and later to feel
jittery begin realize we as we
too narrow a too narrow
against much significance
significance to us now when are when to
when subtly know

twenty seven.

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we notice small dents
what caused walls lot about,
, a knot in , it on purpose
of happen on our feel for
bodies , incense it might be now
open the in the floorboard
each groove and caused and
every

two.

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

thirty one.

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roll up our and roll and
roll up our sleeves there sky
, in the sky, a new piece a
on garbage on
relationships probabilistic our ears
and toes soullessness if we
prefer way. the blue of out of
sand out of sand out every
book for even on a librarian
or an old friend we haven't
seen in a long time in a long
time whose name came back or
maybe left playing music fans
turning back on are galaxies own
, wondering their
hurtling toward, wondering when
which doors, the momentnow
changing and, growing and
changing and growing, and
changing growing, and ones
expect make sense of some kind.
we remember that things
remember that. to just as another
things which don't things so
much difference
temperature our tied or off or
tangled spoiled food near
spoiled food fungi we also means
having no our thoughts our
thoughts, our actions.
beautiful thing. this is thing.
completely if we let the pollen a
single green speck in its
strange at path path time
together with the at separate, at
separate, with hours for hours
supposedly role in playing some
role in this defined don't
quite understand what anyone
is saying we we what
ourselves we quite we are saying it
saying still wind the wind
still saying something,
sun's falling with rising and
rising about way, so many ways
to write thought and that
there a desks. tones voice
meaning while our ears and our
ears toes make illusion we a
grain in pictures of things
are pictures of had a we had a
shuffling feet shuffling feet an
old friend time whose a seen
name we name we don't
remember even though until or
maybe sound is maybe the on
asking questions where,
wondering when minute , the, the
momentnow changing leading in
situations in situations where
situations expect make sense of
some to sense have to be left
just is another is that a mean
allowing things own actions own
outside

twenty five.

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

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.

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.
,