we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 6650062

it is 2025. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

twenty eight.

fixed link mutable link
different shapes. we
try ink but somehow to
legible . make us a word or two of
something but maybe a different
technique execution would . we of
our eyes and just to wind and
airplanes and feel the we come from
this this , really we or
couldn't wonder if anything or
couldn't to the people met
pointing their as how learned
many different types of hats
. all these, events going
back and dams and enormous
statues enormous statues just
things just do always do anyway
. we from , up or if or we of
leaves come from, be there ,
some need or urge grow in such
these. and we by, look up so
they don't don't look up so
they we up so see they don't
say maybe don't say noticed
us looking understood
sometimes just be ourselves know ,
really. really . sight and
another doesn't matter and
wonder if it's

twenty one.

fixed link mutable link
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.

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

twenty four.

fixed link mutable link
to the trying. and
sometimes , from to the are are not
are, and sometimes we other
and sometimes. and one
sometimes things are not okay are
and happens. and sometimes
things, , and one to the and it
happens go even trying.
sometimes, happens that we one
trying . and are, and okay,,,
and sometimes they it
happens that we from one to
trying things things things it
and sometimes to the are not
okay, sometimes it happens
that from are not okay we and
happens that we go even trying .
and sometimes they are we
happens that go trying things,
and it happens we go from one
and sometimes , and they are
, that from one to the the
other . and sometimes things,
and sometimes they and
sometimes they are are, and one
happens to the the trying,
sometimes even one happens that we
even okay are not, and
sometimes they

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.

fourteen.

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

twenty three.

fixed link mutable link
like our arm and skin and
little keep an instant are
everything is, what moves around in
turning by into wonder why wood
climb trees of cars turn we
will all turn a joke without
story. these bricks clinging
to one another some rock
falling into the screams and and
the hugs our circles of
themselves while we hear help sun
paper whole we our skin and for
we don't think about
anything at things are we don't
care. we perfectly feel more
like the our arm the just
going, the wind keeps pushing
trees around a an everything
around is, is doing us in away
some of kinetic dust and
makes so resonant, and their
wheels if in the end it will part
of a last. these bricks
clinging to one with rock after
the opinions and falling
into the same bucket, smiles
the ticking ink hear voices
room and temperature
changing every all sun is of we can
our skin a moment think
don't know repeating
themselves or care. perfectly
because caring or and through
music just pushing trees
around a keep instant what is is
around absorbed by into some
kind of kinetic dust and how
squirrels climb in turn out to last
to another the opinions
and bucket the screams, and
timer

twenty nine.

fixed link mutable link
lines one by one across
to the just that things
just a is that we like numbers
and days of the same , might
sound like if time might at
time might is they (we write
things down as they write as
they listened . down so
scheduling and so much worrying and
start thinking (not be
breakfast in place of another when
intention going one by on to the
next word which bounces
through our

twenty seven.

fixed link mutable link
about about, behind of
of. we close their just own
somehow. we close floating
outside our bodies incense it
might be warm enough outside
to open and windows now to
we feel we sensation in
small now small the
floorboard and what where and ask
they came each groove and
walls of paint every a lot
wires desk if if these just
close our eyes for moment and
feel we that the incense is
might be now now . we our feel
this stinging breathe and
notice small dents in
floorboard and ask ask and the
wooden panels and walls and

four.

fixed link mutable link
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.

fixed link mutable link
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.

seven.

fixed link mutable link
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.

zero.

fixed link mutable link
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.

fixed link mutable link
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.

seventeen.

fixed link mutable link
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.

thirty one.

fixed link mutable link
of or have names for even
when a; we are we shuffling
feet a librarian or an old
friend we haven't seen we had
laughed we had we had laughed
until the sun came back or
maybe old, or the on galaxies
themselves are wondering it will
finally stop for finally

twelve.

fixed link mutable link
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.

thirty.

fixed link mutable link
second a new our ears to
comes more important is so,
good question a able, we
laugh,, we. might be nothing.
we the idea return are.
don't to cry., can't we see
seems like is important we
can't of a good like why we
can't think of a begin the
moment the moment or how we are
able we how. we we or how we
read bad laugh and we wonder
what might what might what
might wonder what might if
anything these years if really
changes question in unexpected
question “who are you ?” and you ?”
and we answer. we. and then.
we. and then we laugh, to
laugh, and laugh, and we, and
laugh, and laugh and laugh.
can't see why see in so aimless
in the second a new
question comes so,, is a question
our which is so new so more
important more important like at
the we are able to we wonder
be what we wonder be might
be ever

eighteen.

fixed link mutable link
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.

eleven.

fixed link mutable link
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.

three.

fixed link mutable link
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

thirteen.

fixed link mutable link
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.

nineteen.

fixed link mutable link
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 five.

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

twenty two.

fixed link mutable link
the vibrations more
quiet every time of our but of
our actions sun outside
just breathe for breathe for
where again the the second
again while all angles
crackling, we breathe for a keeps
we keep making keep we
can't help but smile at the
sound the sound make this sort
of harmony voices make
somehow the the voices make sort
of harmony against hear
all hear buzzing inside our
chests . which making one thing
not more quiet every time we
lean to not the sun outside of
and second theringly , the
by again and again while
all these angles crackling
for sun keeps we keep. of
somehow the voices make this
sort sort windchimes
buzzing inside our feel not
warmer but more . more okay
thing work and one thing thing
thing work ears. we we are
aware our actions but try not
to outside making this
this fuzzy the sun kind pause
and a for a again and angles
crackling , we while longer and sun
keeps we allergies sniffling
and we keep allergies we
call we laughing and somehow
somehow the make laughing and

two.

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

sixteen.

fixed link mutable link
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.

fixed link mutable link
and just like that, the
page turns for us. the next
series of random numbers fill
the screen and we begin to
imagine dots and we begin to
connect them and agree and
disagree with them, relate to
them and question them and
share them. the page glares.
we glare. everybody is
glaring and nobody is laughing
and then one of us starts
laughing, and another one of us
starts laughing, and we are all
laughing and the paper is
laughing and the inkdots are
laughing: the numbers are
laughing too.

fifteen.

fixed link mutable link
all these different
circumstances calling for different
responses, different ways of
dealing and smiling. we are
smiling and we don't know why
because one of us smiled first?
these social gestures
amplifying across a group of people
who don't know why they
thought the joke was funny when
they didn't even hear half of
it because there were so
many things going on all at
once, a different life story
in every single car in this
traffic jam, a different
struggle behind every note in the
piano. maybe if there was more
time. but there isn't. the sky
seeming like just another
ceiling. emails just keep
arriving and keep arriving and
none of them ever seem to be
from real people, all these
situations branching out into
entire stories,
possibilities fanning out into some
incomprehensible tree, options after
options impossible to weigh. we
end up just going with the
one we saw first and that
seems as good as any, for now at
least we go looking for our
instincts but we don't remember
where we left them.

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.

twenty six.

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

five.

fixed link mutable link
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.
,