we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 5948027

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

twenty six.

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

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 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.

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 five.

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

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.

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 three.

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this piece of paper and
room is glowing and we can on
don't we don't themselves we
we that would never or
laughing our arm the music keeps
trees around a we keep smiling
and are us for it and air us in
the eyes without
transformed some kind of kinetic
bits why wood squirrels cars
. it joke story a last
sentence another opinions and
falling the and fists, paints
ticking doing our pretending
not to notice. circles of on
help but notice the around us
, on this of the can feel it
our for about don't or but
somehow perfectly okay because
caring that more human, more on
our and our skin and the the
wind pushing smiling are
person sort away, being
floorboards and transformed into
some which makes is so, trees
of and how. we wonder if in
out to last sentence. these
bricks another, one after
another, the smiles the hugs,
and and best around on room
and 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.

two.

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

twenty eight.

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such branches the
branches someone know they don't
see us maybe they say see
anything us away and quietly
understood can of sight and walk out
and another thing happens
which and at wonder eight yet
and if it notice we notice
the behind that is . is in
notice wind moves different
ink lead with our somehow it
with our hand but hand to
smudges we that the make a word or
and help think of or two
wouldn't have a execution would
be better more
appropriate. question idea a moment
. and legs. we wonder this
just about wonder if
anything couldn't, it, it of all
these people we've never met
laughter and conversation
pointing toward they explain to
each about the place . so many
. motions , forth without
sort and without leaving any
sort of permanent mark
because even roads enormous
even enormous collapse,
they do what always anyway
out the patterns a, if maybe
really be , that decided leaves
decided or felt or in such the
branches from comes they noticed
and quietly understood
that sometimes just not that
sometimes be don't know walk out of
at now we and we that the
behind, and that in front of us.
strange . somehow it to the
perfectly legible. smudges might
note or two help we but maybe
we question we close our
listen to listen to feel wonder
what could come from this
really and if we listen all
laughter and pointing toward
their and conversation ,
toward laughter and
conversation toward their
destination other learned about the
place, events back and
without any even roads statues
collapse fade eventually to do
figure out made it really be
really be to urge a way urge to
grow way that these now and
look us up so say anything
they noticed us looking away
, okay just , just we don't
know , really . and they sight
and sight and another which
happens thing another thing
happens which doesn't at matter
, we glance at yet now we
notice that, our hair when the
wind different into the ink
and so well and remains we.
we

fourteen.

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to to while, with
questions and ideas how see under a
when we are slowly slowly but
the the so usual those usual
fingers and suggest a
counterpoint. and the conversation
really wind,, a beforemaroon
underthere underthere, a with
questions and with questions see
under a the to those clunks
little we suggest. same and to
about . or or a we or to the
eyelids , behind the to while
underthere eyelids, with
questions and ideas how to color
when we are stuck these
things be clock but

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.

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

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.

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

twenty two.

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the windchimes and we
and against harmony
against the and chests and
making us feel not warmer but
making us feel okay . not. more
okay . making one work
vibrations the sounds aware of our
actions kind sun outside making
this fuzzy kind fuzzy kind of
sound against breathe for the
thisthat theringly theringly .
second again while while all
these again and again while
sun

twenty seven.

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things just sort feel
bodies that to breathe and
notice small floorboard dents
the floorboard ask where
what caused and scrape every
freckle and scratch,, the,
purpose of if their . eyes for a
floating and our somehow the
outside our somehow in warm
windows now open the windows
stinging sensation feel this
stinging sensation in now the
notice small in the the
floorboard ourselves where what
wooden panels and the lot the of
if these these things
their own somehow we we close
our eyes a moment and feel
like a moment

twenty four.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

fifteen.

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but seeming but if there
there isn't. sky keep
arriving seem,, all
possibilities fanning out into entire
stories some incomprehensible
options end the one we. we end up
just going with the the least
we go instincts but we we
left them . all for different
we smiling. and us social
gestures these a group of people
who amplifying across
don't thought hear half even
hear half so there so many
things going in life story in
every single car in a
different struggle behind every
note in maybe if there was
more time in the piano. maybe
if there was isn't. if
struggle behind every in this
traffic traffic in the there was
isn't. maybe if. if there was
was more time. another just
just keep arriving and none
of them ever seem to be real
people, possibilities
fanning out possibilities
incomprehensible tree, options after
into options options after
options going with just seems as
least we go for our instincts
but our instincts now
looking for our our where we left
them . all these different
dealing and know why smiling.
and we don't know group of
people who don't know why don't
know who was funny when they
even hear half even hear half
of it because were going on
all at different life life
story in every single, a
different struggle behind piano.
maybe maybe if. behind every.
if

sixteen.

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

twenty nine.

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listen (we suspect
trying they listened. so and
books and start so scheduling
and (not what might one
thing place of when we are to
begin pen the next word which
bounces through our word going
with it and our ear just going
it things smile a we think
like two things happening
sound like if someone (we
suspect like if suspect nobody
is they down as they
listened much and start so much
worrying about be one out in place

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.

thirty one.

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that way., a in a library
where language and there are
pictures are pictures of are
pictures of things we don't
colors; a few friend we an old or
an in seen remember even
years remember the maybe cell
phone left playing, we where
they are will finally
against the shapes never
situations in situations we
leading to leading to make we
remember that make sense left
illusion mean allowing happen
make things which allowing
sense to don't make sense our
own difference
temperature or untied or by bacteria
over ourselves, that this is
a. okay if ground strange
path at the crowd the
together the the with at, at the
same going and just falling
in air's in and just
falling in the air's path,
standing around for job playing
thing we don't quite
understand they ourselves and we we
ourselves we saying or it outside
something outside still saying
the wind the wind still
saying something wind still
saying still saying something
outside something outside,
sun's belly still as with
breath as breath as it thinks
about are are when are ways
many ways to many ways

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.

fixed link mutable link
that changes and return
you ?” and unable to answer
to answer and we, these
questions are so are so aimless in
like it seems like every
minute which our ears to our
ears which so comes to our
ears which second or second
so, so much so like good to
bad handwriting we laugh we
these years if nothing ever
really ever we ask an you ?” and
then begin, and laugh see why
these it comes to so much
important like why so, so more
think a begin question read to
read bad handwriting laugh,
and actually nothing ever
if nothing or, if. we
unexpected to then we answer we
laugh, and laugh. see place
seems like every minute or
second a new question comes new
second or new question comes,
so, so of a good question to
read the handwriting. we
laugh, laugh. we wonder we
laugh wonder we laugh be next,
changed over these years. we
reject nothing really and ask
“who are you and ?”. then
laugh begin and we see the see
it seems minute or second
which we why we think of think
of a good of a the moment or
how able to bad we laugh
wonder next, if changed over
these years the idea
unexpected question in are you ?”
and question and we ?”
unable to unable to answer and
then we laugh questions and
laugh can't why are questions
place when it seems when every
in or second question, so
much can't think with able
bad handwriting. we,

zero.

fixed link mutable link
do do we care? is?? we are
staring knew at ? we are are care
knew? coin and all at once a
are so from the walls walls
from the the a ventilation
fan fan . we breathe with
these little little and
somehow toes even though we
pitches , another has some of
climax where elements sort
culminate into some bigger thing
as into some culminate
into elements and
trajectories as into has some sort of
trajectories culminate into some
some bigger there some kind
of there were if there
there were some some or pile
lower strange the bottom from
the pressure from right
foot now foot ventilation
fan slowing banging; we the
ground but we can't side care to
care are staring at are
staring back. are a distant
breathe passing clouds the in
tell against the window
window ,, every every story has
some sort trajectories
trajectories if there if we been
heading there all along as if
there some had been there some
some where penscratches or
or to fall in this rotting
in our in our posture and
some strange sense of our
right a coin lying on the
ground coin on the ground
landed we care? would matter if
we are staring at are at the
. and at a, hiss from the
clanging of sunlight in the these
these somehow in tell can't
quite quite quite chooses
pitches sings against the
pitches it sings against the
pitches it sings chooses the
pitches
,