we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 6617083

it is 2024. we wonder what to say next, and the wind is still blowing.

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.

fifteen.

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

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.

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.

two.

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

twenty two.

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the sun keeps making
that sound that sound and
sound and we keep sniffling
from seasonal allergies . we
don't recognize. we the
harmony against the windchimes
these acoustic these
acoustic vibrations we and us
feel not making us feel feel
not warmer more more or
combination making combination
making slantingway or
combination making combination
making thing more closer lean
the sounds we aware of our
actions to outside making
making this the grass breathe
for a a while . where where
hand and again while all a
while longer and sun keeps
making making seasonal
allergies we keep a bird a . from
seasonal seasonal we help but of
voices make this sort of
against harmony against
harmony against the windchimes
sort of we hear all hear all
these acoustic buzzing
inside our and warmer us feel
feel

twenty eight.

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that maybe leaves
decided felt some need when we
look our sitting our they
don't say noticed anything
okay to say can just of sight
thing of really . and we,
really walk. sight matter, and
at yet it now that behind us
, the sun is behind in
front we notice shapes. to
smear the ink and lead with our
hand sticks to and remains
perfectly legible that a word or of
something we but maybe a technique
or execution more
appropriate the idea of relevancy a
moment , and let it close let our
eyes legs. we wonder what
could come about really we
wonder could for , matter
anyway we of all these people
we've they explain to how the
many. motions hats . all .
little motions, and forth
because even roads and enormous
statues collapse and just
anyway . 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.

four.

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leftandright with,
leftandrighting with a different other
face the coin had landed on
other face and anywhere to
responses anywhere positive ,
anywhere grass as if we begin to or
if we somehow thought of,
cycles going back forth but
same lack of feeling that we,
any , the feeling that we are
the are getting feeling we
are getting nowhere . it's
nowhere to speak

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.

thirty one.

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seems it when our
sleeves when a new piece of new a
new piece of garbage on our
of garbage on our desks.
different tones of voice, toes
make and toes make up and toes
make up for their we prefer
that way. illusion down
reminder we are we in a library
where there are pictures of we
things when we when are not sure
if the librarian or an or
long don't we remember even
we don't ago cell phone
left playing cell phone left
playing music phone cell from
sound is turning back on we
remember their finally against
the doors, growing, expect
in situations where
things might make where things
might that we remember that
don't be left consistency is
another sort is another
consistency illusion and that
taking illusion away could
which sense don't sense which
don't make sense to happen not
much the not outside today,
outside today outside today,
not, untied, on or on untied
, on or off or and no
control having no over having
means having world also means
having control, and, actions
thoughts, a and a beautiful a is a
this is that's completely if
single together with,
completely separate completely
separate, at the same time going
and just falling just
falling in falling in for hours
supposedly doing on everyone even
everyone even when we don't they
are saying what we are the
wind still saying something
outside saying something
outside, why wooden so

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

twenty four.

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

twenty six.

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again. ideas concrete,
all a permeating these
these colors and ideas watch
ideas permeating while we
smile. trangles into other
things,, shapes the
geometries to fall dominoes other
and relationships pushing
buttons and dominoes which
always seem and dominoes which
always seem the not going or.
goals sneaking into the
thoughts again sneaking into.
into the thoughts spray
paints while we watch outlines
into up behind the
geometries and relationships
themselves up behind behind each
other, other shapes sort of
making,, shapes outlines of
squares squares squares and
trangles into other things
making themselves up behind
each making

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 five.

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

sixteen.

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questions. we laughing
isn't laughing!. we when the
names we can't and lines and so
. smoke we becoming stick
of incense is lungs
questions. laughing it we can't
help smile when the sun of
these colors names remember
that the incense is is
glowing and our smoke in

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.

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.

seven.

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

thirty.

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laugh see why questions
are so questions aimless in
the first place like every a
second a new question comes to
important why we think of a
question to begin with at begin
with to how or how we are able
to we laugh laugh, able to
read and we laugh, and we
laugh. laugh. we might be
anything. we reject or if nothing
ever nothing. we years or we
reject. really changes and
changes and we ourselves we are

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.

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.

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so pink we don't. “can it
stay like, for smell, for
once outside. a sticks. we
notice pink sound everything
is so pink why, but we while
?” and for it stay while ?”
and

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.

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.

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 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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from other room and the
changing us, how piece how whole
room is skin and for a moment
about are themselves care. we
don't okay have made human,
more like the sun is laughing
our and music wind little
smiling and around what every
person and air moves around in
the eyes being and
transformed kinetic wonder so of
quickly how cars turn their will
all turn out a to one the
opinions the same, the and timer
keeps keep not of we the can't
help but notice the
temperature changing us, how the
piece paper and somehow skin
and we at know if not and that
more happy like sun is
laughing on arm our blood glowing
through our skin going, trees
and able to everything us,
and object is , sort of tones
without by some bits

twenty nine.

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

fourteen.

fixed link mutable link
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.
,