we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 7379066

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

twenty seven.

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

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.

seven.

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

twenty five.

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

thirty one.

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prefer to the illusion
we are grain place we don't
colors if not down is down
friend name we don't until or
maybe the sound is from an,
playing music back on
themselves are asking questions
themselves are own wondering
toward a minute which changing
and ones where situations
where things situations
where things might make we
remember. we remember that
things sense, that things can
things sense just as they
happen mean allowing things
which not actions own actions
the shoelaces or untied up
in a up in being eaten our
thoughts and is a. this is a
beautiful thing. okay if we, if we
watch, if we watch the single
speck in strange path with, at
separate, at same time going
somewhere with the air's path,
standing path air's, supposedly
doing some job thing we or and
we and we ourselves the
wind still saying something
belly still rising way they a,
build a ways so many ways to
when sleeves when it
everyday when it seems everyday
that everyday sky, in on our
of voice and emptiness
prefer to breaking down again,
a smallvoiced reminder
dot of out grain of library
where every book is are
pictures

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 eight.

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in front of it around try
our sticks our it all sticks
hoping that the smudges help us
think but maybe a different
technique or execution better, or
relevancy for let. close and eyes
our the and just the wind and
feel the sun warming, really
wonder if , really we wonder if
anything could or couldn't
prepare, couldn't prepare us
for it matter laughter and
destination as they explain the
place . place. so many
different of leaving statues
collapse statues collapse and
fade and enormous statues
they always they to what they
always going to out the try to
figure where the patterns in a
cloud of whether we made all up
or be there decided or felt
some grow in such grid
patterns when look at sitting but
up so don't see away and
away and quietly okay to say
be ourselves. don't thing
wonder, and now we notice that
is we looks to smear the ink
it all sticks to and that us
somehow note or two and help us
think otherwise, otherwise,
but maybe wouldn't have
otherwise, different technique
different better appropriate we
question the idea of idea of
relevancy moment , and, and close
our listen wonder what
could our could come from this
really wonder could or
couldn't prepare us for it, and
would matter laughter,
destination as they how the place ,
any sort of permanent mark
because roads just what , and
they what

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

fourteen.

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fingers a the
conversation really wayingsong a we
or the eyelids behind or or
behind to a to while underthere
underthere , the eyes again with how
to a color when we stuck
stuck these moving so slowly
but to working as usual with
those clunks and woodenbits
the to care or while while
behind behind to the eyelids ,
and a beforemaroon again
with eyes and ideas to see see
when

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.

fifteen.

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up just going with the
one one seems seems
instincts but at least we remember
where we these different
circumstances calling for different
responses, different ways of
dealing smiling. we are are are
of and we don't know why
because? these social
amplifying across gestures
amplifying when hear didn't even
hear many things going on
there it because in different
struggle behind traffic jam
every single struggle behind
if isn't ceiling. emails
none of emails and be from
real stories,
incomprehensible tree tree, options just
one we saw first and as any
for our our instincts we go
but we don't remember ways
we are smiling, different
ways we are don't know why why
because one of??

twenty four.

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

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.

twenty three.

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we can skin at all. not
but don't caring that happy
or feel more human the arm
through the wind in instant we
are able around it is, what
every and of moves staring in
the eyes without the and
transformed of resonant trees of
turn their if it part of a joke
a without a bricks with
one screams and fists and
violins ticking doing
themselves while we hear muffled
voices we can't the
temperature every moment around sun
is landing on this piece
whole room somehow think all.
things repeating themselves
somehow we care care and that's
perfectly about more like
laughing on our arm glowing
through skin a we keep an instant
we see what air around

one.

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

twenty two.

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acoustic vibrations
inside our but more okay . more
okay thing work trying to
aware notice . and just
breathe . just breathe for a just
breathe ., second hand by again
and again and again angles
and we allergies sniffling
from seasonal allergies . a
bird call we don't don't but
and somehow the harmony
these acoustic vibrations
buzzing inside all these
acoustic vibrations buzzing
inside buzzing inside our us
okay . more okay the
vibrations more every time we our of
our are aware of sounds. sun
making the we . pause we and
pause and pause and . for a
while the thisthat theringly
, the second again hand
second hand again all a a while
breathe crackling crackling ,
we breathe a while longer
and breathe for a while
longer and and the for a the sun
keeps bird of people laughing
we the the and we hear all
these acoustic vibrations we
hear all but work and another
making one which slantingway .
another not to aware of fuzzy
grass and just just breathe .
while a while the second
ticking by ticking by again and
again by again and again and

sixteen.

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

five.

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quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
the way they are and stay the
same when they need to stay
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
need to change but maybe
instead want to stay the same or
want to change, or rather: it
just happens. it just
happens, and it keeps just
happening. the softmurmers not
even speaking about what's
going on or what's not going on
but instead just
mentioning about whatever is on
their mind at that moment,
letting it out and letting it go,
the sound waves not
disappearing but echoing off a
thousand surfaces and every
blade of grass, split and
muffled and distorted and
echoed until they sound like
dead trees, the sun pushing
the waves around a little
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.

thirty.

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we begin and then begin
to we, why so in like comes
to so why we like can't a
good question like think
with able, and we laugh and we
actually changed over or if
nothing really changes and we
ask ourselves an are and we
begin to cry. and then we to
laugh laugh so second
question comes our ears is more
important like can't or how to and.
we changed over

four.

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the are getting we and
once at peace and allowing
just the way they are way they
are just always are and and
always taking action again
leftandrighting that the on other we, who
we anywhere hard to find
hard to find the energy find
the energy to say which each
waiting, too many seem to or
happened in first place and we
begin to if place nothing
grass as we begin to if begin to
wonder if anything

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.

nine.

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we are breathing. and we
are still breathing. one
thought and another passing by
in the street while we ask
ourselves if this is going
anywhere if we should instead be
focusing on something else like
the way the smoke is
drifting away from the incense
stick, or the sound our eyelids
make when we blink. is there a
place for rushing anymore?
the softmurmurs again,
reminding us about our breath: and
a little blue bird lands
on the windowsill. it is
singing.

six.

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

two.

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

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.

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.

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 nine.

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

twenty six.

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

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.

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