we accidentally imagine

by andrew yoon

seed 4939780

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

twenty.

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

fourteen.

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while the eyelids
beforemaroon again with questions
and with questions and
ideas how to see under a color
when moving but to those
little fingers and suggest
conversation stays the conversation
really seems to care the wind.
wayingsong a underthere eyelids,
and underthere, behind to
while behind the eyelids,
underthere,, the the the
beforemaroon the eyes again with with
how how moving so slowly but
moving so but the we suggest a.
and and nobody really seems
to agains the wind the
wayingsong wayingsong a we to while
behind eyelids, and see see
these inside it these so
slowly the clock usual with
clunks and little suggest a
counterpoint. and stays the
conversation conversation stays and
nobody the wind. agains the a we
or while behind eyelids,
and the eyes with questions
and with questions see
under a color when a when we are
it it clock but the clunks
and woodenbits we and
suggest counterpoint. and
conversation stays same and nobody
really and nobody the same same
and nobody really wind.
agains we or to while behind the
eyelids, a

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.

twenty five.

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

twenty four.

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

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.

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.

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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on a moment we. things
care we don't care that's
perfectly okay because made us
more happy or the arm and our
blood glowing through just
keeps little bit keep we are is
, every person and is
doing of moves without
absorbed the floorboards kind
bits of resonant, trees how.
in the end it out of a, a
without a bricks opinions
screams the fists we keep doing
our best notice. circles of
ink while the but moment the
piece and we can our don't
about. if not we don't would
the is glowing through the
wind keeps keep see is doing,
moves staring us in the
floorboards kinetic

thirty one.

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our for make up if. the
illusion of are pictures of even
good grip on shapes and
colors; we the down is a
librarian or an ago we had we had we
years back cell the or the
ventilation turning their asking
galaxies wondering where they
are which whyhow
thumpingly the doors, the, ones we
expect to never things might
make sense some kind have to
make sense, that, that as
just and of illusion and that
taking that taking a step away
could away could step not the
temperature outside today, so much
not so, not so today, not
minds and our shoelaces tied
off spoiled food being that
having no over ourselves, over
ourselves that this is a beautiful
this is a beautiful thing be
we let we let be let we watch
the with the crowd and
completely separate, with a goal
path, standing around,
standing for around role job
thing we call is and we it are or
it or we what don't quite
don't quite understand or we
why

twenty nine.

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happen somehow and we
can't help but smile it is that
we days two time like if
listen and if were trying to if
they to is trying write . we as
and books stop worrying so
much worrying ) what be for
breakfast worrying ) might be for
breakfast tomorrow or be for
breakfast or why cross one thing
out in place particular
sense of intention to begin
one to word which ear with it
just going with it

twenty seven.

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now open now. we now we
notice small from what came
what caused from caused and
along each groove every
freckle and scratch on of
someone the it on purpose of
somehow. we our eyes like we are
floating feel feel are are our ,
the incense is, incense is
that be, to we breathe and and
feel this stinging
sensation in our we notice small
where they what what came what
caused each panels walls of the
of someone we a, knot in the
the wires behind it on
purpose of if happen we are
floating, that that the in that
warm now outside to breathe
and notice hands
floorboard and they came and and of
wooden groove what where where
scrape along paint every
freckle and scratch, how in
happened , someone happened
happened someone if happen their
we close our outside our
bodies are bodies incense be
warm to windows now our hands
now we notice and where they
each groove on of someone we
care lot about, in the wires
how each knot in these. we
for a like that the might be
warm enough that it open the
we floorboard

two.

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

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.

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.

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 two.

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which slantingway or
combination making one thing work
and another not? the
vibrations more quiet every time we
lean our ears closer trying
to hear inside the sounds.
we are aware of our actions
but try not to notice. the
sun outside making this
fuzzy kind of sound against
the grass. we pause and just
breathe for a while. where again
the thisthat theringly,
the second hand ticking by
again and again while all
these angles crackling, we
breathe for a while longer and
the sun keeps making that
sound and we keep sniffling
from seasonal allergies. a
bird call we don't
recognize. we can't help but smile
at the sound of people
laughing and somehow the voices
make this sort of harmony
against the windchimes and we
hear all these acoustic
vibrations buzzing inside our
chests and making us feel not
warmer but more okay. more
okay.

twenty six.

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

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 eight.

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word or note think we
wouldn't a different technique
or technique or execution
would be. of , the wind the we
wonder what come this really we
about anything , really
wonder if anything or couldn't
us it , and would matter
anyway we to these people we've
never met laughter and
conversation, met laughter and
conversation toward their toward
their they about of little
going back and leaving
because any sort roads dams and
fade eventually, and things
just they do always were in a
cloud of leaves come from,
made if something the leaves
need up know sitting place ,
comes walking by our by our
sitting look don't look up don't
say anything . it's okay
ourselves be don't know be know,
really they walk out of sight .
which the now the sun, shadow .
is in front of.

thirty.

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

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.

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.

fifteen.

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different life in the
time . but the sky. emails
just keep arriving and seem
to out into tree options
end, options after after
weigh impossible up we we tree
we end up and that our. all
these are don't first of who
don't know why they thought
they of it because there were
so all at once story in
every car once a every single
in every single car, a a
different struggle there was more
sky like just another but
isn't. just keep and keep of
arriving and be from real people,
all out into entire entire
out into branching into
entire stories, impossible to
weigh.. we end up options
after up just end and that
seems least don't remember
where we calling different
different circumstances calling
for ways and we know? these
social gestures gestures
amplifying across a group of of
people funny hear half of it
because there were so a
different life jam, a different
struggle maybe every note in the
piano. was more time . maybe if
there there like just another
keep of of them and keep
arriving and none of them ever
these situations branching
out into stories,
possibilities options fanning out
options after options with saw
good as at least we but we
don't remember where all
these different calling for
different responses, different
ways, different ways we
don't know we we because one
amplifying of people why they they
they know joke was funny when
hear because were so a
different single car in

sixteen.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

one.

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

six.

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