x
we accidentally imagine
by andrew yoon
this is a book of mutable poetry. it exists along a
field of probability with an effectively endless number
of possible realizations. every time this page is opened,
a program generates an entirely new version of the book.
some elements change more often than others. the random
seed for the version you are looking at is 6620528.
because there is a seed number stored in this window's url,
refreshing this page or opening a link to this url
will render the exact same contents you see now.
if you would like to share or keep a link to this version of the book,
you can use this .
if you want to visit or share a random new version of the book,
use this one .
to link to an exact version of a particular poem,
hover over the poem's title area and click the link
which appears that says "fixed link". you will also
see one that says "mutable link" - this points to where
that particular mutable poem lands in a random new book.
try following the mutable links of a particular poem through
different versions and see how it transforms.
you can print or (if your computer has the ability) download a
print-ready pdf of this version of the book using your browser's
printing functionality. some elements of the display will change
to make it more suitable for printing. (you may want to modify your
printing settings to disable the automatic header/footer generation
most browsers do.) please note that as i make
improvements to the mechanics of the program, the content you see
here will likely change, even with a fixed seed - if you want a
truly fixed version, please use the printing method.
the code for this entire project is under the gpl3 license and is
completely free to read, use, and redistribute. the most up-to-date
code is available on github
here .
andrew is a composer, programmer, poet, and bad pianist. you can
find some of his other projects online at his personal website
here .
...
we accidentally imagine
by andrew yoon
seed 6620528
it is 2026. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
which
vibrations more
to hear inside
we
the
breathe
the
the second hand ticking
these
breathe
the sun keeps
recognize. we can't help
make this
hear all these acoustic
vibrations
okay.
always going the way we
expected expected maybe goals
sneaking into spray paints and a
outlines things, trangles into
of squares and trangles
into other squares
trangles it all all just happens
outlines of squares making
themselves themselves geometries
and relationships in the
not not not we that the way we
expected point. interactions.
spray ideas and, spray all a
outlines of squares and trangles
into shapes shapes sort into
shapes sort of squares shapes
each making and themselves
up buttons and in expected
or. and interactions
again, all these colors
colors interactions
interactions concrete permeating
while we watch. happens
trangles into other other of
making themselves up behind
each and dominoes fall fall
direction. not always in the
intended, but maybe maybe or
wrong seem the wrong the way we
expected or going the way we
expected or that could be
sneaking the but maybe that
intended, but sneaking into
the point.
interactions thoughts. goals
interactions. and ideas, spray spray
paints and concrete
permeating a these colors and
concrete watch with a smile we
watch with all outlines it all
into other squares and
trangles into other things,
shapes
dominoes and relationships
pushing the going, be but be
sneaking into interactions
concrete concrete, all these
permeating permeating paints
while these a all just
trangles into other behind of of
making themselves up up behind
each pushing buttons behind
behind of making each dominoes
and relationships pushing
buttons the always seem the not
in the way intended
intended, but maybe that could be
the point. goals, sneaking
but into the paints all
these while these smile. it
outlines of squares things,
geometries and relationships
pushing in not going the way we we
. not going the way fall in
the
and sometimes they are and
that we go are not okay
okay and sometimes it
happens
are
tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?"
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a
lot.
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
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?
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through a word
the arounds and behinds
lost somewhere in the mix,
the breath
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
rising just a little higher or
just a little more like dirty
wallpaper:
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
harsh and out of sync, now neon
colorlines and batteries, strange
gaps in the spiral
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.
we
make
make
which keeps distracting us
scratching pens and observations,
a
leave the
when we
though we know it's a fire
hazard and it
other people living above
below
we know
even
happens to
we care. and
particular seeming to wonder where
the birds get their
melodies, their strange rhythms
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
so loudly with the
batteries. the
water. how's
were important
or
casting shadows
expected
reflects
walls and the nearby
so much,
paintings
laser
that means, whatever
meaning.
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird
a triangular roof
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?
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about
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
eyes which
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile
behind our
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
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
sometimes and being naked is okay
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen and
they keep just happening and
they
stop and it seems like they
never will, so it starts
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
for things nobody
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.
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that
them either. we remember
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
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
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.
the corner of the room
empty except
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off it,
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
people
painting can sound
seems to dry.
we never seem to notice
already happened. or at least
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the
getting
single row of bricks painted a
different
through before how's and where
when whenever
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
eye so intensely we have to
look away
little bug just flying around,
again.
flying
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
is a
this is a beautiful thing.
anything at all things
or don't
perfectly that more human more
like the sun is on blood is and
the music, the little
smiling we everything around us
what, how tones eyes without
turning floorboards kind
kinetic bits makes us wonder why
wood is squirrels climb how
the
glue, the opinions the and
paints keeps ticking and our
going around voices and can't
but notice the all
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.
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,
feel jittery as we realize we
haven't stood up in hours, this
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
when the lights are
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who
to
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.
a good grip on a good a
good grip on shapes colors;
we are not sure if in a seen
in a long time whose though
years sun came back
the cell or the
remember that galaxies of toward
, minute
changing and growing momentnow
changing and growing, shapes
growing, shapes never expect
ones we things some make
might things where
sense we left we remember that
taking a allowing things which
don't allowing
don't allowing things even
mean between our own actions
between, not, untied on
tangled in tangled in by no
control that having no control
over the actions thoughts,
our actions is a is a this.
this is a is. this. this is
that's okay if single the same,
at and just falling in
standing around for supposedly
role in some role in this
understand what anyone is or is
saying what anyone is saying
or why we or and or it quite
what we ourselves are saying
it we something outside,
the with falling and
falling with every breath as
thinks it thinks breath as and
why are possibilities,
explain many and roll up our sky,
our and combinations of
imitating while relationships
probabilistic
imitating relationships
imitating for toes make
soullessness if that are grain of sand
out of place in a library in
pictures and there are pictures
of pictures of there are
pictures or we thought we when
even when a grip on a good
a librarian or an old
friend we haven't seen in long
don't we had ago the sun
laughed had we had laughed until
sound is from sound from an
music phone old cell phone
left old cell phone remember
questions their own, wondering
where wondering when it when
it will finally will
finally stop shapes never
things might make of some kind.
don't have to make sense, to
make don't that things don't
that just as they left just as
they happen
temperature our minds on or off on or
off spoiled food over the
world over control over the
world over ourselves,
control over ourselves
going and more accurate
, a little faster, a and a
little with little faster a
getting a a little faster a
little
aren't listening. every
listening. every repetition
getting, a. every repetition
little little faster and
outside conversation our we do
our best to pretend we more
faster and with fewer mistakes
with faster
our best getting a little
more accurate
mistakes on the conversation and
little
mistakes. the little faster and
with fewer mistakes.
outside pretend
listening.
getting a with fewer mistakes
conversation mistakes. the
conversation going on
becoming mistakes a accurate,
little fewer mistakes
conversation going on outside
becoming heated. the on
becoming heated while we do while
becoming heated while we heated
while our aren't listening.
best outside becoming
heated while our best to
pretend we more accurate aren't
listening. we do our best going on
pretend we aren't accurate, a
fewer mistakes. going best
best to. we repetition
little listening
back
and enormous statues
collapse
just do
going to do
something could urge to felt that
us
understood that sometimes
our
looks when the
around into different shapes
and remains misread
think
airplanes sun
the warming our legs what
us
these
we've never met
they
going back
hats
motions
even
collapse and
and
try to whether maybe
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things
the way they
same when they need to stay
the same and change when
they need
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
the sound waves not
disappearing but echoing
thousand surfaces and every
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.
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for
inconsistencies
allowing
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
leads anywhere
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
behind each option
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody
into the grass as if nothing
had happened in
place and we begin
anything actually did or does
happen or
thought
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular,
forth
way, always surprising
somehow and
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere
are getting nowhere.
outside to
this this stinging notice
the came ourselves from
caused each scratch on of
someone
behind the
these things
our the incense, that might
warm open the
hands this stinging
sensation small
scrape
someone we a lot about about,
each knot in the wires each
someone did
now our small dents in
floorboard
what
we about wires if
did.
our to open open breathe and
our hands and
along groove and scrape
freckle scratch of in the wires
if someone someone did
we our
we wait
and wonder if it would be
okay for us to ask now:
this
if nobody noticed
watch the air just sort of move
around through the leaves.
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs
behindingly the now nowing while
again
real people people,
all these fanning tree
options after options fanning
fanning out
options we with the one any, for
for any good as any,
our but don't remember
where we remember where these
different, different
circumstances responses, dealing and
circumstances calling calling
different, different
and smiling. we are
, different ways of
dealing don't know why and
smiling why don't know why us
first
they didn't hear were going,
things hear half half of going
on
maybe if. more time. but there
keep keep and
arriving and none of to and none
from
options going with the that now
least
remember
where all for. we
in
pile
back back some strange
bottom of
coin lying on
care? it matter are at the.
all quiet hiss from distant
clanging of a the sunlight, the
these little we breathe
with the the
passing clouds causing and
somehow can't toes even though
we even wind wind chooses
another, why every story has
sort of culminate into we had
heading
kind of behind leaf
to
this
decides
pile in in
the
ventilation banging
coin
the once things hiss from
the, distant clanging of we
in somehow we feel it in
can't the pitches though we
harmony should point
, why
climax climax as if thing been
heading there
there
were penscratches or where
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
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.
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
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
beautiful enough and it's
surprising enough
may be the most beautiful
and surprising thing of all
at the moment.
if nothing changes. we
reject the idea nothing “who
are you ?” and then we laugh,
aimless seems to question a to
our ears like can't think of
a able to read, laugh,
handwriting, and we laugh, and we
wonder
or, changed or if nothing
idea ourselves an
unexpected question in: “who are
you we unable
everything is
maybe,
don't. “can now we don't. why,
maybe we
“can for a stay like this for a
. ?”
sticks
so pink
outside. pink
why,
for a while ?” and, for
damp how
outside. sound everything for
?”
?” and once,. slowmoving
sound.
everything is maybe we remember why
maybe we but we so pink. we
notice pink
the and, for once, it a
sticks a sticks from is
remember why for remember why, we
this we don't ?” once, and
damp. the
?” it
this
once, it does smell of
slowmoving sound. everything for
now. “can it but for
while ?” and, stay a and once,
outside of once, it,, it does of
damp a slowmoving
outside of we
everything is so pink
stay like
once. once
the smell of damp sticks
from outside slowmoving we
notice how
remember but
while ?” and stay like this for
once, it does damp sticks
from slowmoving
remember why, but for
but for don't. like this
while “can for a while ?” and
damp sticks from outside. a
slowmoving is now we don't
stay like a while ?” and for a
while ?” and once, it
and, for does from
for now maybe “can it
we
questions like “will this
happy?”
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
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began to blow
and the poems went flying in
the air all around
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence
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
realize we didn't want
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
the really behind the,
and the
underthere, a with questions when
these things all all moving
these things slowly seems be
and woodenbits
and the conversation stays
seems to care
eyes again
inside things all all moving
the
be working as usual with
with
little
and the. and the
conversation
agains the, the eyes with with
another when
out in of another when we to
begin without when we
without
through
with
and we can't
that we and of the week
might sound listen (we
and books and (not worrying
thing any sense of
to particular sense of
intention going across
pen and going straight on to
the
ear just
but smile a
laugh about and about,
two things happening at the
if
if they
and what
breakfast
or why we cross
by straight on next
which our word
through
and then laugh
we ever
week
worrying so and so much about and
might
or
cross of another when we
just lines one by on to the
just happen somehow. we
absurd it is numbers and week
what two things
the same time might
were to trying much
about
tomorrow thing
another out place
sense going one
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as if
we never could learn from
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
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
if causing
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like something is
burning so we all try to remember
what
kitchen last but we can't
remember, and even the
remember make us shout
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
that time or this time again
and again and again
and and somehow somehow we
breathe breathe and we breathe.
we forget to ask laughing
questions can't help but smile cue
whose names lines and lines
lines and lines and
remember we that so so and somehow
becoming
is we breathe and we
breathe. isn't it funny when the
sun starts back right names
we can't remember
lines and lines and so and
lines
we remember that the stick
incense is we breathe and we
breathe we sun how how
smile when
names
whose and so so.