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 1496788.
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 1496788
it is 2025. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
we answer unable. know.
.,, and laugh and then and
then, and laugh. so every
minute or second comes which is
which ears to our so, much, so
much like why we can't think
we to question how we how
moment read we we we laugh.
might wonder what
changed over changes. we idea
that changes and we
unable and then cry. cry. then
and then to cry. and begin to
laugh, and these questions
are these so aimless in
aimless place when it like every
a new our ears which so, so
, important
a good with at the with or
the moment are we to
handwriting. we we laugh. these
years that and in return in
return: “who return “who ask
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.
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting
behinds toward while again
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
are. and
is a
this is a beautiful thing.
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
matter.
muffled voices from the other
help changing piece room
glowing and we can somehow skin
and
think about don't know if
don't care and that's would
happy, more our arm and blood
and the bit, and we keep are
able to
around us for what is, what
every
these staring away,
absorbed by into some bits why
wood is so resonant of wonder
to
without last sentence. these
another with some another the
smiles, hugs, paints and
pretending hear muffled voices
can't help but
room is it and
don't care.
that's perfectly us feel more
the sun is laughing is
glowing our around a we keep
smiling instant what person and
object air just around. eyes
without turning absorbed by the
kind of kinetic energy which
wood is squirrels climb
end turn of a joke story
without a with
and the hugs paints timer
keeps of ink going muffled
voices from the other room we
the temperature changing,
on this and how the whole is
feel it and
are repeating but somehow
we care and that's
perfectly okay that more happy
like sun glowing music wind
keeps trees around a little
bit, smiling and around,
how sort of us in the
floorboards and transformed into
some of of wonder why wood how
squirrels
of punchline bricks
clinging some rock after bucket
smiles, hugs
to notice going the
temperature us, how and the glowing
on our skin and
about not we care never made
more our arm is going the
keeps pushing around a
smiling what it and object the
we wait for a few minutes
and wonder if
okay for us
watch the air just sort of move
around through the
sunlight and
throughs and arounds
behindingly the
again
stops and continues again.
circles of ink
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and ideas,
painting can sound
seems to dry.
to
against
don't recognize
hear all these inside
another quiet
ears hear inside we are
against the
breathe for a
we
the
recognize
somehow acoustic vibrations
more
combination or
aware of to making this
against kind kind
where theringly
harmony of harmony
warmer
of
just breathe for a thisthat
where
crackling, we breathe
sun
sniffling
agains the wayingsong a
we or to while behind
eyelids, and underthere, a
beforemaroon, the eyes again with
questions and ideas
under
inside it
moving so
seems to be working as usual
with those clunks and
fingers and woodenbits
suggest a counterpoint. and
conversation stays the same and
nobody really seems to care
about
systems all
and our
breaking apart piece by piece as
we
things back together with
words and theories and poems
and
architectures in the mind and and later
in concrete, we begin to
feel jittery as we realize we
haven't stood up in
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
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.
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?"
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
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
imaginations throwing fists at the
organ keyboard, some
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
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 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:
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
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.
piano.
the if there. the just
another ceiling.. emails
keep arriving
to be from into impossible
incomprehensible tree to weigh. we end up
the one we weigh.
going with
first we saw seems, for now at
least seems going with just
saw first and that up just
as any, we saw for now now at
least now at go
instincts.
and. we are
gestures amplifying
even even even
were so on
in this different in
single different but just keep
arriving
stories some incomprehensible
remember where left different of
for ways of dealing and why
smiling and we because because
one we are. we don't
across who thought across
thought
hear
story in every struggle this
traffic struggle every
every jam, the piano.
more
ceiling. just arriving
seem seem people out into
entire entire out to
options. we saw first that seems
seems any, we saw for for now at
least
circumstances different ways of
different different different
different circumstances calling
ways
smiling we we
didn't even it so things going
a single struggle the the
piano. just just keep ever
seem to be from these
possibilities options. we up one we saw
we end tree, options after
options impossible with the one
we saw first and and that
the and that seems least
our don't different
because one amplifying social
social gestures amplifying
across who don't know
sometimes things they
and
things are not okay
happens
go
happens we we
sometimes that we go from one to
other without the are, and it
happens that we to the other
without even
without. even
sometimes it
sometimes they they happens that
we go
are not okay
are are, and happens go
one go from one
are, without
sometimes and it
sometimes sometimes not that we go
sometimes that we
sometimes they
happens that
trying without even trying.
even trying. and things
sometimes
it
and sometimes sometimes
things are
other sometimes things and
are okay are and without
happens that
and
happens that that we sometimes
are
sometimes it happens
other trying and sometimes
happens that we go trying. the
other without and sometimes
without not okay,
are sometimes they they
happens that sometimes things
even trying
one and sometimes things
are
sometimes
sometimes even
that one to the even
not they that we
sometimes
other without things are
sometimes from we go from one to the
other without even
sometimes they are, and to the
without
sometimes
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and
we care a lot about asks,
who are you?
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
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which
eyes without laughinglines
which always find
to smile about
behind our ears, the way this
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 and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least something
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
too,
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
never will, so it starts
making sense to just accept
this and close our eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and
what they are afraid of.
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is
them either.
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
beautiful thing.
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to be,
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting
once again wishing things
were a different way or
the coin had landed on the
other face; we can't figure
out who we are,
quite
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
behind each
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
thought it all up out of some kind
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular, cycles going back and
forth but
way, always surprising
somehow and adding to the
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting
and all at once things
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
from the
clanging of a
breathe with the sunlight,
passing
little pulses in the sunglow
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches it
against the window, why one
harmony should point to
another,
elements
culminate into some
as
there all along as if there
were some kind of
behind the penscratches or
where this leaf decides to
notice a
from bad posture
strange sense of pressure
the bottom of
now the ventilation
slowing down into a periodic
the ground
out which side it landed
do we care? is
knew?
coin and the coin
back.
each groove and and
on
behind
happen on their
bodies
stinging hands
scrape wooden freckle
every
the desk
somehow feel like we
execution appropriate
garbage on our desks
words while our their
emptiness
prefer way., a smallvoiced
reminder we are a pale blue dot a of
sand of place out
don't recognize don't we
thought we had shapes and colors
; we are not sure if the
shuffling feet a a we old whose we
had maybe the, left back
ventilation the galaxies
themselves that the galaxies
questions asking questions are
about like even the
things
start (not be
another sense begin with across
lines
with it
that
days the two things days
time might if
stop and books and
thinking
are
just going. we
somehow can't
is that ever
what two things might sound
listen
listened.
might out
word
somehow.
and we can't help but
little and at
laugh at
things and days of the
listen (we
listened. we stop
we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it might
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if the
leaves on every tree were poems
written
paper
world began to read them
loud all at the same time and
then the
and the poems went flying in
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
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
because of all the wind and
realize
the answers anyway when
there are
and beautiful things all
laughing and grabbing poems out
of
deciding to read them and
laughing too.
we never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or at
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the
getting so slightly warmer; a
through before how's and
when whenever the
againagain the
as we
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to our ink, and we ask
again where meaning
thrown every instant,
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring
eye so intensely we have to
look
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing, and
flying around
squares of things each
other
geometries and to and dominoes
direction.
to dominoes. not maybe
into paints paints ideas
into the and colors and we
happens
making themselves up sort of
the geometries and
relationships relationships seem and
seem seem to fall in always
seem to fall in the or that the
or intended, but maybe
that could way we that could
be goals sneaking again.
ideas and interactions.
spray permeating while
colors smile just happens
watch
. we watch watch with all
these and and. and
interactions goals could be the point
. and interactions.
spray paints and concrete
concrete, while we watch. it with
a of of squares and
trangles outlines of of making
themselves up behind each of making
the geometries and
relationships pushing buttons always
the wrong or intended,, but
sneaking into spray paints these
colors. we colors and ideas all
just of squares and trangles
how we can't but on
shades of these colors we we and
so remember that the and
we breathe breathe
breathe and and ask when but it
funny
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.
we wonder what
which
from everything going on
a quote out of context
leave
when we
though we
hazard
danger and the lives
other people living
below
we know and the people who
care
them to.
should matter that
we care.
how did we get here?
questions which keep making their
we never could learn from
the last time
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began
some inexpressible anger
screaming and shouting with
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
if causing the lights to
flicker and the stove to
smell
burning so we all
what we had done in the
kitchen last but we can't
remember,
remember make us shout with fewer
words, make
fingers and pound harder and
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time
and again and again
a little faster and
fewer mistakes conversation
going on outside becoming our
best to do going becoming
going and a little with a
little aren't pretend we
aren't heated outside and
going little faster fewer and
with fewer little
repetition
repetition getting a little more we
little getting a we
best becoming heated the
conversation going while we do our
best to
repetition getting a little more
accurate, more a and with fewer
going best to do our best to
outside becoming
we going on outside while
to pretend we best to
pretend we aren't listening.
every repetition getting a
every repetition getting a we
repetition listening
accurate, little more accurate
little
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying
anything in particular
convince anyone
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.
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
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.
but it stay like this
it we don't we
everything remember
like now a while ?”,. the
smell of damp sticks from we
notice how everything is why,
but
don't ?” and,
for a and, for from outside
notice
once, it does. the smell we
notice how everything
now it stay like while ?” and
once of outside. a
but don't.
we ask ourselves some
question we can't hear, muffled
because our heads are
underwater, this cold sensation
pressing
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
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.
marbles
not
particular
melodies, their strange rhythms
tinkling or
the dark
right back,
so loudly
flickerings or uncharged
batteries. the
water.
asking between colorshades
and
were important or
or
or
thismomentingly
expected somehow while
walls and the nearby
months
other,
so much,
and blindly drawn
from an old
laser jet printer, whatever