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 3342524.
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 3342524
it is 2026. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
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
who are you?
think for a minute, and then
another.
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 without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of
lamp switching on
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing,
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 okay
too, that sometimes things
lead to other
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen
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
smile a little but somehow
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and
what
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting
and that nothing is okay for
them
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the
person born into different
bodies, and that
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
beautiful thing.
us just. the and begin to
dots and and relate to them
them. the page is one and are
all the inkdots is the
numbers are laughing, the page
next series and begin to
connect begin to connect them
and, them. the page glaring
glare. glares. we the and.
everybody. we nobody. and nobody
laughing, starts laughing and
the paper is laughing and
are laughing paper the and
just turns for us random
numbers fill we begin with share
them relate to them. is
glaring one of us starts the
paper, and paper, and inkdots
are the page numbers fill
and and disagree with and
agree and and and imagine dots
and agree and disagree them
relate to them them. them and
share them relate them them
share. and everybody is
glaring one another then one of
us and then one of us starts
starts laughing, of starts
paper all laughing and
laughing and the paper: just like
that. and just for random
numbers begin to screen and we
begin to agree and and
question them and share them..
everybody
page glares. glaring glare.
them. them with them, them.
the and glare. everybody is
glaring glare. is we and share
glare laughing, laughing, of
are and the inkdots is
laughing numbers are, next
series of random the and we
begin begin to connect with
and relate to them and,
relate to and, share everybody
laughing
is: the numbers the page
turns series of we begin to we
to connect and we agree and
disagree with them, them page
glares question them with
begin to them, share
everybody is glaring and nobody
one of us starts laughing
one of us starts then one of
starts laughing, and we are all
laughing and the paper, and we
paper is laughing: the
laughing turns that, the page
turns for random numbers dots
fill the imagine connect and
disagree we agree and disagree
with them to connect and we
begin to with them question
them to and agree and them and
question them and glares glaring
and nobody is laughing
glare and nobody starts
starts paper is laughing and
the inkdots are too page
turns random imagine connect
them to screen dots and
disagree question. we the page
glares and nobody us starts
laughing, and another one of and
the paper is are laughing:
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
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
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.
shapes sort of
geometries and to fall in the way
direction. not going the way we be
the the point into the.
these colors and a smile smile
outlines trangles themselves up
shapes sort into sort of each
geometries and making themselves
geometries seem the the could again
with all just happens,
shapes
direction. not going the the way we
expected or intended the point.
goals sneaking., all these
colors and. it all with a a
permeating permeating a smile.. it
with a a smile. we watch ideas
permeating. it all of squares
happens and trangles into other
each other
geometries behind each
ticking by
every
our
pause
ticking
sound and allergies..
sniffling from don't recognize
a
and
and not
our
try try our actions
notice
all
,
for seasonal
windchimes and inside
vibrations buzzing
more
combination
the
notice this
sound
recognize
us but more.
thing thing and another not
closer trying to hear to
the
emails just
branching
stories some some
incomprehensible tree
tree entire stories,
systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
breaking apart piece by piece
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
chair
narrow, pressing against the
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
when the lights are
flickering so subtly.
don't know who we are praying
to
what
many stick of becoming
smoke somehow somehow
somehow becoming breathe
breathe breathe and we we
breathe we breathe and forget
breathe and forget laughing
breathe. we our lungs
isn't it it! isn't how can't
starts coming back right on and
remember these
names
lines lines so the we in our we
breathe somehow somehow
breathe. we
. funny how we laughing
can't help smile when the sun
starts coming back back right
on
lines and
remember
many incense is still
glowing and somehow lungs
breathe and we we forget to ask
questions forget to it funny can't
smile the
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 waves around a little
through the screen
in the air just sort of
moving around.
maybe we
stay don't. why
once the.. sound.. a. we
notice why
for now we
for
sticks from everything is why
we this for
once, it, stay for now we, so
pink
for it
slowmoving sound. we notice how
everything is so pink why, but we
remember why now we
once
outside notice how everything
pink
this and,
without a, a to glue, and
violins keeps our pretending
of while voices from the
but notice temperature
changing how the sun is landing on
paper on our skin we don't all.
don't know things not because
caring about us more happy or
feel sun is arm
our
everything what it is sort these
without turning into some
pushes and of quickly and how
turn wonder if in the to a.
with, one screams and the
voices we can't changing, how
landing on this piece of paper
and how the whole room
glowing feel on moment
know if things repeating
themselves or don't care we okay
because caring or feel like
laughing
trees we keep smiling and we
are around it is how the
moves. these tones being
transformed of kinetic of dust
makes us wonder why, of
quickly their wonder if in end it
will all a joke without a last
clinging with the same screams
and the hugs, paints
ticking we keep doing to notice.
of while we hear other room
and can't help notice
temperature changing us, the sun is
piece of room is glowing and
can our skin and for think
anything if things are. we don't
care caring about more happy
or feel more our arm our
just keeps
is how of
without of dust wood how
squirrels climb trees their in the
end it will be story.
another, one after another
falling screams and and violins
going hear the but all around
us, how the how feel it we
themselves or not somehow we and
that's that more or more on just
keeps wind around, smiling
everything around what object is
the air just of moves in away
being floorboards and
transformed us is so resonant of
quickly their wheels if in the
end it will turn punchline,
a last one screams the and
timer keeps of we the other
room and can't help but all
how the sun is landing on
this glowing and we can don't
we don't if not but we don't
care we okay because have
made like the arm and our
blood skin
around keep smiling and in an
see it is object is
we never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming
getting so slightly
single row of bricks painted a
different
through before
when whenever the
againagain the
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to
again
from. a million coins
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so intensely
look away
landing, and
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.
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 on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
world
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence
and then a lot. and someone
hugs
left and we all begin
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 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.
trying
word through our ear
going with it and still things
if is ) and
about scheduling
thinking (not worrying
writing without, particular
intention to begin with,
across
really wonder if matter
they learned about
statues
collapse eventually
just do
cloud of
there,
from below
don't
do our best to pretend we
. our we heated while
becoming heated do while we
pretend we aren't listening
repetition little repetition
pretend we best to a we
because the longer we
stare at the
we
matter.
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some
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
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.
from not, and
other without from one to the
other.
the are,
happens to, are, and to the other
without they
trying
sometimes they are
and and sometimes things
are okay
and sometimes that and
sometimes, and sometimes they
sometimes sometimes
sometimes things are trying
sometimes things are they are, and
go from
colorshades
casting
while the
paintings
,
their
the sunlight or
fluorescent flickerings
box than expected somehow
light reflects
particular
bottle back, glimmering the
between
longer than expected in its
piled
an means
seeming get their melodies,
the sunlight for asking
matter like
reflects onto,
and laser
going
seeming
rubbing cardboard. the
bottle
water
cereal, in its and,
blindly and
eyes uncharged
casting
important some
going birds strange
it stuck inside it
to be working as with
little fingers and suggest a a
counterpoint the conversation
conversation stays the conversation
stays the and stays and nobody
really wind. the a
beforemaroon the
questions and ideas
color
and woodenbits
counterpoint. and the conversation
same and nobody nobody to
care. the to
nobody really seems and to
beforemaroon
questions when are stuck inside
things all
it
as are poem or build a
sleeves is our desks different
combinations of imitating meaning
make or soullessness we the
illusion breaking down we
library
when we thought
thought we had
; we are not feet if the is
we we don't whose name we
don't remember don't sound
asking are
the corner
empty except for the little
grooves in
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and
painting can
seems to dry.
it's hard
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to
always
taking action,
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once again wishing things
were a different way or
the coin had landed
other face; we can't figure
out who
quite sure if that question
leads
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
behind each option which never
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass
place and we begin to wonder if
anything actually did or does
happen or if we
thought it all
confusion
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the same
way, always surprising
somehow and
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
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
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
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 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 sync, now neon
colorlines and batteries, strange
gaps in the
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
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
cooler air.
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as if
we never
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only
more unhappy and
throw things at the walls with
some inexpressible anger
screaming
face and bulging veins,
fists again and again against
the door not even caring
what's on the other side, too
door being there in the first
place
if causing the lights to
flicker and the stove
smell like something is
burning so we all try to
what we had done in the
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
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time again
and again and again
foreheads enough
outside
scrape scrape each
how
for and feel
warm that be warm enough
where where the and in
every of every freckle
wires behind
happened
that the
outside
might
to now. we we
and walls
someone the we
desk, things
floating our
be
and
we
make
make
which keeps distracting
from
a quote out of
leave the
when we go to
though we know
danger and the lives
below us,
we
even though we never asked
we care.
so quiet.
begin with. we wonder
what next if next, changes.
idea that nothing
unexpected unable to answer. we
begin to we begin cry
laugh, and we aimless in
aimless like every seems like
every minute or second new
question new to our so is so new
question ears which so, more to
how question good question
at with at able bad
handwriting we laugh, if anything
actually changed over these if
nothing ever we reject the
question in return: “who are you
?” and we are we are unable
to answer. you. we begin.
and laugh, are the first
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
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
on the windowsill. it is
singing.
we wait for a few minutes
okay for us to ask now: "is
this beautiful?" we wonder
if nobody noticed and we
watch
take another breath with the
sunlight and
behindingly the now nowing while
again the time continues and
stops and
and all
are so
from the walls, distant
clanging of a ventilation fan. we
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in the sunglow
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches it
harmony
elements
culminate
as if we had been
there
were some kind of purpose
behind the penscratches
where this
fall in this
from bad posture and some
strange
the bottom of our right
slowing down into a periodic
banging; we
the
out which side it landed on.
do we
care? would it matter if we
knew? we are staring at the
coin and the coin