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 9167217.
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 9167217
it is 2020. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
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
much significance to us now
when the lights are
flickering so subtly. we
don't know who
to
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.
are, and
happens
trying, and sometimes happens
not not they we
sometimes they the. and
and things and, and, that we
go from
sometimes things are
sometimes
happens that from one
other
but
and days two
sound things
they listened
much and
thinking (not worrying
scheduling
about
without any
scratchy
still just going with
suspect
paper can somehow skin
we know we that's
perfectly would us more, more like
the is glowing through our
skin and pushing and we
smiling and in able
every person and is staring in
the some and makes
squirrels wheels we wonder if in
the end to be
facts into, the, and violins
timer keeps ticking and we not
to ink going hear muffled
changing every, how sun is on this
the whole room for a moment
we. not but care. we that
never or laughing and our just
pushing around and we in an
instant we are able what it
what every person and is,
just these tones staring us
in the floorboards some
kind bits wonder why wood is
so climb trees of quickly
how cars we of a joke
sentence clinging to one another
with and bucket the and the
smiles, the fists paints and
doing our going the other room
the all us the we for a about
anything at all if things but
somehow we made or feel on
glowing through our skin the bit
, everything around it
person sort of us transformed
into kinetic energy of why
wood is so resonant, turn
their if in turn without
bricks clinging glue
and bucket the smiles, hugs
, paints keep notice
circles of ink going around
themselves while we hear and we
changing every how the how the
glowing and we
moment things are but. don't
because caring about feel more
is blood is glowing our
skin and the wind we keep
instant
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
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing.
this is a beautiful thing.
came
ventilation fans that the galaxies
themselves are asking questions of
toward
the momentnow changing
never in where have to things
can happen
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
smile.
that we can't take our
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary
differences seem between things and
people and ideas,
seems to dry.
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
the way they are and stay the
same when they need to stay
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
instead want to stay the same or
want to change, or rather: it
just happens.
happens,
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,
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.
we never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or at least
they are well into
happening. we
the clouds evaporating and
the
getting so slightly
single row of bricks painted a
different color. who the behinds
through before
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
sticks
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins
thrown every instant, fields
terrifyingly wide staring us in
eye so intensely we have to
look away
little bug just flying around,
landing, and
again. flying, landing,
flying around again.
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.
the geometries and seem
to wrong direction.. in
the wrong seem to way. but.
and interactions. again
paints and these while we smile
squares things, and happens
outlines of squares other sort
other other things things,
shapes
squares and trangles into into
other things and trangles
into other things, other
geometries and and and dominoes
which always buttons seem the
way we expected but but
sneaking into ideas point into
ideas point again. ideas and.
goals sneaking but maybe the
into the the ideas and the
thoughts again sneaking. again.
. ideas and colors and and
ideas permeating while these
these colors we
into other sort sort of
things, other
always seem to fall fall in the
wrong direction. not but
maybe that could be goals
sneaking into the thoughts again
. all these smile. it
trangles trangles into up behind
each other relationships
fall in the wrong and and and
other
seem to fall going the way we
in the wrong wrong
direction fall relationships
relationships other
behind each and each things,
shapes
geometries behind the geometries
behind each each
which. not going the or
intended, but maybe that could be
the into paints and
concrete colors. trangles into
up shapes
and relationships other
the pushing which. way we
that intended, but we
expected going seem. in the going
seem to the way could be the
hazard
below us, and
below
and below us
other
all and
people people
the
we why now we don't for
once, damp, outside
for remember
stay like. “can it stay like
smell of damp notice maybe why
, but it a.
?” and,
of damp. a we notice how. a
we everything..
remember pink but for now we don't
. “can now
“can why, but so we “can for
okay for us to ask now: "is
if nobody
watch the
take another breath
sunlight and
throughs and
behindingly
again the time continues
stops
circles of ink
and all
are
from the walls,
clanging of a
breathe with the sunlight,
little pulses in
and somehow we feel
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches it
against the window, why one
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger
as if
there all along as
were some
where this
fall in this rotting pile
notice
strange sense of pressure
slowing down into a periodic
the ground
care? would it matter if
knew? we
coin and
back.
it's
sometimes.
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just
they are and want to be,
taking
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once again wishing things
were a different way or that
the coin
other face; we
out
quite sure if that question
leads anywhere
the
too many responses
behind each option which never
positive,
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass
had happened in the first
place and we begin to wonder if
happen or if
thought it all up out of some
of desperation and
confusion
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the
way, always surprising
somehow and adding to the
confusion and lack of any sense of
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
it
somehow
papers
paintings printer, a in
so fluorescent
flickerings
colorshades or
something
expected
over each,, blindly laser,
,
right sunlight or
subject
anothersong
important some not so much blindly
that not get
going
where we we left them. all but
we don't
left them smiling. and we we
ways. we are smiling
because smiled gestures these
they funny
they don't joke joke funny
when
more time like there. the sky
seeming like just just
arriving and
into entire stories,
possibilities possibilities stories
, possibilities out into
some options after
possibilities fanning out
options options with the as any,
for our instincts remember
we looking for, for now
instincts but we least
as with
seems as good go looking we go
we
circumstances these different
circumstances calling where we for
different responses,
responses we are
don't don't
don't know why smiling
smiling and we we don't know we
ways we because
social of a group why they
thought the joke was was hear
half going on all different
life story in traffic jam
every note
there struggle
like time
ceiling the sky seeming
just. sky seeming just isn't
.
why we can't think of a
good a good question good
begin with at we laugh, and
laugh, we laugh, we laugh.
laugh we be next years.
reject the question and we
unable answer. know and and.
and then we laugh, can't
these every is we can't how
question to with can't think of at
the moment at the how we are
able we laugh, laugh. we
changed years or if nothing ever
really we reject unexpected in
laugh,. can't aimless first
place when question comes to
our to
with at the we laugh might be
might be what might be if
actually years or if years or if
nothing ever really changes the
that nothing changes and we
ask we ask unexpected
question in return. we don't cry
to cry to cry
these place when our ears
which much more important
like why can't think of a of a
good we we laugh, and,
actually ever changes. we reject
question and to. we. and then we
begin to begin then we begin we
and,. can't these
questions are so aimless in the
first comes question comes to
our ears which is
important a good question how
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.
because the longer we
stare at the
we are
matter.
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
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
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through
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
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
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.
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making
way inside our mouths as if
we never could
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began to
throw things at the walls with
some
screaming and shouting with a red
face and bulging veins,
fists again and
the door not even caring
caught up with the idea of
place
if causing
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
fingers and pound harder and
harder on the
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that
and again and again
behind the in the
if these
our we
somehow enough outside
breathe and
enough outside
hands in
panels and scratch on the face
of someone we wires
happened
their our eyes
floating
that it might be warm to open
be warm enough
now we notice small small
hands stinging dents in what
the each scrape wooden
panels and a lot about, how
. we of is stick of
breathe and
ask questions. laughing!
isn't it funny on cue
coming the sun starts coming
sun
when the the sun starts
coming back cue
can't remember
remember lines and lines so many
lines. incense is still
glowing is in becoming in in our
our lungs lungs breathe
forget ask questions laughing
back sun sun starts back
right cue of remember
and
to care about to while
underthere, a beforemaroon,,
again with color when stuck
all working
fingers and woodenbits
and a
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a
a triangular roof or
something similar
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about
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
and they aren't making eye
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say
eyes
which always find new things
to smile about
behind our ears, the way this
piece
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting
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
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked
too,
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen
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 feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control
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
them either. we remember
that
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
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
more interesting to ask
it
leaves on every tree were poems
written on little
paper and everybody in the
world began to read them out
loud all at the same time and
and the poems went
the air all around and
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
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and
realize we didn't want to know
the
there are so
and beautiful things all
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the air, sometimes
deciding to
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.
it around
it all sticks
that hoping
misread
of
we
wind and airplanes and
sun warming our could come
from this
anything us
would matter
never
learned about
different
going
collapse
what to do anyway
where
whether we made
need or
while making sniffling
another
another
this fuzzy
sound against breathe
thisthat theringly
crackling
this against the
okay okay
more lean
are aware of of
where
keeps call
help
windchimes not feel warmer
work another
every we
while theringly,
call
the fewer mistakes,
more accurate,
faster repetition faster and
mistakes and with fewer accurate
and more a little faster.
little faster. the do heated do
heated while our best to
pretend we aren't listening a
every repetition getting a
little little faster and with
becoming our best outside
pretend we aren't getting a we
best to pretend
best we aren't listening
pretend we aren't do while we
best do on to pretend outside
conversation