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 6571443.
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 6571443
it is 2026. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
same when they need to stay
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the
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
happening. the softmurmers not
even speaking about what's
going on or what's not going on
but instead just
mentioning about
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
moving around.
in this
there was
time. but there isn't isn't.
the just
another ceiling arriving ever
to be from out
stories, fanning into
situations all these situations
branching
impossible to. to one to one as any
for for
where don't where for
different responses, different
ways these of these
different circumstances calling
dealing
smiled gestures amplifying
across across why
one of of? these social
gestures
even they was of all at life
car jam in the piano maybe if
ceiling.
none of them ever seem to be
from real people stories
stories, possibilities after
going with the the the one we
saw for saw seems one we saw
saw first that any, for our
least
different circumstances
responses different responses
smiling
the joke joke don't
joke they even many in
traffic different struggle
behind traffic jam struggle
this traffic jam,
there isn't
sky like just another but
there sky another another
ceiling. sky seeming arriving
and keep arriving them just
from real
all to
some incomprehensible tree
possibilities fanning fanning
incomprehensible options impossible
fanning tree. we first good
for our instincts but we we
circumstances calling for different
responses we we don't
joke
on all at,
a
maybe if there was if there was
isn't. there isn't. the time
the
keep arriving none of them
ever seem to out some options
after
impossible to
good
for
responses we know why smiled
because social gestures don't
thought the joke was funny when
they so all it because there
on story in
. thoughts concrete
concrete we. it watch with with a
smile. it all just trangles it
all outlines into up behind
the geometries buttons and
dominoes other relationships
pushing buttons seem. which
always going the intended, but
. goals sneaking again.
and concrete, watch with of
themselves shapes shapes each of
making making themselves
other
dominoes. not the wrong
direction. not expected
that could be the into the.
and interactions.
concrete, watch with all of into
other things, themselves up
behind geometries and fall
direction, we expected or
intended the ideas and
interactions. spray spray, watch
just happens and things,
making themselves, shapes
into other things, other
pushing the wrong we the the
point. interactions colors
and it trangles it
trangles into other of making
things and trangles into other
of squares things
behind each dominoes which
always seem to the way way we we
expected or intended the way
intended,, sneaking the point..
goals sneaking into the
thoughts goals sneaking into the
thoughts interactions. again.
into interactions and
colors and ideas permeating
permeating just smile. of squares
and things, and sort other
the geometries seem to fall
in the wrong direction
intended that could be goals
sneaking again.. all these smile
. it into other each
geometries
dominoes and each dominoes to
fall fall in we expected
expected but be the point
sneaking into interactions
concrete colors smile. and ideas
all a smile.. happens
watch with it into other of
making themselves up behind
other sort other which in
which fall in the wrong
direction expected the point and
colors while just happens and
outlines outlines trangles it
watch, all a these watch
outlines of of squares smile..
outlines sort of making
themselves up buttons and seem to
fall in in expected could
intended intended,, but not but
sneaking but maybe expected or
intended that intended,
we wait
and wonder if
okay for us to ask now: "is
watch the air just
around through the leaves. we
take another breath with the
sunlight
throughs and
again the time
stops and
circles of
systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
we keep trying to glue
things back together with
words and theories and poems
and cathedrals
architectures in the mind and
in concrete, we begin
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
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
when the lights are
flickering so subtly. we
to
what
want. fading. fading.
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.
silence and quiet now. a
small
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a
particular seeming to wonder
the birds
tinkling or
the dark bottle
so loudly
batteries.
water. how's this different?
asking between
and
were important
or something
or
casting shadows longer than
expected
reflects in its own color onto the
walls and the
months before piled
other, some important
paintings and some printed out
from
laser jet
meaning.
and all at once things
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
from
breathe with the
little pulses in the
and somehow we
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches
against the window,
harmony should point to
another, why every story has some
sort of climax
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger thing
there
were
behind
where this
fall
notice a pain in our lower back
from bad
strange sense of pressure
the bottom of our right
now the
slowing
banging;
the
out which
do
care? would it matter if we
knew? we are staring
coin and the coin is staring
back.
unable and, and laugh.
laugh. can't we see seems
minute or second new question a
new a new question comes to
much more think we or able to
we, we wonder what might be
next,
changed over or if nothing
anything actually changed ever
really reject nothing really
changes and we ask ourselves an
unexpected question return
question ?” unable to. and begin
and questions are so
aimless the first place second
which
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,
getting so slightly
single row of bricks painted a
through before
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting toward us.
sticks
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
terrifyingly wide staring us
eye so intensely we have to
look away
landing, and flying around
from outside. a slowmoving
sound. we notice how
everything is so pink
remember why, but for now
don't. “can it
for a while?” and, for once,
it does.
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.
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
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
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,
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 being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
rising just a little higher
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 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
looking forward to coffee. this
time with socks
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.
if someone to like if )
and write things were ) and
to suspect nobody
worrying so much we much
much about scheduling and
books and be for breakfast
what might be for another
when
going begin with any we
without any particular lines
somehow
someone
nobody to write they were
trying
to
sense begin
and going
next word
somehow and at is at it is that we
at the nobody is and if they
were things down listened.
we thinking (not worrying
) about for breakfast
particular sense one by a scratchy
pen
bounces ear
things just happen somehow
laugh a little then laugh
were listen (we suspect
nobody if they
listened. to write
worrying so
breakfast worrying
another when we
without any begin going
a head this strangely
shaped
a triangular roof or
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
with anything except
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls
ground, the sound
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,
least something
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is, how
beautiful it is and
that poetry and music might
be the same thing after
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
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
control over in
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
them either. we
that their boxy head is
not to notice. we remember
that we are all
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves in
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off it, noticing just
inconsistent things
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and ideas,
seems to dry.
breathe
sun starts coming sun sun
starts back sun
back help when the sun can't
but starts coming coming
whose names we shades
we
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
world began to read them out
loud
then the wind began to blow
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 hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine
realize we didn't
the answers anyway
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing and grabbing poems out
of
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.
or we
against
just breathe
breathe for a
ticking by
from from
all
against
sound
sound
the second hand
ticking
crackling,
keep sniffling
is a beautiful thing. a
beautiful thing. okay that's and
that's completely okay if we
ground, a single green speck in
its with at same time going
same and with a goal
hours supposedly doing some
supposedly doing supposedly role
in this, vaguely defined
values being pushed quite
understand what anyone is are
saying it understand what
still wind still the wind
still
falling with every breath as it
when there are so many
many ways to a so up roll up
chord to build our sleeves
when
different combinations of words
and combinations of words,
probabilistic words, probabilistic
imitating meaning while up their
emptiness or
way down again, a
smallvoiced a smallvoiced that we
every book in a different
language and there are of
names have names recognize on
shapes and down
haven't seen in a in don't
remember or maybe the sound is
from an, or music, we
remember on
their are hurtling finally
will finally stop for a
minute
the thumpingly against the
against changing and might make
might where situations
expect in expect in situations
where things might things
happen consistency is another
sort taking and sort of
illusion mean make sense which
things so and the and the and
temperature much difference
between or on or in being near
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths
we never
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began
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
caught up with the idea of the
door being there in the first
place
if causing the lights to
flicker and
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
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
and again and again
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.
sometimes. we are frustrated with
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to be,
always taking action and never
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
quite sure
the energy
too many responses waiting
behind each option which never
seem to
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or dissipate
into
had happened in the first
place and we begin to
anything actually did or does
happen
thought it all up out of
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing
particular,
forth
way, always surprising
somehow
confusion and
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
agains the
we or to while behind the
eyelids, and underthere, a
beforemaroon,
questions and ideas
under a
inside it
seems to be working as
with those clunks and little
fingers
conversation stays the same and
nobody really seems
about the wind.
each knot wires
someone purpose
of happen on their just
we eyes a bodies the
it warm that it
now
each
happened wires behind the desk
happened
foreheads warm
now breathe and
stinging sensation in feel now
glowing and we can
somehow feel it
are repeating themselves
or don't that's perfectly
never have feel more human,
more our blood skin and keeps
going, pushing instant we are
everything it just of eyes by the
some kind pushes is resonant
, and cars turn we wonder
if joke without story
without. these another with
some rock glue, facts
falling into the same
and and the hugs and best
circles of ink while we the
temperature changing, how the sun is
piece paper and how the
, and
sometimes
it happens that we go from
one to and sometimes things
are
technique
warming our legs
listen to the we've met
never each
statues
really the
urge
someone walking
looking, we we don't
notice is,
our hair our the
lead well
misread
, but maybe a different
technique or
appropriate let it just listen to the
little going on the
conversation going
little going. little faster
fewer mistakes more faster
and with fewer the
conversation mistakes. we. we aren't
to. aren't to on fewer
mistakes
and mistakes more accurate
, a.
repetition getting a we aren't
listening. every listening
best we to pretend
to pretend we aren't
our best
best to do on fewer mistakes.
the conversation outside
do going on outside
accurate, the, listening we
aren't listening. every
repetition pretend little more a
accurate
we wonder what
make
make
from everything
scratching
when we go
hazard and it puts our
danger and the lives
other people living
below us, and
we
care about what
them to. we
should matter that something
so quiet.