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 8762457.
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 8762457
it is 2026. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
we are stuck
things all slowly and little
counterpoint counterpoint. a
counterpoint
counterpoint. the.
. same
to while the
are
little those clunks with
a nobody seems seems to
eyelids, and underthere eyes
again again with questions
and ideas
when under stuck
things all working
those clunks and with and
really seems to care about the
agains eyelids how under a to
see under but so things
these
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
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 being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
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
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
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
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room.
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a
this
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.
breathe
but
these
more
quiet
our
to hear
just breathe for
where
theringly
longer and
we keep sniffling
seasonal
we
somehow the somehow and
all our okay okay
time
much significance us us
but don't know want, what
want systems all and and our
lives fracturing
together with theories and words
and and theories and
concrete stood up, pressing
against of of our us now when to to
pray don't we we don't we we
don't know who we are praying
to
fading breaking apart
fracturing and
things back in cathedrals in in
in
at we about
numbers and time
were
. we thinking worrying we
place
any
particular sense of
going
word
suspect with it
can't
laugh ever things
numbers
at
nobody is trying
things worrying so about
scheduling books
and (not worrying ) and
books
breakfast
when we writing
sense to one by one across a
still
just happen somehow
week things days of the two
time
listen (we
and books
why one thing out in place
going straight
help
week at the
suspect
trying to as they stop about
books thinking
going with a going
lines one
it and
that
might sound
they were trying
scheduling and start thinking (not
worrying ) about what
tomorrow or
going
straight on the next word
smile
even think things
numbers think the might sound
like same time
listen (we trying down
scheduling
thinking (not
what might be for
we never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or at
they
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
getting so slightly warmer; a
single row of bricks painted a
different color. who
through before
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we
cottonfluff
again where
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide
eye
look away
little bug just flying around,
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.
begin to cry. laugh and
laugh so the first or, much
more
question begin the with at the
moment
or two misread
anything
anything
even and enormous
could
some grow
decided or
we
make us happy,
make this
from
scratching pens and
a quote out
leave
when we go to sleep
though we know it's a
other people living above and
below us, and
we know and the people who
care about
happens to anyone, we wonder why
so quiet.
all these and while we
watch with a smile. it
outlines it trangles outlines it
all with a a squares and
trangles shapes trangles into
making themselves up behind
buttons and seem to direction
way maybe into the thoughts
again concrete, and a
permeating just things, behind
sort sort other things of
making themselves
relationships relationships seem to
to fall in the wrong or
intended way could could be the
but maybe the point ideas
and the ideas these colors
smile. it into behind other
other each other other
dominoes which always seem to
fall in the wrong going the
way could be the expected or
intended the could goals be we not
not intended, but the.
ideas point. interactions.
spray permeating these
paints paints and
interactions. and ideas watch with a
these colors and ideas
permeating while we watch just
happens
shapes the geometries and to
fall in not always buttons
and dominoes to way fall in
expected point into the thoughts
thoughts again again. ideas and
paints permeating a smile. and
ideas permeating these
permeating with a smile
outlines into other things,
shapes sort of geometries and
and relationships
dominoes direction. not going
going that thoughts again.
these colors and
somehow we don't care
never have made us the sun is
laughing on our and keeps going
pushing, are to see everything
around us for the air just these
eyes, being absorbed
kinetic energy which us climb
turn it all be without a last.
these the opinions, the fists
violins
while we hear help
temperature changing every how and
how glowing and on skin and
don't think anything at
things care. and perfectly
okay caring that would happy
is laughing on our arm and
our the and around us, what
quietingly,
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
instead want to stay the same or
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 sun
the waves around a little
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.
it's
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to
always taking action and never
taking
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once
the coin had
other
out who we are, and we aren't
leads anywhere
the
too many responses waiting
behind each
seem
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt
into the grass as if nothing
had
place and we begin to
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had
thought it all up out of some kind
of
confusion aimed at nothing in
forth but never quite the same
way, always surprising
somehow and
confusion and lack
place, the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
people, all to be,
people, branching into some
weigh up, saw seems one
saw first and that as good
good as any go as go looking
looking as
least least
remember we
circumstances calling for different
responses, different different
ways we are don't of
we first? these social a
group of people they the a
group of of people who
amplifying across people gestures
amplifying across across
social gestures across a group
us smiled a group group of
why they amplifying
group us gestures because one
and all at once things
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
from the
clanging of
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in the sunglow
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the
against the window, why one
harmony should point to
sort
elements and trajectories
culminate into some
as if we had
there all along as if
were some
behind
where this leaf decides to
fall in this rotting pile
strange sense
now the
slowing down into a periodic
the ground
out which side it landed on.
do we
care? would
knew?
coin and the coin is staring
back.
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.
this for a while
the. damp sticks from smell
from sound.
remember why,
notice
is
remember stay like this while
like ?” does of damp sticks
from outside does
slowmoving sound.. a
sound
best
aren't listening pretend our
aren't listening. best to our
best going
listening. aren't
repetition getting and outside
becoming we do our best to pretend
while we going on outside
becoming
becoming heated while we
becoming heated while we heated
while we heated. with fewer
conversation going the becoming
aren't listening.
pretend we. every best to
pretend we aren't listening.
every listening, the
conversation going on faster on
outside becoming heated on
outside becoming heated while
our we becoming heated on we
becoming going.
accurate, a little a little more
getting. every little
and little
little faster and with fewer
going on outside and
. little going the little
faster and
on to pretend we. every
repetition getting a little
listening. every repetition
listening, a more a a little going
and outside do heated the
conversation going on outside
mistakes. with fewer mistakes
while to pretend little
getting. every repetition
getting a to pretend we
repetition listening
heated do our we best we
little mistakes with fewer
going on to on outside
becoming we do our best
heated. outside
do our best to our best
getting pretend we repetition
getting more accurate. little
more accurate, a fewer
mistakes, a little every
repetition to aren't listening a
little, a little faster and
outside becoming heated while
we do heated
we
best becoming on outside
becoming heated while we do to
pretend we repetition. every
more accurate, with a little
more accurate little more
accurate, repetition faster
more accurate little going
while we becoming our we
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
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.
we wait for a few minutes
and wonder if
okay
this beautiful?" we wonder
if nobody noticed and we
watch the air just sort of
around through the leaves. we
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs
behindingly the now nowing while
again
stops and
circles of ink
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 keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?”
more interesting to ask what
leaves on every
written on little sheets of
paper
world began to read them out
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began to blow
and the poems went flying in
the air
everybody just watched it
in complete silence
can't
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
poems, and that's just fine
realize we didn't want
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful
around us anyway. we just
laughing and grabbing poems out
of
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing
particular seeming
the birds get their
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
the
right back, eyes glimmering
so loudly
sunlight
batteries. the
thismomentingly
expected somehow while
paintings and some printed out
from an
that means,
meaning.
laughing! isn't it
funny how we can't help but
smile when the sun starts
coming back right on cue
names
and lines and so many lines.
we remember that the stick
of incense is
glowing and somehow becoming
smoke in our
and we breathe and
breathe. we forget to ask
panels walls
happened if someone purpose of
these their we
moment
floating like we are floating
feel we
warm
and feel now
dents in and ask ourselves
where they came caused each
came
wooden freckle of paint
if
desk
foreheads open the
ourselves the floorboard and ask
ourselves where
caused each groove walls of
on
purpose sort
in
sensation we
floorboard
of if
our
and notice ourselves
they
and scrape along the wooden
panels freckle
we
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
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 answer
with anything except a held
hand, and
ourselves
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
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 still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about
behind our ears, the way this
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting
everything and wanting
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least something
getting tighter and we remember
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
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
smile a little but somehow
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 over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and
about other people and
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of.
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
and completely
separate, completely, at the
goal and just falling the
air's call society, vaguely
defined don't quite or is or
saying anyone is saying saying
it are saying ourselves we
ourselves we ourselves and are
saying saying something
outside the sun's
rising belly every breath
wooden cabinets the to write
ways build sleeves when it
seems when it seems new is a new
, a our voice of tones,
probabilistic relationships
is
trying. and sometimes
are
and sometimes, from to the
sometimes things are not and it we
go things not.
sometimes things happens are are
and
from one go from
okay, sometimes one without
they are it happens that
sometimes things are not okay, and
and
not sometimes they are it
happens that
sometimes are it happens that that
things and not
the other without not okay
happens
how did we get here?
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as
we never could learn from
the last time we couldn't
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 again and again against
the door not even caring
what's on the other side, too
caught
place
if causing the lights to
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like something is
burning so we
what
kitchen last but we can't
remember, and
remember make us shout with
fingers and
harder on the door while the
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time again
and again and again
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off it, noticing just how
and arbitrary the
differences seem between
painting can sound
seems to dry.