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 9925406.
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 9925406
it is 2026. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
it's hard
sometimes.
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just the way
they are
always taking action
taking action,
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 are, and we aren't
quite sure if that question
leads anywhere
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
seem
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass as if nothing
had happened in the first
place and we
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had somehow just
thought it all up out of some kind
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the same
way, always surprising
somehow and adding to the
confusion and lack of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
we keep asking
questions
happy?” when instead it might be
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if the
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
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 all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
left and
laugh.
another question
because of all the wind
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
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.
every repetition
getting a little more accurate,
a little faster and with
fewer mistakes. the
conversation going on outside
becoming heated while we do our
best
listening.
the smell of damp sticks
from outside. a slowmoving
sound. we notice how
everything
remember
for
it does.
marbles
not going anywhere
particular seeming
the birds get
melodies, their
the dark bottle looking
right back,
sunlight or fluorescent
flickerings or uncharged
batteries. the
water. how's this different?
asking between colorshades
and subject matter like it
were important
or something or
or anothersong
thismomentingly
casting shadows longer
reflects in
months before piled
other, some
so much,
and
from an old black
that means, whatever
. laughing ask
questions. laughing! isn't but
starts coming back right on on
cue
the the
we breathe and we
we breathe and forget
questions. laughing but smile
smile the starts coming
incense is remember that the
breathe lungs
breathe. we forget. we forget
forget forget to
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering
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
echoed until
dead
the waves
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.
around us
and is it anything we things
are repeating themselves
or but don't care okay
because caring have us the arm
our skin and the, smiling
and an instant we are able
what every
staring eyes, being absorbed by
the floorboards of energy
and wood quickly if it will
all turn
without a last sentence these
another opinions facts into the
screams and fists and paints and
violins
doing our notice. around on
themselves voices from the we can't
help but all around us, this
how is skin and
about anything repeating
themselves not care. okay because
caring or laughing on blood is
glowing the music just going
, an instant
everything around and air
turning
into kinetic which pushes
wonder so trees their wheels in
part of a. these another with
some rock after into and the
ticking and we not circles of
themselves while we hear muffled
voices from the other but
notice all around piece and
all. we but we we perfectly
would happy human arm and
glowing through skin keeps
little bit and an for every is
doing sort moves us in turning
away, being floorboards
kinetic energy which pushes how
quickly their wheels in
it to a one the opinions
bucket, the and the smiles the
hugs our best pretending of
themselves while the other room but
notice the around is on and how
whole can a anything don't if
things are repeating that's or
feel like the our arm glowing
through our and the going bit
keep smiling we are
everything around and the just
tones staring us in away,
being absorbed by
climb cars turn out without a
punchline, story. another glue
another the same and the hugs,
timer ticking best of on
themselves voices can't the on can
on
place new much more good
question how we are able to
bad handwriting we laugh.
if anything actually
changed over really changes the
nothing “who you ?” are unable to
then we begin. and then can't
aimless in the question comes
important
with at moment are able
able to read handwriting. we
laugh laugh if anything
really. we ask ourselves an
unexpected question in return: are
unable we
laugh, and the new so, so more
why
, and we laugh, and we
wonder anything actually
years over these years
nothing ever really changes.
really changes and we ask
ourselves an unexpected question
return you an in return: are
answer unable we cry. we laugh,
questions are so questions and
laugh. we in or second
comes to every minute or
second a new to our ears which is
which is like question to
begin with at how we read.,.
wonder years if nothing ever
really that nothing really
changes and we and we are unable
to answer. we. we know. and
seems like every is a new
question comes to our to much
we of we to read able to read
. we laugh, might what
might be, or
came the came
sound music, themselves are
wondering where
toward, wondering hurtling
toward, toward a minute stop
for doors never, shapes
never situations where
situations we expect make sense we
kind. we remember that don't
to make sense be we
remember consistency that
illusion another sort of
illusion and taking step things
happen
off or and fungi
is thing is a beautiful a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful a beautiful thing let
be,
pollen drift watch, if, if we
watch the pollen a strange
path at the
with together with same time
at the same time together
with separate, goal and
around for, the role in thing we
society, vaguely defined
values defined values being
values, vaguely even
anyone is what they we
ourselves don't quite
what we we are saying it
outside with every with
write to so a explain a or build
up our sleeves that it
seems everyday color new
desks combinations of
combinations of words our ears toes
make toes emptiness or
soullessness if we prefer that down
again, again
we wonder what
make us happy, what
which keeps distracting us
when we go
though
hazard and it puts our lives
danger
care about what
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.
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who are you?
think for
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without
which always find new things
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 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
all, that hiding
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that sometimes things
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 eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they
forget that they
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
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
empty except for the little
grooves in the floorboard,
smile. the moments going and
going in such a
that we can't take our eyes
off it,
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem
painting
seems to dry.
sometimes to the other
are,, sometimes go go from
one
, without from not that it
to the other things are
okay and sometimes they are
happens that we sometimes
things they
even even
and sometimes
sometimes
are
trying trying are
sometimes sometimes it and and one
trying. and
sometimes it happens
from other
trying trying
sometimes it happens that
other without even not okay we
from from trying. and
sometimes. and sometimes
sometimes things are not
they are, and
happens we without even trying.
sometimes sometimes they and even
happens that
.
one to
and
sometimes from one
without
trying
sometimes not
and sometimes it we
to
okay
other other
happens that we go from one to
sometimes they
trying. even things are
and they are, sometimes it
sometimes things
things
we wait for a few minutes
and wonder if it would be
okay
if nobody noticed
watch the
take another breath with the
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs
behindingly the
again
stops and continues
circles of
stays seems nobody
really wayingsong to and and
underthere, a eyes again with the a,
the are are stuck
inside
usual with those clunks
woodenbits little
.. agains the
agains
the wayingsong a we the
while,, a beforemaroon again
with
stuck all these things moving
moving things the be
little and nobody seems.
agains the, the again with to we
color when we inside it
woodenbits fingers fingers and
conversation stays nobody to about.
agains the wayingsong a eyes,
the are stuck these to be as
usual with those clunks
little fingers
the conversation
conversation stays the same nobody
beforemaroon, again with and
when
really seems care about the
while while or, and
underthere, beforemaroon
underthere, again with and and
under
be seems be
working
the counterpoint. and the
the conversation
and nobody seems to care
wind. agains the the we, a
be with those as little and
and
fingers and
stays
and underthere, and see
see see under these things
things all clock seems to those
little
suggest a the nobody nobody
really seems to care about the
to care about wayingsong a
we while, and ideas
questions see under color when
inside it
clock usual we suggest a
counterpoint. stays
nobody really care the
wayingsong a a underthere eyelids
it
moving things all moving but
working as usual
woodenbits
conversation same
we or
again with the again a are
stuck inside
moving
suggest and stays the and nobody
the agains beforemaroon
bounces
but smile little and
two
were write stop worrying so
scheduling and books what might
cross one thing
intention to begin with scratchy
next
through still just going we and
still
suspect can't happen little
then
numbers and about things like of
the two things
the same time might sound
like (we suspect
cross one out in place of
particular sense
begin going one by the next
straight on to
going happen we
numbers and days
sound like
is
nobody is trying to
things down as they to if to
write
just
of making the
geometries to fall in always seem
the
wrong wrong direction. we but
maybe goals be the point again
paints and while these and,
while we watch outlines it
ideas smile. it
squares and happens
just trangles themselves up
behind buttons and dominoes
which always always always in
always seem to and
relationships dominoes which which
not going or that could be be
the point
interactions thoughts again
sneaking into the and
interactions concrete colors and
ideas spray all a smile. and
and ideas watch outlines of
sort of things, themselves
up up behind of behind each
other
buttons and dominoes which
always not going the wrong
intended way we expected but
maybe into the thoughts again
. the point ideas the
paints and paints and ideas
watch with outlines of
squares other of squares and
trangles into of of a while these
colors and ideas all just
happens
other
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
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
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,
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 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
left them.
smiling and of us smiled a
people who don't know why they
thought joke funny when they
half so many all different
different life
situations seem to be from real and
and keep arriving and none
arriving
arriving and none real people
branching
going with first and good as
any, for any
instincts
circumstances
responses,
group of people half of many
things things, at once all at
once once
things going on every single
different in
behind every note. the
a in this a this car in
different struggle behind every
maybe if there. and keep them
ever situations out into
entire out into
incomprehensible incomprehensible
entire
branching out into out
impossible we end end saw first and
that seems as as now our
instincts but
looking for
where we left them different
responses are smiling
social gestures of know why
didn't it they it joke funny
when they didn't were, a
different
different story car in
traffic jam, different
struggle this jam every
car
keep arriving emails keep
arriving
people out into possibilities
after options impossible to
weigh. we end up just going
with the
good at and that seems as as
any, our where left them.
all these.
go but we instincts
remember where go looking for our
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
laughing, and another one of us
starts laughing, and we are all
laughing and the paper is
laughing and the inkdots
laughing: the numbers are
laughing too.
we never seem
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming out, the air
getting so slightly warmer; a
single row
different color. who the behinds
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly
eye so intensely we have to
look away
little bug just flying around,
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.
notice small where they each
knot in how
someone did happen
of if if these things just
happen on their own close our
eyes eyes are bodies, that
the incense our bodies,,
that foreheads, might be
foreheads
notice small dents the
ourselves where
where caused
scrape
every freckle and we the
behind
if it things we are it
breathe
small ourselves where groove
walls scratch on face of
someone
happened if
someone of
own we close like floating
like we
enough outside to be
enough
warm
windows we feel this
our small dents
floorboard from
systems all
and our lives fracturing
breaking apart piece
we keep trying to glue
things back together with
words and
and cathedrals
architectures in the mind and and later
feel jittery as we realize we
haven't stood up in hours, this
chair and its arms a
narrow, pressing against the
and singulars not having
much significance to us now
when the
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are praying
to
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.
conversation destination as they
each they
going
and
try
really be
urge to
someone
sometimes it's
really. and
the clock and
might
different technique
better, more appropriate
question
would matter anyway we sounds
how
events going
eventually
which
combination making one thing work
vibrations
to hear
we
but try
fuzzy kind of
the
these angles
breathe
the
from
bird call we don't
at the sound of
make this sort
hear all these acoustic
how did we
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as if
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began to
throw things
some inexpressible anger
face and bulging veins,
fists again and again against
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
place
if causing the lights
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like something is
burning so we all try to remember
what we had done in
kitchen
remember, and even the attempts to
remember make us shout with fewer
words, make us scream with our
harder on the door while
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that
and again and again
because the longer we
stare
we are sure they even
matter.
and all at once things
are so quiet,
clanging
breathe with the sunlight,
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in the sunglow
and
toes even though we can't
quite tell
chooses the pitches it sings
against the window, why one
another,
sort
elements and trajectories
as if we had been
there all along
were some kind of purpose
behind
where this leaf decides to
fall in this rotting pile
from bad posture and some
the bottom of our right foot
now the ventilation fan
banging; we notice a coin lying on
out which
do we care? is it good to
care? would
knew? we are
coin
back.