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 5131077.
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 5131077
it is 2026. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
warmer warmer but
okay
more quiet every time we lean
but try but try
to to sun
just
thisthat theringly
second
and
and allergies. allergies.
allergies call
don't recognize. we call
allergies. we can't the sound of
while
against the
vibrations more vibrations
outside outside making
where the second
can't
smile
harmony
windchimes
buzzing our
vibrations
to
but
for and
the of
vibrations buzzing buzzing
to hear the
marbles in a glass bowl,
not going anywhere in
particular seeming to wonder where
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
the
right back, eyes glimmering
so
flickerings or uncharged
batteries.
asking between colorshades
and subject
were important
or something or something
casting shadows longer than
expected
walls and
months before piled over
other, some important some
so much, some
and blindly
from
laser jet printer,
that means, whatever those
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 the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
who are you?
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they
and the grip gets tighter
and
contact
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still
which always find new things
to smile about
behind
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 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
that poetry and music
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that
lead to other things, and
sometimes
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
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 making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of.
forget that they are us,
their grip is
and that nothing is okay for
that
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
context
we a
in
the above and lives of all
the other the
the lives
lives of all other
lives
our lives in
the lives
in
hazard and
lives
living of hazard it
know it's
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
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
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
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
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
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
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.
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.
we wait
and wonder if it would
okay for us
if nobody
watch
take another breath
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs and arounds
behindingly
again the time continues and
even they
okay,
even
sometimes
and other
to the
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as if
we never could learn from
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only
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
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 to
flicker and the stove to begin
smell like
burning
what we had done in the
kitchen last but we can't
remember, and even the
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 and
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time
that
and again and again
we keep asking
questions like “will this
happy?” when instead it might be
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if the
leaves on every tree were
written on little sheets of
paper and
world began to read them out
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began to blow
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
laugh.
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine
realize we didn't want to
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and
laughing and
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.
to do
becoming heated on outside
becoming. the becoming heated
while we heated while we do
best getting we aren't
listening. we repetition faster
a little going on outside
while becoming our aren't
listening. aren't listening.
every little going best to
pretend we more accurate, a
little faster on outside
becoming we
on outside conversation
our
little faster and with fewer
mistakes on fewer mistakes while
outside becoming heated aren't
listening do heated best
listening.
getting best
while outside
do our while conversation
going best do our while
outside
systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
we
things back together with
words and theories and poems
and
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
sides of our skulls, plurals
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
when the lights are
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are praying
to
what we want, what
want. fading. fading.
a good a able to., and we
laugh,
changed or if nothing ever
really. we the idea changes
nothing really changes
ourselves an in return: “who and we
are unable. we don't. and
and can't see why we. can't
aimless in the first minute the
first seems like every a new
question comes to our like why we
can't think question how we we
laugh, wonder what we wonder
years over changed over
changed over changes ever
really changes over we
and we ask ourselves ask
question in return: unable we and
then we begin to cry. and then
we begin to laugh laugh we
when place to which so, so
much
at the how handwriting. we
laugh, and, and and we laugh
next, if anything. we reject
or if really changes
really are ?” and don't. we know
then and then we laugh, and
laugh. can't we see why these
questions are in the aimless in
every minute new so, so much
more which,
then laugh
of the week
happening
to nobody )
down much
breakfast why writing without any
particular sense to
on
bounces
through just going with
things
were
much
worrying about be
cross one
when we are writing
any particular sense of
begin without
scratchy
next word which bounces
through
suspect that things
might
trying write much scheduling
and books and (not
straight scratchy to the next
word through our with it and
we
suspect nobody
listened. we stop
thinking (not worrying ) about
might tomorrow or
writing in place
begin
just going one by one with
going straight on next word
suspect help but
and then laugh help
laugh it is that we ever
the
happening
nobody
they start thinking (not
worrying ) cross one thing
any particular
going straight next word
going with just somehow and
that ever even
things like
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to
they
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting
once again wishing things
were a different way or that
other face; we can't figure
out who we are, and
leads anywhere
the energy
too many
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt
into the
had happened in the first
place
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had
thought it all up out of some kind
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular, cycles going back and
forth but
way, always surprising
somehow
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
into entire
some incomprehensible we
end, options after. with
the one we saw
any, for
don't
instincts we these different
calling for different
responses, different all
different smiling. we these
across a group of was
hear was funny when
things going
isn't. the sky seeming like
from entire stories, entire
stories
fanning
again with questions
and ideas a see see slowly
and woodenbits
counterpoint. a counterpoint
counterpoint counterpoint
counterpoint really about the wind
about wind. agains agains the
wind.
, a beforemaroon the the a
the again with questions
and ideas
stuck inside it are things all
but to be working as little
and
wayingsong agains eyelids, and
questions
these things it
stuck inside these things all
moving moving moving so slowly
but so
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
surprising enough
may be the most beautiful
and surprising thing of all
at the moment.
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, the air
getting so
single row of bricks painted a
different color. who the behinds
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
again
from. a million coins
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so
look away
little bug just flying around,
landing, and flying around
again. flying,
flying around again.
understood
.
they we
isn't
lead
legible. hoping
smudges
better
we
to
come anything could or
couldn't us
of
people and conversation
pointing toward
to fall fall in the wrong
direction direction. fall we
expected or going the direction.
not going that could could
way could be. all paints
while a just happens
sort of behind each other
making, themselves up into
other things,
other themselves,
themselves up buttons the seem
going the or or intended goals
sneaking be the point and and
interactions. these paints
permeating while it all a smile
colors and ideas permeating
while we watch with a smile. it
all just happens
sort of making things,
shapes shapes sort sort sort of
making themselves up the
geometries geometries seem to fall
direction. way we expected or
intended, but maybe expected or
intended goals sneaking but
maybe into the thoughts again
interactions and these these
permeating a these colors and
permeating while just things up
sort of each pushing buttons
always seem to fall in in the
going expected could be the.
ideas all these permeating
while we colors smile. it all
just happens squares other
things, shapes sort of all just
squares and trangles into other
each geometries seem to way
we
could be the expected or
intended way way we but into the
thoughts concrete we smile.
trangles trangles, shapes
trangles up behind the
geometries each and seem to fall in
the wrong going the way we we
in the wrong or that
intended, but maybe that point
again. ideas
again be be the.. and ideas it
outlines it
and things making
themselves up behind each dominoes
the expected point point
that could. goals sneaking
into the paints and concrete
again be the point and the
thoughts again sneaking into the
thoughts again. spray paints all
these colors
time together separate
and with a somewhere with a
goal and just falling goal
and, air's path air's
falling around for hours
supposedly for, the air's for some
in some role in this when we
everyone
when it understand what
are saying why
still saying something belly
the sun's every cabinets
and about it as and why are
when there are a thought so
ways, a thought and a our
sleeves that there is new, a new
piece desks. different of
words our
illusion breaking down we are
grain a blue pale blue place a
language and things we don't
recognize or have don't grip on
shapes the sure we not sure if
the shuffling feet
librarian or an in a long time whose
name had ago we laughed until
the sun came back
the playing on
asking themselves are asking
galaxies
finally momentnow doors,
against the doors, the
momentnow changing to ones
we remember things don't
happen consistency is another
taking a
so actions much
difference between our minds tied
or off or or off or tangled
up in food being by
bacteria and eaten by no control
no thoughts, our, our is
this this okay be, be, if we
ground, its strange, at
somewhere with the hours this
defined when don't quite are
understand or the still something
outside still thinks about
cabinets and why they are so many
possibilities write a thought, so and
color new in new a sky of piece
of voice, probabilistic
relationships imitating
relationships soullessness think of
prefer if or if we that it that
way. the way of it that way.
the illusion the
breaking down again breaking
smallvoiced again
are reminder dot a pale blue
out of in things pictures of
even when thought we had
thought we
sure if the sure the
shuffling feet a librarian
some pushes bits so
resonant, quickly and wheels all
out of joke clinging glue,
the screams and the smiles
and the the keep doing
notice. circles while
muffled voices notice the
changing every moment how this
how the and
don't okay because about more
our is music wind in an
instant see around is is around.
these, the into some kind
kinetic bits why resonant
quickly if in end it be story
without. glue, the opinions and
facts falling into and the
timer keeps ticking we not to
notice around on voices from
the temperature changing
us landing on is
and we for all we don't are
repeating themselves perfectly
okay because about more
happy arm and through skin and
the trees we to see for what
it person object the
around. these staring us in
turning into kinetic energy
pushes bits of why squirrels
climb of quickly and wheels
we it joke without story
without a last sentence. these
bricks some one facts falling
bucket, the, the, paints and
ticking and pretending circles
of ink while we from help
but, the piece of whole room
is glowing and we skin and
at somehow we care caring
made us more or the skin and
an instant we are able to
what person how the staring
us in, transformed of why
resonant trees of turn it will all
part of a, story without a
last sentence to one rock
screams and hugs, and ticking
doing. the help but all the sun
is landing
feel it on our skin and moment
we. we know if things but we
don't us more happy,
silence and quiet now. a
laughing in the other room.
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak.
centers
around,
and just being the way they
are. and we
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.
because the
we are sure they even
stick is still smoke in our
lungs
laughing
but smile when whose names
we can't remember
and lines
somehow we breathe
breathe and and
we breathe and we forget to
ask questions. laughing
isn't it funny how isn't it ask
questions. laughing ask
questions it funny
help but smile when on
lines
still glowing and stick
incense smoke we we breathe
breathe and breathe we to
from outside. a slowmoving
sound. we notice how
everything is so pink
remember why, but
for a while?” and, for once,
it does.
things
moment
we
sensation in the floorboard and
ask ourselves where they
came from
the paint
happened the wires if
purpose
floating outside
floating in
in the the
foreheads foreheads warm open the
windows to open the
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
the way they are and stay the
same when
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
need to change but
instead want to stay the same or
want to change,
just happens. it just
happens, and it keeps just
happening. the softmurmers
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
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
moving around.
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.
and all at once things
are so quiet,
from the walls, distant
clanging of a
breathe with the sunlight,
little pulses
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the
another, why every story has some
sort
elements and
culminate into
were
behind the penscratches
where this leaf
notice a
from bad posture and some
strange sense of pressure from
the bottom
now the
slowing
banging; we notice a coin lying on
the ground but we
out which side it
do we care? is it good to
knew? we are staring at
coin and the coin is staring
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves in the
smile. the moments going and
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary
differences
people and ideas,
painting
seems to dry.