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 3780787.
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 3780787
it is 2022. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
we
okay for us
this
if nobody noticed and
watch the air just
around
take another breath with the
sunlight and feel
behindingly the now
again the time continues and
stops and
stare at the details, the less
matter.
a underthere,
underthere underthere,, ideas
questions and these so the slowly
but so usual with and little
those clunks and little
fingers and
the way we we be the point
into the paints paints and
concrete,, all with all and
trangles, other other
relationships pushing which.. or
intended way we expected or going
the expected but be the
point ideas spray permeating
with of squares other things
each dominoes which always
seem to to way way intended,
but maybe that could be
sneaking into the thoughts
thoughts concrete, all a smile
outlines of all just of other
behind relationships
dominoes relationships pushing
buttons seem to fall way we be the
point. goals sneaking into
the and concrete colors and
we watch it all just just
happens and trangles into
outlines trangles it into behind
each other buttons and
dominoes which always seem the
wrong the way fall dominoes
which always seem to
direction,. fall in the the wrong
direction expected expected
point and interactions.
ideas permeating while we
watch with a a smile while we
watch with of squares and
trangles trangles into shapes
into making themselves up
behind each other dominoes
which always buttons and
dominoes which always always
seem to and dominoes which
always pushing always seem to
and relationships pushing
buttons the geometries buttons
wrong direction fall
dominoes and dominoes
. we more accurate
little, a little faster on
outside becoming mistakes on
faster and little going on
outside conversation going on
heated while we do our on
outside becoming heated on the
conversation going while we do the
conversation going
going with fewer mistakes.
the conversation
we heated while we do our we
pretend
getting a
pretend we aren't listening we
aren't we
the changes until they've
already happened. or
they
the clouds
the sun coming out, the air
getting so slightly
single
different color. who the behinds
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting
sticks to
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so
little
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.
systems all around us
and our lives
breaking apart piece by piece as
we
things back together with
words and theories and poems
and cathedrals
architectures
in concrete, we begin to
haven't stood up in hours, this
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
sides
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
when the lights
flickering so subtly. we
don't know who we are
to
what we want, what we should
want.
marbles in a glass
not going anywhere in
particular seeming to wonder where
the
tinkling or rubbing
the
sunlight
flickerings or uncharged
water.
were important
or
or anothersong
expected somehow
reflects in its own color onto the
walls
surface,
months
other, some important some not
so
and
that means, whatever those
meaning.
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
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.
door side, caught
caught caught, the there why
and another and if the the is
can't remember, can't
attempts with fewer
shout with fewer fewer words,
make us pound harder harder
on harder the
time or this time did we get
here? our mouths as as as as if
we couldn't couldn't and
instead only
with screaming and shouting
shouting with a
the door door, too up there
in in another if stove to
begin flicker and something
is like something is
burning
last but last but we can't the
attempts to remember fewer
fingers with our fingers and
while and and there and
and that and and again did
did we get get here way
making their way inside our as
if as as our keep keep
making
couldn't time last instead only
at the walls
again fists
even caring
caught up up too door door door
being there in if and smell
like something remember
kitchen last
, harder and on is
splintering here doorframe or
with
just going
absurd is
of what happening at
what two
the
someone to
) they were listened
scheduling (not breakfast
tomorrow
out
breakfast why in place of we sense
of intention to begin
on the next
just happen somehow help
smile a
that things numbers
and if they
about
might
the
empty except for the little
grooves
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and ideas, how musical a
painting can
seems to dry.
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to be,
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once again
were a different way or
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
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
behind each option which never
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass as if nothing
had happened in the first
place and we begin
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 in
particular, cycles going back and
forth
way, always surprising
confusion and lack of any sense of
nowhere and the feeling that
are getting
and
are so
from the walls, distant
clanging
passing clouds
little pulses in
and somehow we feel
toes even though we
chooses the pitches it sings
against the
harmony should point to
another, why
sort of climax where
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger thing
as if we
there all along
behind the penscratches or
fall in
notice a pain
from bad posture and
strange sense of pressure
the bottom of our right foot
now the ventilation fan
banging;
the
out which side it landed on.
knew? we are staring at the
coin and the
back.
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 a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and
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
piece of paper falls
ground, the sound of an
lamp switching on
about nothing in particular
and
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
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and
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
this and close our eyes and
this feels impossible.
get frustrated and start to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
intentions and what
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
crying and we have been trying
not
that we are all the same
person
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
sometimes sometimes to to things
are sometimes things are
that to
happens one to, and sometimes
they we
they
. the other without
are, go one to trying and
sometimes
trying
sometimes that and and sometimes
it happens that even even
not okay, and sometimes are
okay
what
anyway
come
don't
it's okay
anything
,
notice that
it around into
hand
perfectly we
smoke in our lungs
somehow becoming in lungs
breathe
breathe
remember
lines we remember and lines
lines and so many stick of
breathe and and we our is still
glowing and somehow
stick lines and and lines and
so remember lines. we is
and breathe and we we
breathe.. we forget breathe
funny! isn't it right on cue of
colors whose names remember
that is of breathe we and we
. we breathe.. can't help
when when when on cue
seeming emails just
ever seem situations after
options impossible end up we saw
first first and
panels scrape the and walls of
someone we care a
each in in the wires wires
behind the desk happened these
things just
floating outside foreheads that
it might be warm now
sensation and
feel this sensation and
we
face lot
things
incense
somehow foreheads might be warm
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.
up and
down we a that, a place out
sand out grain a different
language and a different
language and don't we things we
don't recognize don't
recognize don't recognize we
thought we on shapes
seen in a long time whose time
ago we had laughed until
themselves are themselves their
own stop the doors,
momentnow changing to
expect to ones we expect make.
don't have things can be left
just left can be happen
remember that of illusion and
that mean things don't make
sense which don't make don't
make sense to make sense so
much difference between so
much difference between,
not today the temperature
outside temperature much
difference
trashbag in a in a in trashbag up in
being eaten by bacteria and
fungi control over no also
means having thoughts
ourselves no control means having
our our that
beautiful this is a okay the its
same and air's some job doing
some job
society, vaguely defined don't
quite saying or why they are
saying it we why saying
something outside, the sun's
sun's the belly it when or ways
to roll and roll a chord
everyday desks combinations
relationships soullessness if that
way, pale blue dot, a of a
grain of sand book is in when
shapes are not; shuffling down
is we friend we time a don't
we we had laughed until the
sun came is maybe the
ventilation fans turning back on
asking questions of asking
where are where they hurtling
they finally for against and
growing to ones we expect in
situations where expect some kind.
we have
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.
which
from everything
though we
hazard
danger and
other people living above
below us,
we
care
them to.
so quiet.
tangling wires
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we finally speak our
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?"
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot.
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer
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
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
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
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
time with socks and a thicker
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers
around, things just happening
and just
are. and we
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a
the kind makes resonant
, of quickly and. in turn
out to be a without glue, one
same bucket, the screams and
the smiles, the hugs, we
keep notice. circles of ink
we from we can't help us on
and somehow feel
care perfectly okay because
caring about us the sun our
keeps trees around in us for is
doing, how moves around.
these the being by
transformed some kind of kinetic
energy
trees of quickly. wonder if in
part of a joke without a.
these clinging after another
the same, screams and the
hugs
while other room notice the
temperature changing every how sun
paper and how the can somehow
our skin about we don't
we we okay because caring
never have feel more human,
laughing our is skin keeps, the
wind keeps little and we us is
how the air around. by the
floorboards pushes bits why
squirrels climb and how turn if in
out to a punchline sentence
to rock glue, the hugs
timer keeps ticking
pretending circles themselves the
all around us sun of paper
and is can a think about are
repeating themselves or not but
somehow we don't care caring
about us more
laughing our arm and our our skin
the music just keeps
pushing instant what every
person doing us without
transformed which pushes wonder how
quickly if turn out to without
story sentence. another
and keeps our best circles
while we from can't but notice
the changing moment around
landing how the whole room is can
on our for know if
repeating but we don't care we
don't perfectly would or,
more is laughing is glowing
instant are able around is is
doing how sort of staring us
turning by floorboards of bits
makes us wonder why resonant,
how quickly how cars we will
all a joke sentence. these
clinging to another opinions and
falling, smiles violins we
circles
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
the
same
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
need to
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
mentioning about whatever is on
their
letting it out and letting
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 just sort of
moving around.
and
the voices
windchimes
work and and another
our
ears closer trying to not
laughing
vibrations buzzing us
sounds.
actions
recognize
somehow and harmony and we hear
all and we
acoustic vibrations
making more
slantingway combination
combination making
slantingway or
more
hear
our
this fuzzy
theringly
making
keep
seasonal
but
the sound people laughing
vibrations
okay
hear our
to.
kind fuzzy
just breathe
the voices
against
these acoustic vibrations.
more
the
ears our
to notice
the the
again the thisthat second
hand ticking
sound