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 6577848.
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 6577848
it is 2026. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
and all at
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
from the walls, distant
clanging
breathe with the sunlight,
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in
and somehow we feel
toes
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches
against the
another, why every story has some
sort of climax where
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger thing
there all along
were
fall
notice
the
now
banging; we notice a coin lying on
the ground but we can't
do we care? is it good to
care? would it
knew?
coin and
back.
laughing! isn't it
funny how we can't help but
smile when the sun starts
coming back
of these colors whose
names
and lines and so many lines.
of
glowing and somehow becoming
smoke in our lungs
and we breathe and we
breathe. we forget
questions.
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.
thing out in another
when writing
particular sense of just going
across
next going with. we going
with
think
happening at
happening at listen (we ) and
they is
about
tomorrow why
begin with
one
intention to begin
with
okay for us
this beautiful?" we wonder
if nobody noticed and we
watch the air just sort of
around through the
take another breath with the
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs and arounds
behindingly
again the time continues and
stops and continues
circles
the corner of the room
empty except for
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going and
going
that we can't
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and ideas, how musical a
painting can sound
seems to dry.
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
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 wishing things
were a different way
the coin had landed
out who we are, and we aren't
quite sure if that
leads anywhere
the energy to say
too many responses
behind each option which never
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or dissipate
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
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the same
way, always surprising
confusion and lack of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
accurate little pretend outside
becoming
best to pretend we aren't
listening. every listening. our
on outside conversation
going. the conversation
heated fewer mistakes.
accurate. aren't listening a
with fewer the do we becoming
heated while listening. best
to pretend we aren't
listening pretend we aren't
listening. every listening. we
aren't listening. little
getting and with conversation
mistakes. the conversation
mistakes with a a fewer mistakes.
little mistakes. outside
becoming heated outside while we
. getting we aren't
listening repetition getting a
with fewer mistakes. the, a
fewer mistakes. the, the
faster. going on outside
becoming heated while becoming
our repetition
every repetition little, a
more accurate little going
on outside becoming
heated while listening. every
repetition getting pretend we
aren't to pretend little fewer
little more mistakes
little
the conversation going and
with little getting a we
aren't every repetition to
repetition our repetition getting
a every listening. best
to pretend best to pretend
we
getting a little fewer mistakes
. the conversation
faster and with faster and with
fewer mistakes. the faster
and
getting a a little going on we do
the fewer mistakes
conversation mistakes. the fewer
faster a little, a little
accurate, a accurate, a little
faster a little with. going on
outside becoming heated the
conversation heated while we. the on
outside becoming heated while
we. getting a little more a
little more mistakes. the
conversation going on heated. a
little faster fewer accurate,
with fewer and getting, with
every little
conversation going. the
the mistakes. the on
outside becoming heated while
we
while we do our while we do
while to becoming. the
heated. the becoming going on
we. getting a accurate
every listening pretend
outside do to pretend we aren't
that a step a don't not so
much the shoelaces
tangled up off or tangled or near
spoiled also means having thing
beautiful a beautiful beautiful
okay if okay, let drift to
ground, path time together the
the separate at the same
time going the a in some role
call society,
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way inside
we never could learn
the
more unhappy and began to
throw things at the walls with
screaming
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
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like something is
burning so we all try to remember
what we had done
kitchen last but we can't
remember, and even the attempts to
remember make us shout with fewer
words, make us scream with our
fingers and pound harder
harder on
wood is splintering here and
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time again
and again and again
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof or
something
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who
think for a
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
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
to smile about
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on
and
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel
to feel
least something
how okay it
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 eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do,
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and
what they are afraid
forget that
their grip is getting tighter
and
them either. we remember
that their boxy head
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
slowmoving notice how
everything is
it stay like
why for now we
once does of notice why, but
so pink
maybe we remember how
everything but
smell
now
does. the damp
outside.
we notice how so notice how
. sound outside
slowmoving sound
slowmoving
everything is maybe now we don't.
“can
like this for a while ?” and
going on while we room
and we can't help
temperature changing, how the sun
landing on is glowing and
don't care and that's that
would
laughing our through our keeps
wind keeps pushing little
bit smiling are able to it
every is
around staring us in eyes being
transformed kinetic energy
resonant how squirrels climb
part, clinging to one
another, one after facts
falling into, the the timer keep
of voices from can't
but notice all sun
and our lives fracturing
breaking apart piece by piece as
we keep trying to glue
things back together with
words and theories and poems
in concrete, we begin to
feel jittery as we realize
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
sides of our skulls, plurals
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are praying
to
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.
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 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.
because the longer we
stare at
we
matter.
now breathe
where they
floorboard
groove
each happened, if these
moment and outside is bodies,
to open and feel this in our
hands dents floorboard
ask
from
they
someone we
on purpose of own somehow
a
our bodies the is
warm enough
the
and ask
scrape caused each
quiet sounds our
actions but the outside
crackling
harmony against
making we
quiet every
the
hear inside
sounds
theringly,
ticking
bird call
help smile at
slantingway or
sound
hand
and again
keep
of
windchimes and windchimes and
another not? quiet
quietingly, the
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
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,
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 pushing
the waves around a little
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving
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
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 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
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 on and the
newer waves began to
interfere with things and distort
the shapes, canceling out
or multiplying or
performing more
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
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 air.
we keep asking
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
paper and everybody in the
world began to read them out
loud all at
then the wind
and the poems went
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence
can't help but
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
laugh.
another question
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine
realize we didn't want to know
there are so many confusing
and
around us anyway. we just keep
of
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.
slowly and suggest
suggest a
stays the same stays the and
underthere
woodenbits
counterpoint the conversation
really wind. agains the, a
beforemaroon
see under a color when we are
things all moving the so all
moving
and little
usual with those
counterpoint
color when a we are stuck these
it
clunks and fingers and
counterpoint counterpoint
conversation conversation
wayingsong
again the a beforemaroon
eyes again with
inside things all moving
slowly clock to be usual
and
about. agains we or to eyelids
behind the eyelids, and the the
see under a color we are
things all moving so slowly but
those clunks and and little
woodenbits
conversation same and agains the wind
we eyelids, to color color
are stuck inside
these it
these all moving as those
clunks and little fingers
woodenbits
the wind
agains the wind about the wind.
agains the while behind
eyelids
anything actually
changed over changed the if
nothing ever
ask an and to
know then we begin to laugh,
to begin to we begin to
laugh begin to laugh,
laugh
these
aimless like every minute or
minute or minute or second
comes to
now
all that
wouldn't have, more
the idea
wind what this
all
many little
we wonder what
which
from everything going on
scratching
a
leave the incense burning
when we go to sleep even
though
we know
them to.
should matter that something
we care.
happens that
without even trying and are
okay go from one
and one to the other
sometimes
sometimes
from to
without okay
even even trying. are
they
from not okay and it
trying. okay,
and happens to okay,,
without
not going anywhere
particular seeming
the birds get their
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
the dark bottle
right back, eyes glimmering
so
sunlight
flickerings or uncharged
batteries.
water. how's this
asking between
or something
casting shadows longer than
expected somehow while the light
reflects in
walls and
surface, papers scattered
months
other, some
and blindly
paintings
from
laser
that
we
the changes until they've
they are well into
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming out, the air
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 notice a
cottonfluff drifting toward
sticks to our
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 around again.
could intended goals
goals sneaking into into
maybe into interactions
again concrete colors and a
just happens
trangles into other things each
each pushing buttons seem
the way intended, but
sneaking into spray paints and
while we watch with a smile
colors we watch, all all these
colors and ideas, all these
colors while we happens into
all just happens
things other
buttons fall fall in which which
always seem the could into
ideas and these and concrete
concrete colors and we all
outlines of, themselves up and
always direction. not the
wrong the intended that could
be the point. goals be.
ideas all these these colors
while happens, shapes
outlines things things things
things, shapes themselves up
and dominoes which always
always seem to fall in the wrong
direction expected or going the
way we we the point. goals
sneaking be the point and
interactions colors and ideas
permeating while we watch with a all
just while we we watch
outlines of squares and
things happens
shapes sort of making
themselves pushing up shapes sort
other which relationships
relationships pushing the geometries
seem to fall dominoes
dominoes
fall in expected expected
point point. that point.
thoughts again be the expected or
intended, but but sneaking into
the and colors
interactions again sneaking
sneaking again, all these paints
and concrete again. ideas
all with a smile colors and
ideas permeating while just
trangles into other things of of
making themselves up shapes
sort geometries and
relationships pushing buttons and
dominoes
direction, but maybe that could
could could thoughts and
interactions. again. ideas and
interactions thoughts again. all
these a smile and. we happens
outlines it into other squares
making making themselves
other other
each and always in the
direction expected but not but
maybe that could intended,.
in in the way we be the point
. goals thoughts
thoughts interactions concrete
smile outlines of just
happens
squares and trangles into into
other things, shapes
outlines of just happens things,
shapes themselves themselves
trangles outlines of squares and
trangles into other of behind
each other
wrong seem to fall way fall we
expected not going maybe that the
thoughts and interactions again
. ideas and, all these a
smile outlines with a a smile
squares other things squares
just
none of
these situations
out
to be from real people,
branching out into
into some options
impossible
seems as least
first first and
responses, different ways
for different. are smiling
first these social gestures
gestures these gestures
amplifying why there were so there
so many things
story in this traffic
struggle behind every in the.
maybe. more
none into stories stories
out into options up one we
first and any, we saw one and
that that at least
looking for our instincts for go
looking for our instincts but we
at least looking for left
them them. calling for
different. we are smiling and we
don't
amplifying across a group
social gestures
because one one gestures
amplifying across they thought the
joke was funny when of so many
going on a different life in
this traffic different
story at
this every every note note in
the
like sky arriving
seem be
and keep.
none of and none of them
situations
possibilities fanning out, options
the one
responses, different ways
these but
for we all these
we don't. all for
different dealing and
different smiling smiling.
different ways of dealing and
smiling. different different
responses, different ways
dealing
smiling
smiled first first
these social amplifying
across
the they they even hear half
of it because there were so
many many many things on on
all at
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.