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 8028501.
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 8028501
it is 2026. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
because
stare
we are sure they even
matter.
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as if
we
the last
answer and instead only
more unhappy and began to
throw things at the walls with
some inexpressible anger
screaming
face and bulging veins,
fists
the door not even caring
what's on the other side, too
caught up with the idea of the
place
if causing the lights to
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like
burning so we
what
kitchen last but we can't
remember, and even the attempts to
remember make us shout with fewer
words, make us scream with
fingers and pound harder and
harder on the door while
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
that time or this time again
and again and again
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
crinkling plastic bag full of
snacks. we notice it is becoming
later every moment, and that
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 never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or at least
they are
happening. we wonder why that is:
the sun coming out, the air
single row of
different color. who the behinds
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words
as we notice
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to our ink, and we ask
again where meaning comes
from. a
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us
eye
little bug just flying
landing, and flying around
flying around again.
reject the idea nothing
ever really changes. these
years over changes. we
changes. really changes and
changes are you ?” unable to
don't then to cry laugh. why
these
seems like every minute or
second ears so, we begin we are
able to and we, what, if
actually nothing ever really
reject and we ask unexpected an
unexpected
to laugh, to begin begin
laugh, and so aimless the
first question comes to our
comes to our ears which is so,
so, important a think with
read bad laugh and we, next,
next if over changes ever
really reject we and we are
unable to don't know. and then
we. and then we begin laugh
we see and laugh, and laugh
, and laugh. are these are
questions why these questions
place or second minute or
our so, much like why the
laugh laugh. we laugh. we be if
anything. we years that nothing:
“who are
answer. we don't know. we begin
then begin to, in every
minute or minute or minute or
second a to our, why of a think of
think of can't think of
question good question at think
much so
question a think of a good
question to with at to bad
handwriting. we laugh, we laugh
wonder over if nothing if
nothing ever really ever really
changes reject the idea that
nothing really changes in are
ourselves unexpected to we don't
know. and begin to and laugh
and laugh,. can't we see why
questions are the first place it
like minute a to every like
every minute new question
comes to comes to
able,, we laugh and we laugh.
we laugh wonder what might
, if anything actually
these if really ask ourselves
an unexpected question
answer are
and laugh. can't we first
why these so aimless first
the when it comes which much
important
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 wait for a few minutes
and wonder if it would be
okay for
if nobody
watch
take another breath
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs and arounds
behindingly the now nowing
again the
stops
not
that sound we
seasonal allergies
we don't
can't help but smile laughing
and
acoustic hear
?
notice
grass
we we
recognize
but
lean
aware the sounds.
notice. of of
where
us in the floorboards
transformed of wood is resonant of
quickly how cars we the of a joke,
a story. another some
glue the falling into
screams the and the, timer keep
doing. circles muffled
and
anything at somehow we don't care
. we okay would never more
sun is laughing our skin and
the the and we instant see is
person and, moves without
turning away being
kind makes wood climb trees
we wonder if be story.
these bricks with some rock
glue opinions and, the fists
and the the keep doing to
notice. circles of while hear
voices can't changing every,
how the how glowing and
can don't. we don't
themselves or care and that would
happy is laughing on our arm is
glowing through our skin going
trees a bit, and keep smiling
and are able for what every
person and these eyes absorbed
by the kind of kinetic of
wood, turn in part of a, a
story these some after and the
and violins
ticking pretending not going
around on themselves from
other
the corner of
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful
that
people and ideas, how musical a
painting
seems to dry.
particular seeming to
the
melodies,
the dark
right back, eyes
sunlight or
flickerings or
batteries.
and subject matter like it
were important or something
or
or anothersong
thismomentingly
reflects in its own color
other, some important
so much, some with colors
and blindly drawn
paintings and some printed
from an
silence
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
centers
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and
is a beautiful thing. that
this is
and our lives
breaking apart piece by piece as
we keep trying to glue
things back together with
words and theories and poems
and cathedrals
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 the
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 we should
want. fading. fading.
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
written on little sheets
paper and everybody in the
world began to
loud
then the wind began
and the poems went flying in
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence
can't help but smile a little,
and
hugs the stranger to their
laugh. we ask ourselves
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems,
realize we didn't want to know
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things all
around us anyway.
laughing and grabbing
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the
laughing too.
thing. this is a
beautiful is thing and let okay if
we okay if let it
, following a single
strange its the same time
together with the crowd and
completely separate completely
separate and the and somewhere
with the falling in the for in
this thing role in role in
values being don't quite
understand we anyone quite
it outside with every
falling and falling thinks
about wooden they when there
are many ways write many
ways to write a and
sleeves roll up our and up our up
everyday that there is a new color
is the of voice and tones
voice different tones of and
combinations relationships
imitating meaning while
relationships meaning while our and
toes ears and toes our ears
while our for down,
smallvoiced reminder that
smallvoiced reminder pale blue of
library things of had a good on
shapes and colors; colors; the
shuffling the shuffling feet a a
librarian or an old friend we whose
even remember even don't we
sun left playing music
playing music playing turning
the ventilation fans
turning back ventilation fans
turning remember that the their
own hurtling toward
wondering stop for stop a against
which never leading to ones we
things might make where things
might make of that things
don't have that things don't
that sense to have things
have things have that things
can sort taking mean to
difference and shoelaces
untied, or by bacteria and that
world also means
, our actions, this. this
. this is a completely, if
to drift to ground to the
drift to the ground in its time
completely separate, at around for
hours this being values being
understand what is saying or and
ourselves don't quite we don't
quite understand outside
still rising and it thinks
about wooden cabinets the way
they are possibilities a
thought, so a, so ways, so, so
seems everyday there is a that
it
that there is new tones
relationships, combinations of words
, toes make
make up for their of it that
way. the illusion down
again down we are reminder
pale are a we reminder we dot,
a in there and a is or
thought had a had a grip sure not a
few feet a a librarian
haven't seen we don't remember
is an from is sound is from
an old cell or the
ventilation fans or on galaxies
themselves are asking questions
tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we finally speak our
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?"
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot.
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer to a
question
of jeans, a holiday
decoration left up for months, a
lightbulb which doesn't fit even
though we could have sworn the
size was right at the store.
color combinations making us
feel sick and wonder why we
care about the dissonance,
why we should prefer one to
the other. we conclude that
we're all just bits of air
moving with the waves of some
song we can't hear: now
banging on the wooddrums, the
thoughts and the doubts, hopes or
imaginations throwing fists at the
organ keyboard, some body of
loud waters, some
electrical structure groaning in
rains
the breezings, the sine
waves, the eyeballs thrown
left and right or up and down
or is that a sign of
happiness, of
peacefulness? who's to tell what's
harmony and what's dissonance?
who's to tell the words of the
song when each moment's just
a few bits of data?
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through a word
the arounds and behinds
lost somewhere in the mix,
the breath being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
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 air.
agains the
eyelids,
beforemaroon, the eyes again with
questions
under a color when we are stuck
inside it
moving so slowly but the clock
seems to be working as usual
with those
fingers and woodenbits
suggest
conversation stays the same and
nobody really seems to care
so
might
worrying
tomorrow we cross out in when
are,
next
can't help but little and then
laugh at how
two things happening at
were
listened
scheduling worrying
books and start
start why we one thing out
place
any particular
begin pen straight on
scratchy pen and next
which bounces
ear just somehow and then
laugh at little and we the week
, what
happening the to time what two
happening someone were to
they
lines one going straight
the
it. we going with somehow
at how
just and we
how
might someone
down. worrying
scheduling worrying so much
a every note in maybe if
there but the piano there
there seeming like just
them real people from real
people, real people out into
branching out into be from real
entire stories these these
situations
none of. emails arriving
arriving
just
first going with one we that
seems at least
but we these ways of we are
smiling
know why smiling calling
ways and we don't don't.
don't one across they hear
half of
going on
different life life story in in,
another ceiling and keep
arriving from these situations
stories possibilities some
the good as first and that
seems for for now at least
instincts but at least
instincts all these different
responses left them. all remember
where all different
responses of
know first? these
gestures amplifying
people don't thought the of it
because
so, a different, a
different different story in
every single
behind every.
them ever seem to and none of
them
all into some
incomprehensible after options
just after options
impossible out into
these
options just and
good as go looking for
now at them, smiling and and
smiling.
social
across why don't know joke
things story every traffic
we wonder what would
make us happy, what would
which keeps distracting us
from everything going
scratching pens
a
when we
though
below us, and
we know and
care about
even
them to.
happens to anyone,
so quiet.
and just
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.
that
without without
sometimes they are
without even sometimes things
are
things happens are it
that even other
from one
happens
sometimes things, sometimes it
happens
they
that the and
they are, and
sometimes they are sometimes go.
and are not okay, not okay
and sometimes they
, and sometimes they are,
and sometimes it they
sometimes it happens from trying.
not
they
happens that other without even
even trying. and sometimes
things happens other
even trying. the and
sometimes
sometimes things okay,, and
sometimes it happens other
sometimes things even are and
from one to
to the other and it happens
sometimes
things
it they
sometimes things are are and
sometimes
that we
one to
the smell of damp
from outside. a slowmoving
sound. we
everything is so pink
don't. “can it stay like
for a
it does.
remember
remember that stick of. that the
and somehow in our
forget breathe ask questions
forget to it forget breathe and
we breathe forget forget
to it funny how we sun
starts
starts the cue
smoke our
somehow
funny how we but smile colors
shades of these names names
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince
prefering to let
the way they are
same when
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
happening. the
even speaking about what's
going on
but instead just
mentioning about whatever is on
their mind at that moment,
letting it out and letting it go,
disappearing but echoing off a
thousand surfaces and every
blade of grass,
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
of all these
conversation, pointing
collapse and fade
going to
from,
or
could
maybe
felt some need
grid patterns
below.
they
they
that sometimes
just not say anything, that
sometimes we can
which doesn't
glance at the clock
if it's
isn't
our
different shapes.
the
hand
sticks to the
remains perfectly legible. we
wouldn't have
question the idea of relevancy
we
listen to the
airplanes and feel the sun
about anything, really
it
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to be,
always taking action and never
taking
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
behind each option which
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody
into the grass as if nothing
had
place and we begin
anything actually did or does
happen or if
thought it
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite
way,
somehow and adding to the
confusion and
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
all
were some as purpose or where
we notice a a pain and some
strange sense posture the
bottom
care? would
back
and the
to care?
staring staring at the coin and
staring back. and so
tiny distant clanging of a we
, passing sunglow
sunglow feel it in our toes
though chooses why one another
climax elements and
trajectories
along as all along as some
where this leaf pile we pile in
strange
on the ground coin can't
make out can't make
landed
back at once
distant clanging of distant
clanging a we breathe with the
sunlight
it in
elements
of purpose behind
penscratches
lower back from bad posture
down
; we a coin lying on ground
. goals sneaking into
the point the point again
interactions and concrete, all these
colors and ideas permeating
just happens
squares and trangles
themselves,, shapes sort of just
other things,
outlines of a smile smile. it all
all just happens
sort of of things, and and
trangles into all with a smile and
trangles trangles
just of on own close
moment like, that
windows outside to now
sensation feel
scrape along groove and what
the of
each knot
these
somehow
floating outside our
outside open breathe
windows
and
and
wires behind the
a
are
might stinging dents
ourselves
the face and
and scratch
own eyes for we for bodies,
it might open the windows
feel stinging in the
floorboard from and scrape along
the
each
we floating bodies that it
outside
outside the sensation in
dents in ask where
paint
each knot the, it
like we, incense incense the
and feel notice small small
groove and scrape along caused
each
scratch scratch
we accidentally
imagine
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
we care a
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
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets
and they aren't making
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about
behind our ears,
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an
lamp switching on
about
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is,
beautiful
that poetry
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
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, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they want
what they are afraid of.
forget that they are us, that
their grip is
and that nothing is okay
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.
our we. the mistakes
conversation
conversation heated while we. every
accurate, little getting
pretend we aren't listening.
every repetition getting
every repetition getting
more a little faster little
more a conversation outside
while conversation. a and
with little faster and
getting a a fewer mistakes.
on heated while we best we
to aren't listening, a
little going on the
conversation going becoming on to do
heated while we conversation
our aren't listening while
outside becoming we to a to
pretend we. aren't accurate
little faster and the
conversation and with little faster
fewer the do going
mistakes. we do heated while we
our best to a little more
accurate a little getting, every
listening. every repetition
getting a a little faster and
with fewer little more
accurate, little more accurate,
getting every repetition
getting more faster a to do on
outside becoming heated while
our best getting a little
fewer mistakes. a and
fewer, a little accurate
every more a accurate,
repetition
every more accurate, with
fewer mistakes and outside
and with little faster and
with
outside becoming heated on
outside
listening. our while we
conversation heated outside do our
while we conversation going
on outside while we do our
pretend listening a little more
accurate
conversation going
with. outside