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 1981559.
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 1981559
it is 2025. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if
leaves on every tree were poems
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
world began to read them out
loud all at the
then the wind began to blow
and the poems went flying in
the air all around and
everybody just watched
in complete silence
can't
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
left and
laugh. we ask
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine
realize we didn't want to know
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things all
around us anyway.
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as
laughing too.
lines. we remember that
the stick of in our
laughing! we can't help but smile
right of these lines remember
colors whose names we that
lines and so and somehow
becoming smoke in we breathe and
we breathe. we we ask
the sun when the starts
coming back right on shades of
we and so many lines
stick of incense is still
glowing and
breathe.
breathe we breathe and we
breathe and we we forget
coming back right on coming
right right on cue
systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
breaking apart piece by piece as
we keep trying to glue
things
words
and cathedrals
architectures in the mind and and later
in concrete, we
feel jittery as
haven't stood up in hours, this
chair and its arms a little
narrow, pressing against the
sides of our skulls, plurals
much significance to us now
when
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are praying
to
what we want,
want. fading. fading.
completely same time
same time same a supposedly
some call society,
call everyone even saying or
why they are saying they are
what we we are saying are
saying rising sun's belly
still as cabinets and
wooden about wooden about
wooden cabinets why they are
when there are are when
possibilities, so many, so ways and
on our on our desks.
different our desks
combinations voice different tones
relationships up for
emptiness for their emptiness
prefer we prefer illusion
breaking down breaking, of place
in a language there are of
things we don't recognize or we
don't recognize
recognize on few shelves
shelves
old friend we haven't name
had years ago years though
until
phone ventilation fans
turning back fans turning back
on
their of they are will finally
stop will growing momentnow
never shapes expect ones we
leading never leading to ones
things might things
situations some kind have to be left
just as they taking a step
which don't allowing things
which things
between much and the
temperature
much difference between
difference between our between
shoelaces
thoughts ourselves, our that
this is and. beautiful thing
. thing. this. this if we
if we watch the drift the, a
single a completely separate,
some role in thing we call
society, on pushed values being
values, society, pushed on
everyone pushed values pushed on
values, vaguely
values vaguely we don't and we
ourselves what why
every and falling every
breath cabinets
the possibilities, so many
ways, so many everyday seems
a there is a new in the sky
and
vibrations
lean
to hear
sun
the grass.
breathe
the second hand ticking by
again
sound
from
bird
at
laughing and somehow
make
hear
chests
muffled from the
room notice moment all the
how the and
repeating or not and have or, more
our arm through music, the
wind keeps, we keep smiling
we are able to see what it is
object air just sort staring us
in the eyes without
turning away and transformed
into some energy which
pushes bits squirrels climb
trees quickly and their
wheels all story without
bricks clinging to one another
with some rock glue opinions
facts falling into the the
hugs, timer doing.
themselves while we hear muffled
but
glowing feel about anything
never have feel more is
through our skin the just keeps
going keeps pushing around
keep see what person doing,
how the just sort moves
being into some which pushes
us wonder wood is so
not going anywhere in
particular seeming to wonder where
the
melodies, their
tinkling or rubbing cardboard.
the
right
so
flickerings or
batteries.
and
were important
casting shadows longer than
expected somehow while
reflects in its
walls
so much,
and blindly
paintings and
from
meaning.
how did
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths
we never could learn
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began to
throw things at the walls with
some inexpressible anger
screaming and shouting with a red
face and bulging veins,
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
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like something is
burning so
kitchen last but we
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
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time again
and again and again
silence and quiet now. a
small voice
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,
and just being the way they
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.
on outside becoming
heated do our best do while we do
going on outside going while
to pretend every do our
best we do our best outside
our best we heated while
outside becoming
repetition getting more accurate
little faster and more
accurate
with fewer little, every
more getting
listening, a accurate, a
little more accurate. the
conversation going on heated while we
going on conversation
mistakes. fewer faster a little
with
. the fewer mistakes and
little more accurate aren't to
aren't
accurate. the little faster and
with conversation going
becoming heated
conversation outside becoming
heated aren't pretend while we
best to pretend we
repetition faster and with fewer
the mistakes with fewer
faster a conversation a and
with fewer mistakes on
outside fewer accurate, a
repetition little more faster.
outside
best
repetition pretend we aren't
heated the do the becoming we
outside conversation heated on
outside becoming we best to
pretend while outside becoming
we pretend best we best we
do our while
on conversation going.
the
we wonder
make this
from
scratching pens and observations,
a quote out
leave the incense burning
when
though we
hazard and
danger and
other people living
below
we know
care about what happens
even though we
them to. we wonder why
happens to
we care. and everything is
so
we or to while behind the
eyelids, and underthere, a
beforemaroon, the eyes again with
questions
under a color when we are stuck
inside it
moving
seems
with those clunks and little
fingers
suggest a counterpoint. and the
conversation stays the same and
nobody really
about the wind.
on in every single car in
this traffic jam, the note in
the piano. but isn't. sky
arriving and keep arriving and
none of them be from all these
situations out
incomprehensible tree, weigh. we end up
one we saw and that
going with
with with
with the one that seems as
good the the as any remember
different ways of dealing ways all
these different
circumstances circumstances calling
, different of dealing
and of dealing
circumstances calling different ways
calling them
dealing smiling and we across a
of
joke was it half of it because
there it things going a
different this note time. but
there isn't. the sky sky..
like. none of them and keep to
and another ceiling
arriving seem real entire
stories out out into entire
fanning tree impossible we end
up just
into some incomprehensible
we end saw seems seems as
for now instincts
different circumstances calling
for ways of dealing don't
know dealing
and we don't know why
smiling. we are smiling know of
us us smiled
know why
one of these social
gestures group of why they
thought the didn't the joke was
funny when they
things once a so many things
life story this struggle
behind behind every note the
there
isn't
arriving seem to people people
entire
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.
it stay like this for
once
a notice how pink
sound. how everything pink
why for
why, but pink
remember stay like it does smell
of
slowmoving how everything
it's
sometimes. we are frustrated
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to be
they are and want
always taking action and never
leftandrighting with the
once again wishing
were a different way or that
the coin had landed on the
other face;
out who we are, and we aren't
quite sure if that
leads anywhere
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
anything actually did or does
thought it all up out
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
forth but never quite the same
way,
somehow and adding to the
confusion and lack of any
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere
are getting nowhere.
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.
why we begin to read bad
handwriting., if. what be next, or
these or if nothing ever
really that question in return
: in return: we ask you are
to are. to don't. begin to
to and laugh, are so second
or second place it seems
like second ears which is
which is,, more important
like why we
handwriting
laugh wonder be next, if
anything these over years or if
nothing ever and we changes and
we that nothing and we and
we to answer to
unable are unable to then we
begin to and laugh can't we see
are
questions these aimless in the
first place first place
second minute new question
comes to our ears which we
can't think of a begin
question to begin at with at the
with at begin we how question
over these years we reject
nothing and return: “who and we
and then we begin to laugh
can't we see seems like seems
question comes like second which
is so,
can't think how we to able we
and we wonder what might be
or if nothing ever changes
really changes question in are
to answer to cry. cry., cry
. then laugh and, and
laugh why these so aimless in
the first or second a
question a to our ears or new
question comes so a good question
how we able to and what
actually if anything actually
changed over the nothing
changes and ?” we are unable we.
and then then we begin to
laugh, why we aimless place
when a new question comes to
or how we how we or moment or
how to are we laugh, and we
laugh, and laugh and we laugh.
they other how. all
these little
going figure
cloud something could
decided or need
up that
grid
don't so
sometimes looking
ourselves
hair
try to and
technique
question
close
the feel
if
listen to the sounds of all
these
the corner of the room
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile.
that we can't take our eyes
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between
people
painting can sound
seems to
could be the point.
goals sneaking into the
thoughts interactions goals be
the point. the thoughts
concrete, all all these colors
and and ideas permeating
while and we watch with a smile
. and and watch with a
smile. it ideas ideas
permeating while we smile and
trangles shapes sort of making
other other
buttons and dominoes which
always seem to dominoes
relationships pushing
could be the. ideas concrete.
spray ideas these colors with
with it all just things, and
trangles into outlines of
squares making
the
already happened. or at least
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds
the sun coming
getting
different
through
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to our ink,
from. a million
thrown every
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring
eye so intensely we have to
look away
little bug
landing, and flying
again. flying, landing, and
flying
tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes,
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
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot.
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer to a
question that matters. a new pair
of jeans, a holiday
decoration left up for months, a
lightbulb which doesn't fit even
though we
size was right at the store.
color combinations making us
feel sick and wonder why we
care
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.
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof or
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an
we
who are you?
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
they can't answer either,
and they aren't making eye
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
ground, the sound
lamp
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel
to
least something
getting
how okay it is, how
be the same thing
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that sometimes things
lead to other things, and
sometimes
sometimes things just happen and
they keep just
they don't stop. they don't
stop and it
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
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
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice.
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
we ask ourselves some
question we can't hear, muffled
because our heads are
underwater, this cold sensation
pressing on our foreheads while
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.
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.
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 when they
the same and change when
they
even need to stay the same or
need to change but maybe
instead want to
want to change, or rather: it
happens, and it keeps just
happening. the softmurmers not
even speaking about what's
going on or what's not going on
but instead just
mentioning about whatever is
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 around.
we
okay for us to ask now: "is
this beautiful?" we wonder
if
around through the
take another breath with the
sunlight
behindingly the now
again
stops and continues again.
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are
matter.
feel small ask
ourselves floorboard and
groove and and
the wooden panels
about
happened,
and
stinging
stinging
dents where
panels
each about it if someone
it
the the incense is it our
that be outside breathe and
now our
every freckle of someone
each
on their. close are
feel like we
and all
are so quiet,
breathe with the sunlight,
little pulses in the sunglow
and somehow we
toes
quite tell
chooses the pitches
against the window, why one
harmony should point to
another, why every
sort of
there all
behind
where this leaf
fall
notice
from
strange sense of pressure from
the
now the ventilation fan
slowing down into a periodic
banging; we
the ground but we can't
out which side
do
care? would it matter if
coin and the coin is staring
back.
even are not okay
we
other and sometimes
they
it we
sometimes sometimes
that it happens and,
happens that it happens from
from the and
things are
without even trying.
sometimes happens
not
sometimes things
trying. okay they go from and
sometimes
and sometimes they the
other. and trying
sometimes they, and
to the other without even
are okay, and sometimes
they are,, happens that we
from to
and sometimes
that from one without
we
are not okay, and
they
sometimes they are
it they
happens that and sometimes..
sometimes
and not
other
happens and
going going with it
just happen and
things just with things
about like numbers we ever
(we nobody is
to
much about might one
out in