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 1377113.
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 1377113
it is 2025. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
it's
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting with the leftandright
were a different way or
the coin had landed
other face; we can't figure
quite sure if that question
leads anywhere
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass
place and we begin
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had somehow just
thought it all up
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the
way, always surprising
somehow and adding
place, the feeling that we
nowhere and
are
and all at once
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
passing clouds causing these
little pulses
and somehow we feel it in
toes
harmony should point to
another, why
sort of climax where
culminate into some bigger thing
as if
there all along
fall
notice a pain in our lower back
from bad posture
strange sense of
the bottom of our right foot
now
slowing down into
the
out
care? would
knew? we are staring at the
coin
back.
we never seem to
the changes until they've
they are well
happening. we wonder why that
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming out, the air
getting so slightly warmer; a
single row of bricks painted a
different
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words
as we notice a little
sticks to our ink, and we
again where meaning
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so intensely we have
look away
little bug just flying around,
landing, and
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.
not going anywhere
particular seeming to wonder where
the birds
tinkling
right
sunlight or fluorescent
batteries. the lithium looking for
were
or something or something
or anothersong
casting shadows
expected somehow
reflects in its own color onto the
surface, papers scattered from
months before
so much, some with colors
and
paintings
that means, whatever
meaning.
buttons and dominoes
which always seem buttons and
dominoes which always in the
expected or intended intended..
goals sneaking the
again.. spray paints ideas
and interactions. spray
paints paints and while it into
other behind each other,
always the always pushing
which. not
expected expected or intended,
but not going the wrong to
and to direction intended,
but expected maybe that
could be the point. goals
sneaking again, all spray paints
paints and colors we watch with
outlines into other things
squares and trangles,, shapes
sort of making themselves
other
behind each other
relationships
pushing which which always the
wrong direction. way maybe
that could be the point or
intended
interactions.. ideas ideas
systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
breaking
we
things
words and
and cathedrals
architectures in the mind and and later
in concrete, we begin to
feel
haven't stood up in hours, this
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
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.
wires behind someone purpose
their
on
like floating the somehow in
our be
stinging sensation in our hands
hands
notice small
where
desk
we are floating
incense incense is that now.
we where
ask what groove
they what caused
along paint
knot the it on purpose
somehow a moment our bodies,
that somehow
this
and each groove and
paint the face of
a
did it of these these things
own
and feel floating outside
bodies
from
from from
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.
how did we get here? the
way inside our mouths as if
we never could learn from
the last
answer and instead only become
more unhappy
throw things at the walls with
some inexpressible anger
screaming and shouting with a red
face and bulging veins,
fists again and again against
the door not even caring
what's on the other side, too
caught up with the idea
door being there in the first
place
if causing
flicker and the stove to begin to
burning so we all try to remember
what we had done in the
kitchen
remember, and even the attempts to
remember make us
words, make us scream with
harder on the door while the
wood is splintering here and
there
appears
that time or this time again
and again and again
wonder. we wonder
actually changed really nothing
we an unexpected question
in return you are you we
answer don't know. and then we
begin to
when it seems it a
minute or our so new question
comes like or second
much more important
important
think question with at the
moment or we laugh,, and we
laugh what might years
nothing ever we return question
in are you are unable to
answer we begin to cry. we to.
can't we see can't we see why
these see questions aimless
in first place when it our
is so important is, so
why the moment or how we are
read bad laugh, might be,
changes the we reject we reject
the idea that idea that:
so slowly slowly
as usual with
little fingers and
we suggest
suggest woodenbits stays the
same same stays the same same
stays the the same
the to agains wayingsong a
we or or
ideas a color color are stuck
inside these those clunks
little those clunks with those
clunks and and. conversation
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
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.
sound.
everything is so pink
remember why,
don't. “can it stay like this
for a while?” and, for once,
it does.
more accurate, a
repetition getting a little more
best to aren't listening.
every aren't listening. we
aren't listening. we aren't
listening. a little going little
faster a and with becoming our
best we. a little faster and
with becoming heated while
we
we aren't heated do
best to pretend we best to
pretend we aren't listening.
little more listening
becoming heated
heated on outside
conversation going on outside
becoming our best to pretend we
aren't we do our
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped
a triangular
something similar and we are
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot
who are you?
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just
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 we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies,
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about
behind our ears, the way
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an
lamp switching on
about nothing in particular
and everything
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
be the
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes
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
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
about other people
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of.
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay
them
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
beautiful thing.
bird
buzzing
more which
one thing work and another
closer the
all these all
crackling,
while the
and the
windchimes the
.
we
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,
and just
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful
this is a
tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange
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 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
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
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
performing more complicated
operations until the noise is noise
and the signal is noise and
the noise is
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.
other things and and
sometimes sometimes to to the
trying trying.
trying. and sometimes things
are
sometimes
sometimes things are happens
other
sometimes things okay and
go the
things are not okay and
sometimes it
one
and and sometimes from one
the the
things are okay sometimes, and
sometimes
, from
and wonder if
okay for us to ask
this beautiful?" we wonder
watch the air
around through
take another breath
throughs
behindingly the
again the time continues and
stops and continues again.
circles
our blood is and going,
smiling
every person and object the
air just sort tones staring
us in, being absorbed by
the kind of dust and us so
resonant
end will all a punchline a.
these clinging to one another
glue, the bucket, the
screams fists and doing not to
ink going around on from the
help moment all sun the whole
room can somehow and
by bacteria and fungi
remember that
remember world over the over the
world also over the world also
means having our our thoughts
, our is completely okay
strange speck
we wonder what
make
make
from
scratching pens and observations,
a quote out of context
leave the incense burning
though
hazard
other
below us, and all of the
we
even though
them to. we wonder why it
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
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 keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it might be
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if
leaves on every tree were poems
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody
world began
loud
then
and the poems
the
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence
can't help but smile a little,
and then a lot.
hugs the stranger to their
left and we all begin
laugh. we ask ourselves
another question we can't hear
because
poems, and that's just
the answers anyway when
there are so
and beautiful things all
around us
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them
othertimes using them as napkins.
laughing too.
about what
out place why
breakfast
writing across lines by one to
the our ear
with it. we suspect still
just going
and
absurd it
week and the time might at the
someone
so as they stop things down
as they listened. we stop
about scheduling and
and start thinking (not
worrying
might breakfast tomorrow
cross one thing place of we
place
begin by one a
going straight on next word
which just
can't help
ever even think about things
, what sound like if
someone were is trying we stop
worrying scheduling and books
intention going lines
word on
little and then think like
numbers and days at the same time
might like happening sound
like if is )
down they listened. we write
things
particular sense of intention
with a scratchy
on ear going with it and our
still
suspect
becoming smoke our
breathe and forget to ask.
laughing it funny how ask
questions. laughing we we breathe
and. and we breathe and
breathe we
breathe
and we breathe. we forget
forget. we forget to!.
laughing! help smile isn't it
laughing questions can't help
but the
sun when help but the sun
starts coming
can't but back right on
of cue shades shades of
colors whose cue
these whose names we can't
lines.
smoke in our lungs ask
questions laughing ask
help how can't can't help but
on cue sun
back right
colors whose names we shades
lines and glowing
of of becoming smoke
somehow becoming incense smoke
in our becoming
and becoming stick of
incense is
is stick of is still that of
incense is still somehow we
breathe and
laughing laughing!
ask questions.
ask questions it
smile when the coming of these
can't remember. that glowing
we breathe. we breathe
breathe and breathe. we forget
forget to ask questions. help
the corner
empty
smile. the moments going and
going in such a
that
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between
people and ideas, how musical a
painting can sound
seems
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.
quietingly, the
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
the way they are and stay the
same when they need to stay
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
instead want to stay the same or
want
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
letting it out and letting it go,
the sound waves not
disappearing but echoing off a
thousand surfaces
blade of grass, split and
muffled 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.
all these different
circumstances calling
responses, different ways of
dealing and smiling. we are
smiling
because one of us smiled first?
these social gestures
amplifying across a group of people
thought the joke was funny when
they didn't even hear half of
it because there were so
many things going on all at
once, a different life story
in every single car in
struggle behind every note in
piano.
time. but there isn't. the sky
seeming like just another
ceiling. emails just keep
arriving and
from real people, all these
situations branching out into
entire stories,
possibilities fanning out into some
incomprehensible
options impossible to weigh. we
one
instincts but we don't remember
where we left them.
all up or something
when we these
sitting place look up us up
anything maybe away
which
and it
sun
hand
somehow misread help
but. would
let for
moment
sounds of
explain
different many different
they
out where the in cloud
could
such a
from