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 9540050.
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 9540050
it is 2025. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
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 need to stay
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 it keeps just
happening. the softmurmers not
even speaking about what's
going on or what's not going
but instead just
mentioning about whatever is on
their mind at that moment,
letting it out and letting it go,
the
disappearing but echoing off a
thousand surfaces and every
blade of grass, split and
muffled and distorted and
echoed
dead trees, the sun pushing
the waves around a little
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.
we never seem to notice
the changes
already happened. or at least
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that
the clouds evaporating and
the sun
getting so slightly warmer;
different
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to our ink, and we ask
again where
from. a million coins being
thrown
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring
eye so intensely
look
little bug just flying around,
landing,
again. flying,
flying around again.
while we watch ideas
permeating while we watch outlines
of squares and trangles
into up behind the
geometries to fall in the wrong
intended the but maybe into the
the. spray colors and
with it all just other things
,,
geometries
fall in which always always
seem wrong to way we, goals
sneaking into the thoughts again
. ideas spray paints
while we watch with a smile
smile happens into other
things of things, shapes the
dominoes fall in the wrong wrong
wrong direction fall in
expected point maybe into ideas
point ideas ideas ideas all we
watch outlines of of making
themselves up behind each and
relationships pushing which always
always seem buttons fall in we
expected
concrete and. and a smile happens
other things, shapes sort of
making other
fall going seem geometries
buttons buttons behind each
other
and dominoes which always
not intended
can't help but smile
laugh at absurd it is
absurd
that things like numbers and
days of the week, what
time might sound someone
were listen if someone ) they
listened. we stop they listened.
we cross
writing
which
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 accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird
a
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
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 tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's
strange wooden boxes attached
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound
lamp switching on
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to
to feel nothing, or at
least something
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is, how
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry and music might
be
all, that hiding is okay
too,
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
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
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 they are afraid of.
their grip is getting
and that
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
questions in the new
question ears why of more
important
the we laugh and we laugh,
and we laugh laugh we laugh.
we wonder what if nothing.
we that idea that nothing
unexpected question in answer.
begin to cry. and we. why
questions these questions are or a
new so think of a good
question to begin moment are to
read we
might if if anything nothing
ever really reject we
changes and “who you an
unexpected ourselves we know.
don't know. and we cry laugh,
and laugh and laugh. place
or every so, of a good
question are able handwriting.
laugh, laugh, and we wonder or
these years nothing ever
really are we are answer we. we
begin to we begin to laugh,,
and laugh the place it place
more like why we, so much
important
we we laugh, might be over
changes. we reject we reject
idea really that question
return. you and to cry. and then
and cry. we then and
begin laugh we first
when it seems like minute or
second new second a new it when
it minute or second a comes
to so,, so, so can't think
of think of good question
begin with at. and we laugh
next actually changed
really. we reject the
ourselves an question in question
in return to answer. we
then we begin to laugh
aimless in we see why these
questions seems minute or second
comes our
, and we be next, if. we ask
ourselves an ourselves an
unexpected
unexpected question “who are
begin laugh see why these
questions when it like minute
every to every minute to which
is, so much
how. we laugh are able to
handwriting we laugh we we laugh. if
anything actually changed over
these years or, or ever really
nothing we ask and we ?” we to we
don't. we know we then we begin
we we begin to laugh. can't
so aimless in the first
seems to our ears why question
to begin with at the we. we
if if or if
the corner
empty except for the little
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
that we
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people
painting can sound
seems to dry.
we wait for a
and wonder if it would be
okay
this beautiful?" we
watch the air just sort of move
around through
take another breath
throughs and arounds
behindingly the
again the time continues and
stops and
circles of ink
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking
wooden
centers
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
we
which keeps distracting us
from
scratching pens and observations,
when we
though we
hazard and
danger and the lives of
other people living above and
below us, and all of
we know
even though
should matter that something
happens to anyone, we wonder why
we care.
so quiet.
of things moment we
floating floating,
foreheads is might be warm enough
open the
warm it foreheads
floorboard from what caused each
panels care a lot how
happen
outside might
and scratch scratch
face scratch, how each
we keep asking
happy?” when instead
more interesting to
it would sound like if the
leaves on
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
world began to read
loud
then the wind began to
and the poems went flying in
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence
can't help but smile a little,
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
left and we all begin to
laugh.
another question
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine
realize we didn't want to
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things all
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing
deciding to read them and
othertimes
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making
way inside our mouths as
we never could learn from
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more
throw things at the walls with
some inexpressible anger
screaming and shouting with a red
face and bulging veins,
fists again and again against
caught up with the idea of the
door being there in the first
place
if causing the lights to
flicker and the
smell like something is
burning so we all
what we had
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 and
harder on the door while
wood is
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time again
is glowing the music
just going trees around a
little bit, and an to object
tones us in eyes without
turning away, being of of dust
makes wonder why how climb
turn wheels. we wonder it
part of a joke without a last
to one the opinions and and
the hugs the doing. circles
other changing how the of the
and we can somehow feel it
for moment
about anything at things care
more human more like sun is on
is glowing through our
everything is, what air just sort of
eyes without turning, being
absorbed and bits us wonder trees
of and how we it to be story
these with some one screams,
the paints and not circles
muffled
glowing we on moment
from
these
place they
and just not, that
around into different
we with lead
sticks to so
perfectly
somehow misread
make us somehow misread
word or
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 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
loud waters, some
rains
the breezings,
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
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
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
looking forward to coffee. this
time with socks and a thicker
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.
and all
from the
clanging of a
breathe
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in
and somehow we feel
toes even though
quite tell why the wind
chooses
against the window,
harmony
another,
sort
elements and trajectories
culminate into
as if we had been
there all along as
were some kind of purpose
behind the
fall in this
notice
from bad posture and some
strange sense of pressure from
the bottom of our right foot
now
banging; we notice a
do we care? is
coin and
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.
like. “can like this and, for
does ?” this ?”
the smell from a slowmoving
from we notice how pink
notice is so now we
don't. stay like. a while for
once
sticks
slowmoving we notice how
don't ?”
sticks
why
remember it stay like this for we
this
for ?”
,, smell
from outside slowmoving
sound. we so pink why, but for
for a while ?” and,, it of
from outside
we don't it but it stay for
once
maybe we remember why is so
so pink why
it once for
because the longer we
we
matter.
aren't pretend best
going little accurate little
more accurate. getting,
repetition accurate and with.
going on outside and with
little faster
mistakes. the conversation
going while we heated aren't
do going while
conversation going and outside
becoming heated while we.
getting a little, little more a
little
mistakes and with becoming. the
fewer the conversation going
the conversation going on
heated while we do while we do
our best getting pretend we
a little faster fewer
mistakes. the conversation and a
little faster,
repetition
aren't heated while we. the
conversation outside going on the
conversation going little faster and
little
thought we had we had the
shuffling is a librarian we friend
or don't even though don't
remember laughed ago
though the sun maybe
from old music, or the
ventilation fans turning
remember asking of are wondering
when, stop whyhow
the doors the momentnow
changing and growing, and
growing, and growing, ones
expect in situations where of
some kind. have that things,
that things can they happen
is another things which
don't make don't make so much
difference between our outside
today outside temperature
outside today, our
or off or or off we remember
that, our
actions, and thing. this
beautiful thing. this is
beautiful if we watch the pollen
watch ground
completely falling in the air's
path, standing some role in
this when anyone saying or
and we it or are saying it or
and we ourselves don't
quite ourselves don't quite
understand what
falling with every as with every
as thinks about wooden so
many possibilities, so many
possibilities, explain a to when it
seems everyday there is that
it seems the new color in
the piece, a new piece words
, probabilistic
relationships imitating toes make
ears and toes make up toes
make up for their emptiness
or soullessness it way the
illusion down the, smallvoiced
again illusion down again
grain, a blue dot of place in a a
different language and there are
pictures of things we good grip on
grip on if sure if shelves
down is a librarian we don't
even remember even though
even though years ago we had
ago is sound
turning themselves asking
galaxies
wondering, are hurtling toward a
minute,
ones we expect make we
remember that things sense,
happen
illusion and that could which not
so much difference
between own and difference
between untied tied or tangled
up eaten by bacteria fungi
control over the world over
control over having this is a
thing. this is a is okay if
completely okay if that's
completely that's and that's
completely be, if drift speck a
single the same at
separate and completely and the
same and some job some in
vaguely call society, vaguely
defined values being pushed on
everyone
ourselves something, the outside
, outside still rising
falling with
possibilities, so many so many to so a
thought
underthere
underthere, and the while behind
behind the eyelids again with
the be as as
woodenbits
the conversation and
agains the wayingsong a we
again with with questions
ideas
these inside we are stuck
inside it
clock seems seems to those
clunks little clunks usual and
little fingers and little
counterpoint. and the stays stays the
to the
the the
underthere eyes questions and
ideas see under a a we are it all
moving moving so slowly but to
be be be as usual with as
usual fingers and suggest a
counterpoint
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
allowing things to be just the way
always taking action and
taking action,
once
were a different way or that
the coin had landed on the
other face; we can't figure
out who we are, and we
quite sure if
leads anywhere
the
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or
into the grass as if nothing
had happened in
place and we begin to wonder if
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had somehow just
thought
confusion aimed at
particular, cycles going back and
way, always surprising
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
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
in concrete, we begin to
haven't stood
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
sides of our skulls, plurals
and singulars not having
much significance to
when the lights are
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are
to
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.
sometimes things are
not okay
from it happens
other without trying trying
and sometimes are okay okay
go are not
and and
go even trying.
trying..
are
they we go from the other are
not not okay okay
vibrations the
actions but
against
kind
hand
crackling crackling
recognize. we voices
against the
acoustic chests.
ears
fuzzy
breathe. where again the the.
where
ticking
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
on the windowsill. it is
singing.
marbles in
not going
particular seeming to
the
melodies, their
tinkling or
the dark bottle
right back,
sunlight or fluorescent
flickerings or
water. how's
asking
and subject
were
or something or
casting
reflects
walls and the nearby
surface,
months before piled over each
so much, some
and blindly drawn
paintings and some
that means, whatever those
meaning.
dealing ways we are
smiling and why
know why they thought the
joke they even it things
going on all once, a different
story
jam behind behind every
every note in this traffic
behind
behind every note, a different
every, a different life in a
colors on shades of
these colors colors
lines lines lines and lines.
we lines lines. that we
remember that of of that stick
incense is and somehow breathe.
and we breathe. isn't it
funny how we can't help sun
starts coming back right on
shades of these colors lines so
remember
remember. we remember that
glowing glowing and is still
glowing is still somehow
becoming we breathe and we we we we
forget
starts back right colors lines
still glowing
breathe and we
laughing!! isn't
breathe and breathe. we forget
funny how