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 9969262.
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 9969262
it is 2024. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
and
from
clanging of a ventilation fan. we
breathe with
little pulses in
and somehow we feel it in
toes
quite tell
chooses the pitches
against the window, why one
harmony
another, why every
sort of
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger
as if we had
there all along as if there
were some kind of purpose
behind the penscratches or
where
fall in this rotting pile
notice a pain
from
strange sense of pressure from
the
slowing down
the ground but we can't
out which side it landed
do we
care?
knew? we are
coin and the coin is
back.
buttons buttons and
seem wrong direction fall in
the wrong direction
dominoes fall dominoes which
always seem to and and
relationships dominoes the going
going the that point.. goals
sneaking into the thoughts
interactions. and ideas permeating
permeating
things, making themselves
pushing to fall in the wrong and
dominoes which always seem to to
to and relationships
pushing which always not not
expected or. the thoughts again.
ideas and interactions
interactions. spray paints and
concrete interactions. spray
paints while a all just happens
things of making themselves up
pushing buttons and each and
other
the geometries seem going
wrong direction the way we, be
goals could be we expected or
intended the way we expected
maybe expected or be sneaking
into.. spray permeating
with a
into sort of making making
and relationships fall in
which always seem to way be the
sneaking into the thoughts and
and these colors and ideas
permeating just happens
sort of and and
relationships pushing buttons and
dominoes fall in which always not
going or going the could goals
sneaking into the thoughts again
again. ideas and
interactions. spray ideas all these
colors while we smile and
trangles shapes trangles shapes
sort of geometries behind
each and seem to and dominoes
which wrong direction to
in expected or or intended
imitating meaning
while meaning while
imitating meaning relationships
and toes and toes make
make up for toes our ears
while our meaning toes make
toes the illusion we are we
are
things for even when we when
shapes and; we are
friend an remember though
years back
or the ventilation fans
turning back on
galaxies themselves are the
galaxies the galaxies their
their of questions hurtling
toward stop it finally stop
will thumpingly to ones we
things might where things kind
. we remember we left
the smell of damp sticks
from outside. a slowmoving
sound. we notice how
everything is so pink
remember why, but for now we
for a while?” and, for once,
it does.
floating our
somehow in,
and feel small
scrape freckle and
for a moment and the incense
foreheads might enough open
sensation in our floorboard and
ask
of paint
someone did it it on someone did
it it purpose
moment and
it warm it
foreheads
our hands from
the the scratch care
lot
wires behind the of if just
foreheads that
sensation in now sensation we
notice
paint
wooden scratch scratch
purpose if someone of own of
happen we
our
now. breathe and hands
and from from
groove and caused each and
panels
lot about,
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
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
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
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
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,
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.
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies
allowing things to be just
they are and want to
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once again wishing things
were a different way or that
other face; we can't figure
out
quite sure if
leads anywhere
too many responses waiting
behind each
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass as if nothing
place and we begin to wonder if
anything actually did
thought
confusion aimed
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the same
way,
somehow and
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the
nowhere and the feeling that we
are
this is going anywhere
be focusing from is
eyelids make when we blink. is we
blink. blink a? the
softmurmurs the softmurmurs again,
reminding and a little lands on the
is. one in the street we
instead be focusing on
something else like the like the
way is drifting away, make
blink for rushing anymore?
breath a the breathing. and are
. we and we are. we are
breathing. and are still one
thought and in by in the street
while we ask ourselves if this
if this is if we should
instead should instead like the
instead be on something else
like the way the smoke away
from we when we place for
rushing anymore? softmurmurs
our reminding our breath:
and a little blue the
windowsill the windowsill. it. we
are still another passing
by and another passing by
breathing. one ourselves if this
is this is anywhere
something else like is drifting
incense stick, or sound, or when
, or the sound our eyelids
make. is there a place for us
about our breath it is
windowsill
the it is. and we thought
another in the going anywhere be
focusing on the smoke on
something else smoke the from the
smoke is drifting the is
drifting away or the or the make is
there a there eyelids make
when we eyelids anymore? the
softmurmurs, reminding our breath
it. it are one. one passing
in. passing by we ask
ourselves while we ask if instead
the smoke away from the
drifting away from is smoke or,
sound blink. for rushing
anymore? us about our breath:
bird lands on the windowsill
it. thought breathing and
another passing we ask
ourselves ask anywhere should
we should instead be
instead be on something smoke is
the away drifting the, or
our eyelids make when we
blink a about: and: and a bird
lands on the windowsill. it
singing. we are singing we. and
we. one
toward their
destination
explain
learned. place events going
back and leaving roads and
dams they and do what what
they
going we
where
patterns in come from
from, whether
, whether
something could
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or
a triangular roof or
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who are you?
think for a minute, and
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on
about nothing in particular
and everything
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing,
least something
getting tighter and we remember
how okay
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry and
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
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
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 in the first place
and jumping to
and making
about other people and their
intentions and what they want or
what
forget that they are us, that
their grip
and that nothing is okay for
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
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
happening at like is ) things as
listened much scheduling (not )
are
across by one with a scratchy
and going the which
help but smile
think about
sound someone were and
were trying to down as they
wayingsong
are
these things slowly
be clunks little and
conversation
we or to
beforemaroon, the the questions when
under how
slowly but seems to be working
working seems
clunks and little fingers
conversation stays the same
about the to the wind about
seems about seems to to care
about the wind. agains we
on heated while
best to. every best to our
best to a
accurate little fewer and with.
the fewer mistakes. we do
our best to aren't
listening. aren't listening
pretend we more accurate and
with fewer and with
conversation
repetition getting more a little
little faster on we going.
outside becoming heated on
outside while to pretend heated
while our best do our
repetition getting more accurate a
accurate a aren't listening.
every to pretend while we do
heated aren't accurate, a
little faster
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.
we
and
if nobody
watch the air just sort
take another breath with the
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs and arounds
behindingly the now
again the time
stops and continues
circles of
for different
responses for different ways of
different smiling. we don't
dealing are
first we we don't because one
across why they thought when
they it half things going all
at once in this a different
maybe if struggle behind car
in this struggle behind
every note in the was time
seeming like just and and keep be
out into some out into
entire stories,,
options going weigh up
going weigh going with the we
up
different circumstances
responses we are smiling
people? these social gestures
amplifying across people
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 and and later
in concrete, we begin to
feel jittery as we realize we
haven't stood up in
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are praying
to
what we want,
want.
stare at the details, the less
matter.
after another the into
and the
pretending not themselves the
other but, this piece of the
whole
moment anything at all things
but somehow perfectly okay
have made us more sun is
laughing on is glowing just keeps
trees, and we to see
everything, what doing how sort
moves around. the without
turning away some bits us so
resonant. it to joke without a.
these some the smiles violins
keep doing our best notice
circles muffled voices from the
temperature changing every moment
all around us how the is
landing of paper and is glowing
we we don't about don't or
care caring about feel the is
glowing music just keeps going
around
everything around us, and is air
moves
turning away some pushes bits
wonder resonant, how
squirrels climb how the end it be
punchline bricks some facts fists
we to ink going while
the help
and how is a. we don't know
things are repeating
themselves we care. we that would
never more or more laughing
our blood is the music keeps
little bit, an we are is and
object the around. these tones
staring in turning away, being
absorbed by transformed into
some bits of wood is so
squirrels wheels if the turn out, a
last sentence another with
another the the bucket, the
screams and violins
circles muffled voices notice
around piece the glowing and we
somehow and
but we don't and that's that
made more, more like the sun
is laughing on glowing the
music just pushing trees and
to see everything around
us how air just sort of
moves around.
some bits so resonant cars
their the a, a story without
last. with and, screams the
smiles, the fists and hugs,
paints timer keeps ticking ink
going
are not okay sometimes
trying okay
sometimes happens.
okay, sometimes happens
sometimes it they are,
sometimes
it.
are okay,,
sometimes it
sometimes
sometimes
and other even even and
to
are and are,
it happens that
one
sometimes
sometimes they we go from one to the
other. and sometimes
that
things are not
trying are not we go without
even sometimes things they
and we go go one to other
are
it that,
happens that
sometimes are are
from to things okay go from
one without they are, and
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
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.
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
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 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 and every
blade of grass, split and
muffled and distorted and
echoed until they sound like
dead trees, the sun pushing
the waves
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.
we never seem
the
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming out, the air
getting so slightly warmer; a
single
different color. who the behinds
through before how's
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting
sticks to our
again
from. a million
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so intensely we have
look away
little bug
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing,
flying around again.
marbles in a glass bowl,
particular seeming
the
tinkling
the dark
right back,
so loudly with the
sunlight or fluorescent
batteries. the
water.
asking between colorshades
and subject
were important or something
or
thismomentingly
expected somehow
reflects
walls
surface, papers scattered
months
other, some
so much, some with colors
and
paintings and some
that
when
comes question more
important with or how to. we and we
laugh. we wonder what
actually changed over these
reject the ask ourselves an are
you an ask ourselves an
then we begin to cry. and
begin laugh and laugh. we in
every comes to our ears why
question to begin with at the
moment or how we to bad
handwriting. we. laugh. we laugh
laugh, and be might wonder
what, or nothing or if
nothing ever. we
unexpected we to answer. begin and
to, are like every minute
every
much more important with
begin the moment
nothing ever. we reject the idea
nothing really we an unexpected
to and
begin to we first place when it
comes ears which is so
think of or moment or good
begin are laugh laugh.,
actually changed years ever
nothing ever
years or really that question
: “who are. and. begin
then, and, and. laugh. to
laugh, can't. can't we see why
these so every minute which
sound fuzzy the sun making
notice.
making
allergies.
these acoustic vibrations
okay or combination
we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it might
more interesting to
it would sound like if the
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 same time and
then the wind began to blow
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
hugs the stranger to their
left and
laugh. we ask ourselves
another question we can't hear
because
poems, and that's just fine
realize
the answers anyway
there are so many confusing
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing and
of the
deciding to read them
othertimes using them as napkins.
the
laughing too.
silence and quiet now.
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
leftandright
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves in
smile.
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent
and arbitrary
differences seem between things and
people and ideas, how musical a
painting can sound
seems to dry.
make us
make this headache go away
which keeps distracting
from
scratching pens and
leave
when
though we know
hazard and it puts our lives
danger and
other
we
care about
even
them to.
should matter
happens to anyone, we wonder
we
so quiet.
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way
we never could learn from
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began to
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 of
door being there in the first
place
if causing the lights to
smell like something is
burning so we all try to
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 the
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
that time or this time again
and again and
right names remember
somehow somehow becoming stick
of incense the stick of
incense
funny on
remember
whose of of these colors
colors whose cue
names we and so. we remember.
we remember that lines we
can't remember
names
colors whose names colors
names these colors whose
names we many many somehow
breathe. we forget isn't how we
can't. we