Swamp Library

This worldbuidling piece was written as a final work for the Future Libraries seminar at the New Centre. A bit of context: students were tasked with creating a library and descrbing it in 3 capacties: 1) the architecture, 2) what's in the library and 3) the readers and enemies of the library. I chose to make a ritualistic, entropic, decaying, forbidden library. I made a single slide with some poetic and image materials that inspired me. I'll add the image at some point.

I really procrastinated on this bad boy. I had two weeks to write it and didn't actually start (had gathered materials + ideas, etc.) maybe 8 or so hours before it was due (☠). I submitted it 3 hours late at 3 am. This is not a brag. I pull sleep stunts that are detriments to my health. I did have fun tho. Working on this made me realize how long I haven't actually worldbuilt (lol). It difficult and made me value the skill of being able to imainge. If this intrigues you make your own library too!

The Architecture 𖠿:

Walking through the wetlands of Louisiana, you enter a hazed state of mind. Things have been hard lately, so you decided to take a walk. That must have been a few hours ago now… The sky is a soft, non-threatening grayish blue. The sun sits gently past noon and the clouds touch the ground. You suspect it’s about 2:13 or 3:12 pm. Matter and time are suggestive. Earth and limbo greet each other openly after overdue separation.

The environment recognizes the threshold collapse and begins to rejoice. Every few steps you mark a passing tree with the knife in your pocket. “Hansel and Gretel”. Your body functions on autopilot, guiding you through the terrain past weeping willows, stagnant bodies of water, lighting bugs and chirping creatures. The world is alive and singing. You unwittingly play into the ambiance, taking part in the choir as pace maker, each step guiding the cadence.

You begin to feel small. It doesn’t seem as though you or your surroundings are shifting in scale, all you know is that you simply feel small. The type of small that's felt when you’re seeking approval. Maybe you are lacking confidence. Maybe something is warning you. Nonetheless, you keep moving to the steady sound of nature, the mental clog failing to halt you.

Piles of paper lie tattered on the ground. At first they are few and far between. 120 steps and there is another, but they keep their distance. Unmarked burial mounds - never getting too close to be questioned and never far enough to ignore. Silent observers. You’re only able to decipher its materiality when one intersects your path. You stop. Consider. And proceed over it. The hairs on your arms stand up.

Your walk begins to slow as a mass appears in the fog. A small rotted shack. Coming upon the structure reels you back into a reality and again you stop. Its door hangs lackadaisically on its hinges, partially open and sweetly inviting you in. The interior is regular for any abandoned structure: a mess. A quaint 12’ x 24’ rectangle with 2 sets of bookshelves on your left and right. Between each shelf is a window looking out to the hazy swampy woods you’ve been walking in. Surprisingly, most of the windows are still intact. Light filters in softly. The grime is delicately lit. You remark on its beauty.

Objects lie everywhere in this library, you choose to call it. Any type of paper document exists across the floor, on the walls, inside the bookshelves, on a flipped chair, strewn across a table. The smell of rot aches in your head and chest. Examining anything leads you to the same conclusion: you are not the first nor the last visitor. You begin to investigate the shelves, noting its degraded variety. Shocked by the sheer amount of material available, you dig in, uncovering everything beholden to you.

After hours of being in the library, it’s time to go home. Tired and overwhelmed, you crave to leave. Somehow the sun hasn’t shifted. Things are confusing. Your head is hurting. The door to the library lies a few steps away, but any action towards it fails to move you closer. This anomaly and the space’s disorganization makes matters ripe for panic if not for all the various notes and carvings scattered about. Not all the notes feel honest. Some suggest being trapped. Others suggest taking your life. Things are bleak. As you search for more evidence amongst the decay you come across a disarmingly neat pinch pot with a small note above it: “a piece of you to burn”. A sacrifice.

For the last time, you stop. Consider. And then reach for your pocket knife. Things of value are often up for sacrifice. Limbs, eyes, tongue. What do you think is worth giving up? The knife stares back at you waiting for your decision. The library anticipates your choice. You raise the knife to your head and bring it to your hairline. Your other hand grabs your hair, pulling it taut, lifting your chin in the process. You inhale. Everything holds its breath.

One quick exhale and the knife severs your hair from your body - a disruption in its history. Like a bubble bursting, the pressure in your head finally begins to subside. The library releases its tension. It never occurred to you just how sharp that knife was. A rummage around in some left behind camping gear produces a matchbox. “Lucky strike.” You place the hair in the pot and strike the match. The flame dances as it falls in, hungrily consuming its food. And just like that, you get the approval you’re looking for. Assuredly, you walk to the front door.

The moment your foot steps outside, you walk away. You don’t even look back. No more stopping.

As you enter your home you are greeted nonchalantly by your partner who sits on the couch looking through a photo album. You look over at the clock on the wall and read the time out loud. “3:33 pm”.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

The Catalogue 🕮:

The material in the library reflects its antique, entropic condition. Any reader or visitor (within) it can expect to find the following documents:

Bills of sales / Receipts: Every purchase is a thought considered. What were you thinking when you bought that?

Photo Albums / Scrapbooking: Some of the photos have people that look like your grandparents when they were younger. You think of taking a few back, but you get the feeling something might come with it. Picking up abandoned materials never sat comfortably with you, so you let it be. The scrapbooks are a sweet addition. It’s clear they were made with love and hope. It warms you up.

Journals / Diaries: Not all journals and diaries are sad, but most of the ones you find are. You encounter a few where it seems the writer lived well. You find yourself gravitating towards the…

Incantations: What you are referring to as “incantations” are the numerous recipes that exist in the library. Love potions, poisons and food recipes reside in the same pages. All three can be consumed the same.

Eulogies: The eulogies often accompany shrines and journals. They contain sentiments from previous visitors - many in the form of confessions.

Vandalism: This is the most expectant material in the library. Though disconcerting in its own abandoned way outside of the library, the vandalism does not disturb you. It is the only thing that makes sense. All visitors understand and add to the vandalism differently.

Shrines: The shrines come in various states, conditions and positions. Some shrines look overused and others look barely used. Ordained to former lovers, personal gods, selves - whatever someone might need to pray to. How the prayer occupies the space is instrumental to who receives it. You could only attempt to guess which failed and which worked.

Census Reports: Why might census reports be in the shack? Information of genealogy. Is it necessary that this still exists? Why does the library feel the need to keep this alive?

Maps: Maps of the land, maps of the mounds, (attempted) maps of the library, maps of homes, maps of animal and human bodies, maps of the solar system, maps of seas, maps to heaven, maps to hell, maps to nowhere.

Spiritual Contracts: Not everyone makes it out of the library. Bargaining becomes a viable option for some and they take it. Contracts are often made to “the devil”, as there is much incantation literature to be found. Some are made to repeat specific names. What’s that about?

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

The Readers - The Enemies 𖨆𖨆:

This is a library where the visitors (a type of reader) are only encountered through remnants. This often occurs in the form of vandalism and shrine construction/destruction, but also results in the materials left behind from library inhabitants (“squatters” to the library.) Items such as used camping supplies, general garbage, misplaced books and notes, blankets, tools, even a set of keys.

Everyone reacts to abandoned spaces differently. Some are brazen about them, others are panicked by them. Each reaction introduces a range of items a visitor might care about and how they might use them. A panicked individual may improperly, yet successfully use something out of desperation to get out. A brazen individual may construct a secure shrine to stay in. It is impossible to match reaction and creed in the library.

The preservers (termed as “reader” by some visitors) of the library are the souls bound to it and the land. They communicate to the visitor via spiritual symptoms: pressure on the third eye or the chest, vertigo, chills and neck tension. It is the rhythmic lull of nature. They infuse the library to the environment, its life force. They hold onto generations of lost knowledge and heritage, ingraining it into all fibrous materials degrading within its walls.

Time itself is the enemy of the library - aging and degradation. The land is uninhabitable but swamps often have a timelessness, slowing down, backward essence. The human body decays incredibly slowly when in swamp waters. Even in its dilapidated condition the library wants to live. It breathes through the lungs of its visitors and feeds off the offerings that are left behind. It knows it cannot remain pristine. The library never sikes itself out. So much documented material that cannot last forever. Who deemed it “important”? What is lost?

[There's some tea that goes along with this entry. Shortly after submitting this work, the leader of the seminar abruptly publically resigned! It seems the head organizner was (allegedly) posting insensitive material aboout Iranians and Palastinians on his personal insta (which is curious to me considering the centre's blog triple ampersand put out a signable statement in support of the Iranian Revolution (also go sign it)). I believe both resigned organzier and head organizer have known each other for a while, so this is a matter that runs deep. The resignation can be viewed on the resigned organzier's insta. I'm not going to say any names here, you can figure it out with some context clues and searching. It makes me sad he left. I respect his decision ofc, I just wanted to hear what he might have to say about my entry (lol).

I don't really know what to make of it all, and while I don't have an interest in being complacent, I also don't feel informed enough to make a proper, moral move. I don't look at anyone's stories, so I'm in the dark of what messaging was posted and I am not interested in ignorantly bandwagoning especially since I've enjoyed what the New Centre has introduced me to in such a short time. We shall see as things progress I suppose.]