Friday, April 26, 2013

Some Notes for a Lichtenberg Figure


The library is of an unknown size, resting as it does, nested in several adjacent hallways, and in one   of the largest, yet most remote stairways connecting the wards. The inmates that use it aren't always at liberty to visit it, and so some of the books are scattered throughout the building, and some become lost, and others take on special significance, slowly becoming journals, drawing pads, or stranger, nameless fetishes of somatic drift, or torque, or empathology. In any one of the volumes, one may find either the librarian's remarks, or a lewd and unseemly drawing or sentence of an inmate, or even something quite remarkable, a cogent debate being carried on, if for only a few pages. The library, if it were known, resembles in its 3 dimensions separated from the rest of the building, a stylized child's sparkler at the end of a stick, or perhaps just an irregular branching star.