A Library Of Poems
Introduction
Our goal, with this essay, is sharing.
Sharing what?
A set of images and ideas rooted within my own conception information.
Or, more specifically, one vision of infinite information.
A Decade Or So Ago
A decade or so ago, my Dad gave me a binder.
Right within this binder, buried within a network of slips, were a ton of CDs.
Oh, and some DVDs, too.
Many of these were pirated films/shows.
Others were games that my Dad had enjoyed.
I recognized some of the films/shows:
- Band Of Brothers
- Star Wars
- The New World
- Oceans 11
- Mulholland Drive
And so on and so forth.
But, there was one CD, in particular, that seemed strange.
It was titled “Oracular Sithis.”
The name was written in Sharpie. And, despite it having been burned many years ago, there was still a mild odor.
I asked my Dad what “Oracular Sithis” was.
But, he didn’t know.
This led me to put it in my laptop’s DVD drive.
A Strange Library
Right after placing the DVD into my laptop’s DVD drive, a series of images began flashing across my screen.
A series of blurry images.
Lights. Colors. Movements.
And, then, these images began to take a far more…stationary form.
I was looking at a library.
On the left and right of the screen, there were shelves of books.
None of these shelves looked particularly realistic.
Each one looked like it belonged to a game from 2003.
No, sorry, that’s not true; they looked better than that, almost like a benchmark from that era.
Even so, though, they looked far, far from realistic.
I stared at the shelves. And, the path in front of me.
A moment passed.
I placed my hands on the keyboard and, a few button presses later, began to interact with the library.
It was like a video game.
I walked across all manner of spaces for at least one hour.
Each space was filled with shelves of books.
I found myself in a small network of stone passages.
All of these passages contained tall shelves filled with books.
I clicked on one of the books.
And, then, I found myself reading a poem.
The poem was nice.
I read another one.
And, then after that, I read another one.
Soon after doing so, I discovered something peculiar.
The Infinite Book
Every poem was lovely.
A peculiar description.
Of what?
Something truly ineffable.
Or, at least, something very different from my conception of the world.
But, that wasn’t the “peculiar thing” I discovered.
The peculiar thing I discovered was as follows: that book of poetry was infinite.
No endings, limits, boundaries; ad infinitum.
A neverending wealth of pages, sections, chapters, bodies; ad infinitum.
Right within each section and chapter — ad infinitum — there were, strangely enough, an infinite wealth of other sections, chapters, bodies; ad infinitum.
Each one contained an infinite wealth of other such things.
I wandered across the library for another hour.
Every single book was infinite.
Each one was rich with unique poems.
Poems that seemed to be describing a world far more beautiful than ours.
Or, at least, far closer to…that which is transcendent, we’ll say, than the world we reside within.
I choose to believe that this world is extraordinary.
It is.
But, there are times when a part of me yearns.
Yearns for a world far more beautiful than our world.
I know I shouldn’t. But, sometimes, I do.
Not often. But, sometimes.
Conclusion
Just to wrap this up, thank you for reading!
Best wishes and have a great day!
