the library is such an odd place. i’m not quite sure where the word itself spawns from, probably of latin origin. what i do know about the modern library is that it is a space of authority. there is a sense of power that the library knows it has. we walk into the library and while there does exist a bustle among its present inhabitants, the bustle is silent. upon entry, one’s thoughts become internal. the walls, the floors, the rows of books, the knowledge of our collective consciousness, the windows, the substance of the library, it watches you, they all watch you. the literal matter of the place disciplines you. you are quiet for the sake of the library, submitting to this imaginary sense of authority, a power structure that exists only through your thoughts, my thoughts, their thoughts, our thoughts; the representation of agreed-upon, silent obedience. listen intently, though it cannot be heard, it won’t make a sound: a cry of desperation for purposeful organization, meaningful order, claiming tangible space, the opportunity of truth amongst chaos. we give the library its power, that of silence and authority, willingly, in the hope it will grant us a reason to be there. as with all things created, we pour ourselves, a vulnerable stew of neurons and metaphysical soul, into them, in desperation that they will return us with purpose.
