The fact that there's an actually functional website for the library of Babel is one of those things that fucks me up more and more the more I think about the implications.
So, if anyone hasn’t encountered the concept of the library of Babel, the idea comes from a story of the same name by Jorge Luis Borges, which is set inside a seemingly infinite library which contains every possible combination of letters, periods, commas and spaces that fits within 410 pages.
So like... It isn’t THAT out there that someone was able to make a digital version of it. Making an algorithm that randomly generates every possible combination of those 29 characters within that space and making a website that lets you explore those combinations are things that are pretty squarely within the scope of things you’d expect someone to be able to make a computer do.
But it begins to get pretty out there when you start thinking about all the things that are technically contained there (and that someone randomly browsing it could THEORETICALLY stumble upon) just by virtue of being one of those possible combinations of letters, spaces, commas, and periods.
Somewhere in that website there IS a book that specifically mentions me by full name before giving an accurate, excruciatingly detailed, 410-page long physical description of me. There’ also many more books that SEEM to be that but are actually factually inaccurate. There’s also versions of all of those containing every possible combination of every possible typo, spelling mistake, and grammatical error.
Somewhere in that website there IS a book that’s a perfectly accurate prediction of how and when I will die narrated in third person over the course of 410 pages. There’s also a book that contains the exact same events narrated in first person. Not only for me, but for every person in the world. There are many more that claim to be that but are actually inaccurate.
Somewhere in that website there IS a book that’s completely blank except for the world’s funniest dick joke written right at the end of the very last page.
But chances are no one browsing that website is EVER going to see any of that because for every book we would consider useful, interesting, or even intelligible there are millions upon millions upon millions more that are just completely full of gibberish from cover to cover.
Every single thing I will ever write (barring punctuation marks that arent periods or commas and the letter ñ) is already contained somewhere on that website.
I have a volume from the Library of Babel! it's one of my most treasured books.
on the second to last page, about halfway down it reads "OH TIME THY PYRAMIDS" a singular grain of order in the sea of chaos.
The library of babel contains every book to ever exist and moreover it contains all information that can be encoded in a finite string of characters from its alphabet.
I cannot overstate how much I love the Library of Babel. it's wonderful, it is my heart and soul.
Richard Siken, Boot Theory // Frank Bidart, The War of Vaslav Nijinsky // astralcorbozo on TikTok // Mary Herbert, A Long Time in the Desert // Dan Deacon, When I Was Done Dying
Ursula K. Le Guin, The Stone Ax and the Muskoxen, 1975, (originally given as the Guest of Honour Speech at WorldCon 1975)
Plein Airpril studies 🎨 Day 6 - Unknown forest, I believe photographed in China? Day 4 - Forestville, California Day 5 - Iguazu Falls, border of Brazil and Argentina
A short comic I made about my experiences as a seasonal worker, and the way places change you.
I spotted a reply to one of my posts:
ALT
And my knee-jerk response was “no, you should hear my friends talk about their lives–”
And it made me remember something.
Back in high school, my IB class did a lock-in– where the group of students gets locked into one part of the school overnight on a weekend– and after junk food and video games lost their appeal, we got to talking.
Only I didn’t really know anything about almost any of them. They were all friendly enough, but I kept to myself for the most part, so we didn’t have much to talk about once standard small talk ran out.
So I asked one of the other people sitting with me: “what’s your story?”
Your life story.
And he told me. Sixteen years or so condensed into maybe a half hour. And it was the most fascinating life I could have imagined: the places he’d been, the things he’d done, the experiences that defined him. It boggled my mind.
When he finished and turned the question around to me, I thought mine sounded really boring in comparison, but he listened open-mouthed to the entire thing. Other kids were gathering around us by now, listening in. And when I finished mine, I turned to another one of them and asked the question to them.
And just like before, my mind was blown. A completely different life, completely different focal points, defining experiences, goals the likes of which were deserving of an anime. And the same happened with the next person we asked, and the next.
By the time each one of us had finished telling their story, it was time to go home for the morning. The video games had been abandoned hours ago. None of us had slept. We were too caught up in each other’s lives.
All of which is to say:
Thank you. I do lead a very interesting life.
So do you.
