DETROIT UNDERGROUND (Crosby & hope)

I have mentioned the suicides, more frequent each year. Perhaps
I am deceived by old age and fear, but I suspect that the human
species–the unique human species–is on the road to extinction,
while the Library will last forever: illuminated, solitary, infinite, per-
fectly immovable, filled with precious volumes, useless, incorruptible,
secret.

There are official searchers, inquisiitors. I have observed them carrying
out their functions: they are always exhausted. They speak of a staircase
without steps where they were almost killed. They speak of galleries and
stairs with the local librarian. From time to time they will pick up the nearest
book and leaf through its pages, in search of infamous words. Obviously,
no one expects to discover anything.

In some shelf of some hexagon, men reasoned, there must exist a book
which is the cipher and compendium of all the rest: some librarian has
perused it, and it is analogous to a god. Vestiges of the worship of that
remote functionary still persist in the language of this zone. How to locate
the secret hexagon which harbored it? Someone proposed a regressive app-
roach: in order to locate book A, first consult book B which will indicate the
the location of A; in order to locate book B, first consult book C, and so on
ad infinitum…


http://theresalduncan.typepad.com/witostaircase/2005/07/detroit_undergr.html

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