In the Library, there are two manners of Learning. The first is intentional. Student to teacher, student to student, and, of course, book to reader. But there is there is a second way as well, that of unintentional Learning. The half-heard whisper, the fragments of a thought penciled in the margins of a book, the abandoned sheet of paper covered in mad scrawlings. Some times, this method of Learning can be the most fruitful.
This is a place for bits of stories/general ideas that you might not ever write, but would still like to share and let others use. They can be as long or short as you please and can be in any particular style. Please add new additions to the top of the list.
They don't talk about the time the Library took in those Dachau escapees. I can't blame them.
You know those Beaux-Arts buildings you see in a lot of older towns? That froo-froo style that was big in the late 19th century, with all of the gold and statues of naked women representing abstract ideas and such? Well, in Berlin, all of those statues were modeled by a young woman named Ursula Wurfel. Although she was only active for a few years, every sculptor she modeled for claimed that she added something of herself to every piece they did. She disappears from the historical record around 1921, but people say that she still keeps an eye on the city.
With the right hardware, dreamcatchers can store and transfer dreams. Dreamharvesters, they call them. You can do an awful lot with a hard drive full of dreams.
Nobody can deny that seeking out sources of unintentional Learning is oftentimes an adventurous activity, akin to the old mystery novels. But is it a form of wisdom? Or something else?
So it was just another day at the safehouse. Cups of tea steaming, books strewn about and all that. And my buddy Stan decided to go to the bathroom.
That's when the Foundation came knocking.
And let me tell ya, the last thing I expected to see that day was Stan, in only a shirt, displaying his unwiped posterior to a bunch of guys in armor with P90s.
Nobody had ever stopped to ask the obvious question… A question so obvious it had become more obscure than the grains of sand that filled his eyes at night.
Jim walked without stopping, as he tended to do. He watched the chaos around him: the ground cracking, meteors hiting the tops of skyscrapers, probably some aliens. He always wondered how it was going to go down in the very end: he supposed it was a nice show. Nothing really surprised him anymore, even the stuff he'd been look forward to for literally the beginning of time. Well, not nothing. The boy Jim had just spotted about fifty yards from him doing the same thing he was doing surprised him a fair amount.
One Hundred Recipes For Pig's Squeal by Granny Solomon
It's widely held in certain circles that three of the competitors in the 1957 World Chess Championship were in actuality demons in human form. A small but robust cottage industry has sprung up around attempting to identify these diabolical Grandmasters. Once identified, their games are minutely analyzed, in the hopes of learning of the future.
….little is spoken of the native tribes and people of the Library….
….shaman opening Ways, discovering the Rules of the Library by trial and error then tribes living within the Library for warmth and….
What are the voting rights and criminal prosecution laws regarding the Hive-Minded? What legalities can prevent single Drones from committing crimes, then being sacrificed by the Queen, or the Hive winning all elections by sheer numbers?
What happens when magic is subject to DRM?
I do not know, because I grew up beside the bed snake in the garden of dreams.
We know that her mother died, they look better.
Cracks decorate their last song.
The naked truth of the disastrous Lake, sulfur foams.
At the end of September as the stars who died in the King's field.
And float lanterns in prison.
Long, long ago, there were men and women who could shape the natural world to their whim, without a need for specific spells and rituals. People called them many things: prophets, warlocks, magi, demi-gods. But these titles were merely a distraction, obscuring the true source of their powers. In truth, these people were Judges, commanding the trees and air with the same authority that they could condemn a man to death.
One could conceive that things such as the Foundation or GOC, gods, antigods, heroes, monsters, worlds and even the Library itself are not the first of their kind. They are simply another incarnation of a recurring idea, which survives through the history of humanity. Where the world is a stage, the current form of these groups and beings are actors, playing a well-known character. They are but a slightly different face playing a role in much the same way as their predecessors.
Now, if you accept this, it raises the question: what did some of the former forms of these things look like?
They say the mngwa is a purely malicious being, driven only by the urge to kill.
Lies. They are nothing of the kind.
The mngwa is an entity as old as Africa itself, reincarnated through countless forms down the ages. It is wily, it is clever, and it has only one purpose: to restore Africa to a pristine state.
More specifically, the exact state it was during the Paleogene.
There's the old superstition of the spotted hyena, which describes its yipping as something like human laughter - the idea that it reflects either malice or amusement on the animal's part. This is well known.
It is of course a mis-conception. What's somewhat less well-known is that the hyena is just a body produced by the laughter to warn off competitors.
Yellowed flesh falls from bone
Skeletal hands reach for God
In silent plea for Winter’s end
In the tale of the Golem and the Rabbi of Prague, they say that to deactivate the Golem, Rabbi Loew erased a letter from the Hebrew word "truth" to render it "death." What they don't tell you is that later, feeling remorse, Rabbi Loew reactivated the Golem by writing a different word on its head. What's the word, you ask? Try looking at a layout of the Library and tell me yourself.
Somewhere in Wisconsin, there's a factory that does nothing but manufacture jinn. Day in and day out, thousands at a time. No one's gotten close enough to figure out why they're doing it, but word is in the past two years, they've more than tripled their daily output.
On the streets of the city of al-Azbah, there's a single torch that has never gone out. Supposedly, the day that it is extinguished is the day that the world begins to tear itself apart. Supposedly.