It has been nearly fourty years since I first left the confines of my natal hexagon in search of My Vindication. As you read these imperfect symbols scrawled onto the cover of this book, you may decide for yourself whether or not I have found it.

It was as a young man that I first discovered the fundamental axioms of The Library. I can honestly tell you that, at the time, these axioms had filled me with an almost impossible joy. How could they not? I learned that The Library was a repository for all possible books. Imagine. All possible books. To know that every conceivable combination of the fundamental orthographic symbols existed within the countless hexagonal galleries was a remarkable gift.

With this revelation alone, some had considered the number of books to be infinite, but I did not believe this to be true. Primarily because another axiom of the library states that no two books are identical. Given that each book is unique and that each book is four hundred and ten pages long and that each page consists of forty lines and that each line is made up of eighty characters, the total number of books could not be infinite. For some this conclusion limits the wondrousness of The Library. For me, the idea that the total number of books is finite but improbably large was wonderous enough in itself.

So, it was with these truths that I went in search of My Vindication. Somewhere in the library there was a perfect retelling of my life's story up to the moment of my Death. There was a proof of God. And a disproof of God. And the meaning of Life. I was sure no problem existed that did not have it's solution buried in some dusty corner of some remote hexagon. If only I could find it! Even if I didn't know the language it was written in, I was sure that The Library would provide me with a means to divine it.

Forty years of searching and you hold in your hands the only semblance of coherance that I could find. This is My Vindication. My vain hope is that the symbols contained within this book will provide wisdom and happiness for someone, even if they were not for me.

the sad, sad, mutant handbook

for mother.
it wasnt your fault

i. songs of the mutants

fuck art. lets kill. hooloovoo

why are we so troubled

cathartic fantasy killing

how to slash your wrists^H^H^H^H^H^Htires

mere words
sickness is health. madness is wisdom. drinking is strength.
ropo, cvooo,m

(This is the result of a nodeshell challenge. I would like to apologize to ideath for taking so long and to Jorge Luis Borges for not taking long enough.)

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