Fellow · Oneirics
I. Velázquez-Moreau
What color is a dream after the dreamer forgets it?
she keeps a jar of them ↘Plate I · The Dome of Pleasure, as Observed from the North Terrace
An institute for the sciences that have not yet dreamt themselves awake.
Founded in a year that refuses to be counted. Fellows in perpetual residence. Correspondence welcomed by any post that can cross an imaginary meridian.
↓ descend through eleven strata
Plate II · The Five Rivers
Each discipline is a current. Fellows choose one, then allow themselves to be carried sideways into the others.
Plate III · The Mnemonic Garden, a grid of portholes
Twelve portholes gaze into twelve impossibilities. The objects do not rest; they rearrange themselves while you blink.
Reading · Fragment from the Catalogue
Plate IV · Fellows in Residence, Spring Term
Each fellow holds a question rather than a title. The questions are renewed annually; the answers, rarely.
Fellow · Oneirics
What color is a dream after the dreamer forgets it?
she keeps a jar of them ↘Fellow · Apocryphal Cartography
How does one chart a coastline that exists only in rumor?
his atlases weigh too much ←Fellow · Subjunctive Physics
Does gravity obey a verb that has not yet been conjugated?
she is teaching it to →Fellow · Color Morphology
What shape does cerulean assume when it remembers being green?
the answer is a comma ↙Fellow · Hypothetical Linguistics
In what tense does one speak of a sentence one has not said?
he answers only in footnotes ←Visiting Fellow · Metrology
Can one measure longitude at midnight? Should one?
the chronometer disagrees ↘Plate V · Expeditions in Progress, Forty-First Term
Departures are staggered. Arrivals are not guaranteed. The institute considers both outcomes acceptable.
Three fellows aboard a vessel whose timekeeper runs, by agreement, one hour slow. A report is promised upon the first sighting of dawn.
Cartographers, photographers, a stenographer. Each page is an instance that cannot be refilmed. The atlas will, by its nature, be published once.
Recording the precipitation that would have fallen, had the cloud arrived. Instruments: one barometer, one wish.
A survey of species whose range is defined by the belief in their existence. Early data: the range fluctuates with moonlight.
Two linguists, one painter. Their instrument is the hesitation before the first syllable of the name.
Plate VI · The Library of Unwritten Books, East Wall
Eight hundred and twelve titles, shelved by the century in which they will not have been written.
→ slide the shelf to browse
Plate VII · Field Notes, Recovered from the Banks of the Alph
1 The measurement was taken at an hour that did not exist on that particular day, by an instrument that required the observer to hold their breath. — re-read at dusk
2 The river did not appear where it was charted. I suspect the chart; the river has been reliable for centuries. It is only the coast that wanders, and chiefly at night. check the tide-glass ↗
3 I spent four hours attempting to name a color that kept reminding me of my grandmother's voice. I have left the jar on the sill. The color may name itself by morning.
4 The fellow from Subjunctive Physics insists that gravity operates in the imperfect tense near the library. I have not been able to falsify this claim, though I have been dropping small objects all afternoon. they fall slowly
5 A letter arrived addressed to someone who will live here in forty years. I have filed it under Correspondence, Proleptic. The institute has never lost a letter, only misfiled one by a few decades.
6 I have begun to suspect the Alph is not a river but a long and patient sentence. The pauses are the shallows, and the meaning gathers at the oxbow bends. I will report further when it reaches a comma. or a semicolon, perhaps
Plate VIII · Instrument Gallery, Select Items from the Collection
Calibrated against hypotheses rather than reality. Sensitive to the observer's mood.
Records the angle of dream incidence, in degrees past midnight.
A membrane between the hour that was and the hour that should have been.
Measures the current flow of a contradiction; resolves it by return post.
Renders a memory as a pair of intersecting shadows, for comparison.
Splits a thought into its constituent hesitations and records each separately.
Points toward the direction one might have taken, had one dared.
Plate IX · Dispatches from the Institute, Spring Term
Essay · on dreaming
"The mind, asleep, borrows the color of its surroundings, and returns it slightly altered by morning."
In the seventh week of the sleep-color survey, we observed that the dream of a particular fellow began to leak teal pigment onto her pillow. The pigment was stable under laboratory light and volatile in direct sun. We have catalogued it as No. 14: corrected-teal, pending further episodes.
— I. Velázquez-Moreau
Note · on cartography
"The map and the territory agreed to disagree, and so we shaded the dispute in ochre."
One ought not to draw an imaginary coastline on a clear day. The light is too assertive; the ink remembers it was once mineral and refuses to behave. We recommend charting such shorelines at dusk, when the ink is willing to lie a little.
— D. Okonkwo-Pálsson
Inquiry · on instruments
"Every measurement is a question posed to a reality that is under no obligation to answer."
The paradox ammeter has begun to report in rhymed couplets. We are uncertain whether this indicates a new sensitivity or a known instability. For now, we have transcribed its findings and filed them with Hypothetical Linguistics.
— N. al-Saffar
Plate X · Selected Correspondence, Fellow-to-Fellow
Letters travel by ordinary post, but occasionally by the longer route.
Dear Inés, — The gravity here operates in the imperfect tense, as you suspected. I dropped a feather this morning and it was falling when I left it. It may yet be falling. I will send a report when it arrives.
— Nahla
Daniyar, — The coral on your chart of the Lesser Alph is not quite the color it is in the field. I enclose a card tinted with the correct shade (ground from rust and the memory of summer). Please re-stain the third panel.
— Bogdana
Rhea, — The book you requested has not yet been written. We have reserved a shelf for it and filed your request with the bindery. Please collect in approximately forty years; ring the bell twice if we appear closed.
— The Librarian
Olufemi, — You will, in forty years, ask the very question you are now unable to formulate. I am writing to let you know that the answer is yes, but at a different latitude. This letter will reach you when it is most useful.
— a fellow, unnamed
Colophon
xanadu.science was set in Cormorant Garamond, Spectral, Caveat, and IBM Plex Mono, upon a vellum the color of moth-wings, by a compositor who was not certain the book existed until it was printed.
Correspondence may be sent to any post that can cross an imaginary meridian. Replies arrive, on average, at the hour most useful to the recipient.
MMXXVI · The Institute for the Sciences That Have Not Yet Dreamt Themselves Awake · all notes are drafts
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