
Welcome to My Library of Thought.
Borges imagined a library so vast it contained every possible book, every possible combination of letters. An infinite archive where meaning flickers between order and chaos.
Daedalium is not infinite, but it works the same way. It is a library shaped by one mind. My mind. Each shelf, each hallway, each fragment here is nothing more than a reflection of my own thinking. Not preserved to be admired, but set loose to multiply, to contradict, to collide.
There is no index. No master key. The order is hidden because thought itself is hidden. You wander it the way I wander it: uncertain of what lies behind the next door, certain only that you will not leave with the same idea you carried in.
This is not a library you visit. It is a library that visits you.
Welcome to my personal labyrinth.