3Chronicles of Things Made

A log of recent writings, sounds, and gestures

Published May 31, 2026

Over the past days (May 18 to May 31), four texts have moved across libraries, ceremonial memory, dormant knowledge systems, and the cloud forest of Quisquiza. Their terrains are different: a community library under pressure, an Abelam yam that disappears after ceremony, a resurrection plant surviving through suspended activity, and an epiphytic orchid living from fog and bark. But together they ask a shared question: how do fragile forms of memory, knowledge, and life persist without relying on permanence, possession, or continuous visibility?

The sequence begins with Building Spaces for Resistance, a text on community-centered librarianship beyond the institutional language of "safe space." There, safety is not treated as comfort, atmosphere, or inclusion by design, but as a situated political condition shaped by threat, protection, conflict, and collective autonomy. A library, under this view, can become more than shelter. It can become infrastructure for memory, learning, organization, and resistance.

That concern with infrastructure reappears from another angle in The Yam That Disappears. The Abelam ceremonial yam does not preserve meaning by lasting as an object. It decays. Its decorations vanish. Its display ends. Yet the system continues through cyclical return, public recognition, embodied knowledge, and ritual activation. Here, disappearance is not simply failure. It belongs to the mechanism through which memory remains socially durable.

The question of interruption becomes more technical in How to Sleep Without Losing Form, a chronicle on resurrection plants and fragile knowledge systems. The text argues that inactivity should not always be confused with collapse. Archives, repositories, databases, and community memory projects often survive through pauses, silences, and reduced states. What matters is whether the conditions of return have been preserved: files, structures, metadata, custodianship, dependencies, and the minimal legibility needed for future recovery.

Finally, From Quisquiza | Orchids brings the problem back to the trees of the high-Andean forest. Epiphytic orchids do not dig into the soil or own the surfaces that sustain them. They cling, absorb, adjust, and remain suspended. Their form of attachment suggests another grammar for knowledge and memory work: one based on contact without enclosure, support without possession, and continuity without extraction.

Across these four texts, endurance does not appear as hardness, permanence, accumulation, or control. It appears as a set of situated practices: holding the line under pressure, returning after disappearance, sleeping without losing form, and clinging lightly without exhausting what gives support. Together, they trace a movement away from systems that preserve by seizing, stabilizing, or exposing everything, and toward forms of memory capable of surviving through resistance, latency, recurrence, and restraint.

4Coming Soon, If the Fog Allows

Upcoming writings, events, and works-in-progress

Published April 21, 2026

Over the coming months, new threads will begin to surface here — if conditions allow.

One of them is the relaunch of Wayrachaki Editora, an independent imprint devoted to open-access digital books written from the margins: manuals, chronicles, and editorial texts on libraries in resistance, insurgent orality, fragile archives, and knowledge practices shaped by conflict, scarcity, and territory. The imprint resumes its work with the same nomadic spirit that first gave it form, publishing texts that would never survive academic vetting and were never meant to.

Another thread takes shape through Tela de Araña, a set of consulting and advisory services focused on semantic design, metadata systems, community archives, and knowledge infrastructures where conventional models fail. This work unfolds slowly and situationally, through accompaniment rather than solutions, and will be documented here as it happens.

Alongside these developments, the chronicles, notes, and essays will continue. Writing will keep moving between forests and libraries, between theory and ground, following questions as they arise rather than as they are planned. Nothing here is scheduled in advance. Some things will arrive quietly. Others may never appear.

Fog, after all, has its own timing.

5Collected Texts, Sounds & Traces

Archive of published works and recorded materials

Published April 21, 2026

Over time, I have been reorgaizing my earlier publications into a structured archive. Texts once dispersed across journals, conferences, and digital platforms now inhabit defined sections that reflect the terrains from which they emerged. The archive currently includes Libraries from the South, Libraries in the Margins, Public Libraries, Librarianship and Research, and Digital Divide, alongside curated selections from Blog Bibliotecario, Bitácora de un bibliotecario, and the Princh Library Blog.

These sections are not a museum of completed work. They remain active spaces: updated, expanded, and occasionally recontextualized as questions evolve and threads reconnect. Together, they trace the long arc of a professional trajectory concerned with decolonial critique, marginal territories, institutional responsibility, technological inequality, documentary practice, and the politics of memory.

What appears in the present writing grows from those earlier layers. The archive is not a backdrop. It is the foundation.