Imprints

The Imprints

Wayrachaki Editora

Libraries without walls. Texts on critical librarianship, margins, memory, rebellious archives, community museums, information guerrilla, biodiversity and biblio-naturalism, semantics, and classification as resistance. What academic review committees dismiss as "subjective." What mainstream publishers don't know how to label. What the system cannot contain without taming.

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El Zorro de Abajo Editora

Sound and silence. Materials on traditional music, instrument-making, experimentation, oral sound traditions, and cultures that use rhythm to remember. What doesn't play on the radio. What doesn't fit in a score. What musicology has whitened, reduced, or erased. What resonates only if heard with other ears.

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Estudio paramuno

Some works — including narrative fiction and photography — are not part of either imprint. They are published under Estudio paramuno, a creative space for projects that fall outside editorial lines.

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What These Imprints Are?

Our publishing imprints are shaped by context, necessity, and memory. They are not traditional brands or editorial lines, but situated platforms for sharing work that does not fit elsewhere — work written in the margins, in dialogue with territory, and against forgetting.

Both imprints were born from the need to publish work that does not adapt to the dominant molds — neither academically formatted, nor commercially viable, nor ideologically neutral. These are not labels for market segmentation. They are editorial refuges. Narrative thresholds. Makeshift shelters for text, sound, and silence. They exist because some writing needs to be printed in the fog, and some books demand a different kind of soil.

Each imprint has its own tone, format, and trajectory, but they share a common root: the refusal to outsource memory to systems that do not care for it.

These imprints are not platforms for prestige or publicity. They are memory devices. Political gestures. Sites of experimentation. We do not publish for recognition. We publish because some things must be remembered — and some must be said.

What Do We Publish?

We publish experimental manuals, field notes and fiction, sonic ethnographies, theoretical provocations, epistemological sketches, traced silences, and other materials that emerge from the margins — of disciplines, languages, and geographies.

Our titles may take the form of pamphlets, digital chapbooks, handmade editions, portable USB files, or books designed to rot well.

We don't ask our work to conform. We ask it to matter.

Where Do They Come From?

These imprints are based in the mountains of Quisquiza, near the páramo of Chingaza, among the native forest of the Colombian eastern Andes. They are shaped by dense mist, humidity, orchids, and yelling toucans. Every book is situated. Every paragraph knows moss and absence.

We write through winds crossing from Choachí and the Rio Blanco valley. We typeset with cold fingers, under the shadow of Tunjaque. We listen to what the land is saying.

Editorial Stance

We understand the conventions of bibliographic systems — MARC, ISBN, standardized cataloging — and choose not to replicate them. Our approach is deliberate and selective.

While we recognize and respect movements such as metadata justice, radical open access, and feral publishing, our position is different. We operate from the páramo and the forest: a zone of transition, altitude, and persistence. From there, our editorial practice grows.

Our publications are built slowly and with care. They resist simplification. They are not optimized.

Our Practices

• ISBN: We don't use them. Instead, we assign internal codes: WAY-VOL-01-2026, ZOR-CUEN-03-2024, etc.
• Metadata: Each title includes a downloadable metadata packet (BibTeX for citation in academic environments, MARCXML for library systems, RDF / Dublin Core for linked data, JSON-LD for web archiving, HTML entry) designed for citation, archiving, and networked solidarity.
• Blurb: Most titles don't have one. If they do, it's probably ironic. Like "This book is a serious threat to institutional sleep. -- Not written in Library Quarterly."
• Author Bio: Optional. Sometimes erased. Sometimes replaced by territory. Sometimes by silence.
• Lineage: Every book includes a brief note on how it was written, by whom, with what tools, under what sky. It is an acknowledgement of land and memory — a node in a geo-epistemic archive.
• Time: We use ecological markers when relevant. Not just dates, but seasons, birdsong, and water levels. Like "Written during fog season in Mundonuevo, near the waterfalls."
• Colophon: Always present. Always real. Like "Created at 3000 masl, typeset in rage, printed in survival and drizzle, designed to survive mold, produced in 80% humidity and with a crazy male blackbird knocking frantically on the window because the printshop is located in his territory."
• License: Use it — and quote it properly. Print it. Translate it. Distribute it. Forget it. Bury it. There are no restrictions except extractivism. Like "This book may be used by anybody with a printer, a shovel, a love wish, and enough rebellion in their blood."
• Acknowledgements: Always honest, always relevant. Like "Typed with frozen hands and a chamomile tea in Quisquiza, under clouds coming from the south. The turpial yelled in the mano de oso when the work was completed."

We Don't Make Books. We Unroll Memory

We don't simulate the codex. We break it — at least in our digital editions.

Our works are not "books" in the traditional sense. They're scrolls — vertical, modular, stepwise documents designed to be read on screen, not held in the hand. We've abandoned the recto-verso logic, the centerfold-spread nostalgia, and the spine-as-organizing-metaphor.

This is not a stylistic rebellion. It's an epistemic position. We believe in knowledge that flows downward — like rivers, like rain, like Andean quipus. Each page is a fragment, a square tile, in a procession of meaning. What you'e reading is not a layout. It's a path.

We refuse left/right page metaphors. We design for wandering, not flipping. We create vertical memory paths — and we know what that implies. And yes — if one day we go physical, we'll embrace the codex honestly. But we won't fake it here.

It's not that we can't make books. It's that we choose not to — because we've read too many that pretended to be neutral, and we're not.