Rille Repository

This is a time for precise and detailed recollection, albeit with a lightness of touch. One of the first things that might be re-established is whether or not several repositories have existed, in different locations simultaneously. A catalogue might be produced, listing the different forms in which these ‘facilities’ have appeared and disappeared. Once basic facts are ascertained concerning the number of repositories, it may be possible to examine both the manner of their dispersal and the effect this might have on their general and localised modes of capture.

The evidence suggests the first repository was a crude, whitewashed box – of unknown material; tall and narrow, with a sloping ‘roof’ panel – that had been stolen wholesale from another area of the building. This transfer seems to have been conceived as an excision of an isolated bodily component that was then forcibly grafted onto another surface – one that was in some way inappropriate to serve as a host. An opening had been fashioned on one of the surfaces of the box, into which the artefacts were attracted. The design of the aperture was apparently the result of instinctive judgment concerning necessary dimensions and relative proportions. There was evidence of experimentation – this was clearly a prototype.

Before the box was embedded in its new location (in this instance where it was to be screwed tightly to a white wall) it had been coloured to match its surroundings as much as possible. It seems that this effort had been specifically talked about in advance. Numerous discussions had touched upon the example of mimicry in certain insect species, and how this was thought to be paradoxically correspondent to a form of availability and promotion on the part of the creature that the repository also hoped to contain – an availability not configured according to known expectations. The repository was to be both available and obscured. Its camouflage was thorough enough, yet the conviction persisted that such a disguised entity, as it were, nonetheless wanted to be found. Its ability to collect artefacts would ultimately be determined through the delicacy of its disappearance.

These strange assertions may have something to do with the nature of the ‘entity’ in this case – an object and latent volume that were positioned precisely to receive information. Yet these ideas seemed perfectly natural – that a perfect ‘magnet’ and deposit point could be almost completely hidden from view and impossible to locate. Moreover, it seemed that the repository’s degree of visibility was crucial to a much wider endeavour, as if a careless decision at this point could have serious consequences much further down the line. If the receptacle were too conspicuous the result might be its immediate removal or the possibility of damage. Just as to close off its aperture would negate its ability to house any artefacts presented to it, for it to be too noticeable would be to cancel out its potency. The right balance had to be struck.

As much as the repository was to accommodate a direct approach whereby articles could be sent to it through existing distribution systems – its location recorded and pinpointed as an add-on to a given address – it was also there to receive the accidental and the unplanned deposit. It was positioned to be open to receive purposive entreaties as much a seeds dropped by birds. Grasses were brewing in this trap, both deliberate and unannounced.