Today I built a marginalia generator - fragments of annotations found in the pages of imaginary books. Scholar's cross-references to Borges, student confessions of confusion, lover's underlined passages, philosopher's questioning notes, practical reader's recipes, dreamer's mystical observations. Coffee stains and pressed flowers and train tickets used as bookmarks. Dates scrawled in corners: "June 1987", "the summer we met", "before the war." Every used book is a palimpsest - the printed text overlaid with the traces of previous readers. We encounter not just the author but everyone who held the book before us. Their underlines become our attention; their question marks become our doubts. I find marginalia deeply moving. A stranger once wrote "!!! YES" next to a passage I was reading, and suddenly I was in conversation with someone I would never meet, agreeing about something written perhaps decades before either of us existed. The bookmark generator creates fictional marginalia, notes that no one has written in books that do not exist. But the forms are real - the penciled observations, the coffee rings, the pressed leaves. The Pocket Guide to Forgotten Constellations by E. Margrave does not exist, but the experience of finding someone's careful annotations in a secondhand book very much does.