Dear Fuel

Dear Fuel,

This letter is somewhat speculative; initially, on account of its interest to you beyond the first sentence.

Still with me?

Good.

I am an admirer.

Have I lost you? Please stay with me; it’s nothing sordid, I promise.

For years I have been adrift: caught up in a current that has kept me from any destination, other than the reversal, or else proliferation, of itself. All around, I watched my contemporaries indicate down the slip-stream towards a monopolous river: with its central reservoirs; landmark watermills; and aquatic irrigation systems. Perhaps some youthful anarchism held me back from a similar migration. I cannot be sure. The needs began to outweigh the ‘musts’ – a person has to eat, right? – the nine-five ‘Process Operative’ position beckoned. And there I stayed, forever ambling and circling in a current beyond my control. That isn’t to say it wasn’t of my own making, but I’m not one for self-flagellation.

To be honest, I’m a little unsure as to the purpose of my metaphorical ramblings. I expect there is a point yet to emerge from the decadence of this current whim. I don’t even like water. I didn’t learn to swim until I was well into “middle age”; highly embarrassing, I know. But you see I’ve never had any need for it. I have travelled far and wide; tried to reconcile myself within the order of ‘things’ (notice I’m avoiding that awful phrase “trying to find myself”) – and just when I seem to be clearer on one or more matters, the current changes. I’m swept aside, asunder, flung backward or forward, by an event I could not anticipate nor, on reflection, fully identify. Just when I feel the world, and everything it holds, is my oyster…I realise I am the oyster, and the world is far from mine. So I decided to learn to swim. Trivial, no? Perhaps. But only on the surface.

“Surface”

That’s ironic. I’ve since realised that, in all my land-dwelling nomadism, I have neglected the smooth space par excellence. Three quarters of this world is water. Once upon a time it was all water. Imagine that. Imagine what my beloved Great Uncle would say to me in light of this revelation: land, vegetation, streets, tower blocks, tables, chairs, theatres, libraries, books, schools, conversation, language, text, paintings, culture, sculpture, railway, war, race, religion, law, idol, politics, currency, international relations, treaties – all but the tip of the iceberg. And to ignore that fact is to partake in the illusion of…things.

“Things”

Yes.

I feel I may be reaching a point. A tip. On top of which I may find a plateau. A plateau on/in which there is nothing but the smooth space I desire.

Remember this:

‘Fuel – keep on smoothing.’

I apologise for the….dynamism…(?)… of my thoughts.

If you have come this far, I commend your attention span, and I’m humbled by your courtesy.

I am an admirer and I’m privileged to have corresponded with you, even if this is a mere monologue.

I have no agenda.

Or, my agenda is a lack thereof.

Thoughts are free – so why not offer them as such?

Regards,

Qfwfq

(Image by Niharb)

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