I direct this letter to you because of my empirically-derived belief that no-one other than Nobody himself (and that’s if we’re lucky) will read my letters. My deepest desire would be to pick the brain of the prophet Charles Darwin the 2nd. Perhaps, if I were desperate, I would consult the 3rd, or, on an especially bad day, the 4th in the familial line. However, after Charles Darwin the 11th ignored my previous and more important letter, I am left with little hope that any in his ancestry tree would consider me a person worthy of conversation.

I am left with freak incapabilities. I am left with a nagging individual in my life whom I cannot seem to circumvent, primarily because, without quality advice, I cannot decide whether I should attempt to circumvent him or not.

It is shameful how the value of the letter has diminished past the point worthy of a return note. But, life continues. And I personally will continue. I will continue and continue… regardless of whether anyone reads what I write or not — for precisely and assuredly two reasons. Firstly: because I have innumerable thoughts. Secondly: because I have no eyes, short legs, and (as a result of my status) am heavily incentivized to live textually.

Something tells me it would be prudent now if I would get to the point.

I’ve come to believe in a dragon whose many fetal blossoms extend from its rectum, hanging deep into the Caspian Sea from long nutrient-delivering tubes similar to umbilical cords. These blossoms thrive in the cool muck at sea’s great depths. Meanwhile, the mother dragon glows burning rich red light as it floats burning upon a lily pad. From a distance, she looks like the sun (if the sun had been overcooked). From nearby, she radiates seemingly more heat than imaginable.

She never flies or even bothers to move her wings anymore, because she is trapped. She is kept in place by her many umbilical cords which her children pull on from down below as they dig into the cool mud. They do this to protect themselves from their mother’s tremendous heat. As they dig deeper into the muck, their mother is forced to swim ever-forcefully in the opposite direction in order to avoid being drowned.

I worry about what will happen when winter comes or when the levees give way. I wonder what she will do. What will her children do? Why do I care, and do I care?, for this species that obliterated my ancestors and could easily obliterate me upon desire or accident.

I worry in context of the stories I remember reading long ago in my personal Undeleago Book. I used to read them before my eyes turned to raisins, fell out, and grew into terrible children who ruined Thanksgiving, grew large and ran away to a bus to go who-knows-where just a hundred seconds after their birth. Back before then, when I could read visual text, I spent my time reading my Undeleago Book.

There was one story about grand tomato farms run by underwater ant colonies at the bottom of European and Middle Eastern oceans. It had a theory built around it. The way it goes is that God (who I am unsure about) gave humans and one other species the necessary ingredients for civilized society. Nobody has ever been certain what the second species was. But God (or whoever) would give two species a chance, to allow one to prove themselves supreme. Some people believed the underwater tomato-farming ants were the second Crown Species because they have agriculture and other essential ingredients.

I wonder if the aforementioned dragon babies might be on their trail, or, if somehow this dragon species plays a role in all of this. I wish one of the Darwins might provide me with a quality point of view that only they can provide. I don’t expect that they will. So, it is my mission now to uncover my lost Undeleago text, in order to reference the relevant literature once more. As my mind has matured in place of my forfeited ability to see, I should be more capable of understanding now.

In the meanwhile, there is no knowing what the winter will bring, not until the cold comes. But, right now, I need to prepare.

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