On Becoming Wet

To borrow from the beginning of Arthur Rimbaud’s (my literate figure) “A Season In Hell:” “Once, if my memory serves correct—”

Once, I was wet. I was always wet. Just the other day, though, I was particularly wet. This happens in Florida, I have found. The humidity gets so stifling that you are not sweating, but your body is soaked. This water, however, did not come from Florida, per se. The fluid that formed me, the fluid in which I was formed, was not already-there. The water comes and goes, attaches to my body, enters my body; I pass the fluid out. The water is imported from, and exported to, far and wide. We are all wet. We always were wet. I was just particularly wet at this time. I noticed this moment in which I was so very wet.

Where was I? Simply, I was in Gainesville, Florida. But I was soaking wet. The fluid did not merely attach to me; it constituted me. I was at the intersections of the networks of this movement of fluid. My mandatory and necessary participation in the circulation of fluid put me in Rio de Janeiro as much as Gainesville, FL. Bordeaux, France. Moscow. A tiny village in Thailand. A tribal community in the Congo. I was above the Earth, in the sky, forming clouds. As I was always wet. We were all always wet. What does specific space matter, then, other than it gives proximity to my noticing, my moment of being so very wet?

I stumble, time and time again, then, upon the rhizome. The rhizome as swarming network not only of the circuits of water, but of the circuits of water into objects, subjects, into all other circuits. Water as one of the most primary motions of machinic couplings. The topographical model of the rhizome puts my wet self far over there as much as it places me in Gainesville, FL.

My concern, then, was not so much about myself, about me being wet. Me myself was wet. Constituted by this wetness, in such an excess at this noticed moment, I was concerned by the wet. The wetness that constituted me myself. I was not concerned about getting dry. I was always wet. My wetness put me in Rio de Janeiro. Bordeaux. Moscow. Tiny villages. Tribal communities. I did not need to be there; my wetness put me there. In terms of care and well-being. Though I would like to experience these places that help me stay wet.

I would like to stay wet. I was always wet. My concern does not end with me myself, being so very wet. My concern extends to Rio de Janeiro. Bordeaux. Moscow. Tiny villages. Tribal communities. We keep each other wet. I would like to go to these places to undergo the experience of closing in on the wetness. The wetness I once noticed at this moment “in” Gainesville, FL.

The wetness that contains me is what opens up our well-being. Once I was wet. Because I was always wet. We all were.