>>From: Belacqua
>>To: Perdita
>>Subject: "working"
>>Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2000

I completely understand what you felt by the river. I stare at the sunset sometimes and just get choked. It's not because it's breathtakingly beautiful or anything; it's just that another day has died, and it seems like the sun is going to get some rest (even though that's nowhere near what happens). I just wish I had a giant cloud to fall into where I didn't have to see or think or feel. It's such a pain in the ass to be human. I'd much rather be something completely inanimate.

This morning, after I sent your e-mail, I laid down and tried to rest, and what kept running through my mind were possible scenarios that would happen if I just showed up to visit you. That sounds kind of stalkerish, but it's not like that at all. I'm still getting used to how strangely close our minds seem to work. I realize it's probably getting repetitive that I keep saying stuff like that, but it is absolutely amazing to me.

Anyway, I wrote something this afternoon and I thought you might get something out of it. It's called Narrenschiff, which is the German word for "ship of fools.” I don't know if you know anything about that concept, but in the middle ages they used to put insane people on a boat that just kind of floated around to keep them out of their city. I'm trying to make the reverse of that in the poem, but I don't know if it comes through enough because to me it seems really ambiguous and subtle.

Narrenschiff

We sit facing one another
In this old rotten rowboat
And roll on the ceaseless waves of the sea.
Home is so near and
No land for a thousand miles.
We haven't spoken in so long
That we can no longer speak.
Peace is coming to meet us.

The bottom cracks and falls away
As the water surrounds our ankles.
We stand in our real boat
And embrace while the foolish water
Glides past our knees.
As the sea fills our lungs
We laugh with the knowledge of terrible truth.
We were dead before being born.

That's a first draft. It hasn't been edited at all so it's probably a little rough around the edges.

I love you and hope you're well.
Belacqua

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>From: Perdita
>To: Belacqua
>Subject: Re: "working"
>Date: Thu, 9 Nov 2000

Belacqua,

There's so little I remember about being in school that it blows my mind. The sheer fact that I graduated is practically unbelievable to me now. I don't understand it. I don't understand how I could've possibly done all those assignments. Even though I didn't do some of them, I still did really well, and I just can't figure out how I managed to get my ass in gear for as many things as I must've done. Surely I couldn't go back to school now after having seen what it's like to have no homework. Perhaps it was the whole matter of not knowing what life without school is like, but whatever it was, it still shocks me when I think about how many papers I wrote and how many books I sort of read. All I can remember about writing papers for assignments is the fact that I could sit in front of a computer, typing away for hours and hours, turn in the paper, and not know what it said until I got it back with an A on it. There's no doubt in my mind that you'll do fine on your paper. It always gets easier to do things closer to the deadline. I'm certainly not jealous of the fact that you have to do it, though.

You know, I'm somehow not surprised that you were thinking about what would happen if you showed up in town. On one hand, I guess it’s a little surprising (and admittedly kind of stalkerish), but I KNOW it's not that. For some reason, I trust you more than I trust some of my best friends. I can honestly tell you that I would drop whatever I was doing if you needed or wanted to talk to me or see me, and I hope you would do the same thing for me. I really believe that part of the reason we have "problems" is because we try so hard to be there for people, and they can't seem to see that or appreciate it at all. But I do, and I know you do, and I trust that you wouldn't take advantage of that willingness.

Thanks for sending that poem. Where did you hear about this Narrenschiff concept? It sounds like something I should've come across in studies of German music and poetry, but apparently they left that part out. You know, my parents drag me to the beach every summer, and there was one particular time when I was much younger where I did something kind of dumb and ended up thinking I was drowning. It was one of the strangest sensations I've ever experienced; I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't tell which direction was up. It was probably the most terrifying thing I've ever actually encountered, and somehow you've taken the same idea and made it into such a beautiful poem. It's amazing.

I love you, and I hope to hear from you soon.
Perdita