Though I hardly know you I think I can tell, these are the reasons I think that we're ill.

Have you seen The Piano? I think I am obsessed with the idea of drowning. Septimus Warren Smith dreamed of drowning too. A few days before he took the plunge out of the window. I suppose once you give up the struggle it would be as easy as crossing a bridge. He's an explorer, like Darwin, the champion of humans. He simply passes through a green mist. He's tossed onto the shore, where he lies for the whole world-the battered soldier of death. In turn I let my head fall in a tub of water for I want to feel what he felt. He's able to describe his dreams to Lucrezia. She loves him but she's horrified. Even more so because he isn't. He should be. His naked eye is looking at the emptiness she cannot see. She cannot understand the madman's ludicrous fancy, that Violet could for Virginia. I want to be able to have that knack, you know. For saying the right thing. To save him from drowning. I want him to put his head on my knee, so that I can stroke it and kiss it. But for that I must save myself first.