texts texts texts

[onefellswoop]

this one is for texts!

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[necropolitical]

The name isn't a coincidence. I enjoyed working together with him; it began as a [...]

Ah, but if you don't know, perhaps I'll leave him to explain for himself. It would serve him right for keeping secrets. Find a very good and uncomfortable moment to ask him, won't you?

To that, I don't expect you to understand the text. It would be like asking me to know how to play the cello. I never learned, so how could I be expected to understand it like you do, eh?

I can explain it to you in depth if you like, but truly, the [...] basic meaning, the 'gist'? That word. The gist is that we explain why it's not only ethical, but a moral obligation to assassinate those who abuse power, particularly when their reach is global.

No one in particular, of course. ...Although there are certainly examples based on current situations in countries with which we're familiar.

[...]

I wouldn't call it boldness. Certain governments would like to see us all dead. The difference is only that those specific governments now know my name.

You should see the shit I say on X about them.

Now, I've answered to that and would like to talk about your malaise, my Vevay. Not the cause, but rather how I can help. What soothes you, коханий? Even if I can't manage it all now, I'd like to know for the days when you're beside me.

I want to comfort you the way you comfort me.

Time and patience? I can give you all you need and hold you near until it passes. If you're willing to remain with me through all the turmoil to come, the least I can do is offer you peace in my arms.

Even if malaise hasn't struck yet, please, help me be ready to help keep you from overwhelm. From the wrong sort of falling! You should only ever feel the right sort; do you suppose I could give you that every day? Renewed falling, but never into sorrow?

[...]

I have a guess at why it might hang over you - your malaise - at least in this instance. Perhaps it's the same reason fretfulness comes over me when I think of the brilliance of you?

You seem to think highly of me.

[...]

I wish I could speak with you; somewhere private, somewhere that we could be alone and feel surety together. I want to see your eyes and kiss your hands. To tell you all you are to me. I think there's no amount of texting either of us may do to drive doubts away, but I know if only I could hold you, there would be no room for doubt at all.

Here, then, is my guess:

Nova, you are not an academic. This is true. Before I say more of you, let me say this: academia is no indicator of intelligence, capability, or a good personality. In fact, the opposite is so often true.

You are clever. You're intelligent. I read it in every word. You have such charming slyness, such sharp comprehension of the world. (And still, you face this terrible world with such determined optimism!)

You have cleverness in your hands, as well: to fix what's broken, to draw music from instruments I would be terrified to touch.

Nova, you're loyal and loving, as well, and these are so rare.

You stimulate me - ah, intellectually, here. But yes, the other way, as well. Anything I've felt necessary to explain has been contextual only. Have you noticed this?

I have.

You are brilliance itself, my Vevay. My boyfriend. 💙

If your malaise insists on ignoring me, well, I'll find other words to fill the hours until I can be with you and help you forget you were anything but lov cherished for all that you are.