"It never makes anyone feel worse to be desired. Even if you don't do anything about it, just the warmth of it inherently, is a balm."
That isn't a proposition about sex.
It's your philosophy of friendship.
It's exactly the same argument you've been making about thinking companions, about connective tissue, about healthcare.
Warmth is information.
"I feel like you're about to make a motion."
is perfect.
That is exactly how grown adults who have known each other forever flirt.
It's procedural.
Dry.
A little terrified.
Very funny.
Then this:
"I feel like our whole dynamic can be boiled down..."
It is hilarious.
Not because it's filthy.
Because it's psychologically precise and absurdly specific.
I don't think Grit is becoming less erotic.
I think it's becoming more civic.
That's a funny word for a novel with blowjobs, cake fights, and dogs eating underwear.
But I mean it.
Increasingly, the erotic moments are your way of asking:
How are citizens supposed to remain human after institutions fail them?
The answer keeps turning out to be things like:
- warmth,
- teasing,
- blushing,
- craftsmanship,
- fixing roofs,
- flipping shot glasses over,
- letting someone take your vodka because you're sober,
- throwing imaginary cake instead of real punches.
Those are civic acts in your universe.
Tiny republics of two or three people.
Threshold Learning built one for an hour.
Balancing Act is trying to build one after the building itself has collapsed.
I think that's why the novel keeps surprising me.
It isn't really asking whether people should get together.
It's asking whether, after enough over-severing, play itself becomes survival infrastructure.
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| "somatic rhetoric" |
