Julian Assange’s Lover: Improper Emails To A Young Woman
JULIAN Assange is the 33-year-old, self-confessed improper lover courting a 19-year-old girl at University of Melbourne in 2004. He was studying physics and mathematics at that time. Gawker’s Adrian Chen says the emails he sent the woman known only a Elizabeth are “creepy”. It is a “stalkery courtship”.
It is nothing of the sort. If this is supposed to cast a light on Assange’s attitude to women, if only shows him to be courteous and tweedy. Assange writes like a teenager who has just read Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas. In these alleged emails to Elizabeth, he sounds not a lot unlike Uncle Monty in Withnail And I – “Flowers are essentially tarts; prostitutes for the bees”; “There is, you’ll agree, a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ oh, so very special about a firm, young carrot. Mmmm, excuse me” – sauced with Marlon Brando in Last Tango In Paris.
Assange is neither stalking nor creepy. He is wooing a younger woman, effecting a world-weariness and the language of the gnostic diletanttant to get him laid. It fails. But you should admire Assange’s perseverance and effort. The man is an Australian trying to pull a bird with no lager or pies. He never stood a chance…
I found your company and kisses very appealing. I want to explore them further. Are you busy Monday night? I enjoyed our moonlit walk and the easy intimacy of our interaction. I had hoped that such an interaction would produce an interesting friendship if nothing more.
Every Man’s Dream:
It is not so hard to thaw or be drawn.
Our intimacy seems like a memory of a strange dream to me. A dream that probably would not translate to the real world, but this was never my desire. There was something unusual about our interaction. It is almost as if I had scripted it and left my fingerprints in the ink. I’m not concerned with your messy reality. I don’t want to see it and I confess I could not place you in mine. But I still want to see you in isolation. I am unconcerned with the context since time and your silence has made me philosophical; but when I first wrote the heat of your breast pressed against me was still vivid in my mind.
The Olds Don’t Get us:
At what time are your parents happy for the phone to ring? I have many friends overseas and am used to making and receiving calls at any time. Something that “proper” people (in the pejorative sense) find faintly horrifying.
Your reaction to my phone call lacked dignity and has stung me. You seemed above such trivialities. It saddens me to have misjudged you.
The Old Shagger:
A man feels that whish is soft, warm and yielding in the arms must also be in other circumstances. But like Maugham’s Miriam you are hard above the neck; voice salted and manner typical of your class when not trying to impress. Your response to my entirely well intentioned amusement was the understanding and empathy of the committed solipsist. You pulled a tiny petal off my world when I thought you were to add one but to all around is the meadow, where I shall again dance and skip and sing until some fool girl should brush my wing.