"It would be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable as oneself."
"What a sassy bitch," I mentally said as I read the line, reading Oscar Wilde on the way to a Shakespearean play, man I was cultured as fuck. In reality, it took an exponential amount of metal acrobatics to grasp the depth of his analysis, the nuances of every adjective, noun and verb. I usually retire in defeat after no more than 10 pages, and continued the slow progress with a new zest each time, an appreciation I have formed not out of curiosity, but the wanting to educate myself to understand the ideologies of aestheticism. But, the thing that did intrigue me, obviously, as if I were a nosy, journalist, or simply just a mere gossip queen, was his personal life, and how it seemed to be more vibrant and exciting than his literature itself.
He seemed completely infatuated with Lord Alfred Douglas, or "Bosie". (I do not intend to bore you with many of the details, you can find our, independently, merely by typing in either one of their names into any search engine of your preference.) I simply have chosen to look at their relationship, the truths and the ugliness as a whole.
All throughout their relationship, which was filled with terrible fights and the constant judgement, persecution of and from the people around them, Oscar was forever infatuated with this man. Their relationship is worthy of the books that were written, for them, about them, because indeed their lives were exciting and I would argue stand among the the likes of tragic plays, such as Antony and Cleopatra, only played out on a scale much smaller, but in no way lesser, in the abundance of emotional turmoil. The letters written in his powerfully, romantic style, could be seen as a hyperbolic, but the title I have choose, was not written directly to his lover, but to a publisher, and he did not skimp nor lie about his emotions, and he need not justify his love, but he independently chose to do so. Although I may never know how genuine these words of endearment were, I will naively choose to believe that the words complement the actuality of their lives intertwined.
(Yes this is very random I know.)
Take it or leave it,
Ez
He seemed completely infatuated with Lord Alfred Douglas, or "Bosie". (I do not intend to bore you with many of the details, you can find our, independently, merely by typing in either one of their names into any search engine of your preference.) I simply have chosen to look at their relationship, the truths and the ugliness as a whole.
All throughout their relationship, which was filled with terrible fights and the constant judgement, persecution of and from the people around them, Oscar was forever infatuated with this man. Their relationship is worthy of the books that were written, for them, about them, because indeed their lives were exciting and I would argue stand among the the likes of tragic plays, such as Antony and Cleopatra, only played out on a scale much smaller, but in no way lesser, in the abundance of emotional turmoil. The letters written in his powerfully, romantic style, could be seen as a hyperbolic, but the title I have choose, was not written directly to his lover, but to a publisher, and he did not skimp nor lie about his emotions, and he need not justify his love, but he independently chose to do so. Although I may never know how genuine these words of endearment were, I will naively choose to believe that the words complement the actuality of their lives intertwined.
(Yes this is very random I know.)
Take it or leave it,
Ez
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