Lord Alfred Douglas
Oscar and Bosie, as his friends called Lord Alfred Douglas, met in Chelsea when Bosie was 22 and Wilde 15 years his elder. Oscar immediately became enamored with Bosie who was thrilled that such a literary genius was interested in him.
Bosie referred to Wilde as "the most chivalrous friend in the world" and was willing to forsake his birthright for the friendship. They exchanged letters, with some of Wilde's containing what could be interpreted as expressions of passionate love.
"It is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing," Wilde wrote to Lord Alfred in 1893. "Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry."
Bosie was flagrantly and openly homosexual, a spendthrift and gambler, according to Wilde's biographer, Richard Ellman. He was a dropout at Oxford, a ne'er-do-well who was as loose with his morals as he was with his purse. He had his family's temper, which flared when he didn't get his way.
Bosie knew of Wilde's affection for him early on and succeeded in using it to his advantage. He relied on Wilde's money when his own ran out and would pout and threaten self-injury when Wilde complained of his behavior or criticized his literary skills. For the length of their relationship, Lord Alfred used Oscar's love for him as a means to get what he wanted. In the end, Wilde sacrificed himself to protect Lord Alfred, who remained a loyal, yet manipulative, friend.
For Wilde, who was much more low-key about his sexuality, it was a love-hate relationship, almost akin to the moth and flame. He lusted for Lord Alfred, but knew that Bosie would only hurt him. His head told him the cost of Bosie's love was too expensive, his heart considered it a bargain.
"Wilde wanted a consuming passion," Ellman wrote. "He got it and was consumed by it."
кстати, отличная биография Уайльда, написанная Ричардом Эллманом, советую почитать
"He got it and was consumed by it."
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lena_hadesПРЕСС-КОНФЕРЕНЦИЯ В НЕЗАВИСИМОМ ПРЕСС-ЦЕНТРЕ
( перепост приветствуется )
НЕЗАВИСИМЫЙ ПРЕСС-ЦЕНТР ПРИГЛАШАЕТ ЖУРНАЛИСТОВ НА ПРЕСС-КОНФЕРЕНЦИЮ
ДЕЛО О ВЫСТАВКЕ
"ЗАПРЕТНОЕ ИСКУССТВО",
ФАКТЫ И КОММЕНТАРИИ
пресс-конференция состоится
27 мая в 12.00 в Независимом Пресс-Центре
по адресу:
Москва, ул. Пречистенка 17/9, 1 этаж
участники пресс конференции:
Андрей Ерофеев
Виктор Ерофеев
Николай Сванидзе
Лена Хейдиз
Виктор Шендерович
Юрий Самодуров
Николай Олейников
на пресс конференции будут обсуждаться
следующие темы:
факты травли культуры, факты агрессивных нападений на ценности культуры, на ее объекты, институции, на ее создателей и популяризаторов, о необходимости противодействия акциям унижения и уничтожения культуры,
о правах культуры на эксперимент и инакомыслие и тд
В общем, когда на ТО машину отдавал — написал заявление в страховую и предварительно записался на кузовной ремонт аж на 29 декабря. Прийдется теперь полгода ездить с поцарапанным бампером
Ecstasy
Written by John Christopher Clinton
Out of control
Heads are rolling quickly
Everybody and their mama thinks
they deserve more than the average man.
When you’re sold off
Torn apart by hunger
Maybe then you'll assume the fate
everybody thinks they need to live.
I can see
you're all afraid of me
That's okay 'cuz see
I'm not the kind to flee
And run away bleeding.
The pain is, vanishing
All of the tears I cried
All of the years I lived
They're all up there now
Shinning down upon me.
Out of control
Hearts are going quickly
Nobody's got the time to think
whether or not this is good for them.
When you're old and
Breaths don't come so easy
Don't you want somebody there with you?
Somebody who knows what they mean to you?
I can feel
your arms embracing me
I can say what you mean to me
We're not here because
This is all we have.
Your voice is, ecstasy.
All of the things you say
All of the jokes you make
They send me flying
So high I know I'm lucky.
The pain is, vanishing
All of the tears I cried
All of the years I lived
They're all up there now
Shinning down upon me.
I can feel
your arms embracing me
I can see
this is just what I need
Your voice is, ecstasy...
Your voice is, ecstasy...
So I know I'm lucky.
Waiting for me,
pausing for you.
take another breath,
well, guess it will do
Another long night,
masquerading into a brand new day,
nothing ever chances,
so get out of my way
Always given limited choices,
failed optimism is at stake,
never seem to have lost this voice,
furthest from a point that can only break
Something must give, if one wants to live
are you prepared to take it that far?
I refuse to be the one who dives,
tired of this negativity that refuses to die...
mathiasthom
written 11/17/08
that's what he said of her,
the next new prospect,
too smart for one of the smartest,
but I think, I know
I was just dumb enough, just needy enough
just convenient enough.
no, I know, that's not it,
not what was meant
not what was said
look away and bite your lip
take a breath
okay, smile, it was a joke,
I swear.
I fumble with facts,
struggle with a straight answer,
an organized thought.
first my nerves shredded away
memory, vocabulary..
make it make sense, momma,
take the reins please
just this once, twice,
okay just for a year, two max.
who cares what the drugs do
to already foggy thoughts
when pain will dull them even more,
I get by.
I get by
when you're here.
but then you leave.
Then I am bed-ridden
in mind and in body
dragging bits into bed
plates scissors pens
notebooks crackers boxes
apple cores banana peels
clothing pillows
fragments of a life
I don't know I want
nested around me
safe and sound
wishing for calamity to
come crashing to my rescue.
author
mabithdarlingI love it!
how passe, she'd say,
we use shadows instead.
on the ceiling at night,
on the sidewalk by day,
the imprint of lace on your breast
from low light and that black negligee;
from dusk to dark,
car headlights slipping sideways,
making up the permanent and the fleeting
in our host of nightly companions.
one window, two street lights
and an old license plate --
they make a minimalist's martini glass
on the sloping attic ceiling.
move it just a bit each way
before it's perfect again
before it can stay.
some are invited, some force their way;
a part thrown in anger,
a piece given away.
fights create new shadows
but fear makes us crawl out of bed
to put them back, to make it right.
now a new one, a new room
where nothing changes,
where nothing strays.
here is a picket fence, or better
the divided windshield of 30's car
it's high contrast, darling, it's film noir,
but it doesn't belong to me,
not yet, not today.
author -
mabithdarling
