Random Book: Picture of Dorian Gray

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I remember an idea l had in love affairs when l was younger the dregs of which remain, it was to love as a higher thing, elementally, as fire or sea or earth. Interminable, unriddable, love like that, self consuming and for love’s sake alone. I had read some Neruda poems as well, secondary school days.

I picked a random book off my shelf, turned out to be Wilde’s “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. I felt a strange pleasure, that not-good-enough word, to read Basil Hallward say “. . . I really can’t exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it.

I remember an idea l had in love affairs when l was younger the dregs of which remain, it was to love as a higher thing, elementally, as fire or sea or earth. Interminable, unriddable, love like that, self consuming and for love’s sake alone. I had read some Neruda poems as well, secondary school days.

But then, one grows older and becomes like Hallward’s picture of Dorian Gray, kept in an attic. So I smile to read a confession of truth that will lead to tragic ends, written by an author soon to be disgraced. And l wonder if there isn’t someone out there becoming younger for the reason that l am growing older.

#wildean_ramble

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