An Alphabetical Exchange of Intimacy between Alfred and Oscar

My Own Darling Boy,

I got your telegram half an hour ago, and just send a line to say that I feel that my only hope of again doing beautiful work in art is being with you. It was not so in the old days, but now it is different, and you can really recreate in me that energy and sense of joyous power on which art depends. Everyone is furious with me for going back to you, but they don’t understand us. I feel that it is only with you that I can do anything at all. Do remake my ruined life for me, and then our friendship and love will have a different meaning to the world. I wish that when we met at Rouen we had not parted at all. There are such wide abysses now of space and land between us. But we love each other. Goodnight, dear. Ever yours,

Oscar

My Dear Darling Oscar,

Entangled in the string that affixes our souls are dense drifts of envy, lies and dashes of disgust that stigmatise our eternal bond. Though the world we live in boasts an ocean of romances, that ocean is as dilute as a cup filled with a salty solute and saturated solvent. While they struggle and strive to ingest their love, how lucky are we to have met in this birth, pure as lovers who do not have to pulsate the same energetic efforts to sustain our bond. Yet despite my truth to your, our burgeoning bond is shadowed by a dark cloud that is ready to downpour the droplets of a cursed misery. To you those droplets fell in the form of sweat and to me it fell as tears, tears from the decades of frowns, laughs and squints I faced when having to deal with the jarring judgement of society. As much as I pray that those dark shadowy clouds would disappear into the stratosphere, I am stoned by what I have experienced whilst you laboured in prison. I hope you forgive my reluctance to reconcile as you exemplify with the abyss that sits between you and I but please be aware that between that abyss, the string that holds my love for you, shall never untie.

Alfred

My Darling Boy,

I am more than aware of the multiple entanglements between the string affixes our souls or dark clouds that lures over our bond. Just like you, being released from Gao bears no value on my immaterial freedom as I am still subject to the wandering eyes, sinister smiles and piercing speeches of society. Yet I believe our love for each other vanquishes the bitterness of the world which in turn is conquered by the burning passion we share for literary artworks. If the world does not want us to meet eye to eye then be it that way. The power of our love is such that it prevails through the exchange of letters and sonnets as opposed to pecks and kisses. Yet as I write these letters, I still feel the aura of your slim-glit soul, the reverberation of your red-rose lips and your gentle speech as it echoes the passion of poetry and chasms of boyish charm. Yet if ever we have the chance to reconcile, maybe in another time, when the world is recovered from its idiosyncrasy and the entanglements on our string have disentangled, let us remake our story together. Forever yours,

Oscar

My Own Darling Boy,

We are more than competent to perpetually pestering each other with the dire documentaries of dejection and distance we have experienced during the past two years. Yet as you have rightfully said, may these alphabetical exchanges bet the outlets through which we can celebrate and cherish our pulchritudinous passion for literary artworks through sonnets, ballads and villanelles that hegemonize the physical intimacy we are destined to be forbidden of. During the many times that I have had to write at Magdalen, your image has never failed to materialise in the depths of my mind. How much do I miss the wise consultations we shared as you reviewed my work. You are my literary muse as I am to you. Hence may these letters be the place where our erudite ideas connect and form the beautiful artworks of literature that you describe. If the power of fate destines us to be held in captivation, may the power of literature be the void through which we celebrate ‘The love that dare not speak its name’. Ever yours,

Alfred

TALES OF NATURE

Seated by Our Oak Tree amidst a Verdant Vista of Nature

An Owl hoots and toots the Tune of Wisdom.

I travel down the clepsydra of time reminiscing

The Cherishing Talks and Walks we once had that

Blossomed my Burning Battle for Knowledge.

When we starred down at the wheatfield.

You’d talk of how the length of each stalk of wheat represents the demure struggle of our ancestors as they first met with nature to supply our basic need.

When rainy droplets of dew glisten down the lush ferns that surround us.

You’d talk of them as scarce drops of Mercy representing the scarcity of forgiveness and goodness in this self-centred world.

When our sunflower bed beautifully bloomed.

You’d talk of Math where its seeds would spiral from 2 to 3 and 3 to 5 and 5 to 8 thus nature and its mathematical architecture being beyond perfection.

When birds and squirrels and frogs and sloths all assembled up the Oak tree.

You’d talk of Peace and Unity as our world grapples to attain it when above us the spirit of peace prevails among the fauna.

When the soil we see turns dark and fertile.

You’d talk of the Cycle of Life and that we all return to Earth as a spirit frolicking with the earthworms, nematodes and fungi that rejoice in the mighty crust of soil.

Returning  back to reality.

Grandpa…how I miss thee!

I stare down at the soil where you reside where you maybe feasting with the Spirits of Nature.

I still think back to our winsome talks on nature which each tell us a charming story in this big illusion of life.

THE SELFISH MAYOR’S LETTER

Inspired by Oscar Wilde’s Happy Prince

No. 54, Augsburg Ave. –

Freising, Bavaria

No 10, Augsburg Ave. –

Munich, Bavaria

20th January 1732

Dear Chief Minister,

It is with deep regret I formally write to inform thee of the most unfortunate yet unusual event that laid hither before our eyes this morrow.  The fulsome statue of the fortunate prince that once boasted the riches of gold, rubies and sapphires is now reduced to an empty block of stone looking more or less as a beggar.  While we are still at work to unravel the rogue behind this notorious deed, my councilors didst find a grotesque little swallow at his feet who shall be thrown deep into the woods presently.

We are still unsure of its exact involvement in this peculiar event yet I have presently craved the councils to work on a proclamation to prevent birds from dying by our properties but rather die on some other man’s lot.  Further, having received consent from the art professor that a statue with no gold, rubies or sapphires is of no use to us we hast melted the empty statue at the furnace presently.  Though strange that the lead heart of the prince had not melted we fared to throw it off to a dusty heap where it lays with the grotesque swallow

Now that the column remains empty my dear lord, it is up to us to decide whose statue shall replace the Happy Prince.

I wish to remind thee that it is I, as the mayor, who hast fared to end the petty struggles of this town better than any prince or mayor whom ruled ere my mayorship.  I hath ensured that every woman in this town doth not have to work for days sewing garments for the queen’s maids so they use their time and money to feed their little boys and girls with oranges and bread and buy ’em physics.  Today none of our children, men and women fend their lives with river water and hast enough income to buy food, physics and shelter and not get ill

Further to this, I hath been most lenient with our playwrights this fiscal year so they never hast to spend hours throughout the night writing scripts in the cold with brown and crisp hair and no food to eat. In fact, having discussed with the director of the theatre we were at consensus to grant ’em longer deadlines and more food as they write their scripts while entertaining the nobles, the York men and the poor at the grand theatre by dusk.

Finally, my worthy lord, I hath granted jobs to all of my citizenry so now thou won’t find a single match wench by the alleyway trying to find a couple of nickels to evade the spleen of their might fathers.  Today every man and woman, young or old, rich or poor, enjoys life as would they had rubies, sapphires and gold.

Therefore, mine dearest lord, it is with great rational justice and logical reasoning that thou inform the corporation that it is mine statue that should’st stand proudly over the kingdom of Freising where poverty is inexistent, children art not ill, jobs are enjoyed and no child hath to be beated by their enchafed father for financial reasons.  We are a kingdom of equality and I am their true hero so I sincerely crave thou to carve my statue of the finest silvery linings of platinum wire, glistening pearls to decorate my cloak and two exquisite diamonds to varnish my kind eyes.

Till I hark thy good word my lord, I shall see that the birds are expelled from our kingdom, the statue is merely melted and that the lead heart and grotesque swallow is thrown further and further into the woods into a dusty heap where it shall ne’r return back to our kingdom.

Kind regards,

Mayor of Freising

THE BISHOP’S LETTER OF CHANGE

Inspired by Oscar Wilde’s Young King

115 Forst Cathedral

Bremen Route, Lusatia.

112 Archangel Cathedral

Forst route, Bremen.

12^th January 1668

Dear Archbishop Schneider,

As thou wot, the coronation of the king went quite aberrant this morrow when he refus’d to wear the pearl spectre, jewel crown and golden tunic but rather wore a flower spectre, rose crown and leaf coat thus baffling the kingdom’s citizenry.  As I stood befuddl’d by his uncanny apparel, I beseech’d him to answer how men resembling goat herds were rightful kings. Alas, he rebelled back, saying he wouldn’t wear pearls, jewels and gold made from the hands of perpetual pain, blood and poverty at our realm of God.

Thy excellency, thou and I wot that this orb is full of evil, notoriety and immoral deeds yet God hath forever promised us our orb will be engulf’d in his lief blessings.  The king quoth’d to me on how may I say this in sermons when our citizenry is still as poor as our church mice and struggle to eat their daily bread while they strive to serve the barons, royals and priests. ‘Twere that instant, the king broke protocols and swept into the realm of God where a ray of light scintillat’d through the colour’d stoup highlighting his majestic silhouette where his rose shone brighter than any jewel, white flowers beautiful than any pearl and leaves as gold as gold.  Thy excellency, he is the chosen one, our rightful king, he was chosen by the hands of God to rule our citizenry and changeth our unfair and corrupt caste system w’ere royalty and religion prevails.

To see our King dazzle in an aurora of divinity was a sight I obsequiously observed realizing sooth in his words how evil we hath been.  Thy excellency, God hath promised us an orb of joy, justice and gen’rosity yet only once we set the path can we realise it.  Following the miracle that laid hither before my eyes this morrow and the king’s words of divinity I insist we changeth our system for the better.

I plead thee we commence our reformations to respect the rights of the peasants by diminishing our tithes, granting more indulgence papers and warranting more sermons to our citizens of any race, class or age.  Furthermore, I crave that we maketh our practice more democratic permitting the peasants to share their word of wisdom to keep blossoming our kingdom. Finally, I plead thee, thy excellency that henceforth no man should’st weave another man’s gold hath he hath to strive for his daily bread while slaves die in the mighty seas to fetch the perfect pearl just as foresters search the spouting streams for jewels as they desiderate for a drop of water. 

Thy excellency, this is purely what methinks after witnessing the miraculous act of both Kingship and God this morrow. Till thy consensus, God shall ne’r warrant us the orb we all summon; an orb of joy, justice and generosity and not cheerlessness, corruption and cruelty.

Your Eminence,

Bishop Shweigner – Forst Cathedral.