I have become obsessed with the work of Elizabeth Barett Browning and Oscar Wilde. How are such radically different people, able to influence me at the same. The life and work of both litterateurs are in no way converging. I could almost call them parallel lines traversing the universe of thought, never to meet. Yet by influencing my thought almost simultaneously, uncannily enough, both theirs worlds seems to have converged in me.
It reminds me of that poem. The mosquito that holds my blood and his blood; and in the most unlikely place, within the mosquito, our blood become one - we become one. I am the mosquito within whom Wilde and Browning combine. With me will perishe the thought stew of them in me combined. Strange, very strange indeed.
It reminds me of that poem. The mosquito that holds my blood and his blood; and in the most unlikely place, within the mosquito, our blood become one - we become one. I am the mosquito within whom Wilde and Browning combine. With me will perishe the thought stew of them in me combined. Strange, very strange indeed.
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