MADE FOR YOU AND ME 2: hive Being (Stanzas 2017--part 76)
scent of the day: Louna, by Miyaz
Louna is heavenly: a musty dusty dirty rose, almost ashy (more like burnt rosewood than rose itself), with cheesy facets made—especially in first hour—bright and metallic by green apple, cheesy facets that become afterwards more like the barn straw of Dahn Oud al Shams and Ruade in drydown but not as dissicated or as strictly dry grtass as those). / It is a really good quality hindi oud in here. Likely it is the same in many of the releases I have from them (which is a bit sad for variety reasons but hey). The hindi oud is chocolately in nature here but fuzzy, which gives thast dusty vibe—somethign similar I have notived from my neat Yaaseen oil from the same region: Hindi Teeb. It is a musty dusty dirty rose whose typical spa-soap facets are subdued by boozy fruit somehow rich in fermented chocolateyness but low in sugar. / Still lovely when it mellows but I wish it did not mellow so soon. I sense that Moustafa Shoair of Yaaseen and the perfumer for Miyaz have a similar source for the hindi—or maybe even the Miyaz guy is buying from Moustafa?
MADE FOR YOU AND ME 2: hive Being (Stanzas 2017—part 76)
postponing our deepest dreams
at the dinner party, watching him tell that skinny bitch the same factoids that originally won you over
dismissal of newspaper astrology need not mean dismissal of how the distant cosmos influences our lives
you are obsessive in your need for intimacy, not in your need for that one particular woman
snot-nosed grandkids punching the corpse at the home wake, asking their parents, “Why’s this muhfucker so stiff?”
is it really that the guy is creepy, or do you just want to feel important?
savoir-faire flaunted sniffing the wine cork with mock savoir-faire
dying prematurely from a captivity never even sensed
the guru’s greatest teaching is failing his students
rejecting her on grounds of disgust for her past behavior
each school lunch relying on share-food tables of unwanted milk, bananas
pleased knowing that only a few will understand your work
walking by her house each day in hope that she will call out and you may say, “You live here?”
AI will be our offspring, so is there not some joy even if it destroys us?
shitting while she is in the motel shower, after just your first fuck, makes you think her more than just some mistress
after stealing your drugs, the cops drop you off in the hood of a rival gang
private collectors cremated clutching invaluable art
if you learn of your loneliness early enough, at least you are likely to get to experience the deepest companionship: that of elders
easier to believe the massacre was staged
the great career move of dying young
postal workers ungumming rare stamps
lacking others on which to use nuanced language
humans screaming wordless sounds
commiseration fatigue
Mr. Rogers’s Jungian-shadow
singularity dates ever pushed ahead like those of the end of the world might have us think it has yet to arrive
nostalgic beings crushed by the indifference of the remaining nostalgic beings, each on a private island
so much novelty that will be, and already is, beyond the history of which we are unaware
it is as if the apology to her for the obsessiveness of your crush was just an excuse to fire it up again
