MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018--part 12)
scent of the day: Civet Regal SE, by Elkhaldi
Identical with Civet Regal PP. Both showcase the various aspects of civet, albeit in a form prettiefied by extra rosiness and musks and spices that lend an incensy cola impression: (1) a urinous sourness, which is an unaged-civet aroma most prominent here like in Blue Civet Dream and in Oudh Infini and Murasakino (Prince Albert barbell glinting after a morning pee), (2) a severe halitosis, which I get pretty much nowhere else but in this fragrance and—much more severely—in the Civet Royale paste I like to layer with this spray (reamed molar of someone who so refuses to brush that the stock clove in the numbing gel the dentist used are not in any way prominent, unlike what I get in other dental rot fragrances like Tigerwood 91), (3) fecal fur, which here is boosted by the powdery musk (antique velvet upholstery that has seen its share or perineal prints), and even hints—even in the Civet Royale paste—of the old honey round warm of the aged civet I get in Civet de Nuit. This is worthy of so much celebration as far as I am concerned. This is one of those scents, sort of like Peau d’Orris Gold edition was in the case of Wasif Reza, that makes you plunge deep into the house with a high standard that few other releases in the house can meet. That is the dark lining of a fragrance so good. It baits you down a rabbit hole of buys.
What this adds is a mentholic woodiness that brigns this closer to Tigerwood style numbign sensation. The effect of the oud at first was to dampen down the nasty civet impression. Tajht was a negative for me, But after only an hour or so, I would say the SE version is equal to, if not better than, the PP version. The civet is allowed to sign still but with this enhanced oudy body. The leatheriness, a castoreum metallic leather, is still there but bend more in a minty oudy way. The diminishment of the castoreum makes this feel less generic—which is saying a lot because the original, at least considered as a whole, remains remarkably unique to me.
The oud that overshadows the castoreum in the original, which I do still feel is present (unlike what Parfumo says), is a Burmese variety. And it behaves just as you might expect a Burmese variety. It gives off both a molasses texture (tarry) and a molasses smell (resinous), veryt much like my experience with Cambodian (in variosu Yaseen releases)—only here the sweetness is dialed back into somethgin very bitter and mineralic with an undertow of cooling menthol.
MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018—part 12)
history crawls out of nothing but its own skin—even the iPhone was no rupture
holiday tables are places to see if family members are hard of hearing
hooking up with someone even more suicidal than yourself
the exact niceties will be different, but it will happen to you
clinical detachment toward news horrors
peer pressured to declare that you too heard the voice, the call
confused about when to rest in the dark of solitary
fucking freshly turned earth, ready for garden seed
acid to undermine body identification
mommy’s new pipe
is that what that is?
darkness interpreted as isolation, deprivation
cow eaters condemning dog eaters
coupled artists must be caretakers of one another’s seclusion
a being who does not laugh is not worthy of worship (unless that being is the very radix of laughter); and one who would have us, who would wish for us to be, ever solemn—that being is to be positively contemned
convictions on his topics stop you from reading the thinker you wish you could read free of convictions
make up for having avoided the delivery room; keep the body at home: wash it, dress it, be near it—learn that you too are bound to die
normal gets you in the end: hated pop plays unbidden in your head enough years that it comforts you into death; you describe the old film to someone using the same ad ploy you rolled you eyes at back then (“Don’t watch it if you’re afraid of spiders”)
blacks are the only people who have declared open season on blacks, and the proof is in the pudding: ask any black person where he would rather walk alone at night: through the hood or the sticks
that moment is a sort of forever, so it was not a lie when he said that he would love you forever
satisfaction in finding yourself less hideous than how beauties from your youth turned out
you keep your dog locked away from sex, but refuse to relieve it with at least a clinical hand job?
why pay some stranger to do your dead mother’s makeup how she never would?
all other things being equal of course, the best religion seems to be the one that does not regard itself as a religion
what to make of a literary culture in a world where reading is done only under severe duress—the comparatively mild duress of ennui, at airports and waiting rooms, now nullified by images on the phone?
the only thing stolen was the guard dog
taking on an apprentice to rejuvenate your love for the craft
it is easy to talk, and even to be, so “Zen” sheltered from duties (financial and so on) by an enabling parent or spouse or so on
peripatetic pissing from the bottle collector, limping his Key Foods cart down the block
happiness reposed upon possessions will fail to withstand the ups and downs of fortune— unless, perhaps, you stockpile enough?
arrogance may diminish wisdom, but often those jealous of wisdom are hypersensitive to arrogance
dope the dying so that onlookers behold a more tranquil end, not one to haunt their time until their time
aspersing your society to improve it is one of the most innocent displays of optimism, of faith, in that society
still a train wreck of low-esteem even after landing the dream job
a first step in at least living symbiotically with depression is not taking it personally
a thick dildo: a starter stud for his—her—new vagina
if we fabricate our own identities, merging how we seem with how we wish to seem, just imagine what we do to others
sexy and yet not aesthetically pleasing
yesterday’s pillory is today’s rehab
selling drugs that shift you to give them out for free
imagine a world where even comedians are censored by the government
African Christians: Stockholm syndrome?
out-of-body experiences have gotten more vivid after TV
“Guuurl, you crazy if you don’t stay with him: he got dough and will beat that ass you if you leave”— Pascal’s Wager applied to human romance
the two siblings were cued in enough to know that injuring themselves would divert their parents, accusing one another yet again of failing their children, from that path of bruises
can bondage to what we approve of be freedom, even if we ought not approve of the what in question?
if we once lived in a world where doctors—doctors— said it was bad for little girls to touch themselves, imagine what horrors are being waged on us now!
we would not impose regulations on spoons for making us obese, but we would at least consider doing so if spoons enabled users to turn even fit crowds obese in an instant
even with the knowledge that she was hacked, it can be hard to avoid taking it personally when your pneumatic sexbot turns on you
peculiarities get trimmed off by youth socialization, but peculiarities open up too
pilfering rolls of toilet paper from restrooms is one thing, but doing so even though without the janitor key you must unravel them first is—quite another
widespread fear and repulsion of street hookers, their exotic power over Time’s Square in the eighties, drew in the young girl holding her father’s hand
