scent of the day: Synesthesia, by mesOUD
This is a medicinal fragrance—not the Egg Shen Chinese apothecary of Prin but much more like a medieval apothecary (see Meo Fusciuni’s odor 93) crossed with the juniper-gin vibe of Rake and Ruin. One gets impressions of a Merlin figure operating amid the incense and botanicals of a stone basement dampened by the European swamp. The greenness here, plus the glut of animalics, invite—perhaps more so that TSVGA’s Fiona—medieval-Shrek associations: sweaty leather, animal-marked conifers, and herbal tinctures (the European bay leaf rather than the asian Thai basil or pandan).
Mentholic green with an ashy-oud drydown that works well with the medicinal tobacco vibe I get from 2AM too. There is a cool glut of animalics here. Like in Fiona, though, they blend well into a fuzzy pelt of a swamp critter (castoreum, muskrat, deer musk) with quite a history. The civet was a bit recessive to my nose on first wear but now I see that it sings without shyness. The electric scream it offers, which is loud in my favorite civet scents of all time (Pinoy Sirun’s Blue Civet blue dream and Elkhaldi’s Civet Regale), is here but—despite being amplified, one could say, by the sulphur lightning of skunk and the sour-wine of the rose—is in the background (like it typically is in classic french perfumery). The saltiness of ambergris, woven into the velvety invitation of spiced-chocolate deer musk, is here: salt crust on a rusted ship hull.
There is an old-world feel of resin spread over wood here. The woodiness is both dry and damp—this a result from pencil-shaving cedar mixed with a variety of ouds (strong in their tobacco medicinality) and a sandalwood that gives the impression of warm milk in a wooden bowl. The resinousness is both stone-like and chewy—this a result of the mineralic olibanum and the plum-jam-forgotten-on-a-leather-belt labdanum and the pharmacy-honey propolis and the bitter-fungal myrrh.
We have bigtime greenery and in different senses, from the brighter green of opening to the darker green of drydown. I feel all of the green, despite its facets, is rooted in a pineness that is a function of (1) olibanum (which gives a bright pine smell with a metal edge reinforced by the bay leaf and the pine-needle-in-gin juniper), (2) real tinctured Baltic amber fossil (which gives a scorched pine resin aroma with hints of asphalt baking under sun enough that your sneakers make an unsticking sound each time it lifts off the ground), and (3) cedar moss (which lends, especially with the help of soapy-lemon Melissa, a coniferous cleaning fluid impression).
The Iron Duke tobacco style is here, as it is in 2 AM. This seems like a kitchen sink fragrance. But that is the intent. I always get perplexed when people call Prin kitchen sink. After being deep in the artisanal land we see Prin is an excellent perfumer. He straddles artisanal with niche so well. If his ingredients were better it would be an absolute wrap.
I need much more time with this. This is only my third wear. Unlike my first wear, I am floored by this one. I get so many orris facets here now—an orris rootiness in the green medicinality. Maybe it was only how the contrast smelling of having an oud oil on my arm as well later impacted the smell of Synethsesia but it ended up becoming very tropical on the first wear—a tropical island pine, which is an oxymoron like the whole scent. I have too see if I get that on my second wear.
MADE FOR YOU AND ME 3: hive Being (Stanzas 2018—part 14)
what is ghost hunting without trespassing?
sterilizing the economic and cultural drains
a dog in a dog suit
but attending to intent can undermine the excuse to be triggered!
squares squarely struggling against being square
postpartum exorcism for depression
it is more than steady income: crack fiends worship you
the conversation as to whether you should lie about what you are in for
threatened by the sex toy even though you shopped for it with her
architectural tendencies against togetherness
newborn standards of consent have several women unclear about hookups formerly clear
cheering the returning vets as if they have just won the big game—ever think that that, and the mindset that is its radix, amplifies the trauma and alienation?
expert-guided virtual tours of fully-recreated spots (Lascaux, Titanic) are missing something for those, still too human, wanting not just whatness but thisness
whites who sway with “Amens” to the claim that we suffer for the sin of the first people, also squawk in jugular rage: “Why should I suffer for what my ancestors did to blacks!”
features necessary to belong to the category— Catholic, conservative, or whatever—in theory, need not be necessary to belong to it in practice
you seem to be the same as someone made of different particles (you, say, ten years ago), but not the same as someone made of your exact particles (someone, say, two thousand years ago and yet made of your exact particles)
citing that we experience coronal solar eclipses whereas an observer on, say, Pluto would not— our feeling chosen is fueled by Earth chauvinism
before we learned that racism is so structural that for all actions and events (and objects?) it is a matter not of if but of how it is racist, we might have been overcome with feel-good tears seeing the one toddler give the other a flower
the innocence of having no reputation to manage
templeless shrines
an oppressor will not fight to the hilt for the oppressed— unless the oppressor is John-Brown insane (seven-thirty), which will be the case, for example, in a state of true love
shamed by neighbors for being lazy when, in truth, you just really love the aura of dead leaves—do you rake?
unfazed by the possibility that reality— even you—is an illusion, for everything would remain thereby as real as before
confronting old beef at a funeral, taunting and squaring up even right above the ditch
citing that we experience coronal solar eclipses whereas an observer on, say, Pluto would not, our feeling chosen ignores periods of weekly eclipses on Pluto
crybully campus chants cloned for soft rooms safe from toxic diversity (“wrong think”) fuel drumhead verdicts toward anyone who upsets (fashionable, protected) minorities even if he (“Oreo”) wears their skin—especially if, since such fragile voices weigh more
as a doctor he knew, yes, that those pills would have pulled him back from suicide, but under their spell he would be lessened
that woman in the threesome who has genuine concern for neither of them being left out
revolt due to too much taxes is okay here, but revolt due to drone strikes on schools and hospitals is not okay there
who would have thought all these women all these decades were vile racists, applying charcoal masks to their supremacist faces?
hurt people hurt people
waking up early because of withdrawal
bird songs continue above as you are eaten alive
artists who create not to prove their worth
the ex’s name, forever in your passwords
wondering what ever became of the dead man’s cherished dog
“No, I really do subscribe to Playboy for the articles!”
pacified by knowingly fake tears of forgiveness
boys taught to be ever on the prowl for tail
a limp detectable only by nightfall
the more ironic the more world-weary?
we inch closer to the point in our era of anti-intellectual outrage where Stephen King, for having created (years ago) the kid-killer Pennywise, will have to protect his neck— perhaps by becoming a spokesman for the very ideology fueling the safe-space terror
human and chimp, side by side, inspecting the scalp of their young for nits and other unwanted critters
is it better to burn those (books) that so trigger us, or submit them to didactic revision?
carvings handcrafted by natives repeating that same design
in fear of the immigration camp, families put off showing themselves in need of help even as hurricane seas rise in their rooms
actually, there was no malice as the boy watched the food fight on TV—only salivation
obstructing difficult conversations (about death, usually) by uttering boilerplate wisdom: “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves: one step at a time”
that tepid stage where you no longer draw conclusions as to whether you will make it come every ebb and flow of suffering
fair, competent, trustworthy corporations secure long-term profits, but only in a world where consumers have not gone extinct
can no longer do flaming gay impressions; can no longer do even Chinese accents; can only do dorky white guy impressions
