Muse Juice Dammed by the Lie of Moral Desert (ROUND 1)
scent of the day: Epic Woman, by Amouage
A spiced tea and floral scent obviously related to Epic Man in virtue of their shared dryness and low sweetness. I like the sharp herbal edge of Epic Man more. I have much more of a personal connection to Epic Man and I do prefer—even independent of my own imprinting on that scent—the leather-neck ruggedness of that scent compared to the spa treatment here. That said, I would not put up much of a fight if you argued that Epic Woman was the better crafted fragrance.
Epic Woman is very serious, somber even (perhaps because of the diasporic context). Beyond just the lack of sweetness and moistness, that alone makes this very different from Interlude Woman (which is like a lady who, although above thirty, has a girly and playful vibe and even still snaps her strawberry bubblegum). Because of the connection with Epic Man, one could easily create a narrative here where one of these swarthy bedoins (Jafar type men) I get with Epic Man was now treated to a spa day—where women, perhaps after a good genital-reach wax and a ball-sucking handjob to get out all that gunk and quiet the heartrate, worked at the creased and sun-ravaged skin of his neck and face—something like as follows (and which captures many of the notes): (1) jasmine micellar water, then (2) rose water spritz, then (3) green tea antioxidant essence, then (4) hyaluronic acid, then (5) snail mucin, then (6) sandalwood face cream, them (7) eye cream and vanilla lip balm.
This is more of a dusty wood fragrance (sandalwood and guiac) than an ambery one, but the vanillic elements in the deep dry down creates almost this impression of vanilla beans cured into twig consistency and woody aroma, now dusty in an attic. Epic Woman has that Unutamam green bite of dusty bathbomb rose. But it has that appeal and comfort and understated emotion of Honor Man, tilted somehow in both cases but especially here in the melancholy direction. Yes, metallic rose, green like the stems and leaves, coupled with the spice cloud (a similar desert spice cloud like we get in Epic Man) creates this fine grit dust impression—sandstorm aftermath.
This is fast and full of energy like Overture man but, unlike Overture Man, it is a lightweight: it lacks the deep gooey boozy base and so it lacks that high speed high density tension we get in Overture Man. Whereas Overture Man is a fast heavyweight like Tyson, this is more like the featherweight division speed and style/edgy full of zing much faster and yappy like a yorkie with it spicy cumin frenzy and yet with spa bath bomb femininity. This has that Rosie Perez style fieriness. She is the perfect representation of this fragrance.
Pink pepper gives that Perez zing. The rose is a lot like Eau de Protection, and there is also the black pepper frankincense aspect of honor man. Overall it is more similar than I imagined to Unutamam, a much more aggressive and insane herbal-oregano fragrqance. It is like a less herbaceous tea version of Unutamam, a spa version. This sucker is frenzied but with a British tea lightness and elegance. Bitterness, even more bitter than Epic Man arguably, stays here even as the woodiness becomes dominant. The amber vanilla is light, little weight. Metallic rose zing is much louder and then we get, int eh deep drydown, the subtle guiac of one of the opuses. Rose and geranium vintage feel—this would create a lovely atmosphere in an antique shop that specializes in old dolls (and it does for that reason make me think of my Aunt Darlene).
*Let’s workshop this poem about the tragicomedy of a poet who, shackled to the lie of moral desert and the cult of genius it has long enabled, cuts himself off from the muse in honor of ego over art.
Muse Juice Dammed by the Lie of Moral Desert
The bound poet scribbles out the gift he put on the page: inability to grasp its meaning,
he thinks (denying the not-up-to-me-ness his heart knows humbles every human idea),
indicts him as unworthy— as if the buck must stop in the artist, sovereign not struck.
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right)
