(bugs of my childhood + something i titled in sims for an author sim. the muse keeps chugging my tea. she also doesn’t fucking exist so i have to do this all myself while half asleep even as my tea disappears.)
Source: www.deviantart.com/art/She-Has-Her-Sources-113515422 but the artist seems to have abandoned her account.
Tender dawn opens over the sky
a curtain of gossamer as thick as gold
a silk worm’s blood
Thinkin’ bout little lightning bugs that dominated summer, the light show circus go on to find better jobs
(caged in bottles)
only the determined light the grass and the walls in the heat of a sleeping sun.
but despite their hard work there
just aren’t enough
to fight the heated lanterns.
to fight outtrick the light.
Thinkin’ bout monarch caterpillars, dark and mottled and wide
of a caterpillar, harmless
walls are warm, and sterile
so I threw them out of school so they wouldn’t die starving
Thinkin’ bout dead ladybugs and beating little wings like glittering fire on carpet and on stone and uncomfortable steps and no fear just exasperation.
why you gotta get yourself killed like that. suffocate yourselves
suffocate each other
The nine-spotted moth crashes into grass-studded rock,
antenna bent and wings spread.
my favorite music is the kind that plunges you into the water and forces me through a tunnel,
funneling you into a pool of sharded light that opens up for only me
broken and splintered in parts, and threatening to fall apart on you, but holding itself
together for my flight
or your descent
or my descent
and lifts you by the chest
to throw me into the ground.
Part of a window at La Basilica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Spain. Taken in March 2016 by moi.
I was looking for a quote from Pablo Neruda when I came across a few other poems I wanted to share. The first one is also a translated Spanish poem by Fernando Pessoa. I’m going to reserve judgment until I read more of his corpus, and then attempt to read and understand it in Spanish, but I’m kind of into this one, if only because it surrounds fragrance and humanity.
I know many people, myself included, who gladly wear the badge of “unnatural and strange” who also adore perfume. I may drop this into the purview of a few people in the fragrance community. Read More
“Here, Heracletus, did you build of fire
And changing stuffs your prophecy far hurled
Down the dead years; this midnight I aspire
To see, mirrored among the embers, curled
In flame, the splendor and the sadness of the world.”
– Princeton – The Last Day by Scott F. Fitzergerald
Light My Fire
Wet: nail polish remover, tobacco
Dry: tobacco, patchouli, vetiver, maple syrup
Really it just smells like a fragrant chewing tobacco, or the basement of a Chinese restaurant reserved for smoking and cards and gangster activity. Like a good chewing tobacco, which I have only been exposed to a few times and have never tried myself, it’s a little floral, but it lacks the sourness that tobacco can have sometimes. It smells like gangsters, but during Sunday mass or attending their sons’ graduations; whichever culture you want to use. As if they washed and scrubbed themselves and their suits clean, but the scent lingers, just like the consequences of their actions.
“So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As ‘twixt a miser and his wealth is found.”
– Sonnet 75 by William Shakespeare
Wet: ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, gasoline, patchouli
Dry: speculoos, lapsang souchong
This one is really yummy. I love speculoos cookies and the spread more than I love Nutella or peanut butter. And the dry down smells like speculoos served with lapsang souchong, a smoky black tea from Fujian, and it’s so nice. I know it’s unisex, but I can’t really see a guy wearing this. It’s very sweet, and it makes me want to lick my wrist, even though that’s a terrible idea. It reminds me of a girl I know who’s incredibly beautiful and warm, and she’s the only one who comes to mind when I try to think of a character profile to fit this fragrance.
“Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunwards I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds – and done a thousand things”
– High Flight by John Magee
Smoke for the Soul
Wet: pepper, cardamom, marijuana, tobacco, citrus rind
Dry: lemon rind, marijuana, tobacco smoke, medicinal herb, leather
Spicy, herbal, woody like an apothecary, except without that weird salty hit that you find in some places. The only non-apothecary smell is the citrus, and that really lightens it up where the other two are heavy and rich. Acts a little like the orange on a Blue Moon or a squeeze of lemon on some salmon. This one I think smells the most like leather. It reminds me of a young, attractive businessman at the airport lugging their expensive tote and their frequent flyer miles and their ability to turn their tiredness into disdain.
tired, cold, and hungry
because it’s as pervasive as
an irregular chord stuck in your head
the notes in panic, staff lines shuddering,
accidentals like scalpels and dynamics in rhythm
only with the screech and screams of Doppler-like thoughts and Doppler-like pain and Doppler-like fear back and forth and back and forth and
the cacophony makes cold feet hurt tripping along.
i’m just hungry
just hungry for a rich life and success that can not come will not come when i am full
when i am full of fear and unrest and failure and i want
to throw up, first, because i cannot
swallow it down.
beginning of an era
The sky was dying
sinking like a feather,
crucified by messy needlework,
pinprick punctures holding weak wisps of threads,
shivering like gossamer and
decaying, seeping into the ground.
The sun melts like butter
to be absorbed
by the darkest of rye
the knife sweeps the sky
on an airy crumb.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook
– The Tuft of Flowers, Robert Frost
Jo Malone Rain Series
Wisteria and Violet
Wet: violet, magnolia
Dry: wisteria, violet, mahogany, cucumber
This is a warm rain smell. The first hit was intensely violets and really no wisteria at all, and in fact the patchouli was more present coloring the violets and making it all remind me more of violets and magnolias warmed under the sun than violets and wisteria in the rain. As it dried though, and I started to sniff up and down the place I applied, the wisteria came through softly, and the punch of violet faded into a more harmonic place along with the patchouli. And it became more aquatic, and more like rain and seems to end like Rain and Angelica.
I can see this on a taller woman whose favorite color might be dark orchid, and who aces those interviews like no one else at a law firm or something similarly high-powered career. It’s certainly feminine, but less girly than Rain and Angelica. It’s mature.