Thursday is for Conjuration

Good business conjuration. Intent for success.

I've been resisting posting anything today because I felt like there was nothing to blog on. That's a flat out lie because there's always something, lots of something, going on in my head all the time, mostly relating to perfumery, though perhaps not anything you'd be interested in reading about.

So, let's meander through the festering cesspool of aromatics within the djinn's smoky brain, shall we?

Bloggers blogging on too many blogs of the same subject. Big deal. It's not like too much radiation, or too much fat in your diet, or too many cancer cells, or too many funerals to attend. I like being a fly on the wall, don't you? Some walls I cling on a bit longer than others. Some walls I won't go near at all. It's only too much if you try to visit all the walls. Who has time for that? Certainly not me. I have perfume blotters to land on.

The scent of emotions. Like expectation. This comes from a student who wrote that a letter in the post smelled like expectation. This intrigues me. I know exactly what expectation smells like. Right now it smells like kombu, salty and smoky and pungent from the sea. Later today it will smell like fresh, raw, organic lemon juice, coconut milk, macerated lemon peels. Tonight it will smell like conjuration, waxy blue candles, sandalwood incense, warm golden light and silvery moon glow . . . tomorrow it will smell like freshly turned soil where watermelon and pumpkin plants will go.

Etsy fees. I feel like I'm paying them every week. I know that's a good sign, good business and all, but . . . geesh. Fees. It feels like the world is being fee'd to bankruptcy these days -- I'm not talking about Etsy anymore. General usage fees. Nice. Reminds me of when I escorted my friend to the local pound with her potentially rabid dog and the SPCA worker, a hunched over sort with a phlemy chain smoker's rasp, said, after my friend turned the dog over, "There's a fee for that," then blew smoke in our faces. We walked away discussing the possibility that we'd just met the twin brother of Juno, the social worker from the movie Beetlejuice.

Atay, that new perfume extrait that I'm waiting on, has finally turned the corner from ew, sweetie, your dirty vanilla knickers are showing, to oh, baby, aren't you just the spicy little thing!? I knew it would, but it was scaring me there for a while. The vanilla bourbon CO2 I used is a real monster, a monster in that she kind of sits on top of all the other elements in a composition, like a more regal, prettier, feminized Jabba the Hutt. Squatty? Can vanilla be squatty? Squatty for about 3 weeks, then lifts a leg or flipper or fold to let everyone else out.

The perfume-in-progress, the one based on Indian incense, is still being worked out. All the major parts have been cast (champaka and tonka), and the minor parts too. The initial trials were done using that squatty vanilla and I just couldn't handle it. I was ready to smash the trial batch against the wall. So I fiddled and fussed and figured it out. I'm thinking linden might work here too, but that'll take a few more trials . . .

So that's it for now. There's more in there, but I have other things to do.