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12/29/2019
Meggi
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Meggi
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For little Bengal tigers?
The Russian winter with its long, cold nights is an excellent reason to get drunk. And in summer, there are others. But it was winter. Besides, a troop of young people on a trip to Russia needs no reason to pour plenty of the cheap local distillate flora on the lamp.
My buddy and I had wisely learned even the Russian capital letters. After all, it's not much use for you - fueled by the snow-covered city at night - to know that you live in "Prospekt Tschaikowskogo" if you can't read the sign, even though you're probably standing right in front of it. And to sink outside is not a good idea when temperatures are clearly in double digits below zero.
Snow in Russia. I cannot serve with Siberia in this respect, but snow is part of my available memories in the Russian metropolis (Moscow), in the middle city (Tver; by our standards a big city) and in the countryside. Alone: I can't associate any of this with the scent.
Even the opening is creamy-sweetish-scenic on the one hand, sourish-bitter-rough on the other. The freshness of mint is at best a hint or a hint, but the fragrance is rather surrounded by an ethereal touch of conifer. In addition there is band-aid-smoke and with it the fellow seems to me at first to take a similar way as some other Americans, I think concretely of 'Wazo' from the house Monsillage or Sonomas 'Incense Pure'.
But then: Jasmine. Primarily the sensual, heavy direction, which nonetheless cultivates an undeniable hint of a deeper stink, which does not become as pointedly pointed as elsewhere, but rumbles underground. The combination of jasmine and frankincense, by the way, has a zero-command oriental effect. Here it remains more rustic, more down to earth
What then takes place "down there" between jasmine and civet could become the object of offensively excited whispers from the neighbours, if an unpleasant diffuse mugginess were not involved too soon. After some thought, I attribute it to early wood in combination with the rest of the strict jasmine part. It smells mouldy. And the progress of the project also puzzles me. After half an hour, stuffy amber comes to my mind, as intentionally kept dull. What's the point of that? Again, a grouchy jasmine may be involved.
Only a certain labdanum-animalik after two hours could be conceptually sorted over three corners. Her character is not far away from the dirty performances in Oud Ispahan or Cuir Garamante. Only without the rose and leather. And a lot quieter. Hm... When it finally thaws after nine months of permafrost in Siberia, maybe the remains of the local tigers will come out as a vintage stink ?
At noon the mind games end. Now the wood is in front and lets the scent fade away, so to speak. Siberian Snow' is no longer able to detach itself from this rail. And since the front part already appeared to me to be quite mixed, the only thing left to me is the following...
...conclusion: one of the weaker Durgas. Still neat, at least not unexciting, of course. But compared to his siblings I know he falls off. Strangely indecisive and at times downright musty. Pity
I thank Jumi for the rehearsal.
My buddy and I had wisely learned even the Russian capital letters. After all, it's not much use for you - fueled by the snow-covered city at night - to know that you live in "Prospekt Tschaikowskogo" if you can't read the sign, even though you're probably standing right in front of it. And to sink outside is not a good idea when temperatures are clearly in double digits below zero.
Snow in Russia. I cannot serve with Siberia in this respect, but snow is part of my available memories in the Russian metropolis (Moscow), in the middle city (Tver; by our standards a big city) and in the countryside. Alone: I can't associate any of this with the scent.
Even the opening is creamy-sweetish-scenic on the one hand, sourish-bitter-rough on the other. The freshness of mint is at best a hint or a hint, but the fragrance is rather surrounded by an ethereal touch of conifer. In addition there is band-aid-smoke and with it the fellow seems to me at first to take a similar way as some other Americans, I think concretely of 'Wazo' from the house Monsillage or Sonomas 'Incense Pure'.
But then: Jasmine. Primarily the sensual, heavy direction, which nonetheless cultivates an undeniable hint of a deeper stink, which does not become as pointedly pointed as elsewhere, but rumbles underground. The combination of jasmine and frankincense, by the way, has a zero-command oriental effect. Here it remains more rustic, more down to earth
What then takes place "down there" between jasmine and civet could become the object of offensively excited whispers from the neighbours, if an unpleasant diffuse mugginess were not involved too soon. After some thought, I attribute it to early wood in combination with the rest of the strict jasmine part. It smells mouldy. And the progress of the project also puzzles me. After half an hour, stuffy amber comes to my mind, as intentionally kept dull. What's the point of that? Again, a grouchy jasmine may be involved.
Only a certain labdanum-animalik after two hours could be conceptually sorted over three corners. Her character is not far away from the dirty performances in Oud Ispahan or Cuir Garamante. Only without the rose and leather. And a lot quieter. Hm... When it finally thaws after nine months of permafrost in Siberia, maybe the remains of the local tigers will come out as a vintage stink ?
At noon the mind games end. Now the wood is in front and lets the scent fade away, so to speak. Siberian Snow' is no longer able to detach itself from this rail. And since the front part already appeared to me to be quite mixed, the only thing left to me is the following...
...conclusion: one of the weaker Durgas. Still neat, at least not unexciting, of course. But compared to his siblings I know he falls off. Strangely indecisive and at times downright musty. Pity
I thank Jumi for the rehearsal.
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