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02/19/2021
Siebenkäs
35 Reviews
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Siebenkäs
Top Review
36
Late.
So let's be honest - is it really that important whether
Characters that are somehow close to your heart,
walk around in real life or are just made up?
I don't think so.
Just the other day I was sitting again in my favorite cafe,
the Bohemian. (I know, Lockdown, etc., but the cafe
is in a relatively safe, virus-free place,
namely, in my imagination.)
As soon as I came in, I noticed that today
something strange in the air today. No, it was not
Eau de L'Occitan, of which I had just borrowed a
Friend a few efficient little sprays thundered
no, it was also not the smoke (in the Bohème
one is allowed to smoke again, since there are these new
Cigarettes, which are proven to be very healthy.)
It was more like a kind of electric tension,
that hung in the room like a fine mist.
Crowded it was, unusually crowded for just before midnight.
But just my favorite table, slightly elevated at the
back window next to the white tiled stove,
was free.
I ordered myself a cappucino and tomato juice,
sat back and began to relax.
"Tomato juice is off," said the pretty waitress,
"...absinthe is what you usually drink!" She said and gave me a glass of the greenish drink a glass of the greenish drink next to my
Cup.
Well.. A fine whiff of the Eau de L'Occitan rose into my
Nose. I leaned back relaxed and felt
a pleasant touch of melancholy. Do you know
this soft kind of melancholy, which can carry you so pleasantly
so pleasantly? Maybe melancholy is just the little
Sister of relaxation Or maybe I'm just too emotional.
All at once there was a slight draught, the door opened wide
and in walked a gaunt figure, who was truly
strangely dressed. Which in the "Bohème" is saying something
in the "Bohème". The man - it was such a man
it was - wore a grey cloak, which was fastened with a
purple clasp across his chest,
underneath shone a pale orange suit
emerged. The wide cloak was starred with stars of a
Kind of silk that shimmered in blue and green.
Purposefully, he crossed the room and came directly
to my table.
"There's room here, it'll fit..." he spoke with something
purring, slightly hoarse voice. And already he
next to me.
"Um, good evening...", I said.
"Thanks, it's going so
well," he replied. "What do you like about
this little water of L'Occitan the most?"
"I... well - most likely..."
"The lavender, because it's so soft and almost creamy and
kind of comes across as rather un-lavender...?"
"Exactly!"
"That's because the perfumer was able to implement his own
Idea of lavender could implement, which is rather
rare. He gently put in a little pepper
for it and other spices, perhaps also immortelle.
Is that all you like about it?"
"No, not just that, there's something else special..."
"Go ahead and tell me. Anything, even about the milk pot..."
"All right... When I first smelled it, there was soon
that woody note. I mean, it's always there, of course,
such a certain warm, woody, slightly smoky-sweet
and clean aura, not flashy, but harmonious
and so cuddly of course. With the
special lavender, this gives a slight barber-
shop aura, terms like vintage
come to mind Hipness or Provencal summer freshness. Only -
the first time there was something else... so
a kind of flashback..."
"Tell me about it in more detail..."
"Suddenly, the exact smell was back, that
i remember from my childhood... When my grandma
would turn on the stove in the kitchen. Dry, well
well-stored logs that are just getting hot,
they still smell of fresh wood, but also already
of delicate smoke, and also of freshly burning
newspaper.. And even the pot of milk.. which is steaming on the stove, the milk may burn
a little bit..."
"And you're looking for that chord now..."
"Yes, yes, I am... but somehow it doesn't want to
"but somehow it doesn't want to be..."
I actually muttered the last more into my
Absinthe.
"Now watch this. Such a Parföng with all its
curious ingredients can trigger maybe 50, if it's
70% of what you hear as a fragrance Scent hear. The rest you do yourself, alone with
your imagination."
His eyes twinkled a little as he said that.
"Yeah, well, I guess it could be
that," I said. So really
i didn't know what he was getting at.
"Just that you have no control over it. Because strictly
taken, you don't do it, it does
it does it to you. And that's exactly why such wonderful
Chords are not perceptible every time, but only
sometimes. Or very rarely."
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure I
had really understood him.
"You must learn to decouple will and imagination
decouple them. Like riding a horse, let go of the reins.. and tighten them only when necessary. Good
Perfumers can do that, because that's what you need for a
really good elixir. That's what you need in music.. as a composer, where it's also about chords, as well as
in painting, maybe also in architecture and
in general, everywhere..."
Gradually, something like a
tangible sense emerge from his words - only that I still
couldn't quite grasp it.
"All that matters is that the chord is inside you - you
know what the master said - only he
can see the sun whose eye is sunny.
This, of course, also applies to the nose..."
All at once there was a cool breeze in the room again,
the door opened and in walked a strange
Lady. She wore a trench coat and a rakish
Pepita hat. Self-confident, she seemed rather
elegant and rather resolute. Briskly she came
to our table "My dear, you come now, and at once...",
she said in a firm voice that somehow
familiar. "You know we are at Geheimrat
Schlüter for a perfume guess!"
My dinner guest did not hesitate long, but rose
rose immediately. He nodded at me and winked.
"Have a nice evening, I'm sure I'll see you again soon
again..."
As they took a few steps towards the exit
he turned back to me.
"Greetings from Anselm, too!"
"Come on now, Nelson!" She tugged him by his
Cloak towards the door.
And just like that, the two of them were completely gone,
almost as if they had never been there.
And then I remembered who she reminded me of.
Could that be? Could that be Richie's aunt?
I didn't stay too long either. I sniffed
my wrist again, in the hope that
Hope the Omaofen milk pot note to catch.
Hach - there - no... maybe... not yet...
I took it upon myself to work on it.
For today, however, I was just too tired to do so.
With a very slight stagger, I made my way
to the exit and trudged out into the fog,
we call reality.
Characters that are somehow close to your heart,
walk around in real life or are just made up?
I don't think so.
Just the other day I was sitting again in my favorite cafe,
the Bohemian. (I know, Lockdown, etc., but the cafe
is in a relatively safe, virus-free place,
namely, in my imagination.)
As soon as I came in, I noticed that today
something strange in the air today. No, it was not
Eau de L'Occitan, of which I had just borrowed a
Friend a few efficient little sprays thundered
no, it was also not the smoke (in the Bohème
one is allowed to smoke again, since there are these new
Cigarettes, which are proven to be very healthy.)
It was more like a kind of electric tension,
that hung in the room like a fine mist.
Crowded it was, unusually crowded for just before midnight.
But just my favorite table, slightly elevated at the
back window next to the white tiled stove,
was free.
I ordered myself a cappucino and tomato juice,
sat back and began to relax.
"Tomato juice is off," said the pretty waitress,
"...absinthe is what you usually drink!" She said and gave me a glass of the greenish drink a glass of the greenish drink next to my
Cup.
Well.. A fine whiff of the Eau de L'Occitan rose into my
Nose. I leaned back relaxed and felt
a pleasant touch of melancholy. Do you know
this soft kind of melancholy, which can carry you so pleasantly
so pleasantly? Maybe melancholy is just the little
Sister of relaxation Or maybe I'm just too emotional.
All at once there was a slight draught, the door opened wide
and in walked a gaunt figure, who was truly
strangely dressed. Which in the "Bohème" is saying something
in the "Bohème". The man - it was such a man
it was - wore a grey cloak, which was fastened with a
purple clasp across his chest,
underneath shone a pale orange suit
emerged. The wide cloak was starred with stars of a
Kind of silk that shimmered in blue and green.
Purposefully, he crossed the room and came directly
to my table.
"There's room here, it'll fit..." he spoke with something
purring, slightly hoarse voice. And already he
next to me.
"Um, good evening...", I said.
"Thanks, it's going so
well," he replied. "What do you like about
this little water of L'Occitan the most?"
"I... well - most likely..."
"The lavender, because it's so soft and almost creamy and
kind of comes across as rather un-lavender...?"
"Exactly!"
"That's because the perfumer was able to implement his own
Idea of lavender could implement, which is rather
rare. He gently put in a little pepper
for it and other spices, perhaps also immortelle.
Is that all you like about it?"
"No, not just that, there's something else special..."
"Go ahead and tell me. Anything, even about the milk pot..."
"All right... When I first smelled it, there was soon
that woody note. I mean, it's always there, of course,
such a certain warm, woody, slightly smoky-sweet
and clean aura, not flashy, but harmonious
and so cuddly of course. With the
special lavender, this gives a slight barber-
shop aura, terms like vintage
come to mind Hipness or Provencal summer freshness. Only -
the first time there was something else... so
a kind of flashback..."
"Tell me about it in more detail..."
"Suddenly, the exact smell was back, that
i remember from my childhood... When my grandma
would turn on the stove in the kitchen. Dry, well
well-stored logs that are just getting hot,
they still smell of fresh wood, but also already
of delicate smoke, and also of freshly burning
newspaper.. And even the pot of milk.. which is steaming on the stove, the milk may burn
a little bit..."
"And you're looking for that chord now..."
"Yes, yes, I am... but somehow it doesn't want to
"but somehow it doesn't want to be..."
I actually muttered the last more into my
Absinthe.
"Now watch this. Such a Parföng with all its
curious ingredients can trigger maybe 50, if it's
70% of what you hear as a fragrance Scent hear. The rest you do yourself, alone with
your imagination."
His eyes twinkled a little as he said that.
"Yeah, well, I guess it could be
that," I said. So really
i didn't know what he was getting at.
"Just that you have no control over it. Because strictly
taken, you don't do it, it does
it does it to you. And that's exactly why such wonderful
Chords are not perceptible every time, but only
sometimes. Or very rarely."
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure I
had really understood him.
"You must learn to decouple will and imagination
decouple them. Like riding a horse, let go of the reins.. and tighten them only when necessary. Good
Perfumers can do that, because that's what you need for a
really good elixir. That's what you need in music.. as a composer, where it's also about chords, as well as
in painting, maybe also in architecture and
in general, everywhere..."
Gradually, something like a
tangible sense emerge from his words - only that I still
couldn't quite grasp it.
"All that matters is that the chord is inside you - you
know what the master said - only he
can see the sun whose eye is sunny.
This, of course, also applies to the nose..."
All at once there was a cool breeze in the room again,
the door opened and in walked a strange
Lady. She wore a trench coat and a rakish
Pepita hat. Self-confident, she seemed rather
elegant and rather resolute. Briskly she came
to our table "My dear, you come now, and at once...",
she said in a firm voice that somehow
familiar. "You know we are at Geheimrat
Schlüter for a perfume guess!"
My dinner guest did not hesitate long, but rose
rose immediately. He nodded at me and winked.
"Have a nice evening, I'm sure I'll see you again soon
again..."
As they took a few steps towards the exit
he turned back to me.
"Greetings from Anselm, too!"
"Come on now, Nelson!" She tugged him by his
Cloak towards the door.
And just like that, the two of them were completely gone,
almost as if they had never been there.
And then I remembered who she reminded me of.
Could that be? Could that be Richie's aunt?
I didn't stay too long either. I sniffed
my wrist again, in the hope that
Hope the Omaofen milk pot note to catch.
Hach - there - no... maybe... not yet...
I took it upon myself to work on it.
For today, however, I was just too tired to do so.
With a very slight stagger, I made my way
to the exit and trudged out into the fog,
we call reality.
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