Mydarkflower
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Mydarkflower
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"Make a fist!" or "Food that causes violence."
My mama has a mania for cleaning, which naturally included us when we were children (and today the grandchildren, of course).
She ran after us, felt, constantly with a washcloth, cleaned around at us and after any food intake on our part the call "Make fist and go wash hands!" sounded
The purpose behind all this was that on our way to the bathroom for God's sake we should not touch anything and should not stick anything. Light switches and door handles were then operated with the elbow, the faucet with the wrist, towels that had fallen down were lifted with the feet etc.
This behavior has become flesh and blood for me and.... i hate nothing more than to have sticky hands or to stick anywhere at all.
This feeling causes an absolute and immediate washing compulsion in me.
Everything else is no problem: Dusty, full of mud, encrusted or greasy I can stand it the whole day..... but sticky!
Not a second.
An ex of mine once had the insanely great idea - probably after he had seen "9 1/2 weeks" - to bring some momentum into our sex life with his presentation of a food-based meeting I just disgusting, because I think it's sticky - and so in the heat of the moment I poured a glass of honey over my chest and belly.
He had certainly thought about it and also painted certain things, but so quickly he could not see at all, there came first my fist flown and then I was already with a sentence under the shower.
We weren't together much longer after that either.
As beautiful as "Andalusian Soul" is, as tasty and edible it smells of acacia honey and vanilla sauce and as much as I would like to eat it ..... the stuff sticks!
Well, not really, but felt.
As if I had rolled myself naggically in sugar syrup and trickled some of it into my nose.
I can't stand it.
Where's the shower?
She ran after us, felt, constantly with a washcloth, cleaned around at us and after any food intake on our part the call "Make fist and go wash hands!" sounded
The purpose behind all this was that on our way to the bathroom for God's sake we should not touch anything and should not stick anything. Light switches and door handles were then operated with the elbow, the faucet with the wrist, towels that had fallen down were lifted with the feet etc.
This behavior has become flesh and blood for me and.... i hate nothing more than to have sticky hands or to stick anywhere at all.
This feeling causes an absolute and immediate washing compulsion in me.
Everything else is no problem: Dusty, full of mud, encrusted or greasy I can stand it the whole day..... but sticky!
Not a second.
An ex of mine once had the insanely great idea - probably after he had seen "9 1/2 weeks" - to bring some momentum into our sex life with his presentation of a food-based meeting I just disgusting, because I think it's sticky - and so in the heat of the moment I poured a glass of honey over my chest and belly.
He had certainly thought about it and also painted certain things, but so quickly he could not see at all, there came first my fist flown and then I was already with a sentence under the shower.
We weren't together much longer after that either.
As beautiful as "Andalusian Soul" is, as tasty and edible it smells of acacia honey and vanilla sauce and as much as I would like to eat it ..... the stuff sticks!
Well, not really, but felt.
As if I had rolled myself naggically in sugar syrup and trickled some of it into my nose.
I can't stand it.
Where's the shower?
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The little fear
"Mortal Skin" was on my watch list from the beginning.
I found the name incredibly fascinating.
How do you think the scent of mortal skin, i.e. that of every human being and perhaps also that of every animal, is converted into bottles?
Can this succeed?
I don't know the answer even after repeated tests yet, but yes, "Mortal Skin" reminds me of certain situations of being alive.
First of all the summers of my last school years.
As soon as school was over, I dashed home, grabbed my swimsuits and cycled to the outdoor pool.
I stayed there until I was totally exhausted from swimming and the blazing sun and drove through the dry fields on the dusty way back home.
There I rested briefly, then I had dinner and sometime I sat down to my homework. I abhorred them, like probably everyone who ever went to school, but I loved to write with the fountain pen and colourful ink, which is still the case today.
The fact that I already smoked makes the overall picture of Mortal Skin almost complete: It smells of hot, sunburned, dusty skin, of cooling sweat and of cigarette fingers that have touched the fountain pen too far down and are now smeared with ink.
That smells somehow strange, but I still like it really well.
Well...I said the overall picture was almost complete...because now comes the big but.
In the background of this fragrance is something that gives me goose bumps.
A shadow before the bright summer sun.
Something lurking beneath you in the water.
Someone who secretly follows you on a dirt road.
Eyes that watch you rest.
A strange feeling when crossing the inadequately illuminated alleyway.
Sudden steps behind you that make your pulse shoot up.
Someone with whom you have just enjoyed yourself deliciously and who looks at you all at once with a look that makes you all cold, who extinguishes the lights on this so far shining evening and makes it dark.
Fascinatingly beautiful and frightening "Mortal Skin" is unbearable for me.
I found the name incredibly fascinating.
How do you think the scent of mortal skin, i.e. that of every human being and perhaps also that of every animal, is converted into bottles?
Can this succeed?
I don't know the answer even after repeated tests yet, but yes, "Mortal Skin" reminds me of certain situations of being alive.
First of all the summers of my last school years.
As soon as school was over, I dashed home, grabbed my swimsuits and cycled to the outdoor pool.
I stayed there until I was totally exhausted from swimming and the blazing sun and drove through the dry fields on the dusty way back home.
There I rested briefly, then I had dinner and sometime I sat down to my homework. I abhorred them, like probably everyone who ever went to school, but I loved to write with the fountain pen and colourful ink, which is still the case today.
The fact that I already smoked makes the overall picture of Mortal Skin almost complete: It smells of hot, sunburned, dusty skin, of cooling sweat and of cigarette fingers that have touched the fountain pen too far down and are now smeared with ink.
That smells somehow strange, but I still like it really well.
Well...I said the overall picture was almost complete...because now comes the big but.
In the background of this fragrance is something that gives me goose bumps.
A shadow before the bright summer sun.
Something lurking beneath you in the water.
Someone who secretly follows you on a dirt road.
Eyes that watch you rest.
A strange feeling when crossing the inadequately illuminated alleyway.
Sudden steps behind you that make your pulse shoot up.
Someone with whom you have just enjoyed yourself deliciously and who looks at you all at once with a look that makes you all cold, who extinguishes the lights on this so far shining evening and makes it dark.
Fascinatingly beautiful and frightening "Mortal Skin" is unbearable for me.
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To you or to me?
Let's be honest:
If I hadn't planned to test myself bit by bit through the scents of Tom Ford....I wouldn't have "Black Orchid" even with the Ar... looked at.
I just find this bottle ugly as hell. A shapeless something, dressed in synthetic fibre pleats, with far too much gold jewellery.
But the scary bottle is not the worst thing about the black orchid.
Nah, the worst thing about the black orchid is .... drumroll... the orchid.
And then also in black!
Orchids are the plants that I hate the most here on earth....well, ok, the so-called titan root, which smells like carrion, I would probably hate even more...... and I will never understand that most people hardly know how to keep up with the ecstasy of their neighbour's orchid collection.
I see in orchids only the bare stems, the poisonous green, fleshy alibi leaves, the organ-like, like ill-looking flowers and the gakeligen roots, which wind like spider fingers in the pot
A plant like an alien.
A disgusting swamp parasite.
A water corpse in plant form.
And then also in black.
So it's like a bog body.
I'd never get in my house.
I would never...
Yeah, well, I'll stop. I think it's arrived why the fragrance in this bottle with just this name was deeply unappealing to me.
But, nevertheless, resolution is resolution, so up on the paper strip with the pleated bog body.
Ääähäh, stop here!
I said unsympathetic bog body!
There was no mention of "fallen" here!
And certainly not from the fact that I want to find her attractive!
Anyway, half an hour later I was back in the perfumery and had the black swamp parasite sprayed on my arm.
He had me packed, with both gakeligen hands and did not let me go anymore.
He was beguiling, stunning, lulling, he flattered me, dusted me with sharpness in the wetness, sweetness, bitterness, wobbling haze of flowers, spices, left nothing more to my nose than his omnipresence, let me tremble with delight and snatched away all my reservations.
Incredibly sexy, a scent like a rush, in which I try to jump between the sheets with the one or the other who wears it, who reminds me of the moments when you are truly willless.
(FSK16)
A former affair once showed me that we were sitting in a bar somewhere in the back corner, watching the flirting around us, a man and a woman who, just getting to know each other, apparently found each other very attractive and said: "Watch them very closely!
In a man, you see the bump in his pants when he's turned on (yes, you could see it). A woman, on the other hand, starts to slide around on her chair and crosses her legs very firmly (she was constantly slipping with her legs firmly crossed).
I bet they're still in the same box today!"
He was right.
In the end, after a lot of fiddling and flirting, the two left the bar together.
Did they really go to him or to her together?
100&ig I don't know of course, but it should be hard for me to wonder if they actually broke away from each other.
Anyway, finally, what I actually wanted to say with it:
Black Orchid, the irresistible monster, lets me slide.
Damn.
If I hadn't planned to test myself bit by bit through the scents of Tom Ford....I wouldn't have "Black Orchid" even with the Ar... looked at.
I just find this bottle ugly as hell. A shapeless something, dressed in synthetic fibre pleats, with far too much gold jewellery.
But the scary bottle is not the worst thing about the black orchid.
Nah, the worst thing about the black orchid is .... drumroll... the orchid.
And then also in black!
Orchids are the plants that I hate the most here on earth....well, ok, the so-called titan root, which smells like carrion, I would probably hate even more...... and I will never understand that most people hardly know how to keep up with the ecstasy of their neighbour's orchid collection.
I see in orchids only the bare stems, the poisonous green, fleshy alibi leaves, the organ-like, like ill-looking flowers and the gakeligen roots, which wind like spider fingers in the pot
A plant like an alien.
A disgusting swamp parasite.
A water corpse in plant form.
And then also in black.
So it's like a bog body.
I'd never get in my house.
I would never...
Yeah, well, I'll stop. I think it's arrived why the fragrance in this bottle with just this name was deeply unappealing to me.
But, nevertheless, resolution is resolution, so up on the paper strip with the pleated bog body.
Ääähäh, stop here!
I said unsympathetic bog body!
There was no mention of "fallen" here!
And certainly not from the fact that I want to find her attractive!
Anyway, half an hour later I was back in the perfumery and had the black swamp parasite sprayed on my arm.
He had me packed, with both gakeligen hands and did not let me go anymore.
He was beguiling, stunning, lulling, he flattered me, dusted me with sharpness in the wetness, sweetness, bitterness, wobbling haze of flowers, spices, left nothing more to my nose than his omnipresence, let me tremble with delight and snatched away all my reservations.
Incredibly sexy, a scent like a rush, in which I try to jump between the sheets with the one or the other who wears it, who reminds me of the moments when you are truly willless.
(FSK16)
A former affair once showed me that we were sitting in a bar somewhere in the back corner, watching the flirting around us, a man and a woman who, just getting to know each other, apparently found each other very attractive and said: "Watch them very closely!
In a man, you see the bump in his pants when he's turned on (yes, you could see it). A woman, on the other hand, starts to slide around on her chair and crosses her legs very firmly (she was constantly slipping with her legs firmly crossed).
I bet they're still in the same box today!"
He was right.
In the end, after a lot of fiddling and flirting, the two left the bar together.
Did they really go to him or to her together?
100&ig I don't know of course, but it should be hard for me to wonder if they actually broke away from each other.
Anyway, finally, what I actually wanted to say with it:
Black Orchid, the irresistible monster, lets me slide.
Damn.
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...and I'm keeping you!
Usually I find a fragrance immediately great.
Or not.
Nothing with "The fragrance has to be worked out first" or "You have to grow into this fragrance."
Phoo, nope! Either you like it or you don't.
That's what I thought.
Jahaaaaaa, I was taught better once again.
The first test, which I actually only did because I wanted to know what was considered pleasant smelling 140 years ago, I thought:
Oh, it's not so bad. All right, fresh, a little bit herby.... hm... chambermachen, but is nothing for me.
The sample was moved directly into the exchangeable filling box.
But I couldn't get him out of my mind.
Something inside me wanted to try it again.
So sprayed on again:
Somehow it's really beautiful...reminds me of something....brooding...something cozy. But why comfortable? He's not really....more pondering....but no, doesn't suit me.
The third test, this actually so harmless little water did not let go of me, I came up with it:
It smells of garden, of freshly harvested vegetables, of hands that have just picked herbs, of unsweetened meadow flowers and of fresh bed linen.
Probably I'm already annoying everyone here, because I always tell about my childhood memories, but even here it's no different:
I'm in the garden with my grandparents, the air is a little cool. We harvest beans, peas, the last rhubarb, the little Mydarkflower picks a few daisies, my grandmother cuts herbs.
Then go home, clean vegetables, chop herbs, daisies in a small glass.
In the bathtub I scrub off the garden dirt and then slip tired and satisfied between the freshly washed blankets.
My granny tells me a story and strokes me with her still herb-scented hands over my head until I fall asleep.
I find Eau de Noblesse incredibly soothing. The scent helps me to come down and fall asleep - so to speak emergency brook flower mixture to spray on.
If my friend should complain, because I already get a new fragrance with this one, I have a good reason this time:
It's a medical necessity.
So!
Or not.
Nothing with "The fragrance has to be worked out first" or "You have to grow into this fragrance."
Phoo, nope! Either you like it or you don't.
That's what I thought.
Jahaaaaaa, I was taught better once again.
The first test, which I actually only did because I wanted to know what was considered pleasant smelling 140 years ago, I thought:
Oh, it's not so bad. All right, fresh, a little bit herby.... hm... chambermachen, but is nothing for me.
The sample was moved directly into the exchangeable filling box.
But I couldn't get him out of my mind.
Something inside me wanted to try it again.
So sprayed on again:
Somehow it's really beautiful...reminds me of something....brooding...something cozy. But why comfortable? He's not really....more pondering....but no, doesn't suit me.
The third test, this actually so harmless little water did not let go of me, I came up with it:
It smells of garden, of freshly harvested vegetables, of hands that have just picked herbs, of unsweetened meadow flowers and of fresh bed linen.
Probably I'm already annoying everyone here, because I always tell about my childhood memories, but even here it's no different:
I'm in the garden with my grandparents, the air is a little cool. We harvest beans, peas, the last rhubarb, the little Mydarkflower picks a few daisies, my grandmother cuts herbs.
Then go home, clean vegetables, chop herbs, daisies in a small glass.
In the bathtub I scrub off the garden dirt and then slip tired and satisfied between the freshly washed blankets.
My granny tells me a story and strokes me with her still herb-scented hands over my head until I fall asleep.
I find Eau de Noblesse incredibly soothing. The scent helps me to come down and fall asleep - so to speak emergency brook flower mixture to spray on.
If my friend should complain, because I already get a new fragrance with this one, I have a good reason this time:
It's a medical necessity.
So!
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Arrived
I have often been in love in my life with everything that goes with it: butterflies in my stomach, euphoria, heartache, disappointment, reconciliation, loss of reality, cognition, etc.
Sometimes it was just days, sometimes weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years - my emotions were always on a roller coaster.
At some point, the reality always caught up with me, which made me understand: Jo, it's quite nice, but that's not it yet. But I could have told you before, too
At some point I had had enough of the stupid cow, showed her the stinky finger and swore that if she didn't want to leave me alone, I wouldn't give her the opportunity for satisfaction anymore - and swore away the men's world
So I lived quietly and contentedly for a while, happy to be rid of men and vicious reality...until I sat in the kitchen with my girlfriend and her roommate, whom I had never met before, burst in.
He grinned at us broadly and at that moment only one thought shot through my head:
There you are at last!
And although we still needed 1 1/2 years to actually get involved with each other, he was the one with whom I learned that love is not euphoria and heartache, but rather peace and understanding
That love cannot be measured by jealousy and possessiveness, but by the fact that one gives freedom to the other and is nevertheless home to each other.
That love does not mean that one harmonizes perfectly in all points, but that one leaves one's peculiarities to the other and keeps one's own.
The reality, the stupid Ische, is no longer quite so stupid, even if it sometimes still tries to intervene a little.
She had to realize that we wouldn't let go of her, just because she wanted to put a stick between our legs again, but that we were just holding each other tighter.
Why I'm telling you this?
Because I had this feeling of "There you are finally!" at Enchanted Forest as well.
Despite its corners and edges, it is exactly what I have always been looking for.
Every forest, every garden, every ray of sunshine, every snowflake, every happy memory of my life envelops me when I wear this scent.
It's shady, but not dark.
Dancing light sprinkles act like elf lights between friendly green trees.
Fog, damp forest soil, hoar frost and at the same time solar heat.
A fir tree with fresh shoots, on which strangely delicate snow falls.
Black currants, from the shrub directly into the mouth and I rub the dry leaves between my fingers in the November storm.
With Enchanted Forest I am child and adult at the same time.
Feel happy, playful, peaceful, confident, melancholic, jump in thoughts about a clearing in summer and stand thickly wrapped up in a winter garden.
The magic forest and me - this is the really big love.
Sometimes it was just days, sometimes weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years - my emotions were always on a roller coaster.
At some point, the reality always caught up with me, which made me understand: Jo, it's quite nice, but that's not it yet. But I could have told you before, too
At some point I had had enough of the stupid cow, showed her the stinky finger and swore that if she didn't want to leave me alone, I wouldn't give her the opportunity for satisfaction anymore - and swore away the men's world
So I lived quietly and contentedly for a while, happy to be rid of men and vicious reality...until I sat in the kitchen with my girlfriend and her roommate, whom I had never met before, burst in.
He grinned at us broadly and at that moment only one thought shot through my head:
There you are at last!
And although we still needed 1 1/2 years to actually get involved with each other, he was the one with whom I learned that love is not euphoria and heartache, but rather peace and understanding
That love cannot be measured by jealousy and possessiveness, but by the fact that one gives freedom to the other and is nevertheless home to each other.
That love does not mean that one harmonizes perfectly in all points, but that one leaves one's peculiarities to the other and keeps one's own.
The reality, the stupid Ische, is no longer quite so stupid, even if it sometimes still tries to intervene a little.
She had to realize that we wouldn't let go of her, just because she wanted to put a stick between our legs again, but that we were just holding each other tighter.
Why I'm telling you this?
Because I had this feeling of "There you are finally!" at Enchanted Forest as well.
Despite its corners and edges, it is exactly what I have always been looking for.
Every forest, every garden, every ray of sunshine, every snowflake, every happy memory of my life envelops me when I wear this scent.
It's shady, but not dark.
Dancing light sprinkles act like elf lights between friendly green trees.
Fog, damp forest soil, hoar frost and at the same time solar heat.
A fir tree with fresh shoots, on which strangely delicate snow falls.
Black currants, from the shrub directly into the mouth and I rub the dry leaves between my fingers in the November storm.
With Enchanted Forest I am child and adult at the same time.
Feel happy, playful, peaceful, confident, melancholic, jump in thoughts about a clearing in summer and stand thickly wrapped up in a winter garden.
The magic forest and me - this is the really big love.
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