Siebenkäs

Today he wore New York Intense.
Did it actually make sense to name a perfume after a city
after a city that smelled intense enough itself?
Actually, he might want to say something about the different
Scents of the city in his new novel.
But then again - what for?
In the end, it would distract too much from the actual
Plot. Which was hard enough to understand,
at least for normal people.
In any case, he liked the smell.
That of the perfume, not that of the city on the Hudson.
That's why he had sprayed it again before he got on the
Line 4 tram to go to Fröhlich Street
to Fröhlichstraße. Conveniently, in the depths
of his Barbour jacket was a bottling of it. A friend
had given it to him, an architect and art connoisseur
from southern Germany. One of the few people
on whose judgment he gave anything.
He sat back and looked at the bit of
Lake Zurich that was visible in the light early evening haze.
He liked the self-consciously lemony, spicy aura of this
Fragrance. Its somehow powerhousy, oriental
Hints. Very much so. There was a lot happening at once -
like in his books. At the same time, almost old-fashioned
Men's freshness and complex spice with clove, pepper
and cinnamon hints, stabilized by very restrained
taken animalic associations.
And of course this quite controlled patchouli note,
at which he had to think involuntarily of Burt Bacharach.
Funnily enough, also of Lou Reed.
He almost enjoyed the tram ride. Anyway, it was
faster than a taxi at that hour. And it made him feel
good feeling, cleaner he felt.
He had just spent a whole hour talking to his editor
talked, in the bar of the Crown Hall.
A little glass of Yvorne Grand Cru he had drunk
and nibbled those inevitable little nuts..
they gave you there with everything.
In the end, he couldn't shake the feeling that this
Man was one of those people who just didn't understand everything
didn't understand everything.
If he had taken care of the film rights with this guy in
Fröhlichstraße, he would go back
back to Germany. And without first
to Bern, to Kornfeld possibly
a cheap expressionist or a Bissier
or a Bissier
The financial situation was at the moment anyway not completely
unrelaxed. He might, after all, in two months' time
at Christie's when things were more stable.
He looked at his well registered horsehide
shoes. It annoyed him that the waxed lace-
senkel were almost gone again. Did you get hardly
somewhere in exactly this color and at Alden took
it took forever until an order came in. Almost a
Reason to wear only Monks.
At the Feldeggstraße stop, an elderly woman got on
got on and sat down opposite him at the window. She was
very simply dressed and held a basket on her lap,
from which lettuce and radishes peeped out.
Briefly he tried to imagine how they might
new novel. Would she be able to relate to anything in it?
be able to relate to it? Or perhaps a few details
be able to gourmetize that his hero, who was a
Connoisseur and bon vivant of the purest water, appreciated so much?
appreciated so much? Probably not.
Perhaps, he thought all at once, perhaps one should
the film version a little more - well - affable?

The older woman now leaned slightly towards him.
"A fine scent it is..." she said, waving
a hand some air from his direction.
Astonished, he looked at her more closely. She was quite poorly
dressed, her grey-blue, polka-dotted dress looking more like
a sort of smock apron.
"If you don't mind, I'll tell you what they like about this
Perfume... As I gauge it, you like the
Vintage character it brings with it, as it were, right off the bat in New."
Now he was wide awake. Of course she was right - but how
could she have known?
"Well, it's no wonder. This perfume is quite
independent, but it is inspired by the very
Classics from the 80s that people like you. Chanel
Pour Monsieur Eau Concentrèe, Tiffany for Men, Heritage,
maybe also Bois du Portugal, the old Rive Gauche and
quite a few more. It has the power of that fragrance era and yet plays
its own tune, doesn't it?"
He just nodded. Quite gobsmacked.
"A semi-oriental fougère with some chypre genes,
that's one way to put it, I think. Classic, almost already
clichéd-masculine notes, but the creamy and delicate
powdery are countered, also by a certain
Sweetness. That's one thing..."
"You're right... very right... and the other?"
"There's a lot more. But what is remarkable is simply the
whole high quality of the various components.
Almost a bit shameful for other brands, when
one considers times, as gladly the Ifra as a reason cited
for changes in fragrance character. New York
Intense smells like Ifra never existed..."
"I never thought about that before..."
"But you can if you want to..."
"Yeah, sure... And the name - why New York?"
He spoke to her now as if to someone who might be able to answer all
Questions could answer.
"Well, names... But there are references, if you
think of the character of the city... At the same time, the
Nucleus of the United States, if you will,
so historical depth. And at the same time a very modern,
still somehow innovative-looking cosmopolitan city,
no matter what is true or just image maintenance. And, even
if this may sound worn out - a melting pot
of nations, cultures, lifestyles. Just as the
Fragrance melds disparate notes...
"Well, yes, I'm with you there..."
"But I have to get out..."
She got up and went to the door, which was just swinging open.
Only now did he notice - he had long since passed his stopping
station and was approaching the terminus
Tiefenbrunn station.
He decided to just sit tight and get off on the
Return trip this time to get off in time.
The slightly sweet, somehow indulgent and clearly
nostalgic drydown surrounded him now.
Vanilla brought something comforting into play, something
that could cushion childish nagging tones just as well as oak-moss
Roughness.
Possibly even arrogance, know-it-all-ness.
Anyway, she couldn't have called it Paris, that would be
rather a name for Bel Ami. Berlin also not, London
just as little, because despite lavender was here too little
really British.
No, New York - that was getting there all right.
But just who had this lady been? He realized
all at once that in his memory he already
as a lady.
Somehow she seemed to him like a character from one of his
Novels. At the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that
quite fictional himself.
Although he was too young for it, he liked it at times,
to compare himself to Woody Allen.
Another New York reference, isn't it?
The train squealed loudly as it rounded the bend, it sounded
almost as if it were trying to shatter cherished clichés.
He caught a glimpse of the lake, the water clear
and shimmering purple-bluish, but in some places,
where the clouds seemed to sink deeper into it, it looked
strangely green-olive, like a soup that someone
had to spoon out.

In the middle of the night he woke up.
He suddenly knew what it was that made many people
so excited and driven and somehow almost carries
about this stuff called "perfume."
And how the string that makes perfume sound
can vibrate in harmony with other strings..
for example, in mountains, raccoons, or second-hand
car dealers.
And what all this has to do with the core of the world,
with our reason for being and understanding of the world.
It was so amazingly simple. Perfectly clear.
Strange that no one had noticed it yet.
And now he, of all people!
He really had to write it down, right away.
And then - it was gone again.
What a shame.

The next morning, the scent he had
The day before was still hanging in his sweater.
It was L'Air du Desért Marocain.
He decided to spray it on himself again.
He could almost enjoy perfume immoderately.
"More than I really deserve," he often thought.
However, this fragrance was really something special.
What the name stoked in expectations, was first
times hardly fulfilled - he began with a startling
Freshness - but one that was anything but ordinary.
Of course, he had a list of ingredients,
but there was little to really unravel here.
There was something almost citrusy, with a slight bitterness
Mixed in it, but also a certain sweetness,
which in the background also carried something controlledly unclean
that he couldn't explain.
A wild mixture of spices seemed to resonate;
it, too, could not be grasped in any concrete way.
Something even reminded him of Open by Roger Gallet,
this somehow fresh-derbe spice perhaps.
And something seemed different about the scent than usual
poled - the projection seemed to him tobecome stronger rather than lessen as time went on
grow stronger rather than diminish.
What did all this have to do with "desert," even with the
Morocco? Well, there was something very dry in the
Fragrance, but also something flowing-creamy.
Something hearty, probably from spices like coriander
and cumin, but nothing derbes.
Something woody anyway, cedar and sandalwood,
though also hard to tell apart.
And what did the sweetness come from?
Lots of contradictions actually.
Maybe that was one reason why he liked the scent
so much.

The next night he dreamt nothing
that seemed worth writing down.
Basically, it was just two dreams, both of which he
among the "spoilsports dreams" which
at times.
At first he was a professor at an art academy.
His occupation was to forbid the students
to forbid them to use any other color..
please no cobalt blue and no Indian yellow and
very little cadmium red.
After that he taught composition at the conservatory -
and it was similar. Just no B flat minor and if E major,
then only without major thirds. And chromaticism only quite,
very limited.
He awoke and was glad that the sun was shining.
It seemed to him a good day for more L'Air du Desert.
As he wore the same sweater and sprayed again after-
spray, he now seemed to hear the full orchestra of the fragrance
to hear. The drydown was dominated by resinous
Sounds, arranged around wonderful amber.
Memories were there too - a faint, distant whiff of
Jicky, perhaps? But also still that cistus.
And spices, possibly dry vetiver too.
In any case dry, but also sweet.
A seeming contradiction, if you ever
thought of wine.
And again the question: what has all this to do with desert?
All sorts of things went through his head.
Contradictions that nevertheless form a harmony.
Like in this perfume.
The desert is very hot. And very cold at night.
In any case, it is completely dual.
Sand and light. Heaven and earth. Heat and cold.
And place of inner contemplation. 40 days in the desert.
Meditation, temptation, knowledge.
Inner contemplation. Or even conversion.
Deciding to change his whole life.
This very thought made him strangely uneasy.
This was the desert that Kerouak's heroes sometimes visited
one finds it not only in Morocco, but also in Palestine
and Arizona. Or in Castrop Rauxel.
And this friendly, not at all austere sweetness, which even
reminiscent of vanilla?
Doesn't it go perfectly with what desert
is mostly made of - sand?
Children's sand, more carefully considered.
Ringelnatz's poem came back to him:

The most beautiful thing for children is sand
There's always plenty of it.
It runs incomparably
through the hand

Because you keep your nose,
when you fall on it,
he is so soft.
Children's hands feel,
when they dig in it,
Nothing and the kingdom of heaven.

For no child laughs
At ground power.

There was indeed a great deal in it, in this
Fragrance. For him, anyway. A great deal was happening at once.
You might say - there was a certain disorder.
Wasn't that also stuck in desert - but here it looks "desert"
look?
But desolate could also mean "wild" - e.g. when
one was "ranting desolately".
And - did he still have a bit of that kind of desert
quality stored up inside him?

He was suddenly quite sure.

He would quit his job and go back to
his sister at the cafe.
Maybe even cook.
His job at that establishment just wasn't
right for him, even though it paid very well.
And despite the certain power it appeared to give him
seemed to confer.
There was something coldabout the very name of this institution
and somehow ruthless sounding, something that
sounded like unquestioning submission.
He muttered her name to himself a few times,
as if to cast a spell: "IFRA, IFRA, IFRA..."

Breaking news from the "Perfume Messenger":
As we have just learned, our gossip reporter
7-Cheese is on to a hot new thing... rumors
he's supposed to be getting a hot package from the headquarters of fragrance
guru J.Acko's headquarters. Assistants to the scent guru
speak of a "pyramidal selection of the first order".
From 7-Cheese itself we received only via CB radio
the following short message:

"Am in a sycomore frenzy. Turin is right: If putting it on
does not make you shiver with pleasure , see a doctor..."

That's all we've been able to find out so far, but well-informed sources
however, assure that our man here speaks of the EdP.
We'll stay tuned for you!
15.20.We have just received new word from our gossip reporter!
reporter! Here you go:

"...Didn't even know you could melt vetiver!
Sycomore Edp is a creamy soft vetiver oasis that will spin you
into a cocoon" (here he means "cocoon," the
Douche. the ed.) "This incredible softness
is reminiscent of cashmere, but without any cashmeran at all..."
Here, unfortunately, the message breaks off.

16.23. again message from 7-Cheese!

"How on earth did they do it? Polge and Sheldrake
really alone? Or was there someone else from the CIA in on it?
The scent has relax power that could be used to calm down riots
could... also have a breeze..." (here he means "breeze", the
Spelling dilettante... the editor) "...white Chanel pepper
noted...and a cool bouquet of elegant flowers that
but only brightens. Vetiver and cypress dance
Ballet...why does the word "Encre Blanche" suddenly come to mind...?
comes to mind...Need tea...and anise cookies...now...

Sorry to break off the news here...
We were beginning to think - that's it, when our trainee brings us
brings us a telegram (he just came from getting beer) -
here, dear readers, the contents:

"21.15. Rosamunde Pilcher film switched off in the middle.
Don't need an ideal world story, I've got that on me!
The Sycomore dry-down is more like a dry-up - up in the sky -
off into scent nirvana." (crunch, does he never learn how to spell anything
correctly... the Red). "How complex can a vetiver-
Fragrance be? How can roughness be so incredibly
smooth and sophisticated? What club am
i go to now, to get my fill of this scent?"
Unfortunately, that's where the message ends.
Just after lunch, two days later. A dog is standing
in front of the editorial office -Kunze of the regional perfume-
nachrichten discovers a small letter on his collar.
Our intern may take it off and bring it to us.
You, dear readers, may already guess what the message reminiscent of the
Dog Mail days contained...

"18.14, St.Tropez at late Blue Hour.
A billionaire's daughter who has Good Taste in perfume
owns - who would have believed that a poor reporter
like me would run across just such a one!
At the bar of the "Sansi Bar" she had caught my scent
picked up. Later, in the Lear jet, she spoke of a
"wonderful mild melange of the finest light tobacco,
over which, however, lay a woodland note that made the seemingly
contradictory managed, namely the topos "forest"
with elegance and glamour to couple... a forest in which
enchanted Chanel princesses snort lemon powder
snort lemon powder... to the sounds of Lana Del Rey. .."
Well, you don't usually get me this quickly,
but her offer to open a men's fragrance boutique with her in St. Tropez
To open a men's perfume shop with her in St. Tropez - of course I couldn't
refuse. If only because I owe it to the readers of the
"Perfume Messenger", here on the spot the latest,
Hottest and hottest to track down like, yes like...

The rest of the message was chewed up and unreadable by the dog (a Coco Spaniel)
chewed on and illegible. It took almost 14 days
until finally another message came - this time on the
Editorial answering machine. Here is the exact wording:

"Readers Even though my financial resources are slowly
drawing to a close, I remain full of optimism!
A few sprays of Sycomore give me renewed vigor,
here in front of the St. Tropez Homeless Shelter, I've
in just half an hour, 12 new subscribers
for the "Scent Messenger".
Sycomore is helping with this endlessly. Let me mention two
important additional components that contribute to the
Exceptional character of this perfume contribute:
first, there is the classic Chanel sandalwood,
that here takes over part of the vetiver taming
with its creamy-flattering aura.
And in addition, the cheeky, witty and fresh-cheerful
Juniper, which together with hidden citrus
Elements yellow-orange accents sets, yes almost already
flashes. In addition, this melted butter vetiver...
Dimmed brightness or controlled twilight?
In any case, a fragrance that invigorates and at the same time an almost
already meditative calm radiates.
At the moment, just the right thing here for me...
Oh, I just saw - the speedboat from Monte Carlo is coming
with a couple of starlets on board...
Guys, that's where I'm going... I'll report back...
Wait, where are my sunglasses..."

Too bad the message here ends in white noise...
Dear readers, but we'll stay on the ball for you -
with the very hottest news from the world of fragrances.
Remains us and the "scent messenger" also in these times
weighed and faithful.
The editors

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 sowell," 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 pepperfor 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 bethat," 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.

I haven't settled in too badly here
and I'm not just saying that to make myself feel better.
And also not because you get used to everything.
I like both sunrises, I like our settlement
and I even like the Aviors.
Stupid name, but they actually call themselves
so, the Delta Tradux Translator is quite correct there.
Of course, Avior is an absolutely uninhabitable double
star and only moons 4 and 5 are reasonably comfortable.
And yes, it's true - I almost feel at home here on 5.
Not really at home - but still.
And only sometimes I feel a bit homesick -
Longing for woods, for example, for meadows, for
Mist, hay, flowers or green mountains. And for
other earthly goods.
And it is for these moments that I have Grey Flannel.
Luckily.
Some of you might call the top note at first
perhaps a little gruff, but believe me,
630 light years from Earth, you smell this
quite different.
It quickly grabs me, the grassy, tart potpourri,
around a very perky and dewy violet note
note rankt like beloved weeds hiding concrete.
A little lavender rises to my nose, calls
Provence memories on the plan and drives me
maybe once briefly a tear in the eyes.
Already it is wiped away again. Nonsense, just no
Sentimentalities please.
Gradually, everything becomes softer, slightly powdery and
Iris-muted, a bit of sage and maybe some
Narcissus are still in the game, rich green forest moss
seems to lie beneath everything, springy and reality
cushioning.
A green-fresh earth wind that is woody-balsamic and
almost a little tonka-sweet blows, slowly and patiently,
like the echo of a fairy tale in our dreams.
A walk in the woods in our minds, while a few hundred
Yards away, purple borse swamps waft.
(No, they're not really dangerous.)
And some more comes to mind - a large,
cool, airy flower shop, for example, with its
its own unique fragrance and flair. One in which you can
A little carnation for your buttonhole.
And of course a perfectly tailored suit, not
not necessarily Neapolitan, but more British. But
yet softer and more casually tailored, so more
Anderson & Sheppard than Henry Poole.
So in short - for me such a kind of calling card
of our good old Earth, as I have it roughly in
Memory.
So already a little distorted and transfigured.
But simply beautiful and of its own magic.
Old-fashioned?
Sure, as old-fashioned as the earth seems when
for 14 months in a G-127 ship..
in a G-127 ship for 14 months
And not by choice. Well, if we had been a little bit more serious 25 years ago
climate change a little bit more seriously,
maybe more than 10% of the Earth would still be..
would still be inhabitable. And all the moving would not have been necessary
would not have been necessary. But what the hell.
You wonder what I'll do when the bottle is empty?
Well, by now there are no stars in the constellation of Ship's Keel
nor in the Horsehead Nebula, nor in any other galaxy
of this part of our beautiful universe even one
remote corner that is not supplied by Amazon.
Unfortunately, however, there are no other sources either -
but that's what everyone seems to have put up with.
Kids, I think I'm getting a little too
contemplative. I think I have to go out and talk to some nice
Talk to some nice Aviors about their vacation on Gliese 5..
play a round of golf quod. I'm already
quite good, level 7 about, if you let me a little
a little bit of cheating, and that's what the Aviors are good at,
i mean in cheating-ignoring.
We humans can do quite well, can't we?