Siebenkäs

Amp busted, remote lost, no tea in the house.
So I grab the jacket, and I go to Richie's.
But first, the big Bel Ami sample.
Ding-a-ling.
"What do you want?"
"Do you good, you loser..."
"And with what?"
I wave' with the clearly marked Bel Ami sample
rum.
"Honestly, if this is the vintage version. which is'
so fucking "awesome..."
"Uh, Richie, could you... i mean, you're live right now
on perfume, I can't find that adjective straight..."
"What are you like? But ok, so then different:
the vintage in the shaker bottle '
is' like playing Yahtzee the double..."
"All right, Richie, we all get it, but trust me on this
eternal vintage swarms or lamentations is not
particularly original or entertaining. Try
without reservation this version..."
So I spray him with a couple of charges from the 2019 to the
And let him have a few moments of your time... (Sniff,
sniffing, skeptical-looking...) I'll try
to advance cautiously:
"There's nothin I'd rather do with Ellena than this
to screw up an icon...?"
"Nope, not that, but... what's he supposed to do? The ifra,
the regulations..."
"What he does best - a perfume that goes all around
works..."
"That sounds cold, doesn't it?"
"Bullshit. Does that smell like ice cold?"
"Well, no... rather warm... the citric is at first
not so violent anymore, the wood-leathery seems already
to come earlier, it doesn't rub between sour
and leather... tamer somehow..."
"But worse? Seriously? "
(Sniff, brood, ponder...)
"Definitely different..."
"OK, but does that automatically mean less good?"
"Yes, no... not exactly... let me think about it..."
"Just think... all you want..."
We actually let a few minutes pass.
Silently. Believe it or not.
"Well, let me tell you, he's... also... who sails around
all the cliffs so elegant... hardly any ashtrays,
but still a little smoke, softer, sweeter smoke, maybe some cigar ash..."
"Exactly there I see some points of contact to Antaeus, but a little bit different, at Antaeus there is more cigar box..."
"That's right, the cigar stays out at Chanel, at Bel Ami
...it's lit on fire for a minute... dry journeymen they both are, despite all differences."
"I agree... it's nice how we understand each other."
"And there's some leather after the kind of club chairs you get
but not crude, but sophisticated... and again and again clouds of discreet sweetness, but taken on the curb..."
"If that doesn't fit... the curb comes out of the
Horse world, that is Hermès ancestral land..."
"...and of course there's a spice mixture in there, too...
she's almost 80s..."
"Well, that's a compliment, isn't it?"
"Yes, in itself..."
"And he's still got strength, hasn't he?"
"Already..."
"So not a power row house?"
"More like a powerhouse with solar panels on the roof..."
"Well said, Richie! There's sunshine in there somehow
no wonder, Ellena works in the south of France..."
"Reminiscent of a dignified English club you can
into the mountains above St-Tropez..."
"Exactly ...and the projection?"
"Not directly loud, but noticeable..."
"A hummer with soundproofing, so..."
"It's like a totally gutted old building..."
"...even with air conditioning..."
"That's right, there's something fresh, too..."
"And yet also flattering... Vanilla?"
"Report obediently: present!"
"But there's nothing snappy here..."
"Nope, not that, rather dreamy..."
"But a dream with power..."
"No fucking way!"
"That word gets on my nerves so bad..."
You and I are going to have a little silence again
Des amis n'ont pas peur du silence.
Then I remember something else..
"You, Riechie, my friend, don't you want to give people
say something else, so at the end of the year, something reflective...?
"Nope, you can do better..."
"Come on, they want to hear from you!"
"But I know nothing. Except I'm quoting..."
"Please, feel free..."
Now, this is' from New Order, from the song "Game",
gei... uh strong number..."
"Shoot...!"
"Really...?"
"Yeah, man!"
"All right:
It's so clear, but we can't see it
It's in the air that we breathe in
It's so close, but we can't touch it..
But it is here, and we love it..."
"You, Richie..."
"What?"
"Goose bumps!"

His heart was still beating.
Quietly and undaunted, it chugged its way to itself.
Far, so far, so inconceivable, terrible, inconceivable far
was the path it had taken.
Further than a poor little human creature
it could ever imagine.
But now it was there.
His energy was there and she was alive.
And so it had a very, very tiny little bit
of all the unheard-of, never seen, odourless things
across the abysses of many galaxies.
To finally pass it on.
For it had found a host by whom it took shape
could. A human child named Belletrud.
Now it could spread.
Now they could also give it a name,
one that perhaps reminded a little of the
who, like herself, had seen things you can't name.
Like Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barret or Ian Curtis. And a few others.
Opium.
Not an easy name. More like a makeshift.
But better than none.
And now they could also find words for the elements,
that worked in him.
They might call it an anise. Jojannesberry. Vanilla.
Would it compare to their kitchen spices.
Would use words like "Orient".
Would discover an aura in it that one partly spicy,
can call it partly soft and also sweet.
Maybe they'd find it "strong," too.
On some days.
She'd be surprised it didn't always seem the same.
Some might like exactly that.
Also something balsamic, comforting and pleasantly foreign
they would perceive, at the same time an amazing
Contradiction of childlike fruitfulness and a certain
Strictness of strange woods, strange resins.
And a strange, ambiguous, mysterious mysticism,
but also a curious freshness.
All at once and yet not confused.
How sorted and brought into harmony by an incomprehensible
ordering power.
Perhaps this power was also in the fact that each individual
its uniqueness, its uniqueness.
The complete superfluousness of any adjustment.
Or maybe in letting strange questions sprout up.
"Might a great part of the misfortune be in the fact
when you're happy?"
"Why are the holes the main thing on a sieve?"
All over it would reveal its secret but never.
Maybe that was his secret.
Or a part of it.
And a part of you.
His heart's still beating.
Quietly and fearlessly it chugs along.
(Like yours.)

You're avoiding the back of Amsterdam Avenue
and you'd better turn 109. You have absolutely no desire
Steven or one of the Palladinos.
It's only $800 you owe them,
but right now you're a little clammy.
Well, what does that mean? Normal condition - mostly in minus.
Always think about where you get coal for paints and
Canvas. Your studio is a dump in a corner,
who only call people who have no idea harmless.
Elsewhere maybe a cliché, but with you it's true
Expression "fight for survival" for once.
But you got your little guns. Little helpers, feints,
Tricks. A few secrets. Without them nothing would work.

You're sniffing your wrist. This fragrance
is one of them. Velvet Desert Oud. It makes you feel like you're not
a soft but invulnerable shell around you,
woven from strange spices of the Orient and
a frankincense-like breeze, which with conventional
I don't think the sacramental incense has much to do. More like smoke
of consecration for a special church, you think. One
Church for all mankind, a church of
unconditional love, perhaps. Such daydreams exist
i'll give you the perfume for free.
Suddenly you think - you could nal pass Kasimir-
look. Maybe you can get a hundred out of him-
for a week. Has his own gallery now,
after giving a rich Texan a fake
Baselitz on. Risky game. You couldn't
I'll sleep more tonight. But Kasimir has other genes.
Raised in Moscow suburbs.
Again a little cloud of your perfume rises, a Whiff
they say here. Now you also smell the benches from
exotic woods in your church of love.
Again, you take a little detour. The Dealer
Cathedral and Parkway get on your nerves.
That eternal "need somethin', honey?" Your coke phase
is long over anyway. Twenty hours of intoxication through-
and then find out that everything is only complete
It's junk. With you no more.
In the back room of the gallery Faktor Kasimir kneels with his
Assistants on the floor, everywhere bowls with tea,
Coffee grounds, ashes, dissolved earth. You know exactly what
they do there, nothing more unusual.
"Still not finished with the climate diaries?"
you ask.
"One more thing, then it's a round package. Not detectable.
And art-historically absolutely waterproof. I got someone,
he pays me 75K for it..."
Half an hour and two espressos later you're back
on the street, with a hundred dollars more in his pocket.
A tube of ultramarine blue, a madder red, a Prussian
blue. A few yards of screen. Malbutter of Lascaux.
The smell of the colors harmonizes strangely with the deeper
Tone your fragrance. Balsamic, woody sweetness, at the same time
dry or better desert sun-dry. But with all
a lot of oasis feeling.
Oud is actually just a word.
Velvet Desert hat you might as well imagine.
Or equal to Velvet Desert Trost.
Suddenly you have an idea. A bridge form and white-grey
overpainted green. You discover a piece of wallpaper that is next to
the garbage can is in front of the entrance to your studio.
That you will be in three parts on the lower third of the flax
stick the wall together with the receipt.
When you bend down, the scent rises again into your nose.
"Everything's gonna be okay," he says.
It's good to have something like that in the desert they call Manhattan

Luckily, she had almost an hour before the movie started. They were
right in front of the cinema and she definitely wanted to be the first da
be. He shouldn't have to wait for her. These games after the
Motto "Men always have to wait a little" were
just embarrassing.
She decided to take a little detour through the park. It was yes
still plenty of time and she would still get a bit on a bank
into the late afternoon sun. Too much sleep she had the last
Night not had.
Just behind the Apollo fountain, she found a bank she liked. The View
went far over the lawns to the groups of trees, behind which
the silhouette of the city lay in the haze of early September evening.
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the last soft warm sunbeams.
That's how sweet they felt. She felt the tiredness that came over her
like a soft blanket. Her thoughts became wide and hazy.

Then all of a sudden she heard footsteps on the gravel path.
She opened her eyes.
An elderly gentleman with walking stick came of the way, accompanied by a
small, shaggy dog.
But before she saw him, she smelled him. There was no doubt -
he was wearing Eau Sauvage. She wasn't surprised at all that her nose
was so sensitive, although she knew that the fragrance was not actually
very far radiating.
She knew the perfume well. She had it even a few years ago times
a bottle, but then somehow forgotten.
At that moment it seemed almost incomprehensible to her. The older one
Lord was now standing right in front of her, somehow the whole went from him
Orchestra of the fragrance at the same time. The fresh, natural lemony,
yellow opening, this wonderfully green dewdrop herbiness,
the woody-moossy appearing behind it with an almost pain-
dry, very delicate bitter note. All together as one
Sound that seemed completely timeless and at the same time calming and
...made me happy.
The Lord kept silent and only smiled at her.
She felt she had to say something.
"You...You smell so good!" she finally brought out.
"I didn't want to express much with this scent - just something,
which I found was too neglected..." said the Lord.
"So you, you have..."
"Just call me Edmond, my dear. What I really
that was basically simplicity. Only in her
with a little luck you may find the most valuable -
poetry. Because she is a little shy and above all - wild.
Très sauvage."
"I understand..."
"Ever since I've been on the other side, they've had a lot to do with it-
doctored. But somehow, as by a miracle, the secret is
never completely lost..."
"But... why can't you just walk around when
You actually..." She immediately felt that she was about to,
something wrong to say.
"I'm just a little strange man, my dear. I can
some weird things... Look, if I'm now with the
Fingers snap, all people everywhere in the world will
be completely happy for a moment."
He snapped his fingers.
She took a deep breath.
"It's over..." Edmond said. "I'm a little tired now.
But you may have noticed that you are just from the simple
Learn something from things... for example from the bank on which
They sit..."
She stroked her hand over the white lacquered wood.
"You want to be rich," the bank said. "Why aren't you?"
Edmond smiled. "I have to go on now..."
Then the little shaggy dog came out of the bushes
and plucked his trouser legs.
"It's all right," Edmond said and knocked his fur out.
Then he reached into his coat pocket and took something out.
Over her head he opened his hand and left many fine
grated pieces of lemon zest trickle down on them.
"Voila..." he said.
Then he set off again.

After a few meters he turned around again.
"Remember," he shouted, "forever lasts the longest."
She stretched out comfortably - and woke up. Solar heat and
the fatigue had simply been too strong.
Suddenly the date came back to her mind. She looked at her
Wristwatch - it was just before half past seven.
She hurried away - she didn't want to run.

When she arrived at the cinema, he stood in front of the showcases and saw the
the pictures an.
She gently tapped him on the shoulder.
"I'm so sorry... have you been waiting..." "
"Come on, a minute maybe..."
"I was actually super early, but then..." she said, "then I'm..."
He interrupted them. "What have you got there...?"
He reached into her hair and took something out.
"Strange little yellow things..." he said and sniffed at them.
"Smell of lemon."

A small branch detached itself from the branch of the old cedar on the corner of Chester Gate and Albany Street, was grabbed by the wind and soon fluttered down Robert Street, where it lay before the threshold to No. 21. Then it was windless again.
Anselm just unlocked the door. He picked up the twig, took it into the house and laid it on the mantelpiece.
Then he started thinking again.
In less than an hour he would meet the Fräulein von Hallmackenreuther. What should he wear? And which perfume would be the right one?
He chose the washed-out Army chinos and the dark blue Comme Des Garcons jacket, which he had bought in the small second-hand shop at Portobello Market. And the old brown Edward Green Monks. In no other shoes did he feel safer.
And now for the scent. That would be a lot harder. But then he had an intuition. Why not this new one from Bottega Veneta? That wasn't too fashionable, but it wasn't too old-fashioned either. Kind of timeless. That's what he wanted to look like, isn't it? Maybe she'd finally see him as he saw himself.
Sometimes he had the strange feeling that they'd known each other for a hundred years. That some curious trick of fate kept bringing them together. And then again, didn't get together.
He sniffed the pretty Flakönchen once more. Yes, a wise decision. He liked that water. At first a little lemony and fruity, but tuned deeper than usual. Maybe a third down. And then so darned fairy-like resinous, almost forest magic, soft dark green anyway. Later also sweet, but still spicy. Undecided like himself. Kind of yesterday and hip at the same time. He didn't like that word at all. And yet he secretly used it often. He felt so out of time again.
Anselm took a few sprays and set off.

Several blocks further on in Fitzroy Square a young woman with a short curly head stood in front of the wardrobe and conscientiously sounded out the contents.
Lina von Hallmackenreuther opted for the spotted light blue dress with the cubic collar. If she had to meet him in a shop like Groucho's, she'd at least want to take advantage of it. There weren't that many places she felt comfortable in that dress. As an antipole to the dress she would put on a men's scent. She knew immediately which one. Illusions.
It suited her because he didn't commit. Herb, fruity, woody and yet sweet. And soft at the end. Would that be her, too, in the end? Soft?
Anyway, she wanted Anselm to make her... She didn't really know herself. Unconventionally, he should find her. Not like the others. This was the right perfume for that.

When wind came up again in the big city and the clouds floated over the sea of chimneys like lost sheeps, the two sat at a small table in the back part of Café Groucho opposite each other.
Anselm was particularly calm. He sniffed carefully in her direction because he wanted to know what kind of scent she had chosen for him. After all, at least this one thing that connected her was her love of perfume. One of the few things they both knew about each other.
He sniffed and sniffed - but... there was nothing. Only his own scent could be heard, the fine, soft-sweet aura of illusion. That's weird. What did that mean? Should she have changed to go out unscented? Suddenly it fell off his eyes like scales. She wanted to show herself to him without any embellishment, without games, without scenery. She didn't want distance, maybe more proximity instead.
Anselm's heart began to beat.

Lina wasn't really excited, but she was kind of... nervous. Like there's something unusual in the air. She was sniffing in his direction. I'm sure he was wearing Grey Vetiver again. But no, there was nothing of vetiver or anything like that, there was... she couldn't define it. Then she almost got scared. She leaned over to him to take a lint off his collar. He obviously wasn't wearing any scent today. Only her own scent was there, only illusions, nothing else. What could that mean? Was he trying to tell her something? That he wanted to be a different person? Bullshit.
Suddenly a thought came to her. Yeah, that could be it. She was almost sure. He didn't want to trump her, show her that she was alone enough with her aura, let her feel that you alone should be the center...

The waiter came and brought the coffee. He looked a little weird. He was wearing some kind of robe. Pretty hip territory, the Russell Square area. He turned off the cups and smiled at them both.
"You smell good," he said. "Illusions... I like them too!"