olfactory art

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Odorant 1: depression referred to the first memory of a boy at 3, pricking his finger on a tea rose thorn. his first

memory; rose is blood, and it's the heart of this odor, enveloped by three parts depression. depression's absence of emotions and sadness because that's all there is: the complete void, the deepness of the disease that is oud. infected, diseased wood, and then collected, rotted in water for 30 days, and distilled into a potent glob. the globules of sadness and emptiness, no feelings other than "eh." sadness because he can't feel anything, the prudery of life, infected brain disease, like poisoned agarwood, by bacteria. a brain disease, that fills him with his broken head. oud, a product of a sick tree, and blood, thick rivers of rose oil, and the void, the caring smell of others who worry about the beginning of his teens; they light candles for him in churches. a sacred space to bring hope to the 17-year old. carrier oils that are scared, sandalwood, from the tree, depression as grounded as the tree in the earth. the ground, rare, priceless voids. The 36 rounds of electroshock therapy, no, electroconvulsive therapy nowadays, enduring like the tenacity/longevity of depression, as an oud on skin. It only takes a drop of depression to know it forever, wanting to die a perfect, painless death--again, the product of a disease. oud+rose+sandalwood=depression+bloody suicide+worry. tons of pills, but their odors are for another project...

Odorant 2: psychosis, gardenia, one of the hardest, most enduring scent to extract, as delusions are one of the most difficult brain diseases to treat, functional but slow and tolerating the overcoming paranoia--the slowness of effleurage, contrasted by the odor of "magical mushrooms" and the presence of dirt, delusions that affect all, as dirt and sand affect all life. The narcotic flower blooms far above the mushrooms and ground, but when the flower falls, their odors contrast and the mushrooms in the ground begin to weaken and eventually fall. grown on the rotten flower. no smoothness, nothing rounded. a pure contrast of odors of gardenia and mushroom absolute--the scent of psychosis. mushrooms, whose caps are collected by him and his teenagers' friends to "shroom" that night: Joey, Sean, and Jamie. backward hats, baggy pants, and XL tee-shirts on thin frames passing trees and gardenias to crawl on the ground. Looking for the magic mushrooms, smelling them. "look at the underside of the cap. If it's purple, rip the cap off and leave the stem!" Boys are boys. teens. kids, really, at 13. purple caps contain psilocybin that is reflected by mushroom absolute. the hallucinatory shrooms collected, boiled that night, drank--that bitter purple tincture. that night a melody of visual hallucinations, abstract, flowing cubes, balls, auras around everything. then, the next day comes the hangover: the always presence of paranoia. the next day, that hangover lasts until the scent just fades. returning after it rains when the mushrooms grow quickly. and these guys shroom again. but does psychosis really go away, without medication? nope, it doesn't. not even with Thorazine, Abilify, and all the others, even until 44 years old. still paranoia as the hangover the next day, forever, slowing getting worse as the rest of the mushroom overcomes the mysterious gardenia. an overflow of delusions, delusions, and more. The patient, in both character and in the hospital. scentless, but still delusional. it forever changes him.

Odorant 3: mania, sun bursts through clouds on a gloomy day as the scent of jasmines break through chilled air and covers everything with its pollen, its odor, its imperial, unique taste of life's love.

a man, 44, after years of medications: antidepressants, antianxiety, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, and all the like ram the brains' neurons with a classic cocktail of nutrality and balance....finally, after dozens of years of talk theray and pharmocology, his is in remission....he celebrates his mental illness because he has experienced something that others have nt, knows stuff others do not, felt and was numb at the same time, and the sunlight is gold glitter on golf leaf, a dazzling spray of frankincense from Oman, and jasmines, oh the flowers, flowering through his nostrals into remission, the extr

acts, a blends of species to make them a new, whole, non existant plant like true happiness, so organic and so fantasy, that relates so well to natural odors like waste, and saliva, sperm, guts, all emphasize the natural beauty of remission/distallations of a bequest for jasmines, and a drop or two of indoles, and he is lifted higher in emotions that he had felt before. scents, desserts, talking, the chatter of typing, and the ever presence of his breath, breathing deeply, slows down his heartbeat,

finally, free of paranoia, of being followed of harm coming home with him, or meeting him there already with a bouquet of roses, once blood, now white as silver is to metal and cooper streams

of blood not red,

but shining copper.

a new path ahead of him grants him peace, and for the first time in a long time, I feel joy, and want to tell you what that joy feels li

ke, the same happiness you have, I have too. You are coupled, I am too. You are in debt with a smile, as am I. You swim knowing each day is full of wants and desires that are achievable by hard work, a good reputation, and people who want to be friends with.

you live as i do, a dreamy landscape of woods and incense and flowers, oh plenty of them, shining in our nostrils, we can play together, text one another jokes, talk in whispers, gossip, having fun, conversation, connections, teasing, playing, roaring with desire for those that have always known me and you and we just couldn't see it we couldn't find it, but it's been there always through all our treatments, all

My love for you is expressed here in one small bottle. a wish for a better life has

become true and i need to share that to you, my lovers, my friends, my strangers, to feel the way i feel: content, joyous, sad when appropriate, happy with a sparkle, spiritually wiser, a concentration of emotions like distilling a flower's essence into a little copper pot,

mixed with fine essences from other animals' musks, we are finally connected, together, once and for all because I AM FREE. AND I,

I love you.

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