Call and No Response
Let’s workshop this poem about a world of disconnection groomed by echo chambers and safe spaces, where—with trigger hysteria discouraging risk—guarded speech replaces the generative mess of exchange.
scent of the day: Sawlaj, by Kajal
Still working on my review.
Sawlaj (2017, Christian Carbonnel)—an oriental-leather chypre that conjures an after-hours boardroom in the 1980s where an open calfskin briefcase on a lemon-polished table displays stacked sawlaj (raw silver bullion) as Gulf oil magnates, echoing Wolf of Wallstreet aesthetics of 1980s Americana they would never fess up to, sit around smoking cigarettes and sipping cardamom coffee—
presents a classic chypre structure—citrus top (aldehydic-candied almalfi lemon, zesty-tart lemon rind, bitter-tea bergamot), floral mid (clovey-stemmy carnation, sour-ingot rose, clean-crotch jasmine), earthy base (fingernail-sod partchouli, mildew-bark oakmoss, musky-leather labdanum, root-dirt vetiver)—
but bends this European chassis in an Arabian direction with spices (cumin, coriander, paella-pan saffron) and resins (vanilla, benzoin) that reinforce the beguiling tug-of-war between the volatile and the grounded (peppery dust that feels like Pepsi syrup on the tongue, a fizzy-sour olibanum-cola gone bodily) while thrusting the nose into the meeting point of Parisian heritage and Gulf theater (soda-fizz creating a small bubble of jihad armpit wafting through dignitary cloaks),
a chiamsus perhaps best captured in the majlis-filling aromas of 1980s-era Saudi Princes who—in addition to all the plug-and-play signals of the Gulf oil magnate (convoys of Mercedes W126 S-Class saloons and Cadillac Fleetwoods idling outside the majlis, Cartier Vendôme sunglasses, long white dishdasha robe of Egyptian cotton starched to hell, red-and-white checkered ghutra headscarf secured with the black agal cord, a khanjar daggar at the waist glinting with silver and gold wire, gold Rolexes heavy on the wrist, handmade John Lobb shoes of hide softened to near butter—love their Bel Ami—
the overall result being a sour-resin fragrance that, reanimating the chypre skeleton (mostly think Bel Ami, but also the more animalic and fruity Diaghilev and the more medicinal and smoky Roja Dove Parfum de la Nuit No. 3) with Middle Eastern masala, starts off rich with a sun-kissed citrus feel (sort of like Aqua di Parma Leather, only more overcast like Bortnikof Symphonie de Neroli) as well as syrupy resins and cumin-centered spices but comes out as more and more dusty and vanillic over time (a cross between LDDM or even Lonestar Memories and Bengal Rouge, albeit always with some trace of the middle-eastern spices), leaving in the deep drydown a fuzzy suede that is more realistic than what you migth think from the first hours;
the overall result being a spicy-woody fragrance that, although inspired by shaker Bel Ami enough to be called not a clone (its craftmanship and ingredients are too good to slander it with that title tainted by houses like Dua) but rather a faithful homage (both fragrances bitter, smoky, spicy, soft yet sharp, refined yet rugged root-beer leather), differs from Bel Ami (vintage Bel Ami) in ways significant at least to discerning noses:
Bel Ami is more herbal and it seems better balanced (which in my book is not necessarily an advantage) and more leather true and American rugged (think the cowboy saddle of Lonestar Memories) and animalic (castoreum) and almost buttery salted caramel whereas Sawlaj is more sour and oriental and vanillic and dispersive, its mossy character not as natural and its herbal aspect mainly just centered around carnation and its gassiness nothing like the stove-leak-like and its leather not as oily (more stale and dusty, especially over time).
Call and No Response
Conversation has stiffened
into safe monologues
that leave little new behind—
crossing, if lucky, cold
like train tracks: no jazz braids,
no crosswind synergies,
bringing to light knowledge
you would have never thought
you had stashed.