“Stoon of Sikernesse” in Troilus and Criseyde
Let’s workshop this poem about how the vertigo of wheel-of-fortune transience leads us to erect transcendent Christ stones of changeless security (which Nietzsche might describe as "earth slandering")
scent of the day (3 day in a row now!): Epic Man, by Amouage. A woody-oriental fragrance that combines smokey-skanky spiciness with piney-soapy freshness (one might think of the equally-bone-dry One Man Show Oud Edition, albeit done with topnotch ingredients and care; one might even think of a spice-trading bedouin’s camel-panty-dropping version of Dolce and Gabbana’s The One), Epic Man—easily in my top five were it not for its (at least my 2024 batch’s) polite projection—is a dark “nougere” done in an unapologetically Arabic style: the classic notes of lavender, geranium, and patchouli account—with the help of mentholated greenery like myrtle (and perhaps artemisia, anise, and wormwood)—for the barbershop backbone, only one made scoliotic by the aromatic mélange of headshop incense, camel-saddley oud, and musky woods (cedarwood, sandalwood) as desiccated as the spices (mace, pink pepper, cardamom, cumin, saffron, nutmeg).
“Stoon of Sikernesse” in Troilus and Criseyde
The insanity of to-die-for pussy
love is that, despite the loftier
causes to die for (causes
that outspan us), such love clings
to what is prone to change
and leave, fated to sicken
and die—yet the loftiest
earthly causes die too (hence
the pull of anti-samsara heaven).
