When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability. To be alive is to be vulnerable.–Madeleine L’Engle
Perfume
I’ve made two attempts at Persephone, which I’m making at the behest of John Reasinger, my great friend and champion of Lord’s Jester every way he can, reviews. copy, blogs, perfumery networks, friend to friend, etc. It’s not quite right yet; I’ll need to do some out-of-the-box thinking to make it work. I’ve beefed up the formula a bit, adding fir, geranium sur fleur (rose), and more cypress; I toyed with the idea of adding ginger lily to the mess, but decided against it, because I’m not very familiar with the nature of ginger lily. I removed orange essence; I made the last test batch without cypress, but I thought that thinking outside the box might mean adding more of something I don’t care for on the face of it. Cypress is one for which I don’t particularly care. Not like jasmine, hyacinth, linden-blossom essential oil, etc, all of which are nearly perfumes without having to add anything. But I’ve used these delightful aromatics in several complex, successful perfumes.
Persephone is yet to be perfected, a dark and fruity perfume, as is Artemis, my would-be powdery lavender perfume. I don’t think I have enough energy to add these to my line, but maybe so. If either turn into something profoundly good, I’ll definitely add one or both. After the two extraits are released, I’ll have 21 different perfumes. That’s good round number (though in fact it’s an odd number); still it would feel complete if I only offered 21 perfumes, fulfilled, whole, established. Not all willy-nilly. One extra maybe, which would make for 22 perfumes. I have hope for Persephone, not so much for Artemis. The idea of Artemis is a good one (powdery lavender CDP), it’s just not looking good. I will try at least once more with Artemis, and several more times with Persephone–until I get it right!
By the way, my father helped me realize that my percentages are only theoretical. When I say 3%, it’s actually 2.91%, 5% is actually 4.76%, 7% is actually 6.54%, 11% is actually 9.91%, 15% is actually 13.04%, and 25% is actually 20%. Those all fit in their respective categories. As I have it, EDCs are anywhere from 2-5%, EDTs are anywhere from 4-8%, EDPs are anywhere from 8-15%, and extraits are anywhere from 15-30%. The more concentrated the perfume, the more the theoretical percentage becomes more than the actual percentage is in fact. The thing that Pop realized for example if I make a 25% extrait, 3/4 is alcohol; that means the actual percentage is lower than the theoretical percentage. Not that these facts really make a difference; no one’s ever complained that a given perfume wasn’t strong enough. Just the opposite in fact: people are generally impressed at how strong even my colognes are. But now at least I can say what the actual percentage is for each strength.
Low Life:
Lures and Snares of Old New York
© 1991 Luc Sante
“The Sporting Life/ Saloon Culture: The saloon looms large in the history and folklore of New York. But its origins are concealed in the murk of the Dutch and English past where things like taverns were neither licensed nor regulated and anyone could sell grog informally. Both before and after the Revolution, there were countless inns and taverns and wineshops and breweries and rumshops; the saloon did not begin to acquire its mythic character until reform came along to complain about it, and in the 18th century the voice of reform was still pitched rather low. Even in 1786, a year before the end of the Revolution, there were those who complained about the city’s estimated 800 taverns; since the population, according to the census of 1790, was 340,120, this works out to one groggery for every 425 inhabitants; which is not an extraordinary number.
“By 1826, the count had been reduced to 600 taverns, but this takes in only legitimate taverns and fails to account for the hundreds of tippling shops and other quasi-clandestine outlets. In 1870 there were, indisputably, 7,071 licensed suppliers of liquor by the drink in Manhattan, but again, the count fails to include the proportionately vast number of illegal dives, blind tigers, needled-beer cellars, and the like, which flourished mostly in the slums. An 1897 survey, which more sensibly attempted to list every place of sale and consumption of alcohol, but limited itself to the district bounded by East Houston and Hester Streets, and the Bowery and Essex Street, found 237 dives, and blind pigs (illegal dives and innocuous fronts), or one for every 208 men, women, and children.”
Poem
By Adam Gottschalk
311
No less than 311 prisoners in Italy
serving life sentences have co-signed
a letter to the president requesting
that they be “killed just once”
instead of dying a little bit every
single day. Recently, Italy, home
of the Papacy, asked the UN to
consider tabling the idea of a
worldwide moratorium on
capital punishment. Now 311
of their own men want death
instead the tiny fractions of lives
they’re stuck with now. Three
hundred eleven would rather not be
here than be forced to know of the free
ways of the outside world that will
forever be well beyond their reach.
What are any of us right-minded,
self-righteous people supposed
to think now? Day is night, wrong
is right. Our efforts to remove death
from the list of things civilized
folks are involved with are failing
worse than ever. We think
we know what people want, what
anybody wants out of life; we
don’t. We think we know what
lifers want; we don’t. And we
spend our lives thinking we might
have an inkling what women want;
we don’t. Our confusion, just like
our murderous ways, has sunk to
an all-time low. The scariest thing
about the Italian prisoners is
that I feel exactly the same way.
How come I can’t tell the difference
between serving a life sentence and
simply living out my days? I reckon
it’s because I’m a prisoner in my own
body, staring out gloomily through
the bars, remembering tearfully
the passionate way my life once was,
unable now to live my life as the man
I used to be. And I’m not even
middle aged or what they might call
“older.” I take a small bit of comfort
in knowing at least 311 men out there
are in the same lonesome boat, albeit
a different boat completely.
Quotations
When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability. To be alive is to be vulnerable.–Madeleine L’Engle
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket–safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.–CS Lewis
Love is not love until love’s vulnerable.–Teddy Roethke
I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable.–Joseph Addison
A child who is protected from all controversial ideas is as vulnerable as a child who is protected from every germ. The infection, when it comes–and it will come–may overwhelm the system, be it the immune system or the belief system.–Jane Smiley
Everybody in Spain is sick of me. But in America, there’s curiosity about the new kid on the block who doesn’t speak English very well. The attention makes me feel vulnerable, which is something I hadn’t felt in a while. But I like it.–Javier Bardem
Dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men.–Goethe
Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes, they forgive them.–Oscar Wilde
Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.–Benjamin Franklin
One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar.–Helen Keller
Peace, love, and may you live in fragrant delight
