I maintain the foundation of my memories gathered during the last nearly 18 years of occupation. This morning I run drills olfaction, as I sometimes do regularly to shake up the drawers of my memory that have a natural tendency to gripper. I feel the buttons, bits of paper and neutral white, soaked a small amount of very dilute raw, natural or synthetic. I have to find the name of this material. Quickly. Mechanically.
students, we practiced gymnastics this essential, first learning the art of the perfumer. We have detailed at length in our books smell, familiar or unknown, filed on smelling, then we have memorized, repeating our daily exercises blind instinct, as a game, to have no more hesitation. Taking cues abstract fragile, sometimes difficult to verbalize, often loaded with personal memories.
Geneva
School, the first words that my brain collide this morning when I pass the smelling strip under my nose. Then a great white.
No name on this product.
Yet I know this material and use it from time to time. But at that moment, I feel empty. A strange sensation that amuses and intrigues me. I straightened the head, take a look outside the office and rinsed my eye on the landscape. Then I rub my nose against my sweater and sucks the familiar smell of my skin. Ploy staff to the task sliders to zero. I try a new sniff paper talkative.
Geneva
Grey, all crumbly and disperses. Blocking. Nah, I will not go!
I wait a few seconds. I operate a void in my channels nose tip detection and careful with the real impression that extends a few millimeters, while my nostrils spread their wings to the maximum!
I force my means of analysis, my old reflexes screening mumble a descriptive vocabulary of elementary school. Honey, almond, dust ... but I can not say more because the connection is suddenly cut.
Jove.
No longer nose. Turning to the head.
Landslide, I leave the reality and plunge into contemplation.
On reflection, I see the word Geneva arises as soon as the component passes under my nose, from the first sessions in olfaction ISIPCA. So the phenomenon is ancient. Yet this is the first time he muzzles all other forms of introspection. What is this product that prevents me from feeling? Why I can not give him a name? As I want to understand why my nose runs up the same word, the same image blurred, I resist the need to leave my office to ask my assistant's name disruptive. For today I have a picture. Vague and gray, but clearly present. A physical sensation as well. Sweetness, wrapped in embarrassment. Something to flush my knowledge or just be in a simple and sensitive. I'll delve into the psychology of bazaar, self-analysis of counter? I finally selected the temptation to "Madeleine". : I enjoyed a kind of flavor of today and I operate a large gap with my past.
Geneva School
My daughter
Moving
My daughter has just changed school.
At the same time, but years ago, I discovered my new school in Geneva. Today the perfumes of the landscape, air, roads are not the same as in this city deep in the Alps. And yet. I taste the same smell and has the same fears. As my daughter, when we enter this new school. Each morning a hot blast of sweat of children, soap and paper, we jumped in his face when we pass reception. I let my daughter, hesitating on the verge of tears at the edge of class. I leave the scene, and, unconscious gesture, I fly. Nose rinsed encephalogram dish, I go to my own activities.
Yes, but.
Exercise in the morning. Muscle cramp and small. Hey, it gets stuck on the sidelines.
I take back my piece of blotting paper and agree to watch the smell. I finally understand what my brakes. A tiny, delicate scent, white glue, sour milk, jam spoiled. A scent of kindergarten. Diluted and outdated.
I am far from the definition forged on the benches for another school, many years later, pushing away the word Geneva and associated images.
Benzyl alcohol: semen, honey, white flowers and a trace of almond.
Now, I must also say: loneliness, anxiety and curiosity, with the emotions of a child 5 years.
students, we practiced gymnastics this essential, first learning the art of the perfumer. We have detailed at length in our books smell, familiar or unknown, filed on smelling, then we have memorized, repeating our daily exercises blind instinct, as a game, to have no more hesitation. Taking cues abstract fragile, sometimes difficult to verbalize, often loaded with personal memories.
Geneva
School, the first words that my brain collide this morning when I pass the smelling strip under my nose. Then a great white.
No name on this product.
Yet I know this material and use it from time to time. But at that moment, I feel empty. A strange sensation that amuses and intrigues me. I straightened the head, take a look outside the office and rinsed my eye on the landscape. Then I rub my nose against my sweater and sucks the familiar smell of my skin. Ploy staff to the task sliders to zero. I try a new sniff paper talkative.
Geneva
Grey, all crumbly and disperses. Blocking. Nah, I will not go!
I wait a few seconds. I operate a void in my channels nose tip detection and careful with the real impression that extends a few millimeters, while my nostrils spread their wings to the maximum!
I force my means of analysis, my old reflexes screening mumble a descriptive vocabulary of elementary school. Honey, almond, dust ... but I can not say more because the connection is suddenly cut.
Jove.
No longer nose. Turning to the head.
Landslide, I leave the reality and plunge into contemplation.
On reflection, I see the word Geneva arises as soon as the component passes under my nose, from the first sessions in olfaction ISIPCA. So the phenomenon is ancient. Yet this is the first time he muzzles all other forms of introspection. What is this product that prevents me from feeling? Why I can not give him a name? As I want to understand why my nose runs up the same word, the same image blurred, I resist the need to leave my office to ask my assistant's name disruptive. For today I have a picture. Vague and gray, but clearly present. A physical sensation as well. Sweetness, wrapped in embarrassment. Something to flush my knowledge or just be in a simple and sensitive. I'll delve into the psychology of bazaar, self-analysis of counter? I finally selected the temptation to "Madeleine". : I enjoyed a kind of flavor of today and I operate a large gap with my past.
Geneva School
My daughter
Moving
My daughter has just changed school.
At the same time, but years ago, I discovered my new school in Geneva. Today the perfumes of the landscape, air, roads are not the same as in this city deep in the Alps. And yet. I taste the same smell and has the same fears. As my daughter, when we enter this new school. Each morning a hot blast of sweat of children, soap and paper, we jumped in his face when we pass reception. I let my daughter, hesitating on the verge of tears at the edge of class. I leave the scene, and, unconscious gesture, I fly. Nose rinsed encephalogram dish, I go to my own activities.
Yes, but.
Exercise in the morning. Muscle cramp and small. Hey, it gets stuck on the sidelines.
I take back my piece of blotting paper and agree to watch the smell. I finally understand what my brakes. A tiny, delicate scent, white glue, sour milk, jam spoiled. A scent of kindergarten. Diluted and outdated.
I am far from the definition forged on the benches for another school, many years later, pushing away the word Geneva and associated images.
Benzyl alcohol: semen, honey, white flowers and a trace of almond.
Now, I must also say: loneliness, anxiety and curiosity, with the emotions of a child 5 years.
