Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our streams of thought could be fed into some amazing machine that would render them right here on the page? Because then you’d be reading a post about one or more of the following: scent-memories; perfume and synesthesia; the smell of tomato plants; Stephane Humbert Lucas’ Mortal Skin; or a meditation on why Americans don’t have a word with the emotional equivalent of saudade or hiraeth, and what that might look like in perfumery.
Instead, each word drops off my fingers ungracefully, like gravel into a vat of glue. Nothing I write here will please me. Okay, fine — it’s August. Lots of folks on vacation. If you’re feeling it, tell me something. If I were walking in your town or city or countryside today, what would I smell? Or, tell me about a beloved connection between senses — like the taste/smell of a tomato, the smell/sound of crunchy fall leaves, the sight/smell/sound of fireworks. What experience or object, for you, would never be described with only one sense?