Top Notes 
Frankincense
Tobacco
Heart Notes 
Amber
Leather
Saffron
Base Notes 
Oud
Musk
Siebenkäs
35 Reviews
Translated · Show original
Siebenkäs
Top Review
57
Trick 17
You avoid the back part of Amsterdam Avenue
and prefer to turn onto 109th. You absolutely don’t want
to run into Steven or one of the Palladinos.
It’s only 800 dollars you owe them,
but right now you’re a bit strapped for cash.
Well, what does "right now" even mean? Normal state - usually in the red.
Always thinking about where to get money for colors and
canvas. Your studio is a rundown place in a corner,
that only people who have no idea call harmless.
Elsewhere it might be a cliché, but for you the
expression "struggle for survival" is, for once, spot on.
But you have your little weapons. Little helpers, tricks,
ploys. A few secrets. Without them, nothing would work.
You sniff your wrist. This scent
is one of them. Velvet Desert Oud. It gives you the feeling,
of having a soft but unbreakable shell around you,
woven from strange spices of the East and
a resinous hint that has little to do with conventional
church incense. More like a smoke
of consecration for a special church, you think. A
church for all of humanity, perhaps a church of
unconditional love. Such daydreams come free with the perfume.
Suddenly it occurs to you - you could drop by Kasimir.
Maybe you can wring a hundred out of him for a week. He’s got his own gallery now,
after he sold a rich Texan a fake Baselitz. Risky business. You could lose sleep over it.
But Kasimir has different genes.
Grown up in the suburbs of Moscow.
Again, a puff of your perfume rises, a whiff
as they say here. Now you also smell the benches made of
exotic woods in your church of love.
Again you take a little detour. The dealer
corner at Cathedral Parkway gets on your nerves.
This endless "need somethin', honey?" Your coke phase
is long over anyway. Twenty hours of working through a high
only to realize that it’s all just complete junk. Not anymore with you.
In the back room of the gallery Faktor, Kasimir is kneeling with his
assistant on the floor, surrounded by bowls of tea,
coffee grounds, ash, dissolved earth. You know exactly what
they're doing, nothing unusual.
"Still not done with the Klimt diaries?"
you ask.
"One more, then it’s a neat package. Untraceable.
And art-historically absolutely watertight. I have someone
who’ll pay me 75K for it..."
Half an hour and two espressos later, you’re back
on the street, with a hundred dollars more in your pocket.
A tube of ultramarine blue, a crimson, a Prussian
blue. A few meters of canvas. Lascaux painting butter.
The smell of the colors strangely harmonizes with the deeper
notes of your scent. Balsamic, woody sweetness, at the same time
dry or rather desert-sun-dry. But with a lot of
oasis feeling.
Oud is really just a word.
Velvet Desert Hut could just as well be your idea.
Or even Velvet Desert Comfort.
Suddenly you have an idea. A bridge form and gray-green
overpainted green. You discover a piece of wallpaper lying next to
the trash can in front of the entrance to your studio.
You’ll stick it in three parts onto the lower third of the canvas,
along with the receipt.
Bending down, the scent rises to your nose again.
"Everything will be fine," it says.
Good to have something like that in the desert they call Manhattan.
and prefer to turn onto 109th. You absolutely don’t want
to run into Steven or one of the Palladinos.
It’s only 800 dollars you owe them,
but right now you’re a bit strapped for cash.
Well, what does "right now" even mean? Normal state - usually in the red.
Always thinking about where to get money for colors and
canvas. Your studio is a rundown place in a corner,
that only people who have no idea call harmless.
Elsewhere it might be a cliché, but for you the
expression "struggle for survival" is, for once, spot on.
But you have your little weapons. Little helpers, tricks,
ploys. A few secrets. Without them, nothing would work.
You sniff your wrist. This scent
is one of them. Velvet Desert Oud. It gives you the feeling,
of having a soft but unbreakable shell around you,
woven from strange spices of the East and
a resinous hint that has little to do with conventional
church incense. More like a smoke
of consecration for a special church, you think. A
church for all of humanity, perhaps a church of
unconditional love. Such daydreams come free with the perfume.
Suddenly it occurs to you - you could drop by Kasimir.
Maybe you can wring a hundred out of him for a week. He’s got his own gallery now,
after he sold a rich Texan a fake Baselitz. Risky business. You could lose sleep over it.
But Kasimir has different genes.
Grown up in the suburbs of Moscow.
Again, a puff of your perfume rises, a whiff
as they say here. Now you also smell the benches made of
exotic woods in your church of love.
Again you take a little detour. The dealer
corner at Cathedral Parkway gets on your nerves.
This endless "need somethin', honey?" Your coke phase
is long over anyway. Twenty hours of working through a high
only to realize that it’s all just complete junk. Not anymore with you.
In the back room of the gallery Faktor, Kasimir is kneeling with his
assistant on the floor, surrounded by bowls of tea,
coffee grounds, ash, dissolved earth. You know exactly what
they're doing, nothing unusual.
"Still not done with the Klimt diaries?"
you ask.
"One more, then it’s a neat package. Untraceable.
And art-historically absolutely watertight. I have someone
who’ll pay me 75K for it..."
Half an hour and two espressos later, you’re back
on the street, with a hundred dollars more in your pocket.
A tube of ultramarine blue, a crimson, a Prussian
blue. A few meters of canvas. Lascaux painting butter.
The smell of the colors strangely harmonizes with the deeper
notes of your scent. Balsamic, woody sweetness, at the same time
dry or rather desert-sun-dry. But with a lot of
oasis feeling.
Oud is really just a word.
Velvet Desert Hut could just as well be your idea.
Or even Velvet Desert Comfort.
Suddenly you have an idea. A bridge form and gray-green
overpainted green. You discover a piece of wallpaper lying next to
the trash can in front of the entrance to your studio.
You’ll stick it in three parts onto the lower third of the canvas,
along with the receipt.
Bending down, the scent rises to your nose again.
"Everything will be fine," it says.
Good to have something like that in the desert they call Manhattan.
26 Comments
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