Disclaimer:
"To describe the associations that this fragrance by Filippo Sorcinelli has awakened,
it is inevitable that Christian-religious ciphers such as death, resurrection and "Last Judgement" are addressed. In addition, existential fears are addressed.
If this triggers you, please stop reading now."
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In the wonderful book "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind", Shunryu Suzuki writes a sentence that is ultimately also the subject of
né il giorno né l'ora:
"Soon we will die."
For the Zen monk, this sentence flows easily and as a fundamental statement from his lips or pen,
catholic Christians - and I suspect that Filippo Sorcinelli, as an Italian, is fundamentally socialized as a Roman Catholic - tend to feel differently:
On the one hand, there is an archaic (pagan) fear of death.
The primal fear, the fear of annihilation, the fear of a self-referential, autopoietic system of the unimaginable:
its own non-existence.
Essentially apocalyptic religious communities have usually devised a narrative here that is intended to give hope:
"When you die, it's not over.
If everything goes wrong, we're on the safe side because we've followed the RIGHT rules, and that's when it gets really cool!"
But there is also a Catholic fear:
The fear that there won't be enough time for confession.
Because, unfortunately, we don't know when the apocalypse will happen.
And it even says so in the Bible:
Gospel of Matthew 24
"36 But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but the Father only 37. for as it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man.
38. for as they were in the days before the flood: they ate, they drank, they married and were given in marriage until the day Noah entered the ark,
39. and they paid no attention until the Flood came and took them all away - so will the coming of the Son of Man be."
Not the day and not the hour
né il giorno né l'ora So what is actually wafting under my nose here as a rather pleasantly citrusy summer freshness is in reality the wave of the new deluge?
An aquat for Judgement Day, haha, how wonderful.
And yet I'm not quite breaking out in a cold sweat,
because all the flowers, citrus fruits and woods are already on their way to the beach, to the party, to eat, to drink, to marry and to be married,
and I hear them singing
"vamos a la plaja, o' o'o o'oh!",
and no one has ever read or translated the lyrics of Righeira,
let alone realize that they are also Italians.
And I am pulled along in a crowd of beautiful young people, to the beach, to the party, where the torches blaze and the moon is reflected in the spray of the dark sea.
And I like to tumble along,
YOLO!
and Maynard James Keenan is there and we talk about L.A. in the 90s and the lyrics of Ænema,
WOOP WOOP!
and there's Filippo at the front, a point of honor, and I ask him what he means by fear,
and he stops for a moment, smiles calmly and says, more quietly than loudly:
"Soon we will die."
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