Top Notes 
Heart Notes 
Base Notes 
01/24/2016
GothicHeart
86 Reviews
GothicHeart
Very helpful Review
11
I smell yellow...
How does yellow smell?
To me it smells like Volupté, for Volupté is a million suns burning in a bottle, blooming like yellow and white incandescent cosmic flowers, embroidered in the huge dark canvas of the space between the stars.
Most of the time we tend to forget that down-to-earth matters are still floating in a microscopic speck of cosmic dust swirling in the most farflung rims of a rather tiny galaxy.
If there was some fictitious fusion between the sci-fi and cloak and dagger genres, this would be the treasure waiting for the audacious adventurer in the end.
This is what Conan the Barbarian would risk his life for, in order to seize it from its rare earth august pedestal, facing either monstrous sentinels or grids of death rays all the way.
And while its abstract shape would have probably looked incomprehensible to his barbaric mind, the walnut-sized emerald on its top, beaming mesmerising memories of dense humid forests and lost cities, would have made it irresistible to his ravenous eyes.
I can't decide whether its bottle depicts a very primitive or a highly stylised bust of some long-forsaken goddess.
In its golden fathomless depths I can see the voluptuous charms of a barbarian queen ruling on some lush corner of an exo-planet, totally unaware that she's been monitored by eyes coming from thousands of light-years away. Eyes belonging to a deep-space plunderer named something like Carmen Sandiego, whose scent is oscillating like a pulsar for all eternity. Volupte is both these women and each of them is fiercely tantalising in her own unique way.
And while its top notes are scorching supernovas wreaking effulgent splendour on the dark and frozen extremities of the macrocosm, its base note is tears shed for something dear and long gone. And although you can hardly recall what it was, its absence still ravages your heart.
Somewhere in the background a melancholic voice is singing:
"For a moment you could not recall the colour of her eyes..."
And I stand terrified by the unbearable veracity these words are carrying.
To me it smells like Volupté, for Volupté is a million suns burning in a bottle, blooming like yellow and white incandescent cosmic flowers, embroidered in the huge dark canvas of the space between the stars.
Most of the time we tend to forget that down-to-earth matters are still floating in a microscopic speck of cosmic dust swirling in the most farflung rims of a rather tiny galaxy.
If there was some fictitious fusion between the sci-fi and cloak and dagger genres, this would be the treasure waiting for the audacious adventurer in the end.
This is what Conan the Barbarian would risk his life for, in order to seize it from its rare earth august pedestal, facing either monstrous sentinels or grids of death rays all the way.
And while its abstract shape would have probably looked incomprehensible to his barbaric mind, the walnut-sized emerald on its top, beaming mesmerising memories of dense humid forests and lost cities, would have made it irresistible to his ravenous eyes.
I can't decide whether its bottle depicts a very primitive or a highly stylised bust of some long-forsaken goddess.
In its golden fathomless depths I can see the voluptuous charms of a barbarian queen ruling on some lush corner of an exo-planet, totally unaware that she's been monitored by eyes coming from thousands of light-years away. Eyes belonging to a deep-space plunderer named something like Carmen Sandiego, whose scent is oscillating like a pulsar for all eternity. Volupte is both these women and each of them is fiercely tantalising in her own unique way.
And while its top notes are scorching supernovas wreaking effulgent splendour on the dark and frozen extremities of the macrocosm, its base note is tears shed for something dear and long gone. And although you can hardly recall what it was, its absence still ravages your heart.
Somewhere in the background a melancholic voice is singing:
"For a moment you could not recall the colour of her eyes..."
And I stand terrified by the unbearable veracity these words are carrying.
KimJong
