Sirenis Liquides Imaginaires 2022

Tomorrow is Halloween. The festival of horror has its origins in Ireland: In pre-Christian times, the Celts celebrated Samhain on October 31, one of their most important festivals. They celebrated their harvest, the beginning of the cold season, and the start of a new calendar year. The Celts also believed that on this day, contacts with the realm of the dead could occur. It is also simply called Reformation Day and is a public holiday in some federal states, as on October 31, 1517, old Luther nailed his 95 theses to the church door in Wittenberg. Of course, I know that Halloween and Reformation Day have as much in common as bats and flying ducks. Just in case there’s another explanation bear around here.
Back to Halloween and the truly terrible, disgusting things that happen.
A small town somewhere in the middle of nowhere. On the outskirts, single-family homes face a renatured swamp. At the edge of the swamp, boggy shores. Some of the residents compete every year on Halloween to see who has the spookiest decorations. Neighbor Meier has a lonely ghost climbing up the gutter. In the front yard stands a gallows, with a hanged man dangling from it. Miniature pinscher Zorro is dressed as Cerberus, the hellhound. This year, Meier is playing the Prince of Darkness, with his wife Lucretia Borgia. Müller next door has set up a guillotine. Under the wooden platform, there’s a bucket with a severed head that the St. Bernard Fiffi has already dragged away a few times. Müller is going as an alien this time. The night progresses. Gases rise from the swamp. Will-o'-the-wisps dance on the horizon. The thing floats closer, appearing beautifully in the darkness. It offers sea notes and noble flowers. The closer it flies, the more rotten notes reveal themselves, flowers from decaying water. The beauty was deceptive. An ugly monster emerges. It grins widely, can laugh around its head with black stumpy teeth and a moldy breath.
It calls out: “Musk, finest musk!” But it’s actually its earwax. Brown and already lumpy.
“Amber, creamy amber!” Actually, corpse wax from the dead who were brought up after the swamp was watered.
“Patchouli, cozy, earthy, velvety!” Earth from molehills, mixed with droppings and vomit.
Müller and Meier flee. In the distance, a tawny owl tucks will-o'-the-wisps under its wings and seeks the open. The hanged man laughs and laughs......