Top Notes 
Aldehydes
Bergamot
Clove
Heart Notes 
Gardenia
Jasmine
Narcissus
Ylang-ylang
Iris
Base Notes 
Oakmoss absolute
Musk
Santalol
Indian sandalwood
Patchouli06/14/2024
Axiomatic
67 Reviews
Translated
Show original
Axiomatic
Top Review
40
Those believed dead live longer
With all the linguistic restrictions of our free republic, it makes me slightly queasy to write the following text.
Can I expect bad things?
The concentrated power of the state?
First of all, fiction should be understood and enjoyed!
Dear Cenno, fair spirit, your fragrant post brought me into distress and caused me to reopen what I had overcome!
Trembling hands, beads of sweat, increased heart rate.
Strangely enough, ice-cold hands!
The cryptic description alone about a long banned, withdrawn from the market main ingredient, chypre base from Givaudan of the late 1970s and early 1980s, made me nervous.
All the fragrances from that time went through my head like the deadliest rollercoaster in the middle of a maelstrom.
And now this little plastic pocket atomizer, sealed with masking tape with the warning in capital letters:
CHYPRE INFERNO
NOCTURNE
Oh yes, the kitchen paper punched with a paisley pattern as protective padding with:
BISOU-INFERNO
The kiss of death!
Now it's time to take a deep breath and...
Hiss!
Goodness gracious...
Bill Conti's theme music from Denver Clan (Dynasty) sounds harp-like, like angelic choirs of fallen beings.
Aldehydes believed to be dead with this so damn well-bred bergamot immediately give me ventricular fibrillation.
Discreet clove, dangerously close to the Caron scale.
And without further ado, extracts of those malicious flowers enter the stage.
What a noble fuss of well-heeled patrician dynasties!
Gardenia and iris really distinguished (here you can use Baseldytsch or Alster-Dünkel if you like), pale, blasé, coolly sublime.
Narcissus and ylang-ylang are the golden counterparts, so mercilessly striking, full of light and radiance. (Munich Gschnazl or Viennese Schmäh.)
Jasmin once again, incontinently provocative. (Berliner Gekeife or Frankfurt Schandmaul.)
Such a floral round dance is like the negligent calling of certain spirits that should be left to rest in peace.
The planchette moves swiftly and graceful imprecations blare out at you.
But then...
The forbidden fruit, the elixir of horror!
Oak moss as good as it gets!
Elegantly soapy.
Opulently captivates all the senses.
The here and now fades out.
Its assistants, delicately chastening sandalwood, sinful musk and Transylvanian patchouli, ensure that you are not catapulted over the edge, but directly onto Wiesbaden's Wilhelmstrasse of yesteryear.
That mile opposite the beautiful Kurpark, once the first address of well-heeled grandees in the battle for elegance.
What linguistic freedom one enjoyed while strolling in those days.
Discreetly uttered snippets of conversation were skillfully spoken a little louder at just the right moment for other competitors.
Classic, of course, the somewhat theatrical greeting of exalted ladies, the ice-cold questioning and finally the delightful stabbing weapon as they continued to walk.
Allow me to put a few memories on paper.
"Well, you here?
And I thought your husband's business wasn't going so well!"
"Thank you very much.
But I've missed you at the bridge evening for a long time.
Not that you're indisposed again because of your husband's flirtations!"
"We should definitely dine chez Max again!"
But I warn you, the new modesty has arrived.
Just a wafer-thin slice of duck breast on beluga lentils with Kiedrich champagne vinegar the other day.
I'm just saying..."
"Well, I'm sure that the new collection arrived at Féraud a long time ago.
Why so hesitant?
I can of course put in a good word for you.
As you know, they don't really like "les soldes". But something could certainly be done for you!"
The moment of the heartfelt farewell.
Best wishes will resonate en passant.
"Lyceum from behind, museum from the front!"
Oh, those were the days!
Chypre couldn't be more beguiling!
And now I enjoy every single drop of this hellish concoction.
Dear Cenno, we should take a stroll down Fasanenstraße on the Spree, don't you think?
We'll just hiss up the right vermin!
Well then.
See you...
Can I expect bad things?
The concentrated power of the state?
First of all, fiction should be understood and enjoyed!
Dear Cenno, fair spirit, your fragrant post brought me into distress and caused me to reopen what I had overcome!
Trembling hands, beads of sweat, increased heart rate.
Strangely enough, ice-cold hands!
The cryptic description alone about a long banned, withdrawn from the market main ingredient, chypre base from Givaudan of the late 1970s and early 1980s, made me nervous.
All the fragrances from that time went through my head like the deadliest rollercoaster in the middle of a maelstrom.
And now this little plastic pocket atomizer, sealed with masking tape with the warning in capital letters:
CHYPRE INFERNO
NOCTURNE
Oh yes, the kitchen paper punched with a paisley pattern as protective padding with:
BISOU-INFERNO
The kiss of death!
Now it's time to take a deep breath and...
Hiss!
Goodness gracious...
Bill Conti's theme music from Denver Clan (Dynasty) sounds harp-like, like angelic choirs of fallen beings.
Aldehydes believed to be dead with this so damn well-bred bergamot immediately give me ventricular fibrillation.
Discreet clove, dangerously close to the Caron scale.
And without further ado, extracts of those malicious flowers enter the stage.
What a noble fuss of well-heeled patrician dynasties!
Gardenia and iris really distinguished (here you can use Baseldytsch or Alster-Dünkel if you like), pale, blasé, coolly sublime.
Narcissus and ylang-ylang are the golden counterparts, so mercilessly striking, full of light and radiance. (Munich Gschnazl or Viennese Schmäh.)
Jasmin once again, incontinently provocative. (Berliner Gekeife or Frankfurt Schandmaul.)
Such a floral round dance is like the negligent calling of certain spirits that should be left to rest in peace.
The planchette moves swiftly and graceful imprecations blare out at you.
But then...
The forbidden fruit, the elixir of horror!
Oak moss as good as it gets!
Elegantly soapy.
Opulently captivates all the senses.
The here and now fades out.
Its assistants, delicately chastening sandalwood, sinful musk and Transylvanian patchouli, ensure that you are not catapulted over the edge, but directly onto Wiesbaden's Wilhelmstrasse of yesteryear.
That mile opposite the beautiful Kurpark, once the first address of well-heeled grandees in the battle for elegance.
What linguistic freedom one enjoyed while strolling in those days.
Discreetly uttered snippets of conversation were skillfully spoken a little louder at just the right moment for other competitors.
Classic, of course, the somewhat theatrical greeting of exalted ladies, the ice-cold questioning and finally the delightful stabbing weapon as they continued to walk.
Allow me to put a few memories on paper.
"Well, you here?
And I thought your husband's business wasn't going so well!"
"Thank you very much.
But I've missed you at the bridge evening for a long time.
Not that you're indisposed again because of your husband's flirtations!"
"We should definitely dine chez Max again!"
But I warn you, the new modesty has arrived.
Just a wafer-thin slice of duck breast on beluga lentils with Kiedrich champagne vinegar the other day.
I'm just saying..."
"Well, I'm sure that the new collection arrived at Féraud a long time ago.
Why so hesitant?
I can of course put in a good word for you.
As you know, they don't really like "les soldes". But something could certainly be done for you!"
The moment of the heartfelt farewell.
Best wishes will resonate en passant.
"Lyceum from behind, museum from the front!"
Oh, those were the days!
Chypre couldn't be more beguiling!
And now I enjoy every single drop of this hellish concoction.
Dear Cenno, we should take a stroll down Fasanenstraße on the Spree, don't you think?
We'll just hiss up the right vermin!
Well then.
See you...
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