Can you smell the fear in your pits? If you can’t, you better start to learn to control your frightened scent because some people know how to mark your sweat as a coward based solely on how much you stink.
The never-ending quest to find the best lip ointment led me to discover a delightful — but silly-named — balm called: “Blistex Lip Infusion Cherry Splash.” The great thing about this Blistex sheer liquid balm is its giant ball-bearing applicator that glides over your lips like a whisper of butterfly kisses. You are not only soothed, but besotted as well! There is, however, an odd smell embedded in the Blistex lip infusion. It is advertised as “Cherry” but it has a more familiar tang to it than just plain fruit. There is something medicinal about the cherry aftertaste. It tends to leave a bad aroma in your mouth. Oh, if I could only place that old-time familiar smell…
Yesterday in New York and New Jersey we experienced the strange and pungent odor of natural gas. No one could explain then and no one, even today, can begin to explain now. What’s going on in the urban core?
The olfactory mystery in the New York region was matched by strange activity elsewhere. In Austin, Tex., police cordoned off 10 blocks of the downtown business district early yesterday after more than 60 birds were found dead overnight along Congress Avenue, which leads to the State Capitol.Air testing there failed to find a cause, but preliminary results determined that people were not at risk. In New York, the piercing odor was the talk of Manhattan, and it called to mind another mystery: the maple syrup odor that people reported smelling on separate days in late 2005 and whose source has never been established. In yesterday’s case, several people said they were overcome by the odor.
There are two pencil factories in Jersey City. One is the 150-year old Dixon Ticonderoga pencil factory that now warehouses 467 apartments instead of pencils and erasers. The other is the 120-year-old General Pencil Company that lives a block away from me on Fleet Street.
Janna just returned home from a long business trip and the least thing about her I thought I’d miss was the first thing about her I missed most: The smell of her skin. Whenever we embrace or pass by each other there is the faint smell of human emotion, perfume and sweat mixing in the air between us.
I love kissing the soft path where her hairline meets her forehead and even if she isnt with me I can close my eyes and breathe her in again with the memory of that intoxicating brew of pheromones and promises.
Smell is memory and it reeks from lust and of ancient attics. Smell is the attacking sense and it wafts among the history of dangerous moments and insidious sin. There — floating on face and falling into bosom — tracked by tendrils of thought and electrified by sensation and fever, is the battlefield inspiration men have used across centuries of human sorrow to slay enemies into conquering graves and to thwart evil into heroic darkness.
The promised aroma of victory mingling in the meadows homeward has been tendered and waits for the inhaling.