The perfumed fortune

Sometimes people ask me: 'what are you doing these days?' My answer is often simple: 'nothing I haven't done before.' In my work with the cards I've been particularly good at smelling rats. When I get too much of that, I turn to smelling perfumes, especially the ones of my own concoction. I compose fragrances from natural plant material for my own pleasure and that of a few select. I apply wizardry and alchemy to my olfactory art and science, and in the process I amuse myself a great deal. The scents I come up with are out of this world – if I may say so myself. Though others said it too. But since I've never worked for validation or towards being held in unexamined exaltation by either flatterers or sincere people, I don't concern myself with feedback and opinions. I give in to my sheer curiosity motivated by the opposite of self-importance and opportunistic righteousness and I pay attention to the changing of seasons. Summer is near, and I hear the flowers wafting their scents from invisible places. I'm writing a new book on scent and divination, perfumed fortunes and rotten skulls, roses and the smell of indole. I burn frankincense and myrrh in praise of shadows, exorcising demons too, or the shallow thinkers who signal endless virtues, empty tropes of our modern times. I myself am ancient, and so is my magic.