The Stench Of Forgetfulness

The stench of forgetfulness was everywhere – it pervaded all things. What did it smell like, you might want to know? What was that very particular odour akin to? Was it musty, like the smell of old books? Or was it fecund and fruity, like the smell of overripe pears that have fallen from the tree in the pear orchard and which are starting to ferment where they lie? Was it perhaps homely and familiar like a big pan of cabbage boiling on the hob, or onions frying on a frying pan? Was it rank like a pile of underwear that have been lying unwashing the floor of your bedroom for many weeks? Was it, was it, was it? Was it like, was it like, was it like? Was it like the smell of oranges on an alternative Earth where oranges (and citrus fruit in general) never existed, and where you simply have no referents, therefore, to enable you to comprehend that smell? Or was it like the smell of dry, dry dust that makes you cough long racking coughs long into the early hours of the night? Coughing, coughing, coughing – your lungs burning with that terrible cough. Was it like the smell of cheap and nasty bubblegum – offensive and yet at the same time appealing? Or was it something much more obvious, like the sweet, sickening smell of chloroform? Was it, was it, was it? Was it like, was it like, was it like? Was it like the smell of unearthly-looking toadstools in the forests of your disturbed and unhappy dreams? Was it exotic, like the perfume worn by an alien hermaphrodite cephalopod you met and briefly fell in love with in a nightclub one time, tripping right out of your head as you were on a heady mix of 2,5-dimethoxy-4-bromophenethylamine and 3,4-Methylene​dioxy​amphetamine? Did it, did it, did it? Dear smell like a pet you once owned and loved in the dim and distant days of your childhood – a faithful but flatulent labrador, perhaps? Did it smell like burning plastic, acrid and toxic, or did it smell like your own deeply offensive body odour, on one of the rare occasions when you were unlucky enough to catch a whiff? Is it like the smell of the hot, dry wind that blows in from the desert, or is it more like the reek of swamp-gas, rich in methane and the essence of mouldering vegetation? Is it a tiny bit like any of these things, or is it perhaps a mix of them all? Is it, is it, is it? Is it like none of the above? You’re keen to know, you see. You’re so keen. Your interest has been well and truly piqued and you won’t be satisfied until you do know. You have to know. You are determined to know. Your imagination is running away with you, leaving you no peace – and leaving me no peace either. Tell me about that smell, you demand. Describe it to me. Unfortunately I cannot however. I can’t tell you what it was like because I have quite forgotten…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “The Stench Of Forgetfulness

  1. zippypinhead1 Post author

    I am trying hard to understand the concept of Seasonal Synesthaesic Distopia – I keep thinking I almost understand it but then it runs away from me again. I would like to understand it – I feel that my life would be more complete if I did. Not a lot more complete but a bit more, perhaps…

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

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