Written By Gio
Jan. 17, 2022, 8:44 p.m.(12/13/1016 AR)
notes for those days of first winter snowfall when you wake realizing you left a window open - then you realize it's still autumn: ice, snow, delicate frost-rimed fir needle and birch - musk, if I can stomach the distillation of it because the last time was really fucking ill-advised and I will not forget how expensive that mistake was. Passing thought. Yes - otherwise, I will idle with an alternative that might compliment deadfall.
Dusty charcoal ash from spent incense, bitter black coffee, boozy cream liqueur.
Melted wax, flickering candlelight.
Dusty charcoal ash from spent incense, bitter black coffee, boozy cream liqueur.
Melted wax, flickering candlelight.
Written By Gio
Jan. 17, 2022, 12:01 a.m.(12/11/1016 AR)
notes on a scent for a moment in time that probably never happened, and a conversation I never had: on Marine fog, thick as woolen sweaters - colder than rejection, swirls and vanishes at the shore with odd sweetness - damp soil, kelp and rotting wood soaked from endless rain, briny oysters, broken shells against a chapped lower lip, sharp - blood.
Thole, you said.
We both understood the word to mean different things,
neither one of us ever clarified.
Thole, you said.
We both understood the word to mean different things,
neither one of us ever clarified.
Written By Gio
Jan. 15, 2022, 10:23 p.m.(12/9/1016 AR)
notes of nothing at all in particular: the cold taste of the night sky between stars, the scent of blueberry cider, the bite of steel that sounds thick - sluggish - and pounds like a headache between my ears, the scent of warm cashmere.
Written By Gio
Jan. 14, 2022, 8:17 a.m.(12/6/1016 AR)
Clearly, also under the influence of the excellent care and keeping of -- no, Scholar, not the Mercies. A smaller mercy caught within a bottle. Blissful stuff, that, and I will need to see if I can make a similar tincture on my own idle time. There's also a scent. A hollow, cold, oddly empty scent that I wish to replicate - and it lingers, elusive, difficult to note.
For now, I think, I will ruminate over rennet.
Improve my culture through cheese-making.
For now, I think, I will ruminate over rennet.
Improve my culture through cheese-making.
Written By Gio
Jan. 13, 2022, 9 p.m.(12/5/1016 AR)
Beautifully flawed, only wrought with an extra scar.
A risk understood. Choices made. Consequences considered. Wonders - abound.
Illuminated, not dissuaded.
A risk understood. Choices made. Consequences considered. Wonders - abound.
Illuminated, not dissuaded.
Written By Gio
Jan. 7, 2022, 3:16 p.m.(11/20/1016 AR)
Leaves crackle underfoot. Eventually, even the little flame-leaved maple tree in the arcady of the Whispers House will be bare. In no time at all, the air will grow crisp with cold, it will all turn to ice -- and it's going to become impossible to traverse the city streets without a proper walking cane, else I slip and suffer a fall like I did my first winter here. My left hip still aches, in that same spot, and it's also why I will gladly learn how to darn socks in an effort to stay comfortably in one place during the worst of the winter.
Because this cane will not design and craft itself,
I suppose I better start working on one.
Because this cane will not design and craft itself,
I suppose I better start working on one.
Written By Gio
Jan. 6, 2022, 1:48 p.m.(11/18/1016 AR)
There may be those who tell me I'm mad,
my distaste for rhymes in verse make them sad
but my patron, Savio, I am not -
lest you forgot
but this poor attempt isn't terrible.
my distaste for rhymes in verse make them sad
but my patron, Savio, I am not -
lest you forgot
but this poor attempt isn't terrible.
Written By Gio
Dec. 29, 2021, 7:14 p.m.(11/3/1016 AR)
I can feel the weather changing. Not through alchemical - or other esoteric means - but each morning, when it gets a little harder to move, and all of the salves are less and less useful on the joins and angles of myself. The creaks and pops like cracking ice. The cold that sits in my lungs until I shake like a leaf to rid myself of those foul humors, coughing, and yes - then there's haze - to soften it all, to allow a breath as deep as I am able. Relief.
Thankfully, like the seasons - my pain is cyclical - in most ways tolerable.
Like any poorly tended to thing - really.
Thankfully, like the seasons - my pain is cyclical - in most ways tolerable.
Like any poorly tended to thing - really.
Written By Gio
Dec. 24, 2021, 3:06 p.m.(10/20/1016 AR)
I have made my first perfume. Because of a - intriguing and fucking weird - alchemical component in these white florals - they have a very, very strong aroma. At odds. It it both sharp and clean - while also smelling like cat piss and hot, stale breath. Repulsive, unfriendly - mysterious, delectable.
Written By Gio
Dec. 21, 2021, 6:19 p.m.(10/15/1016 AR)
Smoke rises. Smoke rises the way that heat rises from sun-baked stone of our roads or sizzling sand of our beaches. Smoke rises from a haze cigarillo. In that smoke, my mood rises. It tastes like lemongrass. Like orange peels. It joins my heart. My spirit, high. Without the haze. Without the spirits. There's a word for it, I'm sure, but I don't remember it. It disperses in the air. I feel like that, now, sometimes. Lighter. More often than I did. I suppose, this - is what happiness should feel more like.
How many choices brought me here.
Maybe, next time - I'll pray.
How many choices brought me here.
Maybe, next time - I'll pray.
Written By Gio
Dec. 17, 2021, 4:20 p.m.(10/7/1016 AR)
idle notes for a scent: metallic tang of pewter-heavy sky, the sound of distant thunder would be a deep scent, something strange - a complement to the pepper crack of lighting and the thick soft velvet of clouds and you will be able to taste it, lingering on the tongue once the bright violet-white fire of it has split that dark sky with color and it burns, it's sweet tobacco and charred vanilla woods - and you feel the rumble of it --
Written By Gio
Dec. 16, 2021, 11:10 p.m.(10/5/1016 AR)
The forging of the self, as a metaphor for metal, while picking a copper splinter from beneath my nails.
Re-create yourself by forging a new identity, one that brings attention to your own merits - and one that never bores your social rivals. Be the author of your own image - always - and do not let others define you. Incorporate dramatic device into your public persona, actions, and gestures -- and realize that a part of this requires self-awareness.
My poor hands.
Re-create yourself by forging a new identity, one that brings attention to your own merits - and one that never bores your social rivals. Be the author of your own image - always - and do not let others define you. Incorporate dramatic device into your public persona, actions, and gestures -- and realize that a part of this requires self-awareness.
My poor hands.
Written By Gio
Dec. 15, 2021, 4:53 p.m.(10/3/1016 AR)
An idle thought on metalworking:
Pewter, a mixture of various metals, including - but not limited to copper and sometimes, silver - is mostly tin. It's so much softer than silver, it takes to whatever shape I please, but - it takes dings and dents with similar ease. If you overwork it, it gets dull and brittle. It doesn't need a delicate touch, it needs a determined one. That is not metaphor. It's hardly even a couplet. It's the rich, saturated color of lead --
Makes me wonder why we do not call a storm-heavy sky pewter.
Pewter, a mixture of various metals, including - but not limited to copper and sometimes, silver - is mostly tin. It's so much softer than silver, it takes to whatever shape I please, but - it takes dings and dents with similar ease. If you overwork it, it gets dull and brittle. It doesn't need a delicate touch, it needs a determined one. That is not metaphor. It's hardly even a couplet. It's the rich, saturated color of lead --
Makes me wonder why we do not call a storm-heavy sky pewter.
Written By Gio
Dec. 13, 2021, 6:13 a.m.(9/26/1016 AR)
A discovery: my coin purse is not endless.
A realization: I suppose I need to learn a trade.
A realization: I suppose I need to learn a trade.
Written By Gio
Dec. 4, 2021, 3:10 p.m.(9/8/1016 AR)
Apparently, there are types of wasps that are quite unlikely to sting - even when disturbed. How compelling.
Written By Gio
Dec. 1, 2021, 11:07 p.m.(9/3/1016 AR)
Having an opinion is rather like the harvesting of ambergris - what starts off smelling of shit, and whale decay - turns into a substance worth its weight in coin, and more, the longer it ages.
That's a thought.
That's a thought.
Written By Gio
Nov. 29, 2021, 5:49 p.m.(8/27/1016 AR)
Mutualism. If anyone comes across a half-eaten wasp in their fig - don't waste it. I'm sure it's as good for you as the fruit is.
Written By Gio
Nov. 28, 2021, 10:49 p.m.(8/25/1016 AR)
( In wine, truth. In narcotics, the blunt. )
We will be the destructive force of one another, of our - everything - I suppose, if we continue to pull at each lost and unraveling thread, creating chasm after chasm, isolating ourselves, burning bridges while still being asked into the crossing of them - and we're turning ourselves into the things that we are afraid to mention out loud.
We will be the destructive force of one another, of our - everything - I suppose, if we continue to pull at each lost and unraveling thread, creating chasm after chasm, isolating ourselves, burning bridges while still being asked into the crossing of them - and we're turning ourselves into the things that we are afraid to mention out loud.
Written By Gio
Nov. 27, 2021, 12:58 p.m.(8/22/1016 AR)
The courtier wields power through discretion and through discreet avenues - soft lips, hard hearts. By flattering and yielding and knowing when to advance and when to withdraw - enforcing their power through charm - they accumulate an ever-increasing amount of quiet influence.
It's an avenue worth exploring.
I just might.
It's an avenue worth exploring.
I just might.
Written By Gio
Nov. 26, 2021, 11 p.m.(8/21/1016 AR)
A note on a beautiful word:
chatoyance - the cat's eye effect - that shimmering shine of shifting colors, softer than a sweetly spoken suggestion - with the intrigue, causing you to lean in. You don't know how it occurs in nature, only that it does because you have seen it. In cut and polished stone, in glass, in oil burnished wood - never in someone's eyes, never before. You are aware it isn't likely, not truly, but in that light - with the company, the conversation --
You're willing to believe in the extraordinary.
chatoyance - the cat's eye effect - that shimmering shine of shifting colors, softer than a sweetly spoken suggestion - with the intrigue, causing you to lean in. You don't know how it occurs in nature, only that it does because you have seen it. In cut and polished stone, in glass, in oil burnished wood - never in someone's eyes, never before. You are aware it isn't likely, not truly, but in that light - with the company, the conversation --
You're willing to believe in the extraordinary.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.