Olfactory memory. The strongest of all time warps. One whiff and I transport to another time and place. I have learned to know certain sensory triggers that affect me deeply…and I use it.
When my creative flow has stopped to halt that no industrial strength mental Immodium can cure, I enlist. I entreat the odor d’ inspiriti…I bring out the Crayola crayons and Kleenex tissues.
These items work for me. Probably not you. Yours might be Play Dough and Tang Orange Drink. When I smell those crayons I like of all those coloring books I filled up in my childhood. The of magic and fairy tales. So deeply are they in me, I stir still…forever wandering in awe of the Black Forest of my mind.
The Kleenex tissues smell exactly like my first guitar case made of pressed wood, glue and plastic fake fur. Yum!!! My excitement for my new found expression of electricity coupled with wood, steel and blood called a Gibson Flying V…I shiver just remembering. The power and depth of those first mangled chords of truth could lay waste all of my troubled and abused youth. Anything was possible. Escape was my desperate desire, and it was showered upon me in shards of distortion, flange, and delays.
That smell of my guitar case floods my nervous system into overdrive. I am transported to a place of ultimate freedom and safety. For some wonderful strange reason, Brand new Kleenex boxes smell exactly the same to me. And because of this I can submerge at will into the deep aqueous liquid of pure innocent joy. I fucking love you Kleenex and Crayola. I wanna bottle all of my magic scents and keep them in a tackle box for emergency emotional olfactory use.
I’ll call it my “Moonbeam Dream Box”…
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