Yesterday I burnt my house. Everything reeks of burnt-it-all, and my oh my, I love this boisterous, redolent smoke!
No, of course I have not turned everything into ashes, thank goddess!
But true it is that all the air in my flat smells of wildfire, of burnt autumnal dried roots and decorative tree barks that I left senselessly close to my burning incense… How stupid of me, I lack the words… Only stupid lucky fate has saved me. Lesson is most certainly learnt – never leave inflammable materials close to burning heat (of the devilishly unassuming, yet hell-dangerous, incense!)
Anyway, I guess there shall not be any need to use more incense anytime soon… The lingering (and, can I just repeat: rather truly nice and pleasant!) scent of smoky, wooden logs is here to stay for at least a week, I guess. Unwilling, I have ‘perfumed’ my environment with one of my favourite odours, and as much as enjoyable this is – this is an excruciating pleasure, with my super-ego still agonising over the stupidity of my behaviour.
A curious state of mind and body it is, to know of one’s own dull-wit and feel really (REALLY) foolish and sorry for my own behaviour; wishing the psychic torment to finish, the day to become night, allowing tiredness to take over and sneak under the duvet to fall asleep and forget about myself. And yet at the same time of this tormenting emotional self-hate and pettiness, sensing that lovely smoky scent, so far only associated with pleasurable moments and dreamy mindful wondering in my own head-space, enjoying the smell, and lolling myself in states of pleasure… it is rather bizarre and conflicting state of emotions.
Of course, all this make me hate, unsurprisingly, the scent of smoke as a harsh reminder of my own deplorable lack of consideration and mindlessness; depreciating feeling only yet again fighting against an old-rooted and well founded gratifying memories of indulgence wrapped up in the scent of smoke and the burnt wood. Twisted are the two incarnations of the smoke today, painful and delectable…
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