Jitterbug Perfume, Week 12

JITTERBUG PERFUME
Week 12, Dec. 22 – Dec. 28

Page 83

“It was then that she realized that it was the odor of the incense that had intrigued her all along, only now the smells filled in the fantasies that heretofore had been mere outlines, smeary contours scrawled in ghost chalk. “ Oh, the musky-dusky delight, the sensuous evocations of the olfactory wafts emanating from Kudra’s incense. Sticks of sandalwood send their smoky scent curling across the page. Can you smell it? This page sends a delicious jolt of literary mind meld. I’m in the midst of an Anaïs Nin saturation fest.—making way through the seven published volumes of her diaries, “Henry and June”—the movie and the book (her account of years shared with Henry Miller and his wife June), and “A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953.” Of all the astonishing women who have graced TR’s writings, Kudra and Anaïs are surly kindred spirits, their immortal souls rising and falling, frolicking, gamboling, laughing together as bubbles in that great primordial soup where everyone goes, be they born of imagination or mortal woman or sprouted from seed. Here, on page 83, Kudra, like Anaïs, discovers the life juice, the essence of Experience. Anaïs’s books carry the scent of sandalwood incense, invoking the spirit of Kudra, and here’s a golden drop of purest santalum album for beautiful Kudra on page 83.

Mary
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Great quote, Mary. I have to admit that as much as I love this novel, my sensory preferences are for the natural, not the concocted. I don't really like anything but the mildest and faintest of perfumes. Incense gives me a headache. :-)Hey Mary, I heard a rumor that Tom and Anais got it on in '72. Pass it on! :-)

Dale
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"Wow! Jesus! No wonder there are two dots over the i!" --Tom Robbins, Wild Ducks Flying Backward

Mary
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Ah, Dale...it's understandable that you would agree with Bonanza Jellybean's own preference--eau du natural. Chemical additives and concoctions comprising the vast majority of commercial scents--incense and perfumes--are enough to curl anyone's nose hairs. But, my dear, have you had occasion to sniff a sandalwood bead or nugget, or pure sandalwood oil--true sandalwood, not the imposters? Rich, powdery, earthy wood scent, never flowery or fruity? The tree must be at least 80 years old to yield it's treasure. (Sadly, the trees are now endangered with over exploitation; true sandalwood is rare--and expensive--these days.) There is an old occult shop here, tucked away deep inside the shadowy halls of the Pike Place Market. Subtle and discrete, it would be easy for a casual visitor to pass it by unnoticed, yet it is a personal touchstone for me, a thread running through many years. The tiny shop is dim inside and filled with all manner of exotic ancient mystery and treasure, from tiny brass opium weights, tools, stones, herbs and materials to attract and guide psychic powers, and primitive containers to grind and mix the potions, to hundreds (maybe thousands) of vials of pure essential oils and incense stacked on old wooden racks, darkened by the years and polished to a deep patina by the magic they hold. No doubt a discreet patron of the arts could obtain eye of newt and lizard's blood, too. Faint refrains of a busking wild Gypsy violin echo through the labyrinth of narrow hallways through the door of the tiny shop, mingling with theexotic, earthy scents and mystery. I visited there yesterday, consulting with the (verrrrry kindly, master of the tantric arts) proprietor, explaining that purity, or near purity, is essential for this literary intent--to submerge fully into the world of Kudra and Alobar, Anais and Henry...to fill all senses to the brim and dive in. He did not disappoint. Even as I write, tendrils of sandalwood waft across the page. This, then, is the literary cocktail I'll be tossing back come New Years Eve--six parts Tom Robbins, four parts Anais Nin, and just a splash of absinthe--for auld lang syne.

Bottoms up!

Mary
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Mary -I've lived in Seattle 2 1/2 years and frequent Pike's Market... what is thisstore that I must have missed there?

Sharon
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Could it be that Mary is describing Tensing Momo? It isn't hard to find, but it's a treasure of a shop. Many wonderful, magical things have I purchased there, and many more will be mine in the future. The casual tourist will wander in and out in the space of minutes, but the shop begs to be explored. Take your time, look behind and below and around corners. It's worth your time, in my humble opinion. I'd also recommend the alternative book store (see if you can find the poster that says FUCK AUTHORITY - it's there but not easy to find), Cafe Paloma, and Three Sisters Bakery. Pike Place sometimes is criticized for being a tourist trap, but if you visit it early in the morning or late in the afternoon on a rainy day, you'll find that the magic is still definitely there. TR Content: The old market, worn half away by dampness and fingerprints, sweat drops and shoe heels, pigeon claws and vegetable crates, soiled by butcher seepage, sequined with salmon scales, smelling of roses, raw prawns, and urine, blessedly freed for the winter from the demanding entertain-me-for-nothing! gawkings of out-of-town tourists, the market bustled now with fishmongers and Vietnamese farmers, florists and runaways, flunkies and junkies, coffee brewers and balloon benders, office workers and shopgirls and winos of all races; with pensioners, predators, panhandlers, and prostitutes, and (to complete the p's) political polemists, punks potters, puppeteers, poets, and policemen; with musicians, jugglers, fire-eaters (dry days only), tyro magicians, and lingering loafers such as he (Switters) seemed to be. Pike Place is utterly captured by Tom's lovely prose.

Ever yours,
The Troll
Jeff in Seattle
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Oh, my dear. You've captured the Market--and Tom's words beautifully. In the late 60s and early 70s, it was under the godawful developers' gun, the greedy gleam in their eyes saw only multi-million-dollar property. We organized and fought, raised money through selling name tiles that now cover the floor. (For an account of the fight, see historylink.com and enter Pike Place Market in the search box.) No mere tourist trap, the Market belongs to The People; we are willing to share with seekers who care to find. It is the heart and soul of Seattle. Footsteps of travellers and mystics, musicians and dancers, sea captains, fishermen, artists and farmers, many long gone, make up it's patina'd soul. Tom and Darrell Bob Houston frequented the hallowed halls and deliciously seedy bars nearby. If you listen very carefully, you can hear the whispers of adventurers both tragic and joyful echoing through the halls. Mystery abounds there. It is a mystery that inspires. Here is an excerpt, written by an enlightened soul, illuminating what might have been (source discretely omitted to protect the innocent):

...suddenly a paper airplane might descend through the air for me to catch. Would a message be scrawled upon it? Or would there be enigmatic symbols painted provocatively on the wings with glitter nail polish? How would I decipher them? Perhaps I'd dash into the fish stalls and find an ancient Turkish grandmother who, although she'd understand perfectly what was inscribed, would refuse to translate... a look of shock (and perhaps secret glee) on her wizened face...

Now, that's magic.

Mary
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