What is the smell of bitterness?
What vapours are those given off by abstract fear, which sink into the deceptive pituitary of melancholy?
How do I know where my nose is, I don’t know, the nose that made the evenings smell of the curdled air of summer.
The nose that made me follow the trail left by the white hugs of seven years.
Where do I have the weathervane appendage that used to indicate to me the perfume of so much treachery against time?
My God, why did I have to saturate my nose with so much acrid smell …?
Thinking of the smells, I sense the paradises I have lost. I go back to the places where the fountains were and the perfume of that luminous whole inundates me … Then … then I became a smoker, which is a way to take flight from paradise, and I came to this world and all its smells, so many, so alien, that I’m still deciphering them.
Anyway, you asked me to write something about smell … I have merely resorted to a kind of winged plastic nose which lets me avoid going under and carry out my work … I hope you don’t feel cheated.
Juan Diego Miguel
