I’ll Smell You In My Dreams

Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bumblebee around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening

I must have od’d on perfume this past month: I have begun to dream in fragrance – a new and faintly disconcerting experience, although it has the makings of an exciting adventure. Last night I was awoken by a powerful scent of sweet hot just-about-to-singe pineapple meringue that hit me as shrilly and disturbingly as any alarm call. Of its dream context I can remember nothing but, my word, the impact was massive. All my animal sense of danger on electric alert I lurched into the kitchen to find nothing more than an cold and empty oven, a scoured cake tin – and only the bleak smell of a London February at two o’clock in the morning: a whiff of soap, grubby rain and cold hot water bottles.

Preceding this was what I’ll call the Warner Brothers dream: what seemed to be an entire imaginary movie in lush 1940’s style but shot in scent rather than colour or 3D or what have you. The leading lady was a kind of Stanwyck / Bacall / Bette Davis amalgam but defined and described not by face, dialogue, voice or character; rather by clouds of mauve, magenta and violet perfume which emoted and vibrated like a symphony, wordless but nonetheless explicit – Apres L’Ondee, Teint de Neige, Iris de Nuit, Jasmin Imperatrice Eugenie; waves of stocks, sweet pea, heliotrope and lilac underlaid with vanilla, tonka and musk. A romantic melodrama, evidently; just about coherent through familiarity with the genre and the medium, but the plot line was as challenging as adapting to a new language. Strange, when we so frequently and loosely talk of fragrance as being the stuff of dreams: when it actually becomes so there is the risk of getting lost and left behind.

I can see that this all kind of ties in with my synaesthetic tendencies; and I have always dreamed profusely, and in colour rather than black and white. What puzzles me about this new development is this: habitually it is the tiny almost unnoticed details of my day which appear in that night’s dreams and are given the full Dali treatment – a note to the milkman, someone’s name, a tin of paint, the washing machine filter – take on exaggerated and grotesque significance. Whereas things with which I am preoccupied, or by which I am delighted or shocked rarely put in an appearance. I almost never dream about horrors in the news, for instance. I learned as a child to think about those things I wished to avoid in sleep just before dropping off, thus infallibly precluding nightmares later.

Yet my life is soaked and permeated by scent: maybe I’m starting to take it for granted? Those with thoughts on or experience of this phenomenon please write in.

Image from wikimediacommons

Advertisements

One thought on “I’ll Smell You In My Dreams

  1. Barbara Stanwyck black and white Apres l’Ondee dreams. Lovely.
    I’ve had the Julie Andrews hilltop Narcisse Noir variety before, but that was pure technicolor to facilitate the yellow florals.
    Keep dreaming
    Yours ever
    The Perfumed Dandy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s