Life not sensible; sensual

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Last Saturday, I noticed Janis Joplin mentions Detroit on Cry, Baby. I’ve had an abnormal fascination for the Motor City ever since I was a kid, to my USian friends utter dismay. I suppose they are far too desensitised from Detroit’s marvellous architecture, an unique blend of neo-Gothic and Flemish styles, to see through the myriad of challenges the town faces nowadays.

But there is so much to like. The deep aqua green river. The music. Oh, how I love it. That’s why I get all chuffed with songs that bring Detroit up. They remind me of the beauty that stands within a city so beaten up by racism, corruption, property speculation and the geo-social consequences of its car-driven economy. So much for Fordism, Motown and James O’Barr.

Sure, Detroit is way past its prime. Much like Richard, last seen there by Joni Mitchell in 1968, as she sings on Last Time I Saw Richard. Those are ruins. But hasn’t Nietzsche shown there is creation even in the ruins? Novelty in destruction?, I digressed in front of the bathroom cabinet mirror. I was looking for a new soap to wash myself from all the sweat build-up from cycling.

Afraid that it would expire, I ended up picking one that had been gifted to me long ago. Its box was already in a pretty bad shape, a worrisome sign of its ripe age. It was glycerin soap, to my surprise; the person who’d given it to me hate them. Its scent was white tea. I didn’t find the label particularly exciting, but I was proved wrong as soon as its strong floral aroma sweetened the whole house.

A room seen from above. Its floor is made of stone, and the walls are covered with leaves, plants, jars, eggs, and many other objects. There are white petals on the ground. A man is standing in front of a table, in the center of the room.

That soft fragrance lingering on my pores, I had dinner and watched Practical Magic. I have a soft spot for nineties’ film photography. Its vivid images are ever so fascinating. Paired with the colourful maximalist sets of the time, we are left with a delightful sensorial experience. This film is a great example of such aesthetics, and it’s made stronger by Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock’s performances.

Thus the day ended as I was kissed into Hypnos’ kingdom by Kate Bush’s The Sensual World, amidst some of my poetry readings. That Saturday wasn’t about making sense, but just enjoying our senses.