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Simply, an incense dispenser that does away with the usual flowery scents that make one think of well-maintained toilet blocks and instead dispense scents that evoke glorious memories of:
Your Grandmother's cookies baking
Pit lane odours from an F1 race
Horses, fresh bales of lucerne hay
and saddlery
Bakeries at 5am on a winter morning
Citrus fruit being squeezed
The salty tang of the ocean on a clear spring morning.
Other scents available upon request.
Manly air freshener
Manly_20air_20freshener
Similar [8th of 7, Feb 14 2008]
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Proust would approve. Smell this croissant. |
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I love this idea! (+) Can I get my selections all on one stick so it automatically switches between scents? |
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Sure you can. That's the idea behind it. |
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//Bakeries at 5am on a winter morning//
won't incense add a subtle suggestion of "On Fire" to each scent? |
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There was an article in the pseudo-scientific Omni magazine (1980’s), with theories about scent triggering memory. It had a scratch-and-sniff card with a survey to fill out. I now wax nostalgic every time I smell an Omni magazine. |
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I recall reading the article. Do you also remember the story about Sugar, the musician, by Orson Scott Card (I think)? |
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As each issue arrived, I first read every short story, particularly Orson Scott Card. Yes I like that story, too. |
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I still have some copies. It was a fascinating magazine... almost as though it was designed for halfbakers. |
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Lester awoke with a feeling of dread. His bony fingers parted the ragged curtains and he squinted out into the daylight. His worst fears confirmed, he rolled out of bed and slipped his feet into the formerly-fuzzy bunny slippers that now looked like a pair of dead rats, instead. Rain yet again. |
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How many days was it, he wondered, since he had last seen sunshine? He actually couldn't recall. Faced with the prospect of spending his first day off in weeks shuttered away indoors out of the bone-chilling drizzle, Lester began to fantasize about high-powered rifles and bell towers. His reverie was interrupted by an ad in the newspaper which lay on his doorstep. What was it that caught Lester's attention? "Memory Lane Incense". |
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Normally, he studiously avoided all products from RolandCo, having been grossly disappointed with their "Poon Hairpoon", but this seemed so timely, so suitable, so ... perfect. He quickly got dressed and pulled on his rumpled, well-worn raincoat as he headed for the door. Making sure his wallet was safely in his pocket with one hand, he grabbed his Homing Umbrella with the other, and eagerly strode out into the deluge. |
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It was mere minutes when he returned, although it seemed like hours to Lester. He climbed out of his wet attire and put on some brand-new pyjamas. Also amongst his purchases was a brand new pair of slippers, mocassin-style this time, like he'd had when he was 10 years old. If he was going on a trip down memory lane, he'd be going first-class. |
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Lester pored over the label of the Memory Lane Incense package, taking in all the promises of glorious memories, testimonials from celebrities, usage instructions, and legal dislaimers. He was so caught up in the moment he didn't even notice the typo on the label, where it actually said "memores" instead of "memories". |
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In a kind of ritual fashion, Lester opened the wrapper and slid one of the incense sticks out of the package, carefully placing the end into a holder that sat on the coffee table. Taking out a matchbook from a long-departed restaurant he used to frequent, Lester peeled off a single match and struck it on the gritty strip. He watched as it sparked into a flame, and then carefully held the bluish-orange glow against the incense stick. Once the stick began to glow, he blew out the match and dropped it onto the table. The first wisps of scented smoke approached his nostrils, and Lester nervously wrapped his fingers over the edges of the table for support. |
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His first breath was tentative, and shallow. The acrid smoke tingled his nose hairs and he felt like he had to sneeze, but didn't. A subtly familiar aroma began to filter through to his brain. He closed his eyes and took a second, fuller, deeper breath and found himself falling face-first into a freshly-mown lawn on a hot clear summer's morning. He swore he could hear birds chirping, a dog barking and the staccato rattle and hiss of a neighbour's sprinkler. |
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As the incense stick burned down further, different aromas were produced, and Lester spent the rest of his morning giggling like a schoolboy as he remembered running around barefoot all summer long. He recalled the rubber smell of his back-yard tire swing, the musty odour under the porch when playing hide-and-seek with his friends, and the wonderful cornucopia of aromas that reminded him of baseball. |
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Theatre... the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd! |
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.. Have a premium range that is laced with traces of psychoactive drugs to heighten the experiance. |
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I'll bet you could sell these as incense sticks, if you developed them. |
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À la recherche du pongs perdu, mayhap ? |
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I was about to request 'Madeleines dipped in tea' scent. |
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