Tag: ozone

On a chipped porcelain tray edged in worn gold and dotted with tiny painted flowers, a glossy black volcano rises where a perfume bottle might stand. Molten lava glows in oversaturated reds and oranges, spilling thickly over its sides and pooling across the tray. Around it, elegant glass perfume bottles—amber, blue, and crystal—remain poised and intact, their refinement contrasting with the central eruption. Created and described by ChatGPT for “The Woman in the Perfume Department Asks What I’m Looking For.”

“The Woman in the Perfume Department Asks What I’m Looking For” * Poetry * Annie Przypyszny

aromatica poetica March 3, 2026

Something brash with a touch of bashful. An active volcano hushed by alpine snows, or some other less aggressive sister of cinnamon. But that’s for special occasions: my twenty-ninth birthday, my second twenty-ninth birthday. For everyday, I want to smell like a sixteen-year-old girl at the beach. You get what I mean— Like a saltwaterlogged corsage; like honeysuckle forced to walk the plank; like gardenias flung amok in a mid- summer sunshower. I remember hearing from some old man that …

Three bottles emanating toxic-looking vapors of neon colored alcohol sit seductively on an outcrop of rock in the middle of a sea. A lonely boat flying a Nigerian flag in the distance seems destined to be drawn to the Sirens’ call to its sorrow. by Alabaster Rhumb.

“The Sirens’ Call” * Short Story * Michael Emeka

aromatica poetica February 18, 2021

Thunder muttered in the sky and the rain threatening all evening came in a soft drizzle. The enormous rats scuttling around in the pile of rubbish across the road darted into their holes. A stench of putrefaction rose from the refuse dump as the rain beat on it. Pushing open the front door of the building, I raced inside, pursued by the rain and the smell. My footfalls echoed on the bare concrete steps as I went upstairs. Somewhere in …