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  Schrodinger’s Cat Perfume Oil

  One can even set up quite ridiculous cases. A cat is penned up in a steel chamber, along with the following diabolical device (which must be secured against direct interference by the cat): in a Geiger counter there is a tiny bit of radioactive substance, so small that perhaps in the course of one hour one of the atoms decays, but also, with equal probability, perhaps none; if it happens, the counter tube discharges and through a relay releases a hammer which shatters a small flask of hydrocyanic acid. If one has left this entire system to itself for an hour, one would say that the cat still lives if meanwhile no atom has decayed. The first atomic decay would have poisoned it. The Psi function for the entire system would express this by having in it the living and the dead cat (pardon the expression) mixed or smeared out in equal parts. It is typical of these cases that an indeterminacy originally restricted to the atomic domain becomes transformed into macroscopic indeterminacy, which can then be resolved by direct observation. That prevents us from so naively accepting as valid a “blurred model” for representing reality. In itself it would not embody anything unclear or contradictory. There is a difference between a shaky or out-of-focus photograph and a snapshot of clouds and fog banks.

  A paradoxical scent experiment! – tangerine, sugared lime, pink grapefruit, oakmoss, lavender, zdravetz, and chocolate peppermint.

  No cats were mistreated during the formulation of this paradox, or in the process of creating this perfume.

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  Sweets to the Sweet Perfume Oil

  One sight did catch her attention however. Scrawled on the paving stones she was walking over—and all but erased by rain and the passage of feet—the same phrase she'd seen in the bedroom of number 14: “Sweets to the sweet.” The words were so benign; why did she seem to sense menace in them? Was it in their excess, perhaps, in the sheer overabundance of sugar upon sugar, honey upon honey?

  Sugar upon sugar, honey upon honey: white cane sugar and honey absolute.

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  High-Strung Daisies Perfume Oil

  `It says “Bough-wough!” cried a Daisy: `that’s why its branches are called boughs!’ 

  `Didn’t you know that?’ cried another Daisy, and here they all began shouting together, till the air seemed quite full of little shrill voices. `Silence, every one of you!’ cried the Tiger-lily, waving itself passionately from side to side, and trembling with excitement. `They know I can’t get at them!’ it panted, bending its quivering head towards Alice, `or they wouldn’t dare to do it!’ 

  `Never mind!’ Alice said in a soothing tone, and stooping down to the daisies, who were just beginning again, she whispered, `If you don’t hold your tongues, I’ll pick you!’ 

  There was silence in a moment, and several of the pink daisies turned white. 

  `That’s right!’ said the Tiger-lily. `The daisies are worst of all. When one speaks, they all begin together, and it’s enough to make one wither to hear the way they go on!’

  `How is it you can all talk so nicely?’ Alice said, hoping to get it into a better temper by a compliment. `I’ve been in many gardens before, but none of the flowers could talk.’

  `Put your hand down, and feel the ground,’ said the Tiger-lily. `Then you’ll know why.

  Alice did so. `It’s very hard,’ she said, `but I don’t see what that has to do with it.’

  `In most gardens,’ the Tiger-lily said, `they make the beds too soft — so that the flowers are always asleep.’

  This sounded a very good reason, and Alice was quite pleased to know it. `I never thought of that before!’ she said.

  `It’s my opinion that you never think at all,’ the Rose said in a rather severe tone.

  Daisy, pink carnation, pink pepper, and sugar.

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  Zarita, The Doll Girl Perfume Oil

  A tiny woman stands in the center of the stage, the perfect woman in miniature, her copper hair bouncing in elegant curls. She is surrounded on all sides by a necropolis of maimed, mutilated stuffed animals, decapitated fashion dolls, and eviscerated wooden figures. It is a strangely ghastly tableau: the disemboweled toys ooze fiberfill, batting, and sawdust from their gaping wounds. In one dainty hand she clutches a shard of glass, and in the other she nimbly twirls a razor blade. Her face is twisted in a grimace of mad ferocity, and she hisses as she brandishes her makeshift weapons at you. “Play with me?” she growls.

  Soft, yet sociopathic: white carnation, iris, orange blossom, poisonous pale white berries, and sugared cream.

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