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It’s the smell of imaginative relaxation, is the set of the most intimate ideas of self-activation and induction to wellbeing, it is an addiction, that is a sexual mutual feelings without filters, the only filter-wall is its environmental radius. It is the dense fan noise of a pc which emits olfactory sounds of electronics that are distributed on a pulsating and wet skin by the hormonal variations of desire.

It’s the amazing smell of euphoria which frames and which evokes its origins dating back to the 19th century. It is a short but intense effect that unihibits and shakes the head and madness. It is thirty seconds of psychedelic imagination, it is thirty seconds of ascents and descents towards unexpected colors, geometric-sensory and perceptive patterns who are far from the lucid and daily experience.

It’s the smell of artisanal nights, It’s the smell of the countryside furrowed by the tires of cars burned by the improvised fireworks on a state road. It’s that smudged low-cost lipstick, is that nose perched on skimpy clothes with a strong smell of sub-brand detergent, which give sudden emotions, those of an excited youthful imagination.

Since ancient times It’s the smellof the night myth, which is coded throughout the world. It’s the rituality that allows those who are part of it to get to know each other, consciously and unconsciously, as member, to be initiated, to use it, of not being able to do without. It is that hidden, underground space, with inaccessible and dark passages, with moldy walls and full of ephemeral pleasure, where personal stardom is abandoned to leave room for one’s own nakedness without ever questioning who one really is.