qualiaflow
LightNews LightNews
banner
qualiaflow.bsky.social
qualiaflow
@qualiaflow.bsky.social
300 followers 120 following 480 posts
hedonium alchemist. extremely fond of the double pendulum map
my other account: lightningcolors.bsky.social
Posts Replies Media Videos
qualiaflow.bsky.social
the phenomenological analysis of perfumery aromachemicals is coming along, but i don't know about the dynamical systems part. eta 11 weeks
Olfactory PTSD. Not the fire but its aftermath: burnt rubber and charred wood tapering into cinders and sawdust, synesthetically rusty-red. Skunky smoke, shriveled raisins, desiccated plums, the stink of waste and grief following a temporal arc of bad-to-worse. Jasmine's perversion, flowers à l'envers, the crime scene at the bottom of the hedonic cliff of thermal degradation. Predatorily tenacious, metabolically unprocessable, the phenomenology of being trapped with a smell. An Anthropocene molecule: haunting and mummified, it smells like things that should end but can't, like imperishable love thrown to shit, like the inability to complete mourning. It's Pyralone for people clicked on the alt text! Whoa, your curiosity just keeps rewarding you!
October 18, 2025 at 12:52 AM
qualiaflow.bsky.social
oh yeah, i'm on mastodon as well as twitter, where you can view such luminous content:
"Feb 8 books, 2025 qualiaflow @qualiaflow · Feb 8 book 4. i didn't understand the octopuses qualiaflow @qualiaflow · Feb 8 book 5. good book qualiaflow @qualiaflow · Dec 23, 2024 i love organic acids as well as their derivates. specifically, i like malic acid, lactic acid, malolactic acid, tartaric acid, citric acid, acetic acid, ascorbic acid, and isocitric acid, but also diketogulonic acid and quinic acid" Each post receives 1 or 2 likes.
October 8, 2025 at 3:33 AM
qualiaflow.bsky.social
sorry, i'm too tired to write anything, perhaps you'd like to see my cat instead
October 5, 2025 at 10:52 PM
qualiaflow.bsky.social
Evening Harmony By Charles Baudelaire Translated by Me Now comes the time when stems begin to sway: Each bloom secretes scent like a censor’s plume; The evening wind twirls with sounds and perfume; Melancholy waltz and dizzying glissé. Each bloom secretes scent like a censor’s plume. The violin quakes like a heart being flayed; Melancholy waltz and dizzying glissé. The sad, sweet sky seems like an altar room. The violin quakes like a heart being flayed, A gentle heart, which hates the Nothing’s gloom. The sad, sweet sky seems like an altar room; The sun drowns down in its own blood-let bay. A gentle heart, which hates the Nothing’s gloom, Gleans hints from each luminous yesterday. The sun drowns down in its own blood-let bay… Your memory glints like a relic’s tomb.
September 24, 2025 at 3:42 AM
qualiaflow.bsky.social
looking at this again, maybe I'd prefer something more like:
Lord: it is time. Those summer days were huge. But lay your shadows on the sundials. Let loose your winds across the meadow blooms. Bid the last fruits to swell and fill the vine. Give them a taste of two more southern days, press them unto consummation, and chase the final sweetness into thickened wine. Whoever has no house won't build one now. Whoever is alone will stay alone, and stay awake, write letters out, and go through old avenues, to wander up and down uneasily, when leaves begin to blow.
April 25, 2025 at 1:17 AM