Our mosquito rises, repellently, elegaically, on its flight – zigzagging, ghostly, and dangly, towards its victim:  our plump darling, sat drinking iced milk through a straw in a flowery, dainty summer dress and some banal, little powdery rose perfume she has pilfered from her mother’s table.




She know the insects love her, so she is slathered, also, in citronella, in a futile attempt to stave off the little bastards that always have her skin come up so hard:  so rude; ruddy and elevated; the metallic, synthetic deetness of her sprayed repellent mingling, absorbedly, with her rosebuds: her warm, milky afternoon breath.




In her sunhat, under the shade of her favourite tree, on this boiling hot July day, she is reading.





DH Lawrence.






” What do you stand on such high legs for?

Why this length of shredded shank,

You exaltation?




Queer, with your thin wings and your streaming legs

How you sail like a heron, or a dull clot of air,

A nothingness.




Queer, how you stalk and prowl the air

In circles and evasions, enveloping me,

Ghoul on wings

Winged victory.

Settle, and stand on long thin shanks,

Eyeing me sideways, and cunningly conscious that I am aware,





You speck.





I hate the way you lurch off sideways into air,

Having read my thoughts against you”







(she bats herself, unconsciously, swiping away imagined, invisible insects……)






“Come then, let us play at unawares,

And see who wins in this sly game of bluff,







Man, or mosquito.”








The creature is honing in greedily. Blindly, on its goal, a huge, perfumed mountain of pink human flesh on which it can gorge;  torrents of blood to be tapped; siphoned, to fill itself silly……







” Blood, red blood,


Forbidden Liquor”





it thinks to itself, steadying itself now, stealthily swooning down through the stench of citronella, which will not stop it; clenched with purpose.







It penetrates.









That smell.

That delectable plasm.






















The irony is not lost on her.






” I behold you stand

For a second enspasmed in oblivion,

Obscenely ecstasied,

Sucking live blood




My blood.





Such silence, such suspended transport,

Such gorging,

Such obscenity of trespass.






You stagger

As well you may;

Only your accursed hairy frailty,

Your own imponderable weightlessness,

Saves you, wafts you away on the very draught my anger makes in its snatching.

Away with a paen of derision,

You winged blood drop.”







Frowning, profusely sweating, livid, she swats hysterically, all cloying rose and sour milk rising up from her, curdled with deet, as the insect fills its consciousness orgiastically with deep, foul, red;  its outer membranes drowning up with iron and the delectable fat girl’s platelets.





But she has had the upper hand…..










“Can I not overtake you?

Are you one too many for me,

Winged Victory?

Am I not mosquito enough to out-mosquito you?”








It has been too greedy.






“Queer, what a big stain my blood makes

Beside the infinitesimal faint smear of you!

Queer, what a dim dark smudge you have

disappeared into!”









Its endeavour has been pointless: nasty, smelly, much like this gimmicky little  perfume of ‘milk and blood’……….. in reality just a citronella-laced, cheapo, powder gum rose, and  something stomach churning, metallic, nasty, lurking within its belly.









She stomps back into the house.
























Filed under Flowers


  1. Too wonderful! Too funny! Too frighteningly evocative of D H Lawrence! “There is no struggle so insignificant that it can’t be heightened, dramatized, and made to fill several pages.” And in the same way, there seems to be no concept so silly that it can’t be dramatized, puffed up, wrapped around a weird metallic accord, and marketed as a perfume. I do understand why so many of the perfume blogs choose not to review niche or indie perfumes that they don’t like, but it does leave the rest of us in danger of paying actual money for some things we’d rather not have bought. I speak lightly, of course, and most of us do sample before we buy, but your blog helps me form clearer ideas of just what I want to sample.

    • No, it WAS DH Lawrence! From his Snake poems. I would never presume to do a pastiche of a great writer – I simply don’t have the skill.

      It was just that when I had had a cursory sniff of this perfume (horrible, by the way), I was thinking along more cliched lines of vampires and the bloody films I often like, but then when I actually sprayed it on my skin all I could think of was mosquitoes drawing blood and being swiped away with citronella. And then I remembered reading ‘ Mosquito’ by DH recently, and spent twenty minutes or so chuckling to myself as I wrote this ludicrous thing about a girl reading that poem while actually being stung by a mosquito. Total nonsense, but I had to cheer myself up as I have been having a shit time at work and I sometimes need to disappear into what I call the ‘ether’, ie. things not connected to the dismal, boring, exasperating world of people who can’t think and are controlled by other people.

      • Oh my goodness, I didn’t recognize it as genuine Lawrence because I just assume that you write as well or better! I’m so sorry about your situation at work. I have often said that I served my time in medical administration early in my career in order to get to a position where nobody could make me do it anymore. Now I do pure clinical work, speak my mind when asked, and don’t have to deal with the other layers. And oh, after hours I talk to sane people, in person or in the aether. Here’s to you and your talent, Ginza, and to things getting better for you in the future

      • No, I really can’t or shouldn’t complain, seriously. In most respects I have honestly never been happier, and I only work four days a week (more like three and half in reality), yet it is enough to give me a really good quality of life.

        HOWEVER, I am just……insanely absorbent as a person, and the fact of being the only foreigner in a company as regimented and secretive as the KGB (even though I have complete control of what I teach myself and no one ever checks up on me; I am a total ‘island’, which most definitely has its plus points ( I would never have started writing if it weren’t for this job as I have enough time and space to do so), but can also be incredibly alienating. I am in the position now though where if I were to leave, any other job I would get would be about half the salary and 30% more hours, so to a large extent I just have to get on with it.

        Don’t cry for me Argentina.

      • Well then, we will all support you in getting on with it. Anything that gives you time to write is worth it to the rest of us (!)

      • You are too kind, but the encouragement is very appreciated. I do love it.

  2. tonkabeany

    Bloody brilliant you are! Thankyou for that vivid little evoocation, puncturing my otherwise humdrum evening. Loved it very much!

    • I was hoping you would read it. I could imagine you enjoying the whole woozy story of the mosquito slowly flying its way over to the girl; it amused me writing it I have to say. xx

  3. Dearest Ginza
    If he were alive today, then Kubrick would be the man to direct the film of this review… I think it could come in at under two hours too, with a fair wind.
    I echo thoughts above regarding the good the bad and the uttlerly indifferently awful in niche out there. It’s a shame that some people have fallen for the false notion that quality and quantity of production are necessarily in inverse proportion to one and other.
    Yours ever
    The Perfumed Dandy

    • I think savaging reviews are just as much fun, you know, and I don’t shy away from them!

      I just hated this smell. Just a perverted, pointless rose, with dead mosquitoes floating in its sediment.


      • Dearest Ginza
        Oh yes… the savage review is such fun!
        As, The Dandy finds, is the unexpectedly positive one. Perhaps it’s a residual childish pleasure in being perverse…
        Yours ever
        The Perfumed Dandy

  4. Amazingly well written and composed. Bravo, Neil!

    Didn’t the same perfumer also do Sécrétions Magnifiques? I have yet to smell SM (don’t really want to; think I can live a perfectly happy life never having had to), but a friend thrust a blotter of this under my nose and I not happy about it. I also find the concept ridiculous.

    I did very much enjoy reading your post about it!

  5. Reblogged this on The Black Narcissus and commented:

    and speaking of mosquitoes……

  6. Katy

    Wonderful! Some of the best niche out there is moderately priced and yes, unheralded, and the over priced conceptual stuff, with the exception of CDG, is pretty darn awful. How many of Uncle Serge’s recent creations would you wrestle someone for? Yep, that’s what I thought. At the end of the day, a perfume should be wearable and enjoyable! I cut my reading teeth on Sons and Lovers, DH is a favorite of mine. Lovely writing, Neil, just damn lovely!

  7. Lovely writing, it melds with the DH piece ever so nicely. Hopefully this year, work has not been as banal as last.

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