doomsday_disco
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Mercurio Transita Davanti Al Sole
doomsday_disco replied to doomsday_disco's topic in Limited Editions
This goes on as a blast of lavender and citrus. I think the citrus note that I'm getting most prominently is the tangerine. As these two notes calm down, I end up with a metallic musk that actually isn't super sharp or cologne-like like most metal notes tend to be, and during this phase of the scent, the throw is much closer to the skin than the lavender and citrus heavy one (which is weird, as I've never known metallic notes to be subdued). I think I may get a bit of the white frankincense beneath the metallic musk, but I fortunately can't pick out the lilac. I really enjoyed the lavender and citrus phase of this scent, but I didn't like this as much once those two aspects faded away, so I don't think I'll need more than my decant, but I'll retest it after letting it rest for a few weeks just to be sure. -
I've tested this a few times and have also deathmatched it with a few scents. I was hoping to be able to definitely say, "oh, this is a match up of this and this!", but alas, I cannot make any such claims. Bloody Apple Tart is primarily a spiced, baked apple scent. The cinnamon coating the apples fortunately did not burn my skin, and I believe the apple note is something akin to the roasted apple in Lambs-Wool. The blood note in this definitely has some cherry, and may have a bit of red musk (although I'm not positive on that, because I usually amp the stuff, and the spiced apples were the dominant aspect of this scent on me throughout wear, although there were times when I felt there may be a bit of that in there). I deathmatched this with Blood, and I don't think this is a spiced apple holiday scent mixed with that, as this definitely lacks the dragon's blood and sour myrrh from that blend. I also deathmatched this with The Tell-Tale Tart, thinking maybe this could be a mash-up of the spiced apple with that scent, but while they both have cherry, The Tell-Tale Tart definitely has a lot of red musk, the crust of the tart is more noticeable in that one than this one, and I'm not getting any strawberry or currant here. This isn't something that I need more than a decant of, but I do think the apple note is really nice, and I'm curious to read other reviews speculating about the bloody part of this tart.
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You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts; And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime. And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly. There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone. The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape. And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand. And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words. In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence. When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue. Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear; For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered When the colour is forgotten and the vessel is no more. Rhythmic silence: black tea and myrrh, frankincense and parchment.
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Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace. When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the “nay” in your own mind, nor do you withhold the “ay.” And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart; For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed. When you part from your friend, you grieve not; For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit. For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught. And let your best be for your friend. If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also. For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill? Seek him always with hours to live. For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness. And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. The warmth of shared meals, the pleasure of shared laughter, and the hidden language of sweet, comfortable silences: warm bread, roasted chestnut, oakwood smoke, sparkling bergamot, lentisk resin, and honeyed labdanum.
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Violets and wild lavender, tender and crushed with longing, spun sugar dissolving into memory, a fleeting exhale of soft musk, and a trace of myrrh.
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Cracked leather and faded ink, dust-heavy pages steeped in echoes of prayer. Beeswax candles gutter in the shadows, their pale, amber light feebly holding back the dark. Low murmurs of frankincense and oakmoss anchor the stern hush of eternity. Vincent Van Gogh
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A fragrance of celestial revelry: the galaxy whirling in ecstatic fragments of light, joy caught mid-orbit. An effervescent constellation of scent: dazzling points of neroli and sugared lemon flashing like meteors. Electric ozone and crystalline lavender swirl in radiant arcs, luminous as a comet’s tail, with golden heliotrope and night-blooming jasmine stardust. Henri-Edmond Cross
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Golden apricot, honeyed fig, and grape must spill over with laughter, garlanded in rose, orange blossom, and laurel cavort in a jubilant whirl. Saffron, nutmeg and allspice embedded in amber and frankincense gleam like sun-dappled jewels. Nicolas Poussin
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An oil of courage, daring, and reckless, unbridled joy. Contains: dragon’s blood absolute, frankincense, Tahitian vanilla absolute, blood orange, master root, apricot fruit compound, ginger root, heliotropin natural isolate, and fossilized amber.
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Narcissus, white-gold and intoxicating, unfurls laconic petals over a jeweled heart of ripe plum, dark and dripping with amethyst-bright labdanum. Red musk coils around it like a silken ribbon, smoldering and decadent.
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Her scent is the salt-scraped flesh of blue plums, soothed by a panoply of bioluminescent musks and ambers, threaded with inky oil-spill tendrils of olibanum.
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Liqueur-soaked twin cherries reeling from a double pony-kick of pink pepper and white ginger.
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Dark, dewy patchouli leaves gathered under the moon’s silvery gaze, their earthy aroma rooted deep with forest shadows and resinous moss.
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From Edward Gorey’s Scènes de Ballet. A glimmer of white tulle in a thicket of ink-black pines, graceful as a half-spied pirouette between a silhouette of clawed branches. The hush of forest moss under satin slippers, a wisp of candle smoke, the flick of a wrist as pale as lilies beckoning through thick myrrh shadows.
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The crime of Lady Violet at Gilravage Hall in Neglected Murderesses. Black Darjeeling brewed to the edge of acridity, its dark tannins laced with the faint metallic sigh of tarnished silver. Bruised and rain-damp wisteria petals clinging to a loosened knot of fraying violet ribbon. The lingering ghost of charred wood from a dormant hearth drifting beneath a sweep of velvet the color of fading bruises, tangled with the ragged threads of silk-stitched roses.