doomsday_disco
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A bottomless swirl of black leather, dead branches, and flaming pumpkin guts.
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There’s still a little time to kill before the viewing… surely it wouldn’t hurt to stop for a short stack? Black coffee, syrup-drenched buckwheat cakes, and a crusty cruller for the road.
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The cadaver, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind: a chilly whoosh of dead leaves seasoned with the perfect amount of smog.
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A shiny, genteel, vintage ride for all those who feel dead inside: lime rind, citron, petitgrain, white musk, a swish of bay rum and a bit of black pepper.
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A dream hearse for anyone who grew up presiding over numerous doll funerals: flashy pink guava, strawberry jam, sugared pink grapefruit, blackberry, bergamot, and pink champagne adorned with a gleaming chrome Landau bar.
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A dribble of Dorian and a squiggle of Snake Oil, delicately stirred with a moss-crusted muddy shovel.
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Just imagine all the tattoos hidden below as you walk through the cemetery... maybe you’ll get to see some of them in person one day! Grave loam, mushrooms, Spanish moss, a smear of ink, and a blob of braaaains.
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It doesn’t get more “traditional” than this: a cauldron of tattoo ink infused with sorcerous roots and heady incense.
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Wish we had eight arms – then we could get more sleeves! Tattoo ink afuzz with caramelized pumpkin pulp, bourbon, cranberry juice, sweet patchouli, and red peppercorns.
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No shoes, no skin, no problem! Scorched sandalwood and polished bone shards spattered with tattoo ink.
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If you sign his black book, he’ll give you a free stick-and-poke with his pitchfork! Tattoo ink steeped in infernal musk, with a splash of brimstone cologne.
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These are dark times indeed... so here's a gourmand for the brooding scholar. The warm, nutty richness of roasted macadamia folded into the dry papery musk of time-worn tomes bound in crackled leather; golden drips of beeswax candlelight flicker against polished teakwood shelves, while the smoky warmth of fireplace smoke lingers in the air. (Nutty portmanteau absolutely intended. Don’t @ us.)
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You’re a grownup, no one can stop you from slurping up clouds of rooty foam from around a giant glump of pumpkin ice cream squished onto the rim of a frosted goblet.
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Hollow plastic shells of mango sherbet and musky black clove echoing with a ghostly miaow of glowing amber.
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With apologies to Bram Stoker: though sympathy alone can't alter facts, it can help to make them more bearable… and so can a mouthful of gummi fangs! Daub your pulse points with the scent of chewy red fruit gums and shining white vanilla teeth.