doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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Clove and Sweet Incense.
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Of the good in you I can speak, but not of the evil. For what is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst? Verily when good is hungry it seeks food even in dark caves, and when it thirsts it drinks even of dead waters. You are good when you are one with yourself. Yet when you are not one with yourself you are not evil. For a divided house is not a den of thieves; it is only a divided house. And a ship without rudder may wander aimlessly among perilous isles yet sink not to the bottom. You are good when you strive to give of yourself. Yet you are not evil when you seek gain for yourself. For when you strive for gain you are but a root that clings to the earth and sucks at her breast. Surely the fruit cannot say to the root, “Be like me, ripe and full and ever giving of your abundance.” For to the fruit giving is a need, as receiving is a need to the root. You are good when you are fully awake in your speech, Yet you are not evil when you sleep while your tongue staggers without purpose. And even stumbling speech may strengthen a weak tongue. You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps. Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping. Even those who limp go not backward. But you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness. You are good in countless ways, and you are not evil when you are not good, You are only loitering and sluggard. Pity that the stags cannot teach swiftness to the turtles. In your longing for your giant self lies your goodness: and that longing is in all of you. But in some of you that longing is a torrent rushing with might to the sea, carrying the secrets of the hillsides and the songs of the forest. And in others it is a flat stream that loses itself in angles and bends and lingers before it reaches the shore. But let not him who longs much say to him who longs little, “Wherefore are you slow and halting?” For the truly good ask not the naked, “Where is your garment?” nor the houseless, “What has befallen your house?” What has befallen your house? Myrrh resin, beeswax, black fig, cypress smoke, and vetiver.
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In a desperate bid to mend the fractures of this cursed timeline, we are stretching Halloween beyond all reason, until time itself buckles and snaps back into place. It’s thirsty work, so here’s a snuggly blanket of creamy pumpkin cold foam quivering atop a pint of butterscotch ale.
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There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside-down. I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where two breadths didn’t match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the other. Indolic jasmine glaring through a haze of tobacco yellow and stained lace.
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Black Lilac and Black Tea.
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Nouria, Lady of the Barn Owl skull- Candle-lit night, melancholy solitude and somber whispers, surrounded by leather bound books and ancient scrolls, the alchemy boiling and bubbling. A Regency-era alchemist’s cologne: bourbon vanilla, incense-smudged leatherbound books, rivulets of beeswax, galbanum resin, nutmeg, patchouli root, and leather.
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Black Sandalwood and Leather.
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Snake Oil was one of my first creations, one of the original BPAL scents, and is as bound up with my own history as it is with the history of Black Phoenix. It is the scent I wore on my wedding day, the scent I wore while giving birth to my child, and it is as much a part of me as my own eyes, breath, or limbs. Snake Oil has shed its skin, and is back — now with vintage patchouli and dark, rich, aged vanilla absolute. Snake Oil is our signature scent, our first perfume: deep, rich, earthy notes swirled with vegetal musks, sugared vanilla bean, and dark spices.
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Truly the scent of autumn itself — damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein.
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Dead Leaves, Molten Lava Cake, and Raw Cacao.
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A tribute to the squeaky plastic rats that haunt every Halloween bin — adorable little horrors with gleaming eyes and crooked tails. Shiny black licorice, grey amber, and a dusting of smoky black pepper.
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It struck me—every Day— The Lightning was as new As if the Cloud that instant slit And let the Fire through— It burned Me—in the Night— It Blistered to My Dream— It sickened fresh upon my sight— With every Morn that came— I though that Storm—was brief— The Maddest—quickest by— But Nature lost the Date of This— And left it in the Sky— – Emily Dickinson It burned me—in the Night— It Blistered to My Dream— A scent born from sleepless nights and storms that carve themselves indelibly into memory, when lightning is no longer sky-bound, but lives in the beat of your heart and the whisper of your breath. Opium-laced benzoin and sweet myrrh veiled in black amber, violet incense and bruised plum, streaked with star jasmine, white frankincense, and ozone-crackled white musk.
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Bast, Ubasti, Ailuros, Ba-en-Aset. Represented as both a domestic cat and a fierce lioness, she truly evidences traits of both. She is the Mother of All Cats, Goddess of Sensuality, Fertility, and a guardian and protector of women. She is also one of the Eyes of Ra, and in that aspect is an Avenging Goddess, seeking retribution and punishing enemies of her people. Luxuriant amber, warm Egyptian musk, fierce saffron and soft myrrh, almond, cardamom and golden lotus.
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Lightning Moon: White Musk and Golden Frankincense
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Duets & Menage A Trois
White Musk and Golden Frankincense. -
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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Patchouli and Smoked Vanilla.
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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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Airy brioche infused with spiced pumpkin and silken vanilla with a slow drizzle of maple warmed by sugared amber.
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Dead Leaves, Dried Fig, and Hay.
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Goth music and goth culture are for everyone. The more, the scarier! But try telling that to the troll who’s appointed themselves as guardian of an entire subculture, which they alone seemingly understand every nuance of. So purely for fun, we asked Drew Rausch to visualize this archetype for us as an undead horror host called the GOTHIC GATEKEEPER, who smells like every record store dickhead demanding that you name three songs from the band whose shirt you’re wearing… but the goth version. Behold: pleather, incense, and a ton of vinyl.
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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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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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I think that woman gets out in the daytime! And I’ll tell you why—privately—I’ve seen her! I can see her out of every one of my windows! It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight. I see her on that long shaded lane, creeping up and down. I see her in those dark grape arbors, creeping all around the garden. I see her on that long road under the trees, creeping along, and when a carriage comes she hides under the blackberry vines. I don’t blame her a bit. It must be very humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight! Furtive, uncanny. Blackened blackberry bleeds onto bruised green leaves, crushed grass, and wet earth while tendrils of honeysuckle clutch and grasp at noontime shadows.
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Every leaf tells a story.
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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.