doomsday_disco

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.

Airy brioche infused with spiced pumpkin and silken vanilla with a slow drizzle of maple warmed by sugared amber.

Every leaf tells a story.

Every leaf tells a story.

Dead Leaves and Apple Pie.

Dead Leaves, Molten Lava Cake, and Raw Cacao.

I've worn this three times now. I tested it, didn't feel like I paid enough attention to it, slathered it, and felt like the lotion I wore that day overpowered it, and then tested it again, determined to finally give it the attention it deserves and write a review. Ube Pumpkin Cheesecake is a creamy cheesecake scent with a coconut-like sweetness from the ube note and some mild pumpkin spice, like there's just a drop of Pumpkin Spice Everything in this scent. It gets more creamy and vanilla-like over time on me, but sadly, I don't really get the graham cracker crust on my skin. It still smells really good, though -- my only complaint is that it has low throw on me, and I have to hold my arm up to my nose in order to smell it. But of the ube offerings I've tried thus far from the Lab (Pumpkin Spice Halo Halo, Ube Suf, and this), this is the one I've enjoyed the most, and I'm really glad that the pumpkin didn't overpower the ube.

Piles of ube pumpkin cheesecake batter blorped into a brown sugar graham cracker crust.

There are a lot of wax makers who add zucchini bread fragrance oils to their various bakery-scented waxes, and this blows those scents out of the water. The zucchini bread is more prominent than the pumpkin on me, sufficiently zucchini-y and more bread-y than an actual loaf of zucchini bread, but the pumpkin is there, adding a bit of sweetness, warmth, and some non-overwhelming spice. I don't love it as much as last year's Pumpkin Maple Nut Bread Atmo, and I suspect I'd like Halloween Hagelslag more than this once I get my decant (based off of my own scent preferences), but if you're a fan of zucchini bread and want to smell like it, you should give this one a try.

Nothing will squash our interest in creating new pumpkin scents!

This may be like... a pumpkin 'single note' featuring the slightly vegetal, yet sweet, and not overly spiced pumpkin note found in scents like Moroccan Pumpkin Patch (NOT Moroccan Pumpkin), Dorian in the Pumpkin Patch, and Mouse's Long and Sad Pumpkin. I'm not really getting the booze from it, nor the vanilla. It's not a scent I could really see myself reaching for on its own, but I do want to try layering it with Morocco to see if I can get something similar to 2013's Moroccan Pumpkin Patch. If you're looking for a pumpkin scent that isn't heavily spiced, I recommend giving this one a try.

Roasted pumpkin soaked in golden brandy, clove, nutmeg, and vanilla absolute.

A tumultuous scent for tumultuous times: dragon’s blood resin, black clove, thunderous black musk, scorched 7-year aged patchouli, tabac absolute, and crushed pomegranate.

Sanguine jelly packed with bloody red holographic glitter.

The Lovebirds wanted to be spooky this year, and we didn’t have the heart to tell them that no one will be fooled. A frothy strawberry malted with papaya juice and black cherries, topped with marshmallow cream.

A Lupercalia Box of Chocolates scent that was supposed to go live this year but we were short on components. A chocolate truffle filled with wild plum, amaretto, burgundy wine, and black currant.

Miel Et Ambre (golden honey and golden amber).

Happy Halloween, all! Brian here — Doc Constantine to some — making my occasional guest appearance narrating BPAL scent copy. The Porcelain Bat came into our lives last year, the morning we staggered home from New York Comic Con. Samantha and I were running on fumes—suitcases still in the car, clothes sticky from the long drive, brains mushy from lack of sleep. All we wanted was showers, silence, and unconsciousness. Instead, at the crack of dawn, we encountered a fluffy ball of chaos. Sam was the first to notice. She was upstairs when she heard a shuffle in the bathroom. At first, she thought it was a mouse, but when she leaned closer, she froze. Pressed against the frosted glass of our under-sink cabinet was the very distinct, unmistakable silhouette of a bat. One wing splayed, tiny body smushed, like it had been waiting all week for us. Her scream shook the walls: “BRIAN! THERE’S A FUCKING BAT IN THE BATHROOM!” I was so exhausted that her words barely made sense. “I know all those words,” I muttered, “but not in that order.” By the time my brain caught up, Sam had cracked the door open. The bat had managed to get out from under the sink and was boinging around the bathroom like a rubber Halloween toy brought to life. It zipped around the bathroom, frantic, wings flicking against tile and towel racks. For a creature that small, it felt huge—its wingspan may have been a mere handful of inches, but to us, shrieking bat-startled banshees, it was a twenty-foot beast. Everyone’s goth AF until a bat is flying straight at your face in your own house. Sam called every bat rescue service in Delco and all neighboring counties, but no one could give us an assist until at least ten hours later. We didn’t have that kind of time, not with the bathroom locked down and our bladders on strike. So we started preparing. I pulled on every piece of protective gear I owned: chainsaw helmet, gloves, goggles. If I could’ve found hockey pads, I would’ve worn those, too. Sam looked me over and frowned. “BUT YOUR NECK ISN’T COVERED!” I glared at her. “Don’t.” “WHAT IF IT’S A VAMPIRE BAT?” The joke is funny in hindsight, but in that moment I wasn’t laughing. I peeked through the old-fashioned keyhole, heart hammering, but saw nothing. Was it perched on the towels? Hanging from the door? Clinging to the ceiling like some tiny gargoyle? There was no way to know. So finally I muttered, “Fuck it,” shoved open the door, and went in with a plastic storage bin and a scrap of cardboard. Luck was on our side, and the little guy had ended up in the bathtub. The porcelain sides were too slick for him to climb: a tiny prisoner in the big white basin. Carefully, gently, we lowered the bin over him. He rustled his wings but didn’t fight. We slid the cardboard underneath, lifted him up, and carried him outside. Out on the porch, we set the box (opened, so he could make his way out on his terms) on a shady table and let him rest. Our tiny intruder, the Porcelain Bat, had survived his ordeal. And so had we. The sweet little guardian of our bathroom sink. The warm, unsettling thrum of musky fur and leathery wings smushed against frosted orris root and vanilla plaster dust.

Dragon’s Blood and Red Wine.

The crescendo of a phantom’s caress: golden frankincense and cardamom smothered by honeyed kisses of labdanum, red rose, merlot, black oud, and myrrh. After all these dreams there remained on waking a remembrance of having been in a place very nearly dark, and of having spoken to people whom I could not see; and especially of one clear voice, of a female’s, very deep, that spoke as if at a distance, slowly, and producing always the same sensation of indescribable solemnity and fear. Sometimes there came a sensation as if a hand was drawn softly along my cheek and neck. Sometimes it was as if warm lips kissed me, and longer and longer and more lovingly as they reached my throat, but there the caress fixed itself. My heart beat faster, my breathing rose and fell rapidly and full drawn; a sobbing, that rose into a sense of strangulation, supervened, and turned into a dreadful convulsion, in which my senses left me and I became unconscious.

Prototype of an unreleased scent for a media tie-in. A perfume for shapeshifters, charmers, and agents of chaos and transformations. Green-gilded leather, patchouli leaf, golden bergamot, agarwood, fiery clove, ti leaf, and amber.

Vanilla and Tobacco Flower.

Ancient, fossilized amber resins, ritual incense, witching herbs, and scorched linen enveloped in a darkly glowing halo of cinders and smoke.

For the spooky kids down the shurr.

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.