doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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Creamy coconut flesh, cold and pale as moonlight.
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Patchouli and Smoked Vanilla.
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By loving friends you are surrounded, Oh, be not blind to this, I pray. They wish that joy and mirth unbounded May crown your happy Christmas day. Winter oak, hazelnuts, and butterscotch rum.
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Liberty: In the Form of the Goddess of Youth, Giving Support to the Bald Eagle
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Limited Editions
Liberty, luminous and unafraid, bright with conviction, guided by idealism and steadied by resolve. A scent that is clear, exalted, and alive with purpose: olive leaf, pale amber, joyous neroli, polished brass, feathery vanilla chiffon, and spicy carnation. Edward Savage -
Have I spoken this day of aught else? Is not religion all deeds and all reflection, And that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew the stone or tend the loom? Who can separate his faith from his actions, or his belief from his occupations? Who can spread his hours before him, saying, “This for God and this for myself; This for my soul, and this other for my body?” All your hours are wings that beat through space from self to self. He who wears his morality but as his best garment were better naked. The wind and the sun will tear no holes in his skin. And he who defines his conduct by ethics imprisons his song-bird in a cage. The freest song comes not through bars and wires. And he to whom worshipping is a window, to open but also to shut, has not yet visited the house of his soul whose windows are from dawn to dawn. Your daily life is your temple and your religion. Whenever you enter into it take with you your all. Take the plough and the forge and the mallet and the lute, The things you have fashioned in necessity or for delight. For in revery you cannot rise above your achievements nor fall lower than your failures. And take with you all men: For in adoration you cannot fly higher than their hopes nor humble yourself lower than their despair. And if you would know God be not therefore a solver of riddles. Rather look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children. And look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain. You shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in trees. A perfume of the sacred in the ordinary and the value of labor, joy built from the things you carry into the temple of your days. Golden hay, frankincense tears, hearthsmoke, amber-streaked cedar, and beeswax.
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“Oh, I’m burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? Why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? I’m sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills. Open the window again wide: fasten it open!” An incandescent amber storm. Strata of glowing ambers piled deep and restless, molten and honeyed, threaded with dark, resinous veins that pulse like blood under skin. Free, wild, elemental: the storm at her heart, beating against the glass until it shatters. Formulated to be layered with HEATHCLIFF, or worn as a standalone scent.
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Brown Sugar and Oak.
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A festive and urgently mammalian response to inclement weather: a pair of blushing musks daubed with French lavender, flecks of fresh snow, and trickles of chilled champagne.
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Pumpkin custard swirled with thick eggnog, dark roast coffee, grated nutmeg, soft cinnamon, and a drizzle of brown-sugar syrup.
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An aromatic panel of gingerbread conveniently drilled at hip-height, smutted up with patchouli and boozy brown musk.
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You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance. For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether? And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart. And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing. When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet. Therefore let your visit to that temple invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion. For if you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking you shall not receive: And if you should enter into it to humble yourself you shall not be lifted: Or even if you should enter into it to beg for the good of others you shall not be heard. It is enough that you enter the temple invisible. I cannot teach you how to pray in words. God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips. And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains. But you who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas can find their prayer in your heart, And if you but listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in silence, “Our God, who art our winged self, it is thy will in us that willeth. It is thy desire in us that desireth. It is thy urge in us that would turn our nights, which are thine, into days which are thine also. We cannot ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born in us: Thou art our need; and in giving us more of thyself thou givest us all.” A scent for wordless communion, an immersion with the divine: silver frankincense and white myrrh, blue lotus absolute and white sandalwood.
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Chestnut musk, hay, cacao absolute, tobacco, pu’er tea, sweet vetiver, and coffee bean. Theodore Gericault
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A row of plump, cardamom-spiced sweet buns overflowing with pooflets of lavender cream and almond paste.
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“O come and go with me, no longer delay, Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away.” — “O father! O father! now, now keep your hold, The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is so cold!” The spell breaks like a sudden crack in an ice-bound lake. Opoponax incense and black oud plunging into a heart-stopping shiver of ambergris accord and eucalyptus leaf.
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I’m honestly not sure if this is actually a New Year’s card, but for the sake of this project, let’s say it is. Your ancient ones are welcome? I misunderstood the card when I first saw it, and my brain translated it to an invocation to the Great Old Ones, Outer Gods, Elder Gods, or Dreamlands’ Great Ones, so let’s run with that, too. This scent is no mere nut of hearth and harvest, but a squamous chestnut, born of ancient groves whose roots knot through strata older than memory, necrophagous and ravenous, sucking nutrients from long-buried carrion. A whiff of roasted shell, scorched coffee bean, and smoldering husk billowing in tenebrous clouds of nutty, cacodaemonical incense. Beneath this lies a resinous sweetness, dry and fungal, as though the chestnut had ripened not beneath familiar suns but under a swollen, unwholesome moon. A paean to the dad jokes that the King in Yellow tells his kids, this chestnut’s warmth carries the faint echo of a pun told too many times and the comforting dread of knowing the punchline before it lands.
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Coyote Moon: Cacao Dust and Ashes
doomsday_disco replied to doomsday_disco's topic in Duets & Menage A Trois
The ash in this duet makes me think of standing next to a campfire as the ashes flit through the air and make their way toward the ground. The cacao note cozies up to it, but the ash is definitely stronger on my skin. There's no sludgy cacao here (which I would have loved), if anyone is curious, and the scent itself has great throw and can be smelled without me even having to hold my arm up to my nose (although I still did that for testing purposes). I like this, but I don't think I need more of this duet. (I think I prefer Baby's First Krampuslauf.) But I'm looking forward to layering this with its moon to see how that goes. -
Cacao Dust and Ashes.
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Les Pleurs is mostly about the myrrh on me, and it's a dark myrrh, not the soft, powdery, cuddly variety from scents like Bastet. The stone note is next in prominence, making the scent seem even darker. It takes a long time for the beeswax note to show up on me, and although it eventually emerges and adds a bit of welcome sweetness to those very bold notes, there's not enough of it here to think of this as a beeswax scent. There's no acrid smoke note or vetiver in the blackened amber accord, so I wouldn't let that descriptor put you off of trying this if the other notes appeal. This isn't something I need more of, but if you are looking for a dark resin and stone scent, this might be up your alley.
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Smoked beeswax and blackened amber, incense ash and antique myrrh, and tears running rivers down ochre stone. Odilon Redon
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I concur with the above review! This is Creamsicle perfection and my favorite of the rarities and b-sides that have been released over the past year. The mandarin isn't bitter, medicinal, soapy, etc. -- anything that could go wrong with a mandarin note is not present here. The vanilla really is like a billowy cloud that just floofs out over time, complementing the mandarin perfectly. It's already in the 90 degree range here in March (UGH), so I've already taken it upon myself to order a bottle. I couldn't risk this orange and vanilla goodness selling out!
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A fragment of a discarded summer scent concept from a few years back.
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According to some authors, myrrh is the produce of a tree that grows in the same forests as the incense-tree, though most say that they grow in different places: but the fact is that myrrh grows in many parts of Arabia, as will be seen when we come to speak of the several varieties of it. A sort that is highly esteemed is brought from the islands also, and the Sabæi even cross the sea to procure it in the country of the Troglodytæ. It is grown also by being transplanted, and when thus cultivated is greatly preferred to that which is grown in the forests. The plant is greatly improved by raking and baring the roots; indeed, the cooler the roots are kept, the better it is. – Pliny the Elder Kataf myrrh, smoked sandalwood, and vanilla bean.
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The weather’s cold, so devilish hard My income friend, is suffering from the cramp, So please excuse this impecunious card, As all I’m good for is a used up. Sugared-crusted marshmallows and cinnamon candies.
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O, who rides by night thro’ the woodland so wild? It is the fond father embracing his child; And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm. The pale sugared blossoms of innocence wrapped tightly in sleet-soaked arms. Vanilla bourbon, cream peony, and white carnation enveloped in a warm, protective fortress of tonka, white cedar, orris root, red amber, and leather.