doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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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.
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An ode to persistent typos and overconfident, profoundly incorrect autocorrect. Dedicated to Ali in gratitude for years upon years of undangling my participles. Proceeds from the sale of this scent benefit Philadelphia’s Childrens Literacy Initiative who helps provide Black and Latino children with high-quality and culturally sustaining literary education. 7-year aged patchouli, candied dates, and dried red currant.
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The scent of ghost stories told beside a crackling fireplace, with garlands of evergreen hanging beside October’s carved pumpkins. Hearthlight and jack o’lanterns cast shadows on cobwebbed corners. Candied orange peel, mulled cider, smoked myrrh twirling through a cranberry garland, balsam resin and amber-drizzled pumpkin, smoldering hearthwood, and the soft honeyed glow of dripping beeswax.
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I don’t know if all kids love Krampus, but mine sure does. She first met him a decade ago at Dark Delicacies, where he was portrayed by our dear friend, Bill Rude. She loves Krampus so much that we took her to the Gnigl Krampuslauf in Salzburg in 2017. Her intention to join the Los Angeles Krampuslauf as a wee Krampus was curtailed by the pandemic, but hope springs eternal. Kids love horror. They’re attracted to the strange, the uncanny, the mysterious. This is why they love characters like Krampus, despite the threat of being scooped up into a bag and tossed into a river. Kids embrace horror. They always have. Children understand that the world is stitched together with shadows, and that sometimes the shadows have teeth. They’re drawn to the strange, the uncanny, the impossible; they see the edges where reality blurs. Horror is not a trespass for them, but a playground: a place where the monstrous becomes knowable, where fear becomes understanding. Terror tales are a ritualized fear, safely cocooned in myth. This is why they love figures like Krampus, even with his clanking chains and sacks full of disobedient little souls. To a child, Krampus is not simply a morality lesson or a grim parental warning – he’s a symbol of freedom, of things that are wild, dark, and uncontrolled. Children instinctively know that monsters serve a purpose, that they give shape to anxieties too formless to name. They let kids practice both bravery and defiance, and they teach kids that though the world can be frightening and unpredictable, they can traverse its tangled forests and survive the darkness. I believe that children also know in the deepest part of their mythic, dreaming souls that monsters protect, challenge, and guide. Sometimes, the monster under the bed is the only one who truly understands you. Kids love Krampus, not in spite of his menace, but because of it. His is the shadow that makes the light shine brighter, and the rattle of his chains reminds them that stories, both light and dark, belong to them. A playdate with monsters: crimson musk stirred into molten sugar, ruby pomegranate syrup, tart cherries, a dusting of clove-spun candyfloss, and a drizzle of warm vanilla resin.
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Voluptuous Bulgarian rose unfurls like crimson silk, met by the dark, resinous warmth of freshly cracked coffee beans.
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A tribute to Epidendrum nutans, the nocturnal seductress of the forest canopy. Sweet, indolic jasmine curls around a breath of citrus and moonlit air, a perfume that blooms when the world sleeps.
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A sun-warmed bloom, its fragrance unfurls in lush waves: rich and creamy, like chocolate and nectar mingling in the sultry air. A scent both decadent and wild, glistening with heady sweetness.
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May Christmas shed lustre around you. Amber-illuminated roasted chestnut, cardamom, caramel, and allspice.
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Frosted cedar, moonlit amber, black plum, vetiver, smoked oakwood, violet shadows, and feathery incense. Ohara Koson
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Estonian The fleeting sweetness of a stolen bite pressed into sunlit skin: wild strawberries and sweet apple dipped in sweet cream and blush amber.
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Polish A mischievous mark: black raspberries, red currant, and rose hip cordial in honeyed cream.
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I just really, really need it to be spring already. A crisp, green, and snappy vegetable perfume. Guiseppe Arcimboldo
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Frost-tinged hay and soil against a backdrop of smoked apricot amber glass. William Bell Scott
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Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right As the other fellow has To stand On my two feet And own the land. I tire so of hearing people say, Let things take their course. Tomorrow is another day. I do not need my freedom when I’m dead. I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread. Freedom Is a strong seed Planted In a great need. I live here, too. I want freedom Just as you. – Langston Hughes A scent for community, for communal power, for collective justice; a fragrance of sustenance, comfort, resilience, justice, and the stubborn belief that sweetness belongs to the living, here and now. Crusty brown bread still warm from the oven, golden wheat, clover honey, sweet butter, oat milk, chamomile, and a soft breath of vanilla.
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Spanish A playful bite, sweetness bruised by desire. Black cherry liqueur, red amber, and crushed strawberries crushed with clove and cinnamon sugar.
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A smoky, windswept gust of tobacco flower, vetiver, olibanum, black oud, and a blotch of red orchid. Léon Spilliaert
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An oil to draw harmony and calm wherever it is applied. Infused with soothing herbs and resins, this oil works to keep your home, workplace, or sacred space free from conflict. Anoint doorways, windows, or your pulse points to settle arguments, ease frayed nerves, and encourage understanding between people. Perfect for moments when tempers run high, Peacekeeper helps restore balance, calm emotions, and foster an atmosphere of respect and mutual cooperation. Contains: frankincense, lilac, lemon, rose absolute, vervain, lavender, and orris.
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Zante Currants and Lime.
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Strawberry Moon: Wild Strawberries and Inky Musk
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Duets & Menage A Trois
Wild Strawberries and Inky Musk. -
Strawberry Moon: Pink Strawberry and Black Champaca
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Duets & Menage A Trois
Pink Strawberry and Black Champaca. -
Icelandic A cool breeze over flushed skin: cloudberries, ambergris, and lemon zest gliding over warm amber musk.
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Kyphi and Sweet Cream.
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Strawberry Moon: Dried Strawberries and Dragon’s Blood Resin Hair Gloss
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Hair
Dried Strawberries and Dragon’s Blood Resin.