doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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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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The Lovebirds wanted to be spooky this year, and we didn’t have the heart to tell them that no one will be fooled. Fuzzy foamed milk with peppermint cream, green currants, and sugared green apple.
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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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Narcissus, white-gold and intoxicating, unfurls laconic petals over a jeweled heart of ripe plum, dark and dripping with amethyst-bright labdanum. Red musk coils around it like a silken ribbon, smoldering and decadent.
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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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The Dregs of a Bottle of Vanilla Extract (Discovered in the Mud)
doomsday_disco posted a topic in The Edward Gorey House
Alas, poor Marsh! Dribbles of masticated vanilla pods soaked in ethanol and caked with mud. -
From Edward Gorey’s Scènes de Ballet. A glimmer of white tulle in a thicket of ink-black pines, graceful as a half-spied pirouette between a silhouette of clawed branches. The hush of forest moss under satin slippers, a wisp of candle smoke, the flick of a wrist as pale as lilies beckoning through thick myrrh shadows.
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These are not soluble in lemonade, as clarified in The Awdrey-Gore Legacy. They are, however, most likely toxic. Pale crystals poured from a chipped glass jar, emitting a brittle whiff of bitter almond and cinnabar, swirling, undissolved, into sugar-clotted lemonade.
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A rich bourbon cream skin musk, formulated to announce and enhance whatever version of oneself is currently coming forth.
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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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It doesn’t get more “traditional” than this: a cauldron of tattoo ink infused with sorcerous roots and heady incense.
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And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart: Your seeds shall live in my body, And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart, And your fragrance shall be my breath, And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons. – Khalil Gibran, excerpt from “On Eating and Drinking” Crisp orchard air draped in morning dew, a bite of sun-warmed apple that bursts with honeyed clarity. The seeds carry whispers of tomorrow: green leaf, tender blossom, sapling wood. A breath both luminous and eternal, where fruit, flower, and branch entwine.
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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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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.
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“You weren’t always a lovebat, were you?” he began. A spoopy confabulation: Pink strawberries floating in sparkling blood orange and French lime fizz, enveloped in a swooshy cape of black velvet plum.
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Dead Leaves, Salt and Sea.
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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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Curiouser and curiouser. Milk and honey with rose, carnation and bergamot. I'm a huge fan of the Mad Tea Party collection. It was inspired by my favorite book, and I have more wins from that line than any other category of the general catalog. I'm also a huge fan of sugary floral scents. That said, I did not vote for Alice hair gloss in the Lunacy Poll, but only because it was up against TKO, which I love even more. So I was delighted when the goblins decided to make Alice hair gloss a thing as well. In the bottle, it is the spicy, creamy floral that I know and love. Once applied to the hair, it differs from the perfume oil in that there is a brief blast of rose before I get CARNATION LIKE WHOA. This is some seriously spicy carnation. I wonder if there is some cinnamon in that note that contributes to the spiciness, because when I applied it to my wet hair on Sunday, it felt really spicy and hot (especially when I would rest my head against my hand), and when I applied it to my dry hair on Monday and held my hair up to my nose, my lips burned a little when they encountered my hair. I find it interesting that the carnation note is so strong in hair gloss form. I guess I thought I would get less carnation in my hair than on my skin (since my skin has turned some scents featuring that note into what might as well be a carnation single note), but that wasn't the case. After several hours, the milk and honey note started to emerge more. The carnation has softened, allowing the rose to peek out once again, but it is still quite prominent. I prefer this stage of the scent, and it is so lovely to get a waft of that milk and honey note paired with the spicy carnation when walking in the wind. I plan on pairing this hair gloss with Alice, Alice in the Pumpkin Patch, and Queen Alice. But since I don't really wear two of those scents until autumn rolls around, and I already own a ridiculous amount of hair gloss, I think one bottle of this will suffice.
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Mineralic Amber.
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You would measure time the measureless and the immeasurable. You would adjust your conduct and even direct the course of your spirit according to hours and seasons. Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank you would sit and watch its flowing. Yet the timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness, And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream. And that that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars into space. Who among you does not feel that his power to love is boundless? And yet who does not feel that very love, though boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being, and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor from love deeds to other love deeds? And is not time even as love is, undivided and paceless? But if in your thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons, And let today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing. Let each season encircle all the other seasons: ambergris accord, frankincense smoke, orris root, angelica, bergamot, and white tea.
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Every leaf tells a story.
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If this year’s Lupercalia fragrance collection was a book, it would be printed in blood-red ink rolled across the soft, stubborn bodies of dream-pale flowers, and stamped onto heavy black paper. We’d pass it around before the letters had a chance to dry, staining fingers with the turn of every page, marking the curious as aspiring erotes, as fellow Lupercalians. The sanguine contents of this text were made to be devoured by the eyes, the skin, the heart, and then the story continued by its readers, passed along to others. (As ever, please do not consume the perfumes internally or apply them to sensitive body parts. Don’t make us regret deploying such a fragrant metaphor, we’re trusting you to hang onto at least that much cognition.)
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Black Butterfly Moon: Vanilla-Infused Frankincense and Raspberry
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Duets & Menage A Trois
Vanilla-Infused Frankincense and Raspberry. -
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.