doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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A brilliant young violinist - caustic, painfully vulnerable, and forever reaching into oblivion - whose music was as fierce as his despair. A haunted concerto of weathered violin wood, black velvet, beeswax candles, bruised violets, wine-soaked iris, and chilled silver amber distilled into a fragrance of impossible longing and exquisite desolation.
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The exquisite agony of a heart that cannot stop bleeding, though no wound can be found. Every desire becomes another thirst, every kiss another vein opened, every love another mouth at the fountain. Crimson rose, black cherry, garnet wine, velvet pomegranate, dark patchouli, smoked labdanum, antique mahogany, and a single drop of red musk. Il me semble parfois que mon sang coule à flots, Ainsi qu'une fontaine aux rythmiques sanglots. Je l'entends bien qui coule avec un long murmure, Mais je me tâte en vain pour trouver la blessure. À travers la cité, comme dans un champ clos, Il s'en va, transformant les pavés en îlots, Désaltérant la soif de chaque créature, Et partout colorant en rouge la nature. J'ai demandé souvent à des vins captieux D'endormir pour un jour la terreur qui me mine; Le vin rend l'oeil plus clair et l'oreille plus fine! J'ai cherché dans l'amour un sommeil oublieux; Mais l'amour n'est pour moi qu'un matelas d'aiguilles Fait pour donner à boire à ces cruelles filles! - - - It seems to me sometimes my blood is bubbling out As fountains do, in rhythmic sobs; I feel it spout And lapse; I hear it plainly; it makes a murmuring sound; But from what wound it wells, so far I have not found. As blood runs in the lists, round tumbled armored bones, It soaks the city, islanding the paving-stones; Everything thirsty leans to lap it, with stretched head; Trees suck it up; it stains their trunks and branches red. I turn to wine for respite, I drink, and I drink deep; (Just for one day, one day, neither to see nor hear!) Wine only renders sharper the frantic eye and ear. In terror I cry to love, "Oh, put my mind to sleep!" But love for me is only a mattress where I shrink On needles, and my blood is given to whores to drink. — English translation by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Sweet roasted pumpkin rind, raw wool accord, polished oak, baked bread, cocoa absolute, and kitchen herbs. Antonio Rotta
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A lonely killer's anthem, taut with lost love stitched closed with black silk sutures splitting open again beneath white-hot spotlights. Black leather creased with age, velvet roses thrown onto the stage, sweet plum wine, silvered lilies, gunpowder residue, smoky amber, and a whisper of glittering white musk drifting through the wreckage after the final encore.
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Welcome to your new home: warm cedar planks, a tousled cotton blankie, and a red leather collar complete with bright gold chain.
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Sunny acidic brightness slicing through deep, animalic wood resin.
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Sweet enough to rot your teeth, smoky enough to not care.
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Velvety, sun-warm stone fruit soaked in smoky tea.
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It’s my heritage, and I can be silly if I want to. Tayabak petals, loose and dreaming, butterfly pea steeped to deep ink-blue, languid, heady sampaguita, sweet jackfruit, and calamansi beams radiating from an ube-purple moon.
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Behind the woman stands the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, heavy with the fruits of wisdom and temptation. A serpent winds through its limbs, whispering, You shall not surely die; for God knows that in the day you eat of it your eyes shall be opened. Knowledge, like desire, is double-edged: it can awaken, but can also destroy. But without the serpent’s gift, we cannot achieve self-determination, autonomy, or free will, and without those, love and life itself are meaningless. Black fig dipped in spiced pomegranate syrup.
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Beams of citrus, apricot, raspberry musk, and neroli herald daybreak, illuminating ambergris and myrrh shadows. Felix Edouard Vallotton
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Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think. First of all he said to himself: “That buzzing-noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing-noise, somebody’s making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.” Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.” And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.” So he began to climb the tree. He climbed and he climbed and he climbed, and as he climbed he sang a little song to himself. It went like this: Isn’t it funny How a bear likes honey? Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! I wonder why he does? Then he climbed a little further … and a little further … and then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song. It’s a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees, They’d build their nests at the bottom of trees. And that being so (if the Bees were Bears), We shouldn’t have to climb up all these stairs. He was getting rather tired by this time, so that is why he sang a Complaining Song. He was nearly there now, and if he just stood on that branch … Crack! “Oh, help!” said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him. The bees were still buzzing as suspiciously as ever. A golden gourmand for a philosopher. Wild clover honey buzzing with mead fizz, a gust of woodsmoke, and a dusting of ambered pollen.
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Alas my love you do me wrong To cast me off discourteously For I have loved you so long Delighting in your company. Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight. Greensleeves was my heart of gold And who but my lady Greensleeves? Alas my love that you should own A heart of wanton vanity So I must laddie think alone Upon your insincerity. A sorrowful 16th-century love ballad reimagined as a yuletide hymn: heavy bolts of oakmoss-colored velvet, a heart of gold weeping sticky tears of balsam.
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Wisteria incense, oakmoss, and sandalwood cream.
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Sweet ruby chocolate with pink cherry sugar and strawberry mochi concealing a satisfying crunch.
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Nothing beats that classic fluffy, bouncy texture, rendered eternally moist thanks to shreds of fresh carrot, delicately spiced and slathered in lavender cream cheese icing – including the obligatory carrot on top, piped in purple frosting.
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A bitterly cold, bone-white chypre; austere polar musk, vegan ambergris, and white tea combine to make a genteel, frigid perfume as bright and sharp as the first crack of glacial ice.
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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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Red vegetal musk, tangerine rind, King mandarin, fossilized amber, and neroli.
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Creamy white chocolate stirred into warm rice pudding with condensed milk and a dusting of cardamom sugar and saffron.
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An intangible vapor, an obfuscating mist: grey iris, ambergris, mallow blossom, white tea blossoms, and scorched milk. Alfred Stieglitz
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This scent is mostly about the milk note on my skin, although it's not funky like some dairy notes can be, and it's tamer than a milk note normally would be thanks to the other notes. At first, the milk is mostly accompanied by the white tea and floral notes in the scent, but after a while, the ambergris increases in strength and adds a muskiness behind the milk, while the flowers step back. I don't think this is one I would really gravitate towards wearing, but it's much nicer than I would have expected based off of the notes, especially iris, which usually is too screechy on me -- maybe this grey variety is kinder to me, or the milk is softening so much that it's not able to shout all over the place? In any case, this would be best for someone looking for a more complex milky scent.
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Cardamom, bourbon cream, white sandalwood, and incense.
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Lady of the Unicorn skull – queens escape to majestic mountain air, lace parasol and riding gloves in hand, corseted and bustled, heart filled with longing. An early 19th-century Italian perfume dabbed on black satin and lace – magnolia blossoms, lilac, orris root, and ambergris accord.
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Corvissa, Lady of the Yale skull – gold-plated armor and warm, sweet promises, steel striking steel, stolen glances and secret kisses. Gleaming gold-plated armor, sharpened steel, fossilized amber, and frankincense tears.