doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite. Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody. But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements? Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul. If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction. Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion, that it may sing; And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two loved guests in your house. Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the love and the faith of both Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields and meadows—then let your heart say in silence, “God rests in reason.” And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky,—then let your heart say in awe, “God moves in passion.” And since you are a breath in God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion. Rest in reason and move in passion: smoked rose attar, honeyed saffron, red sandalwood, red tea, clove bud, and frankincense.
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This is a strong hair gloss that can be smelled in both wet and dry hair (a feat!), but of course, it is strongest in dry hair. It's mostly the scent of stick incense from a metaphysical shop, that happens to have some wisteria-infused into it, backed by sandalwood and oakmoss (with the latter being more noticeable by the end of the day). The wisteria itself is not as strong as it is in Death Moon: Wisteria and White Musk. This is very much about the incense. And I'm not getting any creaminess from the sandalwood cream, but that's okay with me. I plan on hanging onto my decant of this one, but I prefer Death Moon: Wisteria and White Musk Hair gloss for my wisteria fix, so I don't need a bottle.
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Wisteria incense, oakmoss, and sandalwood cream.
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Courtly love that becomes cosmology, a spiritual ascent, a ladder to heaven. In The Divine Comedy, Beatrice is not simply muse or lover, but a guide. She is radiant Sophia, living wisdom, the luminous intelligence that draws the soul upward through ever-widening spheres of divine light. Beatrice’s eyes are mirrors that reflect the radiance of Heaven itself, “with eyes of light more bright than any star.” Her gaze does not return to the pilgrim but lifts him upward, directing his sight beyond her to the splendor of the Eternal. “Then to the eyes of beauty my eyes turned,” Dante says, and the beauty he sees there is “far more beautiful than the vast universe beneath his feet.” The beloved is not held but beheld, and in that gaze the soul is altered. Though she is one of the Lovers, she also rises above them, not to inflame desire but to purify it. Through her presence, longing is refined from appetite into ascent. The earthly self, heavy with burdens, is gradually transmuted. L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle. In these Lovers exists adoration that moves the sun and stars. Longing clarifies, burns, and rises, and the anima lifts the earthly self toward its red perfection, where desire is no longer hunger but illumination. Love that is hope, love that is divine, love that reflects the radiance of the highest heavens. White rose and scarlet iris, beeswax smoke and frankincense tears, vellum and sacred myrrh, and a thread of red saffron steeped in luminous amber.
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Finnish A playful, tidy, sweet bruise: chilled blueberry cardamom cream.
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With apologies to Bram Stoker: though sympathy alone can't alter facts, it can help to make them more bearable… and so can a mouthful of gummi fangs! Daub your pulse points with the scent of chewy red fruit gums and shining white vanilla teeth.
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Strawberry Moon: Pink Strawberry and Black Champaca
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Duets & Menage A Trois
Pink Strawberry and Black Champaca. -
Beaver Moon: Graham Cracker & Buttercream Lotion
doomsday_disco replied to doomsday_disco's topic in Lotion
This smells like graham cracker crust and buttercream, but it also smells like there's some coconut infused into the buttercream. I received compliments on this one when I used it as a hand lotion in the office one day. It pairs perfectly with its moon and will go so well with many other gourmand scents. I'm surprised it's not getting more love. I'm happy I blind bottled it. -
Graham Cracker & Buttercream.
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The cherimoya note is the strongest note in this lotion, and it's the same one from Water Bearer. Sadly, I don't seem to appreciate it here, maybe because it's not paired with lavender? It's giving off a candy floral vibe that reminds me of SweeTarts smushed into a floral note -- I think it's the somewhat soapy lemon blossom note combining with it that's putting me off. I'm not able to pick out the green tea, berries, or sandalwood in this one. The lotion is strong and has good throw, so make sure you like it before you slather it on -- fortunately, I only applied it to the back of my hands. I'm glad that I opted for a sample pot, as this one is not for me.
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Cherimoya, green tea, lemon blossom, sweet crimson berries, and creamy white sandalwood.
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A sinister harvest, a bowl of freshly picked berries left as an offering beneath unsettling lime-tinged moonbeams, their juice staining pale hands red: crushed wild strawberries, night-blooming datura, goblin’s gold moss, dried berry incense, sticky honey, and a slow bleed of blackcurrant sap over cold white musk.
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Spring Wildflower Honey, Grass, and New Mown Hay Atmosphere Spray
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Atmosphere
Spring Wildflower Honey, Grass, and New Mown Hay. -
Honeyed Oud.
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Mandarin A strawberry stain on scarlet silk: strawberry nectar and translucent lychee folded into rock sugar and creamy sandalwood.
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In the First Book of Samuel it is written: “And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul,” (1 Samuel 18:1) and in that binding the axis of a kingdom trembles. Robe, armor, sword, and girdle are given freely, a voluntary unmaking of inheritance in favor of devotion. This is love as sacred oath, not fever but fidelity, a bond forged in the shadow of Saul’s rising wrath and the uncertainty of exile. When David laments, “thy love to me was wonderful beyond the love of women” (2 Samuel 1:26) grief becomes testimony and loyalty becomes scripture. Jonathan’s renunciation is ego relinquished so that another may ascend, sulfur tempered by mercy, ambition dissolved into covenantal gold. Here the Lovers stand not in garden innocence but beneath the weight of throne and spear, choosing allegiance over advantage, devotion over dynasty. Love does not seize power but surrenders it, and in that surrender is transfigured into something that outlives both battle and crown. Shepherd’s wool and wild honey, cedarwood and olive leaf, sun-warmed leather, plumes of frankincense rising from a quiet altar, and a thread of red pomegranate seed crushed between steady hands.
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Winners only beyond this point! Blue hydrangea, airy white musk, and pink jasmine buds.
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Beeswax, wildflower honey, copal resin, vanilla bean, balsam, and frankincense.
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Deathless Aphrodite of the spangled mind, child of Zeus, who twists lures, I beg you do not break with hard pains, O lady, my heart Translation by Anne Carson The tenth muse: purple fig, sun-warmed thyme, rose resin, orris, olive oil, and myrrh.
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Welcome my sweet daughter, my favorite, the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Maatkare, Hatshepsut. Thou art the Pharaoh, taking possession of the Two Lands. Maatkare, the Good Goddess, Divine Daughter of Amun, sixth pharaoh of the Eighteenth Dynasty, androgynous queen regnant who wore the uraeus-crowned Khat, traditional false beard, and the shendyt and bore the double crown as Mother and Father of Egypt. She sent five ships to the Land of Punt and brought back thirty-one living myrrh trees, their roots balled in soil, to be planted at the terraced temple of Deir el-Bahari, the Djeser-Djeseru. Her scent is imperial and vibrant, seizing back her power from those who would erase her: myrrh trees crossing the Red Sea in the hold of a ship, the dark smoke of kyphi drifting through limestone colonnades, ground frankincense and kohl, warm sand and blue lotus incense, cedarwood from Byblos, the dry resinous breath of obelisk granite in the sun, and a base of black amber and sacred anointing oil.
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Master of stained glass and illustration, his pen moved through Poe, Perrault, and Goethe like a needle threading silk through shadow. Sparkling shards of aldehyde-glowing mandarin, red musk, plum, bergamot, iron, smoky labdanum, and ink.
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That brain of mine is something more than merely mortal; as time will shew. The Enchantress of Numbers, the First Programmer: bergamot and black tea, polished mahogany and silver filigree, and an electric clap of bottled lightning.
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“O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy? My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy; She shall bear thee so lightly thro’ wet and thro’ wild, And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child.” An ethereal lure crafted with milk and honey.
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Vanilla sandalwood, chrysanthemum, and lemon peel.
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Green tea, mate, mint leaf, lemon peel, ginger root, and white cedar.