doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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We won’t go until we get some! Dense and chewy, lively with spices and sticky with figs boiled in wine, decorated with pomegranate seeds and dried lavender petals.
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A toasted slice from the middle of a springy, oaty loaf blessed with a rich green schmear and sprinkled with lemon juice and lavender sea salt.
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A sturdy but soft lavender cotton twill, lightly flour- and sugar-dusted, with deep pockets full of kitchen mysteries.
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Perk up and relax at the same time! A steamy shot of espresso spiked with hazelnut syrup and crowned with pale purple foam.
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Pomegranate, Honey, and Mimosa.
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Pomegranate, Carnation, and Peonies.
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Pomegranate Pastille.
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Pomegranate Milk.
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Pomegranate and Black Tea.
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A slug of whiskey in a cedar shotglass and a chaw of green tobacco aimed at a polished ironwood spittoon.
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Smoke trails of frankincense and myrrh threading around an expertly whittled maplewood tableau.
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Solid oak planks framing a shelter for saddle leather, dusty straw, alfalfa pellets, apple cores, and a flick of manure.
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Cascades of balsa filigree lace, white kid gloves displayed on cherrywood mannequin hands, and a frilly sachet of dried tea rose.
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The Rev. Joseph Glanvil, chaplain in ordinary to Charles II., was a writer of great erudition and ability. In his “Sadducismus Triumphatus,” written to show that the phenomena of witchcraft were genuine occurrences, he gives an account of Mr. Mompesson’s haunted house at Tedworth, where it was observed that, on beating or calling for any tune, it would be exactly answered by drumming. When asked by some one to give three knocks, if it were a certain spirit, it gave three knocks and no more. Other questions were put, and answered by knocks exactly. Glanvil himself says, that, being told it would imitate noises, he scratched, on the sheet of the bed, five, then seven, then ten times ; and it returned exactly the number of scratches each time. Melanethon relates that at Oppenheim, in Germany, in 1620, the same experiment of rapping, and having the raps exactly answered by the spirit which haunted a house, was successfully tried ; and he tells us that Luther was visited by a spirit who announced his coming by “a rapping at his door.” In the famous Wesley case, the haunting of the house of John Wesley’s father, the Parsonage at Epworth, Lincolnshire, in 1716, for a period of two months, the supposed spirit used to imitate Mr. Wesley’s knock at the gate. It responded to the Amen at prayers. Emily, one of the daughters, knocked ; and it answered her. Mr. Wesley knocked a stick on the joists of the kitchen ; and it knocked again, in number of strokes and in loudness exactly replying. When Mrs. Wesley stamped, it knocked in reply. It is not surprising that John Wesley was a Spiritualist. “With my last breath,” he writes, “will I bear my testimony against giving up to infidels one great proof of the invisible world ; I mean that of witchcraft, confirmed by the testimony of all ages.” Planchette, or The Despair of Science : being a full account of modern spiritualism, its phenomena, and the various theories regarding it : with a survey of French Spiritism, Epes Sargent Green balsam, bay leaf, fossilized amber, blackened vetiver, and clove bud cloaked in oud.
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This Spiritualism is the nepenthe which the ancient philosophers sought, to prolong life for ever; you cast off your bodies like an old garment. The pathway of this new science is as clear to the spirit as the names of the constellations are to the astronomer. In the great realm of the spirit there is no room for death to abide ; he has gone out with the ignorance, and blindness, and prejudice of the past, and life, only life, remains as your inheritance. Mrs. Tappan then paused. After a moment’s silence she delivered the following inspirational poem:— O beautiful white mother Death, Thou silent and shadowy soul, Thou mystical, magical soul, How soothing and cooling thy breath! Ere the morning stars sang in their spheres, Thou didst dwell in the spirit of things, Brooding there with thy wonderful wings, Incubating the germs of the years. Coeval with Time and with Space, Thy sisters are Silence and Sleep ; Three sisters—Death, Silence, and Sleep, How strange and how still is thy face! In the marriage of matter to soul,” Thou wert wedded to young fiery Time, The now weary and hoary-haired Time, With him thou hast shared earth’s control. O beautiful spirit of Death, Thy brothers are Winter and Night; Stern Winter and shadowy Night, They bear thy still image and breath. Summer buds fall asleep in thy arms, ’Neath the fleecy and soft-footed snow, The silent, pure, beautiful snow; And the earth their new life-being warms. All the world is endowed with thy breath, Summer splendours and purple of wine Flow out of this magic of thine, O beautiful angel of Death What wonders in silence we see The lily grows pale in thy sight; The rose thro’ the long summer night Sighs its life out in fragrance to thee. O beautiful angel of Death, The beloved are thine, all are thine ! They have drunk the nepenthe divine, They have felt the full flow of thy breath. Out into thy realm they are gone, Like the incense that greeteth the morn, On the wings of thy might they’re up-borne, As bright birds to thy Paradise flown. They are folded and safe in thy sight, Thro’ thy portals they pass from earth’s prison; From the cold clod of clay they have risen, To dwell in thy temple of light. O beautiful Angel of Life, Germs feel thee and burst into bloom, Souls see thee and rise from the tomb, With beauty and loveliness rife. On earth thou art named cold Death, Dim, dark, dismal, dire, dreadful Death, In heaven thou art “Angel of Life.” We are one with thy spirit, O Death ; We spring to thy arms unafraid, One with thee are our glad spirits made. We are born when we drink thy cold breath,— Oh, Angel of Life, lovely Death. The concluding hymn was then sung, after which Mrs. Tappan uttered the following benediction—“ May the peace of the loving spirit of the Heavenly Father and His angels abide with you, and the life that knows no death bear you on to the immortal world.” The Spiritualist, Oct. 15, 1873 Poem by Cora L.V. Richmond The lily grows pale in thy sight; the rose, through the long summer night, sighs its life out in fragrance to thee.
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Softly, softly, hear the rustle Of the Spirits airy wings; They are coming down to mingle Once again with earthly things, With their rapping, and their tapping Rap-tap-tap to wake our napping, In the restless dream of error: Hear the weird the Spirit brings – Rap-tap-tap lost friends are near you; Rap-tap-tap they see and hear you; In their mystic converse rappy They declare good Spirits happy. Gently, gently, they are timid If a medium is not there; They may leave you in delusion, And dissolve again to air. Tis no fable – beings able – Rap-tap-tap upon a table; And their language is translated, While the watch with guardian care Rap-tap-tap lost friends are near you; Rap-tap-tap they see and hear you; In their mystic converse rappy They declare good Spirits happy Spirit Rappings, lyrics by T.E. Garrett, music by W.W. Rossington A joyful undeath: candied orange and pink peppercorn, sugared freesia petals, vanilla bean, and white honey.
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Seances for Inquirers are held weekly at 38, Great Russel-street. Inquirers may have Tickets free, on application to the Secretary, with personal recommendations from a Member. Admission to Members and one Friend, 1s. each. Private Seances for advanced manifestations for Members only, by special arrangement. Admission 5s. The Spiritualist, 8 February 1878 A clandestine assembly of elite ghost-seekers: smoky oud, fiery crimson peppercorn, and wild patchouli swirl in a heady haze, unfolding through plush velvet labdanum, lush plum damask, molten beeswax, and a glimmer of cognac spilled over a cracked quartz sphere.
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Whilst I was residing at Maulmain I saw a ghost with my own eyes in broad daylight, of which I could make an affidavit. I had an old schoolfellow, who was afterwards a college friend, with whom I had lived in the closest intimacy. Years, however, had passed away without our seeing each other. One morning I had just got out of bed, and was dressing myself, when suddenly my old friend entered the room. I greeted him warmly, told him to call for a cup of tea in the verandah, and promised to be with him immediately. I dressed myself in all haste, and went out into the verandah, but found no one there. I could not believe my eyes. I called to the sentry, who was posted at the front of the house, but he had seen no strange gentlemen that morning, The servants also declared that no such person had entered the house. I was certain I had seen my friend. I was not thinking about him at the time : yet I was not taken by surprise, as steamers and other vessel were frequently arriving at Maulmain. A fortnight afterwards, news arrived that he had died, six hundred miles off, almost the very time I saw him at Maulmain. It is useless to comment upon this story. To this day I have never doubted that I really saw the ghost of my deceased friend. Banbury Advertiser, 18 July 1878 A fragrance steeped in wistful melancholy and the ache of near-forgotten longing. Black tea and bergamot shimmer in the glow of sunlit amber as cypress boughs cast lingering shadows. The heart blooms softly with jasmine sambac and tender orris.
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… it is very far, indeed, from being an acknowledged fact that the spirits of the departed return to earth and make their presence known by causing a commotion among a man’s furniture. Glasgow Morning Journal, February 22, 1865 A raucous thump of polished mahogany, rosewood, red leather, and walnut hurling through a haze of whiskey and cigar smoke.
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A twinkling rosy rosé garnished with a curly sliver of clove-studded orange peel.
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Because it’s almost Hanukkah and we still haven’t taken down our Halloween decorations. Sorry, neighbors!
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Sugar-dusted and overflowing with Luxardo maraschino cherries and a hint of blackberry.
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Rain-dappled moss, golden silk, and sheer, gossamer vanilla.
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A heady swish of black velvet patchouli, ambre noir, silken musk, and bourbon vanilla.
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Marshmallow and Candyfloss.