doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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We have resurrected Black Phoenix Trading Post’s sensual 2009 masterpiece. Red rose buds, with amber, clove, tonka, Indian musk, fir, and tobacco.
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Yipe! Atmo is similar to the perfume oil -- bold black cherry at first that gives way to the cream and dried (non-juicy!) blackberry note. Of course, the cherry sticks around longer with the atmo than it does in the perfume, but the end result is the same with that dried blackberry-infused cream with just a hint of cherry by the end of the day. As a cherry ho that used up all of her decant of the perfume oil years ago, I'm really glad I have a bottle of this, and I am kicking myself for missing out on the Yipe! Hair Gloss that was a happy accident that sold on Etsy. If you're a fan of the Lab's black cherry note, you need this one in your life!
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I thought maybe I hit a book scent saturation point, especially when it comes to leathery book scents, but this is the best one of those I've smelled in a really long time. I get strong, yet smooth, well-worn leather, the warmth of the macadamia nuts, and the teak, which isn't too sharp on me in this and which makes the scent more sophisticated. I think it may be the same teak found in Carved Wooden Bawdy House. I am not getting a ton of smoke from this, and for that, I am glad, as I don't always jive with the Lab's smoke notes. I also am not getting much beeswax from this, even though I love that note, although I wouldn't be surprised if it were helping to further smooth things over and sweeten things up in the background. I mostly just got a decant of this because of its popularity at Dragon Con, but this is right up there with Picture Books in Winter and Jólabókaflóð as far as warm, sweet leathery book scents go. I'm going to have to spend some more time with my decant, but I'm definitely debating a bottle. This is one of the standouts from this year's Weenie collection.
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Flapjacks drowning in an intoxicating blend containing wormwood essence, light mints, cardamom, anise, hyssop, and the barest hint of lemon.
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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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Dead Leaves, Funeral Lilies, and Beeswax Candles Home & Linen Spray
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Atmosphere
Dead Leaves, Funeral Lilies, and Beeswax Candles. -
Pumpkin custard swirled with thick eggnog, dark roast coffee, grated nutmeg, soft cinnamon, and a drizzle of brown-sugar syrup.
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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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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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The mists that slept on the river’s brim. Went up like the wings of the cherubim. The water-lilies so cold and fair Were tangled with tresses of bright brown hair. The osiers bent with a quiet grace over a form with a still, white face. The river flow’d with a desolate moan, And dead leaves fell on the cold grey stone. – Sarah T. Bolton A mist-shrouded river, laden with sorrow: water lilies, wild plum, carrot seed, jasmine petals, and yellow bergamot pouring over moss-covered stones.
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An impossibly sweet concoction of green tea and frothed almond milk poured over fresh rose petals and glistening tapioca pearls.
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the butterfly having disappeared my spirit came back to me — Wafū, trans. R. H. Blyth Wings unfolding in darkness, an echo of silence, the softest flutter, and then gone. Shadow-dappled tuberose and black orchid, buffeted by crumpled violet leaves and ink-dipped tea roses. A glint of obsidian musk slinks beneath, woven with scorched vanilla resin, dusty myrrh, and the faintest touch of crushed blackberry skin.
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Volatile, earthy, and defiant: dusty leather, tobacco leaf, clove bud, green patchouli, and black pepper. Honoré Daumier
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Hollow plastic shells of mango sherbet and musky black clove echoing with a ghostly miaow of glowing amber.
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Vintage Kitty Blow Molds is primarily a mango scent on me, although it reminds me of something more like a mango curd than a mango sorbet. The clove in this is pretty tame on me, which is weird since I feel like I tend to amp that note (but it would be fine if I had, as I love the note). So it's mostly a tangy mango scent on me, with a dash of clove, until the end of the day, when it's morphed to the plastic-y bright amber that's the blow mold part of the scent, made a little fruity by what remains of the mango. I think I'm going to keep the decant, as I think this would be fun to wear while it's still too hot to wear my autumnal scents, but everyone's stalking Weenies. I'll have to retest it to see if I need more of it before it goes away.
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This smells like cheap chocolate on buttered pumpkin bread. I say cheap chocolate because of the waxiness of the sprinkles, although Dutch hagelslag sprinkles are completely unlike American sprinkles, aren't hard or waxy, and taste way better (and there's also a vlokfeest version that's like chocolate flakes instead of sprinkle shapes). I totally get the choice to use a note more akin to American sprinkles, though, as most people wouldn't be familiar with the Dutch stuff. Eventually, the chocolate fades away, and I'm left with a syrupy sweet pumpkin scent by the end of the day. I thought I was going to prefer this to Pumpkin Zucchini Bread, but I actually think that I like that one better! Still, if you want a pumpkin and chocolate combo that isn't heavily spiced, give this one a try.
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A twinkling rosy rosé garnished with a curly sliver of clove-studded orange peel.
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Unreleased scent from a fantasy film. White taffeta, silver glitter, and pale florals.
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About two miles from the village of Canton, Me., is a cosey, old-fashioned farm-house which is located directly opposite a graveyard, with no other house in sight. From the window of this little house nothing can be seen except the graveyard with its gleaming stones, and the hills and mountains round about. The family that has been occupying the house moved out not long ago, declaring that they could not stand it any longer, that they were wellnight distracted by the demonstrations. When they told their story a former resident, who now lives in Hartford, announced that he had known for years that the place was haunted. He had not told any one for fear of the ridicule of his neighbors. The demonstrations were not only in the house, but in the barn and around the premises. Regularly every night at 12 o’clock a team of horses rushes from the direction of the village, rumbles over the little bridge at a slashing gait, and then disappears. It never reaches the house. Instead, ghostly voices address the members of the family who have the temerity to live there, the voices coming from all parts of the house, but never so clearly that they can be located. On one memorable night a member of the family went to the barn just at dusk without a lantern. A figure stood at the corner of the building, and he ran to learn what the straggler wanted about the place. The figure silently and mysteriously melted into the shadows and was gone. The Buffalo News, April 20, 1904 A spectral cacophony of shimmering, translucent dun sandalwood, grey amber, and wraith-chilled chestnut galloping through the mist-cloaked shadows of time, a clattering of clove and black pepper, and a crack of phantom leather.
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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.
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It is stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life. One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin. It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate, and provoke study, and when you follow the lame, uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard-of contradictions. The color is repellant, almost revolting; a smouldering, unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight. It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others. No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long. A smouldering, unclean scent: turmeric-dusted acrid marigold, linseed oil, bitter orange peel, crumbling plaster, clotted vanilla, and a whiff of sweet mildew.
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Capturing the essence of another Pseudo-Albertine book Egyptian Secrets. A title intended to evoke exotic origins, Egyptian Secrets collects remedies for fevers and burns, alongside protective magics against witchcraft, dog bites, and thieves. Myrrh resin, green cardamom, golden saffron, and honeyed fig.
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Bodegón Con Cesto de Frutas, Melocotones, Granadas Y Bernegal
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Limited Editions
Peaches, pomegranates, black figs, baked red clay, and cacao spiced with chili peppers and sweetened with honey. Juan de Zurbarán -
An oil of courage, daring, and reckless, unbridled joy. Contains: dragon’s blood absolute, frankincense, Tahitian vanilla absolute, blood orange, master root, apricot fruit compound, ginger root, heliotropin natural isolate, and fossilized amber.
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Treat this as more of an impression than a review since I'm reviewing the scent and not the intent. The Burning Light is mostly about the orange, apricot, and ginger on me, backed by the incense. The ginger with the other notes is making this veer medicinal on me, sadly. I'm going to stick with Holiday Survival Juice for a joyful, uplifting TAL blend.