doomsday_disco

Contemplative and aloof, the Glaucous Dragon prefers mist-shrouded beachside cliffs, sea-battered ruins, and fog-thick fjords. These dragons are unapproachable and solemn; their scales are the color of weathered stone, pale sage, silvered fir resin, white amber, beach lichen, and hazy orris.

Smoked tonka bean, vetiver root, white patchouli, oolong tea, hazy, muted brown amber, and vanilla husk. Odilon Redon

13 is significant, whether you consider it lucky, unlucky or just plain odd. Many believe it to be unfortunate… …because there were 13 present at the Last Supper. …Loki crashed a party of 12 at Valhalla, which ended in Baldur’s death. …Oinomaos killed 13 of Hippodamia’s suitors before Pelops finally, in his own shady way, defeated the jealous king. …In ancient Rome, Hecate’s witches gathered in groups of 12, the Goddess herself being the 13th in the coven. Concern over the number thirteen echoes back beyond the Christian era. Line 13 was omitted form the Code of Hammurabi. The shivers over Friday the 13th also have some interesting origins: …Christ was allegedly crucified on Friday the 13th. …On Friday, October 13, 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the arrests of Jaques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and sixty of his senior knights. …In British custom, hangings were held on Fridays, and there were 13 steps on the gallows leading to the noose. To combat the superstition, Robert Ingersoll and the Thirteen Club held thirteen-men dinners during the 19th Century. Successful? Hardly. The number still invokes trepidation to this day. A recent whimsical little serial killer study showed that the following murderers all have names that total thirteen letters: Theodore Bundy Jeffrey Dahmer Albert De Salvo John Wayne Gacy And, with a little stretch of the imagination, you can also fit “Jack the Ripper” and “Charles Manson” into that equation. More current-era paranoia: modern schoolchildren stop their memorization of the multiplication tables at 12. There were 13 Plutonium slugs in the atomic bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki. Apollo 13 wasn’t exactly the most successful space mission. All of these are things that modern triskaidekaphobes point to when justifying their fears. For some, 13 is an extremely fortuitous and auspicious number… …In Jewish tradition, God has 13 Attributes of Mercy. Also, there were 13 tribes of Israel, 13 principles of Jewish faith, and 13 is considered the age of maturity. …The ancient Egyptians believed that there were 12 stages of spiritual achievement in this lifetime, and a 13th beyond death. …The word for thirteen, in Chinese, sounds much like the word which means “must be alive”. Thirteen, whether you love it or loathe it, is a pretty cool number all around. …In some theories of relativity, there are 13 dimensions. …It is a prime number, lucky number, star number, Wilson Prime, and Fibonacci number. …There are 13 Archimedean solids. AND… …There were 13 original colonies when the United States were founded. Says a lot about the US, doesn’t it? Thirteen notes of empowerment and good fortune soaked in bittersweet chocolate: red ginger, cardamom, star anise, cloves, coriander, fennel, black pepper, pink pepper, red chili, sweet aged patchouli, mallow root, ti leaf, and molasses.

And a man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge. And he answered, saying: Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights. But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart’s knowledge. You would know in words that which you have always known in thought. You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams. And it is well you should. The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea; And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes. But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure; And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line. For self is a sea boundless and measureless. Say not, “I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have found a truth.” Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.” Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my path.” For the soul walks upon all paths. The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals. Lotus petals cast onto a dark and fathomless sea.

Golden Amber and Plum Blossom.

An oil to help modulate nervous system function, encouraging rest, recuperation, and calm. Contains: tangerine, lavender, patchouli, ylang ylang, Roman chamomile, bronze fennel, bergamot, wild carrot, and Himalayan cedar.

I've tested this a few times and have also deathmatched it with a few scents. I was hoping to be able to definitely say, "oh, this is a match up of this and this!", but alas, I cannot make any such claims. Bloody Apple Tart is primarily a spiced, baked apple scent. The cinnamon coating the apples fortunately did not burn my skin, and I believe the apple note is something akin to the roasted apple in Lambs-Wool. The blood note in this definitely has some cherry, and may have a bit of red musk (although I'm not positive on that, because I usually amp the stuff, and the spiced apples were the dominant aspect of this scent on me throughout wear, although there were times when I felt there may be a bit of that in there). I deathmatched this with Blood, and I don't think this is a spiced apple holiday scent mixed with that, as this definitely lacks the dragon's blood and sour myrrh from that blend. I also deathmatched this with The Tell-Tale Tart, thinking maybe this could be a mash-up of the spiced apple with that scent, but while they both have cherry, The Tell-Tale Tart definitely has a lot of red musk, the crust of the tart is more noticeable in that one than this one, and I'm not getting any strawberry or currant here. This isn't something that I need more than a decant of, but I do think the apple note is really nice, and I'm curious to read other reviews speculating about the bloody part of this tart.

An unreleased prototype for a holiday frimp that was bloodied by accident. Think Sweeney Todd if it was fruity, meatless, and more of an “oops.”

A sturdy but soft lavender cotton twill, lightly flour- and sugar-dusted, with deep pockets full of kitchen mysteries.

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts; And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime. And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly. There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone. The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape. And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand. And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words. In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence. When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue. Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear; For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered When the colour is forgotten and the vessel is no more. Rhythmic silence: black tea and myrrh, frankincense and parchment.

Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace. When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the “nay” in your own mind, nor do you withhold the “ay.” And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart; For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed. When you part from your friend, you grieve not; For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit. For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught. And let your best be for your friend. If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also. For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill? Seek him always with hours to live. For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness. And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. The warmth of shared meals, the pleasure of shared laughter, and the hidden language of sweet, comfortable silences: warm bread, roasted chestnut, oakwood smoke, sparkling bergamot, lentisk resin, and honeyed labdanum.

Violets and wild lavender, tender and crushed with longing, spun sugar dissolving into memory, a fleeting exhale of soft musk, and a trace of myrrh.

Cracked leather and faded ink, dust-heavy pages steeped in echoes of prayer. Beeswax candles gutter in the shadows, their pale, amber light feebly holding back the dark. Low murmurs of frankincense and oakmoss anchor the stern hush of eternity. Vincent Van Gogh

A fragrance of celestial revelry: the galaxy whirling in ecstatic fragments of light, joy caught mid-orbit. An effervescent constellation of scent: dazzling points of neroli and sugared lemon flashing like meteors. Electric ozone and crystalline lavender swirl in radiant arcs, luminous as a comet’s tail, with golden heliotrope and night-blooming jasmine stardust. Henri-Edmond Cross

Golden apricot, honeyed fig, and grape must spill over with laughter, garlanded in rose, orange blossom, and laurel cavort in a jubilant whirl. Saffron, nutmeg and allspice embedded in amber and frankincense gleam like sun-dappled jewels. Nicolas Poussin

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.

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.

Her scent is the salt-scraped flesh of blue plums, soothed by a panoply of bioluminescent musks and ambers, threaded with inky oil-spill tendrils of olibanum.

Liqueur-soaked twin cherries reeling from a double pony-kick of pink pepper and white ginger.

Dark, dewy patchouli leaves gathered under the moon’s silvery gaze, their earthy aroma rooted deep with forest shadows and resinous moss.

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.

The crime of Lady Violet at Gilravage Hall in Neglected Murderesses. Black Darjeeling brewed to the edge of acridity, its dark tannins laced with the faint metallic sigh of tarnished silver. Bruised and rain-damp wisteria petals clinging to a loosened knot of fraying violet ribbon. The lingering ghost of charred wood from a dormant hearth drifting beneath a sweep of velvet the color of fading bruises, tangled with the ragged threads of silk-stitched roses.

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.

Vanilla-Infused Frankincense and Raspberry.

Vanilla and Tobacco Flower.