doomsday_disco

Well, he was humming this hum to himself, and walking along gaily, wondering what everybody else was doing, and what it felt like, being somebody else, when suddenly he came to a sandy bank, and in the bank was a large hole. “Aha!” said Pooh. (Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum.) “If I know anything about anything, that hole means Rabbit,” he said, “and Rabbit means Company,” he said, “and Company means Food and Listening-to-Me-Humming and such like. Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um.” So he bent down, put his head into the hole, and called out: “Is anybody at home?” There was a sudden scuffling noise from inside the hole, and then silence. “What I said was, ‘Is anybody at home?'” called out Pooh very loudly. “No!” said a voice; and then added, “You needn’t shout so loud. I heard you quite well the first time.” “Bother!” said Pooh. “Isn’t there anybody here at all?” “Nobody.” Winnie-the-Pooh took his head out of the hole, and thought for a little, and he thought to himself, “There must be somebody there, because somebody must have said ‘Nobody.'” So he put his head back in the hole, and said: “Hallo, Rabbit, isn’t that you?” “No,” said Rabbit, in a different sort of voice this time. “But isn’t that Rabbit’s voice?” “I don’t think so,” said Rabbit. “It isn’t meant to be.” “Oh!” said Pooh. He took his head out of the hole, and had another think, and then he put it back, and said: “Well, could you very kindly tell me where Rabbit is?” “He has gone to see his friend Pooh Bear, who is a great friend of his.” “But this is Me!” said Bear, very much surprised. “What sort of Me?” “Pooh Bear.” “Are you sure?” said Rabbit, still more surprised. “Quite, quite sure,” said Pooh. “Oh, well, then, come in.” So Pooh pushed and pushed and pushed his way through the hole, and at last he got in. “You were quite right,” said Rabbit, looking at him all over. “It is you. Glad to see you.” “Who did you think it was?” “Well, I wasn’t sure. You know how it is in the Forest. One can’t have anybody coming into one’s house. One has to be careful. What about a mouthful of something?” Pooh always liked a little something at eleven o’clock in the morning, and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and when Rabbit said, “Honey or condensed milk with your bread?” he was so excited that he said, “Both,” and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, “But don’t bother about the bread, please.” And for a long time after that he said nothing … until at last, humming to himself in a rather sticky voice, he got up, shook Rabbit lovingly by the paw, and said that he must be going on. “Must you?” said Rabbit politely. “Well,” said Pooh, “I could stay a little longer if it—if you——” and he tried very hard to look in the direction of the larder. “As a matter of fact,” said Rabbit, “I was going out myself directly.” “Oh, well, then, I’ll be going on. Good-bye.” “Well, good-bye, if you’re sure you won’t have any more.” “Is there any more?” asked Pooh quickly. Rabbit took the covers off the dishes, and said, “No, there wasn’t.” “I thought not,” said Pooh, nodding to himself. “Well, good-bye. I must be going on.” The Hundred Acre Wood’s resident Virgo (affectionate). The scent of neat rows and polite refusals: toasted oats and clover honey, crushed lemon verbena, wild carrot leaf, and white tea poured with exacting care. A dab of condensed milk on a clean spoon, a faint rustle of vetiver, and a courteous cough to suggest that your visit has gone on quite long enough.

“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.

We have resurrected Black Phoenix Trading Post’s sensual 2009 masterpiece. Red rose buds, with amber, clove, tonka, Indian musk, fir, and tobacco.

Caramel-soaked banana slices sizzling in butter and brown sugar, flamed with dark rum, and poured over warm vanilla ice cream.

A sun-warmed bloom, its fragrance unfurls in lush waves: rich and creamy, like chocolate and nectar mingling in the sultry air. A scent both decadent and wild, glistening with heady sweetness.

A bloodless scent stitched together like delicate antique lace, with a hint of powdered violet, plum brandy, and gleaming aldehydes.

A fatal temptation: vanilla bean paste, allspice, ground almond accord, cinnamon sugar, golden caster sugar, and a dusting of icing sugar.

Pumpkin custard swirled with thick eggnog, dark roast coffee, grated nutmeg, soft cinnamon, and a drizzle of brown-sugar syrup.

A fragment of a discarded summer scent concept from a few years back.

Olive green jelly with a warm orange glow and pink and green reflective sparks.

May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children. May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us — yes, establish the work of our hands. Also known as salep root and Helping Hand, this orchid root has been used as a tool of success, wealth, and good fortune, bringing blessed luck to everything your five fingers can touch. It’s a gambling root that blesses risk-takers, but is also a tool for craftsmen, laborers, artists, and all who work with their hands. A deep earthy perfume entwined with orchid petals.

Frosted cedar, moonlit amber, black plum, vetiver, smoked oakwood, violet shadows, and feathery incense. Ohara Koson

Smoked beeswax and blackened amber, incense ash and antique myrrh, and tears running rivers down ochre stone. Odilon Redon

White Sandalwood and Cacao.

Steamed Milk and Marzipan.

Pistachio and Vanilla Buttercream.

Honey Dust and Toasted Oats.

Coffee Bean and Cinnamon Stick.

Cardamom and Black Amber.

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. – Maya Angelou Under a terrible moon, tides still answer the pull. Roots still find water. Breath still moves from body to body, unseen and unstoppable. To keep breathing together is to refuse erasure and deny despair. Authoritarianism thrives on isolation and fascism feeds on hopelessness. We are living through a terrible moon, indeed, but we are not alone. You are not alone. Every breath you take is an act of defiance. Every hand you reach for refutes the lie that you stand by yourself. We will get through this together. A protective, communal scent to call one another closer and stand united against the darkness. A scent to remind us that even now, especially now, we rise. Smoldering beeswax illuminated by honeyed amber, an embrace of skin musk, body-warmed wool, cacao-dusted sandalwood, and cardamom milk.

A green and spicy slip up while reblending Funnel of Love.

A new year’s blessing! Peony, China’s national flower, with bamboo for flexibility, plum blossom for perseverance, courage, and hope, tangerine for wealth, orange for happiness, lychee for household peace, pine resin for constancy, golden kumquat, pussy willow, and quince for prosperity, narcissus and King mandarin for good fortune, and peach blossom for longevity, with a splash of blazing red of dragon’s blood… to help you scare away the rampaging Nian.

A bedtime anointing oil for the prevention of nightmares. Contains: lavender, frankincense, chamomile, willow leaf, rue, hops, star anise, bourbon vanilla, and lemon verbena.

I haven’t had much sleep lately, so this is the best I could do for a name. This scent is part of an unreleased comedy/horror animation project, based on an illustrated character concept of a dapper skeleton. White sandalwood, white pepper, orris root, angelica, and chalk.

“O come and go with me, no longer delay, Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away.” — “O father! O father! now, now keep your hold, The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is so cold!” The spell breaks like a sudden crack in an ice-bound lake. Opoponax incense and black oud plunging into a heart-stopping shiver of ambergris accord and eucalyptus leaf.