doomsday_disco

Among the most intelligent inquirers with whom I converse at Brighton was a lady of title. She told me that she was one of those present at the Davenport séance, held at the residence of Sir Hesketh Fleetwood. She was seated in the dark séance by the side of a gentleman whose previous scepticism, he confessed to her, was fast disappearing in the face of the facts they were witnessing, when a light was suddenly struck, and both of them distinctly saw the form of Ira Davenport glide close past them. This incident very much disturbed the confidence of Lady L—, and entirely satisfied the sceptic that imposition was practiced, and he left the room a confirmed unbeliever. I told Lady L—that, on his return to London, Mr. Ferguson spoke to me of this very fact, as one of the most curious that had yet occurred at any of the séances. He was holding, he said, the box of matches, as he usually does, when the box was snatched from his hand, and a light was struck by the invisible operator, and during the momentary ignition of the match he plainly saw a form, apparently of a human figure. He said nothing at the moment, but whispering the fact to Mr. Fay, he confirmed it, and afterwards several of those present admitted that that, too, had seen it. Mr. Ferguson, however, was not aware that anyone present supposed it to be the actual person of Ira Davenport, as no observation to that effect was made, and as Ira Davenport was seen instantly afterwards when the light was restored, fast bound to his chair, it was simply impossible that the suspicions of Lady L—or her friend could have been well founded. But, admitting that two competent witnesses did actually see the form of Ira Davenport on that occasion, it is corroborative of a very important and interesting fact, and distinct phase of these puzzling mysteries of spiritual appearances – viz., the duplication of individual form. Mr. Ferguson, who did not on that occasion recognize the resemblance to Ira Davenport, nevertheless has, as he solemnly asserts, seen at other times, when alone with them, the entire duplicated form of Ira Davenport, and a part of Mr. Fay ; and in my first conversation with the Davenport Brothers they told me, among other curious facts of their extraordinary history, that persons had said they had met one or other of them in places where they had not been. On one occasion their father went to a neighbouring shop to order some fruit, when he was told by the shopkeeper that his son Ira had just been there, and had ordered the fruit. It was, however, satisfactorily proved that Ira had not left the house, and that the man must have seen his “wraith,” or “double.” The Spiritualist, December 19, 1873 The uncanny echo of your second self: a shadow-blackened fougere steeped in an uncanny, discomfiting lavender tar.

A Winter Solstice gourmand: a ground almond snowpack glistening under a chilly scattering of sugar-bright stars, standing out against a night sky of the darkest cacao.

Violet and Vanilla Chiffon.

WHERE ARE THE DEAD? or, SPIRITUALISM EXPLAINED Containing well authenticated and selected reports of all the different phases of modern spirit phenomena, from table-turning to the visible materialisation of the faces and forms of the departed, and the photographing of spirits ; proving by undeniable facts that those we mourn as DEAD ARE STILL ALIVE, and can communicate with us ; and that Spiritualism is sanctioned by Scripture, and consistent with science and common sense ; with specimens of intensely interesting communications received touching death, the future life, and the experiences of the departed. Also extracts from the literature of Spiritualism, advice to investigators, list of books, addresses of mediums, and all useful information. The Spiritualist, June 19, 1874 An unsettling dance of ethereal murmurs, with ghostly wormwood drifting through the husky warmth of cardamom — a whisper in a shadowed corridor. Hazy lavender and velvety orris cast an otherworldly glow in the darkened corners.

Electricity, which is an atmospheric emanation from God, and which is moved by his will, is that substance out of which all worlds and their splendid appendages were made. Hence, it will be perceived, that electricity contains all the original properties of all the various substances in being. All the varieties of the universe around us – all the beauties and glories of creation upon which we look with so many thrilling emotions of delight, were produced from electricity, which is the inexhaustible fountain of primal matter. By the living energies of the Divine Mind, electricity was condensed into globes ; not instantly, but gradually. The heaviest particle took the lowest point, or common centre, of our globe, and so on, step by step, lighter and lighter, till we reach the surface, which is a regular mould. On this we find water, a substance still lighter than earth ; next air, which is lighter than water, and so on till we reach the sun, which is the highest point in relation to our system, because it is the common centre. The sun is, therefore, pure electricity. Hence, the twenty-nine globes, belonging to our system, are electrically, geologically, and magnetically made. They are but twenty-nine magnets revolving around our sun as a centre. The sun being pure electricity or primal matter, is but an emanation from the Deity. It is consequently in a positive state. Hence, electricity is continually passing from the sun, as a common centre to the twenty-nine surrounding worlds : on the same principle that it passes from a positive to a negative cloud. Having done its duty in giving light, heat, and vegetation, as well as magnetic power to the globes, it is returned by reaction to the sun, and these two motions from the vertices that roll worlds around him. It is impossible that there can be any inherent attraction or repulsion in matter. Attraction and repulsion are but different dispositions of electricity. The best magnets are now made for the galvanic battery. Hence, electricity, galvanism and magnetism, are but in substance one and the same fluid, and the Eternal Mind, so that all the powers of attraction and repulsion originated in Deity. His will comes in contact with electricity, and through that subtle agent he moves the whole immeasurable universe in accordance with nature’s law. All worlds are in motion. They roll rapid as the lightning’s blaze, and in the most apparent confusion ; yet all is calm, regular, and harmonious. God is, therefore, connected with his universe, and superintends all its multifarious operations. Tho’ he is thus intimately united with inert matter, yet is he distinct from the whole. Thou apart, Above, beyond ; O tell me, mighty Mind, Where art thou? Shall I dive into the deep: Call to the sun? or ask the roaring winds For their Creator! Shall I question loud The thunder, if in that the Almighty dwells! Or holds he furious storms in straitened reins, And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car! The Pittsburgh Post, 9 August 1847 The divine spark from which all things emanate; the perfume of the profound, unseen forces that connect us to the cosmos: the cold brilliance of metallic aldehydes, lemon pith, ambergris accord, and white lavender tethered to terrestrial patchouli, violet leaf, and a mineralic musk.

Limoncello-soaked blueberries nestled between layers of golden crepe, topped with a splort of lavender whipped cream and sprinkled with tiny curls of lemon zest.

Fuel and fire for speaking out against injustice: a heap of warm spiced funnel cakes with a scoop of coffee ice cream. Proceeds from this scent will be donated to the American Civil Liberties Union. To learn about how the ACLU will be challenging Trump’s agendas in court, visit them here. Note: If you are confused, the original scent description on the website said cinnamon ice cream. It was mentioned that this was an error and that it should actually be coffee ice cream in a live sniff on Thanksgiving.

A gently floral twist on the famous Swedish saffron buns baked for the feast day of St. Lucia, their curly S-shapes baked golden.

Who doesn’t want a hot, buttery snake? Spiced buttered rum splooshed into Snake Oil with a bit of molasses and cream.

Skin musk and silk with a whisper of tonka, coffee bean, and russet amber. Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

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.

Hush is a scent to cool the nerves and help inspire serenity in dark times: lemon myrtle, ylang ylang, tangerine, sandalwood, and lavender.

Cacao, scorched patchouli, roasted chestnuts, and champaca absolute.

Sugared pear and wild violets with orris butter, coconut milk, white musk, and vanilla silk. “How romantic you are, Carmilla,” I said. “Whenever you tell me your story, it will be made up chiefly of some one great romance.” She kissed me silently. “I am sure, Carmilla, you have been in love; that there is, at this moment, an affair of the heart going on.” “I have been in love with no one, and never shall,” she whispered, “unless it should be with you.” How beautiful she looked in the moonlight! Shy and strange was the look with which she quickly hid her face in my neck and hair, with tumultuous sighs, that seemed almost to sob, and pressed in mine a hand that trembled. Her soft cheek was glowing against mine. “Darling, darling,” she murmured, “I live in you; and you would die for me, I love you so.”

And finally, we’re bottling up some Lemon Chiffon Pumpkin Pie as a reminder that a little silliness, joy, laughter, and sweetness will help sustain us, fortify our spirits, and get us through to the other side.

Warm golden spices enveloped in a swirl of deep resinous amber incense and palo santo, sparkling with a celestial bouquet of heliotrope, bergamot, and star jasmine.

A little nod to my Filipino-Ashkenazi heritage!

All-consuming, relentless desire – deceptively luscious, murderously brooding, and blindingly sensual: blood musk, black cherry, crimson amber, 21-year aged patchouli, golden saffron, jasmine sambac, and black rose. The vampire is prone to be fascinated with an engrossing vehemence, resembling the passion of love, by particular persons. In pursuit of these it will exercise inexhaustible patience and stratagem, for access to a particular object may be obstructed in a hundred ways. It will never desist until it has satiated its passion, and drained the very life of its coveted victim. But it will, in these cases, husband and protract its murderous enjoyment with the refinement of an epicure, and heighten it by the gradual approaches of an artful courtship. In these cases it seems to yearn for something like sympathy and consent. In ordinary ones it goes direct to its object, overpowers with violence, and strangles and exhausts often at a single feast.

The color and scent were indistinguishable, and inescapable. Blood-tinged raspberries oozing into globs of blackcurrant and red plum.

Crimson and ash-green velvet, leatherbound books, a scattering of ink-dribbled papers, beeswax, dried flowers, faded pipe smoke, mahogany, and oak suffused with warm beams of golden amber and dusted with pale sandalwood. Nelson Shanks

Black cherry and smoked plum resins, saffron and sweet labdanum, sensual tuberose, blackened patchouli, myrrh smoke, crimson iris, and scarlet musk. Franz Von Stuck

Sleek black fur, fuzzy tonka bean, bronze amber and yellow bergamot, black patchouli, honeyed chestnut, and pumpkin incense. I and Pangur Bán, my cat, ‘Tis a like task we are at; Hunting mice is his delight, Hunting words I sit all night. Better far than praise of men ‘Tis to sit with book and pen; Pangur bears me no ill-will, He, too, plies his simple skill. ‘Tis a merry thing to see At our tasks how glad are we, When at home we sit and find Entertainment to our mind. Oftentimes a mouse will stray In the hero Pangur’s way; Oftentimes my keen thought set Takes a meaning in its net. ‘Gainst the wall he sets his eye Full and fierce and sharp and sly; ‘Gainst the wall of knowledge I All my little wisdom try. When a mouse darts from its den, O! how glad is Pangur then; O! what gladness do I prove When I solve the doubts I love. So in peace our task we ply, Pangur Bán, my cat, and I; In our arts we find our bliss, I have mine, and he has his. Practice every day has made Pangur perfect in his trade; I get wisdom day and night, Turning darkness into light. – From the ninth-century Irish poem, Pangur Bán, translated by Robin Flower

Coffee Bean and Incense.

Campfire Smoke and Bay Rum.

Solve. No judgment from us: whatever you did, you surely had your reasons! Instead we’ll simply break down your stubborn resistance to virtue with a dose of black leather, patchouli, and sweet oud, dissipating any lingering angst with a volley of lemon peel, dried plum, opium pod, cardamom, hazelnut, almond, and dates.