doomsday_disco

Gigil. I don’t think there’s an exact translation for this in English, but this is basically Cuteness Aggression, Filipino-style. Good gigil is the feeling of being absolutely overwhelmed by cuteness – VIBRATING because of someone or something’s intense cuteness – like you JUST CANNOT HANDLE THIS LEVEL OF CUTENESS. It’s a feeling somewhere between adoration and agitation? The uncontrollable urge to squeeze someone’s cheeks? Clenching your teeth because you cannot handle the cuteness you are experiencing? The feeling you get when you see a puppy or kitten so cute that you want to cry or scream? I know y’all know what I’m talking about. So, what does nanggigigil ako sayo translate to? It’s sort of… I CANNOT HANDLE HOW CUTE YOU ARE. IF I DON’T SMORSH YOUR CHEEKS I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND. Ok, that’s not the literal translation, but you get the gist. (Bad gigil, on the other hand, is when you are about to go volcanic with irritation. When your eyes are watering and your hands are clenching and your teeth gnashing because you are frothing with frustration. There’s too much of that in the world right now, so we’re not going to go there. I’m all bag gigil’d out. I’ve had enough bad gigil to last me a hundred lifetimes.) A scent for all of us who have been exploded by someone else’s cuteness: ube candyfloss and rice paper-wrapped red bean custard candy.

Japanese wineberries, ti leaf, osmanthus, and a dribble of plum wine.

White musk, green mandarin, moonflower, oolong tea, crushed grass, ume blossom, and green amber.

Jammy blueberries folded into creamy chocolate and dusted with cardamom, cinnamon, black tea, and warm milk.

Death had come into the land from the time Osiris had been closed in the chest through the cunning of Sêth; war was in the land; men always had arms in their hands. No longer did music sound, no longer did men and women talk sweetly and out of the depths of their feelings. Less and less did grain, and fruit-trees, and the vine flourish. The green places everywhere were giving way to the desert. Sêth was triumphant; Thout and Nephthys cowered before him. And all the beauty and all the abundance that had come from Rê would be destroyed if the pieces that had been the body of Osiris were not brought together once more. So Isis sought for them, and Nephthys, her sister, helped her in her seeking. Isis, in a boat that was made of reeds, floated over the marshes, seeking for the pieces. One, and then another, and then another was found. At last she had all the pieces of his torn body. She laid them together on a floating island, and reformed them. And as the body of Osiris was formed once more, the wars that men were waging died down; peace came; grain, and the vine, and the fruit-trees grew once more. And a voice came to Isis and told her that Osiris lived again, but that he lived in the Underworld where he was now the Judge of the Dead, and that through the justice that he meted out, men and women had life immortal. And a child of Osiris was born to Isis: Horus he was named. Nephthys and the wise Thout guarded him on the floating island where he was born. Horus grew up, and he strove against the evil power of Sêth. In battle he overcame him, and in bonds he brought the evil Sêth, the destroyer of his father, before Isis, his mother. Isis would not have Sêth slain: still he lives, but now he is of the lesser Gods, and his power for evil is not so great as it was in the time before Horus grew to be the avenger of his father. – Padraic Colum In the account preserved by Plutarch in On Isis and Osiris, Osiris is betrayed by the cunning of Set and sealed within a chest, a king slain and committed to silence and darkness, his body later torn and scattered across the land he once made fertile. Death enters Egypt with that closing of the lid of his sarcophagus. Destruction engulfs the kingdom, and the fertile soil of grain and vine yield to the encroaching desert. Isis refuses the reign of fragmentation and shadows. In a boat of reeds, she searches the marshes, patient and relentless, gathering one fragment and then another, though the gods’ penis has been consumed by a river fish. She laid the pieces together and reformed Osiris through spell and sacred utterance, enacting the mystery that Plutarch describes as the restoration of the good and ordered principle against chaos and devastation. She fashioned a phallus for Osiris through her craft and magic, and conceived their son, Horus. As Osiris was reconstituted, peace returned, the fields bloomed green once more, and through their union, a third god is created. Alchemically, the body is dissolved into multiplicity, scattered into chaos, and through the labor of love is gathered and consecrated into renewed form. From this restored polarity emerges a third: Horus, the child born of their union, guarded by wise Thoth and steadfast Nephthys, raised to confront and overcome Set. In Horus, the Lovers create continuity and correction, a living reconciliation that tempers destruction without erasing it, for even Set remains, diminished and bound within a larger order. Esoterically, this is sacred marriage enduring beyond death, the Lovers as integration and reconciliation of life and afterlife and the power of the passion and devotion of the lovers to create new life from death. Isis does not deny mortality but transforms it. Through her love and labor, Osiris lives again, enthroned in the Underworld as Judge of the Dead, dispensing justice and granting immortality through balance. The union of Isis and Osiris is altered yet unbroken, shifted from earthly kingship to eternal dominion. This is the Lovers as cosmological force, the force of the reassembly of creation itself. Isis and Osiris embody the Lovers as divine covenant transcending death, unconditional devotion that restores wholeness, and the sacred act through which two become not only one, but three. Their bond does not end at the tomb; it passes through it, transforms it, and returns bearing life immortal, a testament that love, when joined in true polarity, does not perish but remakes the world. Blue lotus incense and kyphi resin dancing in a dusk-shadowed temple, black loam of the Nile and green papyrus crushed beneath bare feet, myrrh and cassia steeped in date honey, a glimmer of lapis and gold leaf pressed into linen, and a surge of floodwater returning to parched earth.

A talisman of pleasure carved from the stone of the heart. Blushing rose cognac, sugared pink grapefruit, iced strawberries, and creamy sandalwood warmed by skin musk, vanilla bourbon, and glowing pink amber.

Honey Dust, Patchouli, and Orris Absolute.

A salty skin musk dusted with pink pepper.

Polished santol wood warmed by sun, the faint sweetness of coconut husk and rice powder, crushed sampaguita blossoms, pandan leaf, and a touch of palm sugar, oud, and chocolate suman.

Beeswax, wildflower honey, copal resin, vanilla bean, balsam, and frankincense.

Creamy white chocolate sweetened with rich date paste and brightened with a spark of fresh lime zest.

Plum-soaked black patchouli, indigo musk, poppy absolute, guava pulp, black tea, and tobacco.

Pink Strawberry and Black Champaca.

Jasmine tea, lemon slices, black frankincense, hinoki cypress, and golden sandalwood.

Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die. As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back — For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack. – Rudyard Kipling A scent for strength through solidarity against the encroaching horrors of authoritarianism. Silvered fir, life-giving soil and immovable stone, black sage, rue, hellebore accord, winter moss, cypress, fossilized amber resin, and vetiver. May the thundering chorus of our voices — entwined, rising, unbreakable — scatter the darkness.

Kyphi and Sweet Cream.

Torch-a, torch-a, torch me! Those who cross the threshold of this crackle-crust of burned sugar will be lost in a creamy abyss of bright, zingy custard.

Apricot, cream musk, bourbon vanilla, and golden bergamot.

“Good morning, Eeyore,” said Pooh. “Good morning, Pooh Bear,” said Eeyore gloomily. “If it is a good morning,” he said. “Which I doubt,” said he. “Why, what’s the matter?” “Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.” “Can’t all what?” said Pooh, rubbing his nose. “Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.” “Oh!” said Pooh. He thought for a long time, and then asked, “What mulberry bush is that?” “Bon-hommy,” went on Eeyore gloomily. “French word meaning bonhommy,” he explained. “I’m not complaining, but There It Is.” Every solid friend group has at least one goth kid representing. Soft grey musk, pink thistle, lavender ash, tea leaves, pale iris, grey lilac, and rain-soaked moss. Each purchase of Gloomily, Gloomily comes with a 1/32 oz imp of The Donkey’s Tail. The Donkey’s Tail is not available for sale on its own, and make sure you keep it safe as you never know where it might end up.

Red tobacco, crimson musk, sweet red patchouli, nutmeg, vanilla bourbon, rose geranium, and saffron-gilded red amber.

Vanilla sandalwood, chrysanthemum, and lemon peel.

Vanilla-soaked sandalwood, apricot mash, brandy, and white ginger.

Tagalog Nasa’yo ang puso ko! Strawberry-swirled halo-halo with a dollop of black cherry cream and mango puree.

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

In the vein (GET IT?) of Boo, Suck It, and Spooky, this is a gushing font of sweet bloody black cherry cream and crushed dried blackberries.