doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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Nouria, Lady of the Barn Owl skull- Candle-lit night, melancholy solitude and somber whispers, surrounded by leather bound books and ancient scrolls, the alchemy boiling and bubbling. A Regency-era alchemist’s cologne: bourbon vanilla, incense-smudged leatherbound books, rivulets of beeswax, galbanum resin, nutmeg, patchouli root, and leather.
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A sleek, seductive eternal slumber: silky ripples of spectral lavender cascading around the labdanum-shadowed absence of a living being.
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Black velvet, blackcurrant, and black roses. I remembered it; it was a small picture, about a foot and a half high, and nearly square, without a frame; but it was so blackened by age that I could not make it out. The artist now produced it, with evident pride. It was quite beautiful; it was startling; it seemed to live. It was the effigy of Carmilla! “Carmilla, dear, here is an absolute miracle. Here you are, living, smiling, ready to speak, in this picture. Isn’t it beautiful, Papa? And see, even the little mole on her throat.” My father laughed, and said “Certainly it is a wonderful likeness,” but he looked away, and to my surprise seemed but little struck by it, and went on talking to the picture cleaner, who was also something of an artist, and discoursed with intelligence about the portraits or other works, which his art had just brought into light and color, while I was more and more lost in wonder the more I looked at the picture. “Will you let me hang this picture in my room, papa?” I asked. “Certainly, dear,” said he, smiling, “I’m very glad you think it so like. It must be prettier even than I thought it, if it is.” The young lady did not acknowledge this pretty speech, did not seem to hear it. She was leaning back in her seat, her fine eyes under their long lashes gazing on me in contemplation, and she smiled in a kind of rapture. “And now you can read quite plainly the name that is written in the corner. It is not Marcia; it looks as if it was done in gold. The name is Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, and this is a little coronet over and underneath A.D. 1698. I am descended from the Karnsteins; that is, mamma was.”
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White lace, blackcurrant, and tea roses. “She went on to make her petition, and it was in the tone of a person from whom such a request amounted to conferring, rather than seeking a favor. This was only in manner, and, as it seemed, quite unconsciously. Than the terms in which it was expressed, nothing could be more deprecatory. It was simply that I would consent to take charge of her daughter during her absence. “This was, all things considered, a strange, not to say, an audacious request. She in some sort disarmed me, by stating and admitting everything that could be urged against it, and throwing herself entirely upon my chivalry. At the same moment, by a fatality that seems to have predetermined all that happened, my poor child came to my side, and, in an undertone, besought me to invite her new friend, Millarca, to pay us a visit. She had just been sounding her, and thought, if her mamma would allow her, she would like it extremely. “At another time I should have told her to wait a little, until, at least, we knew who they were. But I had not a moment to think in. The two ladies assailed me together, and I must confess the refined and beautiful face of the young lady, about which there was something extremely engaging, as well as the elegance and fire of high birth, determined me; and, quite overpowered, I submitted, and undertook, too easily, the care of the young lady, whom her mother called Millarca.”
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Crimson silk, burnished gold, cavernous oud, spilled ink on yellowed vellum, bone dust, myrrh smoke, and scythe iron. Juan de Valdés Leal
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A sugar-crusted vanilla peppermint stick!
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Sandalwood & White Plum.
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This is a very realistic lipstick scent. It has the waxy, creamy texture of old lipstick as well as the floral component (I think it's orris?) nailed down, with just a hint of clove to goth it up. While it's too realistic to be wearable for me, I'm in awe of Beth's artistry.
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Cascades of balsa filigree lace, white kid gloves displayed on cherrywood mannequin hands, and a frilly sachet of dried tea rose.
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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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Everybody knows their state flower and state animal —but do you know what the official LICHEN of your state is? Ramalina menziesii—the lace or fishnet lichen—is an unusually sexy bundle of algae and fungi. Fashioned into elegant, delicate patterns up to a meter long, it is a nest-making material for birds, a vital food source for California’s deer, and is considered to have sorcerous properties that protect against the ravages of lightning. A pale green filigree: oakmoss, orris absolute, ylang ylang sap, green patchouli, ambergris accord, and sheer vanilla.
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Ancient cypresses surrounding clusters of purple hyacinth, fallen leaves, and crosses crafted from white roses. A splash of rosewater, an immortelle hung on a tear-streaked marble tomb, nightshade berries, smoked lilac, warm beeswax, and a snuffed candle. Franz Skarbina
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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.
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Memories of my lifetime in Los Angeles are entwined with California poppies and lupine. In late winter, the hills near my home would be covered with swaths of orange and lilac—of sunbeams and the shadowed colors of dusk. Then in spring it would all die away as quickly as it appeared. When I first moved to Philadelphia, I brought a ton of seeds with me so I could start a small California garden and bring a little of my state’s magic with me. King mandarin, orange, coconut, lilac blossoms, lavender tar, and amber musk.
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A rare wild herb that only grows in California, primarily where fires have recently erupted. A scent of renewal, a vibrant cascade of crimson, orange, and russet: tangerine, scarlet musk, honey absolute, red amber, pink peppercorn, and champaca. Please note: this oil is not vegan.
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Black cherry and smoked plum resins, saffron and sweet labdanum, sensual tuberose, blackened patchouli, myrrh smoke, crimson iris, and scarlet musk. Franz Von Stuck
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Fear and fascination: blackened vetiver, amber smoke, clove, and oudh. …It was a sooty-black animal that resembled a monstrous cat. It appeared to me about four or five feet long for it measured fully the length of the hearthrug as it passed over it; and it continued to-ing and fro-ing with the lithe, sinister restlessness of a beast in a cage. I could not cry out, although as you may suppose, I was terrified.
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Lady of the Black Cat skull: sweet innocence with a dark mystery, wrapped in black leather and lace, guided by dreams and succumbing to nightmares. Sugared amber, orchid petals, and vanilla chiffon spiced with smoked cardamom.
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Lady of the Unicorn skull – queens escape to majestic mountain air, lace parasol and riding gloves in hand, corseted and bustled, heart filled with longing. An early 19th-century Italian perfume dabbed on black satin and lace – magnolia blossoms, lilac, orris root, and ambergris accord.
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Kit Sahari, Lady of the Fennec Fox skull – deserted wanderer, a lone survivor, quick footed and silent, warm blood, bones and fur, sharpening blades by the fire. Blood, bones, and fur: russet musk, desert sand, Daemonorops cinnabar, tonka bean, vetiver, and clove bud.
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Chestnut and Patchouli.
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Solid oak planks framing a shelter for saddle leather, dusty straw, alfalfa pellets, apple cores, and a flick of manure.
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Strawberry-chunked prosecco.
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A rictus grin of white sandalwood, toasted cedar, tonka bean, cacao, and palo santo. Hans Memling
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White sandalwood, orris root, ambergris, vetiver root, cardamom, white cedar, and black pepper. Andrew Wyeth