doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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Ladies, is it gay to have a skeletal system? Short answer: YES! Because the human wrist was undeniably made to flap and go “enh.” There are many theories about the historical origin of the so-called “limp wrist” gesture, which has bedeviled arbiters of masculine/feminine presentation since at least the ancient Roman times. So when we defiantly flop our phalanges, we’re reclaiming a time-honored tradition! And letting our skeletons do what they do most naturally: camp it up. Did you know the human wrist is made up of eight small bones, plus the forearm’s radius and ulna? Factor in the four small ones that comprise that lightly extended pinkie finger, and the number of bones required to execute this delicate maneuver add up to FOURTEEN. No wonder we’re always so tired. So defy nature if you truly must, but never forget: when bones are all that’s left of you, the wrists will be extra floppy. And we think that’s worth celebrating while you’re still alive! This scent debuted in 2023 as “Is He, You Know” but since this is commonly deployed as an equal-opportunity aphorism, we’ve created a campy companion scent: sweet 13-year aged patchouli, peru balsam, white oakmoss, spikenard, bourbon vanilla, sugar cane, and a sprig of lilac.
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It is stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life. One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin. It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate, and provoke study, and when you follow the lame, uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard-of contradictions. The color is repellant, almost revolting; a smouldering, unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight. It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others. No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long. A smouldering, unclean scent: turmeric-dusted acrid marigold, linseed oil, bitter orange peel, crumbling plaster, clotted vanilla, and a whiff of sweet mildew.
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The Lovebirds wanted to be spooky this year, and we didn’t have the heart to tell them that no one will be fooled. Fuzzy foamed milk with peppermint cream, green currants, and sugared green apple.
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Capturing the essence of another Pseudo-Albertine book Egyptian Secrets. A title intended to evoke exotic origins, Egyptian Secrets collects remedies for fevers and burns, alongside protective magics against witchcraft, dog bites, and thieves. Myrrh resin, green cardamom, golden saffron, and honeyed fig.
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Bodegón Con Cesto de Frutas, Melocotones, Granadas Y Bernegal
doomsday_disco posted a topic in Limited Editions
Peaches, pomegranates, black figs, baked red clay, and cacao spiced with chili peppers and sweetened with honey. Juan de Zurbarán -
Treat this as more of an impression than a review since I'm reviewing the scent and not the intent. The Burning Light is mostly about the orange, apricot, and ginger on me, backed by the incense. The ginger with the other notes is making this veer medicinal on me, sadly. I'm going to stick with Holiday Survival Juice for a joyful, uplifting TAL blend.
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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.
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I received a tester of this in a decant order. This is mostly about the leather on me, and it's a strong black leather. I also get some rubberiness from it, which I agree is probably from the leather combining with the ink. The dusty pages are present, but I'm not getting any beeswax or any sweetness from this whatsoever. And that strong leather really could have used some beeswax goodness along with it! Maybe it's just my skin running away with the leather? I'm glad that I was able to try it, but I wouldn't reach for this over sweet book scents like Jólabókaflóð or Picture Books in Winter.
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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
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I'm also getting An Evening With the Spirits vibe from this one. It has the same sort of eerie coolness as some of those scents. I decided to try it because I wanted to try at least one scent from The Yellow Wallpaper collection, and this one seemed like it would be the most accessible (plus, y'know, it contains lavender ). This is indeed accessible, with the plaster dust being pretty tame and kind of lending a powdery make-up or classic perfume vibe in the background. However, the standout notes to me are the iris (which is somehow not as sharp and screechy as usual) and the musky ambergris. I've tried this a few times now, and the lavender and vanilla husk aren't really distinct on me, and I'm not getting anything rose-y from this, either. While this isn't something I need a bottle of, I'm glad the iris wasn't extremely rude to me (despite being a main player), and that this wasn't heavy on the plaster. If you like iris and are looking for a scent with An Evening With the Spirits sort of feel, though, this might be up your alley.
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By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there is a moon—I wouldn’t know it was the same paper. At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern I mean, and the woman behind it is as plain as can be. I didn’t realize for a long time what the thing was that showed behind,—that dim sub-pattern,—but now I am quite sure it is a woman. A perfume of veils and bars, moonlight slashing through prison walls: silvered lavender and white iris shuddering like lamplight on stained plaster, ambergris frothing through vanilla husk, and the phantom outline of a rose-touched woman’s silhouette.
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A bronze chypre with molten amber, gleaming myrrh, and a hint of laurel leaf. Thomas Crawford
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A rich bourbon cream skin musk, formulated to announce and enhance whatever version of oneself is currently coming forth.
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But there is something else about that paper—the smell! I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here. It creeps all over the house. I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs. It gets into my hair. Even when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly and surprise it—there is that smell! Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like. It is not bad—at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever met. In this damp weather it is awful. I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me. It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the house—to reach the smell. But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the color of the paper! A yellow smell. Scorched wood and oversteeped chamomile petals pressed wetly into beeswax, brittle fossilized amber, a whisper of honeyed hay and saffron, and the sweet decay of overripe butter figs.
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Smoked tonka bean, vetiver root, white patchouli, oolong tea, hazy, muted brown amber, and vanilla husk. Odilon Redon
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The whistle cries. Cheek pressed to the cool glass, breath fogging faintly as orchards and riverbanks blur past in watercolor hues. The air fills with rose creme and warm pastries from the dining car. Night falls. The train glides along the darkened coast, and lights shimmer in the distance like earthbound stars. Burnt sugar amber, polished French oakwood, cacao fleur, blushing peony, and cashmere musk.
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A 2023 Halloween concoction which maybe should’ve been a Yule all along! Wooly and witchy, fuzzy and scuzzy, long green fingers tipped with ruby-red nails: raw wool, sweet oakmoss, and cranberry brandy.
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A bitterly cold, bone-white chypre; austere polar musk, vegan ambergris, and white tea combine to make a genteel, frigid perfume as bright and sharp as the first crack of glacial ice.
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A fatal temptation: vanilla bean paste, allspice, ground almond accord, cinnamon sugar, golden caster sugar, and a dusting of icing sugar.
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A bloodless scent stitched together like delicate antique lace, with a hint of powdered violet, plum brandy, and gleaming aldehydes.
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A whiff of seasonal dread, candied and cursed; the perfect gourmand perfume for holiday melancholics. A dense, boozy thud of brandied plum, candied citrus peel, dried cherries, sherry, blackened clove and nutmeg, ambered dust, moth-eaten burgundy velvet curtains, and a tiny plume of smoke from recently-spent matchsticks.
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Flapjacks drowning in an intoxicating blend containing wormwood essence, light mints, cardamom, anise, hyssop, and the barest hint of lemon.
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*clinks bottles* *clinks shovels* How about one for the road? Fizzy pop and a syrupy slick of motor oil splashed across disintegrating tan leather seats.
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An aromatic panel of gingerbread conveniently drilled at hip-height, smutted up with patchouli and boozy brown musk.
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Slushy white mint, vanilla cream, lemon drops, grapefruit, and yuzu!