Morgause - Earth sorceress and mother of Mordred, she is, in essence, the harbinger of King Arthur's doom and the downfall of Camelot. She is a sister, or sister-self, to Morgan Le Fay. A bouquet of five night-blooming flowers deepened by dusky violet, purple fruits and the barest breath of medieval incenses.
In the imp, it's mostly violet and maybe a little bit of plum or grape. Sweet, but not too sweet. Color, dark violet.
Wet on my skin, it's violets and some sort of bitter herb or flower, maybe ivy. A little myrrh, perhaps.
10-15 minute drydown - Ugh. Violets. Not as bad because there's some night-blooming jasmine in here too, but still... violets. No thanks. Side note - something in that blend didn't like my skin either... I've got a large red blotchy spot on my inner wrist where I tested it. Odd.
*****
The Shivering Boy - Cold, cold forever more. A winter storm roaring through empty stone halls, bearing echoes of despair, desolation, and death on its winds. The scent of frozen, dormant vineyards, bitter sleet, and piercing ozone, hurled through labdanum, benzoin, and olibanum.
In the vial, eucalyptus, resins, and on the very back end, a faint hint of grape. Color, slate grey.
Wet on my skin, oh my. Cold and sweet and unf. I'm in love.
10-15 minute drydown - It smells like snow and flagstones and pine trees and grapevines. I tried this when I first got it and wasn't too impressed. I let it sit for a month, and omg. I need a bottle. I need MULTIPLE bottles! LOL.
1 hour drydown - I can smell a little more of the grapes and ozone but that's not a bad thing. I <3 this one. Definitely a Winter scent, though.
*****
Yule Cat - The Yule Cat is a gargantuan Icelandic feline that feasts on indolent people who shirk their community responsibilities. Don't be lazy! — idle hands make for a very unpleasant Yule!
Malevolent musk, a drop of infernal civet, vetiver, club moss, birch, goosefoot, and rowan.
In the vial, it's vetiver, moss, and HOLY CIVET, BATMAN! Color, yellow yellow yellow.
Wet on my skin... I'm almost afraid to try this one. Ew. It's moss and acetone, at the moment.
10-15 minute drydown - It would actually be very nice if it weren't for that awful acrid note in there.
1 hour drydown - Ok, that acridity has turned almost sickly sweet. It smells like the dead mouse we found in the heating ducts. No thank you.
*****
Schwarzer Mond '06 - The Black Moon is darkening the skies above the Lab once more!
The Dark Moon is a time of secrets and hidden truths, of veils and binding, justice and revenge. It is sacred to the Crone, and to Gods and Goddesses of magick, death, and mysteries.
The Black Moon has many meanings, but in any incarnation, it signifies a swelling of power. To us, it is the Blue Moon's dark sister.
The keeper of secrets: opoponax, Tunisian black amber, night musk, antique patchouli, zdravetz, terebinth, myrrh, and Pimenta racemosa.
In the vial, erk. Myrrh, myrrh, myrrh, and oh yeah, myrrh. Color, red gold.
Wet on my skin, myrrh and amber, a little patchouli, and a little of some kind of floral. This is just toooo heavy.
10-15 minute drydown - Resinous and almost burnt, with an overtone of heavy florals. I'm not caring for this. AT ALL.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 41 - O, Defututa, Al-Azif, Tombstone, and Smilin' Servitors Hyperdimensional Holiday Hits
Tombstone - A celebration of one of the first commercially produced perfumes of America's Old West. A rugged, warm blend of vanilla, balsam and sassafras layered over Virginia cedar.
In the vial, all I can smell is sassafras. Color, sassafras!
Wet on my skin, it's pencil shavings and root beer! I actually like it. :-P
10-15 minute drydown - Bandaids. Even after I wash it off... bandaids.
*****
O - The scent of sexual obsession, slavery to sensual pleasure, and the undercurrent of innocence defiled utterly. Amber and honey with a touch of vanilla.
No matter how long I wore it, it just smelled like straight out of the hive HONEY on me. No change.
*****
Defututa - Good Gods, what a night that was,
The bed was so soft, and how we clung,
Burning together, lying this way and that,
Our uncontrollable passions
Flowing through our mouths.
If I could only die that way,
I'd say goodbye to the business of living.
Olive blossom, honey, smoky vanilla, cinnamon, jasmine, sandalwood, and champaca flower.
I don't know why, but with the vanilla, jasmine, honey, and vanilla, it just smells like something I'd buy for a tween. Very soft and inoffensive.
*****
Al-Azif - An Arabic term that refers to both the chirping of nocturnal insects and the ambient sound made by the chattering of demons. This is the original title of the feared Necronomicon, the Book of Dead Names, penned by the Mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred.
Nor is it to be thought that man is either the oldest or the last of earth's masters, or that the common bulk of life and substances walks alone. The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be. Not in the spaces we know, but between them, They walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen. Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread. By Their smell can men sometimes know Them near, but of Their semblance can no man know, saving only in the features of those They have begotten on mankind; and of those are there many sorts, differing in likeness from man's truest eidolon to that shape without sight or substance which is Them. They walk unseen and foul in lonely places where the Words have been spoken and the Rites howled through at their Seasons. The wind gibbers with Their voices, and the earth mutters with Their consciousness. They bend the forest and crush the city, yet may not forest or city behold the hand that smites. Kadath in the cold waste hath known Them, and what man knows Kadath? The ice desert of the South and the sunken isles of Ocean hold stones where Their seal is engraven, but who hath seen the deep frozen city or the sealed tower long garlanded with seaweed and barnacles? Great Cthulhu is Their cousin, yet can he spy Them only dimly. I?! Shub-Niggurath! As a foulness shall ye know Them. Their hand is at your throats, yet ye see Them not; and Their habitation is even one with your guarded threshold. Yog-Sothoth is the key to the gate, whereby the spheres meet. Man rules now where They ruled once; They shall soon rule where man rules now. After summer is winter, and after winter summer. They wait patient and potent, for here shall They reign again.
A sinister, sinuous incense of summoning, a herald and paean to the Primordial Gods of Darkness, Chaos, Madness and Decay.
Oddly enough, it smells like maple syrup from start to finish.
*****
The Smilin' Servitors Hyperdimensional Holiday Hits - As seen on tv!
A musical extravaganza of madness, terror, and woe! Twenty-three insane interstellar holiday hits from everyone's favorite amorphous toad pipers, including "Doom to the World" and "Here We Go to Sacrifice"!
A discordant scent, silvery and strange like a lunatic's tinsel garland: freesia, eucalyptus, and yuzu, with sicilian lemon, massoia, opoponax, night-blooming jasmine, white bergamot, and copaiba oleoresin.
OOOOH! I'll do a better review of this one later, but it's an aquatic version of Death on a Pale Horse! I love it. :-)
Amusing note, though... during drydown, from a distance it smells like lemon but up close it smells like celery. o_O
In the vial, all I can smell is sassafras. Color, sassafras!
Wet on my skin, it's pencil shavings and root beer! I actually like it. :-P
10-15 minute drydown - Bandaids. Even after I wash it off... bandaids.
*****
O - The scent of sexual obsession, slavery to sensual pleasure, and the undercurrent of innocence defiled utterly. Amber and honey with a touch of vanilla.
No matter how long I wore it, it just smelled like straight out of the hive HONEY on me. No change.
*****
Defututa - Good Gods, what a night that was,
The bed was so soft, and how we clung,
Burning together, lying this way and that,
Our uncontrollable passions
Flowing through our mouths.
If I could only die that way,
I'd say goodbye to the business of living.
Olive blossom, honey, smoky vanilla, cinnamon, jasmine, sandalwood, and champaca flower.
I don't know why, but with the vanilla, jasmine, honey, and vanilla, it just smells like something I'd buy for a tween. Very soft and inoffensive.
*****
Al-Azif - An Arabic term that refers to both the chirping of nocturnal insects and the ambient sound made by the chattering of demons. This is the original title of the feared Necronomicon, the Book of Dead Names, penned by the Mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred.
Nor is it to be thought that man is either the oldest or the last of earth's masters, or that the common bulk of life and substances walks alone. The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be. Not in the spaces we know, but between them, They walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen. Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread. By Their smell can men sometimes know Them near, but of Their semblance can no man know, saving only in the features of those They have begotten on mankind; and of those are there many sorts, differing in likeness from man's truest eidolon to that shape without sight or substance which is Them. They walk unseen and foul in lonely places where the Words have been spoken and the Rites howled through at their Seasons. The wind gibbers with Their voices, and the earth mutters with Their consciousness. They bend the forest and crush the city, yet may not forest or city behold the hand that smites. Kadath in the cold waste hath known Them, and what man knows Kadath? The ice desert of the South and the sunken isles of Ocean hold stones where Their seal is engraven, but who hath seen the deep frozen city or the sealed tower long garlanded with seaweed and barnacles? Great Cthulhu is Their cousin, yet can he spy Them only dimly. I?! Shub-Niggurath! As a foulness shall ye know Them. Their hand is at your throats, yet ye see Them not; and Their habitation is even one with your guarded threshold. Yog-Sothoth is the key to the gate, whereby the spheres meet. Man rules now where They ruled once; They shall soon rule where man rules now. After summer is winter, and after winter summer. They wait patient and potent, for here shall They reign again.
A sinister, sinuous incense of summoning, a herald and paean to the Primordial Gods of Darkness, Chaos, Madness and Decay.
Oddly enough, it smells like maple syrup from start to finish.
*****
The Smilin' Servitors Hyperdimensional Holiday Hits - As seen on tv!
A musical extravaganza of madness, terror, and woe! Twenty-three insane interstellar holiday hits from everyone's favorite amorphous toad pipers, including "Doom to the World" and "Here We Go to Sacrifice"!
A discordant scent, silvery and strange like a lunatic's tinsel garland: freesia, eucalyptus, and yuzu, with sicilian lemon, massoia, opoponax, night-blooming jasmine, white bergamot, and copaiba oleoresin.
OOOOH! I'll do a better review of this one later, but it's an aquatic version of Death on a Pale Horse! I love it. :-)
Amusing note, though... during drydown, from a distance it smells like lemon but up close it smells like celery. o_O
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 40 - Hunger, Oya, and Wrath
Hunger - Evokes sheer, unadulterated carnal lust. An undeniably warm and sensual scent. Black narcissus, orange blossoms, and vanilla.
In the vial, all I can smell is narcissus and orange blossom - bitter and overpowering. Color - black.
Wet on my skin, it's all orange blossom. That's unpleasant to say the least.
10-15 minute drydown - Ok, there's some of the vanilla, but this is still unpleasant to me. One note of doom and two probably nots, but I at least gave it a shot. No thanks.
*****
Oya - Lady of the Wind, Goddess of the Nine Skirts, the Lady of War, the Bearded Amazon, the Thundermaiden. Beautiful, tempestuous, elegant and graceful, She is the fury of the hurricane, the breath in our lungs, the air that cools us, the breeze that chills us, the winds that blow seeds that fertilize the land, the winds that pass disease throughout villages and townships, the moan of the wind within the cemetery, and the fury of the tempest that tears the landscape asunder. Oya is the sweeping wind of change and upheaval, She is revolution and progress, and She forces the destruction of old ideals while sweeping away our useless baggage; the broom is a symbol of Her force for change. As the Mistress that commands hurricanes, cyclones, and tornados, she tears down that which is old and decaying, compelling Her children to begin building anew. In Her hands She holds a mask, as Her presence is most often felt and not seen, and none have seen Oya's true face. She is the moment at which the seasons change, the transition from life to death, and as the Lady of the Cemetery, it is to Her that we commit our final breath. Her closest friend is Iku, the Orisha of Death, and it is their responsibility to see to it that the natural order remains undisturbed. Once a man's final breath is expelled, Oya takes it to Iku, who brings the spirit to the cemetery gates and then to its next passage. One of her symbols is the bed, as nightly we imitate death in sleep. Because of her close relationship with Death, the Goddess is very close to the Egungun, the spirits of our ancestors. Oya is the Goddess of the Marketplace in which fortunes and goods spin in a never-ending whirlwind of exchange, change, and flux. She is the wind that precedes the thunderstorm, and it is in this that She is seen as Shango's companion and partner in battle, and without Oya, there is little that Shango can accomplish. She fans the fires of Shango's blazes, and is the forked lightning that touches the treetops. Proud and willful, Oya is also a Goddess of War. Her wrath is so terrible and so devastating that none may behold her rage and survive. Oya has nine children and nine colors, and her symbols are weathervanes, windmills, kites, balloons, propeller planes, wind instruments, pinwheels, two naked swords, and buffalo horns. Oya's ofrenda is a Nigerian potion of love and war, sweetened by darkest plum. Oya winiwini!
In the vial, all I smell is plum. It's *very* sweet. Color, it's straight up PURPLE.
Wet on my skin, still plums. Maybe a little bit of booze in there.
10-15 minute drydown - I think my body just completely ate all of it. No, wait... There's a little bit left. It's almost the sweetness of clean skin. I like.
1 hour drydown - Magical disappearing reappearing perfume! LOL This stuff smells good.
*****
Wrath - A scent aflame with rage, swirling in the red haze of hatred: dragon's blood spiked with black pepper, clove, and cinnamon.
In the vial, very spicy indeed! Color, red is definitely appropriate.
Wet on my skin, I'm getting mostly dragon's blood and cinnamon, with maybe a little clove on the back end. Not really smelling any black pepper yet.
10-15 minute drydown - Smells like FOOD to me! Cinnamon hard candy, to be exact.
1 hour drydown - Ok, I think I'm done smelling like cinnamon Altoids, thanks.
In the vial, all I can smell is narcissus and orange blossom - bitter and overpowering. Color - black.
Wet on my skin, it's all orange blossom. That's unpleasant to say the least.
10-15 minute drydown - Ok, there's some of the vanilla, but this is still unpleasant to me. One note of doom and two probably nots, but I at least gave it a shot. No thanks.
*****
Oya - Lady of the Wind, Goddess of the Nine Skirts, the Lady of War, the Bearded Amazon, the Thundermaiden. Beautiful, tempestuous, elegant and graceful, She is the fury of the hurricane, the breath in our lungs, the air that cools us, the breeze that chills us, the winds that blow seeds that fertilize the land, the winds that pass disease throughout villages and townships, the moan of the wind within the cemetery, and the fury of the tempest that tears the landscape asunder. Oya is the sweeping wind of change and upheaval, She is revolution and progress, and She forces the destruction of old ideals while sweeping away our useless baggage; the broom is a symbol of Her force for change. As the Mistress that commands hurricanes, cyclones, and tornados, she tears down that which is old and decaying, compelling Her children to begin building anew. In Her hands She holds a mask, as Her presence is most often felt and not seen, and none have seen Oya's true face. She is the moment at which the seasons change, the transition from life to death, and as the Lady of the Cemetery, it is to Her that we commit our final breath. Her closest friend is Iku, the Orisha of Death, and it is their responsibility to see to it that the natural order remains undisturbed. Once a man's final breath is expelled, Oya takes it to Iku, who brings the spirit to the cemetery gates and then to its next passage. One of her symbols is the bed, as nightly we imitate death in sleep. Because of her close relationship with Death, the Goddess is very close to the Egungun, the spirits of our ancestors. Oya is the Goddess of the Marketplace in which fortunes and goods spin in a never-ending whirlwind of exchange, change, and flux. She is the wind that precedes the thunderstorm, and it is in this that She is seen as Shango's companion and partner in battle, and without Oya, there is little that Shango can accomplish. She fans the fires of Shango's blazes, and is the forked lightning that touches the treetops. Proud and willful, Oya is also a Goddess of War. Her wrath is so terrible and so devastating that none may behold her rage and survive. Oya has nine children and nine colors, and her symbols are weathervanes, windmills, kites, balloons, propeller planes, wind instruments, pinwheels, two naked swords, and buffalo horns. Oya's ofrenda is a Nigerian potion of love and war, sweetened by darkest plum. Oya winiwini!
In the vial, all I smell is plum. It's *very* sweet. Color, it's straight up PURPLE.
Wet on my skin, still plums. Maybe a little bit of booze in there.
10-15 minute drydown - I think my body just completely ate all of it. No, wait... There's a little bit left. It's almost the sweetness of clean skin. I like.
1 hour drydown - Magical disappearing reappearing perfume! LOL This stuff smells good.
*****
Wrath - A scent aflame with rage, swirling in the red haze of hatred: dragon's blood spiked with black pepper, clove, and cinnamon.
In the vial, very spicy indeed! Color, red is definitely appropriate.
Wet on my skin, I'm getting mostly dragon's blood and cinnamon, with maybe a little clove on the back end. Not really smelling any black pepper yet.
10-15 minute drydown - Smells like FOOD to me! Cinnamon hard candy, to be exact.
1 hour drydown - Ok, I think I'm done smelling like cinnamon Altoids, thanks.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 39 - Anathema, Osun, and Medea
Anathema - A scent as heavy as thunder from the Vatican, with notes that inspire every sin and excess. Black opium, with vetivert and honeysuckle.
In the vial, it's extremely bitter. Colorwise, copper.
Wet on my skin, very dark and rich. Not nearly as bitter. Would probably smell better on Josh, though.
10-15 minute drydown - Ok. Black opium is on my list of headache triggers. GAH! On me, at least.
*****
Osun - The Goddess of the Hand Mirror, Maiden of Love. Osun is the Goddess of beauty, love, enchantment, elegance, and pleasure. Her charm and incomparable lovliness is such that it can be felt, sensed, and not merely seen. Osun holds the secrets of our deepest and most complex feelings. She is intuition, pure and idealized love, the tingling sensation of pleasurable anticipation, the sensual movement of seduction and sexuality, and quick breath before climax. Osun is the pleasure of the senses, refinement, and the patroness of artistic endeavors that bring delight to the world. She compels us to express our deepest, truest feelings, and is the mother of our tears of happiness, tears of bitter grief, and the swelling of our hearts with love, hate, lust and fierce joy. She is the harlot and the virgin, who bestows unbridled carnal pleasure and also shows the path to purity of the spirit and virtuous intentions. She represents tenacity, the will to live and the drive to acquire, and the desire for achievement and fine possessions. She is the sublimely sweet and the revolting sour that we taste in life. She is charm used to every conceivable end, and is credited with bringing currency and the concept of money into the world, and is therefore the Patroness of Prostitutes and Courtesans. She is a great Witch, and has a multitude of brews, charms, and potions and always has a trick up her billowing, beautiful yellow sleeves. She is the youngest of the Orishas, and is a symbol of the most recent of nature's evolutions: civilization. She teaches us to take care of ourselves, to pamper ourselves, and to find and express the beauty in ourselves, in others, and in our world. She is the sweet water of the stream, sustaining life. She is the Goddess of fine art, debate, sanitation, grooming, oratory arts, and temples and theatres. She is the act of landing the settlement that becomes a nation. She shows us that time must be made for leisure, amusement and contemplation, for a life of unending toil is an affront to her gifts, and diminishes the quality of life itself, and cripples our ability to conceive new, innovative ideas and create compelling works of art. All work and no play is not an option. It is Osun that provides us with the security, safety, comfort and prosperity that we require in order to make time for leisurely pursuits. Osun is the mirror that mankind holds up to itself, and she is the principle upon which all art is born. Osun's symbols are hand mirrors, brass fans, brass needles, brass bells, sunflowers, and her creatures are the cricket and the peacock. Her ofrenda is thick with honey and herbs of love, passion and desire.
In the vial, I smell honey and a strange sweet/sour herbal mixture. Colorwise, this one is really hard to place. I'm probably going to go with a yellowish pink.
Wet on my skin, that sourness is all but gone. Now it smells almost bubblegummy. Definitely some lotus in this, maybe some almond.
10-15 minute drydown - Hmmm... This one is a morpher. Starts off sweet and foody, turns rich and sweet. A little TOO rich, maybe.
1 hour drydown - Oh... Saffron. There you are. I wondered what it was that was smelling like plastic and giving me a headache.
*****
Medea - Granddaughter of Helios, Hecate's chosen: Medea was one of the greatest sorceresses of the ancient world. She is the embodiment of ruthless power, indomitable will and furious vengeance. Night-blooming cereus, black orchid, black currant and myrtle leaf enshrouded in the incense of Hecate's cypress and myrrh, and the dark rage of magickal labdanum and intoxicating poppy.
In the vial, it smells slightly bitter and herbal. Colorwise, dark brown.
Wet on my skin, it's darkly floral. Not flowery, but floral. A little stronger than I think I'd like.
10-15 minute drydown - There's something in this that smells unpleasantly like dust. Not the good 'dust' note. Just *dust*.
1 hour drydown - Not caring for this. Smells like fake flower scented dusty plastic flowers, to me.
In the vial, it's extremely bitter. Colorwise, copper.
Wet on my skin, very dark and rich. Not nearly as bitter. Would probably smell better on Josh, though.
10-15 minute drydown - Ok. Black opium is on my list of headache triggers. GAH! On me, at least.
*****
Osun - The Goddess of the Hand Mirror, Maiden of Love. Osun is the Goddess of beauty, love, enchantment, elegance, and pleasure. Her charm and incomparable lovliness is such that it can be felt, sensed, and not merely seen. Osun holds the secrets of our deepest and most complex feelings. She is intuition, pure and idealized love, the tingling sensation of pleasurable anticipation, the sensual movement of seduction and sexuality, and quick breath before climax. Osun is the pleasure of the senses, refinement, and the patroness of artistic endeavors that bring delight to the world. She compels us to express our deepest, truest feelings, and is the mother of our tears of happiness, tears of bitter grief, and the swelling of our hearts with love, hate, lust and fierce joy. She is the harlot and the virgin, who bestows unbridled carnal pleasure and also shows the path to purity of the spirit and virtuous intentions. She represents tenacity, the will to live and the drive to acquire, and the desire for achievement and fine possessions. She is the sublimely sweet and the revolting sour that we taste in life. She is charm used to every conceivable end, and is credited with bringing currency and the concept of money into the world, and is therefore the Patroness of Prostitutes and Courtesans. She is a great Witch, and has a multitude of brews, charms, and potions and always has a trick up her billowing, beautiful yellow sleeves. She is the youngest of the Orishas, and is a symbol of the most recent of nature's evolutions: civilization. She teaches us to take care of ourselves, to pamper ourselves, and to find and express the beauty in ourselves, in others, and in our world. She is the sweet water of the stream, sustaining life. She is the Goddess of fine art, debate, sanitation, grooming, oratory arts, and temples and theatres. She is the act of landing the settlement that becomes a nation. She shows us that time must be made for leisure, amusement and contemplation, for a life of unending toil is an affront to her gifts, and diminishes the quality of life itself, and cripples our ability to conceive new, innovative ideas and create compelling works of art. All work and no play is not an option. It is Osun that provides us with the security, safety, comfort and prosperity that we require in order to make time for leisurely pursuits. Osun is the mirror that mankind holds up to itself, and she is the principle upon which all art is born. Osun's symbols are hand mirrors, brass fans, brass needles, brass bells, sunflowers, and her creatures are the cricket and the peacock. Her ofrenda is thick with honey and herbs of love, passion and desire.
In the vial, I smell honey and a strange sweet/sour herbal mixture. Colorwise, this one is really hard to place. I'm probably going to go with a yellowish pink.
Wet on my skin, that sourness is all but gone. Now it smells almost bubblegummy. Definitely some lotus in this, maybe some almond.
10-15 minute drydown - Hmmm... This one is a morpher. Starts off sweet and foody, turns rich and sweet. A little TOO rich, maybe.
1 hour drydown - Oh... Saffron. There you are. I wondered what it was that was smelling like plastic and giving me a headache.
*****
Medea - Granddaughter of Helios, Hecate's chosen: Medea was one of the greatest sorceresses of the ancient world. She is the embodiment of ruthless power, indomitable will and furious vengeance. Night-blooming cereus, black orchid, black currant and myrtle leaf enshrouded in the incense of Hecate's cypress and myrrh, and the dark rage of magickal labdanum and intoxicating poppy.
In the vial, it smells slightly bitter and herbal. Colorwise, dark brown.
Wet on my skin, it's darkly floral. Not flowery, but floral. A little stronger than I think I'd like.
10-15 minute drydown - There's something in this that smells unpleasantly like dust. Not the good 'dust' note. Just *dust*.
1 hour drydown - Not caring for this. Smells like fake flower scented dusty plastic flowers, to me.
BPAL sniffing notes 38 - Ephemera, Penitence, and Sacred Whore of Babylon
Ephemera-
'Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning.'
And then She:
'Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!'
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
'Passion has often worn our wandering hearts.'
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair.
'Ah, do not mourn,' he said,
'That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell.'
The scent of loss, love and the echo of time without end: sorrowful violet and chamomile with muguet, white geranium, calla lily and tea rose with a hint of autumn leaves.
In the vial, all I smell is violet, chamomile, and leaves. Colorwise, I'm getting a dusty purple.
Wet on my skin, it's violet and lily. No thank you. I'll give it a chance, but I'm not caring for it initially.
10-15 minute drydown - Ugh. I just don't care for violet I don't think. It's not noisome like Ultraviolet was but I don't like it.
1 hour drydown - Rich, heavily perfumed violet and lily SOAP.
*****
Penitence - Smell sanctified! A blend of pure, pious frankincense and graceful myrrh.
In the vial, yup, that's church incense alright. Colorwise, smoky gold.
Wet on my skin, I'm almost afraid to try it. Actually, they blend quite nicely together. That was a surprise. I was concerned they would be too overpowering but they smell quite good.
10-15 minute drydown - Very pretty... but headache inducing. :-( And I only put a TINY drop on my skin.
*****
Sacred Whore of Babylon - And upon her forehead was a name written, Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Harlots and Abominations of the Earth. An ancient formula that inspires unrepentant decadence, lechery and debauch.
In the vial, I'm getting sandalwood and maybe amber and maybe some dark fruits like pomegranate. I'm smelling something sweet similar to Hymn to Proserpine. Colorwise, I'm getting a wine red.
Wet on my skin, very nice. I'm smelling sweet myrrh and amber and maybe some plum or pomegranate. I like it. Resinous and rich.
10-15 minute drydown - I quite like this... it's unusual and sweet and rich.
1 hour drydown - A friend just said this smelled like cigarette smoke to her. LOL! But on that note, I *can* place the tobacco note in it. I think I might just have to order a bottle of this one.
'Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning.'
And then She:
'Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!'
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
'Passion has often worn our wandering hearts.'
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair.
'Ah, do not mourn,' he said,
'That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell.'
The scent of loss, love and the echo of time without end: sorrowful violet and chamomile with muguet, white geranium, calla lily and tea rose with a hint of autumn leaves.
In the vial, all I smell is violet, chamomile, and leaves. Colorwise, I'm getting a dusty purple.
Wet on my skin, it's violet and lily. No thank you. I'll give it a chance, but I'm not caring for it initially.
10-15 minute drydown - Ugh. I just don't care for violet I don't think. It's not noisome like Ultraviolet was but I don't like it.
1 hour drydown - Rich, heavily perfumed violet and lily SOAP.
*****
Penitence - Smell sanctified! A blend of pure, pious frankincense and graceful myrrh.
In the vial, yup, that's church incense alright. Colorwise, smoky gold.
Wet on my skin, I'm almost afraid to try it. Actually, they blend quite nicely together. That was a surprise. I was concerned they would be too overpowering but they smell quite good.
10-15 minute drydown - Very pretty... but headache inducing. :-( And I only put a TINY drop on my skin.
*****
Sacred Whore of Babylon - And upon her forehead was a name written, Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Harlots and Abominations of the Earth. An ancient formula that inspires unrepentant decadence, lechery and debauch.
In the vial, I'm getting sandalwood and maybe amber and maybe some dark fruits like pomegranate. I'm smelling something sweet similar to Hymn to Proserpine. Colorwise, I'm getting a wine red.
Wet on my skin, very nice. I'm smelling sweet myrrh and amber and maybe some plum or pomegranate. I like it. Resinous and rich.
10-15 minute drydown - I quite like this... it's unusual and sweet and rich.
1 hour drydown - A friend just said this smelled like cigarette smoke to her. LOL! But on that note, I *can* place the tobacco note in it. I think I might just have to order a bottle of this one.
Friday, February 12, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 37 - La Belle Dame Sans Merci and Hymn to Proserpine
Hymn to Proserpine - I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end;
Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend.
Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep;
For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep.
Sweet is the treading of wine, and sweet the feet of the dove;
But a goodlier gift is thine than foam of the grapes of love.
Yea, is not even Apollo, with hair and harpstring of gold,
A bitter God to follow, a beautiful God to behold?
I am sick of singing; the bays burn deep and chafe: I am fain
To rest a little from praise and grievous pleasure and pain.
For the Gods we know not of, who give us our daily breath,
We know they are cruel as love or life, and lovely as death.
O Gods dethroned and deceased, cast forth, wiped out in a day!
From your wrath is the world released, redeemed from your chains, men say.
New Gods are crowned in the city; their flowers have broken your rods;
They are merciful, clothed with pity, the young compassionate Gods
But for me their new device is barren, the days are bare;
Things long past over suffice, and men forgotten that were.
Time and the Gods are at strife; ye dwell in the midst thereof,
Draining a little life from the barren breasts of love.
I say to you, cease, take rest; yea, I say to you all be at peace,
Till the bitter milk of her breast and the barren bosom shall cease.
Wilt thou yet take all, Galilean? but these thou shalt not take,
The laurel, the palms and the breasts of the nymphs in the brake:
Breasts, more soft than a dove's, that tremble with tenderer breath;
And all the wings of the Loves, and all the joys before death;
All the feet of the hours that sound as a single lyre,
Dropped and deep in the flowers, with strings that flicker like fire.
More than these wilt thou give, things fairer than all these things?
Nay, for a little we live, and life hath mutable wings.
A little while and we die; shall life not thrive as it may?
For no man under the sky lives twice, outliving his day.
And grief is a grievous thing, and a man hath enough of his tears:
Why should he labour, and bring fresh grief to blacken his years?
Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;
We have drunken of thins Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death.
Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day;
But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May.
Sleep, shall we sleep after all? for the world is not sweet in the end:
For the old faiths loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend.
Fate is a sea without shore, and the soul is a rock that abides:
But her ears are vexed with the roar and her face with the foam of the tides.
O lips that the live blood faints in, the leavings of racks and rods!
O ghastly glories of saints, dead limbs of gibbeted Gods!
Though all men abase them before you in spirit, and all knees bend,
I kneel not neither adore you, but standing look to the end.
All delicate days and pleasant, all spirits and sorrows are cast
Far out with the foam of the present that sweeps to the surf of the past:
Where beyond the extreme sea wall, and between the remote sea gates
Waste water washes and tall ships founder, and deep death waits:
Where, mighty with deepening sides, clash about with the seas as the wings
And impelled of invisible tides, and fulfilled of unspeakable things,
White eyed and poisonous finned, shark toothed and serpentine curled,
Rolls under the whitening wind of the future, the wave of the world.
The depths stand naked in sunder behind it, the storms flee away,
In the hollow before it the thunder is taken and snared as a prey;
In its sides is the north wind bound; and its salt is of all men's tears.
With light of ruin, and sound of changes, and pulse of years;
With travail of day after day and with trouble of hour upon hour
And bitter as blood is the spray; and the crests are as fangs that devour
And its vapour and storm of its steam as the sighing of spirits to be;
And its noise as the noise in a dream; and it depth as the roots of the sea;
And the heights of its heads as the height of the utmost stars of the air;
And the ends of the earth at the might thereof tremble, and time is made bare.
Will ye bridle the deep sea with reins, will ye chasten the high sea with rods?
Will ye take her to chain her with chains who is older then all of ye Gods?
All ye as a wind shall go by, as a fire shall ye pass and be past:
Ye are Gods and behold ye shall die, and the waves be upon you at last.
In the darkness of time, in the deeps of the years, in the changes of things,
Ye shall sleep as a slain man sleeps, and the world shall forget you for kings.
Though the feet of thine high priests tread where they lords and our forefathers trod,
Though these that were Gods are dead, and thou being dead art a God
Though before thee the throned Cytherean be fallen, and hidden her head,
Yet thy kingdom shall pass, Galilean, thy dead shall go down to thee dead.
Of the maiden thy mother men sing as a goddess with grace clad around;
Thou art throned where another was king; where another was queen she is crowned.
Yea, once we had sight of another: but now she is queen, say these.
Not as thine, not as thine was our mother, a blossom of flowering seas,
Clothed round with the world's desire as with raiment, and fair as the foam,
And fleeter then kindled fire, and a goddess, and mother of Rome.
For thine came pale and a maiden, and sister to sorrow, but ours,
Her deep hair heavily laden with odour and colour of flowers.
White rose of the rose white water, a silver splendour, a flame,
Bent down unto us that besought her, and earth grew sweet with her name.
For thine came weeping, a slave among slaves, and rejected; but she
Came flushed from the full flushed wave, and imperial, her foot on the sea
And the wonderful waters knew her, the winds and the viewless ways,
And the roses grew rosier, and bluer the sea blue stream of the bays
Ye are fallen, our lords, by what token? we wist that ye should not fall.
Ye were all so fair that are broken; and one more fair than ye all
But I turn to her still, having seen she shall surely abide in the end:
Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend.
O daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blossom of birth,
I am also, I also thy brother; I go as I came unto earth.
In the night where thine eyes are as moons in heaven, the night where thou art,
Where the silence is more than all tunes, where sleep overflows from the heart,
Where the poppies are sweet as the rose in our world, and the red rose is white,
And the wind falls fain as it blows with the fume of the flowers of the night,
And the murmur of spirits in the shadow of Gods afar
Grows dim in thine ears and deep as the deep dim soul of a star
In the sweet low light of thy face, under heavens untrod by the sun,
Let my soul with their souls find peace, and forget what was done and undone
Thou are more than the Gods who number the days of our temporal breath:
For these give labour and slumber, but thou, Proserpina, death.
Therefore now at thy feet I abide for a season in silence. I know;
I shall die as my fathers died, and sleep as they sleep even so,
For the glass of the years is brittle wherein we gaze for a span;
A little soul for a little bears up this corpse which is man.
So long I endure, no longer; and laugh not again, neither weep.
For there is no God found stronger than death, and death is a sleep.
The darkening amber of faith's sunset, deepened by the dark fruits of Proserpine.
In the vial, it's amber and pomegranate and maybe something like plum. Colorwise, it's PURPLE. Deep dusky purple.
Wet on my skin, this is what I would have liked those wine notes to smell like. Sandalwood and amber and rich, dark fruits like pomegranate and plum.
10-15 minute drydown - This reminds me of an incense I had years ago that I dearly loved... I think it was Egyptian Goddess or something like that.
1 hour drydown - Wow, the throw on this one is something else. One little bit on my wrist is enough to smell across the room. I'm thinking this one needs some perfumers alcohol, because it's almost too strong. Smells very nice, though.
******
La Belle Dame Sans Merci - The name translates to "the beautiful woman without mercy", and is the title of an old French court poem that was later revamped by John Keats. A bewitching, seductive scent, rife with mystery and foreboding.
In the vial, it's a slightly bitter aquatic. Colorwise, I'm getting ivy green.
Wet on my skin, erk. Oh, hello lily. Hello ivy. Hello soap.
10-15 minute drydown - This smells like overly scented lily of the valley soap to me. Not a fan.
1 hour drydown - Nope, still soap. This one's going in the trade pile.
Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend.
Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep;
For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep.
Sweet is the treading of wine, and sweet the feet of the dove;
But a goodlier gift is thine than foam of the grapes of love.
Yea, is not even Apollo, with hair and harpstring of gold,
A bitter God to follow, a beautiful God to behold?
I am sick of singing; the bays burn deep and chafe: I am fain
To rest a little from praise and grievous pleasure and pain.
For the Gods we know not of, who give us our daily breath,
We know they are cruel as love or life, and lovely as death.
O Gods dethroned and deceased, cast forth, wiped out in a day!
From your wrath is the world released, redeemed from your chains, men say.
New Gods are crowned in the city; their flowers have broken your rods;
They are merciful, clothed with pity, the young compassionate Gods
But for me their new device is barren, the days are bare;
Things long past over suffice, and men forgotten that were.
Time and the Gods are at strife; ye dwell in the midst thereof,
Draining a little life from the barren breasts of love.
I say to you, cease, take rest; yea, I say to you all be at peace,
Till the bitter milk of her breast and the barren bosom shall cease.
Wilt thou yet take all, Galilean? but these thou shalt not take,
The laurel, the palms and the breasts of the nymphs in the brake:
Breasts, more soft than a dove's, that tremble with tenderer breath;
And all the wings of the Loves, and all the joys before death;
All the feet of the hours that sound as a single lyre,
Dropped and deep in the flowers, with strings that flicker like fire.
More than these wilt thou give, things fairer than all these things?
Nay, for a little we live, and life hath mutable wings.
A little while and we die; shall life not thrive as it may?
For no man under the sky lives twice, outliving his day.
And grief is a grievous thing, and a man hath enough of his tears:
Why should he labour, and bring fresh grief to blacken his years?
Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;
We have drunken of thins Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death.
Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day;
But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May.
Sleep, shall we sleep after all? for the world is not sweet in the end:
For the old faiths loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend.
Fate is a sea without shore, and the soul is a rock that abides:
But her ears are vexed with the roar and her face with the foam of the tides.
O lips that the live blood faints in, the leavings of racks and rods!
O ghastly glories of saints, dead limbs of gibbeted Gods!
Though all men abase them before you in spirit, and all knees bend,
I kneel not neither adore you, but standing look to the end.
All delicate days and pleasant, all spirits and sorrows are cast
Far out with the foam of the present that sweeps to the surf of the past:
Where beyond the extreme sea wall, and between the remote sea gates
Waste water washes and tall ships founder, and deep death waits:
Where, mighty with deepening sides, clash about with the seas as the wings
And impelled of invisible tides, and fulfilled of unspeakable things,
White eyed and poisonous finned, shark toothed and serpentine curled,
Rolls under the whitening wind of the future, the wave of the world.
The depths stand naked in sunder behind it, the storms flee away,
In the hollow before it the thunder is taken and snared as a prey;
In its sides is the north wind bound; and its salt is of all men's tears.
With light of ruin, and sound of changes, and pulse of years;
With travail of day after day and with trouble of hour upon hour
And bitter as blood is the spray; and the crests are as fangs that devour
And its vapour and storm of its steam as the sighing of spirits to be;
And its noise as the noise in a dream; and it depth as the roots of the sea;
And the heights of its heads as the height of the utmost stars of the air;
And the ends of the earth at the might thereof tremble, and time is made bare.
Will ye bridle the deep sea with reins, will ye chasten the high sea with rods?
Will ye take her to chain her with chains who is older then all of ye Gods?
All ye as a wind shall go by, as a fire shall ye pass and be past:
Ye are Gods and behold ye shall die, and the waves be upon you at last.
In the darkness of time, in the deeps of the years, in the changes of things,
Ye shall sleep as a slain man sleeps, and the world shall forget you for kings.
Though the feet of thine high priests tread where they lords and our forefathers trod,
Though these that were Gods are dead, and thou being dead art a God
Though before thee the throned Cytherean be fallen, and hidden her head,
Yet thy kingdom shall pass, Galilean, thy dead shall go down to thee dead.
Of the maiden thy mother men sing as a goddess with grace clad around;
Thou art throned where another was king; where another was queen she is crowned.
Yea, once we had sight of another: but now she is queen, say these.
Not as thine, not as thine was our mother, a blossom of flowering seas,
Clothed round with the world's desire as with raiment, and fair as the foam,
And fleeter then kindled fire, and a goddess, and mother of Rome.
For thine came pale and a maiden, and sister to sorrow, but ours,
Her deep hair heavily laden with odour and colour of flowers.
White rose of the rose white water, a silver splendour, a flame,
Bent down unto us that besought her, and earth grew sweet with her name.
For thine came weeping, a slave among slaves, and rejected; but she
Came flushed from the full flushed wave, and imperial, her foot on the sea
And the wonderful waters knew her, the winds and the viewless ways,
And the roses grew rosier, and bluer the sea blue stream of the bays
Ye are fallen, our lords, by what token? we wist that ye should not fall.
Ye were all so fair that are broken; and one more fair than ye all
But I turn to her still, having seen she shall surely abide in the end:
Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend.
O daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blossom of birth,
I am also, I also thy brother; I go as I came unto earth.
In the night where thine eyes are as moons in heaven, the night where thou art,
Where the silence is more than all tunes, where sleep overflows from the heart,
Where the poppies are sweet as the rose in our world, and the red rose is white,
And the wind falls fain as it blows with the fume of the flowers of the night,
And the murmur of spirits in the shadow of Gods afar
Grows dim in thine ears and deep as the deep dim soul of a star
In the sweet low light of thy face, under heavens untrod by the sun,
Let my soul with their souls find peace, and forget what was done and undone
Thou are more than the Gods who number the days of our temporal breath:
For these give labour and slumber, but thou, Proserpina, death.
Therefore now at thy feet I abide for a season in silence. I know;
I shall die as my fathers died, and sleep as they sleep even so,
For the glass of the years is brittle wherein we gaze for a span;
A little soul for a little bears up this corpse which is man.
So long I endure, no longer; and laugh not again, neither weep.
For there is no God found stronger than death, and death is a sleep.
The darkening amber of faith's sunset, deepened by the dark fruits of Proserpine.
In the vial, it's amber and pomegranate and maybe something like plum. Colorwise, it's PURPLE. Deep dusky purple.
Wet on my skin, this is what I would have liked those wine notes to smell like. Sandalwood and amber and rich, dark fruits like pomegranate and plum.
10-15 minute drydown - This reminds me of an incense I had years ago that I dearly loved... I think it was Egyptian Goddess or something like that.
1 hour drydown - Wow, the throw on this one is something else. One little bit on my wrist is enough to smell across the room. I'm thinking this one needs some perfumers alcohol, because it's almost too strong. Smells very nice, though.
******
La Belle Dame Sans Merci - The name translates to "the beautiful woman without mercy", and is the title of an old French court poem that was later revamped by John Keats. A bewitching, seductive scent, rife with mystery and foreboding.
In the vial, it's a slightly bitter aquatic. Colorwise, I'm getting ivy green.
Wet on my skin, erk. Oh, hello lily. Hello ivy. Hello soap.
10-15 minute drydown - This smells like overly scented lily of the valley soap to me. Not a fan.
1 hour drydown - Nope, still soap. This one's going in the trade pile.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 36 - Nuclear Winter and Hell-Gate of Ireland
Nuclear Winter - Annihilation. The ice, desolation and barrenness of nuclear devastation shot through by a beam of radioactive mints.
In the vial, at first I thought laundry detergent, but after a minute I'm thinking more mints. Colorwise, fluorescent green.
Wet on my skin, that's definitely a cold mint and eucalyptus. It has a chill to it. I don't know that I'd care for it as a perfume, but that would be lovely as a bath oil in the summer or for linen spray.
10-15 minute drydown - Eh. Smells like this refresher spray I have. Nice, but not what I'd like in a perfume.
1 hr drydown - Almost nonexistant now. The wear on this one is VERY short.
******
Hell-gate of Ireland - The Cave of Cruachan in Connaught, a province that was given to the Formorians after the Battle of Mag Tuired. On the first of November, a flock of malevolent copper-colored birds bursts forth from the mouth of the cave, ushering a host of restless ghosts and wicked goblins that torment the living by blighting crops, killing livestock, stealing away brides-to-be, and replacing infants with changelings.
Smoldering brimstone, bitter labdanum, clove, black musk, and copper-colored feathers.
In the vial, it's bitter. Very bitter. I think all I'm getting is black musk and labdanum and brimstone. Copper is a good color for this one.
Wet on my skin, omg. I'm glad I gave this one a chance instead of putting it away untested. Holy clove, Batman. :-)
10-15 minute drydown - It's got an oddly sweet undertone, apart from the clove. If this stays similar to where it is now, I'm going to be forced to start searching for a bottle.
1 hr drydown - Powdery and spicy and guh. I'm in love.
In the vial, at first I thought laundry detergent, but after a minute I'm thinking more mints. Colorwise, fluorescent green.
Wet on my skin, that's definitely a cold mint and eucalyptus. It has a chill to it. I don't know that I'd care for it as a perfume, but that would be lovely as a bath oil in the summer or for linen spray.
10-15 minute drydown - Eh. Smells like this refresher spray I have. Nice, but not what I'd like in a perfume.
1 hr drydown - Almost nonexistant now. The wear on this one is VERY short.
******
Hell-gate of Ireland - The Cave of Cruachan in Connaught, a province that was given to the Formorians after the Battle of Mag Tuired. On the first of November, a flock of malevolent copper-colored birds bursts forth from the mouth of the cave, ushering a host of restless ghosts and wicked goblins that torment the living by blighting crops, killing livestock, stealing away brides-to-be, and replacing infants with changelings.
Smoldering brimstone, bitter labdanum, clove, black musk, and copper-colored feathers.
In the vial, it's bitter. Very bitter. I think all I'm getting is black musk and labdanum and brimstone. Copper is a good color for this one.
Wet on my skin, omg. I'm glad I gave this one a chance instead of putting it away untested. Holy clove, Batman. :-)
10-15 minute drydown - It's got an oddly sweet undertone, apart from the clove. If this stays similar to where it is now, I'm going to be forced to start searching for a bottle.
1 hr drydown - Powdery and spicy and guh. I'm in love.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 35 - Depraved
Depraved - A salacious, lecherous, leering scent — dirty and dark, slapped with a wet sweetness. Earthy black patchouli swelling with apricot.
In the vial, it's nothing but patchouli. Gritty, dirty patchouli. Colorwise, it is straight dirt brown.
Wet on my skin, *there* is the apricot. I could get to like this one...
10-15 minute drydown - My body *seemed* to eat the apricot, so all I get is patchouli, but every once in a while I'll get a whiff of that sweetness.
1 hour drydown - Not so strong now... It reminds me of the smell that your summer garb gets when you pack it away. It's the smell of the leather from the belts and pouches and the sandalwood fans and the dust from Pennsic. I might just have to order an actual bottle of this.
In the vial, it's nothing but patchouli. Gritty, dirty patchouli. Colorwise, it is straight dirt brown.
Wet on my skin, *there* is the apricot. I could get to like this one...
10-15 minute drydown - My body *seemed* to eat the apricot, so all I get is patchouli, but every once in a while I'll get a whiff of that sweetness.
1 hour drydown - Not so strong now... It reminds me of the smell that your summer garb gets when you pack it away. It's the smell of the leather from the belts and pouches and the sandalwood fans and the dust from Pennsic. I might just have to order an actual bottle of this.
Monday, February 8, 2010
my next order
Bottles I Need
*Serpents with Glittering Eyes and Forky Tongues
Dirty
Hecate
Hymn to Proserpine
Sacred Whore of Babylon
*Depraved
*Aeval
*Plunder
The Gilman House Hotel (LE)
*The Cheshire Cat
Dragon's Tears
Loup Garou (Josh)
No. 93 Engine (Josh)
*Jolly Roger (Josh)
Gaueko (Josh)
*Green Tree Viper
Wanda
*Red Devil
*The Black Rider
*Bengal
Dragon's Reverie
Hell-Gate of Ireland (LE)
The Churchyard (LE)
The Hessian of the Hollow (LE)
Lambs-wool (LE)
*Poisoned Apple
Gypsy (LE)
Gothabilly (LE)
Imps
Manhattan
Aelopile
Phobos
Kuang Shi
Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat
Miskatonic University
Hetairae
Nephilim
The Scales of Deprivation
Villain
Hellfire
Kephra
Maenad
Yggdrasil
*Serpents with Glittering Eyes and Forky Tongues
Dirty
Hecate
Hymn to Proserpine
Sacred Whore of Babylon
*Depraved
*Aeval
*Plunder
The Gilman House Hotel (LE)
*The Cheshire Cat
Dragon's Tears
Loup Garou (Josh)
No. 93 Engine (Josh)
*Jolly Roger (Josh)
Gaueko (Josh)
*Green Tree Viper
Wanda
*Red Devil
*The Black Rider
*Bengal
Dragon's Reverie
Hell-Gate of Ireland (LE)
The Churchyard (LE)
The Hessian of the Hollow (LE)
Lambs-wool (LE)
*Poisoned Apple
Gypsy (LE)
Gothabilly (LE)
Imps
Manhattan
Aelopile
Phobos
Kuang Shi
Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat
Miskatonic University
Hetairae
Nephilim
The Scales of Deprivation
Villain
Hellfire
Kephra
Maenad
Yggdrasil
bpal sniffing notes 35 - Night-gaunt and Marquise du Merteuil
Night-gaunt - No one ever found what the night-gaunts took, though those beasts themselves were so uncertain as to be almost fabulous. Carter asked them if night-gaunts sucked blood and liked shiny things and left webbed footprints, but they all shook their heads negatively and seemed frightened at his making such an inquiry. When he saw how taciturn they had become he asked them no more, but went to sleep in his blanket.
Their scent of their slick, rubbery hides is bittersweet, ticklish, and skin-creeping: something akin to yuzu, white grapefruit, and kumquat mixed with the snow-dusted flowers of Mount Ngranek.
In the vial, it's a very light citrus. Colorwise, I get a very light yellow.
Wet on my skin, it's citrus and something kinda powdery. Not baby powder, but powdery floral. I'm liking this.
10-15 minute drydown - Hmmm... 'Flowers' seems to be a note I amp. The citrus notes are nice, though. We'll have to see if this calms down any before I decide if I want to keep it or not.
1 hour drydown - Erk. Smells like soap. Expensive floral soap, but soap nonetheless. No, thank you.
******
Marquise du Merteuil - Stately, bold, aristocratic and cruel. Opulent galbanum and amber, glistening peach, and a bouquet of French florals, with a merciless undertone of jonquil and heartless vetiver.
In the vial, it's acrid... almost bitter. I'm guessing that's the vetiver and galbanum. Colorwise, I'm getting moss green.
Wet on my skin, there's an odd sweetness. Possibly the amber. Hopefully, the floral note doesn't overpower.
10-15 minute drydown - Gah! I'll give it a bit to see if it calms down, but right now, I'm getting nothing but paint thinner. A co-worker said it smelled like an air freshener insert, but I'm getting straight mineral oil paint thinner.
1 hour drydown - Just smells like ordinary, everyday department store perfume counter 'perfume'. Nothing special.
Their scent of their slick, rubbery hides is bittersweet, ticklish, and skin-creeping: something akin to yuzu, white grapefruit, and kumquat mixed with the snow-dusted flowers of Mount Ngranek.
In the vial, it's a very light citrus. Colorwise, I get a very light yellow.
Wet on my skin, it's citrus and something kinda powdery. Not baby powder, but powdery floral. I'm liking this.
10-15 minute drydown - Hmmm... 'Flowers' seems to be a note I amp. The citrus notes are nice, though. We'll have to see if this calms down any before I decide if I want to keep it or not.
1 hour drydown - Erk. Smells like soap. Expensive floral soap, but soap nonetheless. No, thank you.
******
Marquise du Merteuil - Stately, bold, aristocratic and cruel. Opulent galbanum and amber, glistening peach, and a bouquet of French florals, with a merciless undertone of jonquil and heartless vetiver.
In the vial, it's acrid... almost bitter. I'm guessing that's the vetiver and galbanum. Colorwise, I'm getting moss green.
Wet on my skin, there's an odd sweetness. Possibly the amber. Hopefully, the floral note doesn't overpower.
10-15 minute drydown - Gah! I'll give it a bit to see if it calms down, but right now, I'm getting nothing but paint thinner. A co-worker said it smelled like an air freshener insert, but I'm getting straight mineral oil paint thinner.
1 hour drydown - Just smells like ordinary, everyday department store perfume counter 'perfume'. Nothing special.
more smellies in line
Scents that still need tested and reviewed -
13-Nov. 09
TAL:White Light
TAL:Determination
TAL:Concentration
13-Nov. 09
TAL:White Light
TAL:Determination
TAL:Concentration
Friday, February 5, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 34 - The Season of Ghosts
The Season of Ghosts - In Latvia, the Ziemassvetki, or Winter Party, is a celebration of the birth of Dievs, the Sky God and Supreme Ruler of the Latvian pantheon. The two weeks prior to the Ziemassvetki is Ve?u laiks: the Season of Ghosts. Candles are lit to honor the gods and a fire is kept burning throughout the Season, burning away the unhappiness of the previous year so men's spirits can be renewed. At the feast of the Ziemassvetki, places are left as a courtesy to the ghosts, who arrive by sleigh.
A scent created to burn away sorrow: bergamot, frankincense, rose geranium, ginger, lemongrass, and blood orange.
In the vial, that's definitely orange. And lemongrass. Reminds me of orange oil, but darker. Color, dark burnt orange.
Wet on my skin, it's all blood orange, lemongrass, and bergamot. The frankincense doesn't overpower, for once.
10-15 minute drydown - Oh, there's the rose geranium and frankincense. Nice. It actually reminds me of neroli without the nauseating sweetness and a little bit of a bite.
1 hour drydown - Ugh. It's starting to get a little cloying... The frankincense and rose geranium are kinda amping up. We're heading into headache territory here.
***Note- Now I know why this smells familiar. Someone pointed out that it smells like air freshener or incense.
A scent created to burn away sorrow: bergamot, frankincense, rose geranium, ginger, lemongrass, and blood orange.
In the vial, that's definitely orange. And lemongrass. Reminds me of orange oil, but darker. Color, dark burnt orange.
Wet on my skin, it's all blood orange, lemongrass, and bergamot. The frankincense doesn't overpower, for once.
10-15 minute drydown - Oh, there's the rose geranium and frankincense. Nice. It actually reminds me of neroli without the nauseating sweetness and a little bit of a bite.
1 hour drydown - Ugh. It's starting to get a little cloying... The frankincense and rose geranium are kinda amping up. We're heading into headache territory here.
***Note- Now I know why this smells familiar. Someone pointed out that it smells like air freshener or incense.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 33 - Dirty
Dirty - A wonderful antidote to an all-nighter oozing with drunken, addled perversion and debauchery. A fresh, crisp white linen scent: perfectly clean, perfectly breezy.
In the vial it's very clean, just like the description says. I'm getting cotton blossom, first off. Colorwise, it's straight bleached white.
Wet on my skin, oh man. I'm not sure what it is, but I love it. :-) Sweet, but not foody sweet. Reminds me of my grandma's linen closet. <3
10-15 minute drydown - Again, linen closet. It's cotton blossom and water. I don't know that I want a whole bottle, but I like it.
1 hour drydown - This reminds me of the sweet pea lotion at B&BW. Very girly, but I actually like it.
In the vial it's very clean, just like the description says. I'm getting cotton blossom, first off. Colorwise, it's straight bleached white.
Wet on my skin, oh man. I'm not sure what it is, but I love it. :-) Sweet, but not foody sweet. Reminds me of my grandma's linen closet. <3
10-15 minute drydown - Again, linen closet. It's cotton blossom and water. I don't know that I want a whole bottle, but I like it.
1 hour drydown - This reminds me of the sweet pea lotion at B&BW. Very girly, but I actually like it.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 32 - Coyote
Coyote - The Native American Creator/Trickster God of Chaos and Change. The warmth of doeskin, dry plains grasses and soft, dusty woods warmed by amber and a downy, gentle coat of deep musk.
In the vial, it's musk and dust and dry grass and the slight tang of tanned deerskin. Color is that beautiful tan of a good piece of hide.
Wet on my skin, the tang of the grasses and the hide is a little more pronounced, but that musk is beautiful.
10-15 minute drydown - Amber and musk and fur and desert dust... I'm in love.
1 hour drydown - Very close to the skin, like the smell of clean fur. Not something you notice immediately, but it's there. I need MULTIPLE bottles of this.
In the vial, it's musk and dust and dry grass and the slight tang of tanned deerskin. Color is that beautiful tan of a good piece of hide.
Wet on my skin, the tang of the grasses and the hide is a little more pronounced, but that musk is beautiful.
10-15 minute drydown - Amber and musk and fur and desert dust... I'm in love.
1 hour drydown - Very close to the skin, like the smell of clean fur. Not something you notice immediately, but it's there. I need MULTIPLE bottles of this.
Monday, February 1, 2010
BPAL sniffing notes 31 - Jezirat al Tennyn
Jezirat al Tennyn - The Dragon's Isle: smoke and fire, earth and wind. The rage of the elements blasting over a primordial paradise.
In the vial, it's very earthy/minerally to me. I think it smells like charcoal, actually. Colorwise, I'm getting obsidian.
Wet on my skin, it's oddly acrid. Smells kinda like a bonfire before it's been lit - wood and maybe paraffin or lighter fluid. I honestly think there's camphor in this, or something similar.
10-15 minute drydown - Oh... for some reason this is inordinately strong today. When I tried it two days ago, it was pretty tame. Now I feel like I'm wearing lighter fluid. Kinda makes my eyes burn and water. I'm going to have to wash this off and try again later.
In the vial, it's very earthy/minerally to me. I think it smells like charcoal, actually. Colorwise, I'm getting obsidian.
Wet on my skin, it's oddly acrid. Smells kinda like a bonfire before it's been lit - wood and maybe paraffin or lighter fluid. I honestly think there's camphor in this, or something similar.
10-15 minute drydown - Oh... for some reason this is inordinately strong today. When I tried it two days ago, it was pretty tame. Now I feel like I'm wearing lighter fluid. Kinda makes my eyes burn and water. I'm going to have to wash this off and try again later.
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