Weenies, Ligeia, Phoenix
 
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Limited Edition

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LIMITED EDITION BLENDS
No imp’s ears are available for Limited Edition scents.
Presented in an amber apothecary glass vial.

Note: only 5ml bottles are offered in our limited edition scents. Please check the BPAL forum for stock updates. No samples can be requested for any limited edition scents, as they are not taken into consideration or assimilated into stock when the limited edition oils are made. Simply put: there are none to give. If you request a sample of a limited edition scent, we will swap for a random “permanent” scent.

All limited edition scents are $23!

Limited Edition - Phoenix 2014

Phoenix Anniversary 2014++HAPPY 12th ANNIVERSARY, BPAL!

The Phoenixes will be live until January 6, 2015.

Happy birthday to my oldest (and orneriest!) child, Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab!
(Wait… does this mean BPAL is about to enter puberty?!)

Twelve years. We could not possibly have come this far without the help of our tribe…

The friendships – the /family/ – that I have because of BPAL has enriched my life in ways I never could have imagined. I can’t emphasize how much that means to me. Thank you for enabling me to give life to my vision, and for sharing my love of so many bizarre, horrible, beautiful, macabre, goofy, and terrible subjects.

Thank you for your kindness, your support, and for your friendship.

Thank you for sharing your triumphs, joys, loves, and sorrows with us, and for giving me the gift of a massive extended family.

I don’t have words for how important our community is to me. Thank you.

With all of my love, and in no particular order…

Thank you, Brian, for being the best partner and friend I could possibly have. You are Virgo Prime, and as I have said before – without you, BPAL would be an abstract set of drifting Piscean ideas. Thank you for all the hard work, blood, sweat, and tears that you grind out to keep our insane Rube Goldberg machine running. I love you, and I am grateful for your friendship and love.

Ted, I love you. Hear my soul speak: the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service. (It’s true: I even remember what socks you were wearing that fateful day.) You are my heart, my soulmate, my bright morning, and I love you more with every breath I draw.

Thank you, my Lilith, my little heart, my merry muse. Every moment with you inspires me, and I am grateful and honored to be your mother.

Thank you, Chrissy, for being the best of all possible assistants, in this universe or any other. Thank you for your boundless creativity, your patience, and your infallible Gemini plate-spinning skills. You are an amazing person, I am grateful to you for everything you do, and I love you.

Thank you, Jacquelynn, for all of your hard work, dedication to keeping production flowing, and ingenuity in all things. Thank you for everything you do to keep our wheels turning. You are a wonder!

Thank you, Lisa, for your wit and wisdom, for your kindness and patience, and for the pleasure of your friendship. You are a saint, and I love you!

Thank you, Piolet, for being an oasis of calm, no matter how crazy things get here! I am so thankful for you and for all you do for us!

Thank you to Sue and Del at Dark Delicacies for… everything. Just everything. Thank you for providing a second home for Black Phoenix, thank you for your time, patience, and energy during our crazy events, and thank you for being the most wonderful of friends and the greatest grandparents a little demoness could possibly ask for! I love you!

Thank you, Ashley, for being such a tremendous help at Trading Post. You are brilliant – an amazing person – and I am grateful for all that you do!

Thank you, Sara, for all the love, passion, and dedication that you imbue into every BPAL event. I am grateful for all you do, and for your huge heart and elegant artistry. You are a wonderful person, and it is a joy being your friend. Love you!

Kaitlin, you are a phenomenon. There are no words for how grateful I am for all of your help, for your patience, for your kindness, and for your friendship. You are an absolute saint, and a truly beautiful person. I love you, wumman!

My love, thanks, and eternal gratitude to my sisters, the moderators and admins at bpal.org. You are dearest to my heart, the best of friends, and my sisters in every sense of the world except bloodline. Thank you for being my confidants, for holding my hand when my heart is heavy, and for sharing my joy when life is goin’ pretty alright. I love you guys.

Thank you, Shana, for always being there for me! Thank you for your effervescent humor, bright cheer, and limitless enthusiasm. You are a force of nature! I love you!

Thank you, Forest, for being you. Your compassion and nobility of spirit is an inspiration, and I’m truly thankful for our friendship. I love you, fartface.

Thank you, Em, for always being there for me, for always having my back, and for being an absolutely amazing friend. I value your wisdom and counsel so, so much. Thank you. I love you!

Thank you, Ali, for being my living, breathing Chicago (Manhattan) Manual of Style. Thank you for always being there for me, for being a constant source of inspiration and aid, and for ensuring that my words don’t come out like asdkjfhaslkjdhflsakjhdflkajshsnert. You are wonderful, and I love you.

Thank you, Tom, for everything you do to help us while we’re on the road, and thank you for doing all you can to integrate Black Phoenix into your work. I love you so, so much, and I’m grateful for our friendship!

Thank you to Jen, Lisa, Tom, Sara, Lilith, Kat, Chrissy, Michael, Donna, Andra, Ali, Courtney D., Courtney W., Val, and Maggie for making this year’s travelling Snake Oil show possible. Thank you so much for all the hard work you put into the events, and for being there for us. We couldn’t do it without you.

Thank you, Lisa T., for single-handedly reviving Dirty South Will Call. You are one of the most amazing women I know, and I love you.

Thank you, Jen and Karyn, for resurrecting bpal.org. Without your efforts, the forum would have died a horrible, much-lamented death. You have no idea how grateful I am. I love you.

Thank you, Donna, for babysitting BPAL again! Thank you for always making me laugh, and for giving me much-needed hugs whenever I’m down. I love you more than words can say!

Thank you, Andra, for keeping my fires lit, and for being such a true and amazing friend. I love you so much!

Thank you, Courtney, for being my New England Sister! Thank you for all of your generosity and kindness! Your love makes Black Phoenix stronger, brighter, and more suffused with joy. I love you!

Huge amounts of love and HUGE amounts of gratitude to Laura Hall and all the wonderful people at Laika studios. Your generosity and kindness is beyond measure.

Thank you to Thomas, Melissa, Chandra, Kat (and Thomas Jr!) at Century Guild. You are wonderful people, and I love you!

Thank you to Neil Gaiman, Jim Jarmusch, Peter S. Beagle, Kelly Sue DeConnick, Terry Pratchett, Carolyn Hennesy, Terry Moore, Mike and Christine Mignola, George Perez, Peter David, Molly Crabapple, Mark Waid, Thomas Negovan, Storm Constantine, Matt Wagner, Jim Henson Productions, Brian Pulido, Joseph Michael Linsner, Gris Grimly, George RR Martin, Clive Barker, Mark Miller, David Mack, Gail Potocki, Erin Morgenstern, and Ysanne Spevak for giving Black Phoenix the opportunity to interpret your work.

Thank you to the noble souls at the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund and the Hero Initiative. You are an inspiration.

Thank you, Charles, for being an inspiration and a true friend.

Thank you, CP, for being an incredible friend. Your kind soul and radiant spirit illuminates everything and everyone you touch.

Love and thanks to the artists that have lent us their talent: Adam Hughes, Alicia Dabney, Julie Dillon, Emma Rios, Madame Talbot, Quique Alcatena, Jennifer Rodgers, Manda Lander, Keri Newton, Nick Pavik, Tanya Bjork, Andrew Fogel, Brian Kessinger, Abigail Larson, Aidan Casserly, and Sarah Coleman!

Love and thanks to Think Geek, Century Guild, the Mütter Museum, Haute Macabre Heretic Salon, Whole Foods, Pretty Indulgent, Healthy Living, and Dark Delicacies for giving our products a home in your stores!

Love and thanks to the bloggers, journalists, magazines, and other media outlets that taken the time to write about Black Phoenix. Honestly, I cannot thank you enough.

And last but certainly not least, I’d like to thank my ancestors, all the gods (both celestial and infernal), the House Ghost, and anyone else that might be looking out for me.

I wrote this many years ago, and it’s just as true today as it was then:

‘Thank you for sharing our joy and for standing with us during difficult times. The family that has grown around BPAL is like no other in the world. Every time I wander into the forum, I see people supporting one another in times of need, showing selfless kindness and offering support to one another… to me, you all are models of emotional generosity and true friendship, and it is truly an honor to be a part of your lives. I cannot express my gratitude enough. Thank you for celebrating the beauty of living with us, and for holding our hands during times of stress and sorrow. This year has been turbulent for just about everyone we know. It’s been a hard year filled with challenges and hidden lessons, but none of it is insurmountable because we all have this tremendous, genuinely loving family. Thank you.’

There is a happy spot, retired in the first East, where the great gate of the eternal pole lies open. It is not, however, situated near to his rising in summer or in winter, but where the sun pours the day from his vernal chariot. There a plain spreads its open tracts; nor does any mound rise, nor hollow valley open itself. But through twice six ells that place rises above the mountains, whose tops are thought to be lofty among us.

  • A Bright Flame Between Two Jacinths

    $23

    Her eyes are large; you might believe that they were two jacinths; from the middle of which a bright flame shines. An irradiated crown is fitted to the whole of her head, resembling on high the glory of the head of Phoebus.

    A glittering golden amber chypre whose facets reflect bright flickers of cardamom, galbanum, guaiac, neroli, and sharp cedar.

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  • A Rosy Colour Paints Her Claws with Honor

    $23

    Scales cover her thighs spangled with yellow metal, but a rosy colour paints her claws with honour.

    Scales of gold, rose-tinted with red musk, bourbon geranium, and vanilla absolute.

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  • A Shining Beak of Pure Horn

    $23

    She gleams resplendent with a mingling of the green emerald, and a shining beak of pure horn opens itself.

    Wild green lotus, orris root, bourbon vanilla, white sandalwood, and Egyptian musk.

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  • Death is Venus to Her

    $23

    Death is Venus to her; her only pleasure is in death: that she may be born, she desires previously to die. She is an offspring to herself, her own father and heir, her own nurse, and always a foster-child to herself. She is herself indeed, but not the same, since she is herself, and not herself, having gained eternal life by the blessing of death.

    Cabreuva and blood red rose with myrrh, cypress, black jasmine, clove, and 7-year aged patchouli.

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  • Light and Swift

    $23

    Her form is seen to blend the figure of the peacock with that of the painted bird of Phasis. The winged creature which is produced in the lands of the Arabians, whether it be beast or bird, can scarcely equal her magnitude. She is not, however, slow, as birds which through the greatness of their body have sluggish motions, and a very heavy weight. But she is light and swift, full of royal beauty. Such she always shows herself in the sight of men.

    Swift joy and bright passion: white lavender, lemon verbena, and elemi.

    Egypt comes hither to such a wondrous sight, and the exulting crowd salutes the rare bird. Immediately they carve her image on the consecrated marble, and mark both the occurrence and the day with a new title. Birds of every kind assemble together; none is mindful of prey, none of fear. Attended by a chorus of birds, she flies through the heaven, and a crowd accompanies her, exulting in the pious duty. But when she has arrived at the regions of pure ether, she presently returns; afterwards she is concealed in her own regions. But oh, bird of happy lot and fate, to whom the god himself granted to be born from herself! Whether it be female, or male, or neither, or both, happy she, who enters into no compacts of Venus.

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  • Living

    $23

    No cloud extends its fleecy covering above the plains, nor does the turbid moisture of water fall from on high; but there is a fountain in the middle, which they call by the name of “living;” it is clear, gentle, and abounding with sweet waters, which, bursting forth once during the space of each month, twelve times irrigates all the grove with waters.

    Clear water touched by a hint of honeyed pale rose, Sicilian lemon, and lily of the valley.

    Here a species of tree, rising with lofty stem, bears mellow fruits not about to fall on the ground. This grove, these woods, a single bird, the phoenix, inhabits,–single, but it lives reproduced by its own death. It obeys and submits to Phoebus, a remarkable attendant. Its parent nature has given it to possess this office. When at its first rising the saffron morn grows red, when it puts to flight the stars with its rosy light, thrice and four times she plunges her body into the sacred waves, thrice and four times she sips water from the living stream.

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  • Pouring Strains of Sacred Song

    $23

    She is raised aloft, and takes her seat on the highest top of the lofty tree, which alone looks down upon the whole grove; and turning herself to the fresh risings of the nascent Phoebus, she awaits his rays and rising beam. And when the sun has thrown back the threshold of the shining gate, and the light gleam of the first light has shone forth, she begins to pour strains of sacred song, and to hail the new light with wondrous voice, which neither the notes of the nightingale nor the flute of the Muses can equal with Cyrrhæan strains. But neither is it thought that the dying swan can imitate it, nor the tuneful strings of the lyre of Mercury. 

    Red benzoin and frankincense with honey myrtle, osmanthus blossom, and coconut milk.

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  • Relics of Herself

    $23

    Previously, however, she encloses in an ointment of balsam, and in myrrh and dissolved frankincense, all the remains of her own body, and the bones or ashes, and relics of herself, and with pious mouth brings it into a round form, and carrying this with her feet, she goes to the rising of the sun, and tarrying at the altar, she draws it forth in the sacred temple.

    Peru balsam, myrrh, frankincense, and ashes.

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  • Seeds of the Pomegranate, Leaves of the Poppy

    $23

    She shows and presents herself an object of admiration to the beholder; such great beauty is there, such great honour abounds. In the first place, her colour is like the brilliancy of that which the seeds of the pomegranate when ripe take under the smooth rind; such colour as is contained in the leaves which the poppy produces in the fields, when Flora spreads her garments beneath the blushing sky. Her shoulders and beautiful breasts shine with this covering; with this her head, with this her neck, and the upper parts of her back shine.

    Gleaming pomegranate seed and scarlet poppies.

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  • She Perishes That She May Live

    $23

    Afterwards she builds for herself either a nest or a tomb, for she perishes that she may live; yet she produces herself. Hence she collects juices and odours, which the Assyrian gathers from the rich wood, which the wealthy Arabian gathers; which either the Pygmæan nations, or India crops, or the Sabæan land produces from its soft bosom. Hence she heaps together cinnamon and the odour of the far-scented amomum, and balsams with mixed leaves. Neither the twig of the mild cassia nor of the fragrant acanthus is absent, nor the tears and rich drop of frankincense. To these she adds tender ears of flourishing spikenard, and joins the too pleasing pastures of myrrh. Immediately she places her body about to be changed on the strewed nest, and her quiet limbs on such a couch. Then with her mouth she scatters juices around and upon her limbs, about to die with her own funeral rites. Then amidst various odours she yields up her life, nor fears the faith of so great a deposit. In the meantime her body, destroyed by death, which proves the source of life, is hot, and the heat itself produces a flame; and it conceives fire afar off from the light of heaven: it blazes, and is dissolved into burnt ashes. And these ashes collected in death it fuses, as it were, into a mass, and has an effect resembling seed. From this an animal is said to arise without limbs, but the worm is said to be of a milky colour.

    A funereal nest of cinnamon and amomum, cassia and acanthus, spikenard and myrrh, three balsams and sweet frankincense.

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  • The Delicate Ambrosial Dews of Heavenly Nectar

    $23

    No food is appointed for her in our world, nor does any one make it his business to feed her while unfledged. She sips the delicate ambrosial dews of heavenly nectar which have fallen from the star-bearing pole. She gathers these; with these the bird is nourished in the midst of odours, until she bears a natural form. But when she begins to flourish with early youth, she flies forth now about to return to her native abode.

    A celestial nectar redolent of honeysuckle-gilded amber with honeyed fig leaf, golden myrrh, helichrysum, and white cognac.

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  • The Grove of the Sun

    $23

    Here is the grove of the sun; a wood stands planted with many a tree, blooming with the honour of perpetual foliage. When the pole had blazed with the fires of Phaethon, that place was uninjured by the flames; and when the deluge had immersed the world in waves, it rose above the waters of Deucalion. No enfeebling diseases, no sickly old age, nor cruel death, nor harsh fear, approaches hither, nor dreadful crime, nor mad desire of riches, nor Mars, nor fury, burning with the love of slaughter. Bitter grief is absent, and want clothed in rags, and sleepless cares, and violent hunger. No tempest rages there, nor dreadful violence of the wind; nor does the hoar-frost cover the earth with cold dew.

    Immortally vibrant olive, black pine, and bay laurel shimmering with rivulets of fresh olibanum sap.

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  • The Phoenix, Having Burst Her Shell

    $23

    And it suddenly increases vastly with an imperfectly formed body, and collects itself into the appearance of a well-rounded egg. After this it is formed again, such as its figure was before, and the phoenix, having burst her shell, shoots forth, even as caterpillars in the fields, when they are fastened by a thread to a stone, are wont to be changed into a butterfly.

    A perfume of freedom, regeneration, and renewal: bitter orange and tangerine with warm patchouli, tobacco absolute, glittering amber, and white musk.

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  • This World, Where Death Reigns

    $23

    And when she has now accomplished the thousand years of her life, and length of days has rendered her burdensome, in order that she may renew the age which has glided by, the fates pressing her, she flees from the beloved couch of the accustomed grove. And when she has left the sacred places, through a desire of being born again, then she seeks this world, where death reigns. Full of years, she directs her swift flight into Syria, to which Venus herself has given the name of Phoenice; and through trackless deserts she seeks the retired groves in the place, where a remote wood lies concealed through the glens.

    Myrrh and black roses.

    Then she chooses a lofty palm, with top reaching to the heavens, which has the pleasing name of phoenix from the bird, and where no hurtful living creature can break through, or slimy serpent, or any bird of prey. Then Æolas shuts in the winds in hanging caverns, lest they should injure the bright air with their blasts, or lest a cloud collected by the south wind through the empty sky should remove the rays of the sun, and be a hindrance to the bird.

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  • Venerable Priestess of the Wood

    $23

    After that Phoebus has brought back his horses to the open heaven, and continually advancing, has displayed his whole orb; she applauds with thrice-repeated flapping of her wings, and having thrice adored the fire-bearing head, is silent. And she also distinguishes the swift hours by sounds not liable to error by day and night: an overseer of the groves, a venerable priestess of the wood, and alone admitted to thy secrets, O Phoebus.

    An incense of myrtle leaf, sweet bay, white myrrh, stacte, and the golden frankincense.

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  • Yellow Metal with Mingled Purple Blushes

    $23

    And her tail is extended, varied with yellow metal, in the spots of which mingled purple blushes. Between her wings there is a bright mark above, as Tris on high is wont to paint a cloud from above. 

    An armor of gleaming, burnished amber, gold-flecked, brushed with a whisper of wild plum and blackcurrant.

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Limited Edition - Ligeia

And the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth

This year, we are ringing in the return of autumn by celebrating the life and undeath of one of our most cherished friends, Ligeia. Artwork by Ivonne Carley and Harry Clarke.

  • A Brilliant and Ruby Colored Fluid

    $23

    It was then that I became distinctly aware of a gentle footfall upon the carpet, and near the couch; and in a second thereafter, as Rowena was in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw, or may have dreamed that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if from some invisible spring in the atmosphere of the room, three or four large drops of a brilliant and ruby colored fluid. If this I saw –not so Rowena. She swallowed the wine unhesitatingly, and I forbore to speak to her of a circumstance which must, after all, I considered, have been but the suggestion of a vivid imagination, rendered morbidly active by the terror of the lady, by the opium, and by the hour. 

    A spectre’s poison: unknowable strange toxins dribbled into warmed red wine.

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  • A Tremor Upon the Lips

    $23

    I listened — in extremity of horror. The sound came again — it was a sigh. Rushing to the corpse, I saw  –distinctly saw — a tremor upon the lips.

    The stirring of another’s heartbeat within your chest, the vacuum of a stranger’s breath within your lungs: Laotian oudh, carrot seed, white orris, and bitter raw frankincense chilled by elemi and eucalyptus blossom.

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  • Bewildered in a Dream

    $23

    The greater part of the fearful night had worn away, and she who had been dead, once again stirred –and now more vigorously than hitherto, although arousing from a dissolution more appalling in its utter hopelessness than any. I had long ceased to struggle or to move, and remained sitting rigidly upon the ottoman, a helpless prey to a whirl of violent emotions, of which extreme awe was perhaps the least terrible, the least consuming. The corpse, I repeat, stirred, and now more vigorously than before. The hues of life flushed up with unwonted energy into the countenance –the limbs relaxed –and, save that the eyelids were yet pressed heavily together, and that the bandages and draperies of the grave still imparted their charnel character to the figure, I might have dreamed that Rowena had indeed shaken off, utterly, the fetters of Death. But if this idea was not, even then, altogether adopted, I could at least doubt no longer, when, arising from the bed, tottering, with feeble steps, with closed eyes, and with the manner of one bewildered in a dream, the thing that was enshrouded advanced boldly and palpably into the middle of the apartment.

    A disorienting eddy of French lavender, black tea, orange blossom, sharp green tea leaf, pink flowering thorn, and a blot of inky resins.

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  • Blacker than the Raven Wings of Midnight

    $23

    Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her head, unloosened, the ghastly cerements which had confined it, and there streamed forth, into the rushing atmosphere of the chamber, huge masses of long and dishevelled hair; it was blacker than the raven wings of the midnight! And now slowly opened the eyes of the figure which stood before me. “Here then, at least,” I shrieked aloud, “can I never –can I never be mistaken –these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes –of my lost love –of the lady –of the LADY LIGEIA.”

     The scent of Ligeia reborn: black tea leaf fougere with black sandalwood, opalescent vanilla, osmanthus,  18-year aged Indonesian patchouli, and the suggestion of ancient incense smoke.

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  • Fettered in the Shackles of the Drug

    $23

    In the excitement of my opium dreams (for I was habitually fettered in the shackles of the drug) I would call aloud upon her name, during the silence of the night, or among the sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as if, through the wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the consuming ardor of my longing for the departed, I could restore her to the pathway she had abandoned –ah, could it be forever? –upon the earth.

    Sweet opium smoke, neroli, yellow bergamot, and piquant, strange star anise.

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  • Incipient Madness

    $23

    Alas, I feel how much even of incipient madness might have been discovered in the gorgeous and fantastic draperies, in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in the wild cornices and furniture, in the Bedlam patterns of the carpets of tufted gold! I had become a bounden slave in the trammels of opium, and my labors and my orders had taken a coloring from my dreams.

    A thunderous passion, conceived in obsession and nurtured in the bowels of delirium, that grasps in desperation through the darkest shadows of the ether. An unwholesome smoky musk, dark and sweet, laced with Virginia tobacco, honeyed black currant, and red patchouli.

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  • Some Strangeness in the Proportion

    $23

    Yet her features were not of that regular mould which we have been falsely taught to worship in the classical labors of the heathen. “There is no exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of all the forms and genera of beauty, without some strangeness in the proportion.” Yet, although I saw that the features of Ligeia were not of a classic regularity –although I perceived that her loveliness was indeed “exquisite,” and felt that there was much of “strangeness” pervading it, yet I have tried in vain to detect the irregularity and to trace home my own perception of “the strange.”

    Rich vanilla sandalwood elegantly distorted by oudh, labdanum, scarlet saffron, and pink pepper.

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  • The Radiance of an Opium-Dream

    $23

    There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory fails me not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was tall, somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even emaciated. I would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity of her footfall. She came and departed as a shadow. I was never made aware of her entrance into my closed study save by the dear music of her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon my shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever equalled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream –an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the phantasies which hovered vision about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.

    A haze of tuberose, pale jasmine, vanilla orchid, and lily, with a faint jagged edge of opium tar.

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  • The Tumultuous Vultures of Stern Passion

    $23

    Of all the women whom I have ever known, she, the outwardly calm, the ever-placid Ligeia, was the most violently a prey to the tumultuous vultures of stern passion. And of such passion I could form no estimate, save by the miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so delighted and appalled me –by the almost magical melody, modulation, distinctness and placidity of her very low voice –and by the fierce energy (rendered doubly effective by contrast with her manner of utterance) of the wild words which she habitually uttered.

    Of such passion, I could form no estimate: sanguine red musk, red benzoin, wild plum, vetiver tar, and Indonesian patchouli beneath a still pool of sheer white musk and vanilla-gilded lily.

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  • Verdant Decay

    $23

    Ligeia had brought me far more, very far more than ordinarily falls to the lot of mortals. After a few months, therefore, of weary and aimless wandering, I purchased, and put in some repair, an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of the wildest and least frequented portions of fair England. The gloomy and dreary grandeur of the building, the almost savage aspect of the domain, the many melancholy and time-honored memories connected with both, had much in unison with the feelings of utter abandonment which had driven me into that remote and unsocial region of the country. Yet although the external abbey, with its verdant decay hanging about it, suffered but little alteration, I gave way, with a child-like perversity, and perchance with a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows, to a display of more than regal magnificence within.

    A claustrophobic thicket of yew, cypress, and drooping oak grown wild with dense mounds of bittersweet nightshade, gleaming white foxglove, creeping black ivy, clusters of marshy false morel and fly agaric, and a smear of crushed, overripe baneberries.

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Limited Edition - Halloween 2014

  • All Saints

    $23

    Based on a venerable French pontifical incense blend: monastic frankincense and myrrh, Damascus rose, Russian gardenia, cassia, and lily of the valley wafting on a chill Autumn wind. A celebration of the glory and suffering of the saints and martyrs of the Church.

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  • All Souls

    $23

    A day of remembrance and intercession. Without the prayers and sacrifices of their families and loved ones, the faithful departed may not be cleansed of their venal sins, and thereby cannot attain beatific vision. On November 2nd, prayers are sung and offerings are made to aid lost souls in transcending purgatory. An incense blend that invokes the higher qualities of mercy and compassion, mingled with the soft, sugared currant scent of offertory soul cakes.

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  • Autumn Cider

    4.00 out of 5
    $23

    Fermented apple juice, brown sugar, spice, lemon zest, butterscotch liquor, and orange slices.

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  • Autumn Overlooked My Knitting

    $23

    Autumn — overlooked my Knitting
    Dyes — said He — have I
    Could disparage a Flamingo
    Show Me them — said I

    Cochineal — I chose — for deeming
    It resemble Thee
    And the little Border — Dusker
    For resembling Me

    For my knitter posse! A warm scent, as delicate as lace and as soft as cashmere, and as cozy as wool, punctuated with red currant for the blazing red of cochineal and surrounded a border of soft grey ambergris and a swirl of autumn leaves.

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  • Devil’s Night

    3.50 out of 5
    $23

    Devil’s Eve, Devil’s Night, Gate Night, Trick Night, Mischief Night; whatever your name for it might be, the chaos is still the same. Contrary to popular belief, this festival of pandemonium isn’t unique to Detroit. Falling on October 30th, it is an evening of mayhem and destruction. On the gentler side, it may be celebrated by practical jokes, an egging, Ding-Dong-Ditch, or enthusiastic TP’ing of your most hated neighbor’s trees, and on the more violent side, arson and vandalism. This is the scent of autumn night, fires in the distance, with a touch of boozy swoon, playful sugar and thuggish musk.

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  • Feeding the Dead

    $23

    A barrel of beer, a pyramid of cakes, and three sticks of incense.

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  • Hallow-e’en 1914

    $23

    “Why do you wait at your door, woman,
    Alone in the night?”
    “I am waiting for one who will come, stranger,
    To show him a light.
    He will see me afar on the road
    And be glad at the sight.” 

    “Have you no fear in your heart, woman,
    To stand there alone?
    There is comfort for you and kindly content
    Beside the hearthstone.”
    But she answered, “No rest can I have
    Till I welcome my own.” 

    “Is it far he must travel to-night,
    This man of your heart?”
    “Strange lands that I know not and pitiless seas
    Have kept us apart,
    And he travels this night to his home
    Without guide, without chart.” 

    “And has he companions to cheer him?”
    “Aye, many,” she said.
    “The candles are lighted, the hearthstones are swept,
    The fires glow red.
    We shall welcome them out of the night—
    Our home-coming dead.”

    -  Winifred M. Letts

    A welcome for the home-coming dead: an incense of dried ivy and maple leaf with honeyed fig, black cypress, and grave dirt.

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  • Magnificent Autumn

    1.00 out of 5
    $23

    By what a subtle alchemy the green leaves are transmuted into gold, as if molten by the fiery blaze of the hot sun! A magic covering spreads over the whole forest, and brightens into more gorgeous hues. The tree-tops seem bathed with the gold and crimson of an Italian sunset. Here and there a shade of green, here and there a tinge of purple, and a stain of scarlet so deep and rich, that the most cunning artifice of man is pale beside it. A thousand delicate shades melt into each other. They blend fantastically into one deep mass. They spread over the forest like a tapestry woven with a thousand hues.

    Magnificent Autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds. He comes not like a hermit, clad in gray. But he comes like a warrior, with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.

    The scene changes.

    It is the Indian summer. The rising sun blazes through the misty air like a conflagration. A yellowish, smoky haze fills the atmosphere; and

    -A filmy mist,
    Lies like a silver lining on the sky.

    The wind is soft and low. It wafts to us the odor of forest leaves, that hang wilted on the dripping branches, or drop into the stream. Their gorgeous tints are gone, as if the autumnal rains had washed them out. Orange, yellow, and scarlet, all are changed to one melancholy russet hue. The birds, too, have taken wing, and have left their roofless dwellings. Not the whistle of a robin, not the twitter of an eavesdropping swallow, not the carol of one sweet, familiar voice! All gone. Only the dismal cawing of a crow, as he sits and curses, that the harvest is over, – or the chit-chat of an idle squirrel, – the noisy denizen of a hollow tree, – the mendicant friar of a large parish, – the absolute monarch of a dozen acorns!

    Another change.

    The wind sweeps through the forest with a sound like the blast of a trumpet. The dry leaves whirl in eddies through the air. A fret-work of hoar-frost covers the plain. The stagnant water in the pools and ditches is frozen into fantastic figures. Nature ceases from her labors, and prepares for the great change. In the low-hanging clouds, the sharp air, like a busy shuttle, weaves her shroud of snow. There is a melancholy and continual roar in the tops of the tall pines, like the roar of a cataract. It is the funeral anthem of the dying year.

    A scent that wanders through the Ages of Autumn, from the last green leaf to the first breath of winter.

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  • October

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s delicious breath!
    When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
    And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief
    And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
    Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
    In the gay woods and in the golden air,
    Like to a good old age released from care,
    Journeying, in long serenity, away.
    In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
    Might wear out life like thee, ‘mid bowers and brooks
    And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
    And music of kind voices ever nigh;
    And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
    Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.

    Dry, cold autumn wind. A rustle of red leaves, a touch of smoke and sap in the air.

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  • Samhain

    3.50 out of 5
    $23

    Truly the scent of autumn itself — damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein.

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  • Some Strangeness in the Proportion

    $23

    Yet her features were not of that regular mould which we have been falsely taught to worship in the classical labors of the heathen. “There is no exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of all the forms and genera of beauty, without some strangeness in the proportion.” Yet, although I saw that the features of Ligeia were not of a classic regularity –although I perceived that her loveliness was indeed “exquisite,” and felt that there was much of “strangeness” pervading it, yet I have tried in vain to detect the irregularity and to trace home my own perception of “the strange.”

    Rich vanilla sandalwood elegantly distorted by oudh, labdanum, scarlet saffron, and pink pepper.

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  • Sonnet d’Automne

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Ils me disent, tes yeux, clairs comme le cristal:
    “Pour toi, bizarre amant, quel est donc mon mérite?”
    – Sois charmante et tais-toi! Mon coeur, que tout irrite,
    Excepté la candeur de l’antique animal,

    Ne veut pas te montrer son secret infernal,
    Berceuse dont la main aux longs sommeils m’invite,
    Ni sa noire légende avec la flamme écrite.
    Je hais la passion et l’esprit me fait mal!

    Aimons-nous doucement. L’Amour dans sa guérite,
    Ténébreux, embusqué, bande son arc fatal.
    Je connais les engins de son vieil arsenal:

    Crime, horreur et folie! – Ô pâle marguerite!
    Comme moi n’es-tu pas un soleil automnal,
    Ô ma si blanche, ô ma si froide Marguerite?

    -

    They say to me, your eyes, clear as crystal:
    “For you, bizarre lover, what is my merit then?”
    – Be charming and be still! My heart, which all things irk,
    Except the candor of the animals of old,

    Does not wish to reveal its black secret to you,
    Whose lulling hands invite me to long sleep,
    Nor its somber legend written with flame.
    I hate passion; intelligence makes me suffer!

    Let us love each other sweetly. Tenebrous Love,
    Ambushed in his shelter, stretches his fatal bow.
    I know all the weapons of his old arsenal:

    Crime, horror, and madness! – pale marguerite!
    Are you not, like me, an autumnal sun,
    O my Marguerite, so white and so cold?

    – Charles Baudelaire, translated by William Aggeler

    Tenebrous Love: a shivering white musk with vanilla-infused white cocoa, amber incense, and dead, dry leaves.

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  • Suck It

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    A vampiric good time. Sexy and suckable: black cherry brandy and a whisper of red wine.

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  • Sugar Skull

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Vibrant with the joy and sweetness of life in death! A blend of five sugars, lightly dusted with candied fruits.

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  • Tattie Bogle

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    (Now in 5ml!)

    Alane upon the field she stood,
    The tattie-bogle, tall an’ prood.
    But certie, she wis smairt an’ braw,
    A bonnie lass, tho’ made o’ straw.

    Her gowden hair wis made o’ oo.
    Her dentie goon when it wis new
    Langsyne, hid been the guidwife’s best.
    Sae trigly wis the bogle drest!

    The beasts they cam’ frae a’ the airts.
    (The tod ran tours frae furrin’ pairts.)
    They cam’ by day, they cam’ by nicht,
    To see a maist byordnar sicht.

    An’ craws an sparras by the score,
    A wale o’ burds, mair nor afore.
    The fermer roared an’ raged aboot.
    ‘A’ll cast yon tattie-bogle oot!’

    Pair tattie-bogle, she wis wae.
    ‘Eh!’ said the houlet, ‘Whits a dae?’
    He flew doon frae the elder tree.
    ‘Noo, dry yer e’en an’ herk tae me.

    ‘See, lassie, tak ma guid advice.
    There is nae yiss ye bein’ nice.
    Can ye nae glower an’ skreich an’ a’
    Tae sen’ thae cooardie burds awa’?’

    The bogle grat nae mair: instead
    ‘A’m much obleeged tae ye,’ she said
    ‘Ma voice is lood – jist like the craik!’
    ‘Then sing,’ he said, ‘ for ony sake!’

    It chilled the verra bluid tae hear
    The bogle’s sang : frae far an’ near
    The burds rose up, a’ frichtit sair
    An’ nivver cam back ony mair.

    Sae should ye pass at skreich o’ day
    Alang the road frae Auchenblae,
    An’ hear a strange uncanny soun,
    That scares the burds for miles aroon,

    A soon like pincils on a sclate,
    Be on yer way an’ dinna wait.
    Ye can be shair as onything
    Ye’ve heard the tattie-bogle sing.

    Hay, gunpowder, patchouli, a sliver of bark, autumn herbs, and sun-baked wood.

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  • The Radiance of an Opium-Dream

    $23

    There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory fails me not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was tall, somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even emaciated. I would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity of her footfall. She came and departed as a shadow. I was never made aware of her entrance into my closed study save by the dear music of her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon my shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever equalled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream –an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the phantasies which hovered vision about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.

    A haze of tuberose, pale jasmine, vanilla orchid, and lily, with a faint jagged edge of opium tar.

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  • The White Witch

    4.33 out of 5
    $23

    O brothers mine, take care! Take care!
    The great white witch rides out to-night.
    Trust not your prowess nor your strength,
    Your only safety lies in flight;
    For in her glance there is a snare,
    And in her smile there is a blight.

    The great white witch you have not seen?
    Then, younger brothers mine, forsooth,
    Like nursery children you have looked
    For ancient hag and snaggle-tooth;
    But no, not so; the witch appears
    In all the glowing charms of youth.

    Her lips are like carnations, red,
    Her face like new-born lilies, fair,
    Her eyes like ocean waters, blue,
    She moves with subtle grace and air,
    And all about her head there floats
    The golden glory of her hair.

    But though she always thus appears
    In form of youth and mood of mirth,
    Unnumbered centuries are hers,
    The infant planets saw her birth;
    The child of throbbing Life is she,
    Twin sister to the greedy earth.

    And back behind those smiling lips,
    And down within those laughing eyes,
    And underneath the soft caress
    Of hand and voice and purring sighs,
    The shadow of the panther lurks,
    The spirit of the vampire lies.

    For I have seen the great white witch,
    And she has led me to her lair,
    And I have kissed her red, red lips
    And cruel face so white and fair;
    Around me she has twined her arms,
    And bound me with her yellow hair.

    I felt those red lips burn and sear
    My body like a living coal;
    Obeyed the power of those eyes
    As the needle trembles to the pole;
    And did not care although I felt
    The strength go ebbing from my soul.

    Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs,
    And heard your laughter loud and gay,
    And in your voices she has caught
    The echo of a far-off day,
    When man was closer to the earth;
    And she has marked you for her prey.

    She feels the old Antaean strength
    In you, the great dynamic beat
    Of primal passions, and she sees
    In you the last besieged retreat
    Of love relentless, lusty, fierce,
    Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.

    O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
    The great white witch rides out to-night.
    O, younger brothers mine, beware!
    Look not upon her beauty bright;
    For in her glance there is a snare,
    And in her smile there is a blight.

    Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet: gold-flecked honey amber pulsating with red musk, patchouli coeur, bourbon vanilla, inky vetiver, pomegranate rind, myrrh, blackened violet leaf, and blood red rose petals.

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  • The Witch-Bride

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    A fair witch crept to a young man’s side,
    And he kiss’d her and took her for his bride. 

    But a Shape came in at the dead of night,
    And fill’d the room with snowy light. 

    And he saw how in his arms there lay
    A thing more frightful than mouth may say. 

    And he rose in haste, and follow’d the Shape
    Till morning crown’d an eastern cape. 

    And he girded himself, and follow’d still
    When sunset sainted the western hill. 

    But, mocking and thwarting, clung to his side,
    Weary day!—the foul Witch-Bride.

    (Aw, c’mon, Allingham. Foul is a pretty strong choice of words, dontcha think?)

    Pale and lovely, with eyes belladonna-wide: hemlock blossoms and ghostly nightshade veiled by wisteria, white frankincense, black amber, and narcissus resin.

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Limited Edition - Halloween 2014 - Seven Visions of Autumn

Autumn is my favorite season. Though it harbingers the onset of the death of the year, it rings in a peculiar melancholy, a bittersweet life of its own. The harvest ensures the strength of the community, the leaves fall to give renewed life to the earth, and the winds and wildfires cast away the detritus and make way for new growth.

Autumn is equal parts grief and compassion. It is the soul’s twilight: the dusk of reflection before the solitude of winter.

I don’t remember the last time we had a proper autumn in Los Angeles. I know that sounds melodramatic—I’m a Pisces; we thrive on internal melodrama—but the weather has been so consistently hot for so long that autumn, and certainly winter, seem like a distant memory. I’ve been daydreaming quite a bit about how autumn makes me feel—I miss it so much!—and these daydreams gave birth to seven visions of autumn. I started playing with perfume without the desire to interpret a specific concept other than the drifting idea of Fall: a story in scent without words or images, just a winding path of memory and longing.

Limited Edition - Halloween 2014 - Single Notes

Black Phoenix’s cheeky interpretation of the iconic scents of the season. No actual single notes were harmed in the creation of these blends.

Limited Edition - Halloween 2014 - The Pumpkin Patch

Last year, we held a pumpkin carving contest; the winning gourds are featured on this year’s Patch labels. A million thanks to everyone that participated! It was an absolute joy sharing in your artistry!

  • Pumpkin I

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Amy Kinard!

    Pumpkin cream with cardamom, black tea, allspice, and ginger milk.

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  • Pumpkin II

    3.50 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Asenath Waite!

    Blackened pumpkin with clove, tobacco absolute, aged patchouli, and oakmoss.

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  • Pumpkin III

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Messy Nessie!

    Pumpkin with Atlas cedar, black fig, Laotian benzoin, bourbon vanilla, and copal.

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  • Pumpkin IV

    4.00 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Neal Segler!

    Warm pumpkin with three honeys, oudh, sweet frankincense, and champaca resin.

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  • Pumpkin V

    2.00 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Ruby Velez!

    Pumpkins, pumpkin vines, and wild mushrooms with white sage, cade, sweetgrass, and vanilla-infused rosewood.

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Limited Edition - Lilith 2014: Princesses, Ghosts & Superheroes

The first Lil-inspired scent went live when I went into labor, and since that moment, she has been my little muse.

Happy sixth birthday, daughter. I love you. Thank you for the privilege of chronicling our life together through scent.

++The scent series will come down November 8th

  • (Not so) Penitent (Mini) Magdalene

    $23

    Lilith, Ted, and I were playing dress up one night, and during her snack break in the kitchen, it occurred to me that she – and the whole accidental tableau – reminded me strongly (and strangely) of Georges de la Tour’s Penitent Magdalene.

    So, of course, Ted and I threw together an impromptu 30-second staging with junk lying around the house and took a photo.

    Learning art history through role playing and silly photo shenanigans!

    Candle wax, smoke, red sandalwood, a dusting of kitchen spices, and a dribble of vanilla ice cream.

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  • Amicitia

    $23

    “We’ll be friends forever, won’t we, Pooh?” asked Piglet.

    “Even longer,” Pooh answered.

    A tribute to true friendship, and love that transcends distance and time: white sage and chaparral with sweet cedar, caramelized honey, warm fig, and carnation blossoms.

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  • Avunculus

    $23

    In hindsight, it was something of an omen that Lilith would be born on Brian’s birthday. He was with her on the day of her birth, and I have no doubt that they will love each other eternally. Yes, they are family, but he is also her friend: her pillar of support, her precious uncle, dearer to her heart than he could possibly know.

    I created this scent as much for Brian as I did for Lilith; it is the scent of the summer that lives in one’s heart. Orange blossom honey, white coconut, and pear with flecks of golden amber that glimmers like sunlight on water.

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  • Blueberry Picking

    $23

    I wanted to go with a less-literal name for this scent, but Lilith vetoed me! My little monster is a tremendous help around the garden. She helps me water, plant, and deadhead the flowers, but by far… harvesting is her favorite chore.

     Sun-warmed, slightly squishy blueberries plus overgrown grass, overgrown honeysuckle, overgrown lavender, overgrown lemon verbena, and a smattering of un-pulled weeds.

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  • Ghost Houses

    $23

    Last year, Lilith visited Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 in the Garden District with us. As she walked among the vaults and tombs, she announced to us, “When I get older, I’m going to help ghosts fix their houses.”

     Marble, wild grasses, rusted iron, white clover, coneflowers, and daisies filtered through a sepulchral mist.

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  • Goofballs

    $23

    This one – name, scent, and photo selection – is entirely Lilith’s. She wanted this scent to smell like “how friendship feels when you’re hanging out in the grass.” Per Lilith’s description: “wet grass and sunshine, dogs and wood, and my feet in warm dirt and flowers I pick.”

    Photo by Jan Easter!

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  • Hearts for Ghost Friends

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    Lilith named this one, and I think it’s absolutely perfect.

    I know I’ve told this story before, but the kindness behind it means so much to me that you’re all going to have to bear with me while I tell it again. The privilege of being the narrator!

    While we were at Lafayette Cemetery this spring, Lilith discovered all the beads, toys, and trinkets that people leave on the crypts. As she wandered through the cemetery grounds, she arranged the beads that she found into hearts and pillaged my purse (and Ted’s pockets!) for change and small items she could leave for the ghosts. She told me that people leave things like this for their ghost friends so that the spirits know that their “people friends” are thinking about them, and so they won’t be lonely while they wait for more people to come visit them. Lilith and I still talk about the ghost friends she met in New Orleans that day. Evidently, some of them have taken up residence in my basement and behind our bar because she couldn’t bear to leave them behind. The more the merrier, right?

    Friendship beyond death. The scent of ghostly companionship, and imaginary friends that might not be quite so imaginary: oleander and frankincense with white rose, soft carnation, spectral white musk, and velvety magnolia.

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  • Lily Witch

    $23

    Lilith named this scent, and said this perfume should smell like witches. Her interpretation is swathed in anise, lime, almond, and witchin’ herbs, and holds a bouquet of pale, graceful lilies. The end result is a sweet, nutty absinthe’d lime with a hint of spice and leather.

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  • Mermaid

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    Peter was not with them for the moment, and they felt rather lonely up there by themselves. He could go so much faster than they that he would suddenly shoot out of sight, to have some adventure in which they had no share.

    He would come down laughing over something fearfully funny he had been saying to a star, but he had already forgotten what it was, or he would come up with mermaid scales still sticking to him, and yet not be able to to say for certain what had been happening.

    It was really rather irritating to children who had never seen a mermaid.
    ― JM Barrie, Peter Pan

    Lilith, I hope you never stop seeing mermaids. I hope your invisible friends always sing with you, and that the ghosts in your attic tell you stories every night. I hope you never forget how to dream, and I hope you never forget why dreams matter.

    A tiny siren’s perfume of pink seaweed, lotus petals, Tahitian tiare, white gardenia, orange blossom, sea salt, and vanilla-infused benzoin.

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  • Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha

    $23

    Salutations to the supreme Lord Ganesh, whose curved trunk and massive body shines like a million suns and showers his blessings on everyone. Oh my lord of lords, Ganesha, kindly remove all obstacles, always and forever from all my activities and endeavors.

    Lilith’s favorite deity – by far – is Ganesha, inspired by her kindergarten teacher and the works of Sanjay Patel. Her meditation technique, however, is as much a product of her Mom & Me practice at home as her enthusiastic love of Teen Titans. I’d attempted to persuade Lilith to meditate with me many times, but she didn’t have much of an interest in doing so until she started watching Teen Titans again in earnest. Kindergarten was a challenging transition year for her, and meditation was something she employed often to cope with the stress. I tried to encourage her to chant a variety of mantras, and she used many of Ganesha’s, but her go to was always Azarath Metreon Zinthos.

    So, thank you, DC Comics, Sanjay Patel, and (especially) Ganesha, for helping give my daughter tools to help her through rough days.

     This is a meditation blend that I created for Lilith: sweet frankincense, Mysore sandalwood, and a few drops of rose and clary sage.

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  • The Hierophant and the Empress

    $23

    Let the woman be girt with a sword before me: the many-throned, many-minded, many-wiled, daughter of Zeus.

    Red and white roses, everblooming gardenia, violet leaf, Oman frankincense, styrax, honey myrtle, mallow flower.

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  • Venustas

    $23

    Sometimes when I look at my daughter, I feel like I can see the woman that she’ll become someday. This is a perfume for that woman, forever my daughter: frankincense, sweet myrrh, bourbon vanilla, and a hint of willowy, pale fougere.

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  • Very Pink Surprise Cake

    $23

    A few weeks before DragonCon this year, I took ill with a persistent, irritating, gooey flu. To cheer up me up, my crazy, wonderful daughter and her crazy, wonderful dad threw me a surprise party. They decorated Lilith’s room, baked me a cake in the Easy Bake Oven (it tasted very pink), and brought me little gifts, including a ridiculously pink lipstick, some balloons and noisemakers, and a bottle of OxyClean. (Long story.)

    This perfume captures the ridiculously pink scent of that ridiculously pink cake. I love my family.

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Limited Edition - Limited Edition: Neil Gaiman

  • Lemon-Scented Sticky Bat

    4.00 out of 5
    $26

    …last week Maddy woke me up early in the morning.

    “Daddy,” she said, “There's a bat on the kitchen window.”

    “Grumphle,” I said and went back to sleep.

    Soon, she woke me up again. “I did a drawing of the bat on the kitchen window,” she said, and showed me her drawing. For a five year old she's a very good artist. It was a schematic of the kitchen windows, showing a bat on one of the windows.

    “Very nice dear,” I said. Then I went back to sleep.

    When I went downstairs…

    We have, instead of dangling fly papers, transparent strips of gluey clear plastic, about six inches long and an inch high, stuck to the windows on the ground floor. When they accumulate enough flies, you peel them off the window and throw them away.

    There was a bat stuck to one. He was facing out into the room. “I think he's dead,” said my assistant Lorraine.

    I peeled the plastic off the window. The bat hissed at me.

    “Nope,” I said. “He's fine. Just stuck.”

    The question then became, how does one get a bat (skin and fur) off a fly-strip. Luckily, I bethought me of the Bram Stoker award. After the door had fallen off (see earler in this topic) I had bought some citrus solvent to take the old glue to reglue the door on.

    So I dripped citrus solvent onto the grumpy bat, edging him off the plastic with a twig, until a lemon-scented sticky bat crawled onto a newspaper. Which I put on the top of a high woodpile, and watched the bat crawl into the logs. With any luck he was as right as rain the following night…

    Sticky-sweet iced lemon sugar!

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