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Weight | 1 oz |
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$29.00
Held on December 5th, this is the festival of the Horned God of the Forest, one of the di indigetes of Rome, god of cattle, fertility, wild, untamed nature, and prophecy through dreams. The scent of a thick, starlit, unspoiled forest, with a burst of wild musk, opobalsamum, black bryony, mandragora, and hemlock.
Weight | 1 oz |
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The case I allude to is that of an invalid woman who belongs to the humblest class of society. She is nearly thirty years old and very ignorant; her look is neither fascinating nor endowed with the power which modern criminologists call irresistible; but when she wishes, be it by day or by night, she can divert a curious group for an hour or so with the most surprising phenomena. Either bound to a seat or firmly held by the hands of the curious, she attracts to her the articles of furniture which surround her, lifts them up, holds them suspended in the air like Mahomet’s coffin, and makes them come down again with undulatory movements, as if they were obeying her will. She increases their weight or lessens it according to her pleasure. She raps or taps upon the walls, the ceiling, the floor, with fine rhythm and cadence. In response to the requests of the spectators, something like flashes of electricity shoot forth from her body, and envelop her or enwrap the spectators of these marvellous scenes. She draws upon cards that you hold out, everything that you want – figures, signatures, numbers, sentences – by just stretching out her hand toward the indicated place.
If you place in the corner of the room a vessel containing a layer of soft clay, you find after some moments the imprint in it of a small or a large hand, the image of a face (front view or profile) from which a plaster cast can be taken. In this way portraits of a face taken at different angles have been preserved, and those who desire so to do can thus make serious and important studies.
This woman rises in the air, no matter what bands tie her down. She seems to lie upon the empty air, as on a couch, contrary to all the laws of gravity; she plays on musical instruments – organs, bells, tambourines – as if they had been touched by her hands or moved by the breath of invisible gnomes… This woman at times can increase her stature by more than four inches.
—Chiaia, in a letter to Lombroso
Pale lilacs, white tea, and candle wax.
In examining and reporting these cases the witnesses averred that certain people, whom they called “materializing mediums,” had the strange physical gift that they could put forth from their bodies a viscous, gelatinous substance which appeared to differ from every known form of matter in that it could solidify and be used for material purposes, and yet could be reabsorbed, leaving absolutely no trace even upon the clothes which it had traversed in leaving the body.
This substance was actually touched by some enterprising investigators, who reported that it was elastic and appeared to be sensitive, as though it was really an organic extrusion from the medium’s body.
—Arthur Conan Doyle, 1930
A luminous, viscid blend of white amber, lemongrass, white oakmoss, and davana.
A lively tune is being played nearby; it is syncopated, a disjointed song, but perky and upbeat. As you turn to the next stage, you see the broad back and shaggy hair of the next performer. He is seated on a stool in front of a battered upright piano. Wire pokes out from holes in the back of the decrepit beechwood, and broken pinblocks are scattered on the floor. A bowl of glistening viscera has been plopped on a small end table next to the pianist. You can see that the ivory keys of the piano are smeared with blood. He pounds and tinkles the keys merrily, and laughs to himself. The man turns to the audience, and his unkempt russet hair, feral yellow eyes, wild balbo, and chin curtain beard betray his lycanthropic nature. He smiles widely, innocently, and waves his red-stained, black-clawed paw in a genial welcome. He bellows cheerfully, “Hi there! Make yourself comfortable! Don’t you look absolutely necrolishious! HA! HAHA! I just made that word up!” He laughs again, turns, and resumes playing the piano. The rambling tune picks up pace, and he plays with a showman’s flourish. The song slows as he chats with the audience from over his shoulder. “You know, my ex-girlfriend was a real handful, but really… I’ve never known a woman that was as tender as she was. She was all gushy, and well… to be honest, she just fell to pieces for me. Eventually, things ran their course… three courses, really… and, as they say, nothing lasts forever. But I’ll always have a piece of her, here… close to my heart.” He chuckles, and pats the chest of his patchwork overcoat.
In the distance, possibly from Meskhenet’s stage, you hear one of the phantom musicians give Wulric a gratuitous rim shot.
Friendly, charming, and cuddly, but possessing one hell of a mean streak: cocoa absolute, French vanilla, birch tar, lavender, bourbon vetiver, wild musk, cardamom husk, clary sage, and cistus.
Seances for Inquirers are held weekly at 38, Great Russel-street. Inquirers may have Tickets free, on application to the Secretary, with personal recommendations from a Member. Admission to Members and one Friend, 1s. each. Private Seances for advanced manifestations for Members only, by special arrangement. Admission 5s.
The Spiritualist, 8 February 1878
A clandestine assembly of elite ghost-seekers: smoky oud, fiery crimson peppercorn, and wild patchouli swirl in a heady haze, unfolding through plush velvet labdanum, lush plum damask, molten beeswax, and a glimmer of cognac spilled over a cracked quartz sphere.
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