Story Points

  • Blood Popsicle

    The scent of frozen Type O negative.

    Add to cart
  • Café Mille et une Nuits

    Shisha and thick coffee brewed with cardamom pods, cinnamon, clove, black pepper, and nutmeg.

    Add to cart
  • June 23, 1868

    True love renewed by night in an English garden: moonflower, Nottingham catchfly, Casablanca lily, evening primrose, night-blooming cereus, Queen of the Night, muted by the sepia tones of tonka, tobacco absolute, bourbon vanilla, and costus.

    Add to cart
  • Quintessence of Dust

    “What a piece of work is a man!”
    “What is this quintessence of dust?”

    The passing: beeswax and smoke, yellowed paper and well-worn leather books, droplets of spilled ink, faded incense, blood-tinged salty tears, and the metal of the knife that skewers that illiterate zombie philistine’s portrait.

    Add to cart
  • Shelley, Byron, and Keats

    Uncompromising idealism, haunted romanticism, fatal ennui, and a heady amount of scandal and vice: red roses and pale carnation with a draught of laudanum, smears of opium tar, a hint of absinthe, and mercury ointment.

    Add to cart
  • Spooky Action at a Distance

    “When you separate an entwined particle and you move both parts away from the other, even at opposite ends of the universe, if you alter or affect one, the other will be identically altered or affected. Spooky.”

    Instantaneous correlated action between entangled partners: rose-infused sandalwood with violet leaf, frankincense, geranium rose, and a spark of elemi.

    Add to cart
  • The Diamond’s Gong

    A celestial hymn, singing to Earth from fifty light years away: ten billion-trillion-trillion-carats of glittering white musk, with cognac, tagetes, white champaca, Gum Arabic, and davana.

    Add to cart
  • The Edge of Doom

    Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
    But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
    If this be error and upon me proved,
    I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

    The night flight from Tangier: drops of spilled blood color the antiseptic, bland, plastic paleness of the fuselage, with violet leaf for longing, rosemary for reminiscences, and black opoponax for apprehension.

    Add to cart
  • The Hourglass

    “I feel like all the sands are at the bottom of the hourglass.”
    “Turn it over, then.”

    The white roses and orange blossoms of hope penetrating despair’s black fog of opoponax, black myrrh, bruised violet, clove, funereal lily, and grief-struck carrot seed.

    Add to cart
  • There’s Water Here

    This place will rise again. The wisdom of eternity imparting a glimmer of hope through the grace of eternal renewal: the wild glory of nature bursting through cement, metal, and urban despair, purified by the waters of Lake St. Clair.

    Add to cart
  • Wooden Bullet

    A .38 caliber bullet fashioned from cocobolo wood and brass.

    Add to cart