Patchouli - Black
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Fuck You, Said the Raven Perfume Oil
Add to cart“Hey,” said Shadow. “Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are.”
The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes.
“Say ‘Nevermore,'” said Shadow.
“Fuck you,” said the raven.”
Glossy black, rough, and gravelly: violet-gilded opoponax, black patchouli, myrrh, and oak leaf.
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Leave Her, Johnny Perfume Oil
Add to cartOh the times are hard and the wages low
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
Oh the times are hard and the wages low
And it’s time for us to leave her.Oh my old mother she wrote to me
‘My dear son, come home from sea.’It was rotten meat and weevilly bread
‘You’ll eat or starve,’ the Old Man said.I thought I heard the Old Man say
‘You can go ashore and collect your pay.’It’s time for us to say goodbye
For the old pierhead is drawing nigh.Leave her, Johnny, leave her
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her
The voyage is done and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her.A sailor’s love song to her ship: Laotian oud, white cedarwood, sweet black patchouli, spiced rum, blackened fig, and coconut.
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Samhain Hair Gloss
Add to cartTruly 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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Samhain Perfume Oil
Add to cartTruly 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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Seven Word Story: Wrath Perfume Oil
Add to cartThe subject of our latest #BPAL7wordstory contest was WRATH. The winning entry was submitted by Miss Paulette:
The poison worked slowly, to her delight.
Bitter almond swirled into black patchouli, with red amber, rum absolute, and lemon peel.
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Sin Perfume Oil
Select OptionsThouroughly corrupted: amber, sandalwood, black patchouli and cinnamon.
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The Organ Grinder Perfume Oil
Add to cartA handsome, dark-skinned man weaves and dances his way through the crowd. Veves have been burned into the face of his old acoustic guitar, which he strums casually as he strolls though the crowd. A winged Capuchin monkey is balanced on his shoulder, holding out a rusty metal cup. The guitar player’s melancholy chords begin to mingle strangely with a cacophonous jangling sound. The discordant symphony grows and swells as he moves toward a cloaked and hooded figure; this spectre’s skeletal hands operate a dilapidated barrel organ that stands at a crossroads in the midway. As they come together, the music hits a nightmarish crescendo; your heart heaves with longings unfulfilled, your vision swims, and your head is filled with whispered incantations and gallows secrets. In that instant, you suddenly understand the profundity of deals made in Heaven and Hell, and the price of desire.
Almond milk, sarsaparilla, tobacco smoke, High John the Conqueror root, coconut hull, black patchouli and white pine bark.