Against Idleness and MischiefSelect Options
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!
How skilfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.
Pollen-dusted honey, diligent tonka, steadfast chamomile, and goodly hyssop.
Agrat-Bat-MahlahtAdd to cart
Amber, cream accord, white honey, apple blossom, skin musk, caramel, and teak.
Curiouser and curiouser. Milk and honey with rose, carnation and bergamot.
A reformulation and modernization of a true Classical Greek perfume, myrrhine: voluptuous myrrh, golden honey, red wine, and sweet flowers.
A ridiculously charismatic blend of bay rum, honey, and white musk mingling with the scent of harp wood and lute strings and the twang of horn brass.
BastAdd to cart
There was a girl. He had met her somewhere, and now they were walking across a bridge. It spanned a small lake, in the middle of a town. The wind was ruffling the surface of the lake, making waves tipped with whitecaps, which seemed to Shadow to be tiny hands reaching for him.
— Down there, said the woman. She was wearing a leopard-print skirt, which flapped and tossed in the wind, and the flesh between the top of her stockings and her skirt was creamy and soft and in his dream, on the bridge, before God and the world, Shadow went down to his knees in front of her, burying his head in her crotch, drinking in the intoxicating jungle female scent of her. He became aware, in his dream, of his erection in real life, a rigid, pounding, monstrous thing as painful in its hardness as the erections he’d had as a boy, when he was crashing into puberty.
He pulled away and looked upward, and still he could not see her face. But his mouth was seeking hers and her lips were soft against his, and his hands were cupping her breasts, and then they were running across the satin smoothness of her skin, pushing into and parting the furs that hid her waist, sliding into the wonderful cleft of her, which warmed and wetted and parted for him, opening to his hand like a flower.
The woman purred against him ecstatically, her hand moving down to the hardness of him and squeezing it. He pushed the bedsheets away and rolled on top of her, his hand parting her thighs, her hand guiding him between her legs, where one thrust, one magical push . . .
Now he was back in his old prison cell with her, and he was kissing her deeply. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, clamped her legs about his legs to hold him tight, so he could not pull out, not even if he wanted to.
Never had he kissed lips so soft. He had not known that there were lips so soft in the whole world. Her tongue, though, was sandpaper-rough as it slipped against his.
—Who are you? he asked.
She made no answer, just pushed him onto his back and, in one lithe movement, straddled him and began to ride him. No, not to ride him: to insinuate herself against him in series of silken-smooth waves, each more powerful than the one before, strokes and beats and rhythms that crashed against his mind and his body just as the wind-waves on the lake splashed against the shore. Her nails were needle-sharp and they pierced his sides, raking them, but he felt no pain, only pleasure, everything was transmuted by some alchemy into moments of utter pleasure.
He struggled to find himself, struggled to talk, his head now filled with sand dunes and desert winds.
—Who are you? he asked again, gasping for the words.
She stared at him with eyes the color of dark amber, then lowered her mouth to his and kissed him with a passion, kissed him so completely and so deeply that there, on the bridge over the lake, in his prison cell, in the bed in the Cairo funeral home, he almost came. He rode the sensation like a kite riding a hurricane, willing it not to crest, not to explode, wanting it never to end.
A desert wind alight with myrrh and golden amber, cardamom and honey, bourbon vanilla and cacao.
Behind the VeilsAdd to cart
Blood-red light cascades through languorous folds of sheer cloth. Hell-bright embers breathe into the gloom as billowing ribbons of thick, dark incense wrap their tendrils of smoke around your body like the curious hands of a lover.
Heady red musk, myrrh and honey, drops of cinnamon and crushed cardamom pod, the taste of opium-laced black wine, sweet oudh, and threads of saffron.
A sultry and unruly blend that emulates the ambient scent of the markets in ancient Bengal: skin musk with honey, peppers, clove, cinnamon bark and ginger.
Bien Loin D’IciSelect Options
This is the house, the sacred box,
Where, always draped in languorous frocks,
And always at home if someone knocks,
One elbow into the pillow pressed,
She lies, and lazily fans her breast,
While fountains weep their soulfullest:
This is the chamber of Dorothy.
Fountain and breeze for her alone
Sob in that soothing undertone.
Was ever so spoiled a harlot known?
With odorous oils and rosemary,
Benzoin and every unguent grown,
Her skin is rubbed most delicately.
The flowers are faint with ecstasy.
The Scarlet Woman, aglow with sensual indolence: red musk, benzoin, caramel accord, golden honey, and spiced Moroccan unguents.
BilquisAdd to cart
The Queen of Sheba, half-demon, they said, on her father’s side, witch woman, wise woman, and queen, who ruled Sheba when Sheba was the richest land there ever was, when its spices and its gems and scented woods were taken by boat and camel-back to the corners of the earth, who was worshipped even when she was alive, worshipped as a living goddess by the wisest of kings, stands on the sidewalk of Sunset Boulevard at 2:00 A.M. staring blankly out at traffic like a slutty plastic bride on a black-and-neon wedding cake. She stands as if she owns the sidewalk and the night that surrounds her.
Honey, myrrh, lily of the valley, rose otto, fig leaf, almond, ambrette, red apple, and warm musk.
Cock StamenOut of Stock
Red orchid, dragon’s blood resin, blood orange, black lily, honey amber, and cacao
The weather is always mild, the wine flows freely, sex is readily available, and all people enjoy eternal youth.
The Land of Plenty, also called Luilekkerland â€“ the Lazy, Luscious Land: milk and honey, sweet cakes and wine.
Courtesan with a Secret LoverOut of Stock
Green tea, plum blossom, white musk, jasmine blossom honey, and lemon peel.
Crib GirlsOut of Stock
Situated on of the lowest rungs in the Red Light District’s hierarchy, the crib girls solicited from their windows and doorways, entertaining their clients in sparsely furnished, dingy two-room apartments.
Seven honeys under one unkempt roof, with fiery-tart cubeb and dusty cardamom.
Dalliances by CandlelightOut of Stock
Beeswax, white patchouli, and honey.
Dana O’SheeSelect Options
In Irish folklore the Dana O’Shee are a fae, elven people that live in a realm of beauty, their nobility akin to our that own Age of Chivalry, eternally beautiful and eternally young. They surround themselves with the pleasures of the Arts, they live for the hunt, and to this day can be seen riding in procession through the Irish countryside at twilight, led by their King and Queen. However, the Dana O’Shee are not benevolent creatures, despite what their unearthly beauty may imply. They are vengeful and treacherous and possess a streak of mischievous malice, and many have whispered that their true home lies deep in the shadowed groves of the Realm of the Dead. Hearing even a single chord of their otherworldly music leaves one stunned and lost to the mortal realms for ever, finding themselves prey to the Dana O’Shee’s hunt or enslaved in their Court as servants or playthings.
Offerings of milk, honey and sweet grains were made to placate these creatures, and it is that the basis of the scent created in their name.
Dawn: MaidenAdd to cart
Tea roses, honeysuckle, heliotrope, olive blossom, milk, and honey.
Dawn: MotherAdd to cart
Red roses, saffron, honey, and frankincense.
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.
DoorAdd to cart
She was dressed in a variety of clothes thrown over each other: odd clothes, dirty velvets, muddy lace, rips and holes through which other layers and styles could be seen. She looked, Richard thought, as if she’d done a midnight raid on the History of Fashion section of the Victoria and Albert Museum, and was still wearing everything she had taken. Her short hair was filthy, but looked like it might have been a dark reddish color under the dirt.
Golden honey, nicotiana, blue chamomile, and cistu
Dragon’s MilkSelect Options
A truly fae nectar! Dragon’s blood resin and honeyed vanilla.
Dragon’s MuskSelect Options
Dominant, passionate, devastating. Dragon’s blood and five deep musks.
Dwarven AleSelect Options
Brewed with fermented mushrooms, pumpkin rind, honey, and apple rootstock.
At the center of the Garden of Eden stands the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Though modern interpretations of the Bible claim that it was an apple that the Serpent of the Tree offered to Eve, it is widely believed that the true Fruit of True Knowledge was, in fact, a fig.
This oil contains the innocence of the Garden, coupled with the Truth and Erudition found in the fruit of the Tree of Evil: fig leaf, fig fruit, honeyed almond milk, toasted coconut and sandalwood.
Een SatyrAdd to cart
A heavy, animalic musk with cognac, fir balsam, grapevine, black cypress, patchouli, honey, and copaiba balsam.
Eisheth ZenunimAdd to cart
Honey, ambergris, neroli, white peach, patchouli, and cocoa absolute.
EveOut of Stock
Eve is eternal: in three-thousand years, she has likely traveled the length and breadth of the world, immersed in innumerable cultures throughout the ages, observing the ebb and flow of humanity and the imperishability of nature itself. Despite her age, she is the character that seems most rooted, always experiencing each moment with open eyes, always fully present.
Her scent is one that travels through the eons: the Irish moss, yarrow, and hawthorn of the Iron Age Britons, ancient Rome’s omphacium and honey, myrrh and calamus from Egypt, the frankincense and damask roses of the Florentine Renaissance, white sandalwood from the Far East, Moroccan saffron and rose water, and a swirl of incense from the souks.
Eyeball Seaboar Alchemy LabAdd to cart
Scratched at the last minute on the advice of our legal counsel, who was afraid people might misunderstand and pour the perfume directly into their eyes. “For External Purposes Only Seaboar” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
White sandalwood, sweet patchouli, sea salt, Italian bergamot, and honey.
Fairy WineAdd to cart
Mr. Bromios had set up a wine-tent and was selling wines and pasties to the village folk, who were often tempted by the foods being sold by the folk from Beyond the Wall but had been told by their grandparents, who had got it from their grandparents, that it was deeply, utterly wrong to eat fairy food, to drink fairy water and sip fairy wine.
An ethereal vintage, steeped with dandelion, honey, and red currants.
For the Joy of ItAdd to cart
In prison Shadow had learned there were two kinds of fights: don’t fuck with me fights, where you made it as showy and impressive as you could, and private fights, real fights, which were fast and hard and nasty, and always over in seconds.
“Hey, Sweeney,” said Shadow, breathless, “why are we fighting?”
“For the joy of it,” said Sweeney, sober now, or at least, no longer visibly drunk. “For the sheer unholy fucken delight of it. Can’t you feel the joy in your own veins, rising like the sap in the springtime?” His lip was bleeding. So was Shadow’s knuckle.
Whiskey, mead, honey, gold, sweat, and blood.
Fortuna BalnearisOut of Stock
The Fortunes of Health and Well-Being
A hymn for good health and protection of the vulnerable: orange blossom honey, vanilla husk, green stem sap, and a drop of King mandarin.
Fortuna BonaOut of Stock
Good Fortune Incarnate
A hymn to the successes, prosperity, good health, and blessings that are drawn to you when you possess honesty, bravery, and good character: Himalayan cedar and honey myrtle, cistus and clary sage, ambergris accord and white oudh.
Fortuna DubiaOut of Stock
A hymn to avert misfortune and danger: honey infused with protective herbs and hope preserved in pale amber.
Shimmering celestial musk with vanilla, white honey, acacia, and sugar cane.
HalAdd to cart
Saffron-infused bourbon vanilla, blackened honey, Kashmir wood, Atlas cedar, ambrette seed, hay, and Egyptian jasmine absolute.
HarlequinAdd to cart
Inspired by the character EPPY THATCHER.
A futuristic, gothic harlequin, addicted to a heinous hallucinogen with the street name “Grendel”, who leads chaotic attacks against the corrupt Catholic Church.
Psychotomimetic: pink grapefruit, white honey, orange blossom, saffron, champagne grape, elemi, guaiac, blonde tobacco, and olibanum.
The sublimely beautiful, fiercely independent, impeccably cultured, fascinatingly worldly and witty courtesans of ancient Greece. A seductive and dazzling blend of golden honey, fiery patchouli, sweet fig and clove, and a blushing touch of ylang ylang.
Horreur SympathiqueSelect Options
From livid skies that, without end,
As stormy as your future roll,
What thoughts into your empty soul
(Answer me, libertine!) descend?
– Insatiable yet for all
That turns on darkness, doom, or dice,
I’ll not, like Ovid, mourn my fall,
Chased from the Latin paradise.
Skies, torn like seacoasts by the storm!
In you I see my pride take form,
And the huge clouds that rush in streams
Are the black hearses of my dreams,
And your red rays reflect the hell,
In which my heart is pleased to dwell.
The perfume of a hellbound soul, gleefully lost to iniquity: blood musk, golden honey, thick black wine, champagne grapes, tobacco flower, plum blossom, tonka bean, oakmoss, carnation, benzoin, opoponax, and sugar cane.
Improv Zombie SceneAdd to cart
Every New Year’s Eve for the past several years, Lilith and her soul sister Novi have rung out the old year at a kids’ dance party. This year, they spent a little time doing Zombie Improv before the party started.
Pink grapefruit brains, honeyed cerebral fluid, and a splash of sparkling apple cider.
Iulia, L’Artiste du DiableAdd to cart
A chittering buzz rises from a small crowd that has gathered around an opulent velvet-draped tent. Some are fidgeting impatiently; others try in vain to peep within the tent. Within moments, a slim, stunningly handsome man emerges from the entryway to the sound of gasps and scattered applause. His face is lit with fierce joy, and he bows almost smugly to the assemblage. Grabbing a flirtatious blonde from the mob, he kisses her in a rush of mad passion, his arm encircles her waist, and he leads her directly to a nearby opium den. The crowd disperses, and curiosity pulls you forward. You push open the fringed, beaded tent-flap and enter the dimly-lit room. A lovely, voluptuous redhead stands before an ornate antique easel. Her luminous alabaster skin and the phosphorescence emanating from her paintbrush seem to be the only source of light. As you adjust to the gloom, you see that the walls are covered with atrocities: an exhibit of dissolution. The myriad canvases show men and women in various stages of rot and decay, a panoply of indulgence, teeth set in fury, mouths leering in lust, hands grasping greedily.
The scarlet woman turns her gleaming sightless eyes towards you and, in a husky, compelling voice, she speaks:
“Why let the years tear at your youthful splendor? Why let the mark of your sins stain your fine features? Will you let the cold, creeping grasp of time and the toil of temptation mar your visage? Why should the pleasures of our flesh wreak such havoc?”
She leans in close to you and whispers, “Let me capture your soul on this canvas in oil and blood, and you will be beautiful forever.”
White tea, sugar cane, orange blossom, rockrose, lemon balm, white mint, and honey.
JaawiAdd to cart
Sweet Indonesian patchouli, red benzoin, champaca attar, French lavender, coconut husk, bay leaf, tobacco absolute, lime, and honey.
Biblical witch, priestess of Astarte, and general troublemaker. A true role model for today’s upwardly mobile Modern Woman. A gloriously decadent blend of honey, roses, orange blossom and sandalwood.
JosieOut of Stock
The brooding, raucous, and hot-blooded proprietress of the Château Lobrano d’Arlington, the gaudiest bordello in the District. Miss Josie had a true talent for hype, and promoted her ladies in an effusively romanticized, over-the-top fashion. La Belle Stewart, who was in actuality a circus hoochie koochie girl from Chicago, was billed as “a bona-fide baroness, direct from the court of St. Petersburg.”
Heady magnolia and honeyed peaches.
Jupiter Nourished by the Goat AmaltheaAdd to cart
Engraving by Jacques Jordaens
Goat’s milk, nectar, ambrosia, and honey.
Kali, the Black One, is the fearless Goddess of Destruction, Creation, Energy [in her Shakti aspect] and Dissolution. Also named Kaliratri [Black Night] and Kalikamata [Black Earth-Mother], she is the fiercest aspect of Devi, the supreme mother goddess. Kali is a protector Goddess, the destroyer of evil spirits and guardian of the faithful. She, along with her consort Shiva, represent the unending cycle of death and birth, sexual union, creation and destruction. Kali annihilates ignorance, maintains the natural order of the world, and blesses those who strive for spiritual awareness and knowledge of true holiness with infinite tenderness and motherly love. The constant, unending Work of Creation is called the “The Play of Kali”.
This perfume is a blend of the sacred blooms of cassia, hibiscus, musk rose, Himalayan wild tulip, lotus and osmanthus swirled with offertory dark chocolate, red wine, tobacco, balsam and honey.
“Rum punch is not improperly called Kill-Devil; for thousands lose their lives by its means. When newcomers use it to the least excess, they expose themselves to imminent peril, for it heats the blood and brings on fevers, which in a very few hours send them to their graves.”
Sugar cane, molasses, oak wood, and honey.
Lady UnaAdd to cart
“Why, you are crying.”
She said nothing. Dunstan pulled her toward him, wiping ineffectually at her face with his big hand; and then he leaned into her sobbing face, and, tentatively, uncertain of whether or not he was doing the correct thing given the circumstances, he kissed her, full upon the burning lips.
There was a moment of hesitation, and then her mouth opened against his, and her tongue slid into his mouth, and he was, under the strange stars, utterly, irrevocably, lost.
Honey musk, green tea leaf, blackberry leaf, vanilla bean, and fae spices.
Les BijouxSelect Options
My well-beloved was stripped. Knowing my whim,
She wore her tinkling gems, but naught besides:
And showed such pride as, while her luck betides,
A sultan’s favored slave may show to him.
When it lets off its lively, crackling sound,
This blazing blend of metal crossed with stone
Gives me an ecstasy I’ve only known
Where league of sound and lustre can be found.
She let herself be loved: then, drowsy-eyed,
Smiled down from her high couch in languid ease.
My love was deep and gentle as the seas
And rose to her as to a cliff the tide.
My own approval of each dreamy pose,
Like a tamed tiger, cunningly she sighted:
And candour, with lubricity united,
Gave piquancy to every one she chose.
Her limbs and hips, burnished with changing lustres
Before my eyes, clairvoyant and serene,
Swanned themselves, undulating in their sheen;
Her breasts and belly, of my vine the clusters,
Like evil angels rose, my fancy twitting,
To kill the peace which over me she’d thrown,
And to disturb her from the crystal throne
Where, calm and solitary, she was sitting.
So swerved her pelvis that, in one design,
Antiope’s white rump it seemed to graft
To a boy’s torso, merging fore and aft.
The talc on her brown tan seemed half-divine.
The lamp resigned its dying flame. Within,
The hearth alone lit up the darkened air,
And every time it sighed a crimson flare
It drowned in blood that amber-coloured skin.
Skin musk and honey, blood-red rose, orange blossom, white peach, red apple, frankincense and myrrh.
Matthew 18:6Add to cart
But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.
White sandalwood, honey, and champaca.
MithrasAdd to cart
“…You run into Mithras yet? Red cap. Nice kid.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well . . . I’ve never seen Mithras around here. He was an army brat. Maybe he’s back in the Middle East, taking it easy, but I expect he’s probably gone by now. It happens. One day every soldier in the empire has to shower in the blood of your sacrificial bull. The next they don’t even remember your birthday.”
Oblations of milk, oil, honey, and blood.
Mommy FortunaOut of Stock
When the first wagon drew even with the place where the unicorn lay asleep, the old woman suddenly pulled her black horse to a stop. All the other wagons stopped too and waited silently as the old woman swung herself to the ground with an ugly grace. Gliding close to the unicorn, she peered down at her for a long time, and then said, “Well. Well, bless my old husk of a heart. And here I thought Iâ€™d seen the last of them.” Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air. “If he knew,” she said and she showed pebbly teeth as she smiled. “But I don’t think I’ll tell him.”
Honey, gunpowder, and pleonectic, twopenny magics.
Monk and ActorOut of Stock
Soft auburn musk, clove bud, honeyed patchouli, oakmoss absolute, cashmere labdanum, cedar, and mimosa blossom.
Nanny AshtorethAdd to cart
She wore a knit tweed suit and discreet pearl earrings. Something about her might have said nanny, but it said it in an undertone of the sort employed by British butlers in a certain type of American film. It also coughed discreetly and muttered that she could well be the sort of nanny who advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines.
Middle Eastern flowers, amber, honey, blood red-berries, whip leather, and polished paddle wood.
NarrOut of Stock
The affable fool who uses his own obtuseness and ignorance to his advantage: milk, honey, and wild fig with ambrette seed and almond buttercream.
Ninth LashAdd to cart
Clove, honey, and helichrysum.
The scent of sexual obsession, slavery to sensual pleasure, and the undercurrent of innocence defiled utterly. Amber and honey with a touch of vanilla.
One Perfect DayOut of Stock
You did not need to creep into my heart
The way you did. You could have smiled
And knowing what you did, you have kept apart
From all my inner soul. But you beguiled
Honeyed tea rose, lavender water, red benzoin, bois de rose, and rose amber.
PepperAdd to cart
She herself had short red hair and a face which was not so much freckled as one big freckle with occasional areas of skin.
Pepper’s given first names were Pippin Galadriel Moonchild. She had been given them in a naming ceremony in a muddy valley field that contained three sick sheep and a number of leaky polythene teepees. Her mother had chosen the Welsh valley of Pant y Gyrdl as the ideal site to Return to Nature. (Six months later, sick of the rain, the mosquitoes, the men, the tent trampling sheep who ate first the whole commune’s marijuana crop and then its antique minibus, and by now beginning to glimpse why almost the entire drive of human history has been an attempt to get as far away from Nature as possible, Pepper’s mother returned to Pepper’s surprised grandparents in Tadfield, bought a bra, and enrolled in a sociology course with a deep sigh of relief.)
There are only two ways a child can go with a name like Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, and Pepper had chosen the other one: the three male Them had learned this on their first day of school, in the playground, at the age of four.
They had asked her her name, and, all innocent, she had told them.
Subsequently a bucket of water had been needed to separate Pippin Galadriel Moonchild’s teeth from Adam’s shoe. Wensleydale’s first pair of spectacles had been broken, and Brian’s sweater needed five stitches.
The Them were together from then on, and Pepper was Pepper forever, except to her mother, and (when they were feeling especially courageous, and the Them were almost out of earshot) Greasy Johnson and the Johnsonites, the village’s only other gang.
Wild English roses, French gardenia, vanilla, honey, golden ginger, blood orange, pine resin, pink pepper, crushed berries, tuberose, bergamot, and geranium.
Pomegranate Grove: AliceAdd to cart
Pumpkin DustAdd to cart
Shavings of white pumpkin rind and honey powder.
Pure ApplesauceAdd to cart
King vs Burwell
The Court claims that the Act must equate federal and state establishment of Exchanges when it defines a qualified individual as someone who (among other things) lives in the “State that established the Exchange,” 42 U. S. C. §18032(f )(1)(A). Otherwise, the Court says, there would be no qualified individuals on federal Exchanges, contradicting (for example) the provision requiring every Exchange to takethe “ ‘interests of qualified individuals’ ” into accountwhen selecting health plans. Ante, at 11 (quoting §18031(e)(1)(b)). Pure applesauce.
Our applesauce is decidedly impure: mashed apples with sugar and honey, slivered with tobacco tar and black tea.
The Moroccan Goddess of Carnal Desire. Dwelling in fresh-water springs and rivers, she is doom: her embrace drives men mad with mindless lust. Sacrifices are made to the Lady of Lust on the Summer Solstice in the hopes of placating her passions and driving her red-tinged gaze away. Black musk, blackened saffron, lemon peel, and vetiver draped over thick honey.
Queen ButterflyAdd to cart
perfumes her wings
by floating over this orchid
Russet amber and orange blossom honey, red labdanum and wild plum, golden musk and a rustle of patchouli root.
Saddypants Lion Alchemy LabAdd to cart
We simply didn’t have enough cumulative Leo energy to pull this one off.
Golden amber and sweet almond with tonka bean, peach juice, and honey musk.
Sara PezziniAdd to cart
A hint of leather and an understated vintage musk layered over the scent of lightly perspiring, honey-dusted skin.
Sed Non SatiataSelect Options
Strange goddess, brown as evening to the sight,
Whose scent is half of musk, half of havanah,
Work of some obi, Faust of the Savanah,
Ebony witch, and daughter of the night.
By far preferred to troth, or opium, or sleep,
Love vaunts the red elixir of your mouth.
My caravan of longings seeks in drouth
Your eyes, the wells at which my cares drink deep.
Through those black eyes, by which your soul respires,
Pitiless demon! pour less scorching fires.
I am no Styx nine times with flame to wed.
Nor can I turn myself to Proserpine
To break your spell, Megera libertine!
Within the dark inferno of your bed.
A pounding heartbeat coalesced into scent: demonic passion and brutal sexuality manifested through myrrh, red patchouli, cognac, honey, and tuberose and geranium in a breathy, panting veil over the darkest body musk.
SethAdd to cart
Sudanese myrrh, papyrus, champaca flower, black lotus, amber, and honeyed leather.
Sudha SegaraSelect Options
Named after the primordial ocean of milk where Lord Vishnu reclines upon the thousand-headed Naga. Sweet milk and warm, healing ginger with a touch of golden honey and our blend of Ambrosia.
Sweets to the SweetAdd to cart
One sight did catch her attention however. Scrawled on the paving stones she was walking over—and all but erased by rain and the passage of feet—the same phrase she'd seen in the bedroom of number 14: “Sweets to the sweet.” The words were so benign; why did she seem to sense menace in them? Was it in their excess, perhaps, in the sheer overabundance of sugar upon sugar, honey upon honey?
Sugar upon sugar, honey upon honey: white cane sugar and honey absolute.
The Best LiesAdd to cart
“Such a pity,” Zorya Vechernyaya told Shadow. “In my fortune for you, I should have said you would have a long life and a happy one, with many children.”
“That is why you are a good fortune-teller,” said Zorya Utrennyaya. She looked sleepy, as if it were an effort for her to be up so late. “You tell the best lies.”
The melodious sweetness of false fortunes: sugar-swept honey and rose.
The CarouselAdd to cart
Calliope music played: a Strauss waltz, stirring and occasionally discordant. The wall as they entered was hung with antique carousel horses, hundreds of them, some in need of a lick of paint, others in need of a good dusting; above them hung dozens of winged angels constructed rather obviously from female store-window mannequins; some of them bared their sexless breasts; some had lost their wigs and stared baldly and blindly down from the darkness.
And then there was the carousel.
A sign proclaimed it was the largest in the world, said how much it weighed, how many thousand lightbulbs were to be found in the chandeliers that hung from it in Gothic profusion, and forbade anyone from climbing on it or from riding on the animals.
And such animals! Shadow stared, impressed in spite of himself, at the hundreds of full-sized creatures who circled on the platform of the carousel. Real creatures, imaginary creatures, and transformations of the two: each creature was different. He saw mermaid and merman, centaur and unicorn, elephants (one huge, one tiny), bulldog, frog and phoenix, zebra, tiger, manticore and basilisk, swans pulling a carriage, a white ox, a fox, twin walruses, even a sea serpent, all of them brightly colored and more than real: each rode the platform as the waltz came to an end and a new waltz began. The carousel did not even slow down.
“What’s it for?” asked Shadow. “I mean, okay, world’s biggest, hundreds of animals, thousands of lightbulbs, and it goes around all the time, and no one ever rides it.”
“It’s not there to be ridden, not by people,” said Wednesday. “It’s there to be admired. It’s there to be.”
A place of power and possibility, of gods diabolical and celestial: glowing amber and heady cinnamon, the green of growing things and the white of thunderclaps, sweet myrrh and sacred styrax, forest moss and blood-soaked battlefields, papyrus and clay, rose petals, wildflowers, abbatoirs, and honey.
The Dream is Big Enough for EveryoneAdd to cart
We believe that the American dream is big enough for everyone, for people of all races and religions, for men and women, for immigrants, for LGBT people and for people with disabilities. For everyone.
Lilith at the Women’s March DTLA, 2018.
Nasty Woman? Nah, Nasty Tween: honeyed fig and sugar-dusted patchouli, sweet amber oud, a drop of red currant, and vanilla cream.
The Fool’s TranquilityOut of Stock
At peace with recklessness and abandon, the serenity of accepting the embrace of disorder and obliquity: pink pepper and honey.
The Illustrated WomanAdd to cart
Skin musk, smoky vanilla, pine pitch, patchouli, Indian resins, golden honey, and tobacco.
The MagusOut of Stock
The Sorcerer, the Cunning-Man, the Sage. He is the Kerux, Initiator and Psychopomp, the Divine Messenger who leads neophytes on their paths through the Mysteries and shepherds the souls to the underworld.
Honey absolute, Oman frankincense, and asphodel.
The Pleasure of Aristocratic WomenOut of Stock
Honeyed amber, teakwood, almond, and coconut.
The Sun’s TreasureAdd to cart
“Have you remembered how I do my little coin trick?” he asked Shadow with a grin.
“I have not.”
“If you can guess how I did it,” said Mad Sweeney, his lips purple, his blue eyes beclouded, “I’ll tell you if you get warm.”
“It’s not a palm is it?” asked Shadow.
“It is not.”
“Is it a gadget of some kind? Something up your sleeve or elsewhere that shoots the coins up for you to catch?”
“It is not that neither. More whiskey, anybody?”
“I read in a book about a way of doing the miser’s dream with latex covering the palm of your hand, making a skin-colored pouch for the coins to hide behind.”
“This is a sad wake for Great Sweeney who flew like a bird across all of Ireland and ate watercress in his madness: to be dead and unmourned save for a bird, a dog, and an idiot. No, it is not a pouch.”
“Well, that’s pretty much it for ideas,” said Shadow. “I expect you just take them out of nowhere.” It was meant to be sarcasm, but then he saw the expression on Sweeney’s face. “You do,” he said. “You do take them from nowhere.”
“Well, not exactly nowhere,” said Mad Sweeney. “But now you’re getting the idea. You take them from the hoard.”
“The hoard,” said Shadow, starting to remember.
“You just have to hold it in your mind, and it’s yours to take from. The sun’s treasure. It’s there in those moments when the world makes a rainbow. It’s there in the moment of eclipse and the moment of the storm.” And he showed Shadow how to do the thing. This time Shadow got it.
Radiant amber and orange blossom, golden oudh, and saffron-threaded honey.
This is Your WildernessAdd to cart
Honeyed patchouli with cypress, black pine, and tobacco absolute.
TlazolteotlOut of Stock
It is the lady of midnight and she has arrived! She of Two Faces, She Who Eats Filth, the Death Caused by Lust – Tlazolteotl – is the Aztec goddess of the regenerative function of the earth, human sexuality, and fertility. She represents the active female principle in the eternal cycle of life feeding death and death feeding life. Her arms, dressed in flayed skins, embrace mirrored principles of sin and purification: she inspires lust, depravity, overindulgence, vice, lechery, and licentiousness, and is also empowered to cleanse and forgive moral, spiritual, and fleshly sins. Her scent is a melding of her symbols and offerings: chapapote and black copal with cacao, black honey, maize, and cotton blossoms.
White RabbitOut of Stock
Strong black tea and milk with white pepper, ginger, honey and vanilla, spilled over the crisp scent of clean linen.
Who Would Not Tremble Too?Add to cart
The new discovery of “Table Moving,” by means of an unseen power from the human hand, has only been introduced into England within the last few weeks; but it would be difficult to dingle out any scientific subject which has with such rapidity, taken so extensive a hold of the popular mind. If we travel by railway carriage, steamboat, or omnibus, this is the universal topic of conversation. From the aristocratic saloons of Belgravia to the “Parlours” of Whitechapel – the Green Park to the Cat and Mutton Fields, “table moving” is all the rage. From the Royal Institution, where the secretary pokes his head through a forest of electrical apparatus, to inform the audience that the facts are established, down to the humblest Mechanics’ Institute, all are full of it, and the tables, to quote the words of the old song – “are all a moving, move, move, moving,” – Every evening party must of course have its experiments; accordingly, gentlemen come provided with very elegant chapeaux for the occasion, and many an innocent flirtation occurs consequent on the proper arrangement of the little fingers of some of the fair operators. As “sweet eighteen,” with her blue eyes and golden locks, gracefully links her little finger with Charles’s, in a retired corner, what wonder if the hat should tremble? And Charles, being of course fond of poetry (his very name is a guarantee for that), cannot resist softly breathing into Lucy’s ear, that exquisite line from Waller, on his fair one’s harp –
“Touched by that hand – who would not tremble too?”
And after a little more conversation of a strictly scientific character, they feel quite satisfied with the success of the experiment. Mamma, who has been watching the progress of the magnetic influence at a distance, “has no patience with such nonsense, and wonders young men and young women cannot find something better to do.” She forgets that there was a magnetic influence at work about twenty years since, and what little trifles served as conductors then.
– Table Moving, its causes and phenomena: with directions how to experiment
A spirit-touched courtship: sweet orange blossom, white honey, jasmine tea, white sandalwood, green apple, and lily of the valley.
Womb FurieOut of Stock
In the middle of the flanks of women lies the womb, a female viscus, closely resembling an animal; for it is moved of itself hither and thither in the flanks, also upwards in a direct line to below the cartilage of the thorax and also obliquely to the right or to the left, either to the liver or spleen; and it likewise is subject to falling downwards, and, in a word, it is altogether erratic. It delights, also, in fragrant smells, and advances towards them; and it has an aversion to fetid smells, and flees from them; and on the whole the womb is like an animal within an animal.
— Aretaeus the Cappadocian
Oh, that wily womb! Hippocrates and his followers considered the womb a mobile creature, causing mayhem as it writhed its way through a woman’s body. Sometimes this ornery organ, due to lack of sexual activity, would create conflicts within a woman’s system or would become blocked itself, causing anxiety, nervousness, water retention, and sleeplessness. With the assistance of doctors, nursemaids, hand tools, or, occasionally, self-manipulation, this vexing condition could be alleviated through hysterical paroxysms.
Or, as we call it nowadays: orgasm.
An itch that needs to be scratched: Snake Oil and three types of honey.