Lily

  • Arachnina, The Spider Girl

    You move towards the first stage on your right, and as you walk, you feel something brush across your cheek. Something about the softness of the phantom caress makes your skin crawl, and you flinch involuntarily. At that moment, the Spider Girl strides haughtily onto the platform, her stiletto heels clicking a strange staccato as she walks. Her body is wrapped in skin-tight strips of black PVC, and the gleaming vinyl glistens in stark contrast to the alabaster skin on her six pale, white arms. She gestures to the rafters above with a graceful flick of her blood-red nails. In dread, your eyes are drawn skyward: above her, in a gossamer snare, web-shrouded bodies twist and struggle.

    A swirling, hypnotic perfume of black currant, poppy, red and black musk, lilies, nicotiana, tobacco tar, and patchouli.

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  • Ave Maria Gratia Plena

    Was this His coming! I had hoped to see
    A scene of wondrous glory, as was told
    Of some great God who in a rain of gold
    Broke open bars and fell on Danae:
    Or a dread vision as when Semele
    Sickening for love and unappeased desire
    Prayed to see God’s clear body, and the fire
    Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly:
    With such glad dreams I sought this holy place,
    And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand
    Before this supreme mystery of Love:
    Some kneeling girl with passionless pale face,
    An angel with a lily in his hand,
    And over both the white wings of a Dove.

    A pale, delicate, truly angelic blend. A scent created to emulate Adonis’ halo of beauty: fragile, distant, and radiant. Rosewood with Sicilian lemon peel, red Mysore sandalwood, pale musks, sweet mountain sage and a dusting of lily, night-blooming jasmine and orris.

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  • Cock Stamen

    Red orchid, dragon’s blood resin, blood orange, black lily, honey amber, and cacao

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  • 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.

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  • Kubla Khan

    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree:
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.

    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers were girdled round:
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
    But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
    A savage place! as holy and enchanted
    As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced:
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
    And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
    And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war!

    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
    It was a miracle of rare device,
    A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw:
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
    That with music loud and long
    I would build that dome in air,
    That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
    Weave a circle round him thrice,
    And close your eyes with holy dread,
    For he on honey-dew hath fed
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.

    Through sunlit caves of ice, roses unfurl amidst dancing waves of serpentine opium smoke and amber tobacco, golden sandalwood, champaca, tea leaf, sugared lily, ginger, rich hay absolute, leather, dark vanilla, mandarin, peru balsam, and Moroccan jasmine.

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  • Lampades

    The Lampades are the darkly beautiful nymphs of the underworld, also called the Lethe Nymphae Avernales. They are the daughters of the Gods that govern the many rivers of Hades. The Lampades are Hecate’s torch-bearers and accompany the Goddess on her hunts, quests and revels. Their scent is the crisp, inviting bittersweet tang of cranberry with smoky dark lilies, heady, sensual musk, a tingle of ginger and a brush of Mediterranean spices.

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  • Languor

    An opiate torpor, soporific, trancelike, and sublimely languid. A poet’s morphine dream, a listless journey into a gentle dream and the precipice of intoxicated madness. Paperwhite and black narcissus, three lilies, black poppy and tuberose and a hint of hypnotic opium den haze.

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  • Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free

    There are several scents this year that are inspired by Lilith’s performance in the Tempest, and this one was born from the triumphant smile on her face as she held the flowers her family brought for her.

    A cluster of peonies, carnations, roses, lilies and sweet pea cascading over a bright vanilla smile.

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  • Lilith Nightingale

    Whenever I’m sick, tired, or just run down, Lilith always tries to help out. She’s always helpful, but when someone is feeling poorly, she’s an absolute angel.

    This year, now that she’s a little bit older, she’s taken to cooking a bit here and there. Here, she’s stealing my Evil Dead shirt and making kitchari for me. I was feeling under the weather, and she wanted to take care of me. Oh my GOD, I love this kid.

    (She’s taken to wearing protective goggles that Brian gave her every time she cooks.)

    A bundle of Ayurvedic spices warmed in cream, with a little bit of dried fig and sweet dates.

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  • Moscow

    A rich, bold blend of imperial rose, carnation, lush jasmine, lily of the valley, dark musk, amber, bergamot and gilded tangerine.

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  • Prague

    For Jenny, with love. Crocus with snowdrop and three lilies.

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  • The Blood Garden

    Vast open tents have been erected further down the lane. Ornately carved wooden poles support swaths of drooping black lace and blood-crusted burgundy velvet. Grapevines and ivy creep over the beams in the tent and curl like cocoons around bodies that hang upside-down in the caliginous gloom of the tents. Within the shadows, pale figures recline on divans covered in moldering, frayed fabric. As you pass, a feral, white-haired man hoists a tall-stemmed crystal glass of deep red liquid in a toast to you.

    Blood accord, bitter clove, English ivy, Tempranillo grape, red currant, oak, leather, blackberry leaf, and ginger lily.

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  • The Forest Reverie

    ‘Tis said that when
    The hands of men
    Tamed this primeval wood,
    And hoary trees with groans of woe,
    Like warriors by an unknown foe,
    Were in their strength subdued,
    The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
    To springs that ne’er did flow
    That in the sun Did rivulets run,
    And all around rare flowers did blow
    The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
    And the queenly lily adown the dale
    (Whom the sun and the dew
    And the winds did woo),
    With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew.

    So when in tears
    The love of years
    Is wasted like the snow,
    And the fine fibrils of its life
    By the rude wrong of instant strife
    Are broken at a blow
    Within the heart
    Do springs upstart
    Of which it doth now know,
    And strange, sweet dreams,
    Like silent streams
    That from new fountains overflow,
    With the earlier tide
    Of rivers glide
    Deep in the heart whose hope has died —
    Quenching the fires its ashes hide, —
    Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
    Sweet flowers, ere long,
    The rare and radiant flowers of song!

    A sunlit ancient forest, dotted with wild roses, grape vine, and queenly lilies, clothed in swirls of opium smoke.

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  • 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.

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  • Voodoo Lily

    Amorphallus, indeed. A breathtakingly exotic, wild, and grossly erotic spicy gold, purple-black, and burgundy lily.

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  • Whole Unto Herself

    Life imposes so many restrictions on us as we climb through the years: responsibilities, challenges, hardship. Lilith, my baby, may you soar through it with exuberance and grace. Never lose your joy and your sense of self, the triumph of daily pleasures, and the freedom of your soul. May the sorrows of the world never calcify around you; may the sorrows of the world never dim your light or silence your song.

    A prayer for my daughter: frankincense, rose, and white lilies.

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