Love

  • #20 Love Oil

    A potent, enticing love formula, favored among Louisiana courtesans.

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  • Aizen-Myoo

    A bright, bittersweet scent honoring the Japanese Deity of Love and Passion. Aizen-Myoo is one of the vidyarajas, the Shingon’s Radiant Kings of Wisdom. Though Aizen-Myoo possesses the lust, grace and passion of both genders, he most often appears to his followers as male. His face is screwed into a fearsome demonic mask, but this is only the wrathful, fierce countenance he places over himself to guide and empower his children. Aizen-Myoo is the patron of prostitutes, of joyous, unbridled sexuality and of all forms of erotic love and is worshipped by all those in the sex industry, musicians, and – oddly – landlords.

    Yuzu, kaki, and mikan with cherry blossom and black tea.

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  • Anteros

    When he is with the lover, both cease from their pain, but when he is away then he longs as he is longed for, and has love’s image, Anteros lodging in his breast, which he calls and believes to be not love but friendship only, and his desire is as the desire of the other, but weaker; he wants to see him, touch him, kiss him, embrace him, and probably not long afterwards his desire is accomplished.

    The God of Love Returned and avenger of unrequited love, Anteros is Eros’ brother – one of the Twin Cupids – and was given to Eros by his mother, for without reciprocal affection, love will wither. He wields lead arrows and a hammer of gold, and he wields his weapons to inspire mutual ardor and smite those who spurn love. His scent pierces the heart with glimmering shards of rapture and the sweet ache of passion: throbbing red musk and shimmering chypre with saffron, sweet patchouli, Italian bergamot, red currant, and vanilla bean.

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  • Chuparosa

    The Hummingbird of Love, the Rose Sucker. A potent, benevolent, merciful love blend.

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  • Cordelia

    The essence of faith, love and devotion: lilac, lemon, green tea, wisteria, osmanthus, white cedar, and Chinese musk.

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  • Eros

    And eros again the loosener of limbs makes me tremble
    A sweet-bitter unmanageable creature.

    Myrrh, lilac, and honey wine with crimson tea leaf and sweet resins.

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  • Jareth

    “I ask for so little.
    Just let me rule you…
    and you can have everything that you want.

    Just fear me…
    …love me…
    …do as I say and I will be your slave.”

    Ethereal lilac fougere and gleaming leather with ti leaf, tonka absolute, white musk, and oudh.

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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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  • Kurukulla

    The Tibetan goddess of love and wealth. Her scent is a harmonious, sweet, enchanting blend of three lotus blooms and three roses.

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  • Laudanum

    The essence of the most debauched hunger encapsulated into a perfume. Desire beyond love, anguish beyond sanity. Nutmeg, sassafras, black poppy and myrrh.

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  • Love Me

    A commanding, dominant oil that increases sexual magnetism, creates an intense and irresistible air of attraction, and amplifies potency.

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  • Love-In-Idleness

    Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
    It fell upon a little western flower,
    Before, milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,
    And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

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  • Osun

    The Goddess of the Hand Mirror, Maiden of Love. Osun is the Goddess of beauty, love, enchantment, elegance, and pleasure. Her charm and incomparable lovliness is such that it can be felt, sensed, and not merely seen. Osun holds the secrets of our deepest and most complex feelings. She is intuition, pure and idealized love, the tingling sensation of pleasurable anticipation, the sensual movement of seduction and sexuality, and quick breath before climax. Osun is the pleasure of the senses, refinement, and the patroness of artistic endeavors that bring delight to the world. She compels us to express our deepest, truest feelings, and is the mother of our tears of happiness, tears of bitter grief, and the swelling of our hearts with love, hate, lust and fierce joy. She is the harlot and the virgin, who bestows unbridled carnal pleasure and also shows the path to purity of the spirit and virtuous intentions. She represents tenacity, the will to live and the drive to acquire, and the desire for achievement and fine possessions. She is the sublimely sweet and the revolting sour that we taste in life. She is charm used to every conceivable end, and is credited with bringing currency and the concept of money into the world, and is therefore the Patroness of Prostitutes and Courtesans. She is a great Witch, and has a multitude of brews, charms, and potions and always has a trick up her billowing, beautiful yellow sleeves. She is the youngest of the Orishas, and is a symbol of the most recent of nature’s evolutions: civilization. She teaches us to take care of ourselves, to pamper ourselves, and to find and express the beauty in ourselves, in others, and in our world. She is the sweet water of the stream, sustaining life. She is the Goddess of fine art, debate, sanitation, grooming, oratory arts, and temples and theatres. She is the act of landing the settlement that becomes a nation. She shows us that time must be made for leisure, amusement and contemplation, for a life of unending toil is an affront to her gifts, and diminishes the quality of life itself, and cripples our ability to conceive new, innovative ideas and create compelling works of art. All work and no play is not an option. It is Osun that provides us with the security, safety, comfort and prosperity that we require in order to make time for leisurely pursuits. Osun is the mirror that mankind holds up to itself, and she is the principle upon which all art is born. Osun’s symbols are hand mirrors, brass fans, brass needles, brass bells, sunflowers, and her creatures are the cricket and the peacock.

    Her ofrenda is thick with honey and herbs of love, passion and desire.

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  • Oya

    Lady of the Wind, Goddess of the Nine Skirts, the Lady of War, the Bearded Amazon, the Thundermaiden. Beautiful, tempestuous, elegant and graceful, She is the fury of the hurricane, the breath in our lungs, the air that cools us, the breeze that chills us, the winds that blow seeds that fertilize the land, the winds that pass disease throughout villages and townships, the moan of the wind within the cemetery, and the fury of the tempest that tears the landscape asunder. Oya is the sweeping wind of change and upheaval, She is revolution and progress, and She forces the destruction of old ideals while sweeping away our useless baggage; the broom is a symbol of Her force for change. As the Mistress that commands hurricanes, cyclones, and tornados, she tears down that which is old and decaying, compelling Her children to begin building anew. In Her hands She holds a mask, as Her presence is most often felt and not seen, and none have seen Oya’s true face. She is the moment at which the seasons change, the transition from life to death, and as the Lady of the Cemetery, it is to Her that we commit our final breath. Her closest friend is Iku, the Orisha of Death, and it is their responsibility to see to it that the natural order remains undisturbed. Once a man’s final breath is expelled, Oya takes it to Iku, who brings the spirit to the cemetery gates and then to its next passage. One of her symbols is the bed, as nightly we imitate death in sleep. Because of her close relationship with Death, the Goddess is very close to the Egungun, the spirits of our ancestors. Oya is the Goddess of the Marketplace in which fortunes and goods spin in a never-ending whirlwind of exchange, change, and flux. She is the wind that precedes the thunderstorm, and it is in this that She is seen as Shango’s companion and partner in battle, and without Oya, there is little that Shango can accomplish. She fans the fires of Shango’s blazes, and is the forked lightning that touches the treetops. Proud and willful, Oya is also a Goddess of War. Her wrath is so terrible and so devastating that none may behold her rage and survive. Oya has nine children and nine colors, and her symbols are weathervanes, windmills, kites, balloons, propeller planes, wind instruments, pinwheels, two naked swords, and buffalo horns.

    Oya’s ofrenda is a Nigerian potion of love and war, sweetened by darkest plum. Oya winiwini!

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  • Prince Lír

    “Heroes,” Prince Lír replied sadly. “Heroes know about order, about happy endings – heroes know that some things are better than others. Carpenters know grains and shingles, and straight lines.” He put his hands out to the Lady Amalthea, and took one step toward her. She did not draw back from him, nor turn her face; indeed, she lifted her head higher, and it was the prince who looked away.

    “You were the one who taught me,” he said. “I never looked at you without seeing the sweetness of the way the world goes together, or without sorrow for its spoiling. I became a hero to serve you, and all that is like you. Also to find some way of starting a conversation.”

    Chivalry, love, and sacrifice. A noble cologne touched by a sweet sadness: vanilla fougere, bright citrus, juniper berry, ambergris accord, and basil.

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  • Sjöfn

    Seventh is Sjofn. She is much concerned to direct people’s minds to love, both women and men. Our song to the Norse Goddess of Love is scented with apples and birch and bound with apple blossoms.

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  • The Amorous Tree

    “Gently, gently,’ he counseled himself. “No man with the power to summon Robin Hood – indeed, to create him – can be bound for long. A word, a wish, and this tree must be an acorn on a branch again, this rope be green in a marsh.’ But he knew before he called on it that whatever had visited him for a moment was gone again, leaving only an ache where it had been. He felt like an abandoned chrysalis.

    “Do as you will,’ he said softly. Captain Cully roused at his voice, and sang the fourteenth stanza.

    “There are fifty swords without the house, and fifty more within,
    And I do fear me, captain, they are like to do us in.’
    “Ha’ done, ha’ done,’ says Captain Cully, “and never fear again,
    For they may be a hundred swords, but we are seven men.’

    “I hope you get slaughtered,’ the magician told him, but Cully was asleep again. Schmendrick attempted a few simple spells for escaping, but he could not use his hands, and he had no more heart for tricks. What happened instead was that the tree fell in love with him and began to murmur fondly of the joy to be found in the eternal embrace of a red oak. “Always, always,’ it sighed, “faithfulness beyond any man’s deserving. I will keep the color of your eyes when no other in the world remembers your name. There is no immortality but a tree’s love.’

    “I’m engaged,’ Schmendrick excused himself. “To a western larch. Since childhood. Marriage by contract, no choice in the matter. Hopeless. Our story is never to be.’

    A gust of fury shook the oak, as though a storm were coming to it alone. “Galls and fireblight on her!’ it whispered savagely. “Damned softwood, cursed conifer, deceitful evergreen, she’ll never have you! We will perish together, and all trees shall treasure our tragedy!’

    Along his length Schmendrick could feel the tree heaving like a heart, and he feared that it might actually split in two with rage. The ropes were growing steadily tighter around him, and the night was beginning to turn red and yellow. He tried to explain to the oak that love was generous precisely because it could never be immortal, and then he tried to yell for Captain Cully, but he could only make a small, creaking sound, like a tree. She means well, he thought, and gave himself up for loved.

    A tree in love: misty, rose-flecked leaves, warm bark, and shuddering branches.

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  • 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.

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  • The Phantom Wooer

    A ghost, that loved a lady fair,
    Ever in the starry air
    Of midnight at her pillow stood;
    And, with a sweetness skies above
    The luring words of human love,
    Her soul the phantom wooed.
    Sweet and sweet is their poisoned note,
    The little snakes’ of silver throat,
    In mossy skulls that nest and lie,
    Ever singing “die, oh! die.”

    Young soul, put off your flesh, and come
    With me into the quiet tomb,
    Our bed is lovely, dark, and sweet;
    The earth will swing us, as she goes,
    Beneath our coverlid of snows,
    And the warm leaden sheet.

    Dear and dear is their poisoned note,
    The little snakes’ of silver throat,
    In mossy skulls that nest and lie,
    Ever singing “die, oh! die.”

    A lifeless love song: stargazer lily, bone dust, tomb mosses, buttonweed, moonflower, and honey myrtle.

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  • Vicomte de Valmont

     I promised her my eternal love, and I actually thought that for a couple of hours. 

    Rake, scoundrel, demon in a frock coat. Devilishly seductive, ultimately tragic; a villain undone and redeemed by love. Based on an 18th century gentlemen’s cologne: ambergris, white musk, white sandalwood, Spanish Moss, orange blossom, three mints, jasmine, rose geranium and a spike of rosemary.

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