Muguet

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    Cherry Blossoms in a Waterfall Perfume Oil

    Wet cherry blossoms, muguet, and crystalline white musk.

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  • Cracked Mirrors Perfume Oil

    Glass crazed and blackened with age reveals fleeting glimpses of ghostly figures, here one moment and gone the next.

    A blur of white sandalwood, orris, ambergris accord, and muguet passing behind shattered silver gilt.

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  • Discarded Sandal Perfume Oil

    Beeswax, hinoki wood, Japanese black pine, juniper, tolu balsam, and muguet.

    Out of Stock
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    Ganymede’s Junk Perfume Oil

    White sandalwood, pink carnation, clove bud, muguet, and vanilla absolute.

    Out of Stock
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    Grief Perfume Oil

    It is not well, therefore, to mourn long for the departed; else Grief, whose sole pleasure is in such mourning, will be quick to send fresh cause for tears.

    Inconsolable: lily of the valley, hyacinth, calamus, muguet, hydrangea, and elemi.

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  • Insatiable Woman Perfume Oil

    Lemon blossom and spearmint with muguet, cedarwood, amber musk, yellow bergamot, and magnolia blossoms.

    Out of Stock
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    Lithograph of a Mountain Goat Perfume Oil

    H Weir

    White sandalwood, black pepper, muguet, agarwood, labdanum, and 3-year aged patchouli.

    Out of Stock
  • MUGUET, TEA ROSE, AND YLANG YLANG
  • Pele Perfume Oil

    Whimsical, temperamental, radiant and ravishingly beautiful Goddess of Volcanoes, Fire, Lightning and Dance. She is the Mother of Eruptions and the personification of destructive power. Volcanic eruptions are said to be a side-effect of her jealous rages and her epic quarrels with her siblings are legendary. This perfume embodies her gentler, benign aspect as the capricious Goddess of Dance: muguet and Hawaiian white ginger enveloped by warm, damp tropical blooms.

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    Sapphics Perfume Oil

    All the night sleep came not upon my eyelids,
    Shed not dew, nor shook nor unclosed a feather,
    Yet with lips shut close and with eyes of iron
    Stood and beheld me.

    Then to me so lying awake a vision
    Came without sleep over the seas and touched me,
    Softly touched mine eyelids and lips; and I too,
    Full of the vision,

    Saw the white implacable Aphrodite,
    Saw the hair unbound and the feet unsandalled
    Shine as fire of sunset on western waters;
    Saw the reluctant

    Feet, the straining plumes of the doves that drew her,
    Looking always, looking with necks reverted,
    Back to Lesbos, back to the hills whereunder
    Shone Mitylene;

    Heard the flying feet of the Loves behind her
    Make a sudden thunder upon the waters,
    As the thunder flung from the strong unclosing
    Wings of a great wind.

    So the goddess fled from her place, with awful
    Sound of feet and thunder of wings around her;
    While behind a clamour of singing women
    Severed the twilight.

    Ah the singing, ah the delight, the passion!
    All the Loves wept, listening; sick with anguish,
    Stood the crowned nine Muses about Apollo;
    Fear was upon them,

    While the tenth sang wonderful things they knew not.
    Ah the tenth, the Lesbian! the nine were silent,
    None endured the sound of her song for weeping;
    Laurel by laurel,

    Faded all their crowns; but about her forehead,
    Round her woven tresses and ashen temples
    White as dead snow, paler than grass in summer,
    Ravaged with kisses,

    Shone a light of fire as a crown for ever.
    Yea, almost the implacable Aphrodite
    Paused, and almost wept; such a song was that song.
    Yea, by her name too

    Called her, saying, “Turn to me, O my Sappho;”
    Yet she turned her face from the Loves, she saw not
    Tears for laughter darken immortal eyelids,
    Heard not about her

    Fearful fitful wings of the doves departing,
    Saw not how the bosom of Aphrodite
    Shook with weeping, saw not her shaken raiment,
    Saw not her hands wrung;

    Saw the Lesbians kissing across their smitten
    Lutes with lips more sweet than the sound of lute-strings,
    Mouth to mouth and hand upon hand, her chosen,
    Fairer than all men;

    Only saw the beautiful lips and fingers,
    Full of songs and kisses and little whispers,
    Full of music; only beheld among them
    Soar, as a bird soars

    Newly fledged, her visible song, a marvel,
    Made of perfect sound and exceeding passion,
    Sweetly shapen, terrible, full of thunders,
    Clothed with the wind’s wings.

    Then rejoiced she, laughing with love, and scattered
    Roses, awful roses of holy blossom;
    Then the Loves thronged sadly with hidden faces
    Round Aphrodite,

    Then the Muses, stricken at heart, were silent;
    Yea, the gods waxed pale; such a song was that song.
    All reluctant, all with a fresh repulsion,
    Fled from before her.

    All withdrew long since, and the land was barren,
    Full of fruitless women and music only.
    Now perchance, when winds are assuaged at sunset,
    Lulled at the dewfall,

    By the grey sea-side, unassuaged, unheard of,
    Unbeloved, unseen in the ebb of twilight,
    Ghosts of outcast women return lamenting,
    Purged not in Lethe,

    Clothed about with flame and with tears, and singing
    Songs that move the heart of the shaken heaven,
    Songs that break the heart of the earth with pity,
    Hearing, to hear them.
    —Algernon Charles Swinburne

    Tonka, oakmoss, tolu balsam, grey amber, myrrh, and muguet.

    Out of Stock
  • Shoggoth Perfume Oil

    It was a terrible, indescribable thing vaster than any subway train – a shapeless congerie of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over the tunnel-filling front that bore down upon us, crushing the frantic penguins and slithering over the glistening floor that it and its kind had swept so evilly free of all litter.

    An amorphous, radiant, incandescent scent. Ever changing, protoplasmic and primordial: white amber, green coconut meat, iris, palmarosa, Chinese peony, lime, water lily, snowdrop, muguet, lemongrass, osmanthus, wisteria, glassy musk, and hinoki.

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    Sip of Glass Perfume Oil

    Cheers! Shards of white musk and brittle white olibanum glinting with muguet, Riesling grapes, ambergris accord, and elemi.

    Out of Stock
  • The Lady of Shalott Perfume Oil

    Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
    Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
    Till her blood was frozen slowly,
    And her eyes were darkened wholly,
    Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.
    For ere she reach’d upon the tide
    The first house by the water-side,
    Singing in her song she died,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    The scent of calm waters just before a raging storm, limned with achingly-beautiful blooms, an icy scent, but somehow warm, and mirror-bright: bold gardenia, crystalline musk, muguet, water blossoms, clear, slightly tart aquatic notes and a crush of white ginger.

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  • The Solitude of Springtime Perfume Oil

    Cherry blossoms, dew-covered grass, muguet, white musk, golden apple, and pear.

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    Tiresias, The Androgyne Perfume Oil

    Upon the next stage, a spotlight is focused on a mammoth bronze sculpture of two snakes entwined. Their bodies are wrapped around each other in an intimate embrace, and their tongues touch suggestively. The deep, somber boom of a standing bass leads into a twelve-string guitar’s plaintive moan, and as the music swells, a stunning, statuesque woman steps out from behind the statue, her fierce and regal face in profile. The spotlight dims to a deep amber-red, and shines a dark, sanguine light onto her, tinting her long, wild hair the color of blood. She sings:

    Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless.
    Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless.
    Little white flowers will never awaken you,
    Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you.
    Angels have no thought of ever returning you.
    Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?
    Gloomy Sunday.

    She turns, and abruptly faces left. Her features are coarser, more masculine, and you notice the rough, dusky shadow of an evening beard on the singer’s face. On this side, the hair is cropped short, and as s/he sighs and begins the next verse, you hear the voice deepen to a weathered, sorrowful baritone.

    Gloomy is Sunday; with shadows I spend it all.
    My heart and I have decided to end it all.
    Soon there’ll be candles and prayers that are sad, I know.
    Death is no dream, for in death I’m caressing you.
    With the last breath of my soul I’ll be blessing you.
    Gloomy Sunday.

    The singer turns to face the audience, and your senses reel. On the left side, the features are sharp, but feminine. You can see the curve of her breast, the soft fullness of her hips, the arch of her fine brow. On the right, it is the body of an Adonis, muscular and commanding. You see that a thick seam runs down the center of the body, stitched roughly.

    Though the vision is disconcerting, the warmth and passion in the singer’s voice swells inside your heart, and you are spellbound. Enraptured, you realize that though the gender is opposed on either side, one soul binds the whole.

    Dark, moody, and bittersweet: black currant, patchouli, tobacco, cinnamon leaf, caramel, muguet, and red sandalwood.

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  • Vase De Lilas a La Fenetre Perfume Oil

    Mary Cassatt
    Freshly-cut lilacs with a touch of amber, bourbon vanilla, and muguet.

    Out of Stock
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    We Must Love One Another or Die Perfume Oil

    For the past several years, it has been increasingly challenging crafting Lupercalia. How difficult it is to think of love or lust or beauty when we are slowly suffocating in the grip of an increasingly authoritarian regime! Objectively and intellectually, I know that we all need joyful release and rest from care, and that a series like Lupercalia is traditionally a balm for grief and sorrow, but emotionally… it’s sometimes hard to shift gears towards romance and passion when you’re being confronted daily with so much grief and suffering. I want to craft a series filled with laughter, silliness, and joy, but sometimes it’s so hard.

    I’m reminded of a snippet of a poem of WH Auden’s: September 1, 1939 –

    All I have is a voice
    To undo the folded lie,
    The romantic lie in the brain
    Of the sensual man-in-the-street
    And the lie of Authority
    Whose buildings grope the sky:
    There is no such thing as the State
    And no one exists alone;
    Hunger allows no choice
    To the citizen or the police;
    We must love one another or die.

    Defenceless under the night
    Our world in stupor lies;
    Yet, dotted everywhere,
    Ironic points of light
    Flash out wherever the Just
    Exchange their messages;
    May I, composed like them
    Of Eros and of dust,
    Belaguered by the same
    Negation and despair,
    Show an affirming flame.

    I offer you some smut and a few lines of love and longing in the hopes that we can keep our affirming flames burning during these dark and tumultuous times: white rose, muguet, white sandalwood, ambrette seed, vetiver, and smoke.

    Out of Stock