13 is significant, whether you consider it lucky, unlucky or just plain odd. Many believe it to be unfortunate…
…because there were 13 present at the Last Supper.
…Loki crashed a party of 12 at Valhalla, which ended in Baldur’s death.
…Oinomaos killed 13 of Hippodamia’s suitors before Pelops finally, in his own shady way, defeated the jealous king.
…In ancient Rome, Hecate’s witches gathered in groups of 12, the Goddess herself being the 13th in the coven.
Concern over the number thirteen echoes back beyond the Christian era. Line 13 was omitted form the Code of Hammurabi.
The shivers over Friday the 13th also have some interesting origins:
…Christ was allegedly crucified on Friday the 13th.
…On Friday, October 13, 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the arrests of Jaques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and sixty of his senior knights.
…In British custom, hangings were held on Fridays, and there were 13 steps on the gallows leading to the noose.
To combat the superstition, Robert Ingersoll and the Thirteen Club held thirteen-men dinners during the 19th Century. Successful? Hardly. The number still invokes trepidation to this day. A recent whimsical little serial killer study showed that the following murderers all have names that total thirteen letters:
Albert De Salvo
John Wayne Gacy
And, with a little stretch of the imagination, you can also fit “Jack the Ripper” and “Charles Manson” into that equation.
More current-era paranoia: modern schoolchildren stop their memorization of the multiplication tables at 12. There were 13 Plutonium slugs in the atomic bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki. Apollo 13 wasn’t exactly the most successful space mission. All of these are things that modern triskaidekaphobes point to when justifying their fears.
For some, 13 is an extremely fortuitous and auspicious number…
…In Jewish tradition, God has 13 Attributes of Mercy. Also, there were 13 tribes of Israel, 13 principles of Jewish faith, and 13 is considered the age of maturity.
…The ancient Egyptians believed that there were 12 stages of spiritual achievement in this lifetime, and a 13th beyond death.
…The word for thirteen, in Chinese, sounds much like the word which means “must be alive”.
Thirteen, whether you love it or loathe it, is a pretty cool number all around.
…In some theories of relativity, there are 13 dimensions.
…It is a prime number, lucky number, star number, Wilson Prime, and Fibonacci number.
…There are 13 Archimedean solids.
…There were 13 original colonies when the United States were founded.
Says a lot about the US, doesn’t it?
During this distinctly ill-omened time, we’ve constructed a scent comprised of thirteen comforting, soothing notes, including three chocolates, coffee husk, molasses, smoked sugar cane, rum absolute, almond, cozy cardamom, black sage, coconut meat, red benzoin, and bourbon vanilla pod.
2013: Steel PhoenixAdd to cart
On November 22 – thanks to our brilliant, beautiful Web Goddess, Kaitlin – the Thirteenth Labor of Hercules was completed, and we were able to introduce our new web site design. Kaitlin, you are amazing and we love you.
2013 ushered in our Dark Crystal Skeksi series, our Gatekeeper scent for Lone Shark’s Maze of Games, the Miskatonic Valley Philharmonic (with special thanks to Erich Zann, Principal Conductor and Music Director, and the illustrious Aylesbury Star Cult Temple Choir), Black Phoenix Trading Post’s sculpture for Neil Gaiman’s All Hallow’s Read, and the Festival, a Yuletide homage to Lovecraft.
This year also brought BPAL and Haute Macabre together for our first collaboration. Samantha, you are an inspiration, and it is a joy working with you.
Witching time in the hills of Arkham: patchouli and bourbon vanilla, crumbling autumn leaves, sweet black vetiver, and a thin, grey sliver of bonfire smoke.
2017: Crystal PhoenixAdd to cart
Fifteen goddamn years. We’re impossible to kill, and we have kept on fighting the good fight with a panoply of scents benefiting environmental, constitutional rights, and reproductive rights causes, including Lordy, Alternative Facts, Fake News, Nevertheless She Persisted, Theoi Nomioi, and Take A Knee. We released several single notes benefiting those affected by 2017’s natural disasters, and introduced Spiced Rum Buttercream Coffee and Irish Coffee Buttercream, which benefit the National Center for Transgender Equality.
To celebrate the premiere of Starz’s American Gods TV series, we revamped and expanded Neil Gaiman’s American Gods perfume line with brand new scents, a range of nail lacquers, and brand new artwork by the inimitable Julie Dillon.
In June of 2017, Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Brian Constantine got hitched! The ceremony and reception were held at the Mountain View Mausoleum, and was the most beautiful wedding that I have ever seen.
The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. An earthy scent, with deep, deep roots, bringing stability and security in tumultuous times: 15-year aged patchouli, bourbon vanilla, oakmoss, Himalayan cedar, tobacco leaf, birch tar, tonka bean, and leather accord.
A Hailstorm of Knitting-NeedlesAdd to cart
“At a late period in the evening, after nearly three hours of experiment, Mrs Hayden having risen, and talking at another table while taking refreshment, a child suddenly called out, ‘Will all the spirits who have been here this evening rap together?’ The words were no sooner uttered than a hailstorm of knitting-needles was heard, crowded into certainly less than two seconds; the big needle sounds of the men, and the little ones of the women and children, being clearly distinguishable, but perfectly disorderly in their arrival.”
– Augustus de Morgan
Polished mahogany and black tea with a clatter of vanilla husk and oak wood.
Spun sugar, frankincense, white rose, mallow root, red currant, and vanilla mint.
Alternative FactsAdd to cart
The truth hurts — so why tell it? Muffle the blow with Alternative Facts.
FACT: Following White House advisor Kellyanne Conway’s January 22 appearance on “Meet The Press,” sales of George Orwell’s 1984 skyrocketed, making it the fifth-best selling book on Amazon.com.
ALTERNATIVE FACT: In under a week, President Trump’s administration has already managed to improve literacy, reflecting the public’s renewed interest in privatized education, as well as its rejection of the mainstream media in favor of more “traditional” forms of information-gathering.
See how easy that is? With the help of Alternative Facts, even the most unpalatable among us can preside over a gallery of glittering, candy-coated delusions — one in which reality itself conforms to our beliefs, sincerely-held or otherwise.
ALTERNATIVE FACTS: If you truly want to obfuscate what you really smell like, this is the scent for you! Sugar-crusted vanilla, a firecracker-blast of cherry and sour lemon, a hint of scuttling spiders, encroaching fog, and trumpets of bombast, bluff, and bluster.
Like its companion scent Fake News, proceeds from Alternative Facts will benefit the ACLU.
Apple Butter RumAdd to cart
Spiced rum with cinnamon, apple butter, nutmeg, and thick vanilla cream.
AshlultumAdd to cart
Babylonian musk, vanilla tea, tonka, tobacco, coconut, hyssop, and lilac.
Australian CopperheadAdd to cart
Snake Oil with acai berry, amber, cardamom, white sandalwood, neroli, and smoked vanilla.
It’s always a bit weird with family. A scant two-hundred years old, there doesn’t seem to be anything that roots Ava to her past. Her scent is utterly contemporary, and, like her personality, it is impulsive, capricious, and dangerous. Voluptuous and brittle, lovely and toxic: sheer vanilla musk with tuberose, red mandarin, and the sweet poison of white almond.
AvengerAdd to cart
Inspired by the character CHRISTINE SPAR.
A fashionable and fiery journalist who adopts the Grendel persona to avenge the death of her only child and is consumed by the dark identity.
Plush vanilla bourbon and rum accord with pink pepper, patchouli, clove, pikaki, golden amber, caraway, tuberose, and jacarandá-da-bahia.
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.
Beauty, The AggrievedAdd to cart
A white rose draped by a delicate, pale, sheer veil of vanilla, the depth and darkness of her black lace embodied by tobacco absolute, Indonesian patchouli, Bulgarian oakmoss, frankincense, white sandalwood, and myrrh.
Belle ÉpoqueSelect options
“The Pretty Era”, France’s Golden Time: an age of beauty, innovation and peace in France that lasted from the 19th Century through the first World War and gave birth to the cabaret, the cancan, and the cinema as well as the Impressionist and Art Nouveau movements. Sweet opium, Lily of the Valley, vanilla, mandarin and red sandalwood.
BooberAdd to cart
According to Boober Fraggle, there are only two things certain in this world: death and laundry. Boober is terrified by the former and fascinated by the latter. He is also paranoid and superstitious. According to Boober, anything that can go wrong surely will, and when it does, it will inevitably happen to him.
A fretfully clean scent: freshly-washed laundry, linden blossom, soap suds, and a sprinkle of vanilla.
Carnaval DiaboliqueAdd to cart
Straight from the twisted alleys of Dis, by way of the City of Angels: opium smoke, lemon flower, heliotrope, tuberose, black musk, vanilla, coconut, apricot flower.
Cemetery CreepAdd to cart
This summer, Brian got married at the Mountain View Mausoleum. As a side benefit, the Barrials got to spend hours skulking around its beautiful, cavernous halls in the weeks leading up to the event. Lilith loves the vast quietness of the mausoleum almost as much as she enjoys playing tag in the cemetery, and wandered the halls doing impromptu math equations to figure out how old people were when they passed.
I love this little cemetery creep with all my cobwebby heart.
Marble-white musk, orris root, and vanilla blossom.
CrowleyAdd to cart
Nothing about him looked particularly demonic, at least by classical standards. No horns, no wings. Admittedly he was listening to a Best of Queen tape, but no conclusions should be drawn from this because all tapes left in a car for more than a fortnights metamorphose into Best of Queen albums. No particularly demonic thoughts were going through his head. In fact, he was wondering vaguely who Moey and Chandon were.
Crowley had dark hair, and good cheekbones, and he was wearing snakeskin shoes, or at least presumably he was wearing shoes, and he could do really weird things with his tongue. And, whenever he forgot himself, he had a tendency to hiss.
Infernal musk, red patchouli, lilac cologne, mahogany, lemon rind, oakmoss, leather, and vanilla husk.
CythereaAdd to cart
White sandalwood, patchouli, white amber, orris, bourbon vanilla, champaca flower, and kush.
DaybreakAdd to cart
Just a photo of Lilith and Pickle that I took one morning. I love this little human so, so much.
Last night’s lavender drops and a whiff of Pickle’s vanilla coconut pupper shampoo.
Death AdderAdd to cart
Snake Oil with vetiver, black coconut, vanilla, and opoponax.
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.
The overwhelming agony of passion crystallized into a singularly dark and magnetic blend: bittersweet neroli, black patchouli and black musk, gilded by apple, bergamot, blood red rose, teak, and vanilla.
Detestable PutrescenceAdd to cart
Inspired by Gris Grimly's illustrations for the Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar.
Melty vanilla ice cream!
Do All the Good You CanAdd to cart
Lilith has been involved with our humanitarian and philanthropic work for several years, helping with fundraising events like our food, toy, and feminine napkin drives; she has taken the initiative a few times now, setting up her own fundraisers for the UNHCR and Pasadena Humane Society. This year, we decided that she’s old enough to do the footwork, and she volunteered with us twice in serving those currently experiencing homelessness. This photo is from Christmas Day 2017: Lilith spent several hours helping us distribute food, toiletries, and sleeping bags in Hollywood.
Madagascar vanilla and sweet patchouli with Yule pine, white fig, and almond blossom.
The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.
Inspired by and created for my beloved Tedwin: my eternal, beautiful, wicked Dorian Gray. Refined, elegant, and lovely, with a noble bearing and seemingly gentle air. This blend is an artful deception: a sweet gilded blossom lying over a twisted and corrupted core. A Victorian fougere with three pale musks and dark, sugared vanilla tea.
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.
Eat MeSelect options
Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words ‘EAT ME’ were beautifully marked in currants.
‘Well, I’ll eat it,’ said Alice, ‘and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I’ll get into the garden, and I don’t care which happens!’
She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, ‘Which way? Which way?’, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.
Three white cakes, vanilla, and red and black currants.
BPAL’s Eat Me is not for eating. Please use common sense, and remember: perfume oils are for external use only.
All the glory, warmth and majesty of the sun — darkened. A delicious blend of bitter almond, vanilla, frankincense and heliotrope, with a drop of cinnamon.
EmmaAdd to cart
Better known as the “Parisian Queen of America,” needs little introduction in this country.
Emma's “House of all Nations,” as it is commonly called, is one place of amusement you can't very well afford to miss while in the Tenderloin District. Everything goes here. Fun is the watchword.
Business has been on such an increase at the above place of late that Mdme. Johnson had to occupy an “Annex.” Emma has never less than twenty pretty women of all nations, who are clever entertainers.
Remember the name,
331 and 333 Basin Street
Vanilla bourbon, tea rose, jasmine, pink pepper, and patchouli.
Faiza, The Lady of SerpentsAdd to cart
Upon the next stage, a primitive cage has been erected. It is made of heavy, dark sticks bound with strips of deep brown leather. The stage is as dark as pitch, and from the shadows, you hear soft hissing, spitting, and an ominous chorus of weird rattling sounds. You approach with some trepidation, and peer between the bars. Your attention is seized by writhing forms on the straw bottom of the cage. As your eyes adjust to the gloom, you realize that the floor is seething with serpents, dark and colorful, languid and large, swift and small. You hear a sultry chuckle, and you see bright, unblinking emerald eyes staring at you from the corner of the cage. A woman crawls through the snakes, her scaled body as sinuous and lissome as the creatures that share her home. She reaches towards you languorously with her sharp-clawed hands and sighs.
A sensual blend of twisting, exotic, serpentine oils: black amber, oakmoss, green sandalwood, bergamot, jasmine sambac, gardenia, orange pulp, black cardamom, vanilla, blackberry, black musk, blackened vanilla husk, white honey, ti leaf, and ginger.
Golden PriapusSelect options
Insatiable lust, unending vigor! A truly carnal, energetic men's blend: vanilla and amber with juniper, rosewood and white pine.
Shimmering celestial musk with vanilla, white honey, acacia, and sugar cane.
Green Tree ViperAdd to cart
Snake Oil with four mints, bergamot, and green tea.
HarperAdd to cart
Pale bergamot, labdanum, white incense, vanilla-tinged musk, Burmese oudh and tea rose.
Hollywood BabylonSelect options
The essence of innocence shattered: glittering Egyptian amber and heliotrope, infused with the sweetness of strawberry and vanilla – dragged into debauch by lusty red musk and a dribble of black cherry.
How Doth the Little CrocodileSelect options
How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!
Chocolate peppermint, mint-soaked vanilla, pistachio, oakmoss, and green cedar.
Evokes sheer, unadulterated carnal lust. An undeniably warm and sensual scent. Black narcissus, orange blossoms, and vanilla.
Imp Pack: VanillaRead More
—Light of Men’s Lives
—Mouse’s Long and Sad Tale
InezAdd to cart
Golden amber, vanilla musk, myrrh, cedar, carnation, and red sandalwood.
Kubla KhanSelect options
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.
La Calavera CatrinaAdd to cart
The Lady of the Graveyard! Autumn leaves, wild roses, bourbon vanilla, dry chamomile, and a bouquet of bright chrysanthemums and Mexican marigolds.
LamiaAdd to cart
‘And you said you’d pay me for being your guide. And it’s what I want, as my payment. Warmth. Can I have some?’ Anything she wanted. Anything. The honeysuckle and the lily of the valley wrapped around him, and his eyes saw nothing but her pale skin and her dark plum-bloom lips and her jet black hair.
Deadly elegance: pale orchid, vanilla amber, black currant, white peach, champaca, coconut, Arabian myrrh, Burmese vetiver, and oude.
Le Serpent Qui DanseSelect options
When, as by glaciers ground, the spate
Swells hissing from beneath,
The water of your mouth, elate,
Rises between your teeth —
It seems some old Bohemian vintage
Triumphant, fierce, and tart,
A liquid heaven that showers a mintage
Of stars across my heart.
A sinister, darkly seductive scent inspired by poetry of Charles Baudelaire. Violet entwined with vanilla and gardenia.
LizAdd to cart
A light, feminine vanilla floral perfume and a swirl of smoke and leather.
Then rose the King and moved his host by night
And ever pushed Sir Mordred, league by league,
Back to the sunset bound of Lyonesse —
A land of old upheaven from the abyss
By fire, to sink into the abyss again;
Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,
And the long mountains ended in a coast
Of ever-shifting sand, and far away
The phantom circle of a moaning sea.
Golden vanilla and gilded musk, stargazer lily, white sandalwood, grey amber, elemi, orris root, ambergris and sea moss.
Mata HariSelect options
A renowned exotic dancer and courtesan, possessed of aristocratic elegance, matchless charm, an iron will and a streak of fearlessness. The actual events of her life have met with much speculation, and to this day it is unclear whether or not she was truly a German spy. Despite shaky evidence of her guilt, she was tried for espionage by a closed court-martial and was executed by a French firing squad in 1917.
Her scent is striking and bold with a delicate yet dark undertone: five roses with soft jasmine, warmed by vanilla, fig, tonka bean and mahogany, spiced with a drop of coffee bean
Mouse CircusAdd to cart
In the flat above Coraline’s, under the roof, was a crazy old man with a big mustache. He told Coraline that he was training a mouse circus. He wouldn’t let anyone see it.
“One day, little Caroline, when they are all ready, everyone in the whole world will see the wonders of my mouse circus. You ask me why you cannot see it now. Is that what you asked me?”
“No,” said Coraline quietly, “I asked you not to call me Caroline. It’s Coraline.”
“The reason you cannot see the mouse circus,” said the man upstairs, “is that the mice are not yet ready and rehearsed. Also, they refuse to play the songs I have written for them. All the songs I have written for the mice to play go oompah oompah. But the white mice will only play toodle oodle, like that. I am thinking of trying them on different types of cheese.”
A toodle oodle of pink cotton candy noses, vanilla spun sugar fur, scattered kernels of popcorn, and a touch of polished golden wood.
Mouse’s Long and Sad TaleSelect options
‘Fury said to a
mouse, That he
met in the
both go to
law: I will
I’ll take no
must have a
mouse to the
Vanilla, two ambers, sweet pea and white sandalwood.
Mr. IbisAdd to cart
The smoke stung Shadow’s eyes. He wiped the tears away with his hand, and, through the smoke, he thought he saw a tall man in a suit, with gold-rimmed spectacles. The smoke cleared and the boatman was once more a half-human creature with the head of a river bird.
Papyrus, vanilla flower, Egyptian musk, African musk, aloe ferox, white sandalwood.
Nothing is Unexpected, Nothing is ForeswornRead More
Nothing is unexpected, nothing is foresworn and
Nothing amazes now that father Zeus the Olympian
veiled the light to make it night at midday
even as sun was shining: so dread fear has overtaken men.
From this time on everything that men believe
will be doubted: may none of us who see this be surprised
when we see forest beasts taking turns in the salted field
with dolphins, when the echoing waves of the sea become
Dearer to them than the sand, and the dolphins love the wooded glen
Red amber and heady red wine, benzoin, ash, and bourbon vanilla.
NYC Snowball FightAdd to cart
Last winter, we took Lilith to New York for the first time. We were en route to the march in Washington, DC, with our friends, and made a few pit stops on the way. This photo was taken a split second before I got snowballed in the face at the East 72nd Street Playground. The handsome devil in the background is one of Lilith’s best friends in the world, Kyle.
Snowballs and vanilla ice cream.
The scent of sexual obsession, slavery to sensual pleasure, and the undercurrent of innocence defiled utterly. Amber and honey with a touch of vanilla.
Immaculate white musk, sweet frankincense, bourbon vanilla, white leather, and shining armor.
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.
Pink SnowballsAdd to cart
A lighthearted winter scent: chilly vanilla rose snowballs! Dainty, soft, and certainly unfit for flinging!
Seven Word Story: EnvyAdd to cart
The subject of our latest #BPAL7wordstory contest was Envy. The winning entry was submitted by Tyler Butler:
Galatea wept as Pygmalion carved new statues
Marble-white sandalwood, vanilla blossom, and orris root veined with whorls of ambergris accord, rose-touched with life, slowly shattering tears of bitter carrot seed and cistus.
Snake OilSelect options
By far, our most popular scent! Magnetic, mysterious, and exceedingly sexual in nature. A blend of exotic Indonesian oils sugared with vanilla.
The Bow & Crown of ConquestSelect options
And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.
Nobility and haughtiness befitting the Antichrist: sage, carnation and cedar with lavender, vanilla, white musk and leather.
And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.
The GrindhouseAdd to cart
Throaty laughter captures your attention. Across the lane you see a buxom Venetian woman standing before a huge black and red striped tent. Her head is inclined towards a dapper, leering man, and they appear to be sharing a private joke. He reaches into his waistcoat and produces a gold coin. The woman plucks it from his fingers. He bows, and walks into the tent with a swagger. A sign flashes above the tent flap in letters that seem to be aflame: The Grindhouse, Dead or Live Girls.
The Madam turns towards you and smiles. As she approaches, someone within the tent strikes a few keys on a tuneless piano, and begins to play Jelly Roll Morton's 'the Crave'. The light within the tent illuminates the interior, shining behind the silhouettes of naked women gyrating lewdly upon raised stages, writhing in time with the music.
In the distance, behind the tent, you hear a whip crack, and a man's scream. Tittering laughter follows, and the screams continue.
“Voulez-vous un morceau de la boîte de bonbon?” she asks, gesturing gracefully towards the tent.
The Madam's perfume envelops you.
Florentine iris, red musk, mimosa, magnolia, Damascus rose, clove, and vanilla bean.
The Illustrated WomanAdd to cart
Skin musk, smoky vanilla, pine pitch, patchouli, Indian resins, golden honey, and tobacco.
The Magi: Gaspar of IndiaAdd to cart
Laotian oudh, labdanum, bourbon vanilla, red benzoin, and myrrh.
The Small Brown CatAdd to cart
The small brown cat opened her eyes and stretched to her feet. She padded across the kitchen floor and pushed at Shadow’s boot with her head. He put down his left hand and scratched her forehead and the back of her ears and the scruff of her neck. She arched, ecstatically, then sprang into his lap, pushed herself up against his chest, and touched her cold nose to his. Then she curled up in his lap and went back to sleep. He put his hand down to stroke her: her fur was soft, and she was warm and pleasant in his lap; she acted like she was in the safest place in the world, and Shadow felt comforted.
Warm brown fur, cardamom-infused bourbon vanilla, and a touch of cedarwood.
The Torture QueenAdd to cart
White amber, vanilla musk, white tea, ambergris, gardenia, and chrome.
Three French HensAdd to cart
Two Turtle Doves and a
Partridge in a Pear Tree
Fear not: the hens triumph in the end. Feathery bourbon vanilla, Siamese red benzoin, petitgrain, vengeful red currant, and a drop of vetiver.
TombeurAdd to cart
There are two types of vampires that humans, and often other vampires, need to be wary of: the Interfectors and the Tombeur.
The Tombeur, are much more complex in their hunting habits and their perceptions than their Interfector cousins. Like the Interfectors, they perceive their vampirism to be an initiation into a higher state of being and relegate humans to base foodstuffs. Unlike the Interfectors, however, the Tombeur are not straightforward predators, and there is a secondary purpose to their hunt: sexual gratification. They take full advantage of their saliva’s hypnotic and psychotropic effects on humans, the mystique that surrounds vampires, the seemingly unnatural attraction some humans have toward vampires, and the potency of the Tombeurs’ own sexual drive to lure humans into complex carnal relationships that culminate in feeding. They are consummate seducers, and some Tombeur feed, completely and terminally, on their conquests, while others create henchmen that are little more than sex slaves. Neither fate is something we would recommend to any of our readers.
Deadly and seductive: vanilla-infused sandalwood, blood musk, antique patchouli, vetiver, lavender, bitter almond, amber, and a trickle of Snake Oil.
A celebration of one of the first commercially produced perfumes of America's Old West. A rugged, warm blend of vanilla, balsam and sassafras layered over Virginia cedar.
Uncle Traveling MattAdd to cart
The magic is always there, as long as we keep looking for it.
Gobo’s Uncle Travelling Matt is the greatest living Fraggle explorer – the Fraggle equivalent of an astronaut. After completing his exploration of Fraggle Rock, he ventured forth into our world, a place the Fraggles call “Outer Space.”
Dark chocolate, figgy vanilla, pear, and quince.
Envelop yourself in the soft, sensual embrace of gentle sandalwood warmed by cocoa vanilla and a veil of deep myrrh.
VictoriaAdd to cart
Every boy in the village was in love with Victoria Forester. And many a sedate gentleman, quietly married with grey in his beard, would stare at her as she walked down the street, becoming, for a few moments, a boy once more, in the spring of his years with a spring in his step.
Graceful vanilla musk, tea rose, and stargazer lily.
A midnight scent, evoking images of flickering golden firelight reflecting off the sheen of glistening skin and the jerking shadows of bodies suffused with spiritual ecstasy. A deep, powerful, resonant blend of myrrh, patchouli, vetiver, lime, vanilla, pine, almond and clove.
White RabbitSelect options
Strong black tea and milk with white pepper, ginger, honey and vanilla, spilled over the crisp scent of clean linen.
Wynter Wakeneth Al My CareAdd to cart
Wynter wakeneth al my care,
Nou this leves waxeth bare;
Ofte I sike ant mourne sare
When hit cometh in my thoght
Of this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht.
Nou hit is, and nou hit nys,
Also hit ner nere, ywys;
That moni mon seith, soth hit ys:
Al goth bote Godes wille:
Alle we shule deye, thah us like ylle.
Al that gren me graueth grene,
Nou hit faleweth al by dene:
Jesu, help that hit be sene
Ant shild us from helle!
For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.
May we be saved – and save ourselves – from these hard, cruel times, and may we find strength together, for we know not where we go, nor how long we will dwell here. A warming, uplifting, strengthening scent: patchouli and sweet amber with champaca, bourbon vanilla, and frankincense.
A gentle white scent, breezes laced with the scent of springtime blooms and citrus. Lemon, lemon verbena, neroli, white musk, white florals, white sandalwood, China musk, bergamot and a drop of vanilla.
Zorya PolunochnayaAdd to cart
Her hair was pale and colorless in the moon’s thin light. She wore a white cotton nightgown, with a high lace neck and a hem that swept the ground. Shadow sat up, entirely awake. “You are Zorya Polu . . . ,” he hesitated. “The sister who was asleep.”
“I am Zorya Polunochnaya, yes. And you are called Shadow, yes? That was what Zorya Vechernyaya told me, when I woke.”
“Yes. What were you looking at, out there?”
She looked at him, then she beckoned him to join her by the window. She turned her back while he pulled on his jeans. He walked over to her. It seemed a long walk, for such a small room.
He could not tell her age. Her skin was unlined, her eyes were dark, her lashes were long, her hair was to her waist and white. The moonlight drained colors into ghosts of themselves. She was taller than either of her sisters.
She pointed up into the night sky. “I was looking at that,” she said, pointing to the Big Dipper. “See?”
“Ursa Major,” he said. “The Great Bear.”
“That is one way of looking at it,” she said. “But it is not the way from where I come from. I am going to sit on the roof. Would you like to come with me?”
Pale amber and ambergris, gossamer vanilla, moonflower, and white tobacco petals.