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  Spooky Action at a Distance Perfume Oil

  “When you separate an entwined particle and you move both parts away from the other, even at opposite ends of the universe, if you alter or affect one, the other will be identically altered or affected. Spooky.”

  Instantaneous correlated action between entangled partners: rose-infused sandalwood with violet leaf, frankincense, geranium rose, and a spark of elemi.

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  Two Married Couples in a Bathhouse Perfume Oil

  Cherry blossoms, violet root, muguet, green tea, crystalline musk, and yuzu.

  Out of Stock
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  A Hundred Years Ago Perfume Oil

  Well a hundred years on the eastern shore
  Oh yes, oh
  Oh, a hundred years on the eastern shore
  A hundred years ago

  Well its Bully John from Baltimore
  Well I knew him well on the eastern shore
  Well it’s Bully John’s the boy for me
  He’s a buckle on land and a bully at sea
  Well its been a long time and a very long time
  Well its been a long time since I made this rhyme
  Well my old mother she wrote to me
  Me darling son come home from sea
  Well I thought I heard the first mate cry
  That bleeding top main sheave is dry
  Well I thought I heard the old man say
  Well it’s one more pull and then belay

  Well a hundred years on the eastern shore
  Oh yes, oh
  Oh, a hundred years on the eastern shore
  A hundred years ago

  A woody, sea-crisp scent, sun-blasted and creaking: green vetiver and ocean mist with a blast of elemi, verbena, and wild bergamot.

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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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