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  Antonino, the Carny Talker Perfume Oil

  As you approach an enormous patchwork tent, a curious sound catches your attention: the rattle of bones and the tinkling of tiny bells heralds the arrival of a gaunt and ghastly creature. An animated skeleton dressed in a jester’s motley saunters towards the front of the tent, waving an orange and black striped cane at the crowd in an effort to clear a path. The jester makes his way past the fog-shrouded, faded, colossal posters that adorn the tent to a platform in front of the massive tent’s entrance. His ivory smile frozen in a gleeful rictus grin, he steps up onto the platform, taps the cane three times, and the jester costume vanishes. Suddenly dark eyes appear in the empty sockets, bones are wrapped in muscle, sinew grows over the bones, blood fills rapidly appearing veins. Before your eyes, the skeletal jester has become a dapper, handsome man, dressed in black and orange, with a skull-ornamented straw hat tilted jauntily upon his shining black hair.

  His smile is slick and conspiratorial. With a flourish and arcing wave of his cane, he booms:

  “Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! This is Carnaval Diabolique’s notorious 13-In-1: the finest freak show in all the Hells! What marvels await you, you ask? Simply the strangest and most fantastic creatures, human and inhuman, gathered for your entertainment, enlightenment and erudition!”

  With the cane, he gestures at the gigantic posters that adorn the tent. The images, once hazy, suddenly come into focus.

  “From the depths of the Black Forest: Arachnina, the Spider Girl! From the rain-swept streets of London: Hope and Faith, the Siamese Twins! From ruins of old Aquae Sextia: Wulric, the Wolf Man!

  “Thalassa, the Galapagos Mermaid! A vision of life-in-death, Eshe!

  “All in all, THIRTEEN anatomical curiosities, miracles of genetics, magick and science, masters of marvels, ALIVE ON THE INSIDE!”

  White musk, wild plum, vetiver, black coconut, verbena, fig, and lavender.

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  A Ghostly Encounter Perfume Oil

  Misty ambergris accord and hinoki wood with juniper berries, galbanum, and palo santo.

  Out of Stock
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  A Rousing Performance Perfume Oil

  Cypress needles, Japanese cedar, brown leather accord, maple leaf, and sweet patchouli.

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  Paysage 2024 Perfume Oil

  Je veux, pour composer chastement mes églogues,

  Coucher auprès du ciel, comme les astrologues,

  Et, voisin des clochers écouter en rêvant

  Leurs hymnes solennels emportés par le vent.

  Les deux mains au menton, du haut de ma mansarde,

  Je verrai l’atelier qui chante et qui bavarde;

  Les tuyaux, les clochers, ces mâts de la cité,

  Et les grands ciels qui font rêver d’éternité.

  II est doux, à travers les brumes, de voir naître

  L’étoile dans l’azur, la lampe à la fenêtre

  Les fleuves de charbon monter au firmament

  Et la lune verser son pâle enchantement.

  Je verrai les printemps, les étés, les automnes;

  Et quand viendra l’hiver aux neiges monotones,

  Je fermerai partout portières et volets

  Pour bâtir dans la nuit mes féeriques palais.

  Alors je rêverai des horizons bleuâtres,

  Des jardins, des jets d’eau pleurant dans les albâtres,

  Des baisers, des oiseaux chantant soir et matin,

  Et tout ce que l’Idylle a de plus enfantin.

  L’Emeute, tempêtant vainement à ma vitre,

  Ne fera pas lever mon front de mon pupitre;

  Car je serai plongé dans cette volupté

  D’évoquer le Printemps avec ma volonté,

  De tirer un soleil de mon coeur, et de faire

  De mes pensers brûlants une tiède atmosphère.

  
  – – –

  More chasteness to my eclogues it would give,

  Sky-high, like old astrologers to live,

  A neighbour of the belfries: and to hear

  Their solemn hymns along the winds career.

  High in my attic, chin in hand, I’d swing

  And watch the workshops as they roar and sing,

  The city’s masts — each steeple, tower, and flue —

  And skies that bring eternity to view.

   

  Sweet, through the mist, to see illumed again

  Stars through the azure, lamps behind the pane,

  Rivers of carbon irrigate the sky,

  And the pale moon pour magic from on high.

  I’d watch three seasons passing by, and then

  When winter came with dreary snows, I’d pen

  Myself between closed shutters, bolts, and doors,

  And build my fairy palaces indoors.

   

  A dream of blue horizons I would garble

  With thoughts of fountains weeping on to marble,

  Of gardens, kisses, birds that ceaseless sing,

  And all the Idyll holds of childhood’s spring.

  The riots, brawling past my window-pane,

  From off my desk would not divert my brain.

  Because I would be plunged in pleasure still,

  Conjuring up the Springtime with my will,

  And forcing sunshine from my heart to form,

  Of burning thoughts, an atmosphere that’s warm.

  — Charles Baudelaire, translation by Roy Campbell

   

  The pale moon pouring magic: Tunisian opium and mugwort with blackened bourbon vanilla, tuberose, glittering white musk, datura accord, wild plum, and tobacco absolute.

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