$26.00
Because nothing says “scrappy indie perfumer with authority-figure issues” like a pachyderm who’s too P.O.’ed to poop.
Ambergris accord, Mysore sandalwood, ambrette seed, cypress, nagarmotha, and grey agarwood.
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After sixteen years of Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, it’s easy to take certain parts of our journey for granted — including our own name and mascot. However, considering the breadth of our classical influences, the capriciousness of our entrepreneurial spirit, and our overall dubious sense of humor, it could have so easily gone another way.
Let’s climb into our alchemy-powered time machine for a view of what might’ve been, if we’d succumbed to more questionable influences.
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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.
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.
Say that the men of the old black tower,
Though they but feed as the goatherd feeds,
Their money spent, their wine gone sour,
Lack nothing that a soldier needs,
That all are oath-bound men:
Those banners come not in.
There in the tomb stand the dead upright,
But winds come up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.
Those banners come to bribe or threaten,
Or whisper that a man’s a fool
Who, when his own right king’s forgotten,
Cares what king sets up his rule.
If he died long ago
Why do you dread us so?
There in the tomb drops the faint moonlight,
But wind comes up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.
The tower’s old cook that must climb and clamber
Catching small birds in the dew of the morn
When we hale men lie stretched in slumber
Swears that he hears the king’s great horn.
But he’s a lying hound:
Stand we on guard oath-bound!
There in the tomb the dark grows blacker,
But wind comes up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.
A sepulchral, desolate scent. Long-dead soldiers, oath-bound; the perfume of their armor, the chill wind that surges through their tower, white bone and blackened steel: white sandalwood, ambergris, wet ozone, galbanum and leather with ebony, teak, burnt grasses, English ivy and a hint of red wine.
A festive, dazzling blend, layered in mystery and intrigue. Patchouli, ambergris, carnation and orange blossom.
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