General catalogue: BPAL Edition-Bewitching Brews Pt. XII

Scherezade
A master storyteller who possessed unfailing courage and compassion, a sharp, quick wit, and a true understanding of human nature. Saffron and Middle Eastern spices swirled through sensual red musk.

In the Imp: Eastern Spice Market.
On Me: Locket for me because the Red Musk overtook it.
On My Son: Spices.  Really nice.


Schrodinger’s Cat
Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab
Bewitching Brews


One can even set up quite ridiculous cases. A cat is penned up in a steel chamber, along with the following diabolical device (which must be secured against direct interference by the cat): in a Geiger counter there is a tiny bit of radioactive substance, so small that perhaps in the course of one hour one of the atoms decays, but also, with equal probability, perhaps none; if it happens, the counter tube discharges and through a relay releases a hammer which shatters a small flask of hydrocyanic acid. If one has left this entire system to itself for an hour, one would say that the cat still lives if meanwhile no atom has decayed. The first atomic decay would have poisoned it. The Psi function for the entire system would express this by having in it the living and the dead cat (pardon the expression) mixed or smeared out in equal parts. It is typical of these cases that an indeterminacy originally restricted to the atomic domain becomes transformed into macroscopic indeterminacy, which can then be resolved by direct observation. That prevents us from so naively accepting as valid a “blurred model” for representing reality. In itself it would not embody anything unclear or contradictory. There is a difference between a shaky or out-of-focus photograph and a snapshot of clouds and fog banks.

A paradoxical scent experiment! – tangerine, sugared lime, pink grapefruit, oakmoss, lavender, zdravetz, and chocolate peppermint.

No cats were mistreated during the formulation of this paradox, or in the process of creating this perfume.

In the Imp: A melting Chocolate Orange with a green, biting undertone of Lavender.
On Me: Very bright, sugary citrus and Lavender.  As it dries, it’s earthy and chocolatey, and just a hint of mint.  I love this, it’s so much fun!
On My Son: Chocolate covered citrus, drying down to  a Lavender, Mossy Mint.

The Forest Reverie
‘Tis said that when
The hands of men
Tamed this primeval wood,
And hoary trees with groans of woe,
Like warriors by an unknown foe,
Were in their strength subdued,
The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
To springs that ne’er did flow
That in the sun Did rivulets run,
And all around rare flowers did blow
The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
And the queenly lily adown the dale
(Whom the sun and the dew
And the winds did woo),
With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew.

So when in tears
The love of years
Is wasted like the snow,
And the fine fibrils of its life
By the rude wrong of instant strife
Are broken at a blow
Within the heart
Do springs upstart
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the heart whose hope has died —
Quenching the fires its ashes hide, —
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,
The rare and radiant flowers of song!

A sunlit ancient forest, dotted with wild roses, grape vine, and queenly lilies, clothed in swirls of opium smoke.

In the Bottle: Woodsy and smoky.
On Me: Forest filled with wild greenery. Lovely Opium swirling around.
On My Son: I love forest smells,andf this is nice.

The Harlot’s House
We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.

Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The “Treues Liebes Herz” of Strauss.

Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.

We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

The took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.

Then, turning to my love, I said,
“The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust.”

But she–she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.

Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.

The dead are dancing with the dead, the dust is whirling with the dust: angel’s trumpet, violet, white sandalwood, oude, copaiba balsam, angelica, white tea, olibanum, and oakmoss.

In the Bottle: Tea and Flowers.
On Me: Picnic Tea on the mossy ground, woods and flowers drifting laxily in the breeze.
On My Son: Sipping Tea outside in nice weather.

 

**Indulgent scents were acquired from  Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab by me or our friends.  Reviews are thanks and appreciation.**

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