General catalogue: BPAL Edition-Bewitching Brews Pt. XIII

The Jersey Devil
It was about three feet and half high, with a head like a collie dog and a face like a horse. It had a long neck, wings about two feet long, and its back legs were like those of a crane, and it had horse’s hooves. It walked on its back legs and held up two short front legs with paws on them. It didn’t use the front legs at all while we were watching. My wife and I were scared, I tell you, but I managed to open the window and say, “Shoo”, and it turned around barked at me, and flew away.

The scent of the wild, hauntingly beautiful Pine Barrens of New Jersey! Pitch pine with blackberry leaf, cranberry, cedar wood and tomato leaf.

In the Bottle: The description is perfect…it smells wild and creepy.
On Me: Wow.  Scent of Nightshade, Pine sap, tart Cranberries and Blackberries.
On My Son: Creepy.  Can I wash it off?

The Raven
Sleek, dark, and ominous. Violet and neroli mingled with iris, white sandalwood and dark musk.

In the Bottle: It almost reminds me of Melancholy Tesla, minus the ozone and electricity, and adding Dark Musk.
On Me: It’s like AG Raven, only no Myrrh, it’s sweet, and bright where the other is dry.
On My Son: Nevermore!

Twenty-One
“I like to drink martinis
Two at the very most.
Three, I’m under the table,
Four, I’m under my host.”
— Dorothy Parker

A tribute to New York’s 21 Club on West 52nd, formerly the speakeasy Jack & Charlie’s Puncheon Club. This is the scent of the perfect martini:

“The Perfect Martini, as an idea, has infinite possibilities. For me, the Dry Martini remains an American symbol of elusive perfection, a kind of pagan Holy Grail. The dedicated Martini drinker views this deceptively simple cocktail as a true if fleeting, salvation, … As in religion, one may not have actually witnessed the Conception of the Perfect Martini, but one accepts on faith that it exists, and that it takes away the sins of the earth.”
— The Martini, Barnaby Conrad III

This scent is dedicated to all the mods on the BPAL forum as thanks for their hard work, friendship, and for all they do to make the forum a pleasant, safe, and friendly place.

In the Bottle: Boozy and sharp.
On Me: Gin martini. I love it.
On My Son: Smells like 007’s working cocktail.

Veil
A quiet scent, soft, calm and enigmatic. A perfume of mystery, of whispers, and of secrets behind secrets. White sandalwood, lilac, gardenia, violet, orris, lavender and ylang ylang.

In the Bottle: Flowers bold and soft.
On Me: Vases of fragant flowers.
On My Son: Pass, too many flowers.

 

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

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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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General catalogue: BPAL Edition-Bewitching Brews Pt. XI

Ode on Melancholy

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

Beauty, joy, pleasure and delight: devastated. This is the scent of the hopelessness, torment and despair of love. Lavender and wisteria, heart-wrenching pale rose, desolate white sandalwood and thin, tear-streaked white musk.

In the Bottle: Somber Lavender and Wisteria.  So beautiful.
On Me: It’s heartbreaking and comforting.  A dear friend sent this to us during a difficult time, and it was like they were there giving us support.
On My Son:  It’s a hug.  It’s a smell that lets me know I’m loved.

Phantasm
This delicate, spectral perfume gives rise to an eerie distortion of of the senses. It bestows an ephemeral, ghostly, and truly haunting quality to your presence. Green tea, lemon verbena, jasmine and neroli.

In the Imp: Jasmine Green tea with Lemon.
On Me: Jasmine Green Tea with bright Lemon.
On My Son: Hot Jasmine Green tea.  Refreshing.

Plunder
The scent of a pirate’s bumboat, overflowing with stolen wares: tea leaf, cassia, cinnamon bark, clove, allspice, sandalwood, tobacco, peppercorn, and nutmeg.

In the Imp: Spiced Tea and Cigars in a box.
On Me: Spiced Tea and Cigars in a box.
On My Son: Mine! *cue up the music*

Rakshasa
This haunting, exotic scent is named in honor of the shapeshifting demons from Hindu mythology. Sandalwood with rose and patchouli.

In the Imp: Earthy Roses.
On Me: Roses in damp earth, Crisp Sandalwood.
On My Son: Pass.

 

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

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General catalogue: BPAL Edition-Bewitching Brews Pt. X

Lurid
Shocking, horrific, fierce, savage, sensationalized, luminous and hazy: black currant, Bulgarian lavender and white musk with a dollop of thick resin and a voltaic charge of ozone notes.

In the Imp: Another gorgeous stormy scent, with a boozy streak.
On Me: It’s a more comfortable storm scent. Lightning is visceral, not for the faint of heart. This is more sitting inside watching it through double-paned glass. The astringent Lavender and boozy Currants add to the comfortable notion.
On My Son: It always makes me want to take a nap.

Mary Read
Salt air, ocean mist, aged patchouli, sarsaparilla, watered-down rum, leather-tinged musk, and a spray of gunpowder.

In the Imp: More Piratical scents, Arrr!
On Me: That scene in Pirates of the Caribbean…Captain Jack Sparrow: Stop blowing holes in my Ship! I imagine it smells like that.
On My Son: Oooh, yeah. More Pirate smells for me! *yoink*

Masquerade
A festive, dazzling blend, layered in mystery and intrigue. Patchouli, ambergris, carnation and orange blossom.

In the Imp: I had to age it, as fresh, it smelled like NAVA Medusa with a bouquet of carnations, and Hippie Patchouli and orange is nope(I’m patiently waiting for Medusa to age because it smells amazing on Tiny Human, and he really wants me to like it.).
On Me: After it’s aged a bit, it’s like you took Zarita, The Doll Girl and made it almost masculine. It’s lovely, but not very sweet. If I didn’t have my favourite carnations, I’d buy a couple bottles of this.
On My Son: Nope. No you don’t Mom!
Me: *pouts*

Morgause
Earth sorceress and mother of Mordred, she is, in essence, the harbinger of King Arthur’s doom and the downfall of Camelot. She is a sister, or sister-self, to Morgan Le Fay. A bouquet of five night-blooming flowers deepened by dusky violet, purple fruits and the barest breath of medieval incenses.

In the Imp: Pretty and purple.
On Me: It’s very plummy, a wee bit smoky, and a huge explosion of heady hothouse flowers.
On My Son: Nope nope nope. Especially big nope to girly flower covered fruits and incense.

 

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

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General catalogue: BPAL Edition-Bewitching Brews Pt. IX

La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente
My limbs are wasted with a flame,
My feet are sore with traveling,
For, calling on my Lady’s name,
My lips have now forgot to sing.

O Linnet in the wild-rose brake
Strain for my Love thy melody,
O Lark sing louder for love’s sake,
My gentle Lady passeth by.

She is too fair for any man
To see or hold his heart’s delight,
Fairer than Queen or courtesan
Or moonlit water in the night.

Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,
(Green leaves upon her golden hair!)
Green grasses through the yellow sheaves
Of autumn corn are not more fair.

Her little lips, more made to kiss
Than to cry bitterly for pain,
Are tremulous as brook-water is,
Or roses after evening rain.

Her neck is like white melilote
Flushing for pleasure of the sun,
The throbbing of the linnet’s throat
Is not so sweet to look upon.

As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
White-seeded, is her crimson mouth,
Her cheeks are as the fading stain
Where the peach reddens to the south.

O twining hands! O delicate
White body made for love and pain!
O House of love! O desolate
Pale flower beaten by the rain!

Soft, lush myrtle and dry, sweet melilot with wild rose, pomegranate juice and peach blossom against a background of deep aquatic notes and a twirl of melancholy autumn breezes.

In the Imp: Honey drenched fruits and florals. I always associate clovers with honey.
On Me: Breathe deep as the last hint of Summer fades into Autumn; green, sweet, and heady with harvested fruits.
On My Son: Breezes from our back yard back home, and that funny little fruit Mom always buys that says Autumn is coming.

Lampades
The Lampades are the darkly beautiful nymphs of the underworld, also called the Lethe Nymphae Avernales. They are the daughters of the Gods that govern the many rivers of Hades. The Lampades are Hecate’s torch-bearers and accompany the Goddess on her hunts, quests and revels. Their scent is the crisp, inviting bittersweet tang of cranberry with smoky dark lilies, heady, sensual musk, a tingle of ginger and a brush of Mediterranean spices.

In the Imp: Mulled Cranberries.
On Me: This plus a bit of Musk.
On My Son: Cranberry relish. Not sure if I like smelling like this…oh it’s changing…nope, still too much relish.

Leanan Sidhe
“Most of the Gaelic poets, down to quite recent times, have had a Leanhaun Shee, for she gives inspiration to her slaves and is indeed the Gaelic muse — this malignant fairy. Her lovers, the Gaelic poets, died young. She grew restless and carried them away to other worlds, for death does not destroy her power.” – W.B. Yeats

The name translates to “fairy, love of my soul”. A vampiric spirit and a dark muse, the love of the Leanan Sidhe is both a gift and a curse. These eerily beautiful Irish spirits drain the sanity and lifeforce of the men they inspire to artistic greatness. Her kiss infuses a man with depth of vision and feeling, otherworldly passion, and a sudden and ineffable understanding of the unending sadness that plagues mankind. Her perfume is a crush of Irish herbs and flowers, Gaelic mists, and nighttime dew.

In the Imp: Green and fresh, almost aquatic, very ethereal.
On Me: I think the reason why I like The Host of the Air(Bards of Ireland) is it reminded me of this, but with more grandeur. This is a simpler version. It’s a breath of fresh air.
On My Son: It’s very Spring/Summer. Clean. Mom said it right. Breath of fresh air.

Lightning
Lightning slashing the midnight skies over the endless reaches of the ocean. The electric tang of ozone, marine notes, and a drop of sharp rain.

In the Imp: Here comes the storm.
On Me: If you want a perfect scent of lightning crackling in the air, look no further. I wished I could have given my brother a bottle of this. He’d have smelled like a grown-up thunderstorm.
On My Son: Is it going to rain?
Me: No, you smell like rain.
My Son: Neat.

 

 

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

 

 

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General catalogue: BPAL Edition-Bewitching Brews Pt. VIII

Jack
The scent of warm, glowing jack o’lanterns on a warm autumn night: true Halloween pumpkin, spiced with nutmeg, glowing peach and murky clove.

In the Imp:  OH YEAH!  PUMPKIN PIE IN YOUR FACE!
On Me:  Nooooo!  Peaches!  Why is there peaches in my perfect pumpkin pie?
On My Son:  Hey Mom, remember that weird movie about Oz and a flying, talking couch?
Me:  Yes.
My Son:  Wasn’t the “guy” that helped Dorothy called Jack?
Me:  Yes.
My Son:  I think someone stole his cologne.
Me:  …

*rimshot*

My Son everyone!  He’s here every evening after school.  Try the pizza rolls!

Jolly Roger
Sea spray with an undercurrent of leather, Bay Rum, and salty, dry woods.

In the Imp:  Pirate ship.
On Me:
On My Son: It’s a Pirate Ship!  Mine!  Queue up the music folks, getting a review will be challenge level six!

Kill-Devil
“Rum punch is not improperly called Kill-Devil; for thousands lose their lives by its means. When newcomers use it to the least excess, they expose themselves to imminent peril, for it heats the blood and brings on fevers, which in a very few hours send them to their graves.”

Sugar cane, molasses, oak wood, and honey.

In the Imp: Yo-ho, Yo Ho…
On Me:  More Pirate scents…
On My Son:  Yet another to add if I want to smell like  Captain Jack Sparrow…and you have the HG too.

Kubla Khan
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.

In the Imp:  One of my favourite poems as perfume. Citrusy, Floral, woodsy, even a hint gourmand… Masculine, Feminine.
On Me: One of the first poems I ever recited in school. Teachers loved it, classmates did not…because it was a huge long dramatic piece. Opium, Pipe Tobacco, Leather, twisted into woods and heady florals. No notes dominate, and it’s balanced, and crosses so many categories to be magnificent. I love it.
On My Son: It’s odd, but I kind of like it, and the poem.  She read it without looking at a copy, that’s neat.

 

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

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General catalogue: BPAL Edition-Bewitching Brews Pt. VII

Grog
Arrr! Avast ye, matey! This be the scent of pirate rum!

In the Imp: Booze!
On Me: Bwahahahahaaaa!  This could get me in trouble until it warms and dries.  I smell like a rum-soaked Pirate!
On My Son: Well, now I know what to wear the next time I go as Captain Jack Sparrow.

Highwayman
A brace of loaded pistols
He carried night and day;
He never robbed a poor man
Upon the king’s highway;
But what he’d taken from the rich,
Like Turpin and Black Bess,
He always did divide it
With the widow in distress.

Stand and deliver! Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather.

In the Imp: Gardenia and Leather.
On Me: Gardenia, Leather and Rose. I don’t smell the Jasmine that’s listed, or the Cinnamon. Vetiver is probably the grassy backdrop peeking out.
On My Son: NOPE. NOPE. NOPE. No thank you, too many Mom notes in this.

Inferno
The Dark Side of Fire: cinnamon, bitter almond, and neroli. Heavily spiced, torrid, and possibly conflagrant.

In the Imp:  Cinnamon Glazed Almonds.  Diluting it because spice.
On Me: Cinnamon glazed Almonds and a hint of citrus from the Neroli.
On My Son: Smells nice, like the sugared spiced nuts Mom makes, but I can’t do more than sniff it.  Sorry guys.
((Mom’s note: Nope. Not letting him try it due to Cinnamon.  I veto noticeably heavy cinnamon scents due to prevention of possible reaction, and even dilute them before I try them.  He still has baby soft skin.))

Intrigue
A sultry, exotic scent that inspires devious plotting and clandestine affairs. It is a scent painted in artifice, veiled in deceit, and slithering with whispered secrets. Black palm, with cocoa, fig and shadowy wooded notes.

In the Imp: Woooo.  Fig trees and cacao nearby.
On Me:  Oh yeah, I imagine this is what a fig tree smells like, and cacao trees nearby.
On My Son: Chocolatey, fruity, and woodsy.  I like it.

 

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

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