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Moon of Small Spirits is live at BPAL! It will be available until November 15, 2008! This month's lunacy was inspired by the cold fullness of the moon, the beauty of the season, the quiet renewal of life that winter symbolizes, and by Carl Sandburg's Poem "Early Moon": MOON OF SMALL SPIRITS The baby moon, a canoe, a silver papoose canoe, sails and sails in the Indian west. A ring of silver foxes, a mist of silver foxes, sit and sit around the Indian moon. One yellow star for a runner, and rows of blue stars for more runners, keep a line of watchers. O foxes, baby moon, runners, you are the panel of memory, fire-white writing to-night of the Red Man’s dreams. Who squats, legs crossed and arms folded, matching its look against the moon-face, the star-faces, of the West? Who are the Mississippi Valley ghosts, of copper foreheads, riding wiry ponies in the night?—no bridles, love-arms on the pony necks, riding in the night a long old trail? Why do they always come back when the silver foxes sit around the early moon, a silver papoose, in the Indian west? Snow-blanketed wild grasses, sage, swamp tea, cedar, giniminagawunj, copal, rosehip, juniper, clover, elderberry, sweet flag, butterfly weed, wood sorrel, and pine. The BPTP Small Spirits update will be a little bit late – its going to be live tomorrow night. The winter Inquisition will be live at BPTP soon. Apologies for the delay on the BPTP update and the Inquisition! Your humble narrator is still adjusting to motherhood. Hee.

In response to a be'smugering of questions regarding what we'll be offering at Bat's Day in addition to our regular catalogue... The Bat's Day LE's are: BPAL Toad Hall BPTP Snow White Atmospheric Spray Toady Tee BPTP will also have the new triple dagger and brimstone pendants up for early sale!

To thank our forum family (both domestic and international!) for their involvement in and passion for the democratic process… for taking the time yesterday to vote, for manning the polling places, for making their voices heard (no matter who they were voting for!), and for simply being a part of this monumental election, we’re putting Tabella and E Pluribus Unum back up until midnight (PST) tomorrow night.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Happy Halloweener from everyone at BPAL & BPTP!

Happy Halloween, everybody! We are overjoyed to present a new perfume series celebrating Neil Gaiman’s brilliant new novel, the Graveyard Book. I truly adore this story, and have already read it several times to Miss Lilith. The story is light, yet melancholy, witty and charming, suspenseful and sweet -- it is an absolute pleasure in every way. Like all of Neil’s work, it runs through the full spectrum of emotion, and I’ll admit to you guys… I cried quite a few times while I read it. I love stories that move me. Thank you, Neil, for the opportunity to interpret your story in scent! We love the Graveyard Book, and we love you! ++ THE GRAVEYARD BOOK BANANA PEEL IN A GRAVEYARD "We can put the food here," said Silas. "It's cool, and the food will keep longer." He reached into the box, pulled out a banana. "And what would that be when it was at home?" asked Mrs Owens, eyeing the yellow and brown object suspiciously. "It's a banana. A fruit, from the tropics. I believe you peel off the outer covering," said Silas, "Like so." The child – Nobody – wriggled in Mrs Owens arms, and she let it down to the flagstones. It toddled rapidly to Silas, grasped his trouser-leg and held on. Silas passed it the banana. Mrs Owens watched the boy eat. "Ba-na-na," she said, dubiously. "Never heard of them. Never. What's it taste like?" "I've absolutely no idea," said Silas, who consumed only one food, and it was not bananas. "You could make up a bed in here for the boy, you know." A banana peel discarded among tombstones and crypts. THE CONVOCATION A small sign in the hotel lobby announced that the Washington Room was taken that night by a private function, although there was no information as to what kind of function this might be. Truthfully, if you were to look at the inhabitants of the Washington Room that night, you would have no clearer idea of what was happening, although a rapid glance would tell you that there were no women in there. They were all men, that much was clear, and they sat at round dinner tables, and they were finishing their dessert. There were about a hundred of them, all in sober black suits, but the suits were all they had in common. They had white hair or dark hair or fair hair or red hair or no hair at all. They had friendly faces or unfriendly, helpful or sullen, open or secretive, brutish or sensitive. The majority of them were pink-skinned, but there were black-skinned men and brown-skinned. They were European, African, Indian, Chinese, South American, Filipino, American. They all spoke English when they talked to each other, or to the waiters, but the accents were as diverse as the gentlemen. They came from all across Europe and from all over the world. A macabre mélange of swanky men’s colognes. EAU DE GHOUL They all started telling stories, then, of how fine and wonderful a thing it was to be a ghoul, of all the things they had crunched up and swallowed down with their powerful teeth. Impervious they were to disease or illness, said one of them. Why, it didn't matter what their dinner had died of, they could just chomp it down. They told of the places they had been, which mostly seemed to be catacombs and plague-pits ("Plague Pits is good eatin'," said the Emperor of China, and everyone agreed.) They told Bod how they had got their names and how he, in his turn, once he had become a nameless ghoul, would be named, as they had been. "But I don't want to become one of you," said Bod. "One way or another," said the Bishop of Bath and Wells, cheerily, "you'll become one of us. The other way is messier, involves being digested, and you're not really around very long to enjoy it." "But that's not a good thing to talk about," said the Emperor of China."Best to be a Ghoul. We're afraid of nuffink!" And all the ghouls around the coffin-wood fire howled at this statement, and growled and sang and exclaimed at how wise they were, and how mighty, and how fine it was to be scared of nothing. Dessicated skin coated in blackened ginger, cinnamon, and mold-flecked dirt, with cumin, bitter clove, leather, and dried blood. GHOLHEIM Ghouls do not build. They are parasites and scavengers, eaters of carrion. The city they call Gholheim is something they found, long ago, but did not make. No one they call knows (if anyone human ever knew) what kind of creatures it was that made those buildings, who honeycombed the rock with tunnels and towers, but it is certain that no-one but the ghoul-folk could have wanted to stay there, or even to approach that place. Even from the path below Gholheim, even from miles away, Bod could see that all of the angles were wrong –- that the walls sloped crazily, that it was every nightmare he had ever endured made into a place, like a huge mouth of jutting teeth. It was a city that had been built just to be abandoned, in which all the fears and madnesses and revulsions of the creatures who built it were made into stone. The ghoul folk had found it and delighted in it and called it home. A dark and disjointed scent: smoke and black musk, bladderwrack, opopponax, galangal, and pepper. THE LADY ON THE GREY A huge white horse, of the kind that the people who know horses would call a "grey", came ambling up the side of the hill. The pounding of its hooves could be heard before it was seen, along with the crashing it made as it pushed through the little bushes and thickets, through the brambles and the ivy and the gorse that had grown up on the side of the hill. The size of a Shire horse it was, a full nineteen hands or more. It was a horse that could have carried a knight in full armour into combat, but all it carried on its naked back was a woman, clothed from head to foot in grey. Her long skirt and her shawl might have been spun out of old cobwebs. Her face was serene, and peaceful. They knew her, the graveyard folk, for each of us encounters the lady on the grey at the end of our days, and there is no forgetting her. The horse paused beside the obelisk. In the east the sky was lightening gently, a pearlish, pre-dawn luminescence that made the people of the graveyard uneasy and made them think about returning to their comfortable homes. Even so, not a one of them moved. They were watching the lady on the grey, each of them half-excited, half-scared. The dead are not superstitious, not as a rule, but they watched her as a Roman Augur might have watched the sacred crows circle, seeking wisdom, seeking a clue. And she spoke to them. In a voice like the chiming of a hundred tiny silver bells she said only, "The dead should have charity." And she smiled. Ethereal, opalescent, and radiant: pearly sandalwood, white amber, tobacco flower, orris, castoreum bouquet, soft resins, and pale petals. THE MACABRAY Mistress Owens pushed him out of the Owens's little tomb. "Get along with you," she said. "I've got business to attend to." Bod looked at his mother. "But it's cold out there," he said. "I should hope so," she said, "it being Winter. That's as it should be. Now," she said, more to herself than to Bod, "shoes. And look at this dress – it needs hemming. And cobwebs--there are cobwebs all over, for heaven's sakes. You get along," this to Bod once more. "I've plenty to be getting on with, and I don't need you underfoot." And then she sang to herself, a little couplet Bod had never heard before. "Rich man, poor man, come away. Come to dance the Macabray." "What's that?" asked Bod, but it was the wrong thing to have said, for Mistress Owens looked dark as a thundercloud, and Bod hurried out of the tomb before she could express her displeasure more forcefully. It was cold in the graveyard, cold and dark, and the stars were already out. Bod passed Mother Slaughter in the ivy-covered Egyptian Walk, squinting at the greenery. "Your eyes are younger than mine, young man," she said. "Can you see blossom?" "Blossom? In winter?" "Don't you look at me with that face on, young man," she said. "Things blossom in their time. They bud and bloom, blossom and fade. Everything in its time." She huddled deeper into her cloak and bonnet and she said, "Time to work and time to play, Time to dance the Macabray. Eh, boy?" "I don't know," said Bod. "What's the Macabray?" White winter flowers plucked from a snow-covered graveyard. MISS LUPESCU "Bod," said Silas. "This is Miss Lupescu." Miss Lupescu was not pretty. Her face was pinched and her expression was disapproving. Her hair was grey, although her face seemed too young for grey hair. Her front teeth were slightly crooked. She wore a bulky mackintosh, and a man's tie around her neck. "How do you do, Miss Lupescu?" said Bod. Miss Lupescu said nothing. She sniffed. Then she looked at Silas and said, "So. This is the boy." She got up from her seat and walked all around Bod, nostrils flared, as if she were sniffing him. When she had made a complete circuit, she said, "You will report to me on waking, and before you go to sleep. I have rented a room in a house over there." She pointed to a roof just visible from where they stood. "However, I shall spend my time in this graveyard. I am here as a historian, researching the history of old graves. You understand, boy? Da?" "Bod," said Bod. "It's Bod. Not boy." "Short for Nobody," she said. "A foolish name. Also, Bod is a pet name. A nickname. I do not approve. I will call you 'boy'. You will call me 'Miss Lupescu'." Bod looked up at Silas, pleadingly, but there was no sympathy on Silas's face. He picked up his bag and said, "You will be in good hands with Miss Lupescu, Bod. I am sure that the two of you will get on." "We won't!" said Bod. "She's horrible!" "That," said Silas, "Was a very rude thing to say. I think you should apologise, don't you?" Bod didn't, but Silas was looking at him and he was carrying his black bag, and about to leave for no-one knew how long, so he said, "I'm sorry Miss Lupescu." At first she said nothing in reply. She merely sniffed. Then she said, "I have come a long way to look after you, boy. I hope you are worth it." Animalic musk, with amber, patchouli, ho wood, cypress, almond blossom, golden sandalwood, and strange spices. THE OWENS’ TOMB "I'll do no such thing, with Owens and me having a lovely little tomb over by the daffodil patch. Plenty of room in there for a little one.” Marble and dust surrounded by burdock, knotweed, dandelions, daffodils, and long-dead calla lilies. THE POTTER’S FIELD Silas walked across the path without disturbing a fallen leaf, and sat down on the bench, beside Bod. "There are those," he said, in his silken voice, "who believe that all land is sacred. That it is sacred before we come to it, and sacred after. But here, in your land, they blessed the churches and the ground they set aside to bury people in, to make it holy. But they left land unconsecrated beside the sacred ground, potter's fields to bury the criminals and the suicides or those who were not of the faith." "So the people buried in the ground on the other side of the fence are bad people?" Silas raised one perfect eyebrow. "Mm? Oh, not at all. Let's see, it's been a while since I've been down that way. But I don't remember anyone particularly evil. Remember, in days gone by you could be hanged for stealing a shilling. And there are always people who find their lives have become so unsupportable they believe the best thing they could do would be to hasten their transition to another plane of existence." Rich loam, fragrant grasses, murky vetiver, wild herbs, and dry cedar bark. The artwork on the page is by the amazing Jennifer Rodgers! Thank you, Jennifer! The proceeds from every single bottle in this series go to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, which works to preserve and protect the First Amendment rights of the comics community! More Graveyard Book scents are in the works, so please do stay tuned! We at Black Phoenix hope you have the happiest and most horrific of Halloweens! May your candy bags overflow with candy, and your homes stay free of rotten eggs and wads of toilet paper!

As you guys know, Black Phoenix will be vending at the Bats Day In the Fun Park Black Market. BPAL will have a good portion of the GC, plus some seasonal Les, and BPTP will have most of their bath, body, and atmosphere products, and will be debuting their new pendants and room sprays. The BPAL exclusive for the event will be Toad Hall, and BPTP will be offering a Toady tee: Everything is on a first come, first served basis, and is subject to availability! If you have any questions about BPAL’s offerings, please email answers (at) blackphoenixalchemylab (dot) com, and for BPTP questions, please email tradingpost (at) papow (dot) net.

Due to Teddy's birthday weekend and a New Mom Brain Fart, Mourning Moon and the forum LE's won't be coming down until some time around 10pm tonight. Just a head's up!

The Lunacy is live at BPAL and BPTP! ++ A LITTLE LUNACY MOURNING MOON As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls, to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say, 'The breath goes now,' and some say, 'No:' So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears; Men reckon what it did, and meant; But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent. Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it. But we by a love so much refin'd, That ourselves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the' other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end, where I begun. Ethereal, somber, and woeful: Chinese musk, wisteria, white grapefruit, calla lily, violet leaf, orange, gaiac wood, balsam of Peru, and Florentine iris. We *love* this month's lunacy tee! -- Artwork by Jennifer Williamson! The Lunacy will be live on both sites until October 17 2008! I’ve got a crazybad head cold, and that can only mean one thing: autumn is upon is, and the Yule update is live! Ha HA! First, let’s tackle what’s new in the GC – Please give an enthusiastic round of applause and a warm welcome to all the Prince Charmings, Wicked Witches, Bitchy Stepsisters, and Fair Damsels in the crowd – Marchen is live! ++ MARCHEN: BEAUTY AND THE BEAST BELLE VINU There was once a very rich merchant, who had six children, three boys and three girls. As he was himself a man of great sense, he spared no expense for their education. The three daughters were all handsome, but particularly the youngest; indeed, she was so very beautiful, that in her childhood every one called her the Little Beauty; and being equally lovely when she was grown up, nobody called her by any other name, which made her sisters very jealous of her. This youngest daughter was not only more handsome than her sisters, but also was better tempered. The two eldest were vain of their wealth and position. They gave themselves a thousand airs, and refused to visit other merchants’ daughters; nor would they condescend to be seen except with persons of quality. They went every day to balls, plays, and public walks, and always made game of their youngest sister for spending her time in reading or other useful employments. As it was well known that these young ladies would have large fortunes, many great merchants wished to get them for wives; but the two eldest always answered, that, for their parts, they had no thoughts of marrying any one below a duke or an earl at least. Beauty had quite as many offers as her sisters, but she always answered, with the greatest civility, that though she was much obliged to her lovers, she would rather live some years longer with her father, as she thought herself too young to marry. It happened that, by some unlucky accident, the merchant suddenly lost all his fortune, and had nothing left but a small cottage in the country. Upon this he said to his daughters, while the tears ran down his cheeks, “My children, we must now go and dwell in the cottage, and try to get a living by labour, for we have no other means of support.” The two eldest replied that they did not know how to work, and would not leave town; for they had lovers enough who would be glad to marry them, though they had no longer any fortune. But in this they were mistaken; for when the lovers heard what had happened, they said, “The girls were so proud and ill-tempered, that all we wanted was their fortune: we are not sorry at all to see their pride brought down: let them show off their airs to their cows and sheep.” But everybody pitied poor Beauty, because she was so sweet-tempered and kind to all, and several gentlemen offered to marry her, though she had not a penny; but Beauty still refused, and said she could not think of leaving her poor father in this trouble. At first Beauty could not help sometimes crying in secret for the hardships she was now obliged to suffer; but in a very short time she said to herself, “All the crying in the world will do me no good, so I will try to be happy without a fortune.” Red sandalwood, vanilla, rosewood, osmanthus, and white peach. THE ROSE When they found that their father must take a journey to the ship, the two eldest begged he would not fail to bring them back some new gowns, caps, rings, and all sorts of trinkets. But Beauty asked for nothing; for she thought in herself that all the ship was worth would hardly buy everything her sisters wished for. “Beauty,” said the merchant, “how comes it that you ask for nothing: what can I bring you, my child?” “Since you are so kind as to think of me, dear father,” she answered, “I should be glad if you would bring me a rose, for we have none in our garden.” Now Beauty did not indeed wish for a rose, nor anything else, but she only said this that she might not affront her sisters; otherwise they would have said she wanted her father to praise her for desiring nothing. The promise of a rose: red rose petals, fresh sap, and the sharp green scent of stem and leaf. ++ MARCHEN: EGLE, QUEEN OF SERPENTS EGLE In another time, long ago lived an old man and his wife. Both of them had twelve sons and three daughters. The youngest being named Egle. On a warm summer evening all three girls decided to go swimming. After splashing about with each other and bathing they climbed onto the riverbank to dress and groom their hair. But the youngest, Egle, only stared for a serpent had slithered into the sleeve of her blouse. What was she to do? The eldest girl grabbed Egle's blouse. She threw the blouse down and jumped on it, anything to get rid of the serpent. But the serpent turned to the youngest, Egle, and spoke to her in a man's voice: Egle, promise to become my bride and I will gladly come out. Egle began to cry how could she marry a serpent? Through her tears she answered: Please give me back my blouse and return from whence you came, in peace. But the serpent would not listen: Promise to become my bride and I will gladly come out. There was nothing else she could do; she promised the serpent to become his bride. Ocean water, hyacinth petals, star jasmine, and fir. When you return go alone, just you and the children and when you approach the beach then call for me: Zilvine, Zilvineli, If alive, may the sea foam milk If dead, may the sea foam blood... And if you see coming towards you foaming milk then know that I am still alive, but if blood comes then I have reached my end. While you, my children, let not the secret out, do not let anyone know how to call for me. THE SEA FOAMS MILK Milk cresting on an ocean wave. THE SEA FOAMS BLOOD Blood rising through an ocean wave. ++ MARCHEN: PRUNELLA PRUNELLA There was once upon a time a woman who had an only daughter. When the child was about seven years old she used to pass every day, on her way to school, an orchard where there was a wild plum tree, with delicious ripe plums hanging from the branches. Each morning the child would pick one, and put it into her pocket to eat at school. For this reason she was called Prunella. Now, the orchard belonged to a witch. One day the witch noticed the child gathering a plum, as she passed along the road. Prunella did it quite innocently, not knowing that she was doing wrong in taking the fruit that hung close to the roadside. But the witch was furious, and next day hid herself behind the hedge, and when Prunella came past, and put out her hand to pluck the fruit, she jumped out and seized her by the arm. 'Ah! you little thief!' she exclaimed. 'I have caught you at last. Now you will have to pay for your misdeeds.' Ripe purple plums, wildflowers, and cream. BENSIABEL As the years passed Prunella grew up into a very beautiful girl. Now her beauty and goodness, instead of softening the witch's heart, aroused her hatred and jealousy. One day she called Prunella to her, and said: 'Take this basket, go to the well, and bring it back to me filled with water. If you don't I will kill you.' The girl took the basket, went and let it down into the well again and again. But her work was lost labour. Each time, as she drew up the basket, the water streamed out of it. At last, in despair, she gave it up, and leaning against the well she began to cry bitterly, when suddenly she heard a voice at her side saying 'Prunella, why are you crying?' Turning round she beheld a handsome youth, who looked kindly at her, as if he were sorry for her trouble. 'Who are you,' she asked, 'and how do you know my name?' 'I am the son of the witch,' he replied, 'and my name is Bensiabel. I know that she is determined that you shall die, but I promise you that she shall not carry out her wicked plan. Will you give me a kiss, if I fill your basket?' 'No,' said Prunella, 'I will not give you a kiss, because you are the son of a witch.' 'Very well,' replied the youth sadly. 'Give me your basket and I will fill it for you.' And he dipped it into the well, and the water stayed in it. Then the girl returned to the house, carrying the basket filled with water. When the witch saw it, she became white with rage, and exclaimed 'Bensiabel must have helped you.' And Prunella looked down, and said nothing. Plum juice, lilac, leather, and a smattering of herbs. ++ MARCHEN: RAPUNZEL RAPUNZEL Rapunzel was the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was twelve years old the Witch shut her up in a tower, in the middle of a great wood, and the tower had neither stairs nor doors, only high up at the very top a small window. When the old Witch wanted to get in she stood underneath and called out: `Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your golden hair,' for Rapunzel had wonderful long hair, and it was as fine as spun gold. Whenever she heard the Witch's voice she unloosed her plaits, and let her hair fall down out of the window about twenty yards below, and the old Witch climbed up by it. Angel’s trumpet, bois de rose, orris, and wild lettuce. THE WITCH'S GARDEN `What ails you, dear wife?' `Oh,' she answered, `if I don't get some rampion to eat out of the garden behind the house, I know I shall die.' The man, who loved her dearly, thought to himself, `Come! rather than let your wife die you shall fetch her some rampion, no matter the cost.' So at dusk he climbed over the wall into the witch's garden, and, hastily gathering a handful of rampion leaves, he returned with them to his wife. She made them into a salad, which tasted so good that her longing for the forbidden food was greater than ever. If she were to know any peace of mind, there was nothing for it but that her husband should climb over the garden wall again, and fetch her some more. So at dusk over he got, but when he reached the other side he drew back in terror, for there, standing before him, was the old witch. Morning glory vines twisting around a patch of rampion, carrot, and parsley, with monkshood, hemlock, elfwort, sage, wormwood, and mandrake. THORNS `Ah, ah! you thought to find your lady love, but the pretty bird has flown and its song is dumb; the cat caught it, and will scratch out your eyes too. Rapunzel is lost to you for ever--you will never see her more.' The Prince was beside himself with grief, and in his despair he jumped right down from the tower, and, though he escaped with his life, the thorns among which he fell pierced his eyes out. Then he wandered, blind and miserable, through the wood, eating nothing but roots and berries, and weeping and lamenting the loss of his lovely bride. Thorn-spiked vines, blood, and tears. ++ MARCHEN: RUMPELSTILZCHEN RUMPELSTILZCHEN I have not been able to find a single new name; but as I came over a high mountain by a wood, where the fox and the hare bid each other good-night, I saw a little house, and before the house was burning a little fire, and round the fire danced a very funny little man, who hopped upon one leg, and cried out: – “To-day I brew, to-morrow I bake, Next day the queen’s child I shall take; How glad I am that nobody knows; My name is Rumpelstilzchen!” Firewood and ash with an oddly otherworldly blend of patchouli, cardamom, nutmeg, black pepper, tonka, vetiver, and myrrh. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER There was once a miller who was very poor, but he had a beautiful daughter. Now, it happened that he came to speak to the king, and, to give himself importance, he said to him, “I have a daughter who can spin straw into gold.” The king said to the miller, “That is a talent that pleases me well; if she be as skilful as you say, bring her to-morrow to the palace, and I will put her to the proof.” When the maiden was brought to him, he led her to a room full of straw, gave her a wheel and spindle, and said, “Now set to work, and if by the morrow this straw be not spun into gold, you shall die.” He locked the door, and left the maiden alone. Spun gold, tear-soaked straw, and rose-infused amber. ++ MARCHEN: THE SPARROW WITH THE SLIT TONGUE THE LITTLE SPARROW One day the old man was sitting in front of his cottage, as he was very fond of doing, when he saw flying towards him a little sparrow, followed by a big black raven. The poor little thing was very much frightened and cried out as it flew, and the great bird came behind it terribly fast, flapping its wings and craning its beak, for it was hungry and wanted some dinner. But as they drew near the old man, he jumped up, and beat back the raven, which mounted, with hoarse screams of disappointment, into the sky, and the little bird, freed from its enemy, nestled into the old man's hand, and he carried it into the house. He stroked its feathers, and told it not to be afraid, for it was quite safe; but as he still felt its heart beating, he put it into a cage, where it soon plucked up courage to twitter and hop about. The old man was fond of all creatures, and every morning he used to open the cage door, and the sparrow flew happily about until it caught sight of a cat or a rat or some other fierce beast, when it would instantly return to the cage, knowing that there no harm could come to it. Dusty seeds, sedge, brown amber, and sandalwood. SERPENTS WITH GLITTERING EYES AND FORKY TONGUES It was a long way to her own house, and the chest seemed to grow heavier at every step. Sometimes she felt as if it would be impossible for her to get on at all, but her greed gave her strength, and at last she arrived at her own door. She sank down on the threshold, overcome with weariness, but in a moment was on her feet again, fumbling with the lock of the chest. But by this time night had come, and there was no light in the house, and the woman was in too much hurry to get to her treasures, to go and look for one. At length, however, the lock gave way, and the lid flew open, when, O horror! instead of gold and jewels, she saw before her serpents with glittering eyes and forky tongues. And they twined themselves about her and darted poison into her veins, and she died, and no man regretted her. Serpentine green herbs, glistening red currant, sparkling yellow lemon rind, green musk, lime, and snakeskin. To access the full text of each tale, please click on the name of the story on the Marchen page! The Yule update is live, as is our winter subseries, Wind in the Willows! ++ LIMITED EDITION: YULE 2008 BUTTER RUM COOKIE A boozy addition to the devil’s bake sale! Rum-soaked butter cookies, crusted with sugar, soaked in almond and garnished with orange rind. FRAU HOLLE Frau Holle, or Holda, is the personification of the changes wrought when winter seizes the land: she rides the chill winds in her chariot, shaking out her featherbeds in order to precipitate snowfall. The rolling fog is the smoke from her hearth fire, and thunder claps when she reels her flax. Holda is a goddess of matrons, who governs spinning, domestic chores, witchcraft and witches, and the Wild Hunt. She presides over the transition of souls, both to and from this world. Though she is childless, she watches over children, and the spirits of newborns spring forth from her sacred pool. Her festival falls during midwinter, when the dead roam free. She holds court in Hörselberg, from which the Wild Hunt is issued, and all the beasts in the land heed her call. Snow-covered pines, witches herbs, bestial musk, flax, and ethereal flowers that represent both birth and death. GELT Sevivon, sov, sov, sov Chanukah, hu chag tov Chanukah, hu chag tov Sevivon, sov, sov, sov! Chag simcha hu la-am Nes gadol haya sham Nes gadol haya sham Chag simcha hu la-am. A bounty of chocolate coins! Dry cocoa and golden amber! HANEROT HALALU Hanerot halalu anachnu madlikin Al hanissim ve'al haniflaot Al hatshu-ot ve'al hamilchamot She-asita la'avoteynu Bayamim hahem, bazman hazeh Al yedey kohanecha hakdoshim. Vechol shmonat yemey Chanukah Hanerot halalu kodesh hem, Ve-ein lanu reshut lehishtamesh bahem Ela lirotam bilvad Kedai lehodot leshimcha Al nissecha veal nifleotecha ve-al yeshuotecha. We light these lights For the miracles and the wonders, For the redemption and the battles That you made for our forefathers In those days at this season, Through your holy priests. During all eight days of Chanukah These lights are sacred And we are not permitted to make Ordinary use of them, But only to look at them; In order to express thanks And praise to your great Name For your miracles, your wonders And your salvations. Olive oil, beeswax, and smoke. THE HEAD OF HOLOFERNES And when it was grown late, his servants made haste to their lodgings, and Vagao shut the chamber doors, and went his way. And they were all overcharged with wine. And Judith was alone in the chamber. But Holofernes lay on his bed, fast asleep, being exceedingly drunk. And Judith spoke to her maid to stand without before the chamber, and to watch: And Judith stood before the bed praying with tears, and the motion of her lips in silence, Saying: Strengthen me, O Lord God of Israel, and in this hour look on the works of my hands, that as thou hast promised, thou mayst raise up Jerusalem thy city: and that I may bring to pass that which I have purposed, having a belief that it might be done by thee. And when she had said this, she went to the pillar that was at his bed's head, and loosed his sword that hung tied upon it. And when she had drawn it out, she took him by the hair of his head, and said: Strengthen me, O Lord God, at this hour. And she struck twice upon his neck, and out off his head, and took off his canopy from the pillars, and rolled away his headless body. And after a while she went out, and delivered the head of Holofernes to her maid, and bade her put it into her wallet. And they two went out according to their custom, as it were to prayer, and they passed the camp, and having compassed the valley, they came to the gate of the city. And Judith from afar off cried to the watchmen upon the walls: Open the gates for God is with us, who hath shewn his power in Israel. And it came to pass, when the men had heard her voice, that they called the ancients of the city. And all ran to meet her from the least to the greatest: for they now had no hopes that she would come. And lighting up lights they all gathered round about her: and she went up to a higher place, and commanded silence to be made. And when all had held their peace, Judith said: Praise ye the Lord our God, who hath not forsaken them that hope in him. And by me his handmaid he hath fulfilled his mercy, which he promised to the house of Israel: and he hath killed the enemy of his people by my hand this night. Then she brought forth the head of Holofernes out of the wallet, and shewed it them, saying: Behold the head of Holofernes the general of the army of the Assyrians, and behold his canopy, wherein he lay in his drunkenness, where the Lord our God slew him by the hand of a woman. Dried blood, boiled wine, leather, galbanum, onycha, tonka bean, and pomegranate. JACOB’S LADDER 2008 And Jacob went out from Beersheba, and went toward Haran. And he lighted upon a certain place, and tarried there all night, because the sun was set; and he took of the stones of that place, and put them for his pillows, and lay down in that place to sleep. And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it. And, behold, the Lord stood above it, and said, I am the Lord God of Abraham thy father, and the God of Isaac: the land whereon thou liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed; And thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth, and thou shalt spread abroad to the west, and to the east, and to the north, and to the south: and in thee and in thy seed shall all the families of the earth be blessed. And, behold, I am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest, and will bring thee again into this land; for I will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of. And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said, Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not. And he was afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven. The meeting of Heaven and Earth: golden amber, galbanum, benzoin, ambrette, rockrose, costus and tonka. LARENTALIA The festival of Roman goddess of death, Larenta, who was also known as Dea Tacita, the Silent Goddess. Spells to silence and bind slanderous enemies were cast on her holy days, as were spells of closure and suppression. During this time, offerings to the dead are left on thresholds, where spirits are said to dwell. A Roman funeral garden: cypress, thyme, oleander, crocus, gladiola, amaranth, and myrtle shrouded by herbs and flowers sacred to the Silent One. LE PÈRE FOUETTARD Once upon a time, there lived a stone-hearted, evil butcher and his grasping, covetous wife. Their shop was located near a parochial boarding school in a small village in eastern France. One day, three little boys passed the butcher’s shop. Their clothes were neat and starched, and the wicked couple fancied that they could see gold stitching on the little boys’ shirtcuffs. The butcher’s eyes gleamed with avarice, and he hatched an evil plan to rob the children. His wife enticed the little boys into the shop and fed them poisoned sweets. Her husband then slit their throats, chopped their little bodies into pieces, and put the pieces into barrels. Good Saint Nicholas discovered the monstrous crime, and, through God’s grace, resurrected the little boys. He confronted the vile butcher and forced him to atone for his crime. The butcher became Le Père Fouettard, Saint Nicholas’ partner on his Christmas travels. Dressed in a soot-covered black suit that mirrors Father Christmas’ suit of red and white, he travels with Saint Nick and dispenses coal and floggings to naughty children. Whip leather, coal dust, gaufrette, and black licorice. LICK IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT Every holiday season should be full of lewd suggestions and filthy double entendres, right? Lick it in earnest! Lick it with vigor! Peppermint candy cane with an extra jolt of sugar. (As always, we have to state: don't lick perfume. Don't eat it, drink it, cook with it, or use it in any strange and unforeseen way. Black Phoenix is not responsible for that sort of irresponsible funnybusiness. For real. Don’t lick it.) LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS Senseless is the breast and cold Which relenting love would fold; Bloodless are the veins and chill Which the pulse of pain did fill; Every little living nerve That from bitter words did swerve Round the tortur'd lips and brow, Are like sapless leaflets now Frozen upon December's bough. Skin musk, white sandalwood, balsam fir, frozen black berries, cedar, winter rose, and white amber. THE MAGI Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him. When Herod the king had heard these things, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. And when he had gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people together, he demanded of them where Christ should be born. And they said unto him, In Bethlehem of Judaea: for thus it is written by the prophet, And thou Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, art not the least among the princes of Juda: for out of thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people Israel. Then Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, inquired of them diligently what time the star appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also. When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. And being warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod, they departed into their own country another way. And when they were departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him. When he arose, he took the young child and his mother by night, and departed into Egypt: And was there until the death of Herod: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet, saying, Out of Egypt have I called my son. Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked of the wise men, was exceeding wroth, and sent forth, and slew all the children that were in Bethlehem, and in all the coasts thereof, from two years old and under, according to the time which he had diligently inquired of the wise men. Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremy the prophet, saying, In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not. But when Herod was dead, behold, an angel of the Lord appeareth in a dream to Joseph in Egypt, Saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and go into the land of Israel: for they are dead which sought the young child's life. And he arose, and took the young child and his mother, and came into the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus did reign in Judaea in the room of his father Herod, he was afraid to go thither: notwithstanding, being warned of God in a dream, he turned aside into the parts of Galilee: And he came and dwelt in a city called Nazareth: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophets, He shall be called a Nazarene. An offering of frankincense, gold, and myrrh, with coriander, cumin, ambergris, white wine grape, and vanilla bean. Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones, And all their helms of silver hovering side by side, And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more, Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied, The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor. MIDNIGHT MASS 2008 I will wash my hands among the innocent; and will compass thy altar, O Lord: That I may hear the voice of thy praise: and tell of all thy wondrous works. I have loved, O Lord, the beauty of thy house; and the place where thy glory dwelleth. Take not away my soul, O God, with the wicked: nor my life with bloody men: In whose hands are iniquities: their right hand is filled with gifts. But as for me, I have walked in my innocence: redeem me, and have mercy on me. My foot hath stood in the direct way: in the churches I will bless thee, O Lord. In Roman Catholic tradition, the Christmas season begins liturgically on Christmas Eve, though it is forbidden to celebrate the Christmas Mass before midnight. The most devout attend Midnight Mass, celebrating both the Eucharist and the drama of the Nativity. This perfume is a traditional Roman Catholic sacramental incense, most often used during a Solemn Mass. Traditionally, five tears of this incense, each encased individually in wax that has been fashioned into the shape of a nail, are inserted into the paschal candle. This is, of course, represents the Five Wounds of Our Risen Savior. Symbolically, the burning of the incense signifies spiritual fervor, the fragrance itself inspires virtue, and the rising smoke carries our prayers to God. Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem caeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium. Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum, et ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula. Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum non factum, consubstantialem Patri; per quem omnia facta sunt. Qui propter nos homines et propter nostram salutem descendit de caelis. Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine, et homo factus est. Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato, passus et sepultus est, et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas, et ascendit in caelum, sedet ad dexteram Patris. Et iterum venturus est cum gloria, iudicare vivos et mortuos, cuius regni non erit finis. Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et vivificantem, qui ex Patre procedit. Qui cum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur: qui locutus est per prophetas. Et unam, sanctam, catholicam et apostolicam Ecclesiam. Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum, et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen. NUCLEAR WINTER 2008 Annihilation. The ice, desolation and barrenness of nuclear devastation shot through by a beam of radioactive mints. ON DARKNESS You darkness, that I come from, I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world, for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone, and then no one outside learns of you. But the darkness pulls in everything; shapes and fires, animals and myself, how easily it gathers them!— powers and people— and it is possible a great energy is moving near me. I have faith in nights. An embrace: black poppy, lavender, thick black incense, black amber, rose geranium, Brazilian rosewood, and benzoin. PERCHTA Perchta, the Shining One, is the Lady of the Beasts, an incarnation of the goddess Holda. She, too, leads the Wild Hunt, and is the protectress of wild animals, and appears to mortals as either a white-clad, white-skinned, white-haired beauty, or as a brutish, bestial hag. She is called Berhte Mit Dem Fuoze; one of her feet is shaped like a beast’s, which gives away her superhuman nature no matter how she is disguised. She is also called Perchta the Belly-Slitter, for, at Yuletide, she castigates the wicked, slovenly, and idle, and rewards those that are generous, good-natured, and kind. The Belly-Slitter enforced community taboos, punishing those that spun during holy days and those who failed to partake in sacred feasts, thus jeopardizing the next year’s harvest. Her punishments can be a bit over-the-top, though: they include disemboweling the transgressor and filling the empty cavity with refuse. Her scent is a blend of wild musk, snow, and alpine flora: Nigritella lithopolitanica, aconite, crocus, touch-me-not, edelweiss, Iris variegate, and violet. ROSE RED 2008 The perfected winter rose, dew covered and freshly cut. SNOW BUNNY 2008 Not so spooky, right? Here's to finally being able to hit the slopes again! Soft white powder snow with a touch of youthful girlie perfume. SNOW WHITE 2008 A chilly, bright perfume: flurries of virgin snow, crisp winter wind and the faintest breath of night-blooming flowers. SUGAR COOKIE 2008 Affectionately nicknamed 'The Devil's Bake Sale'. THERE’S A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT There’s a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons — That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes — Heavenly Hurt, it gives us — We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are — None may teach it — Any — ’Tis the Seal Despair — An imperial affliction Sent us of the Air — When it comes, the Landscape listens — Shadows — hold their breath — When it goes, ’tis like the Distance On the look of Death — Thin, tinny ozone with frankincense, white sandalwood, white amber, hyssop, bitter violet leaf, and shadowy wisps of smoke. VISITING THE TEMPLE OF AUSPICIOUS FORTUNE ALONE ON THE WINTER SOLSTICE Deep at the bottom of the well no warmth has yet returned, The rain which sighs and feels so cold has dampened withered roots. What sort of man at such a time would come to visit the teacher? As this is not a time for flowers, I find I've come alone. Temple incense, rain, and dust. WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT 2008 Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, -- instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, -- He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, -- that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; -- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, -- since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, -- I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, -- About a prophecy which says that G Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul... Embrace your villainy: balsam, myrrh, mandarin orange, bitter clove, artemesia, rosewood, nutmeg, dark musk, smoke and cypress. ++ LIMITED EDITION: THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS ALL THEY HAD SEEN, AND ALL THEY HAD LOST As they stared blankly in dumb misery deepening as they slowly realised all they had seen and all they had lost, a capricious little breeze, dancing up from the surface of the water, tossed the aspens, shook the dewy roses and blew lightly and caressingly in their faces; and with its soft touch came instant oblivion. For this is the last best gift that the kindly demi-god is careful to bestow on those to whom he has revealed himself in their helping: the gift of forgetfulness. Lest the awful remembrance should remain and grow, and overshadow mirth and pleasure, and the great haunting memory should spoil all the after-lives of little animals helped out of difficulties, in order that they should be happy and lighthearted as before. Mist and dewy roses, aspen leaves, and translucent yellow blossoms. BADGER "How on earth, Badger." he said at last, "did you ever find time and strength to do all this? It's astonishing!" "It would be astonishing indeed," said the Badger simply, "if I had done it. But as a matter of fact I did none of it only cleaned out the passages and chambers, as far as I had need of them. There's lots more of it, all round about. I see you don't understand, and I must explain it to you. Well, very long ago, on the spot where the Wild Wood waves now, before ever it had planted itself and grown up to what it now is, there was a city a city of people, you know. Here, where we are standing, they lived, and walked, and talked, and slept, and carried on their business. Here they stabled their horses and feasted, from here they rode out to fight or drove out to trade. They were a powerful people, and rich, and great builders. They built to last, for they thought their city would last for ever." "But what has become of them all?'" asked the Mole. "Who can tell?" said the Badger. "People come they stay for a while, they flourish, they build and they go. It is their way. But we remain. There were badgers here, I’ve been told, long before that same city ever came to be. And now there are badgers here again. We are an enduring lot, and we may move out for a time, but we wait, and are patient, and back we come. And so it will ever be." Warm earth, deep-reaching roots, dark myrrh, galangal, and Atlas cedar. THE GAOLER’S DAUGHTER Now the gaoler had a daughter, a pleasant wench and good-hearted, who assisted her father in the lighter duties of his post. She was particularly fond of animals, and, besides her canary, whose cage hung on a nail in the massive wall of the keep by day, to the great annoyance of prisoners who relished an after-dinner nap, and was shrouded in an antimacassar on the parlour table at night, she kept several piebald mice and a restless revolving squirrel. This kind-hearted girl, pitying the misery of Toad, said to her father one day, "Father! I can't bear to see that poor beast so unhappy, and getting so thin! You let me have the managing of him. You know how fond of animals I am. I'll make him eat from my hand, and sit up, and do all sorts of things." Gardenia, neroli, and white peach with vanilla amber, cream, and honey. MOLE The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. Antiqued sandalwood, patchouli, and soft mosses. NOWHERE IN PARTICULAR Late in the evening, tired and happy and miles from home, they drew up on a remote common far from habitations, turned the horse loose to graze, and ate their simple supper sitting on the grass by the side of the cart. Toad talked big about all he was going to do in the days to come, while stars grew fuller and larger all around them, and a yellow moon, appearing suddenly and silently from nowhere in particular, came to keep them company and listen to their talk. The scent of a moonlit night on the road, orchards in the distance, and swirling dust. THE PIPER AT THE GATES OF DAWN Perhaps he would never have dared to raise his eyes, but that, though the piping was now hushed, the call and the summons seemed still dominant and imperious. He might not refuse, were Death himself waiting to strike him instantly, once he had looked with mortal eye on things rightly kept hidden. Trembling he obeyed, and raised his humble head; and then, in that utter clearness of the imminent dawn, while Nature, flushed with fullness of incredible colour, seemed to hold her breath for the event, he looked in the very eyes of the Friend and Helper; saw the backward sweep of the curved horns, gleaming in the growing daylight; saw the stern, hooked nose between the kindly eyes that were looking down on them humourously, while the bearded mouth broke into a half-smile at the corners; saw the rippling muscles on the arm that lay across the broad chest, the long supple hand still holding the pan-pipes only just fallen away from the parted lips; saw the splendid curves of the shaggy limbs disposed in majestic ease on the sward; saw, last of all, nestling between his very hooves, sleeping soundly in entire peace and contentment, the little, round, podgy, childish form of the baby otter. All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered. Sublime peace, ecstatic joy, and thunderstruck awe: terebinth pine, patchouli, brown musk, linden blossom, honey, mallow, blood orange, heliotrope, and golden amber. RAT During luncheon -- which was excellent, of course, as everything at Toad Hall always was -- the Toad simply let himself go. Disregarding the Rat, he proceeded to play upon the inexperienced Mole as on a harp. Naturally a voluble animal, and always mastered by his imagination, he painted the prospects of the trip and the joys of the open life and the roadside in such glowing colours that the Mole could hardly sit in his chair for excitement. Somehow, it soon seemed taken for granted by all three of them that the trip was a settled thing; and the Rat, though still unconvinced in his mind, allowed his good-nature to override his personal objections. He could not bear to disappoint his two friends, who were already deep in schemes and anticipations, planning out each day's separate occupation for several weeks ahead. Orangewood, pine, wood moss, and vetiver. THE SEA RAT "Right," replied the stranger. "I 'm a seafaring rat, I am, and the port I originally hail from is Constantinople, though I 'm a sort of a foreigner there too, in a manner of speaking. You will have heard of Constantinople, friend? A fair city and an ancient and glorious one. And you may have heard too, of Sigurd, King of Norway, and how he sailed thither with sixty ships, and how he and his men rode up through streets all canopied in their honour with purple and gold; and how the Emperor and Empress came down and banqueted with him on board his ship. When Sigurd returned home, many of his Northmen remained behind and entered the Emperor's body-guard, and my ancestor, a Norwegian born, stayed behind too, with the ships that Sigurd gave the Emperor. Seafarers we have ever been, and no wonder; as for me, the city of my birth is no more my home than any pleasant port between there and the London River. I know them all, and they know me. Set me down on any of their quays or foreshores, and I am home again." "I suppose you go great voyages," said the Water Rat with growing interest. "Months and months out of sight of land, and provisions running short, and allowanced as to water, and your mind communing with the mighty ocean, and all that sort of thing?" "By no means," said the Sea Rat frankly. "Such a life as you describe would not suit me at all. I 'm in the coasting trade, and rarely out of sight of land. It's the jolly times on shore that appeal to me, as much as any seafaring. O, those southern seaports! The smell of them, the riding-lights at night, the glamour!" Seaweed, ambergris, and sea buckthorn berry with exotic herbs, incense smoke, ship wood, and Burmese musk. TOAD “…It's never the wrong time to call on Toad. Early or late, he's always the same fellow. Always good-tempered, always glad to see you, always sorry when you go!" “He must be a very nice animal," observed the Mole, as he got into the boat and took the sculls, while the Rat settled himself comfortably in the stern. "He is indeed the best of animals," replied Rat. "So simple, so good-natured, and so affectionate. Perhaps he's not very clever -- we can't all be geniuses; and it may be that he is both boastful and conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady." Dapper cologne, scorched waistcoat, a bit of pipe tobacco, and motor oil. Toad Hall will be available at the Black Phoenix booth at Bat’s Day Black Market along with a Toady commemorative tee! Please stop by if you can! In other news… Please welcome our newest authorized retailers: Whole Foods Market 3100 Cahaba Village Plaza Birmingham, AL 35243 (205) 912-8400 Whole Foods Market 3540 Wade Ave Raleigh NC 27607 (919) 828-1589 and for for UK customers: Posh Brats Ltd 13 Swan Bank Congleton, Cheshire CW12 1AN UK 01260 290555 They have joined our happy family of retail outlets -- Nail Polish Etc. 132 E. Main St Palmyra, PA 17078 (717) 832-3388 (Home of East Coast Will Call!) Whole Foods Market aka Harry's Farmer's Market 1180 Upper Hembree Rd. Roswell, Ga (770)664-6300 Whole Foods 5945 State Bridge Road Duluth,Ga 30097 (678) 514-2400 Whole Foods Market 81 S. Elliott Rd Chapel Hill, N.C. 27514 (919) 968-1983 Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street South Burlington, VT 05403 (802) 863-2569 Le Pink&Co 3820 W. Sunset Blvd Los Angeles, CA 90026 (323) 661-7465 www.lepink.net Stop by and show them some BPAL love! More this n’that -- Coming soon to BPAL – the Graveyard Book series! It is a wonderful, sweet, spooky story, and we are thrilled to have the opportunity to work with Neil again! We will, hopefully, be ready to go when the UK release date happens! Forum peeps – the Lilith scents are coming down when Mourning Moon goes down. Just so’s you know! The FAQ and Media sections on the site need some serious updating. Someday, someday. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand…. The Inquisition will be rearing its head at Black Phoenix Trading Post in about two weeks or so. Also comin’ to the post in the next few months… greeting cards, bath powders, new garments, new lockets, pendants, and a whole heap of shiny, fun stuff! A small reminder… please note that all orders, including domestic orders, at BPTP are currently taking an excess of 14 - 21 business days to process, pack and ship out due to a heavy workload. Lunacy and Inquisition items may take 21 – 28 days to process, as the products for these projects generally aren’t in full production until we have a final count. All of our products are handmade, and the tees are hand-screened, which makes for quality products… but it sometimes takes a bit of time to get everything done. Thank you for understanding!

Candy Butcher has been discontinued. I’m truly sorry for the short notice, but we don’t have any choice. =( Unfortunately, we cannot create any more. Thank you for understanding!

Your humble narrator is falling asleep sitting up. Lilith is 13 days old, and it feels like we haven't slept in 13 years! Meanwhile, back at the ranch... Blood Moon 2008 is live! BLOOD MOON 2008 In October, the crop harvest has past, and all hands turn to the Hunt: the third and final harvest before winter. Blood Moon shines over huntsmen as they ride over reaped grain in pursuit of their prey. In Christian mythology, Blood Moon may have a darker significance: "And I looked when He broke the sixth seal, and there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth made of hair, and the whole moon became like blood; and the stars of the sky fell to the earth, as a fig tree casts its unripe figs when shaken by a great wind." -- Revelation 6:12-13 The feral scent of the heat of the chase, deep woods, undulating musks, brushed by forest flora, swirled in the incense of <i>the anointed cherub that covereth</i>, and touched by blood-dimmed lunar oils. The Blood Moon tee is up at Black Phoenix Trading Post! It will be live until 18 September 2008! The MVJBA has also posted an update! Sorry to send you guys on an Easter Egg hunt for the MVJBA details, but I can't type anymore -- my face is about to smack down on the keyboard. Hard. I want to clarify before I faceplant... The Mother Shub popcorn scent sold out. The MVJBA packs now come with the Miskatonic Valley Junior Baseball Association's Dog Days of Summer scent: a languid and loathsome blend of dead wildflowers and smoky, sun-baked grass under a hot, humid blanket of summer gloom. Zzz...

The revision of the faq has been in the works for about a year. I've been insanely busy at work and in my personal life, so the revision ended up on the backburner. Kathy and Bill have a list about 60 pages long of things I should address there, and I'm still working on it. Honestly, it isn't going to get done any time soon. Sincerest apologies if that bothers people, but I just don't have any time at all right now. After the sales of the Synthetic Line prototypes, I could no longer state that we have never sold anything that doesn't contain synthetics, so I pulled the statement completely lest there be a misunderstanding. When I'm not bombed by a million BPAL and BPTP issues and the imminent birth of Junior, I'll get back to revising the faq. =) And regarding how prolific we are... I don't have the time to be insulted right now. I can always slow down the updates if that'll increase buyer confidence. That's an option. For Yule, all you get is Rat King. How's that? (I kid, I kid.)

Its pretty much T minus zero til Baby Barrial pops, and as such, your faithful narrator is a little brain fried! Add a little SoCal August humidity to the mix, and you've got yourself a preggo zombie. So, rather than babble nonsensically (as I am starting to do), let's get straight to the update schtuff! - Harvest Moon is live at BPAL and BPTP! HARVEST MOON 2008 Harvest Moon is celebrated in almost every culture, and the bounty of the season is marked in a myriad of ways. Harvest Moon touches the Equinox, the festival of Janus, the culmination of Homowo, the "crying of the neck" in Cornwall, and the Women's Festival of the Moon. This is a day that celebrates abundance and beauty, fertility and progress, and the light of this full moon blesses new undertakings and reunites lost loves. The Harvest Moon, by definition, is the Full Moon that falls closest to the Autumnal Equinox, and thus, it shares some of that Sabbat's characteristics. This Full Moon was thus named because it rises within half an hour of the sun's setting, in the Northern Hemisphere, and at this time farmers are able to work longer into the night by the light of this Moon. As the year draws to a close, the Full Moon rises an average of fifty minutes later each night, with the exception of a few nights surrounding the Harvest Moon, which only rises 10-30 minutes later. This moon is also, to the human eye, the fullest and largest of the year's Moons, hanging gloriously huge, yellow and low in the night sky, and many lunar illusions play tricks our eyes at this time. The Harvest ushers in many celebrations, including the Equinox and the Festival of Janus, God of Doors. Janus is the Roman Lord of Gateways, beginnings and endings, and transitions. Thus, the Harvest Moon is a time for blessing new ventures, the onset of new and progressive phases in one's life, and rites of passage into adulthood. This time of year also marks one of the Festivals of Dionysus, Lord of Ecstasy and the Vine. This Harvest lunacy combines the autumnal scents of balsam fir, cedar, juniper berry, clove, saffron, damson plum, sage, black cherry, and fennel with the crushed wine grapes of Dionysus and Janus' lingum aloes. This gorgeous tee design was doodled by the incomperable Jennifer Williamson! Corn-yellow ink on chocolate brown tee. Also in our LE section this month… HELLHOUND ON MY TRAIL … blues falling down like hail And the day keeps on remindin' me, there's a hellhound on my trail … August 16th marks the day the Devil came to call on the King of the Delta Blues. Bay rum, bourbon vanilla, galangal, hyssop, High John the Conqueror root, tobacco, life everlasting, and brimstone. Aaaaaand… its that time of year again! Halloween at Black Phoenix! - ++ HALLOWEENIE 2008 A BLADE OF GRASS Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, "You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams." Said the leaf indignant, "Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing." Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again -- and she was a blade of grass. And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, "O these autumn leaves! They make such a noise! They scatter all my winter dreams." Autumn leaves scattered among blades of grass. AUTUMN COOLNESS Heat lingers As days are still long; Early mornings are cool While autumn is still young. Dew on the lotus Scatters pure perfume; Wind on the bamboos Gives off a gentle tinkling. I am idle and lonely, Lying down all day, Sick and decayed; No one asks for me; Thin dusk before my gates, Cassia blossoms inch deep. The scent of wisteria, Cymbidium, lotus blossom, and cassia buds drifting on a breeze through gently swaying bamboo reeds. JOHN BARLEYCORN There was three men come out o' the west their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn must die, They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him in, throwed clods upon his head, And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn was dead. Barley, beer, blood, and whiskey. CHANT D'AUTOMNE I Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres; Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts! J'entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours. Tout l'hiver va rentrer dans mon être: colère, Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé, Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire, Mon coeur ne sera plus qu'un bloc rouge et glacé. J'écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe L'échafaud qu'on bâtit n'a pas d'écho plus sourd. Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd. II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone, Qu'on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part. Pour qui? — C'était hier l'été; voici l'automne! Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ. II J'aime de vos longs yeux la lumière verdâtre, Douce beauté, mais tout aujourd'hui m'est amer, Et rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l'âtre, Ne me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur la mer. Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre coeur! soyez mère, Même pour un ingrat, même pour un méchant; Amante ou soeur, soyez la douceur éphémère D'un glorieux automne ou d'un soleil couchant. Courte tâche! La tombe attend; elle est avide! Ah! laissez-moi, mon front posé sur vos genoux, Goûter, en regrettant l'été blanc et torride, De l'arrière-saison le rayon jaune et doux! - - - I Soon we will sink in the frigid darkness Good-bye, brightness of our too short summers! I already hear the fall in distress Of the wood falling in the paved courtyard. Winter will invade my being: anger, Hatred, chills, horror, hard and forced labor, And, like the sun in its iced inferno, My heart is but a red and frozen floe. I hear with shudders each weak limb that falls. The scaffold will have no louder echo. My spirit is like a tower that yields Under the tireless and heavy ram blow. It seems, lulled by this monotonous sound, Somewhere a coffin is hastily nailed, For whom? Summer yesterday, autumn now! This mysterious noise sounds like a farewell. II I love the greenish light of your long eyes, Sweet beauty, but all is bitter today. Nothing, not love, the boudoir or the hearth Is dearer than the sunshine on the sea. Still love me, tender heart! Be a mother Even to the ingrate, to the wicked, Lover, sister, ephemeral sweetness Of fall's glory or of the setting sun. Short-lived task! The tomb awaits, merciless. Ah! Let me, my head resting on your knees, Savor, regretting the white hot summer, The autumn's last rays yellow and tender. The scent of the year's fall and the setting sun, ominous and foreboding: dried leaves, charred wood, blood musk, amber, khus, and Nicotiana tabacum. DAY OF THE SKULLS In Bolivia, many people hold to the tradition of keeping the skulls of their ancestors with them in their homes, caring for their remains. It is believed that each person has seven souls, and one of those souls stays with the skull after death, enabling a spirit to grant protection and prophetic dreams to their descendants, and to bless their families with good health and prosperity. The Bolivian Fiesta de las Ñatitas, or Dia de los Ñatitas, is a day of honor for these ancestors. Their skulls are dressed with fragrant blossoms, and offerings of cocoa leaves, alcohol, and cigarettes are made. White sandalwood, beeswax, and frankincense crowned by hydrangea, rose, and kantuta blossoms, dressed with tobacco, cocoa leaves and flowers from the sacred Cactus of the Four Winds. GRAVEYARD DIRT 2008 A tribute to a somewhat nefarious and truly notorious ingredient in New Orleans spellcrafting. It is employed in hoodoo rootwork for various reasons, primarily in spells of protection, "tricking" your enemies, binding, and even love magick. The graves are chosen based on the type of working, and are determined by the type of spirit that lies there and the manner of their demise. Payment is always required in the form of offerings to the deceased. This is the scent of pure graveyard dust, spattered with grave loam and dusted lightly with tombstone moss. HUESOS DE SANTO On All Saints Day, Spanish families visit their loved ones in the cemeteries, keeping vigil throughout the evening, saying prayers for the dead. Family burial plots are cleaned and tended, and graves are adorned with gladiolas, chrysanthemums, and roses. Bone-shaped pastries called Saint's Bones, or the Bones of the Holy, are baked and shared in honor of the souls in Purgatory, and to remind us of those who no longer share our repast, but with whom we one day hope to be reunited with again. Orange-glazed cake, dotted with anise seed, and filled with custard, set beside a bouquet of celebratory funeral flowers. MEDITATION IN AUTUMN Withered vines, gnarled trees, twilight crows, river flowing beneath the little bridge, past someone's home. The wind blows from the west where the sun sets, it blows across the ancient road, across the bony horse across the despairing man who stands at heaven's edge. A desolate scent, dusty, bleak, and withered: old wood, burnt brown sandalwood, and twisted vines. MICTECACIHUATL Known as the Mistress of Bones and the Lady of the Dead, she is the Queen of Mictlan, the Aztec Underworld, who still presides over today's Day of the Dead rituals. Sometimes known now as La Huesuda, she brings peace and joy to the spirits of the deceased, and blesses the living who do honor to those who have passed before them. Copal, precious woods, South American spices, agave nectar, cigar tobacco, and roses. SAMHAIN 2008 Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein. STICKY PILLOWCASE Terminal sugar rush. A little goblin's candy bag, upended. Smushed candy corn, rock candy dust, marshmallow gunk, strawberry goo, spun blue sugar, globs of salt water taffy, and lint. SUGAR SKULL 2008 Vibrant with the joy and sweetness of life in death! A blend of five sugars, lightly dusted with candied fruits. TO AUTUMN Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, - While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breat whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. Mist and mellow fruitfulness: mist-swirled, moss-covered bark and dry red leaves, apple pulp and knotty galangal, with poppy juice and nutmeat. ++ PUMPKIN PATCH The 'Patch is back, with five new pumpkin blends to choose from. Pick individual pumpkins from the field, or snatch up the whole bushel! PUMPKIN I Pumpkin with mango, persimmon, coconut, and myrrh. PUMPKIN II Pumpkin with black musk, leather accord, tonka, teak, orange wood, and opoponax. PUMPKIN III Pumpkin with pink grapefruit, lemon verbena, yuzu, lime, parsley, and mint. PUMPKIN IV Pumpkin with white sage, cherry tobacco, honey, smoky vanilla, cedar, and pine. PUMPKIN V Pumpkin with cranberry, strawberry, red musk, red rose, rosehip, frankincense, fig, jasmine, and carnation. PUMPKIN PLUNDER If you purchase Pumpkin Plunder, you will receive an imp of Needle in a Haystack: a scent created to compliment and complete the collection. Needle in a Haystack Hay absolute, sun-baked pumpkin rind, twisting vines, and the tiniest sparkle of gleaming metal. Label artwork for the Halloweenies and Pumpkin Patch by our beloved <A href="http://www.jenniferwilliamson.com">Jennifer Williamson</A>! But wait! - there's more! This autumn, we are paying a visit to the quiet eastern shore of the Hudson River with a Limited Edition subseries inspired by the Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving: ++ SLEEPY HOLLOW BROM BONES Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff, but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb, he had received the nickname of BROM BONES, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock-fights; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone admitting of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and, with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He had three or four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good will; and when any madcap prank, or rustic brawl, occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it. The butchest, manliest of musks covered in well-worn leather. THE CHURCHYARD The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. This was one of the favorite haunts of the headless horseman; and the place where he was most frequently encountered. Overgrown dark green bullrush, midnight roses, dwarf St. John's Wort, frankincense, blackberry leaf, and moss-covered, half-buried tree bark. ICHABOD CRANE The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. . . . From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house; so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's history of New England Witchcraft, in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spellbound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover, bordering the little brook that whimpered by his school-house, and there con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of the evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way, by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination: the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hill-side; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screech-owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The fire-flies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token. His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought, or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes;-and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe, at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road. Dusty black wool, tea with cream, black pepper, muguet, and beeswax candle drippings. FEARFUL PLEASURE Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy! Dried orange peels floating in simmering cider, roasted apples, smoldering firewood, chimney smoke, sassafras beer, warm hawthorn wood, and oakmoss. THE GOBLIN RIDER In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller. The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents-"Who are you?" He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and, with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness. Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind-the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was headless!-but his horror was still more increased, on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of the saddle; his terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder; hoping, by a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip-but the spectre started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, through thick and thin; stones flying, and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lanky body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight. The scent of fear, and terrifying pursuit: wind-whipped, chilly night air, oppressive black pine, globs of dark opopponax, and bleak cedar, and distant, unreachable church incense. GUNPOWDER That he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman, of the name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth, like a knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plough-horse, that had outlived almost every thing but his viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral; but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country. Carrot peelings, hay, chaff, molasses, maple oats, red apples, stable wood, and musk. THE HESSIAN OF THE HOLLOW The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the revolutionary war; and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper, having been buried in the church-yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head; and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the church-yard before daybreak. Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known, at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Grave moss and bone-white sandalwood, with vetiver, gunpowder, artillery shrapnel, and blood. THE SCHOOL-HOUSE His school-house was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copy-books. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so that, though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out; an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houton, from the mystery of an eel-pot. The school-house stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a bee-hive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Dandelion, white clover, balsam fir logs, and birchwood switches. THE SHATTERED PUMPKIN The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast-dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no school-master. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin. Soil-covered crushed pumpkin, water-weeds, saddle-leather, and pine pitch. KATRINA VAN TASSEL … and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was-a woman. Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from Saardam, the tempting stomacher of the olden time; and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round. White rose and honeyed cream. WILEY'S SWAMP A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grapevines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate André was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark. Water-logged and rotting wood, fallen chestnuts, oak leaf, bog laurel, and Virginia creeper. THE WITCHING TIME OF NIGHT It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was dismal as himself. Far below him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watch dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off from some farmhouse away among the hills-but it was like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull-frog, from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed. Moonflower, night-blooming cereus, white hellebore, English ivy, monkshood, angel's trumpet, oleander, and eastern hemlock. Artwork for the Sleepy Hollow series created by the newest member of the Black Phoenix family, Jennifer Rodgers! Harvest Moon, Hellhound on My Trail, and the Black Moons are $17.50 each, and CT:4 is $15 per bottle. Harvest Moon, the Black Moons, Hellhound, and Chaos bottles will be available until August 18, 2008. The Sleepy Hollow, Pumpkin Patch, and Halloweenies are $17.50 each, and Pumpkin Plunder is available for $85. Sleepy Hollow, the Pumpkin Patch, and the Halloweenies will be available until November 15, 2008 Meanwhile, at Black Phoenix Trading Post… A new tee has been added to the General Catalogue's commemorative collection... Dia de los Muertos! Bone-white, pumpkin orange, and arterial-spray red shimmer ink on black tee. The inks on this tee are a contrast of flat and shimmer. The finer lines on the tee are done in flat ink. Please note: the artwork is deliberately distressed for an 'aged' feel. Artwork for both Harvest Moon and Dia de los Muertos by the phenomenal Jennifer Williamson! Also new at the 'Post - FOOT SCRUBS! These invigorating, softening foot scrubs were created with the finest environmentally-responsible and body-friendly ingredients. They are vegan, and are contain no harsh chemicals or unwholesome fillers. Our scrubs are paraben and formaldehyde free, and do not contain sodium lauryl or sodium laureth sulfate, and our labels are printed on an Earth-friendly corn biopolymer. Our foot scrubs exfoliate gently, and soften your skin beautifully. They leave your feet polished without feeling abused. As always, no animals were harmed during the creation of this product, and all products were tested on friends and family. These foot scrubs were created by Michelle Groff of Nail Polish, Etc, so you know your feet are in good hands! Scents by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab! DE RØDE SKO Do your feet feel like they've been cursed? Don't chop them off! Soothe your tired, aching toes with our warming, stimulating scrub! Red ginger, sweet orange, black pepper, clove, and cardamom. OLWEN You, too, can have flowers blossoming under your feet! Peppermint, vanilla, sandalwood, honey, and carnation. TALARIA A dollop of our invigorating, refreshing foot scrub will leave you dancing on air like you're wearing winged sandals! Peppermint, lemon, and neroli. For a limited time, Black Phoenix Trading Post is offering a series of spooky seasonal Atmosphere and Linen sprays… ALL HALLOW'S EVE 'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world. Balsam fir needle, dry leaves, cedar, clove, and black patchouli. BONFIRE NIGHT Guy Fawkes, Guy; Stick him up on high! Hang him on a lamp post And there let him die! Guy, Guy, Guy! Poke Him in the eye! Put him on the fire, And there let him die! Burn his body from his head: Then you'll say Guy Fawkes is dead! Hip, Hip, Hooray! Beer, woodsmoke, tar, and treacle. GOOEY PILLOWCASE Lumps of pumpkin fudge, marshmallow glop, cookie crumbs, caramel smears, and bits of sticky fuzz. SAMHAIN Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein. SUGAR SKULL Vibrant with the joy and sweetness of life in death! A blend of five sugars, lightly dusted with candied fruits. And one spray that is part of the Black Phoenix Sleepy Hollow series: MAJOR ANDRE'S TREE All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled, and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate André, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally known by the name of Major André's tree. The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights and doleful lamentations told concerning it. As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle: he thought his whistle was answered-it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white, hanging in the midst of the tree-he paused and ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan-his teeth chattered and his knees smote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him. The gnarled boughs of a gargantuan, moss-caked, ancient tulip-tree, dangling dead leaves and dripping with browning vines. These sprays are $25 per 4oz bottle, and will be live until 15 November 2008. No goblin squirts are available for the seasonal sprays. And that, my friends, is it for now!

Its pretty much T minus zero til Baby Barrial pops, and as such, your faithful narrator is a little brain fried! Add a little SoCal August humidity to the mix, and you've got yourself a preggo zombie. So, rather than babble nonsensically (as I am starting to do), let's get straight to the update schtuff! - Harvest Moon is live at BPAL and BPTP! HARVEST MOON 2008 Harvest Moon is celebrated in almost every culture, and the bounty of the season is marked in a myriad of ways. Harvest Moon touches the Equinox, the festival of Janus, the culmination of Homowo, the "crying of the neck" in Cornwall, and the Women's Festival of the Moon. This is a day that celebrates abundance and beauty, fertility and progress, and the light of this full moon blesses new undertakings and reunites lost loves. The Harvest Moon, by definition, is the Full Moon that falls closest to the Autumnal Equinox, and thus, it shares some of that Sabbat's characteristics. This Full Moon was thus named because it rises within half an hour of the sun's setting, in the Northern Hemisphere, and at this time farmers are able to work longer into the night by the light of this Moon. As the year draws to a close, the Full Moon rises an average of fifty minutes later each night, with the exception of a few nights surrounding the Harvest Moon, which only rises 10-30 minutes later. This moon is also, to the human eye, the fullest and largest of the year's Moons, hanging gloriously huge, yellow and low in the night sky, and many lunar illusions play tricks our eyes at this time. The Harvest ushers in many celebrations, including the Equinox and the Festival of Janus, God of Doors. Janus is the Roman Lord of Gateways, beginnings and endings, and transitions. Thus, the Harvest Moon is a time for blessing new ventures, the onset of new and progressive phases in one's life, and rites of passage into adulthood. This time of year also marks one of the Festivals of Dionysus, Lord of Ecstasy and the Vine. This Harvest lunacy combines the autumnal scents of balsam fir, cedar, juniper berry, clove, saffron, damson plum, sage, black cherry, and fennel with the crushed wine grapes of Dionysus and Janus' lingum aloes. This gorgeous tee design was doodled by the incomperable Jennifer Williamson! Corn-yellow ink on chocolate brown tee. Also in our LE section this month… HELLHOUND ON MY TRAIL … blues falling down like hail And the day keeps on remindin' me, there's a hellhound on my trail … August 16th marks the day the Devil came to call on the King of the Delta Blues. Bay rum, bourbon vanilla, galangal, hyssop, High John the Conqueror root, tobacco, life everlasting, and brimstone. Aaaaaand… its that time of year again! Halloween at Black Phoenix! - ++ HALLOWEENIE 2008 A BLADE OF GRASS Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, "You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams." Said the leaf indignant, "Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing." Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again -- and she was a blade of grass. And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, "O these autumn leaves! They make such a noise! They scatter all my winter dreams." Autumn leaves scattered among blades of grass. AUTUMN COOLNESS Heat lingers As days are still long; Early mornings are cool While autumn is still young. Dew on the lotus Scatters pure perfume; Wind on the bamboos Gives off a gentle tinkling. I am idle and lonely, Lying down all day, Sick and decayed; No one asks for me; Thin dusk before my gates, Cassia blossoms inch deep. The scent of wisteria, Cymbidium, lotus blossom, and cassia buds drifting on a breeze through gently swaying bamboo reeds. JOHN BARLEYCORN There was three men come out o' the west their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn must die, They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him in, throwed clods upon his head, And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn was dead. Barley, beer, blood, and whiskey. CHANT D'AUTOMNE I Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres; Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts! J'entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours. Tout l'hiver va rentrer dans mon être: colère, Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé, Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire, Mon coeur ne sera plus qu'un bloc rouge et glacé. J'écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe L'échafaud qu'on bâtit n'a pas d'écho plus sourd. Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd. II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone, Qu'on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part. Pour qui? — C'était hier l'été; voici l'automne! Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ. II J'aime de vos longs yeux la lumière verdâtre, Douce beauté, mais tout aujourd'hui m'est amer, Et rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l'âtre, Ne me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur la mer. Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre coeur! soyez mère, Même pour un ingrat, même pour un méchant; Amante ou soeur, soyez la douceur éphémère D'un glorieux automne ou d'un soleil couchant. Courte tâche! La tombe attend; elle est avide! Ah! laissez-moi, mon front posé sur vos genoux, Goûter, en regrettant l'été blanc et torride, De l'arrière-saison le rayon jaune et doux! - - - I Soon we will sink in the frigid darkness Good-bye, brightness of our too short summers! I already hear the fall in distress Of the wood falling in the paved courtyard. Winter will invade my being: anger, Hatred, chills, horror, hard and forced labor, And, like the sun in its iced inferno, My heart is but a red and frozen floe. I hear with shudders each weak limb that falls. The scaffold will have no louder echo. My spirit is like a tower that yields Under the tireless and heavy ram blow. It seems, lulled by this monotonous sound, Somewhere a coffin is hastily nailed, For whom? Summer yesterday, autumn now! This mysterious noise sounds like a farewell. II I love the greenish light of your long eyes, Sweet beauty, but all is bitter today. Nothing, not love, the boudoir or the hearth Is dearer than the sunshine on the sea. Still love me, tender heart! Be a mother Even to the ingrate, to the wicked, Lover, sister, ephemeral sweetness Of fall's glory or of the setting sun. Short-lived task! The tomb awaits, merciless. Ah! Let me, my head resting on your knees, Savor, regretting the white hot summer, The autumn's last rays yellow and tender. The scent of the year's fall and the setting sun, ominous and foreboding: dried leaves, charred wood, blood musk, amber, khus, and Nicotiana tabacum. DAY OF THE SKULLS In Bolivia, many people hold to the tradition of keeping the skulls of their ancestors with them in their homes, caring for their remains. It is believed that each person has seven souls, and one of those souls stays with the skull after death, enabling a spirit to grant protection and prophetic dreams to their descendants, and to bless their families with good health and prosperity. The Bolivian Fiesta de las Ñatitas, or Dia de los Ñatitas, is a day of honor for these ancestors. Their skulls are dressed with fragrant blossoms, and offerings of cocoa leaves, alcohol, and cigarettes are made. White sandalwood, beeswax, and frankincense crowned by hydrangea, rose, and kantuta blossoms, dressed with tobacco, cocoa leaves and flowers from the sacred Cactus of the Four Winds. GRAVEYARD DIRT 2008 A tribute to a somewhat nefarious and truly notorious ingredient in New Orleans spellcrafting. It is employed in hoodoo rootwork for various reasons, primarily in spells of protection, "tricking" your enemies, binding, and even love magick. The graves are chosen based on the type of working, and are determined by the type of spirit that lies there and the manner of their demise. Payment is always required in the form of offerings to the deceased. This is the scent of pure graveyard dust, spattered with grave loam and dusted lightly with tombstone moss. HUESOS DE SANTO On All Saints Day, Spanish families visit their loved ones in the cemeteries, keeping vigil throughout the evening, saying prayers for the dead. Family burial plots are cleaned and tended, and graves are adorned with gladiolas, chrysanthemums, and roses. Bone-shaped pastries called Saint's Bones, or the Bones of the Holy, are baked and shared in honor of the souls in Purgatory, and to remind us of those who no longer share our repast, but with whom we one day hope to be reunited with again. Orange-glazed cake, dotted with anise seed, and filled with custard, set beside a bouquet of celebratory funeral flowers. MEDITATION IN AUTUMN Withered vines, gnarled trees, twilight crows, river flowing beneath the little bridge, past someone's home. The wind blows from the west where the sun sets, it blows across the ancient road, across the bony horse across the despairing man who stands at heaven's edge. A desolate scent, dusty, bleak, and withered: old wood, burnt brown sandalwood, and twisted vines. MICTECACIHUATL Known as the Mistress of Bones and the Lady of the Dead, she is the Queen of Mictlan, the Aztec Underworld, who still presides over today's Day of the Dead rituals. Sometimes known now as La Huesuda, she brings peace and joy to the spirits of the deceased, and blesses the living who do honor to those who have passed before them. Copal, precious woods, South American spices, agave nectar, cigar tobacco, and roses. SAMHAIN 2008 Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein. STICKY PILLOWCASE Terminal sugar rush. A little goblin's candy bag, upended. Smushed candy corn, rock candy dust, marshmallow gunk, strawberry goo, spun blue sugar, globs of salt water taffy, and lint. SUGAR SKULL 2008 Vibrant with the joy and sweetness of life in death! A blend of five sugars, lightly dusted with candied fruits. TO AUTUMN Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, - While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breat whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. Mist and mellow fruitfulness: mist-swirled, moss-covered bark and dry red leaves, apple pulp and knotty galangal, with poppy juice and nutmeat. ++ PUMPKIN PATCH The 'Patch is back, with five new pumpkin blends to choose from. Pick individual pumpkins from the field, or snatch up the whole bushel! PUMPKIN I Pumpkin with mango, persimmon, coconut, and myrrh. PUMPKIN II Pumpkin with black musk, leather accord, tonka, teak, orange wood, and opoponax. PUMPKIN III Pumpkin with pink grapefruit, lemon verbena, yuzu, lime, parsley, and mint. PUMPKIN IV Pumpkin with white sage, cherry tobacco, honey, smoky vanilla, cedar, and pine. PUMPKIN V Pumpkin with cranberry, strawberry, red musk, red rose, rosehip, frankincense, fig, jasmine, and carnation. PUMPKIN PLUNDER If you purchase Pumpkin Plunder, you will receive an imp of Needle in a Haystack: a scent created to compliment and complete the collection. Needle in a Haystack Hay absolute, sun-baked pumpkin rind, twisting vines, and the tiniest sparkle of gleaming metal. Label artwork for the Halloweenies and Pumpkin Patch by our beloved Jennifer Williamson! But wait! - there's more! This autumn, we are paying a visit to the quiet eastern shore of the Hudson River with a Limited Edition subseries inspired by the Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving: ++ SLEEPY HOLLOW BROM BONES Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff, but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb, he had received the nickname of BROM BONES, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock-fights; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone admitting of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and, with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He had three or four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good will; and when any madcap prank, or rustic brawl, occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it. The butchest, manliest of musks covered in well-worn leather. THE CHURCHYARD The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. This was one of the favorite haunts of the headless horseman; and the place where he was most frequently encountered. Overgrown dark green bullrush, midnight roses, dwarf St. John's Wort, frankincense, blackberry leaf, and moss-covered, half-buried tree bark. ICHABOD CRANE The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. . . . From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house; so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's history of New England Witchcraft, in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spellbound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover, bordering the little brook that whimpered by his school-house, and there con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of the evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way, by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination: the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hill-side; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screech-owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The fire-flies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token. His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought, or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes;-and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe, at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road. Dusty black wool, tea with cream, black pepper, muguet, and beeswax candle drippings. FEARFUL PLEASURE Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy! Dried orange peels floating in simmering cider, roasted apples, smoldering firewood, chimney smoke, sassafras beer, warm hawthorn wood, and oakmoss. THE GOBLIN RIDER In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller. The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents-"Who are you?" He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and, with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness. Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind-the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was headless!-but his horror was still more increased, on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of the saddle; his terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder; hoping, by a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip-but the spectre started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, through thick and thin; stones flying, and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lanky body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight. The scent of fear, and terrifying pursuit: wind-whipped, chilly night air, oppressive black pine, globs of dark opopponax, and bleak cedar, and distant, unreachable church incense. GUNPOWDER That he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman, of the name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth, like a knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plough-horse, that had outlived almost every thing but his viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral; but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country. Carrot peelings, hay, chaff, molasses, maple oats, red apples, stable wood, and musk. THE HESSIAN OF THE HOLLOW The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the revolutionary war; and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper, having been buried in the church-yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head; and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the church-yard before daybreak. Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known, at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Grave moss and bone-white sandalwood, with vetiver, gunpowder, artillery shrapnel, and blood. THE SCHOOL-HOUSE His school-house was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copy-books. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so that, though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out; an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houton, from the mystery of an eel-pot. The school-house stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a bee-hive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Dandelion, white clover, balsam fir logs, and birchwood switches. THE SHATTERED PUMPKIN The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast-dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no school-master. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin. Soil-covered crushed pumpkin, water-weeds, saddle-leather, and pine pitch. KATRINA VAN TASSEL … and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was-a woman. Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from Saardam, the tempting stomacher of the olden time; and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round. White rose and honeyed cream. WILEY'S SWAMP A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grapevines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate André was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark. Water-logged and rotting wood, fallen chestnuts, oak leaf, bog laurel, and Virginia creeper. THE WITCHING TIME OF NIGHT It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was dismal as himself. Far below him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watch dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off from some farmhouse away among the hills-but it was like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull-frog, from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed. Moonflower, night-blooming cereus, white hellebore, English ivy, monkshood, angel's trumpet, oleander, and eastern hemlock. Artwork for the Sleepy Hollow series created by the newest member of the Black Phoenix family, Jennifer Rodgers! Harvest Moon, Hellhound on My Trail, and the Black Moons are $17.50 each, and CT:4 is $15 per bottle. Harvest Moon, the Black Moons, Hellhound, and Chaos bottles will be available until August 18, 2008. The Sleepy Hollow, Pumpkin Patch, and Halloweenies are $17.50 each, and Pumpkin Plunder is available for $85. Sleepy Hollow, the Pumpkin Patch, and the Halloweenies will be available until November 15, 2008 Meanwhile, at Black Phoenix Trading Post… A new tee has been added to the General Catalogue's commemorative collection... Dia de los Muertos! Bone-white, pumpkin orange, and arterial-spray red shimmer ink on black tee. The inks on this tee are a contrast of flat and shimmer. The finer lines on the tee are done in flat ink. Please note: the artwork is deliberately distressed for an 'aged' feel. Artwork for both Harvest Moon and Dia de los Muertos by the phenomenal Jennifer Williamson! Also new at the 'Post - FOOT SCRUBS! These invigorating, softening foot scrubs were created with the finest environmentally-responsible and body-friendly ingredients. They are vegan, and are contain no harsh chemicals or unwholesome fillers. Our scrubs are paraben and formaldehyde free, and do not contain sodium lauryl or sodium laureth sulfate, and our labels are printed on an Earth-friendly corn biopolymer. Our foot scrubs exfoliate gently, and soften your skin beautifully. They leave your feet polished without feeling abused. As always, no animals were harmed during the creation of this product, and all products were tested on friends and family. These foot scrubs were created by Michelle Groff of Nail Polish, Etc, so you know your feet are in good hands! Scents by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab! DE RØDE SKO Do your feet feel like they've been cursed? Don't chop them off! Soothe your tired, aching toes with our warming, stimulating scrub! Red ginger, sweet orange, black pepper, clove, and cardamom. OLWEN You, too, can have flowers blossoming under your feet! Peppermint, vanilla, sandalwood, honey, and carnation. TALARIA A dollop of our invigorating, refreshing foot scrub will leave you dancing on air like you're wearing winged sandals! Peppermint, lemon, and neroli. For a limited time, Black Phoenix Trading Post is offering a series of spooky seasonal Atmosphere and Linen sprays… ALL HALLOW'S EVE 'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world. Balsam fir needle, dry leaves, cedar, clove, and black patchouli. BONFIRE NIGHT Guy Fawkes, Guy; Stick him up on high! Hang him on a lamp post And there let him die! Guy, Guy, Guy! Poke Him in the eye! Put him on the fire, And there let him die! Burn his body from his head: Then you'll say Guy Fawkes is dead! Hip, Hip, Hooray! Beer, woodsmoke, tar, and treacle. GOOEY PILLOWCASE Lumps of pumpkin fudge, marshmallow glop, cookie crumbs, caramel smears, and bits of sticky fuzz. SAMHAIN Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein. SUGAR SKULL Vibrant with the joy and sweetness of life in death! A blend of five sugars, lightly dusted with candied fruits. And one spray that is part of the Black Phoenix Sleepy Hollow series: MAJOR ANDRE'S TREE All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled, and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate André, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally known by the name of Major André's tree. The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights and doleful lamentations told concerning it. As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle: he thought his whistle was answered-it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white, hanging in the midst of the tree-he paused and ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan-his teeth chattered and his knees smote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him. The gnarled boughs of a gargantuan, moss-caked, ancient tulip-tree, dangling dead leaves and dripping with browning vines. These sprays are $25 per 4oz bottle, and will be live until 15 November 2008. No goblin squirts are available for the seasonal sprays. And that, my friends, is it for now!

The Snow, Glass, Apples set has sold out! The CBLDF has a few remaining sets from Comic Con, both signed and unsigned. They will be putting them up at the CBLDF's web site as soon as they can get a count and get it set up. I’ll keep everyone posted on that! Thank you!

175 sets are live, and ready to find a good home. =)

We have been contacted by Canadian customs, and they feel that we have been undervaluing the contents of our exports to Canada. I wanted to give you guys a heads up that we will be making sure that the declared value matches the package contents, otherwise Canadian customs will be stopping all BPAL shipments to their country. Just lettin’ everyone know!

We've completed the count, and 175 SGA packs remain. These will go live at 10pm PST on July 30th.

Hey guys! Sales for Snow, Glass, Apples are temporarily suspended while we get a manual count of PayPal sales and double check availability. Any remaining SGA packs will go live on the 30th at 10pm PST. Please stay tuned for announcements to that effect. Thanks!

Snow, Glass, Apples is live at Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab! She said nothing. Her eyes were black as coal, black as her hair; her lips were redder than blood. She looked up at me and smiled. Her teeth seemed sharp, even then, in the lamplight. "What are you doing away from your room?" "I'm hungry," she said, like any child. It was winter, when fresh food is a dream of warmth and sunlight; but I had strings of whole apples, cored and dried, hanging from the beams of my chamber, and I pulled an apple down for her. "Here." Autumn is the time of drying, of preserving, a time of picking apples, of rendering the goose fat. Winter is the time of hunger, of snow, and of death; and it is the time of the midwinter feast, when we rub the goose-fat into the skin of a whole pig, stuffed with that autumn's apples, then we roast it or spit it, and we prepare to feast upon the crackling. She took the dried apple from me and began to chew it with her sharp yellow teeth. "Is it good?" She nodded. I had always been scared of the little princess, but at that moment I warmed to her and, with my fingers, gently, I stroked her cheek. She looked at me and smiled -- she smiled but rarely -- then she sank her teeth into the base of my thumb, the Mound of Venus, and she drew blood. I began to shriek, from pain and from surprise; but she looked at me and I fell silent. Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab is thrilled to present a numbered, limited edition chapbook of Neil Gaiman’s acclaimed short story, Snow, Glass, Apples, beautifully illustrated by Julie Dillon. Each package includes a 5ml bottle of perfume, created by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, that was inspired by the tale. In Neil’s words, ‘It smells like green apples and like sex and vampires, all at the same time. (Actually, it smells like sexy vampire apples.)’ This set is a limited run of 1000. 250 were sold by CBLDF at San Diego Comic Con 2008, and the remainder are available through the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab web site. Snow, Glass, Apples will be available on the BPAL site as long as supplies last. This is a charitable, not-for-profit venture: proceeds from every single set go to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, which works to preserve and protect the First Amendment rights of the comics community. A million thanks and all our love to Neil, and to Charles Brownstein and his staff at the CBLDF! The Black Moon is darkening the skies above the Lab once more! The Dark Moon is a time of secrets and hidden truths, of veils and binding, justice and revenge. It is sacred to the Crone, and to Gods and Goddesses of magick, death, and mysteries. The Black Moon has many meanings, but in any incarnation, it signifies a swelling of power. To us, it is the Blue Moon’s dark sister. We at Black Phoenix present two interpretations of the Black Moon’s energy: Lune Noire: Beth’s Creation The encroaching darkness: black orchid, jonquil, white pear, white amber, gardenia, olibanum, champaca, sweet clove, tonka, oakmoss, and blue musk. Schwarzer Mond 2008: Brian’s Creation The keeper of secrets: opoponax, Tunisian black amber, night musk, antique patchouli, zdravetz, terebinth, myrrh, and Pimenta racemosa. And now, a word from Puddin: I’m hosting a little forum-only guessing game this week! We want to raise money for a good cause, and have some fun in the process. What’s the game? -- try and guess when our offspring will be born! Each guess costs $1.00 US, and all proceeds go to the March of Dimes. How to play: Paypal me your dollar at tradingpost (AT) papow (DOT) net, and make sure you include your forum name, your IRL name, your address, and the date and time that you think that our bundle of joy will pop out. The person whose guess is closest to the actual moment of delivery will win a gift pack full of BPAL and BPTP goodies. PLEASE do not include your dollar ante with any other orders. We need to keep this separate for the sake of organization. Here’s a hint: we conceived during the first week of December. Because of the nature of pregnancy, that puts the birth date anywhere between August 1st and September 15th! (A comment from your narrator – she’d better not be any later than September 15th! ) And, in other BPAL news… The last two Carnaval acts are still a work in progress, and will be live as quickly as (in)humanly possible. CD is a complex series that involves many hands. =) Due to production and procreating impediments, the Carnaval’s stay will be extended slightly to accommodate the delay. Thank you for understanding! The Halloweenie update will go live in August, in keeping with BPAL tradition! And lastly, I want to make a public personal post. Huge, heartfelt thanks to Brian (Corinthian here on the forum!), my BFF and business partner. Brian has picked up all the slack at the Lab since I got pregnant, and has been working his ass off doing all of his work keeping production moving and taking care of accounting and stock while also doing the bulk of my blending. Without his help and his friendship, and without his asskicking Virgo’ness, we wouldn’t be moving as smoothly as we are today. Thank you, Brian! I love you, you big ol’ Virgo, you! Thank you, also, to my beloved husband, Ted, who has been babysitting my silly ass for the past eight months, and who has also been helping out at the Lab whenever he can. I love you, my knight in shiny Libra armor! Massive thanks to Kathy, Bill, Jacquelynn, and the lab rats for putting up with my hormonal brain farts, and for taking care of customer service, wholesale, and production with such love and care. Gigantic hugs and bushels of love to all of our customers, too, for being so patient with us during my pregnancy and the little setbacks that have cropped up during this time.

The Snow, Glass, Apples update will be going live tonight due to pregnancy inconveniences. Just lettin' people know!

Just a small reminder, ladies and gents – the Snow, Glass, Apples set will be available through the CBLDF at San Diego Comic Con! All our love and thanks to Neil for making this possible, and for taking the time to sign a few of the chapbooks! Neil, you really are one hell of a good guy, and we love ya! =D Here’s a recap of the details: Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab is thrilled to present a numbered, limited edition chapbook of Neil Gaiman’s acclaimed short story, Snow, Glass, Apples, beautifully illustrated by Julie Dillon. Each package includes a 5ml bottle of perfume, created by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, that was inspired by the tale. This set is a limited run of 1000. 250 will be sold by CBLDF at Comic Con 2008, and the remainder will go on sale July 30, 2008 on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab web site and will be available as long as supplies last. This is a charitable, not-for-profit venture: proceeds from every single set go to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, which works to preserve and protect the First Amendment rights of the comics community. Please visit the CBLDF’s booth at SDCC! 1831 and 1833 Neil Gaiman http://www.neilgaiman.com/ The Comic Book Legal Defense Fund http://www.cbldf.org/ Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab http://www.blackphoenixalchemylab.com More Neil news: Neil signed a HEAP of tees for the CBLDF, and some will be on sale through the fund at Comic Con! More CBLDF news: July 26: CBLDF's Comic-Con Auction! Live Art Auction! Saturday, 7:00 – 9:00 PM Room 2 This is the big one! The CBLDF holds its biggest auction of the year at Comic-Con, and this year brings some amazing one-of-a-kind items to raise money for Free Speech! Primo items include original art by Jack Kirby, Dave Gibbons, Walter Simonson, J. Scott Campbell, Jeff Smith, Neil Gaiman, Paul Pope, & more! All this plus rare comics, signed graphic novels, and prints! You will need a bidder number for this auction, at the CBLDF Booth #1831 or at the start of the event. Check out the full list of items below: 1) Matt Wagner, Stephen Colbert’s Tek Jansen #2, Cover (original art) 2) Jeff Smith, Shazam: Monster Society of Evil dust jacket gatefold, (original art) 3) Jack Kirby & Vince Colletta, “The Teacher,” 10 page romance story (original art) 4) Dave Gibbons, Watchmen group portrait (original art) 5) J. Scott Campbell, Liberty Comics Danger Girl cover (original art) 6) Walter Simonson, Thor in Asgard, (original art) 7) Jim Silke, Bettie Page watercolor (original art) 8) Greg Rucka, Montoya Crime Journal – One of a kind journal created by Greg Rucka for “The Question”. Details: http://www.vicsage.com/wp/montoyas-journal...artifact-photos (book arts) 9) Paul Pope, Batman Year 100 page(original art) 10) Mike Allred, Solo -- Mr. Miracle ‘Batusi’ Unused Cover (original art) 11) Shaun McManus, Swamp Thing, Pog group portrait (original art) 12) Terry Moore, Strangers in Paradise #8, p 4 (original art) 13) Marc Silvestri, Whilce Portacio, Rob Liefeld, Jim Valentino, Erik Larsen, jam drawing, pencil on Bristol (original art) 14) Nicholas Gurewich, Perry Bible Fellowship – “Zuthulu’s Resurrection” (original art) 15) Brian Haberlin, Spawn #173, p 2-3, Double Page Splash (original art) 16) Dave Sim, Neil Gaiman, “Lithograph 1: Neil Gaiman,” signed by Sim, collage retouch by Gaiman (prints/original art) 17) Carla Speed McNeil, Frank Ironwine p. 13, signed by McNeil & Warren Ellis (original art) 18) Eric Powell, Noir #3, page 2, signed with Goon Sketch (original art) 19) Endless Reflections. One of a kind Sandman art tribute.(book arts) 20) Jimmie Robinson!, Bomb Queen CBLDF Pin-Up (original art) 21) Walter Simonson, Orion, original drawing (original art) 22) Charlie Adlard, “The 12 Brothers” 4 page story (original art) 23) Richard Moore, Boneyard pinup (original art) 24) Goran Sudzuka & José Marzan Jr., Y: The Last Man #32, Page 19 (original art) 25) Jeremy Love, Y & Ampersand Pin Up (original art) 26) David Mack, The Shy Creatures, drawing (original art) 27) Spain Rodriguez, Three Women, sketch (original art) 28) Timothy Truman, Grimjack drawing for CBLDF (original art) 29) Ramon Bachs, John Lucas, Civil War: Embedded #4, p. 7 (original art) 30) Brian Stelfreeze, figure studies, set of 7 (original art) 31) Charlie Adlard, First Character designs for The Establishment, set of 5 (original art) 32) Scott Roberts, Patty Cake page (original art) 33) John Heebink, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers #7, p. 14 (original art) 34) Neil Gaiman, The Dangerous Alphabet #260/400 (prints) 35) Neil Gaiman, Murder Mysteries HC, #122/250 (book arts) 36) Neil Gaiman, The Sky At Night broadsheet #1/5 (prints) 37) Superpowers poster signed by Alex Ross (prints) 38) Ewoks original hand painted production cel (animation art) 39) William Stout print #43/75, signed; hurt corners (prints) 40) Rino Munzo 1984 portfolio, signed (prints) 41) Jim Fitzpatrick 1979 Portfolio, signed (prints) 42) Jan Duursema’s Spirit Guides portfolio #510/1500, signed (prints) 43) Harlan Ellison Angry Candy HC, signed (book arts) 44) Ian Carr, Malcolm & Eric, 2 page story (original art) 45) Neil Gaiman, Stardust Movie Premiere ticket, signed (ephemera) 46) Fabio Laguna, Dragon’s Lair pinup (original art) 47) Michael Gaydos, Unidentified, p. 5 (original art) 48) Alan Moore & Todd Klein, Alphabets of Desire, signed print, first edition (prints) 49) Frank Miller, 300 print, printer’s test print, signed (prints) 50) Arthur Suydam, Forbidden Zone poster, signed (prints) 51) Arthur Suydam, Conan poster, 2005, Dragon Con, signed (prints) 52) Eric Powell, Dave Stewart, Goon Monoprint, signed by both with sketch by Powell (prints) 53) Cerebus #147, featuring Neil Gaiman’s 24 Hour Comic, signed with sketch by Sim (comics) So, if you’re in town for the ‘Con, get your funky ass over to the CBLDF booth and the CBLDF’s Saturday auction! You can get your hands on some amazing stuff, and it all goes to a very, very good cause!

What is the Lunacy this month, you ask? Why, its… STURGEON MOON A month of bounty, when the fish are plentiful and the corn grows high. This is the scent of breezes passing over the Great Lakes, mingling gently with traditional lunar herbs. Sandy shores and sweet fresh water, lichen, green algae, and whitestem pondweed, with benzoin, cyclamen, moonlit musk, cucumber, blue poppy, and agave. Sturgeon Moon is also live at Black Phoenix Trading Post! Artwork by Ms. Jennifer Williamson. No fishes were harmed in the making of these products, and no, Sturgeon Moon does not smell like fishguts or roe! Hee! Also in the LE section this month… PENUMBRA The observer’s space within a partial eclipse. Rich purple musk, moonflower, red sandalwood, black amber, oakmoss, copal, lavender, neroli, tobacco, and pomegranate. Sturgeon Moon and Penumbra are $17.50 per bottle, and will be live until July 20, 2008. Also live this month… (insert dramatic pause and drumroll here, for its been two years since our last one!)…. CHAOS THEORY IV: EDGE OF CHAOS Each bottle of Chaos Theory is truly unique, a fragrant fractal, and exercise in the joy of chance and uncertainty! Each is a one-of-a-kind, utterly random combination of scents, the composition of which is based on whim, mood and gut instinct. Most common allergens have been omitted from the experiment. No pennyroyal, no nuts, no cinnamon, no cassia. Regardless, if you have any sensitivities, please do not participate in Chaos Theory. The contents of the oils are not recorded [that’s the whole point!] and we will not be able to answer questions about specific bottles of CT4 or guarantee that an allergen is not present in your order. By purchasing CT:4, you agree to absolve Black Phoenix of any responsibility related to an allergic reaction to one of the oils in this series. Please make a responsible choice, and use caution and discretion when ordering. This is intended to be a fun, exciting project. Please bear in mind that all Black Phoenix oils are made in an environment that contains nuts, both literally and figuratively. The Chaos blends were created by both myself and Mister Constantine, with a handful contributed by Teddy, so you get an extra dose of chaos! The long-awaited Snow, Glass, Apples perfume will be making its debut at San Diego Comic Con! The SGA package includes Neil Gaiman’s short story in chapbook format, beautifully illustrated by Julie Dillon, and a 5ml bottle of perfume inspired by the tale. This set is a limited run of 1000. 250 will be sold by CBLDF at Comic Con 2008, and the remainder will go on sale July 30, 2008 on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab web site and will be available as long as supplies last. All profits from this project benefit the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund! The next act of Carnaval will be coming soon, and, as is BPAL tradition, the Halloween scents will be going live in August! Coming soon to Black Phoenix Trading Post: the MVJBA Pancake Breakfast and Summoning, the next installment of sin / virtue bath oils, more atmospheric schpritzies, the Courtesans series of solid perfumes, disturbing bunnies and kittens, lockets and pendants inspired by Neil Gaiman's brilliant short stories (benefiting Alzheimer’s research and Match It For Pratchett), and a whole kaboodle more! PSST!… bpal.org forum peeps, mosey on over here.

If you’re in the Los Angeles area, please come down and celebrate with them! There will be fantastic deals on facials, gift bags, product sales, and – most importantly – drinks and cupcakes! If you spend more than $100 with LePink, you’ll be entered in to a raffle for gift baskets valued between $75 and $125. If you purchase two BPAL oils while you’re there, you will receive a little sumthin’. =) Please show your support for a wonderful local business!

Two summer moons are rising in the summer sky! - you have your faithful narrator's pregnancy psychosis to thank for it! Heh! I'll spare you the long-winded Piscean Fish Story behind it, suffice to say that my progesterone-pumped whacko'ness made one moon, forgot about it, and made another. Someone needs more sleep! For your pleasure: The moon was but a chin of gold A night or two ago, And now she turns her perfect face Upon the world below. Her forehead is of amplest blond; Her cheek like beryl stone; Her eye unto the summer dew The likest I have known. Her lips of amber never part; But what must be the smile Upon her friend she could bestow Were such her silver will! And what a privilege to be But the remotest star! For certainly her way might pass Beside your twinkling door. Her bonnet is the firmament, The universe her shoe, The stars the trinkets at her belt, Her dimities of blue. HAY MOON Hay absolute, tall grasses, dry honey, mallow, cardamom, amber, and wheat. MEAD MOON Golden mead, fermented with gruit, nutmeg, clove, cinnamon, ginger root, sweet-briar, rosemary, and lemon. Hay Moon and Mead Moon are also live at Black Phoenix Trading Post! Artwork courtesy of our beloved Jennifer Williamson. Hay and Mead will be live at both sites until June 20, 2008. The Spring Training will be coming down off of the BPTP site when Hay and Mead come down, and the new MVJBA scents will go live soon. =)

13 is live at Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and... The Four Seasons Inquest update is live at Black Phoenix Trading Post! Also! -- 2ml spray samples of the Atmospheric Sprays (Goblin Squirts!) are now available at BPTP for $4 a pop! Squirty squirteroo! A portion of the sales from BPAL's 13 and BPTP's Four Seasons Inquest will benefit the Wildlife Waystation. Due to county issues and the current economic climate, the Wildlife Waystation is currently unable to help itself the way it normally would with tours and public events. With operation costs climbing and donations dipping, its getting harder and harder for them to keep going. They're good people that do good work, caring for and sheltering 400+ animals, and we want to do what we can to help.