impolight

:::PERVERSION::: Bondage ball? Do tell! This one begged to be looked at from behind closed eyelids... When there isn't anyone else around. The notes could go either way. From experience, they have... From the Imp: This is, surprisingly, much sweeter than anticipated. Ordinarily the Winey notes tend to have a more assertive presence, yet here, the Tonka and Tobacco are, by far, the most prevalent. The Rum is even a suprasucralose version of itsself... No Leather yet, which is a crying shame because the Lab's Leather is one of the best things a body can olfactorily experience! On the Skin: Weird! Astringent, tonsil-nipping sweetness. For whatever reason, the body chemistry has rendered this into bittersweet chocolate, peanut-skins and hairspray. Zero Leather. ( a shame ) This might fly on a silky, estrogen-kissed set of glands and pheremones, but here on Him, it's a creepy cough drop. No dice. 2 out of 5.

:::PET MAGAH BIRD::: The Dream Quest of Unknown Kaddath is one of the best works that Howard Philip Lovecraft was able to set to paper in His lifetime. The Magah Bird's depiction in the story was one of the things that made it particulary memorable. Lovecraft's penchant for altiloquence is often the breathless prelude to an evening of preternaturally sound sleeping. Having missed this when it's debut in The Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire, the disappointments were poignant and vast. An opportunity for swappage came about recently, bringing about an attack of thundering elations! Eek! Having gone back to review the fragrance's profile, there was no small measure of surprise that there was no mention of Balsam, Copal, or some other arboreal goody icluded; after all, the Magah Birds were residents of the "Resin Groves". The fact that the full-prism of their plumeage was paid homage will do more than suffice, to be sure. The Lab has yet to disappoint, especially in the realms of all things Lovecraftian. From the Bottle: Tropical fruit, Sugar, Caramel, and flowers. This has the initial impression of some sort of Holiday spread of confections laid out in a sultry and humid setting. Pet Magah bird is dazzling. While the dulcent notes are, by far, the most prominent, there is something in this, almost like a fine-grained wood that keeps it from being outright foody. The Guava and the Blood Orange work in unison to give Pet Magah Bird a bejeweled brilliance; wee, spectral flashes of Topaz, Garnet, and Emerald. The Sugar Cane is crazy-good! A stalk of this had been recently picked up at the market to be gnawed, masticated, and otherwise orally abused. The note is impeccable! The fibrousness of the bark, the granulated core, the earthy sweetness are all flawlessly represented. Bravo! The Frangipani's sweetness influences the aspects of all of the other notes individually. The Caramel wants to separate from and outwork the other notes in the worst way However, it would be an uphill battle. The Allspice was a refreshing twist. Allspice gives this shrill, purply and piquant edge to the formula, saving it from being too gentle. Epidermal Illinition: Whoah, there, purple-pulsar! Finally, the Black Plum explodes into life! Along with the Allspice and the Violets, this makes the chromatic trifecta that will have poryphyrphiliacs of the cosmos unite! This is a shockwave of liquified, deep-purple crushed velvet being skillfully dribbled over your naked, tingling skin. Also unique, is the way that the Allspice blends with the Sugar Cane and the Coconut husk; very sweetly woodsy. The Caramel is the perfect finisher, giving a sweet and toasty brownness to the woodier notes; a grove of burning, living trees, giving a very 'resinous' profile to this formula... Sheer brilliance! Pet Magah Bird is very sweet. It mellows into something that could be described as purple, tropical sugar With exotic spices, flowers and woods. Imagine a some exotic dessert featuring Ube that is being served in an ultra-exclusive brothel and the impressions begin to form. Pet Magah Bird is a reward in and of itsself. It perfectly represents the zeitgeist of travels to distant and exotic lands, fully embodying the self-purification experienced by souls who yearn to delve into the endless wonders of creation and to live in the moment as an innocent. Pet Magah Bird is gloriously unisex. On Him, Pet Magah Bird is the starry-eyed bohemian busquing at the waters edge with a lute. On Her, Pet Magah Bird is the epitome of liberty; free-flowing locks and smiling face turned toward the sun. Pet Magah Bird gives cause to celebrate life, especially in terms of the prowess of the human mind's ability to tap into moments of deification. Pet Magah Bird is the stuff of bliss and adventure. A must for dreamers of every category. Pet Magah Bird gets the highest marks. A surefire 5.5 out of 5. You're guaranteed to feel lucky!

:::A COUNTENANCE FOREBODING EVIL::: What a moody, bloody moiker for this fragrance! And just in time for the advent of All Hallow's Eve! Shop windows are slowly being populated with Witches, Scarecrows, Black Cats, etc. Store shelves bulge with candy-corn. And there has been much in the way of knicker-piddling excitement over the 2010 release of the Halloweenies in the LE category! Whee! A Countenance Foreboding Evil has long been the source of almost terminal curiosity. Ordinarily, once the change-jar has reached capacity, there are far too many diversions that stand between these greedy eyes and flaming imagination and ACFE successfully landing in the order. *sigh* Well, thanks to the wonder that is swappage, and Imp stowed away in a cigar-box full of siblings and is here for the day's inspection and review. Glee! From the Imp: Holy Heck! That is SO ithyphallically, whigmaleeriously GOOD! Mea Culpa, it is easy to forget how awesome Patchouli can be. Too often it has the misfortune of being associated with some cheapsy, crude, automotive-quality ick that is favored by specific misanthropes who will elect to paint their necks brown with the stuff rather than attend to personal hygeine. This Patchouli, however, is deleriously leafy, clean, and sharp; a reminder that Patchouli actually IS a member of the Mint family. The Lab's note of Blood Orange has long been admired for being an olfactory jewel. It is hard to say what sets this apart from other citrus notes, but the distinction is clear. The Lab's Vetiver is a long-time fave. It is slow to be accepted into the status of popularity, but this reviewer is deep in the thrall of it's earthy, cardamomy, lemongrassy goodness. Ylang-ylang is somewhat of a quandry. Just about the time a notion will arise that it recogniseable, it changes characteristics. Sometimes, it behaves almost exactly like Jasmine. Others, it is closer to Benzoin, Ambergris, a new rubber-toy, or... Copal. It is always good. Illinition: Patchouli and Blood Orange largely take charge. This is delightfully tangy, almost coppery and bloody. Good for salivating! Yup. There is that new bouncy-ball smell boinging into the foray from the Ylang-ylang. The Vetiver has been surprisingly shy this time around. It is more of a suggestion of itself. It is more like some posh socialite on safari; sprawled out in the back row and fanning itself with a fan that it paid some village-girl a pittance to weave from Lemongrass. Nerve! A Countenance Foreboding Evil is tangy, woodsy, and regal. Indisputably masculine, there is more hauteur here than there is paranoia or anxiety. A countenance Foreboding Evil is wicked fun! This would go nicely with a Halloweeny theme, though of a malicious sort. This is the fragrance of the dastard who would offhandedly bash a kid over the noggin with his walking-stick, taking their trick-or-treat bag as he strode away airily, whistling a merry tune. This is worth a full bottle, and gets a 5 out of 5!

:::ZIEBA TREE::: Rappaccini's Garden is a constant in incredible and arcane fragrances. The Zieba Tree is no exception. If a tree like this exists anywhere, there is going to have to be one just off the balcony where coffee or tea will be enjoyed every morning. Naked. From the Imp: Soft and wooing. The Zieba Tree is remarkably smooth. The Lemon Blossom, Orange Blossom, and Sandalwood blend to generate a glowing, polished force-field an almost sonic quality; yes,The Zieba Tree almost sings. It is like the castrati of legend, purifying and rededicating his love of all things eternal to the music of thunder. On the Skin: Undeniably ethereal. Gorgeous. The Zieba Tree proudly displays Her resins here; expertly weaving them throughout the complexities of the precipitous blossoms and the Sandalwood and the Musks. The Peach provided the perfect amount of crisp lushness in this formula. A true treasure of the orchard. The Zieba Tree is fantastic. Glow-in-the-dark on Him, Faery-wings on Her. 4 out of 5.

:::GRAND GUIGNOL::: Sweet Apricot Brandy, is it? While Apricots are indeed something of a treat, it is hard to imagine imbibing it to settle the nerves after attending politically-incorrect and morbid theatrics. It's kinda like guzzling a quart of Peach Schnapps while watching "Resevoir Dogs", vivisection, or snuff films. Antacids beckon. That being said, Grand Guignol is, in fact, strangely comforting. The Apricot is a shining and succulent version. The Brandy is more like pipe-tobacco. This brings back memories of going up to Idyllwild with friends after graduation and perching on boulders by the riverbank. Donning trench-coats and big, floppy hats, there was a big pouch of tobacco that was smoked from these ridiculous, grandfatherly pipes. The feeling was a very smugly Tolkienesque one. Grand Guignol is almost silly. There is nothing at all wrong with it. From relating to it from personal experience, it just feels... Immature. Reckless. This seems like it would be worn by someone who spends a significant part of their day-to-day life in denial; in a world largely of their own making. For this reason, it is to be applauded! On the Skin: Spectacular! While the tobacco/brandy note has faded away, the Apricot amps colossally. The luscious succulence is still here, but it seems to have grown skin, kernel, and leaf! Awesome! Grand Guignol explodes in an array of autumnal and sunset colors (spectrally) while still maintaining the exuberance and vitality of high-summer. This would very well make a gorgeous room-fragrance, especially for a charming botique. Grand Guignol smells refined and formal at this phase. This is something a ballerina might wear. Grand Guignol is a fragrance for Her. He could get away with wearing it, sure, but the best way to accomplish this favorably would be for it to transfer from Her skin to His after a humid and groping... Encounter. Stunningly beautiful. A 4.9 out of 5.

The Cardinal Sin of inertia? This IS exciting. There is, admittedly, a favourable bias toward Vetiver on this end. Vetiver is something that would be a liberty to curl up and nest in the skin for a good old-fashioned day of loafing about and feeling quite smug about it. This should go over well as the body-chemistry does all sorts of wonderful things with this loveliest of tropical grasses... It is difficult to predict how the Myrrh will contribute to this particular blend. In some cases, Myrrh will behave almost like Amber, bringing a rich and golden sweetness; it does this in Obsidian Widow. At other times, Myrrh can behave almost as a bitterant. It will have the sharp, intense purply assertiveness that almost imitates Lavender. This was certainly the case in Death Adder. From the Imp: Sloth is brilliantly soporific! This is loafing about on a foggy morning, watching Alfred Hitchcock or The Twilight Zone, gobbling mass-produced confections. The Vetiver is perfection. It is distinct, but takes care not to overwhelm the Myrrh.The Myrrh whirls about as though on the head of a pin; a gleefully centrifugal homogenization of sweet and sharp. Spectrally, this is the splendiferously Victorian interior decor of richest mahogany, royal purple velvet, and gold filigree! This is a bay-window in a library overlooking an overgrown garden. On the Skin: Sloth waxes exponentially infernal! This is clawing, biting deviance atop silken sheets strewn with crushed flowers and drizzled with sweat. This is panting with your scalp still afire from pulled hair, the taste of blood from a split lip, still seeing fireworks pop and bloom behind closed lids... There is a taste of scorched Cinnamon in the back of your throat and your thighs can't stop twitching. Sloth is delvilishly good! Sloth is the profoundest undoing of lofty virtue; not by force, but by an unabashed and slavering spirit of hungry volunteerism. Roughly 20 minutes into the dry-down, Sloth reverts back to the embodiment of cosmically motionless bliss and oblivion. Let the hordes scrabble, scrounge, and hyperventilate... This is contempt for the drive to rush, a million miles per hour, to nowhere. This is the slamming of the door on the bustling of the throng raised to fever-pitch. Sloth wreaths the wearer in a pastel-purple mist; suspending you, zero-gravity, in a glowing, utterly silent womb, dead-center of an interstellar nothingness. This is utter satisfaction with yourself, just as you are. Sloth is a resplendant, powdery, flickering light; shadowless and warm. Sloth is wickedly sweet on Her and fiery corruption on Him. This is very close to what preconceived notions for 'Fallen' had painted in the imagination. Sloth is a virtuoso of vice. Sloth isn't at all subtle or small time. This is the big leagues of Sin. Sloth can receive no higher recommendation. Superb. 5 out of 5.

[u]DEATH ADDER[/u] This one came thisaway in the form of a gift! (Thank you, Chicken Lips!) Snake Oil and Vetiver? Really? What could go wrong? Howbout... Nothing? So far, anything from the Snake Pit kicks proverbial fundament. The opportunity to experience the much beloved Snake Oil in the company of Vetiver is truly remarkable. From the Bottle: Wooo! The Vetiver is punchy! Though frequently assertive by nature, the Vetiver attacks in this formula. Imagine a double-carbonated Vetiver beverage. Snorted. After blinking away tears, one leans in for another snort. Sure enough, the effect is much the same; though, this time, there are hints of some of the other elements... Ah, Snake Oil. How awesome is this, er, note? The toasty, brown, tropical sugar-bomb of this stuff is a delight in and of itself. Snake Oil acts as a perversion of some exclusive, gourmet tanning oil. Wet on the Epidermis: Oh, snap! This is almost... Chocolatey! The Vanilla and Coconut merge and join forces with the Snake Oil to generate a smooth, gliding brownness. When Vetiver and Myrrh come together, bringing their narcotic bitterant like a velvet hammer, the sfumato effect carries the wearer on an unctious and aithochrous current... Perfection. On the dry-down, Death Adder's Vetiver comes more to the fore, making this particular blend lean closer to masculine sensibilities. The longer it coiled itself around the pulse-points, the more the mind was flooded with imageries of a brooding, affluent, and agreeably coiffed hooligan fingering a wickedly pointed blade almost absent-mindedly while his nose is buried in some worn, machavellian text. Death adder is very, very nice. This is a fragrance for him. Ideally suited for formal dining, worship, or swaggering about campus. Death Adder has a decent throw and an abundance of staying power. This could be heartily recommended to any aspiring rogue with a benchant for salivary applause. Gleefully good. Effortlessly 5 out of 5.

:::DJINN::: Alot of excitement is whirling about in the frothier revolutions inspired by the notions of the fragrance that is Djinn. Just imagine the vinyl that would get spun, the lights, the reverbating basslines! ( a funny? ) Seriously, the Lab personifying a spiritual entity originating from the scorching dunes, beneath impossible firmaments in the geography where the Occidental religions of the earth all began is quite the thrill! Although no specific notes were listed, this also quickens the pulse as anticipation of something truly otherworldly is promised! From the Imp: Scimitar-sharp! There is definitely a glittering, metallic ping that swirls up from the uncapping. ( Do I get three wishes even if I didn't rub it first? ) There is something very Cedar-ish about the early impression... Perhaps Lebanese in origin. There are also Cardamomy bits, citrus peel, Black Pepper, and only the slightest smokiness. Djinn is, in fact, quite refreshing at this stage. This seems as though it would right at home in a cocktail bar or a discotheque. There is also the teensiest smooch of Vetiver. Yeah, Djinn is the wilder sorceries of the desert meets the sultrier exoticisms of tropical grasses. Surely the burning is here somewhere, but for now there is more to fear from something toxic yet beguiling that is secreted in the whispering shadows of tall grasses. On the Skin: This fragrance is amazing! The allusion to flames, smoke, and scorching may be just a little misleading, though. If anything, being consumed by a rogue star ot being thrown directly into the sun itself could be a parallel. Djinn is SO bright, SO clean, SO fresh! This is humid, vibrant, electric greenery. This is volatile and euphoric. Djinn seems as though it was created with Him in mind. Djinn goes well with mustache wax, pomade, and a polka-dot neck-tie. For the voracious dandy! 5 out of 5.

:::SACHS::: Thank you Sissy ( aka CkickenLips ) for passing Sachs thisaway as a Frimp! Loving it! Having, for the most part, fallen away from the Comic Book subculture since about the 6th grade, there really wasn't enough familiarity with Sachs & Violens to provide a significant lure. Reading about the notes piqued some level of interest, but when finances were available, there was a much heavier leaning toward some of the formulas in several other categories. Laying hands on this one came as a definative bonus. From the Imp: Cogitus Interruptus! Sachs is good enough to slap a mouth free of teeth. The fusion of Vanillas and Roman Chamomile is serendipitously heart-rending. This is the olfactory embodiment of that slow-song you never quite had the courage to ask for and have been regretting ever since junior high school. This is a wooden, powdery, and fluorescent lilac-hued essence that makes every skin cell a resonant chime. Starbursts glint in every pore. Every hair follicle sighs in harmony of memories of easterly gusts through highmost arboreal foliage. At times, there is almost a hint of Licorice and Nuts sprawling in the shadows of this formula. On the Skin: The Chamomile develops brilliant, sharp edges when it's wet... A golden mace with a greenish patina. The Licoricey element swells for a bit before tapering off. A peppery, papery, leathery effect gives Sachs a toughened, hard-bitten feel. As Sachs dries down, much more of the Burbon Vanilla comes to the fore. The Chamomile is softened and subdued to the point of becoming recogniseable as a delicate floral essence beneath the malice. Sachs leaves the impression of supernaturally violent efficiency (not really) concealed by a 'softer side'. From the Imp, this could have been described as unisex. On the skin, however, Sachs mellows into a silkient and purring glow that is perfectly suited for Her body chemistry. A brilliant contribution from the Lab. 4.75 out of 5.

:::SHUB-NIGGURATH::: The lust incense of a corrupt Astarte? *gulp* This should be a spiritual trainwreck, then, considering it is described thus, it is the Lab's, and it is Lovecraftian... The bar of soap bearing the same descriptor was recently noticed at the Trading Post, so the assumption is that this fragrance has gotten lots of favorable fanfare already. From the Bottle: a deep, slow inhalation of this brings hot, woody, caramelly spiciness. This is a lit clove cigarette, a caramel lolly-pop, warm cognac, and a patent-leather mini-skirt. This spells trubble. This is wee, warm slices of triple-spice apple pie with caramel sauce just covering all the right spots on an otherwise unclothed Supermodel/gymnast. Painfullyummy. Shub-Niggurath is, so far, creamy spice and fruity sucvelence. It is only when the bottle is held directly beneath the nostrils and huffed repeatedly that the Ginger is located amid all the perverted and twitching madness that boils like electrified chicle. Shub-Niggurath is a naughty, guilty, gooey-good bite of evilisciousness. Flirty, dirty and perverty! Too bad the incense hasn't been noticeable yet... On the Skin: HOLY AMP!!!! The Ginger now sky-rockets to the front and center boldly! This also seems to have a vicious edge of Cinnamon! Shub-Niggurath is very much like Pickled Imp... with an obsidian-edged blade held up to your pulse. Shub-Niggurath burns with black and rust coloured flames... At this phase, the creamy and caramelly notes have long gone the way of the archeopteryx. This is brutally smoldering. After it had mellowed enough to stop making the eyes sting, other elements began to surface; the incense is wonderful... More like the shin-bone length, ebony wands of the stuff than the daintier things that fit fifty to a small, blue box. There is an almost apple twinge to this, too... like a spiced-cider that you could sink your teeth into. The Ginger really smolders here, too... This is grated, fresh Ginger,not the powdery, bleached-yellow stuff. This Ginger is a far cry from a cookie. This rhizome looks as though it's thinking of choking you in your sleep. Several Hours Later: While Cinnamon has relinquished it's preponderance of presence, the Ginger lingers to a surprising degree. The Incensey note is very nice at this phase; almost like the way your garments might smell after you had spent a couple of hours lingering in the company of some gentrified bohemian mystic with a flair for the stuff... On the way here, it went through an almost coppery or iron phase. At one point, it smelled like blood in ocean water had found it's way into the mix. Molten metal adjacent to an open wound. Incense resin sizzling and popping on white-hot iron. Here in way's final phases, Shub-Niggurath has proven to be a versatile and excelsior fragrance. The experience had with Shub-Niggurath so far indicates that the Trading Post's soap version of this will definitely be to die for. On Him, Shub-Niggurath is a heavily muscled fire-breather who is devoted to your every ecstacy. On Her, Shub-Niggurath is a toussle with the velvet, slinky, tongue-teaser in a Boris Vallejo favourite. Shub-Niggurath is everything a person could ask for in a BPAL formula. This should be a smash! Thank the Lab for putting the sexy back in Lovecraft! A 5.5 out of 5!

:::THE MUSIC OF ERICH ZAHN::: This one was difficult to find! The onset of overstimulation happened quickly: Here is a fragrance based on one of H.P. Lovecraft's spookiest stories! The Music of Erich Zahn probably best adheres to the human psyche because of it's keen attendance to one of humankind's oldest fears; the fear of the unknown. Lovecraft accomplished this by a stately underwriting of the thing that came to visit Zahn and his guest at the balcony window... One can only guess as to why the viol wasn't splintered between zahn's knees out of fright! From the Bottle: This stuff is absolutely amazing! The stink of fear! This is meant in the best of possible ways. The Vetiver is certainly identifiable here, but it is not as aggressive in this formula as it might behave in others. Though it's not included in the notes, there seems to be Yuzu or some other Grapefruitish element that is a bright and shiny needle of a fragrance that serves to push the envelope of the smell of fear further. The Ajowan is flipping brilliant. Here, it totally embodies Caraway, which is genius because it indirectly alludes to Zahn's German ancestry. The dark, pasty brown of the Tamarind used in The Music of Erich Zahn is really great because it evokes an association with Lovecraft's gargoyle imagery he uses to describe Zahn. It also conjures the vision that the story's narrator experiences in response to Zahn's music that details a bacchanalia and a, "Satyr" (another jolly-good formula!). The Black Musk is pretty genius. It could not be described as at all assertive in this formula, but it does wonderfully hang. Imagine a black nylon stocking stretched over a camera lens. On the Skin: All of these notes slam together like galaxy's colliding. The effect is unreal. Zahn can be seen! Bright-eyed and bent. Gritty, tanned skin. A caricature of mischief. There is also a distinct feeling of a spartan, scholarly miser of a man. The combined essences of this formula remind of several things: Violin-varnish, catgut, Leather, dusty books, teabags, sweet cigars, vodka, and super-strong coffee. The self-loathing of handicap clashes with a smug sense of superiority deriving from otherworldly proficiency, skill, and talent. This is made all the more complex by the knowlege of the nightmarish things that have come to ply Zahn with their unwelcome attentions so great, so uncanny, so unparalelled are the scale of his frequencies... The intergalactic symphony of dinner or, perhaps, a beckoning slave. The Music of Erich Zahn is a fabulously provocative fragrance. The fragrance has all of the qualities that make it perfectly suited for representing a rippingly good, frighful fireside yarn. This would be a marvelous addition to anyone's colletion and would be a surefire hit to break out and annoint the self for some Holiday bragging-rights, come All Hallow's Eve. Spectrally, The Music of Erich Zahn is cosmos black, cocoa, granite, tinsel, amber, lavender, evergreen and maroon. The Music of Erich Zahn would serve either of the sexes equally well. On Her, The Music of Erich Zahn is a wizened muse who has the unsettling ability to appear as though floating when she walks. On Him, The Music of Erich Zahn is diabolically dapper in a deranged and dismal sort of fashion. Definitely worth seeking out!An easy 5 out of 5!

:::THE GRAND INQUISITOR'S HERETIC'S FORK::: The device that inspired this formula is one nasty piece of work! Abuiro, indeed! Guilty of having religiously ecstatic of the Lab! Sorry this scent hadn't been purchased earlier! Vetiver is a not-so-guilty pleasure. The Wife and Sister are fanatically opposed and have muttered many a wild heresy against it. No matter... Here, Vetiver will find champion. Vetiver will find love. Vetiver is welcome home. *sniff* From the Bottle: Mmmmm... Now THAT'S a good Vetiver! This is haunting, murky, and dark. The Vetiver in Grand Inquisitor's Heretic's Fork is mercilessly, violently stygian. This the utter, wretched hopelessness of being clapped in irons deep beneath the surface of the earth awaiting unspeakable agonies to be administered by a glittery-eyed sadist who is well-versed in the divine works of soft secrets and nerve-endings. Grand Inquisitor's Heretic's Fork will send shivers down the spine as to how not too far away we are from such a lightless, barbarically unhinged period of humanity we are despite notions of freedom and technology. None of the other notes included in the description are yet identifiable as the Vetiver wears the cleanest red-velvet frock and the most ornately bejeweled cruciform. On the Skin: Whoah. The Blood is crazy... Actually, a double-take was necessary to verify absence of physical wound(s). Vetiver's darkness combined with the sanguine effect only amplifies the unease. After some moments, Metal, too, joins the foray. The Lab's Metal is always mystifying because it is hard to imagine how one would squeeze, boil, or steam-distill oil from... Metal, but there it is. Metal is also suggestive of some intimately cruel device designed for the sole purpose of burrowing worryingly into the bashful deeps of some tender bits. Bonfire smoke is here too, but only just. This is more like the smoke you'd expect to smell on the robe of some priest walking a few cells away... Oh,what you wouldn't give for that diversion of flickering light, or the mercifully quick end amid the flames! The Grand Inquisitor's Heretic's Fork is a beautiful, fantastically macabre fragrance. Spetrally, it is very dark; dungeonesque, dreary black and grey, dried-blood red, dark earth smeared into sweating flesh, etc. After a considerable period of mellowing, The Grand Inquisitor's Heretic's Fork proves to be a likely candidate for Him. This is a no-nonsense, start crying and hope for the best should you ever encounter this person alone type of His fragrance. This is the fragrance of power. This power was won and it was won with unprecedented ruthelessness. Make way for the fragrance that is The Grand Inquisitor's Heretic's Fork! 4.75 out of 5.

:::MOTHER SHUB'S PFANCY PFEFFERNEUSSE::: This one arrived to the personal collection via swap only recently (Thank You, Schnanni!), so, while it might be just a wee bit early for Holiday-Cheer, the Yuletide Spirit looms large nonetheless! The labels' artwork is awesome. While this is indeed Miskatonic chic, admittedly, there was some chuckling over it because the greenish claw depicted thereon was suggestive of The Grinch. From the Bottle: Sugar, Nuts, and Cardamom. The contrast between the Nuts and the Sugar makes for a bit of madness. There really isn't quite a balance at this stage. This is the olfactory equivalent of a paroxysm. The Cardamom simply enhances this with a mentholated (medicated?) sort of twinge. At this phase, the Cardamom completely dominates the other spices. Strangely, this could be thus far described as a wooden bowl with one scoop each of Pistachio and Mint-Chip ice cream... And someone with a blown right pupil giggling while eating it with a thumbtack... "See? Pretty-pretty! Cockle-doodle-doo!" For the life of you, you can't remember whether it's your or their pee on the floor... On the Skin: And then you receive a frightful bash on the nog with a stout stick as been studded with Peppercorns. For some reason, Body Chemistry has declared the other spices in this formula delectable and gobbled them up, straight away. This is fiery greenish-black. Even the Nuts have wandered off into a snowbank. From here, this is pretty much Piper Nigrum... Perhaps a Green Peppercorn or two, for a show of comraderie, but Piper Nigrum wears the pants. It could be the Cardamom trying to hold out, but at this phase it smells ALOT more like something along the lines of broiled Fir sap... Imagine watching a Christmas Tree on fire while snack on a bag of Black Pepper Cashews and the picture starts to develop. Mother Shub's Pfancy Pfefferneusse is a Holiday Hit to cherish. Creeptastic Christmas on Him or Her. Stellar! Joy to the R'lyeh! 4.9 out of 5

:::Y'HA-NTHLEI::: Ah, the great, sub-oceanic, cyclopean metropolis of the abyss! *petting self* Must be calm. Must cease this foolish shaking! All of the notes listed in Y'ha Nthlei sound apoplectically amazing. Having tried Bijoux Y'ha Nthlei first (LE Yule 2009), there is almost a guarantee that this is going to be gorgeous! Heck, coming from the Lab, this is simply a given. From the Bottle: This is infinitely beautiful. While the Marine notes in this are apparent, they are also exquisite. This is what Sea of Glass is imagined to be like. Foamy is an extraordinarily brilliant illustration of poetic use of adjectives. The Ambergris in Y'ha Nthlei practically begs to be shaved with... At a pedestal sink. At an Atlantic seaside cottage. With an abalone-handled straight-razor. The Eucalyptus in this is VERY remniscent of The Coil from the Steamworks and Research Facility category. Y'ha Nthlei is, thus far, an aqueous fragrance of leviathan proportions. It is a ghostly tale of a beach-comber wandering the mists, wreathed in bladderwrack and on an eternal quest to secret away an infernal talisman of summoning safely away from the egomaniacal, prying eyes of mortals. On the Skin: The Marine Notes and the Ambergris swell, as though impregnated by a tidal surge originating in the brininess of the blood beneath the skin. The Bergamot amps in a huge way; cleaving the very air with a luminous tang. Y'ha Nthlei is a vivacious vortex of precambrian perfumery; a Jurassic juggernaut of feral, fantastical finesse. On Her, Y'ha Nthlei is a swirling sorcery of seduction on the surf. On Him, Y'ha Nthlei is a melancholy merman, set to devastate and deflower... Destined to reign the riptides. Y'ha Nthlei is another amazing conjuration. 5 out of 5!

:::HAND OF GLORY::: Gosh... This was probably one of the first stories that frightened the fizziness out of me as a child. I happened upon a collection of macabre ghost stories in the library and decided against reading the rest of the tome after finishing the story. It was a particularly rainy year and there was (I later learned) a cat in the shrubbery outside of my bedroom window bewailing its plight and manifold miseries using vocalizations I hadn't thought possible to have originated from a feline larynx (my fevered brain depicted some kind of bleeding, zombified infant that wanted me to pick him up and hold him close; away from the cold, so he could gnaw off an ear and pull eyeballs from their sockets). The Carnival Diabolique's Wünderkammer category has yet to disappoint in any capacity. Every last one of the included curiosities has been fantastically proportioned. This category, if any, truly personifies the carnivalesque. This is the classically gothic, morbid fascination that would have compelled Lovecraft and his peers to step through the flap and quail in the shadowy confines at the mysterious horrors displayed herein. From the Bottle: Crazy good. Apparent from the first draught is the Leather and Beeswax. These give the uneasy, inappropriately beautiful impression of dessication, mummification, and dark magic. This is sweetened by the Nutmeg, especially, and the Black Pepper. The warm spiciness of these two also insinuate the preservative motif. There is something very much like candlelight here (suggestive from the Beeswax?). Spectrally, Hand of Glory is deep, rich brown, leaden, crimson, and candleflame. On the Skin: Beeswax maintains a stranglehold on its dominant postion. The spices also stay true to form. The morph comes from the fantastical surge of the woodier elements at this phase. The Oak Bark really gives off the impression of a gnarled and twisted tree deep in some shadowy forest that filled the hearts of many an outlaw with dread as it was one of the final sights to take in before swinging from one of it's sturdier boughs. The Sandalwood is one of the Lab's loftier notes, and it brings a specialized, arboreal sweetness to this particular blend. Fans of No. 93 Engine from the Phoenix Steamworks and Research Facility will recognise a familial bond here, and fall head-over-heels for Hand of Glory.Yet again, Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs has produced a Wünderkind of an olfactory treat. The Hand of Glory will keep this reviewer spellbound for a long time to come. On Her, The Hand of glory is infernally exotic. She should be propped on a velvet cushion and worshipped in unspeakable ways. On Him, The Hand of Glory is cataclysmically charismatic. There are dark, dark magical workings that will effortlessly seduce and then jeopardize the unwary soul in a glittering snare. The Hand of Glory is an exquisite incantation that should tickle the tongue and linger on the lips of every last believer and and sycophant, and devotee of the Lab. This will prove an unequivocable cure for skepticism. A 5.9 out of 5.

The Lab's Leather note causes, erm, twitching from this experience. Every other note (aside from French florals only because it's too vague) provokes an equally strong visceral response. Being Francophonically challenged, the best guess at a rough translation of this particular formula's title would be, 'these of an unfortunate virtue'. This, in and of itself, piques an abundance of curiosity... Purchasing 5 mL of the stuff, untested, seemed a necessity. From the Bottle: Um, *"O" face* Where, even, to begin begets apoplexy! Les Infortunes De La Vertu is GOOD! Wrongfully so...There is such an apocalyptic collision course of splendidly, garishly indecent fragrances in this formula, it is difficult to even begin to describe. For many, it would be all too easy for Les Infortunes De La Vertu to surge right to the very top of the favourites list, whether it be from His or Her perspective. Incense, Leather, Amber, and Neroli dominate the very first impression. So flawlessly blended, these will have lower lips trembling to do the unspeakable bidding of the steamiest dom imaginable, or lick lips with the anticipation of wielding the cat-o-nine-tails themselves. Oakmoss floats on the very edge of the melee, lounging like an aristocratic voyeur. Surprisingly, the Rose and the French florals are uncharacteristically timid at this phase; completely inconspicuous. On the Skin: The Leather is outright merciless. The Oakmoss and Amber reconcile with one another's prowess in order to share a second-place spot under Leather's dominion. A note that must be the French florals surfaces. Strangely, while potent in their own way, the florals smell more like a boquet that has been used to torment the body of a lover; tracing moist, taut, and quivering flesh on the verge of explosion. There is no small measure of raunch and filthy-mindedness here. This is cruel and candied whoredom. This is the underbelly to twitch against and suckle from. This is the inadequate cloak of the secreter. This is a boozy leather jacket. This is a green velvet dress with a wet spot. This is a carpet burn on the small of your back that you're secretly reminded of all day. This is crushed greenery fresh from an illicit toussle in the woods behind the gymnasium. Les Infortunes De La Vertu is a Pandora's Box of unmitigated naughtiness. When you're done here, they're going to have to burn the confessional. On Her, Les Infortunes De La Vertu is an unforgiveable mynx. This is swivel-hipped, painted-eyed, Babylonian abandon. This is suffocation on ecstacy. On Him, Les Infortunes De La Vertu is an unholy menace. This is a strong-handed, Leather-clad, smoldering, chiseled torso of a screaming puddle of sweet release. Les Infortunes De La Vertu is one of the Lab's formulas that might make it hard to look anyone in the eye while wearing for fear of consequences and moral implications alike. Les Infortunes De La Vertu is is NOT to be worn irresponsibly! The Wife: "I like it, it smells like English Lather soap." The Self: "English Leather soap?" The Wife: "English LATHER soap... It's Old-Lady soap" *resumes adoring the laptop* There is a shortage white flags to wave, but the sentiment that Les Infortunes De La Vertu kicks total butt will stand unsullied as the result. Splendidly 5.75 out of 5!

:::SHOGGOTH::: The notes listed in this formula had proven utterly fearsome in their range and diversity; quite apt as a paradigm for the mighty Shoggoth! Whether or not this formula was inspired by the beck and call of The Old Ones, it is with only the greatest pleasure, and bated breath that this reviewer revels in this experience! From the Bottle: Amorphous, radiant, and incandescent, indeed! The most apparent notes, at first whiff, are the Lime and Green Coconut... Mildly surprising as this gives an almost... Tropical feel. This isn't quite the howling-mad desolation of the Antarctic, but the unease is quite genuine; delightfully so! The Lilly-of-the-valley is surprisingly nice, ordinarily a delicate fragrance, it was readily identifiable in this blend. The use of Palmarosa in this is flippin' brilliant; alluding to Nepalese geography... The Plateau of Leng... Nicholas Roerich. These are also all cleverly tied together with the Lemongrass and the Cypress (Hinoki) to really reel in the person to the Asiatic theme and really get the blood thundering in the ears. On the Skin: Emeraldetonation! This is like being bathed, every pore, in a green floodlight. The Lime oil dominates, but there is a waxy floral and a icy aqueousness that makes Shoggoth miles thick. Shoggoth is brilliantly, violently clean. Shoggoth is a glacier with a pulse, a subterranean immortal, a shapeshifting, snowmanly sex-symbol. On Her, Shoggoth would be worrisome, wild, and wicked. On Him, Shoggoth is a frightful collegiate spector with an icicle walking-stick and a luminous, green monacle. Bloody delicious, and well-deserving of the highest rank of Lovecraftian heraldry. A sneering, off-handedly easy 5 out of 5!

:::VASILISSA::: The faery tales of Vasalissa aren't that familiar, though for the love of the Lab, much research is in order. Both Amber and Sandalwood are of unfailingly stellar quality. Wherever the Lab, er, "shops" for their bulk oils (Grasse? Self-distillery?), it is consistently only the premium quality versions that ever see the light of day. From the Imp: Hello, Pink Skin Musk. Hello, Jasmine. Lovely day for a frolic in the park, is it not? At this phase, Sir Sandalwood is understated; preferring to stand at a distance and scowl disapprovingly over the top of some loftily compiled works of prose. On the Skin: Amber is HUGE with the body chemistry. Myrrh's tendrils are nigh hypnotic in a translucent sort of way... Together, there is an almost citrusy effect. Vasilissa is idiochromatic. Imagine the hide of a giraffe done in Copper and Hot Pink, but not tacky. Unique. .Vasilissa is a fabulous fragrance for Her. This gets a 4 out of 5. It's awfully cute!

:::HOW DOTH THE LITTLE CROCODILE::: This fragrance is rife with intrigue. Here, it gets associated with the Crocodile-Lamp that Grandpa bought to, "Eat the monsters and nightmares" that elicited screams from my room when I was about four...Thank you, Orange-Grandpa! The components of this formula are also intriguing with no end in sight! From the Imp: WOW! This scent actually DOES evoke saurean imagery... The formula explodes in a dazzling pyrotechnical display of Brown and Green deep in the most reptilian reaches of the brain. This is amazing! It is unfathomable how Elizabeth is able to so accurately coax these impressions from concentrated essences of plant residues. The most apparent note, and incredibly so, is the Pistachio. This has all of the rich, sweet exoticism of the drupe, and one can practically taste the dustiness of the shell. The Chocolate-Mint is good enough to sit and beckon from the top of a sugar-cone. The Vanilla is there, but is the hardest to detect of the the notes; it doesn't have the characteristic pervasiveness of the cacao and is a more generalised sweetness as a result. The Oakmoss is a brilliant addition; it ties the entire formula together and is what MAKES this Crocodialian. Oakmoss gives this formula a glittering dangerousness that lurks just beneath the surace, it is the flicker of fear just before you lean over to drink. On the Sin: The Cacao flares up in amperage for a brief moment before some aerial acrobatics and leaving a dusty contrail over the top of the rest. The Mint (surprisingly) takes a back seat to the Oakmoss and the Pistachio. When Oakmoss and Pistachio join forces with the Cedar (which popped out of the foliage and screamed; nearly inspiring bladder activity) the result is the primordial power of a bone-splintering tail and a crushing bite. From cute and sweet to utterly fearsome! How Doth the Little Crocodile is totally rad. While unisex is a possibility, it seems much more His thing after his thing after the morph. How Doth the Little Crocodile is muddy, golden, latern-yellow, and at least six shades of green. Wear this when you want to quietly lurk in a room and enjoy the spectacle of people wearing worried expressions, continuously looking over their shoulders, or starting every time someone uses the faucet. Purest, mischevious delight. 4.85 out of 5.

:::THE APPLE OF SODOM::: This is quite a peculiar scent. Certainty as what to make of it is finite. Referring to the Lab's notes was of little enlightenment. The Apple of Sodom smells like Apple, shampoo, Pine, varnish, and... Birthday candles. Eve did not put her feminine wiles on display when she smelled this and decided to bite it anyway. Adam's first thought upon following suit was a future vision of Nascar. The Denizens of Hell, celebrating their victory upon eating this, probably had a little too much... Brimstone scraping against their helmets. The Apple of Sodom isn't bad, mind you, it just isn't something you'd... Eat. On the Skin: Wow. The varnish really comes out and sets the gums to bleeding. There is a floral underneath this, struggling to catch a breath (Daffodil or Narcissus?), but it is quickly fumigated into submission. The Apple of Sodom is a fearsome contender. At first, it seems like it would be effective at repelling mosquitos or deterring predators, but once the intensity subsides, those soft florals are actualoly quite nice. The Apple of Sodom has become clear blue and pale white blossoms cascading through the air currents. The Apple of Sodom would be a nice, fresh formula for Her. This would also serve as a sensible room fragrance. 4 out of 5.

:::KING OF HEARTS::: There was some trepidation with trying, "King of Hearts" because of the Black Cherry note. The description immediately flooded the mind with images of ice-cream, cheap incense, or a kitschy car freshener... So skepticism was implemented, unfettered. (yes, the Lab's abilities may have been underestimated, Mea Culpa!). This arrived as a Frimp, so this is an experiment. From the Imp: Gack! At this phase, unfortunately, it is pretty much what was dreaded. "King" of Hearts is purple, sparkly, and has long, fluttery eyelashes. He also swings unabashedly from a rearview mirror... And matches the fuzzy steering wheel. On the Skin: Whew! SO much better! The Rosewood and Lavender slap away the foofiness, puts a bulge in the scepter-wielding arm, and a cleft in the chin. This King sneers at the steering wheel and cocks an approving eyebrow as you work... The "stick-shift". King of Hearts is a good scent for Him. Seductively clean-cut. King of Hearts earns a 4.25 out of 5.

:::TUPAPAU::: Thrillish! That's a pretty decent way to sum up the sentiment upon finding a Frimp of Tupapau waiting when the box of goodies was pried open. There's been a good deal of mystery surrounding the goodies from the Atomic Luau Lounge. This seems as good a place as any to start. From the Imp: Can't say that Dole's beard has ever been available for a sniff, but Plumeria's not a familiar note, from personal experience, either... It's hard to guess at what the dominant note is. The Pikaki's there, alright, but not at the front of the line. Sandalwood is present, almost as an afterthought... Which is nice, because the Lab's version of the stuff is infectiously beguiling. On the Skin: Holy Hula-skirts, Batman! Tropicaloric! Obviously, the floral notes are intended as beguiling perfumery, but this certainly is alot like of one of those $20 Polynesian cocktails that blinds you just before you neck with a throw-pillow. A deliriously sexy scent for her. Ocean-blue 4.5 out of 5.

:::YELLOW JESSAMINE HONEY::: Up until this showed up in Rappaccini's Apiary, hadn't the foggiest notion of what it was, so a little research was called for: Yellow Jessamine is the State Flower of South Carolina... Interesting. There was an element of horror upon reading that several children have died from Yellow Jessamine after sucking the nectar from it, thinking it was Honeysuckle... How bloody terrible is THAT? Perhaps it should have been named, HONEYSUCKILL.. Aliases for it include Butterscotch, Woodbine (They call me Laz), Trumpet Flower of Evening, and ... Poor Man's Rope (?). There was also the fact that bees who brought nectar from this flower to the hive not only perised themselves, but effectively wiped out the entire brood. What a thing of miseries! Excitement surrounds the idea of just how the Lab intends to represent this sinister boquet! From the Imp: Weird! (in a good way) The Honey is completely obvious, and it is a rich, almost condensed Honey, like Honey when it condenses and starts to granulate. The Floral in this is very sweet too. Honeysuckle would be an obvious comparison. Yellow Jessamine has also been called, 'False Jasmine', but it doesn't quite make that impression at this phase. The sugariness of Yellow Jessamine Honey is mind-blowing; a fairy-tale of confection, a candied conviction... Imagine a church with stained-glass windows that are actually panes of floral-flavoured hard candy. On the Skin: The sweetness is intense; almost like sampling a variety of decadent caramels, taking breaks here and there to make-out with that special someone. As it wears, it cleans up nicely, smelling just like the shiny, freshly shampooed, long, long hair of that girl you used to stare at at the roller-rink in the 70's... Yellow Jessamine Honey is a lovely fragrance for Her. Spectrally, the range follows the morphology from a rich and syrupy caramel to a glassy, pale yellow. Toxic Honeycomb or no, this scent rocks! 4.8 out of 5!

:::EL DORADO::: There was a disturbibg level of excitement when this one arrived, by way of a Frimp, in the post. Growing up in the 70's, there were innumerable hours of being at Great-Grandma's house, being baby-sat. One of her forms of providing entertainment was to display endless parades of black & white adventure films. As a result, there are hours upon endless hours of high-adventure reels and treasure-hunts whizzing around this brain like signals to a satellite dish... Though this formula was named after a mythic geological location, a city of gold, there is also a soft spot in this soul because of the poem of the same name written by Edgar Allen Poe... So, needless to say, the emotional draw to this fragrance, due to it's moniker alone, is complex and multilayered. From the Imp: Cosmic regret. Regret that half a dozen 5 mL. bottles of this weren't purchased the day that this was newly entered into the Wanderlust category! OMMFG, this smells SOOOOOO good! How, exactly, some of this stuff gets pulled off at the Lab, will likely remain a mystery for the forever, never ceasing in their capacity to utterly astound and amaze. Alien technology is suspected. The Lab's Copal is beyond gorgeous. Having a home that smelled the way that this does would be the epitome of luxury. This would make a home a mansion more than tens of thousands of square feet. Yes, the Lab's description included Golden Halls, but THIS is ridiculous. El Dorado rivals Robotic Scarab in having the most olfactorily delicious, shining, golden note... This note positively glimmers! This is the open-mouthed wonder of a passionate archeologist taking in the first sight since ancient times of torchlight reflected from towering golden walls. On the Skin: Whoah! The Copal is still quite assertive at this stage, but the Gold amps psychotically! The skin veritably shrieks from a larynx and diaphragm of precious, precious ore. This well represents the ceremony of the king stripped nude, annointed with fragrant oils, and coated in a brilliant covering of Golden dust. El Dorado really is an otherworldly fragrance of mythic proportions. El Dorado smells of sagacious spirits, adventure, frontier enshrouded in mystery, the Royalty of a mighty empire, and the awe-inspiring allure of untold fortunes. El Dorado could certainly be unisex. The Golden note in this would make a very sophisticated, chic edginess for Her. The Copal is a stunningly rich on Him; the ultimate, virile provocateur. El Dorado is worthy of a place very near the top of anyone's list of favorite scents from the Lab. When presented to the Wife for a sniff, she took a deep, lungful and said, "Mmmmm!"(Eureka! Favor found!)"That smells like brand new rubber bouncy-balls! I Love it!" *sigh* El Dorado is an absolute smash! Hands down, anyone, from Noob to Veteran should own a 5mL. bottle of El Dorado as one of the Lab's signature scents. A most deserving representative.5.99 out of 5!!!

:::DANSE MACABRE::: There has long been a fondness, a love, and a morbid fascination with this concept and it's midieval depictions... A favorite used to don the front of a DCD concert tee from days of yore... Ah, reverie. The notes in Danse Macabre are a thrill just by themselves! So far, ANYTHING that has had the Lab's version of Frankincense, Cypress or Oakmoss in it has been to die for (no pun intended!). Hazelnut promises to be music to this nose as well. Can you sense the excitement? Well, can you??? From the Imp: *Swoooooon!!!* This is AMAZING already! The Oakmoss and the Cypress make gargantuan conjoined twins! The eyelids flutter shut... Once the head clears of the frothy greens, there is the unmistakeable decadence of rich, russet Hazelnut! Crazy good! It is easy to envision some unsuspecting soul with a blissed-out-toothy plastered across their gob as they float across your path; eyes shut, toes dragging toward a waiting opened grave... Music or no, there is certainly a cartoon-like abandon of worldly cares. Danse Macabre is sweet, sweet release. On the Skin: Hmmm... The Oude is bashful here... Hasn't really participated in the introductions. The Hazelnut, though, amps like crazy at this stage! What makes it so unique is it's potency at a specific topography... From afar, the Cypress reigns supreme, and up close, the Oakmoss plays it's intricacies in perfect harmony with the whirling Frankincense... About 10 inches from the skin, you get obscenely sweet, almost custardy-thick Hazelnut. Unbelievable! Danse Macabre is very impressive. This fragrance pretty much covers all the bases in the qualities that anyone would look for in a memorable fragrance; It has a maddening intrigue, a visceral pull, and it leaves a strong, almost animalistic impression burning in the brain. Danse Macabre is excitingly unisex: Lickably sweet on Her and Sexy Old-Guard on Him. Deliriously yummy. Effortlessly 5 out of 5.