bpalgeekgirldiva

Blessed Yule, Merry Faunalia, and Happy Christmas and Hanukkah! We hope this winter season brings you joy, love, and succor in even the coldest and darkest of nights. CHANUKKIYAH Ma'oz tzur yeshu'asi Lecha na'eh leshabe'ach Tikone bais tefilasi Ve'sham todah nezabe'ach Le'es Tachin Mabe'ach Mitzar ham'nabe'ach Az egmor beshir mizmor Chanukas hamizbe'ach. Deep blue microshimmer. ELDRITCH DRUNKEN CONSTELLATIONS We went out into the moonless and tortuous network of that incredibly ancient town; went out as the lights in the curtained windows disappeared one by one, and the Dog Star leered at the throng of cowled, cloaked figures that poured silently from every doorway and formed monstrous processions up this street and that, past the creaking signs and antediluvian gables, the thatched roofs and diamond-paned windows; threading precipitous lanes where decaying houses overlapped and crumbled together, gliding across open courts and churchyards where the bobbing lanthorns made eldritch drunken constellations. Night-sky blue microshimmer scattered with iridescent, hypnotic stars. FAUNALIA Held on December 5th, this is the festival of the Horned God of the Forest, one of the di indigetes of Rome, god of cattle, fertility, wild, untamed nature, and prophecy through dreams. The deep, shadowy green of hemlock leaves crouching under a dark oaken canopy. NUCLEAR WINTER Plutonium-silver iridescent chunky glitter. STARDUST When the holidays roll around, not everyone has mistletoe, caroling and cookies on their minds. This lacquer is a paean to celebrating hard: nights covered in glitter and dusted with cocaine, flutes of Cristal clutched in shaky hands, leather and lace, the Spiders From Mars in the background, and twisting, sweaty limbs entangled in dark corners. Hairspray and cigarette smoke is the incense in this temple to decadence, strobe and mirrors replace the devotional candles, and Bolan sings the hymns. Stardust is for everyone that has every drifted off into Quaalude-induced reverie to the beat of a tribal 4-on-the-floor: the sound of Mott the Hoople, Sweet, Slade or the Dolls. Futurism, self-indulgence and excess: electric violet-plum shimmer, seething with iridescent glitter. TITAN TOADSTOOLS AND LEPROUS FIRE Fainting and gasping, I looked at that unhallowed Erebus of titan toadstools, leprous fire, and slimy water, and saw the cloaked throngs forming a semicircle around the blazing pillar. It was the Yule-rite, older than man and fated to survive him; the primal rite of the solstice and of spring's promise beyond the snows; the rite of fire and evergreen, light and music. And in the Stygian grotto I saw them do the rite, and adore the sick pillar of flame, and throw into the water handfuls gouged out of the viscous vegetation which glittered green in the chlorotic glare. I saw this, and I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the light, piping noisomely on a flute; and as the thing piped I thought I heard noxious muffled flutterings in the foetid darkness where I could not see. But what frightened me most was that flaming column; spouting volcanically from depths profound and inconceivable, casting no shadows as healthy flame should, and coating the nitrous stone above with a nasty, venomous verdigris. For in all that seething combustion no warmth lay, but only the clamminess of death and corruption. Lacquer the color of viscous vegetation glittering green in a chlorotic glare - with added shimmer! ++ SNOW QUEEN, STORY THREE: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure But how fared little Gerda during Kay's absence? What had become of him, no one knew, nor could any one give the slightest information, excepting the boys, who said that he had tied his sledge to another very large one, which had driven through the street, and out at the town gate. Nobody knew where it went; many tears were shed for him, and little Gerda wept bitterly for a long time. She said she knew he must be dead; that he was drowned in the river which flowed close by the school. Oh, indeed those long winter days were very dreary. But at last spring came, with warm sunshine. "Kay is dead and gone," said little Gerda. "I don't believe it," said the sunshine. "He is dead and gone," she said to the sparrows. "We don't believe it," they replied; and at last little Gerda began to doubt it herself. "I will put on my new red shoes," she said one morning, "those that Kay has never seen, and then I will go down to the river, and ask for him." It was quite early when she kissed her old grandmother, who was still asleep; then she put on her red shoes, and went quite alone out of the town gates toward the river. "Is it true that you have taken my little playmate away from me?" said she to the river. "I will give you my red shoes if you will give him back to me." And it seemed as if the waves nodded to her in a strange manner. Then she took off her red shoes, which she liked better than anything else, and threw them both into the river, but they fell near the bank, and the little waves carried them back to the land, just as if the river would not take from her what she loved best, because they could not give her back little Kay. But she thought the shoes had not been thrown out far enough. Then she crept into a boat that lay among the reeds, and threw the shoes again from the farther end of the boat into the water, but it was not fastened. And her movement sent it gliding away from the land. When she saw this she hastened to reach the end of the boat, but before she could so it was more than a yard from the bank, and drifting away faster than ever. Then little Gerda was very much frightened, and began to cry, but no one heard her except the sparrows, and they could not carry her to land, but they flew along by the shore, and sang, as if to comfort her, "Here we are! Here we are!" The boat floated with the stream; little Gerda sat quite still with only her stockings on her feet; the red shoes floated after her, but she could not reach them because the boat kept so much in advance. The banks on each side of the river were very pretty. There were beautiful flowers, old trees, sloping fields, in which cows and sheep were grazing, but not a man to be seen. Perhaps the river will carry me to little Kay, thought Gerda, and then she became more cheerful, and raised her head, and looked at the beautiful green banks; and so the boat sailed on for hours. At length she came to a large cherry orchard, in which stood a small red house with strange red and blue windows. It had also a thatched roof, and outside were two wooden soldiers, that presented arms to her as she sailed past. Gerda called out to them, for she thought they were alive, but of course they did not answer; and as the boat drifted nearer to the shore, she saw what they really were. Then Gerda called still louder, and there came a very old woman out of the house, leaning on a crutch. She wore a large hat to shade her from the sun, and on it were painted all sorts of pretty flowers. "You poor little child," said the old woman, "how did you manage to come all this distance into the wide world on such a rapid rolling stream?" And then the old woman walked in the water, seized the boat with her crutch, drew it to land, and lifted Gerda out. And Gerda was glad to feel herself on dry ground, although she was rather afraid of the strange old woman. "Come and tell me who you are," said she, "and how came you here." MANY TEARS WERE SHED PERFUME A sister's grief: carrot seed and blue musk, grey with labdanum, bitter frankincense, champaca blossom, and salt. THOSE LONG WINTER DAYS HAIR GLOSS Dreary and dark, heavy with sorrow: vetiver and raw leather suffused with amber oudh and nagarmotha. NO ONE HEARD HER EXCEPT THE SPARROWS ATMOSPHERE SPRAY A song of meagre comfort, lilting in the wind: orris root, white sandalwood, grey amber, and soft white chocolate. THE STRANGE OLD WOMAN PERFUME Wienerbrød and caramelized pecan with pearl sugar and soft cinnamon. Then Gerda told her everything, while the old woman shook her head, and said, "Hem-hem;" and when she had finished, Gerda asked if she had not seen little Kay, and the old woman told her he had not passed by that way, but he very likely would come. So she told Gerda not to be sorrowful, but to taste the cherries and look at the flowers; they were better than any picture-book, for each of them could tell a story. Then she took Gerda by the hand and led her into the little house, and the old woman closed the door. The windows were very high, and as the panes were red, blue, and yellow, the daylight shone through them in all sorts of singular colors. On the table stood beautiful cherries, and Gerda had permission to eat as many as she would. While she was eating them the old woman combed out her long flaxen ringlets with a golden comb, and the glossy curls hung down on each side of the little round pleasant face, which looked fresh and blooming as a rose. "I have long been wishing for a dear little maiden like you," said the old woman, "and now you must stay with me, and see how happily we shall live together." And while she went on combing little Gerda's hair, she thought less and less about her adopted brother Kay, for the old woman could conjure, although she was not a wicked witch; she conjured only a little for her own amusement, and now, because she wanted to keep Gerda. Therefore she went into the garden, and stretched out her crutch towards all the rose-trees, beautiful though they were; and they immediately sunk into the dark earth, so that no one could tell where they had once stood. The old woman was afraid that if little Gerda saw roses she would think of those at home, and then remember little Kay, and run away. Then she took Gerda into the flower-garden. How fragrant and beautiful it was! Every flower that could be thought of for every season of the year was here in full bloom; no picture-book could have more beautiful colors. Gerda jumped for joy, and played till the sun went down behind the tall cherry-trees; then she slept in an elegant bed with red silk pillows, embroidered with colored violets; and then she dreamed as pleasantly as a queen on her wedding day. The next day, and for many days after, Gerda played with the flowers in the warm sunshine. She knew every flower, and yet, although there were so many of them, it seemed as if one were missing, but which it was she could not tell. One day, however, as she sat looking at the old woman's hat with the painted flowers on it, she saw that the prettiest of them all was a rose. The old woman had forgotten to take it from her hat when she made all the roses sink into the earth. But it is difficult to keep the thoughts together in everything; one little mistake upsets all our arrangements. TASTE THE CHERRIES AND LOOK AT THE FLOWERS HAIR GLOSS Be not sorrowful: snow-touched cherries dusted with sweet, spicy blooms. FRESH AND BLOOMING AS A ROSE PERFUME White roses, white amber, and snowflakes. THE PAINTED ROSE ATMOSPHERE SPRAY One little mistake upsets all our arrangements: sugarplums, red rose petals, and sweet red patchouli. "What, are there no roses here?" cried Gerda; and she ran out into the garden, and examined all the beds, and searched and searched. There was not one to be found. Then she sat down and wept, and her tears fell just on the place where one of the rose-trees had sunk down. The warm tears moistened the earth, and the rose-tree sprouted up at once, as blooming as when it had sunk; and Gerda embraced it and kissed the roses, and thought of the beautiful roses at home, and, with them, of little Kay. "Oh, how I have been detained!" said the little maiden, "I wanted to seek for little Kay. Do you know where he is?" she asked the roses; "do you think he is dead?" And the roses answered, "No, he is not dead. We have been in the ground where all the dead lie; but Kay is not there." "Thank you," said little Gerda, and then she went to the other flowers, and looked into their little cups, and asked, "Do you know where little Kay is?" But each flower, as it stood in the sunshine, dreamed only of its own little fairy tale of history. Not one knew anything of Kay. Gerda heard many stories from the flowers, as she asked them one after another about him. And what, said the tiger-lily? "Hark, do you hear the drum?- 'turn, turn,'-there are only two notes, always, 'turn, turn.' Listen to the women's song of mourning! Hear the cry of the priest! In her long red robe stands the Hindoo widow by the funeral pile. The flames rise around her as she places herself on the dead body of her husband; but the Hindoo woman is thinking of the living one in that circle; of him, her son, who lighted those flames. Those shining eyes trouble her heart more painfully than the flames which will soon consume her body to ashes. Can the fire of the heart be extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile?" "I don't understand that at all," said little Gerda. "That is my story," said the tiger-lily. What, says the convolvulus? "Near yonder narrow road stands an old knight's castle; thick ivy creeps over the old ruined walls, leaf over leaf, even to the balcony, in which stands a beautiful maiden. She bends over the balustrades, and looks up the road. No rose on its stem is fresher than she; no apple-blossom, wafted by the wind, floats more lightly than she moves. Her rich silk rustles as she bends over and exclaims, 'Will he not come?' "Is it Kay you mean?" asked Gerda. "I am only speaking of a story of my dream," replied the flower. What, said the little snow-drop? "Between two trees a rope is hanging; there is a piece of board upon it; it is a swing. Two pretty little girls, in dresses white as snow, and with long green ribbons fluttering from their hats, are sitting upon it swinging. Their brother who is taller than they are, stands in the swing; he has one arm round the rope, to steady himself; in one hand he holds a little bowl, and in the other a clay pipe; he is blowing bubbles. As the swing goes on, the bubbles fly upward, reflecting the most beautiful varying colors. The last still hangs from the bowl of the pipe, and sways in the wind. On goes the swing; and then a little black dog comes running up. He is almost as light as the bubble, and he raises himself on his hind legs, and wants to be taken into the swing; but it does not stop, and the dog falls; then he barks and gets angry. The children stoop towards him, and the bubble bursts. A swinging plank, a light sparkling foam picture,-that is my story." "It may be all very pretty what you are telling me," said little Gerda, "but you speak so mournfully, and you do not mention little Kay at all." What do the hyacinths say? "There were three beautiful sisters, fair and delicate. The dress of one was red, of the second blue, and of the third pure white. Hand in hand they danced in the bright moonlight, by the calm lake; but they were human beings, not fairy elves. The sweet fragrance attracted them, and they disappeared in the wood; here the fragrance became stronger. Three coffins, in which lay the three beautiful maidens, glided from the thickest part of the forest across the lake. The fire-flies flew lightly over them, like little floating torches. Do the dancing maidens sleep, or are they dead? The scent of the flower says that they are corpses. The evening bell tolls their knell." "You make me quite sorrowful," said little Gerda; "your perfume is so strong, you make me think of the dead maidens. Ah! is little Kay really dead then? The roses have been in the earth, and they say no." "Cling, clang," tolled the hyacinth bells. "We are not tolling for little Kay; we do not know him. We sing our song, the only one we know." Then Gerda went to the buttercups that were glittering amongst the bright green leaves. "You are little bright suns," said Gerda; "tell me if you know where I can find my play-fellow." And the buttercups sparkled gayly, and looked again at Gerda. What song could the buttercups sing? It was not about Kay. "The bright warm sun shone on a little court, on the first warm day of spring. His bright beams rested on the white walls of the neighboring house; and close by bloomed the first yellow flower of the season, glittering like gold in the sun's warm ray. An old woman sat in her arm chair at the house door, and her granddaughter, a poor and pretty servant-maid came to see her for a short visit. When she kissed her grandmother there was gold everywhere: the gold of the heart in that holy kiss; it was a golden morning; there was gold in the beaming sunlight, gold in the leaves of the lowly flower, and on the lips of the maiden. There, that is my story," said the buttercup. "My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda; "she is longing to see me, and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but I shall soon go home now, and take little Kay with me. It is no use asking the flowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me no information." And then she tucked up her little dress, that she might run faster, but the narcissus caught her by the leg as she was jumping over it; so she stopped and looked at the tall yellow flower, and said, "Perhaps you may know something." Then she stooped down quite close to the flower, and listened; and what did he say? "I can see myself, I can see myself," said the narcissus. "Oh, how sweet is my perfume! Up in a little room with a bow window, stands a little dancing girl, half undressed; she stands sometimes on one leg, and sometimes on both, and looks as if she would tread the whole world under her feet. She is nothing but a delusion. She is pouring water out of a tea-pot on a piece of stuff which she holds in her hand; it is her bodice. 'Cleanliness is a good thing,' she says. Her white dress hangs on a peg; it has also been washed in the tea-pot, and dried on the roof. She puts it on, and ties a saffron-colored handkerchief round her neck, which makes the dress look whiter. See how she stretches out her legs, as if she were showing off on a stem. I can see myself, I can see myself." "What do I care for all that," said Gerda, "you need not tell me such stuff." And then she ran to the other end of the garden. The door was fastened, but she pressed against the rusty latch, and it gave way. The door sprang open, and little Gerda ran out with bare feet into the wide world. She looked back three times, but no one seemed to be following her. At last she could run no longer, so she sat down to rest on a great stone, and when she looked round she saw that the summer was over, and autumn very far advanced. She had known nothing of this in the beautiful garden, where the sun shone and the flowers grew all the year round. "Oh, how I have wasted my time?" said little Gerda; "it is autumn. I must not rest any longer," and she rose up to go on. But her little feet were wounded and sore, and everything around her looked so cold and bleak. The long willow-leaves were quite yellow. The dew-drops fell like water, leaf after leaf dropped from the trees, the sloe-thorn alone still bore fruit, but the sloes were sour, and set the teeth on edge. Oh, how dark and weary the whole world appeared! IN THE GROUND WHERE ALL THE DEAD LIE PERFUME Rose roots reaching deep into soil thick with memories of eons of the dead. LITTLE FAIRY TALES OF HISTORY BATH OIL The daydreams of flowers: honey and nectar gleaming like dew on delicate petals. THE WOMEN'S SONG OF MOURNING HAIR GLOSS Can the fire of the heart be extinguished in the flames of the funeral pile? Red sandalwood, black clove, fiery saffron, and honeyed amber. DO THE DANCING MAIDENS SLEEP PERFUME The evening bell tolls their knell: hyacinth and snow-dusted honeysuckle, sweet with asphodel and honeyed vetiver. GOLD OF THE HEART OF THAT HOLY KISS ATMOSPHERE SPRAY Amber and honey with golden peach, patchouli leaf, bergamot, and sweet vanilla. COLD AND BLEAK HAIR GLOSS Salt-tears and dew drops drizzling onto oudh-limned white gardenia. DARK AND WEARY PERFUME Somber oudh, grey benzoin, raw bourbon vanilla, and tobacco. Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

Join us for our Lunacy events for your opportunity to meet the lab staff (Burbank, California only), purchase the latest scents, and get a sneak preview of what’s coming soon. The blends available for purchase include those that went live on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab website up to and including the Yule updates. Our Lunacy events are always free. For you New Englanders, Vermont Lunacy is back! Also, in the spirit of the holidays, we will be holding food and toy drives at the West Coast, San Francisco, and Dirty South Lunacy events for December. Each toy donation valued at $10 (no plush, please) will receive one 5ml bottle of Irish Coffee Cake. Each bag of groceries valued at $10, will receive one 5ml bottle of Gingered Chocolate Soufflé. The New England Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, December 20th at Healthy Living Market from 6:00 to 8:00pm, in the Learning Center. Healthy Living Market 222 Dorset Street, South Burlington, VT, 05403 RSVP for the Event on Facebook. ___ The West Coast Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, December 20th from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. This year’s organizations are Spark of Love and The Valley Food Bank. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. ___ The Dirty South Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, December 20th from 4 to 7pm at the Microtel Inn and Suites by Wyndham at Perimeter Center. This year’s organizations are Aerial’s House and The Georgia Mountain Food Bank. 6280 Peachwood Dunwoody Rd (In the conference/meeting room) Atlanta, GA 30328 RSVP for the Event on Facebook. ___ The San Francisco Bay Area Lunacy Event will be held on Tuesday, December 22nd from 6 to 8pm at Loved To Death. This year’s organizations are Taking it to the Streets and Toys For Tots. Loved To Death 1681 Haight St. San Francisco, CA 94117 www.lovedtodeath.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. Regarding donations: Please make sure all items are undamaged, unopened, and in the manufacturer’s original packaging. Both scents are limited editions for this year’s donations only and are not for resale. There is no limit to how many donations you can make and each donation will receive the LE while supplies last. Regarding the food drives, here is a list of suggested donations. · Canned Fruit · Canned Soup/Broth · Canned Tuna · Canned Vegetable · Canned Meat/Beef · Spaghetti Sauce · Crackers/Cookies · Cereals (Hot or Cold) · Spaghetti/Pasta · Macaroni & Cheese · Peanut Butter · Jams/Jelly · Bottled Water Please note: Food must not be past the suggested expiration date. If you have any questions, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com. Hope to see you there! Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

Blessed Yule, Merry Faunalia, and Happy Christmas and Hanukkah! We hope this winter season brings you joy, love, and succor in even the coldest and darkest of nights. The Yule scents will be live until 24 Feb 2016! ++ YULE 2015 THE BEAR PRINCE Shaggy fur, snow-flecked and rose-touched. CHANUKKIYAH Baruch ata Ado-nai, Elo-heinu Melech ha'olam, Asher kid'shanu b'mitzvosav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Chanukah. Baruch ata Ado-nai, Elo-heinu Melech ha'olam, She'asah nisim la'avoseinu, bayamim ha'hem baz'man hazeh. Baruch ata Ado-nai, Elo-heinu Melech ha'olam, She'hecheyanu, vekiyemanu vehigi'anu laz'man hazeh. Olive oil, beeswax, glowing amber, sweet sufganiyot, pomegranate, and fig. Ha'Neiros halalu anachnu madlikin al hanisim ve'al hanifla'os, ve'al hat'shu'os ve'al hamilchamos, sh'asisa la'avoseinu bayamim hahem baz'man hazeh, al yedei kohaneicha hakedoshim. Vechol sh'monas yemei Chanukah, haneiros halalu kodesh hem. Ve'ein lanu reshus le'hishtamesh ba'hem, eh'la lir'osam bilvad, ke'dei le'hodos u'lehalel leshimcha hagadol al nisecha ve'al nifle'osecha ve'al yeshu'oshecha. Ma'oz tzur yeshu'asi Lecha na'eh leshabe'ach Tikone bais tefilasi Ve'sham todah nezabe'ach Le'es Tachin Mabe'ach Mitzar ham'nabe'ach Az egmor beshir mizmor Chanukas hamizbe'ach. THE CROSS OF SNOW In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face - the face of one long dead - Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. Here in this room she died; and soul more white Never through martyrdom of fire was led To its repose; nor can in books be read The legend of a life more benedight. There is a mountain in the distant West That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines Displays a cross of snow upon its side. Such is the cross I wear upon my breast These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes And seasons, changeless since the day she died. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Cypress, Spanish moss, and clove bud with labdanum, Italian bergamot, and white tobacco flower. DED MOROZ Grandfather Frost! Accompanied by his granddaughter, Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden, he bestows gifts to virtuous and hard-working people, rewarding their decency and integrity, and punishes those who are lazy, shiftless, and unkind, killing their fields with frost, cracking the trunks of their trees, and destroying their homes. The first incarnation of Father Frost was not at all benevolent. He was the personification of the darkest aspects of winter, winter's destruction incarnate. He kidnapped unruly children, and slew people capriciously by freezing them to death. Light, darkness, kindness, and malice: golden amber, white amber, redwood, teak, bois du rose, sage, tree moss, and snow. DIABLE EN BOÎTE The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily, And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd, How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids, To see the enclosed lights, now canopied Under these windows, white and azure laced With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design, To note the chamber: I will write all down: Such and such pictures; there the window; such The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures, Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story. Ah, but some natural notes about her body, Above ten thousand meaner moveables Would testify, to enrich mine inventory. O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! And be her sense but as a monument, Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off: As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! 'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, As strongly as the conscience does within, To the madding of her lord. On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher, Stronger than ever law could make: this secret Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end? Why should I write this down, that's riveted, Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down Where Philomel gave up. I have enough: To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear; Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. One, two, three: time, time! - Iachimo, Cymbeline Act II, Scene 2 There are few things more disturbing than a Jack in the Box. A strangely sinister, unnerving holiday scent: redwood, bitter clove, tonka, hemp accord, and tobacco with peach blossom, black currant, and red musk. EL DIA DE LOS REYES The Day of Kings, the Celebration of the Magi. In Mexico, on January 6th, children place their shoes by their windows. If they have been good during the previous year, the Wise Men tuck gifts into their shoes during the night. Hot cocoa with cinnamon, coffee, and brown sugar. FAUNALIA Held on December 5th, this is the festival of the Horned God of the Forest, one of the di indigetes of Rome, god of cattle, fertility, wild, untamed nature, and prophecy through dreams. The scent of a thick, starlit, unspoiled forest, with a burst of wild musk, opobalsamum, black bryony, mandragora, and hemlock. PLEASE NOTE: This year's Faunalia label depicts explicit faun-sex and sports an erect Priapus, as is appropriate for this holy day. 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! IN WINTER IN MY ROOM In Winter in my Room I came upon a Worm -- Pink, lank and warm -- But as he was a worm And worms presume Not quite with him at home -- Secured him by a string To something neighboring And went along. A Trifle afterward A thing occurred I'd not believe it if I heard But state with creeping blood -- A snake with mottles rare Surveyed my chamber floor In feature as the worm before But ringed with power -- The very string with which I tied him -- too When he was mean and new That string was there -- I shrank -- "How fair you are"! Propitiation's claw -- "Afraid," he hissed "Of me"? "No cordiality" -- He fathomed me -- Then to a Rhythm Slim Secreted in his Form As Patterns swim Projected him. That time I flew Both eyes his way Lest he pursue Nor ever ceased to run Till in a distant Town Towns on from mine I set me down This was a dream. Pink, lank, and warm: grapefruit, yuzu, tuberose, peony, violet leaf, pikaki, Indian frankincense, and tonka. KRAMPUS Anything BUT jolly! Draped with chains and bells, wielding both whip and rod, this rag-clad, horned, red-skinned, soot-covered leering creature is both the companion and the antithesis of rosy-cheeked and ebullient Kris Kringle. He is called by many names, and, in a myriad of cultures, he is seen with different robes and faces, but he is nevertheless always a sinister and fearsome instrument of Santa's wrath: he wields a switch on all irredeemably naughty children before tossing them into his large black sack and whisking them away. Be good, or Krampus will toss you in a river! Sinister red musk, black leather, dusty rags, and wooden switches. LA BEFANA On the night of the Epiphany, a joyful, broomstick-riding hag clad in a tattered shawl drops into chimneys all over Italy, bestowing gifts to good children, and dropping coal into the stockings of naughty kiddies. La Befana vien di notte Con le scarpe tutte rotte Col vestito alla Romana Viva, Viva La Befana! As the Three Wise Men searched for the house of the Christ child, they found themselves lost. Eventually, they stopped at a small house and knocked on the door. A small, wizened woman opened the door, holding a broom in her hand. The Astrologers asked the woman if she knew the location of the child, but, unfortunately, she did not know who these men were looking for, and could not aid them in their search. It was deep into the night, and the air was chilly, so the kindly woman offered the three men her hospitality. They spent the night in her warm, comfortable home, and shared bread and stories with one another. The Astrologers explained to the woman why they were looking for this blessed infant, and invited her to join them in their search come morning. Though she was touched by their tale, she declined, as she had a great deal of housework to do. At daybreak, the Astrologers awoke. They thanked the woman for her generosity, gathered their things, and prepared to leave. Before they departed, they, again, asked the old woman if she would like to join them on their journey. Again, she declined, and sent them on their way. After they had left, she regretted her decision, and she set off to find the Three Wise Men. After many long and frustrating hours of searching, she still could not find them. Saddened, yet still filled with hope, she stopped to give a gift to every good child she passed. La Befana comes by night With her shoes old and broken She comes dressed in the Roman way Long life to the Befana! Candy charcoal, winter lilies, parma violet, a sprig of cypress, a poof of chimney dust, and holiday sweets. La Cloche fêlée II est amer et doux, pendant les nuits d'hiver, D'écouter, près du feu qui palpite et qui fume, Les souvenirs lointains lentement s'élever Au bruit des carillons qui chantent dans la brume. Bienheureuse la cloche au gosier vigoureux Qui, malgré sa vieillesse, alerte et bien portante, Jette fidèlement son cri religieux, Ainsi qu'un vieux soldat qui veille sous la tente! Moi, mon âme est fêlée, et lorsqu'en ses ennuis Elle veut de ses chants peupler l'air froid des nuits, II arrive souvent que sa voix affaiblie Semble le râle épais d'un blessé qu'on oublie Au bord d'un lac de sang, sous un grand tas de morts Et qui meurt, sans bouger, dans d'immenses efforts. - - - Bitter and sweet it is on these long winter nights To sit before the fire and watch the smoking log Beat like a heart; and hear our lost, our mute delights Call with the carillons that ring out in the fog. What certitude, what health, sounds from that brazen throat, In spite of age and rust, alert! O happy bell, Sending into the dark your clear religious note, Like an old soldier crying through the night, "All's well!" I am not thus; my soul is cracked across by care; Its voice, that once could clang upon this icy air, Has lost the power, it seems, - comes faintly forth, instead, As from the rattling throat of a hurt man who lies Beside a lake of blood, under a heap of dead, And cannot stir, and in prodigious struggling dies. - Charles Baudelaire, translation by Edna St. Vincent Millay A new interpretation, inspired by Millay's translation- A soul, cracked across by care: blood and ruin, smoke and sorrow, incense and ice. Père Noël On Christmas Eve, French children leave shoes filled with carrots by their fireplaces as a treat for Gui, Père Noël's donkey. If the child has been good, Père Noël takes Gui's offering and fills the child's shoes with sweet fruits, candies, and small toys. Bright Sicilian oranges and sweet tangerines with a clink of lavender candy and a drop of anise. MIDNIGHT MASS 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. NOW WINTER NIGHTS ENLARGE Now winter nights enlarge The number of their hours, And clouds their storms discharge Upon the airy towers. Let now the chimneys blaze, And cups o'erflow with wine; Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine. Now yellow waxen lights Shall wait on honey love, While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights Sleep's leaden spells remove. This time doth well dispense With lovers' long discourse; Much speech hath some defence, Though beauty no remorse. All do not all things well; Some measures comely tread, Some knotted riddles tell, Some poems smoothly read. The summer hath his joys And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights. Shorten those tedious nights with a surge of body heat: vanilla-infused red musk, champaca, petitgrain, ylang ylang, patchouli, nutmeg, honey, galbanum, and traces of caramel. NUCLEAR WINTER Annihilation. The ice, desolation and barrenness of nuclear devastation shot through by a beam of radioactive mints. PAYSAGE Je veux, pour composer chastement mes églogues, Coucher auprès du ciel, comme les astrologues, Et, voisin des clochers écouter en rêvant Leurs hymnes solennels emportés par le vent. Les deux mains au menton, du haut de ma mansarde, Je verrai l'atelier qui chante et qui bavarde; Les tuyaux, les clochers, ces mâts de la cité, Et les grands ciels qui font rêver d'éternité. II est doux, à travers les brumes, de voir naître L'étoile dans l'azur, la lampe à la fenêtre Les fleuves de charbon monter au firmament Et la lune verser son pâle enchantement. Je verrai les printemps, les étés, les automnes; Et quand viendra l'hiver aux neiges monotones, Je fermerai partout portières et volets Pour bâtir dans la nuit mes féeriques palais. Alors je rêverai des horizons bleuâtres, Des jardins, des jets d'eau pleurant dans les albâtres, Des baisers, des oiseaux chantant soir et matin, Et tout ce que l'Idylle a de plus enfantin. L'Emeute, tempêtant vainement à ma vitre, Ne fera pas lever mon front de mon pupitre; Car je serai plongé dans cette volupté D'évoquer le Printemps avec ma volonté, De tirer un soleil de mon coeur, et de faire De mes pensers brûlants une tiède atmosphère. - - - More chasteness to my eclogues it would give, Sky-high, like old astrologers to live, A neighbour of the belfries: and to hear Their solemn hymns along the winds career. High in my attic, chin in hand, I'd swing And watch the workshops as they roar and sing, The city's masts - each steeple, tower, and flue - And skies that bring eternity to view. Sweet, through the mist, to see illumed again Stars through the azure, lamps behind the pane, Rivers of carbon irrigate the sky, And the pale moon pour magic from on high. I'd watch three seasons passing by, and then When winter came with dreary snows, I'd pen Myself between closed shutters, bolts, and doors, And build my fairy palaces indoors. A dream of blue horizons I would garble With thoughts of fountains weeping on to marble, Of gardens, kisses, birds that ceaseless sing, And all the Idyll holds of childhood's spring. The riots, brawling past my window-pane, From off my desk would not divert my brain. Because I would be plunged in pleasure still, Conjuring up the Springtime with my will, And forcing sunshine from my heart to form, Of burning thoughts, an atmosphere that's warm. - Charles Baudelaire, translation by Roy Campbell The pale moon pouring magic: Tunisian opium and mugwort with blackened bourbon vanilla, tuberose, glittering white musk, datura accord, wild plum, and tobacco absolute. THE PEACOCK QUEEN In dramatic contrast to the soft innocence of Snow White and the dew-kissed freshness of her sister, Rose Red, this is a blood red, voluptuous rose, velvet-petaled, at the height of bloom. Haughty and imperious, vain, yet incomparably lovely to the eye, but thick with thorns of jealousy, pride and hatred. POOR MONKEY cold first winter rain poor monkey, you too could use a woven straw cape Compassion: pink lotus root and fig milk with ylang ylang, bourbon vanilla, soft myrrh, fir, khus, and sandalwood incense. ROSE RED The perfected winter rose, dew covered and freshly cut. THE SEASON OF GHOSTS In Latvia, the Ziemassvetki, or Winter Party, is a celebration of the birth of Dievs, the Sky God and Supreme Ruler of the Latvian pantheon. The two weeks prior to the Ziemassvetki is Ve?u laiks: the Season of Ghosts. Candles are lit to honor the gods and a fire is kept burning throughout the Season, burning away the unhappiness of the previous year so men's spirits can be renewed. At the feast of the Ziemassvetki, places are left as a courtesy to the ghosts, who arrive by sleigh. A scent created to burn away sorrow: bergamot, frankincense, rose geranium, ginger, lemongrass, and blood orange. THE SNOW-SHOWER Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below, thy gentle eyes; The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies; And out of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow; Flake after flake They sink in the dark and silent lake. See how in a living swarm they come From the chambers beyond that misty veil; Some hover awhile in air, and some Rush prone from the sky like summer hail. All, dropping swiftly or settling slow, Meet, and are still in the depths below; Flake after flake Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud, Come floating downward in airy play, Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd That whiten by night the milky way; There broader and burlier masses fall; The sullen water buries them all- Flake after flake- All drowned in the dark and silent lake. And some, as on tender wings they glide From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, Are joined in their fall, and, side by side, Come clinging along their unsteady way; As friend with friend, or husband with wife, Makes hand in hand the passage of life; Each mated flake Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake! I see in thy gentle eyes a tear; They turn to me in sorrowful thought; Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, Who were for a time, and now are not; Like these fair children of cloud and frost, That glisten a moment and then are lost, Flake after flake- All lost in the dark and silent lake. Yet look again, for the clouds divide; A gleam of blue on the water lies; And far away, on the mountain-side, A sunbeam falls from the opening skies, But the hurrying host that flew between The cloud and the water, no more is seen; Flake after flake, At rest in the dark and silent lake. William Cullen Bryant Flake after flake - All lost in the dark and silent lake: a snowflake dissolving into an indigo pool of blue jasmine incense and violet leaf. SNOW WHITE A chilly, bright perfume: flurries of virgin snow, crisp winter wind and the faintest breath of night-blooming flowers. ++ THE YULE LADS Grýla and Leppalúði's malicious brood: once fearsome winter murder-bogies who skulked in the mountains until they were set loose on naughty Icelandic children at Yuletide; now transformed by the modern era into gnome-like mini-Santas with rosy cheeks and a wicked streak. Segja vil ég sögu af sveinunum þeim, sem brugðu sér hér forðum á bæina heim. Þeir uppi á fjöllum sáust, - eins og margur veit, - í langri halarófu á leið niður í sveit. Grýla var þeirra móðir og gaf þeim tröllamjólk, en pabbinn Leppalúði, - það var leiðindafólk. Þeir jólasveinar nefndust, - um jólin birtust þeir. Og einn og einn þeir komu, en aldrei tveir og tveir. Þeir voru þrettán þessir heiðursmenn, sem ekki vildu ónáða allir í senn. Að dyrunum þeir læddust og drógu lokuna úr. Og einna helzt þeir leituðu í eldhús og búr. Lævísir á svipinn þeir leyndust hér og þar, til óknyttanna vísir, ef enginn nærri var. Og eins, þó einhver sæi, var ekki hikað við að hrekkja fólk - og trufla þess heimilisfrið. Stekkjastaur kom fyrstur, stinnur eins og tré. Hann laumaðist í fjárhúsin og lék á bóndans fé. Hann vildi sjúga ærnar, - þá var þeim ekki um sel, því greyið hafði staurfætur, - það gekk nú ekki vel. Giljagaur var annar, með gráa hausinn sinn. - Hann skreið ofan úr gili og skauzt í fjósið inn. Hann faldi sig í básunum og froðunni stal, meðan fjósakonan átti við fjósamanninn tal. Stúfur hét sá þriðji stubburinn sá. Hann krækti sér í pönnu, þegar kostur var á. Hann hljóp með hana í burtu og hirti agnirnar, sem brunnu stundum fastar við barminn hér og þar. Sá fjórði, Þvörusleikir, var fjarskalega mjór. Og ósköp varð hann glaður, þegar eldabuskan fór. Þá þaut hann eins og elding og þvöruna greip, og hélt með báðum höndum, því hún var stundum sleip. Sá fimmti, Pottaskefill, var skrítið kuldastrá. - Þegar börnin fengu skófir hann barði dyrnar á. Þau ruku' upp, til að gá að hvort gestur væri á ferð. Þá flýtti' ann sér að pottinum og fékk sér góðan verð. Sá sjötti, Askasleikir, var alveg dæmalaus. - Hann fram undan rúmunum rak sinn ljóta haus. Þegar fólkið setti askana fyrir kött og hund, hann slunginn var að ná þeim og sleikja á ýmsa lund. Sjöundi var Hurðaskellir, - sá var nokkuð klúr, ef fólkið vildi í rökkrinu fá sér vænan dúr. Hann var ekki sérlega hnugginn yfir því, þó harkalega marraði hjörunum í. Skyrjarmur, sá áttundi, var skelfilegt naut. Hann hlemminn o´n af sánum með hnefanum braut. Svo hámaði hann í sig og yfir matnum gein, unz stóð hann á blístri og stundi og hrein. Níundi var Bjúgnakrækir, brögðóttur og snar. Hann hentist upp í rjáfrin og hnuplaði þar. Á eldhúsbita sat hann í sóti og reyk og át þar hangið bjúga, sem engan sveik. Tíundi var Gluggagægir, grályndur mann, sem laumaðist á skjáinn og leit inn um hann. Ef eitthvað var þar inni álitlegt að sjá, hann oftast nær seinna í það reyndi að ná. Ellefti var Gáttaþefur, - aldrei fékk sá kvef, og hafði þó svo hlálegt og heljarstórt nef. Hann ilm af laufabrauði upp á heiðar fann, og léttur, eins og reykur, á lyktina rann. Ketkrókur, sá tólfti, kunni á ýmsu lag. - Hann þrammaði í sveitina á Þorláksmessudag. Hann krækti sér í tutlu, þegar kostur var á. En stundum reyndist stuttur stauturinn hans þá. Þrettándi var Kertasníkir, - þá var tíðin köld, ef ekki kom hann síðastur á aðfangadagskvöld. Hann elti litlu börnin sem brostu, glöð og fín, og trítluðu um bæinn með tólgarkertin sín. Á sjálfa jólanóttina, - sagan hermir frá, - á strák sínum þeir sátu og störðu ljósin á. Svo tíndust þeir í burtu, - það tók þá frost og snjór. Á þrettándanum síðasti sveinstaulinn fór. Fyrir löngu á fjöllunum er fennt í þeirra slóð. - En minningarnar breytast í myndir og ljóð. Jóhannes úr Kötlum Indulge in your most mischievous, gluttonous urges! Whether you favor the bloodthirsty Yule Lads of old or their merry contemporary counterparts, you'll find just the right scent to inspire chaos and strife this winter season! Askasleikir Favorite pastime: skulking under dining tables, waiting to abscond with unsupervised food bowls. Don't blame the dog! Dregs of cinnamon and cocoa. Bjúgnakrækir Favorite pastime: hiding in the rafters, ogling your smoked sausage. Eyes up here, mister! Sweaty pear and honey with leather, coconut meat, tonka bean, and castoreum accord. Gáttaþefur Favorite pastime: sniffing doorways. Everyone needs a hobby! Baked bread, apricot, mandarin amber, and CO2 of butter. Giljagaur Favorite pastime: creeping around gullies until the opportunity to steal milk appears. You do you, buddy. Coconut cream, sheep's milk accord, and a drop of Ceylon cinnamon. Gluggagægir Favorite pastime: peeping in yer windows. What a creeper! Spiced rum leather, frankincense, black cedar, sweet tobacco, and honey-gold sandalwood. Hurðaskellir Favorite pastime: slamming doors. What a drama queen! Booming carnation, iced mint, white fir, and itchy patchouli loudly disrupting a dreamy bed of lavender. Kertasníkir Favorite pastime: stealing candles from children. Such a scamp! Beeswax, strawberries, and bits of hard candy. Ketkrókur Favorite pastime: collecting meat hooks, sharpening meat hooks, polishing meat hooks. Sleep with one eye open? Labdanum, patchouli, dragon's blood resin, and clove. Skyrgámur Favorite pastime: indulging his yogurt fetish. Whatever floats your boat! Berries, skyr, and oats. Stekkjarstaur Favorite pastime: harassing sheep. Nobody's perfect. Wooly sugared marshmallow root. Stúfur Favorite pastime: stealing crusty bits from used frying pans. It takes all kinds. Chunks of sweet carrots and dates mushed with nuts, topped with crumbles from a pie-like spelt and barley crust. Þvörusleikir Favorite pastime: licking spoons and ladles. There's no accounting for taste. The scent of well-worn wooden utensils, lightly fondled, and a wisp of kitchen herbs. Pottaskefill Favorite pastime: eating the scrapings from unwashed pots. Waste not, want not? Salt licorice, birch tar, black pepper, and leather. ++ YULE SINGLE NOTES Ah, the scents of the season! Mix and match to create the perfect perfume to accompany any awkward family gatherings! FAKE BAYBERRY CANDLE IRRESPONSIBLY UNWATERED CHRISTMAS TREE UNSUCCESSFUL CRANBERRY GARLAND DAY-OLD HAM FIREPLACE CINDERS DUSTY ACCUMULATED MENORAH WAX RAPIDLY DISINTIGRATING POMANDER DRUNK UNCLE UNMANAGEABLE SNOWDRIFT ++ SNOW FALLING FAINTLY His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and dead. THE SNOW AT DAWN Snow afire with the morning's first rays of orange blossom, neroli, and rose gardenia. THE SNOW AT NOON Blinding white in the noonday sun: white mint, eucalyptus, glittering elemi, white tea, silver fir, and camphor. THE SNOW AT DUSK Swirled grey and purple in the gloaming: snowdrifts shadowed with opium tar, wild plum, Siamese benzoin, champaca resinoid, muguet, and carnation. THE SNOW AT MIDNIGHT Silence: frozen blackcurrant bud, myrrh, ciste absolute, frankincense, and oudh. Please keep your eyes peeled for Black Phoenix Trading Post's Yule offerings! Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

Join us for our Lunacy events for your opportunity to meet the lab staff (Burbank, California only), purchase the latest scents, and get a sneak preview of what’s coming soon. The blends available for purchase include those that went live on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab website up to and including the Crimson Peak updates. Our Lunacy events are always free. In the spirit of the holidays, we will be holding food and toy drives at the West Coast, San Francisco, and Dirty South Lunacy events for both November and December. Each toy donation valued at $10 (no plush, please) will receive one 5ml bottle of Irish Coffee Cake. Each bag of groceries valued at $10, will receive one 5ml bottle of Gingered Chocolate Soufflé. The West Coast Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, November 22nd from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. This year’s organizations are Spark of Love and The Valley Food Bank. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. ___ The Dirty South Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, November 22nd from 4 to 7pm at the Microtel Inn and Suites by Wyndham at Perimeter Center. This year’s organizations are Aerial's House and The Georgia Mountain Food Bank. 6280 Peachwood Dunwoody Rd (In the conference/meeting room) Atlanta, GA 30328 RSVP for the Event on Facebook. ___ The San Francisco Bay Area Lunacy Event will be held on Monday, November 23rd from 6 to 8pm at Loved To Death. This year's food drive donations will go to Taking it to the Streets. Toy drive details are TBA. Loved To Death 1681 Haight St. San Francisco, CA 94117 www.lovedtodeath.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. Regarding donations: Please make sure all items are undamaged, unopened, and in the manufacturer’s original packaging. Both scents are limited editions for this year’s donations only and are not for resale. There is no limit to how many donations you can make and each donation will receive the LE while supplies last. Regarding the food drives, here is a list of suggested donations. · Canned Fruit · Canned Soup/Broth · Canned Tuna · Canned Vegetable · Canned Meat/Beef · Spaghetti Sauce · Crackers/Cookies · Cereals (Hot or Cold) · Spaghetti/Pasta · Macaroni & Cheese · Peanut Butter · Jams/Jelly · Bottled Water Please note: Food must not be past the suggested expiration date. If you have any questions, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com. Remaining Lunacy Event dates for 2015. West Coast: Sunday, December 20th San Francisco Bay Area Tuesday, December 22nd Dirty South and Vermont dates TBA Hope to see you there! Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

Ghosts are real, that much I know. I’ve seen them all my life… In a groundbreaking departure from past film tributes, Black Phoenix Alchemy presents a series of scents, jewelry, and more inspired by Guillermo Del Toro’s sumptuous gothic romance CRIMSON PEAK. As audiences are already discovering, CRIMSON PEAK is more than mere ghost story or cinematic spectacle: it is a director’s love letter to the dark tales which formed his childhood sense of wonder, nudging him toward becoming the visionary artist he is today. For contemporary viewers this serves as a gateway to an entire form of storytelling — one which may seem as outdated as whalebone or laudanum, but retains its power to shock, arouse, and illuminate. Perhaps it’s fitting that in the 21st century, the gothic romance genre has itself become a wandering ghost — one which, not unlike the film’s heroine Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), certain among us can still hear, see, and even smell. What is it so desperately trying to tell us? Set in Victorian New England, Del Toro’s film explores the terrible power of doomed relationships, of love struggling to bloom in a world fraught with death and suffering. Stalked since childhood by the specter of her mother, Edith stubbornly chases the dream of becoming an author, fantasizing about becoming the next Mary Shelley and delicately resisting the advances of her childhood love, Dr. Alan McMichael (Charlie Hunnam). Edith inadvertently steps into the pages of her own haunted love story when she finds herself being wooed by the dashing Sir Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston), a baronet seeking investors to help salvage what’s left of his crumbling birthright. A series of tragedies put Edith front and center in the lives of Sir Thomas and his brooding sister, the Lady Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain), and confine her to Allerdale Hall — a decaying British manor that veritably breathes, bleeds, and screams under the strain of the elements, not to mention the spirits of those who’ve perished within. Unraveling the mystery of these strange events, Edith is forced to confront her fears of communing with the dead, gradually coming to appreciate her dead mother’s warning — Beware of Crimson Peak — as the line between life and death grows ever fainter in the snowfall in and around Allerdale Hall. While the ghosts of Crimson Peak are far more than “just a metaphor,” Del Toro’s film is unabashed in its emphasis on the uniquely human experiences of loss, grief, and remembrance, painting the supernatural as a realm where pain (as well as love) can linger long after death. Thanks to the director’s artistic vision and penchant for practical effects, the world of these characters (living and otherwise) is astonishingly tangible — an orgy of bold colors and rich fabrics, of flesh both livid and sanguine. Those who feel at home in such a lavish world may consider it an invitation from Del Toro himself: return to Allerdale Hall as often as you dare, and feel welcome to stay a long, long time. At Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, we present Crimson Peak perfume oil blends, $30.00 per 5ml bottle. Presented in an amber apothecary glass vial. Because of the nature of this project, imps are unavailable. 400 bottles were created for each scent. With the assistance of our sister shop, Black Phoenix Trading Post, you can drape yourself in the myriad colors of the film, adorn yourself with Sharpe Family heraldry, infuse your home with the scents of Allerdale Hall, and conceal your secrets within our cold-cast resin keepsake boxes. Guillermo Del Toro is both a master storyteller and a virtuoso of evocative design. All of Crimson Peak is awash in color – vibrant or decaying, somber or aflame. Every shadow has a meaning; every angle has a purpose. Every single hue was deliberately chosen as a thread that binds the tale, and every single hue tells a story within itself. In this nail lacquer series, we celebrate the colors of Crimson Peak: the dark palette that brings the characters to life. The lacquers represent the film itself and four of its characters: Edith Cushing, Alan McMichael, Lady Lucille Sharpe, and Sir Thomas Sharpe. Each bottle is silkscreened with symbolism depicting the aspect of the film that the color represents. Three hundred bottles were created of each color. It is our great pleasure to present a line of jewelry dedicated to Guillermo Del Toro’s gothic masterpiece, Crimson Peak. Bedeck yourself with Sharpe family heirlooms: show your familial allegiance with the Sharpe Coat of Arms and Family Crest, and embrace terror itself with the Fear Monogram. 300 pieces were created of each design. Crafted in Los Angeles, CA. This is a pre-order; our Crimson Peak jewelry will ship in January of 2016. Ghosts fade away — along with the past — like mist in the daylight… Leaving only small lessons behind — Small certainties — There are things that tie them to a place — very much like they do us — some remain tethered to a patch of land or a time and date… but there are others — Others that hold to an emotion, a drive: loss, revenge… or love… Those — they never leave… Memory is an intimacy we share with forces both seen and unseen, a place where the living and the dead co-exist — though not always peacefully. Wherever she goes, CRIMSON PEAK heroine Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska) seems to uncover an urgent longing, the kind that leaves an indelible stain on time and space. In this way, anything can become haunted: a room, an object, a certain hour. In this unique series of atmosphere sprays, Black Phoenix Trading Post conjures singular moments from the past which ache to be relived over and over again, locations which demand to be revisited until their secrets are unearthed. Which carries the greater risk: denying them, or indulging? For secrets that yearn to be divulged — or atrocities hidden in plain sight — Black Phoenix Trading Post presents Crimson Peak memento boxes inspired by the grim interiors of Allerdale Hall, hand-crafted by Dellamorte & Co. THE SKULL CREST BOX An irresistible invitation: a relief of the distinctive skull-faced Allerdale Hall crest extruded from blood-red clay: Ad Montes Oculus Levavi Mors Vincit Omnia. Cold-cast resin, hand-cast and hand-painted by Dellamorte & Co. for Black Phoenix. Each piece is one-of-a-kind, so there will be variations in color. Crimson Peak: © Legendary 2015. Used with permission, all rights reserved.

New Lunacy is live! We invite you to drown yourself in the Lake Of Hate. LACUS ODII The Lake of Hate: blood musk, pink pepper, and neroli boiling in a seething mire of saffron. Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

We invite you to join us for our West Coast, Dirty South, and San Francisco Bay Area Lunacy events this October for your opportunity to purchase the latest scents, and get a sneak preview of what's coming soon. The blends that will be available for purchase include those that went live on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab website up to and including the Halloween update. Our Lunacy events are held on the night of the full moon and are always free. To celebrate Halloween, come in costume and receive a free Crimson Peak imp. The Dirty South Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, October 25th from 4 to 7pm at the Microtel Inn and Suites by Wyndham at Perimeter Center 6280 Peachwood Dunwoody Rd (In the conference/meeting room) Atlanta, GA 30328 RSVP for the Event on Facebook. ___ The West Coast Lunacy Event will be held on Tuesday, October 27th from 6 to 9pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. ___ The San Francisco Bay Area Lunacy Event will be held on Thursday, October 29th from 6 to 8pm at Loved To Death. Loved To Death 1681 Haight St. San Francisco, CA 94117 www.lovedtodeath.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. If you have any questions, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com. Remaining Lunacy Event dates for 2015. West Coast: Sunday, November 22nd Sunday, December 20th Dirty South, San Francisco, and Vermont dates TBA Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

Happy Halloween, all! Summon spirits in style! Black Phoenix is thrilled to offer spirit boards, handcrafted by our friends at Enchanted Rumors! There are two designs: Cemetery Gates and Funeral Rose. Both the Black Phoenix Cemetery Gates Spirit Board and the Black Phoenix Funeral Rose Spirit Board come in two sizes, 10.5” x 7” and 16” x 10.5”. All of our spirit boards are crafted from engraved, hand-painted Baltic birch, and come with a planchette inlaid with magnifying glass. Each board comes with one of the following oils: YES The spirits concur: misty bourbon vanilla and lemon sugar. NO A spectral denial you must not disregard: Burmese heartwood teak, coffee beans, black patchouli, green cognac, and white musk. GOODBYE The spirits are done with your shenanigans and wish to depart: a poof of frankincense, myrrh, Tolu balsam, and rose. Yes, No, and Goodbye are only available as part of the spirit board sets, and are not sold separately. - - - The Hallowenches needed a little decompression time before the Halloween season hit, so they decided go to a group cruise through the Bermuda Triangle. Along the way, they met Grizelda and Janice. ++ HALLOWENCHES ON HOLIDAY: PERFUMES BRAINSTEM LOLLIPOP Caramelized grey matter with apple. MOONBATHING Solar-powered electric melons and droplets of pina colada caught in an electrical storm. DR. JANICE An elegant transformation: honeyed ylang ylang with black tea, orris, dark gum resins, lavender absolute, and a twist of white grapefruit. STARLIGHT AND SEASPRAY Saltspray on moonlit fur with a hint of palm, white fig, and lime. BLOOD SANGRIA Sweet red wine, blood orange brandy, summer honey, white figs, black grapes, Marasca cherries, and a twist of plasma. ++ HALLOWENCHES ON HOLIDAY: BATH OIL A FLING IN THE LAGOON Crisp lime and mandarin, with a bit of scaly green mint and coconut. ++ HALLOWENCHES ON HOLIDAY: ATMOSPHERE SPRAYS DELAYED AT INGOLSTADT AIR FIELD An unfortunate electrical storm: lightning striking the tops of venerable oaks, Alpine moss tucked into dark mountain crevices, rain-drenched German chamomile and tulip, and a handful of wet, shy violets. CANDIRU COVE FRISBEE TOURNAMENT Sylvia was their ringer, natch. Weremusk and carnation with coconut oil, verbena, vanilla orchid, lemon peel, and clove. ZOMBIE MOON Homemade blood clot-and-cherry ice cream plopping onto moonlit sand. ++ HALLOWENCHES ON HOLIDAY: HAIR GLOSS MPF 13 Because you might want to get a bit of shimmery color over the holiday without risking a moonburn, right? The scent of skin-softening moonscreen: coconut and sugared red patchouli. - - - The leaves are not quite turning here in Los Angeles, the weather is still brutally hot, and we’re all still condemned to wearing tank tops and flip flops, so we’re setting the scene for autumn Black Phoenix-style: through scent. ++ HALLOWEEN: BATH OILS CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN Belgian chocolate filled with pumpkin butter. PUMPKIN CHEESECAKE CUPCAKE Because the goblins have been fighting over the perfume. ++ HALLOWEEN HAIR GLOSS: PILE OF LEAVES Every leaf tells a story. DEAD LEAVES, PATCHOULI, HONEY AND WARM MUSK DEAD LEAVES, RED MUSK AND NEROLI DEAD LEAVES, WHITE MUSK AND VANILLA DEAD LEAVES, BLACK FIG, CACAO AND COPAL ++ HALLOWEEN HAIR GLOSS: PUMPKINS OF THE APOCALYPSE Pumpkin Spice Armageddon! THE GREAT PUMPKIN OF WAR A furious scent, powerful and scorching, running red with fire and blood: pumpkin with red musk, pimento, red pepper absolute, red vetiver, rose geranium, and crushed red poppies. THE PUMPKIN OF CONQUEST Grey pumpkin husk and bruised violets blanketed by creeping white mycelium, black mosses, and toxic subterranean mushrooms. DEATH ON A PALE PUMPKIN And I looked, and behold a pale gourd: green patchouli and white pumpkin with yew berry, black cypress, white sandalwood, spectral niaouli, eucalyptus petal, and dry white mint. THE GOURD OF DEPRIVATION The scent of fallow fields, faraway conflagrations consuming dry, parched grasses, and crops failing under the relentless heat of a dying sun. ++ HALLOWEEN: HAIR GLOSS BOO Eerie billows of spun sugar, fluttering white cotton, and sheets of cream. ++ HALLOWEEN: ATMOSPHERE SPRAYS AT MIDNIGHT WITH A PUMPKIN LIGHT If at midnight with a pumpkin light, You steal to your room unseen, In the mirror appears the face, Of your lover true on Hallowe'en Pumpkin seeds and candle wax. LICORICE WHIP Black leather and black licorice. OCTOBER Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s delicious breath! When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief And the year smiles as it draws near its death. Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay In the gay woods and in the golden air, Like to a good old age released from care, Journeying, in long serenity, away. In such a bright, late quiet, would that I Might wear out life like thee, ‘mid bowers and brooks And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks, And music of kind voices ever nigh; And when my last sand twinkled in the glass, Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass. Dry, cold autumn wind. A rustle of red leaves, a touch of smoke and sap in the air. ON HALLOWEEN Some folk in courts for pleasure sue, An’ some ransack the theatre: The airy nymph is won by few; She’s of so coy a nature. She shuns the great bedaub’d with lace, Intent on rural jokin An’ spite o’ breeding, deigns to grace A merry Airshire rockin, Sometimes at night. At Halloween, when fairy sprites Perform their mystic gambols, When ilka witch her neebour greets, On their nocturnal rambles; When elves at midnight-hour are seen, Near hollow caverns sportin, Then lads an’ lasses aft convene, In hopes to ken their fortune, By freets that night. At Jennet Reid’s not long ago, Was held an annual meeting, Of lasses fair an’ fine also, With charms the most inviting: Though it was wat, an’ wondrous mirk, It stopp’d nae kind intention; Some sprightly youths, frae Loudon-kirk, Did haste to the convention, Wi’ glee that night. The nuts upon a clean hearthstane, Were plac’d by ane anither, An’ some gat lads, an’ some gat nane, Just as they bleez’d the gither. Some sullen cooffs refuse to burn; Bad luck can ne’er be mended; But or they a’ had got a turn, The pokeful nits was ended Owre soon that night. A candle on a stick was hung, An’ ti’d up to the kipple: Ilk lad an’ lass, baith auld an’ young, Did try to catch the apple; Which aft, in spite o’ a’ their care, Their furious jaws escaped; They touch’d it ay, but did nae mair, Though greedily they gaped, Fu’ wide that night. The dishes then, by joint advice, Were plac’d upon the floor; Some stammer’d on the toom ane thrice, In that unlucky hour. Poor Mall maun to the garret go, Nae rays o’ comfort meeting; Because sae aft she’s answered no, She’ll spend her days in greeting, An’ ilka night. Poor James sat trembling for his fate; He lang had dree’d the worst o’t; Though they had tugg’d and rugg’d till yet, To touch the dish he durst not. The empty bowl, before his eyes, Replete with ills appeared; No man nor maid could make him rise, The consequence he feared Sae much that night. – Janet Little The scent of chatty witches gossiping with neighbors at midnight: ripe red apples, honey mead, poppy seed cakes, a trickle of sweet 7-year aged patchouli, and bundles of dry herbs. PORTAL OF DEATH!!! Vanished into oblivion! BYE! A science fiction thriller by Lilith Victoria Barrial. Swirls of black plum, orange flower, white musk, spun sugar, and lollipop goo opening up into an abyss of patchouli, benzoin, and and fig. PUMPKIN SPICE EVERYTHING PUMPKIN SPICE THE F&%K OUT OF EVERYTHING. 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. - - - Also new at Black Phoenix Trading Post! TRIPLE DAGGER ENAMEL PIN Soft enamel Triple Dagger pins in your choice of full color or aged bronze! ~ and ~ BLACK PHOENIX ALCHEMY LAB SKULL STEIN The next best thing to drinking mead out of the skulls of your enemies! Each skull can be filled with 16oz of your favorite liquid, be it tea, beer, bourbon, or blood. BUT WAIT! – THERE’S MORE: Black Phoenix Trading Post is delighted to offer six sinister seasonal shades of Claw Polish! DEVIL’S NIGHT The hot, electric orange of distant fires. OCTOBER Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s delicious breath! When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief And the year smiles as it draws near its death. Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay In the gay woods and in the golden air, Like to a good old age released from care, Journeying, in long serenity, away. In such a bright, late quiet, would that I Might wear out life like thee, ‘mid bowers and brooks And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks, And music of kind voices ever nigh; And when my last sand twinkled in the glass, Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass. A metallic bronze, glowing like oak leaves at sunset. PUMPKIN SPICE EVERYTHING A raucous, fiery glitter, all pumpkin orange with glints of vine-green. SAMHAIN A pumpkin orange crème! THE SECOND SPRING Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. The burnished gold of dappled autumn sunlight. THE UNQUIET GRAVE You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips, But my breath smells earthy strong; If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips, Your time will not be long. An unearthly oil-slick fine glitter, dark and spectral. Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

The skies have darkened, and summer’s last bright green leaf has turned. Halloween is here at Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. These Halloween sets, including the Pickman Gallery, will be live until December 28th. Due to the loquacious nature of the written text of this update, we are unable to include it. However, we have included the links for your enjoyment and perusal. ++ HALLOWEEN 2015 ++ HALLOWEEN 2015: BOBBING FOR APPLES ++ SINGLE NOTES: HALLOWEEN ++ PICKMAN GALLERY: HECATE’S INHERITENCE ++ PICKMAN GALLERY: SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL – – – Keep your eyes peeled: the Black Phoenix Trading Post Halloween update is imminent and BPAL’s paean to the dead is being called in from the void. Two new Halloween scents will be debuting at Montreal’s Pretty Indulgent, and our Crimson Peak collection will be unearthed soon. Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

We invite you to join us for our West Coast, San Francisco Bay Area, and Dirty South Lunacy events this September for your opportunity to purchase the latest scents, and get a sneak preview of what’s coming soon. The blends available for purchase include those that went live on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab website up to and including the Scalia and Carnival Diabolique updates (please note that stock may be limited). Our Lunacy events are held on the night of the full moon and are always free. The San Francisco Bay Area Lunacy Event will be held on Friday, September 25th from 6 to 8pm at Loved To Death. Loved To Death 1681 Haight St. San Francisco, CA 94117 www.lovedtodeath.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. The Dirty South Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, September 27th from 4 to 7pm at the Microtel Inn and Suites by Wyndham at Perimeter Center. 6280 Peachwood Dunwoody Rd (In the conference/meeting room) Atlanta, GA 30328 RSVP for the Event on Facebook. The West Coast Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, September 27th from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. Remaining Lunacy Event Dates for 2015 West Coast: Tuesday, October 27th Future West Coast, Dirty South, San Francisco Bay Area, and Salem Lunacy Event Dates are TBA If you have any questions, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com. Hope to see you there! Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

We've teamed up with Gothic Beauty Magazine to give away three 5 ml's from our new Carnaval Diabolique collection. The contest runs through September 23rd. You can enter here: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/c5c199106 Good luck! Good luck!

Please note, unless otherwise stated, this is only regarding stock at DragonCon. Mme. Moriarty. Ava Hoggle Fairy Wine Blood Popsicle Dorian Theodosious Candy Butcher Jiggery Pokery Mystical Aphorisms Lemon Scented Sticky Bat Down to 1 (at last count) The Cat Bordello Goblin Cider Adam Dana O'Shee Morocco Tombstone Roses, Pearls, Diamonds

Continuing with Tabula Selenographica’s trip through the lunar landscape, we are thrilled to present: Mare Forecunditatis The Sea of Fecundity: clove and allspice with chamomile, strawberry leaf, sweetly aged patchouli, squill root, acorns, and bright mosses. Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

We invite you to join us for our West Coast, San Francisco Bay Area, and Dirty South Lunacy events this August for your opportunity to purchase the latest scents, and get a sneak preview of what’s coming soon. The blends that will be available for purchase include those that went live on the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab website up to and including the Scalia and Carnival Diabolique updates (please note that stock may be limited). Also, this month, Beth, Ted, Brian, and Lilith will be traveling up north to be at the San Francisco Bay Area Lunacy Event. Our Lunacy events are held on the night of the full moon and are always free. The San Francisco Bay Area Lunacy Event will be held on Wednesday, August 26th from 6 to 8pm at Loved To Death. Loved To Death 1681 Haight St. San Francisco, CA 94117 www.lovedtodeath.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. The Dirth South Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, August 30th from 4 to 7pm at the Microtel Inn and Suites by Wyndham at Perimeter Center 6280 Peachwood Dunwoody Rd (In the conference/meeting room) Atlanta, GA 30328 RSVP for the Event on Facebook. The West Coast Lunacy Event will be held on Sunday, August 30th from 4 to 7pm at Dark Delicacies. Dark Delicacies 3512 W. Magnolia Blvd (1 block east of Hollywood Way) Burbank, CA 91505 www.darkdel.com RSVP for the Event on Facebook. We also have three new exclusive scents for Dark Delicacies. We have created a scent to commemorate Midian Unmade, a book of short stories inspired by Clive Barker’s Cabal. MIDIAN UNMADE A hint of lonliness A desire for belonging The copper taste of blood The reuniting of the Breed Inevitable – Del Howison Blood-soaked soil, scorched cypress branches, and faint remnants of Baphomet’s temple incense. We have also created a pair of scents inspired by Sue and Del’s home states: Elmwood Cemetery for Michigan, and Grove Street Cemetery for Connecticut. ELMWOOD CEMETERY Red baneberry, purple prairie clover, wild bergamot, bloodroot, purple dead-nettle, hemlock, and bog rosemary twined into a waft of frankincense and myrrh. GROVE STREET CEMETERY Lyre-leaved sage, moth mullein, dandelions, and sweet white violet creeping through ancient brownstone walls and crumbling shale. All three are available exclusively at www.darkdel.com Remaining Lunacy Event Dates for 2015 West Coast: Sunday, September 27th Tuesday, October 27th Future Dirty South, San Francisco Bay Area, and Salem Lunacy Event Dates are TBA If you have any questions, please email us at willcall@blackphoenixalchemylab.com. Hope to see you there! Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.

++ BLACK PHOENIX ALCHEMY LAB DRAGONCON 2015 Here be the limited edition scents for DragonCon 2015! A return to the Peach Pit, and a few stray dragons (and dragon’ish creatures) inspired by Medieval marginalia: ++ BLACK PHOENIX ALCHEMY LAB DRAGONCON 2015: PEACH PIT PEACH IX Rose musk, peach blossom, and vanilla cream. PEACH X Peach, iris root, King mandarin, and lime rind. PEACH XI Peach, white sandalwood, golden amber, gurjum balsam, leather accord, and oudh. PEACH XII Snow-touched sparkling peach glacé with green tea absolute, pink grapefruit, and white musk. PEACH XIII Peach, red musk, cypress, myrrh, vetiver, champa resinoid, and patchouli. PEACH XIV Peach and Moroccan sandalwood with wild strawberry, vanilla pod, and caramelized benzoin. ++ BLACK PHOENIX ALCHEMY LAB DRAGONCON 2015: DRAGON CAVE ILL-MANNERED DRAGON So rude! Dragon’s blood resin, coconut, vanilla bean, and neroli. RECALCITRANT DRAGON If you don’t finish your peasant, you can’t have any dessert! Scaly green musk, smoked vanilla, tobacco, and white sandalwood. ++ BLACK PHOENIX TRADING POST DRAGONCON 2015: ATMOSPHERE SPRAYS STILL LIFE WITH PEACHES: HERCULANEUM, AD50 Myrrh incense and olive blossom drifting over peaches roasted in honeyed wine, cumin, and mint. HOUSEBREAKING YOUR DRAGON Never an easy task! Thankfully, this spray will eliminate the scent of even the most sulphrous dragon dooky residue: lemon and lemongrass with lavender, sweet orange, pink grapefruit, pimento, and a drop of rosemary. ++ BLACK PHOENIX TRADING POST DRAGONCON 2015: HAIR GLOSS DRAGON WITH A LLAMA MOHAWK Golden amber and dragon’s blood resin with champaca, honey, and macadamia nut. RENOIR’S STILL LIFE WITH PEACHES Auguste Renoir Peach and orange blossom with amber, apricot, red pepper, cistus, lime, white musk, and vanilla. STILL LIFE WITH MELON AND PEACHES Edouard Manet Peach, white rose, and charentais melon with tuberose, French vanilla, Darjeeling tea, white sandalwood, and soft musk. STILL LIFE WITH PEACHES, A SILVER GOBLET, GRAPES AND WALNUTS Jean-Siméon Chardin Peach with tonka absolute, walnut hulls, velvet red musk, oudh, black patchouli, smoked clove, and a hint of black grape skin. Both Carnival Diabolique and our Scalia Collection will also be available as well. ________________________ ++ THE COLLECTED POETIC WORKS OF ANTONIN SCALIA Hubris is sometimes defined as o'erweening pride; and pride, we know, goeth before a fall. We've had myriad political figures throughout US history who have possessed acid tongues, but few in the modern era have provided such a constant stream of colorfully vitriolic superlatives as Antonin Scalia. He is the federal court's beat poet of indignation and right-wing rage. For your pleasure, we present a line dedicated to SCOTUS' reigning Sick Burn Champion, the cranky, flamboyant, inimitable Justice Antonin Gregory Scalia. Proceeds from every single bottle will be donated to the Southern Poverty Law Center, the Trevor Project, and the National Center for Transgender Equality. ASK THE NEAREST HIPPIE Obergefell vs Hodges Who ever thought that intimacy and spirituality [whatever that means] were freedoms? And if intimacy is, one would think Freedom of Intimacy is abridged rather than expanded by marriage. Ask the nearest hippie. An olfactory guide, created to assist you in locating nearby hippies: patchouli, hemp, smoky vanilla bean, and cannabis accord. (No, there is no actual weed in this perfume, silly.) JIGGERY POKERY King vs Burwell The Court's next bit of interpretive jiggery-pokery involves other parts of the Act that purportedly presuppose the availability of tax credits on both federal and state Exchanges. Ante, at 13-14. I dunno. "Jiggery Pokery" just felt like it needed a whimsical scent attached to it, so here's some pink pepper cotton candy with a sliver of orange peel and a hint of vanilla cream. LOOMING SPECTRE OF INUTTERABLE HORROR Arizona vs United States We are not talking here about a federal law prohibiting the States from regulating bubble-gum advertising, or even the construction of nuclear plants. We are talking about a federal law going to the core of state sovereignty: the power to exclude. The Court opinion's looming specter of inutterable horror-"f §3 of the Arizona statute were valid, every State could give itself independent authority to prosecute federal registration violations"-seems to me not so horrible and even less looming. If securing its territory in this fashion is not within the power of Arizona, we should cease referring to it as a sovereign State. Wherein Scalia channels Lovecraft: raw frankincense and tobacco absolute with Russian leather, blackened champaca, bitter clove, red patchouli, bourbon vanilla and petitgrain. MUMMERIES AND STRAINING-TO-BE- MEMORABLE PASSAGES Obergefell vs Hodges Buried beneath the mummeries and straining-to-be-memorable passages of the opinion is a candid and startling assertion: No matter what it was the People ratified, the Fourteenth Amendment protects those rights that the Judiciary, in its 'reasoned judgment,' thinks the Fourteenth Amendment ought to protect. Rosemary is for remembrance: rosemary water with lavender, blackberry, Italian bergamot, and white musk. MYSTICAL APHORISMS OF THE FORTUNE COOKIE Obergefell vs Hodges If, even as the price to be paid for a fifth vote, I ever joined an opinion for the Court that began: 'The Constitution promises liberty to all within its reach, a liberty that includes certain specific rights that allow persons, within a lawful realm, to define and express their identity,' I would hide my head in a bag. The Supreme Court of the United States has descended from the disciplined legal reasoning of John Marshall and Joseph Story to the mystical aphorisms of the fortune cookie. Almond fortune cookies and a bit of roadside palm reader-inspired incense. PURE APPLESAUCE King vs Burwell The Court claims that the Act must equate federal and state establishment of Exchanges when it defines a qualified individual as someone who (among other things) lives in the "State that established the Exchange," 42 U. S. C. §18032(f )(1)(A). Otherwise, the Court says, there would be no qualified individuals on federal Exchanges, contradicting (for example) the provision requiring every Exchange to take the " 'interests of qualified individuals' " into account when selecting health plans. Ante, at 11 (quoting §18031(e)(1)( ). Pure applesauce. Our applesauce is decidedly impure: mashed apples with sugar and honey, slivered with tobacco tar and black tea. ________________________ Carnaval Diabolique has reappeared, after an extended tour through Malbolge and Cocytus. Acts I & II have returned, and the remaining acts will follow. Art by the inimitable Julie Dillon, represented in the Carnaval as Iulia. A selection of scents have been gently (and not-so-gently!) reformulated in this itieration. Each scent travels with its pitch card. Purchases of Mme Moriarty come with a randomly drawn tarot card for a little impromptu divination. Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab is not responsible for any dire tidings or baneful portents that may come your way. And now, without further ado - CARNAVAL DIABOLIQUE A Pantomime of Deviltry and Debauch in Seven Acts ++ ACT 1: THE PROLOGUE Tattered and stained parchment signs lead you through a maze of dark woods and damp leaves; a curl of opium smoke, black musk and floral perfume compels you through the darkness towards the firelight in the distance. The faraway wailing of a phantom calliope grows louder as you approach the isolated clearing, and creaking gates announce your arrival. Massive crumbling statues adorn the gates, depicting a surrealistic scene of cavorting imps, grinning demons, and heavy-lidded succubi. A huge neon sign hums and sparks, marking the entrance: It flashes, "Carnaval Diabolique". It is midnight on the midway, and in the air, the scent of nighttime rain, ozone, and heavy summer blooms mingles with thick incense, and a disconcerting blend of sugar and brimstone. Black and orange banners flutter in sinister gaiety, snapping weirdly in the chill breeze as lightning slashes through the sky. In the gloom, the Carnaval thrums with life and unlife; the murmuration is low-pitched, punctuated by gasps, soft cries, and moans, and the smooth, resonant voices of the carnaval talkers, grinders, candy butchers, and pitchmen carry over it all. CARNAVAL DIABOLIQUE Straight from the twisted alleys of Dis, by way of the City of Angels: opium smoke, lemon flower, heliotrope, tuberose, black musk, vanilla, coconut, apricot flower. MIDNIGHT ON THE MIDWAY Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the skeletal skyline of the carnival rides: sugared incense, flickering blue musk, and night-blooming flowers. THE PHANTOM CALLIOPE Ghostly, glowing, sweet and dark: black cherry, patchouli, cassis, cardamom and verbena. THE CANDY BUTCHER An exquisite, enigmatic woman sidles up to you, bearing a tray of strange, dusty curios, chocolate creatures, serpentine taffy, and candied skulls. Her skin is dusky, her eyes are heavy-lidded and sensual, her hair is the fine, soft white of spun sugar, and her skin is softly scented with cocoa. She holds a shrunken head aloft, and beckons. Bittersweet chocolate with a heavy cream undertone. ++ ACT 2: FIAT NOX A surge of warm, dark bodies buoys you along, pulling you past the crowded, candle-lit entrances to innumerable tents striped in bone white, blood red, pumpkin orange and twilight violet canvas. Through the shadows cast by the gaslamps and swinging red lanterns, you move through the ghoulish entertainment. MME. MORIARTY, MISFORTUNE TELLER A colorless woman bursts from an elaborate gold and ruby tent and faints dead at your feet. Soft laughter emits from the dark entrance to the tent, and the scent of musk, black fruits and incense touches your senses. Looking up, you see that the sign hovering above the unconscious woman is adorned with images of the Major Arcana's Tower and reads: "Mme. Moriarty, Misfortune Teller. No fate too grim, no future too bleak." A tiny woman with floor-length black dreadlocks walks out of the tent, stepping over the prone body. She is clothed in deep red wrappings, and is bedecked in golden ornaments bearing alchemical symbols and charms representing eternity, chance, and wisdom. She pauses, looks you over slowly, and then flicks a tarot card at your feet. Red musk, vanilla bean, pomegranate, black currant, patchouli leaf and wild plum. THE ORGAN GRINDER A handsome, dark-skinned man weaves and dances his way through the crowd. Veves have been burned into the face of his old acoustic guitar, which he strums casually as he strolls though the crowd. A winged Capuchin monkey is balanced on his shoulder, holding out a rusty metal cup. The guitar player's melancholy chords begin to mingle strangely with a cacophonous jangling sound. The discordant symphony grows and swells as he moves toward a cloaked and hooded figure; this spectre's skeletal hands operate a dilapidated barrel organ that stands at a crossroads in the midway. As they come together, the music hits a nightmarish crescendo; your heart heaves with longings unfulfilled, your vision swims, and your head is filled with whispered incantations and gallows secrets. In that instant, you suddenly understand the profundity of deals made in Heaven and Hell, and the price of desire. Almond milk, sarsaparilla, tobacco smoke, High John the Conqueror root, coconut hull, black patchouli and white pine bark. PULCINELLA & TERESINA Your eyes are drawn to a gilded miniature stage whose sign reads: "All Praises to the Lord of Misrule!" Upon the platform, a sneering wooden jester waltzes with a hollow-eyed and bleeding wooden maiden, while a wooden devil floats above them. Labdanum, cedar, teak and red rose. MELISANDE, THE PUPPET MISTRESS Behind the diminutive stage, the puppet mistress stands, a pale and grinning Professor, the Lady of Chaos. Her hands are tangled in web-like strings; a swazzle peeks through her violet lips. Behind her, you see a wavering image, with all the vague haziness of a mirage: a leaping coyote, a flame-haired and scarred Norseman, a glittering golden spider, a laughing monkey, a leering satyr, a shadowy flutist, and an African youth dressed in black and red. Jasmine sambac, dark musk, violet water, vanilla bean and mimosa. DOC CONSTANTINE As you pass the tiny stage, you come across a large canvas tent, illuminated within, the exterior dotted with odd splatters. In front of the tent stands a scorched wooden cart covered in a jumble of bottles, jars, vials and twisted steel implements, and an elaborate, gold-gilded sign reads: "Doc Constantine Cures What Ails Ye! Liniments, salves, potions and elixirs for every malady of the body and spirit!" A scream splits the air, jarring you. You see shadows move jaggedly within the tent, there is another scream, and all is suddenly still and silent. After a long heartbeat, the door flap opens. A man steps out wearing a crystal-eyed schnabel mask in the style of medieval plague doctors, carmine streaking his sleeves, vest, and the blonde hair that crowns him. He pulls off the mask, and you see a handsome figure, almost beatific. He rolls a cigarette, lights it, takes a deep pull, and winks at you slyly as he gestures at the multitude of concoctions he has for sale. A bent crone, her body as bowed and knotty as an ancient oak, shuffles up to the wagon with rosy-cheeked, tow-headed maiden following her at a small distance. As she approaches the doctor, the crone gestures at herself, running a gnarled hand down her body in a sweeping movement, and casting a sideways glance at her grandchild. Smiling an angel's smile, Doc Constantine hands the old woman a potion the color of cold, congealed blood. She drinks it quickly, gasping. Before your eyes her body shimmers and blurs, and a shower of dark sparks seems to engulf her. Where the crone stood, there is now a voluptuous, raven-haired vixen, vibrant, sensual, at the prime of her life and sexual vitality. Her shriek of joy is interrupted by another's scream of shock: the rigors of age have not vanished; they have moved aside, and the young woman has aged horribly, taking on the crone's burden. Sheer musk, cedar smoke, fir needle, chaparral, black amber and leather. XANTHE, THE WEEPING CLOWN From the corner of your eye, you see what seems to be a swirl of pale, translucent spirits. Ghostly in form, their faces are masks of pain and fury. Their insubstantial bodies churn and roil around a hissing, wailing clown. Her greasepaint is smeared with tears, and her fanged crimson mouth is turned down in a vicious scowl while blood drips from her lips. Her costume is torn and threadbare, and a steel-bright glint around her waist draws your eyes to an arsenal of razors, knives, and cleavers hanging from her belt. She swats futilely at the spirits as she shoves and scratches her way through the crowd. Guava, orange peel, white pepper, spun sugar and apple blossom. IULIA, L'ARTISTE du DIABLE A chittering buzz rises from a small crowd that has gathered around an opulent velvet-draped tent. Some are fidgeting impatiently; others try in vain to peep within the tent. Within moments, a slim, stunningly handsome man emerges from the entryway to the sound of gasps and scattered applause. His face is lit with fierce joy, and he bows almost smugly to the assemblage. Grabbing a flirtatious blonde from the mob, he kisses her in a rush of mad passion, his arm encircles her waist, and he leads her directly to a nearby opium den. The crowd disperses, and curiosity pulls you forward. You push open the fringed, beaded tent-flap and enter the dimly-lit room. A lovely, voluptuous redhead stands before an ornate antique easel. Her luminous alabaster skin and the phosphorescence emanating from her paintbrush seem to be the only source of light. As you adjust to the gloom, you see that the walls are covered with atrocities: an exhibit of dissolution. The myriad canvases show men and women in various stages of rot and decay, a panoply of indulgence, teeth set in fury, mouths leering in lust, hands grasping greedily. The scarlet woman turns her gleaming sightless eyes towards you and, in a husky, compelling voice, she speaks: "Why let the years tear at your youthful splendor? Why let the mark of your sins stain your fine features? Will you let the cold, creeping grasp of time and the toil of temptation mar your visage? Why should the pleasures of our flesh wreak such havoc?" She leans in close to you and whispers, "Let me capture your soul on this canvas in oil and blood, and you will be beautiful forever." White tea, sugar cane, orange blossom, rockrose, lemon balm, white mint, and honey. THEODOSIUS, THE LEGERDEMAIN A flash of light and the smell of sulfur seize your attention. A vast black tent stands before you, subtly glowing with an unnatural, almost phosphorescent light. This tent has no pennants, no ornamentation, save for a carved ebony sign, lettered in silver: "Master Theodosius Legerdemain, Medium, Conjurer One thousand years of marvels. Enter at your peril." Another flash blinds you, and from a swirl of smoke a rakish, devilishly handsome man appears, long black hair falling down halfway to his waist, elegant and sinister in an inky silk tuxedo and a voluminous cape. The shadow he casts against the tent, oddly, seems to be that of an enormous corvus, and his eyes radiate a deep azure light. Staring fixedly at you, he snaps his fingers, and two bolts of violet lightning strike the ground on either side of him, blinding you momentarily. As your eyes adjust, you see that two lovely, slender, waiflike women now stand upon the scarred ground beside him, dressed in tattered ballerina costumes the nebulous color of smoke. Turning to his right, he touches the woman's lips and says, "Seachd seachd uair!" She opens her mouth, and a flock of diminutive bats fly forth from her throat. Turning to his left, he touches the other woman's hair and repeats, "Seachd seachd uair!" What once was a gleaming mane of stark white hair is now a nest of writhing vipers. She opens her mouth, baring fangs, and spits forth a thin stream of venom. The Master swirls his cape, which suddenly seems to grow and twist like a living shadow, and in a final flash of red lightning and a deafening thunderclap, he and both his assistants vanish. Earl Grey tea leaves, a white fougere, jasmine leaf, pearlescent white musk, and vanilla bean. ANTONINO, THE CARNY TALKER As you approach an enormous patchwork tent, a curious sound catches your attention: the rattle of bones and the tinkling of tiny bells heralds the arrival of a gaunt and ghastly creature. An animated skeleton dressed in a jester's motley saunters towards the front of the tent, waving an orange and black striped cane at the crowd in an effort to clear a path. The jester makes his way past the fog-shrouded, faded, colossal posters that adorn the tent to a platform in front of the massive tent's entrance. His ivory smile frozen in a gleeful rictus grin, he steps up onto the platform, taps the cane three times, and the jester costume vanishes. Suddenly dark eyes appear in the empty sockets, bones are wrapped in muscle, sinew grows over the bones, blood fills rapidly appearing veins. Before your eyes, the skeletal jester has become a dapper, handsome man, dressed in black and orange, with a skull-ornamented straw hat tilted jauntily upon his shining black hair. His smile is slick and conspiratorial. With a flourish and arcing wave of his cane, he booms: "Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! This is Carnaval Diabolique's notorious 13-In-1: the finest freak show in all the Hells! What marvels await you, you ask? Simply the strangest and most fantastic creatures, human and inhuman, gathered for your entertainment, enlightenment and erudition!" With the cane, he gestures at the gigantic posters that adorn the tent. The images, once hazy, suddenly come into focus. "From the depths of the Black Forest: Arachnina, the Spider Girl! From the rain-swept streets of London: Hope and Faith, the Siamese Twins! From ruins of old Aquae Sextia: Wulric, the Wolf Man! "Thalassa, the Galapagos Mermaid! A vision of life-in-death, Eshe! "All in all, THIRTEEN anatomical curiosities, miracles of genetics, magick and science, masters of marvels, ALIVE ON THE INSIDE!" White musk, wild plum, vetiver, black coconut, verbena, fig, and lavender. Atmosphere sprays are $25, hair glosses are $28, and perfumes are $26. Available exclusively at our booth at DragonCon! Cosplayers: Our Cosplay Station returns this year for any last minute fixes. You can find us at: Booth 1319 Floor 1 Americasmart 235 Williams Street NW, Building 2 Atlanta GA, 30303 We look forward to seeing you! Want to keep up to date on all the BPAL news? Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, join our mailing list, visit our Forums, or follow our blog The Black Phoenix Gazette.