Blood Moon is Live at Black Phoenix!

[wickedgoddess]

BLOOD MOON 2010

In October, the crop harvest has past, and all hands turn to the Hunt:

the third and final harvest before winter. Blood Moon shines over huntsmen as they ride over reaped grain in pursuit of their prey.

 

In Christian mythology, Blood Moon may have a darker significance:

 

"And I looked when He broke the sixth seal, and there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth made of hair, and the whole moon became like blood; and the stars of the sky fell to the earth, as a fig tree casts its unripe figs when shaken by a great wind." -- Revelation 6:12-13

 

The feral scent of throbbing musks and the heat of the chase through a shadowed, moonlit wood, swirled in the incense of the anointed cherub that covereth, and touched by blood-dimmed lunar oils.

 

 

Buy the companion shirt here.

 

Artwork by Jennifer Williamson.

 

The Blood Moon perfume and tee will be live until Monday, September 27, 2010.

 

 

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Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and Black Phoenix Trading Post will be vending at the West Hollywood Book Fair this Sunday, September 26th from 10am to 6pm.

 

We will be vending at Booth D20, alongside Dark Delicacies. Also at the Book Fair, Beth will be appearing on the FOOD FOR THOUGHT: VAMPIRES, WEREWOLVES & WHY WE LOVE TO BE BITTEN panel in the SciFi, Fantasy, and Horror Pavilion, along with Del Howison, Amber Benson (Among the Ghosts), VMK Fewings (Orpheus: A Vampire's Rise), and S.S. Wilson (Tucker's Monsters). There will be a signing following the panel in the Dark Delicacies booth, D17-19.

 

We will be bringing along our literary scents (Gaiman's, Lovecraft, Alice in Wonderland, Illyria, the comic book scents, etc.) and will also be bringing along the last of the hardcover Unknown sets, to benefit Hero Initiative.

 

West Hollywood Park

647 N. San Vicente Blvd.

West Hollywood, CA

Sunday, September 26th, 10:00am to 6:00pm

 

 

+ WEST HOLLYWOOD BOOK FAIR LIMITED EDITION SCENT

SIBYL

$20

This play was good enough for us, Harry. It was Romeo and Juliet. I must admit that I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shakespeare done in such a wretched hole of a place. Still, I felt interested, in a sort of way. At any rate, I determined to wait for the first act. There was a dreadful orchestra, presided over by a young Hebrew who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away, but at last the drop-scene was drawn up and the play began. Romeo was a stout elderly gentleman, with corked eyebrows, a husky tragedy voice, and a figure like a beer-barrel. Mercutio was almost as bad. He was played by the low-comedian, who had introduced gags of his own and was on most friendly terms with the pit. They were both as grotesque as the scenery, and that looked as if it had come out of a country-booth. But Juliet! Harry, imagine a girl, hardly seventeen years of age, with a little, flowerlike face, a small Greek head with plaited coils of dark-brown hair, eyes that were violet wells of passion, lips that were like the petals of a rose. She was the loveliest thing I had ever seen in my life. You said to me once that pathos left you unmoved, but that beauty, mere beauty, could fill your eyes with tears. I tell you, Harry, I could hardly see this girl for the mist of tears that came across me. And her voice--I never heard such a voice. It was very low at first, with deep mellow notes that seemed to fall singly upon one's ear. Then it became a little louder, and sounded like a flute or a distant hautboy. In the garden-scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy that one hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing. There were moments, later on, when it had the wild passion of violins. You know how a voice can stir one. Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane are two things that I shall never forget. When I close my eyes, I hear them, and each of them says something different. I don't know which to follow. Why should I not love her? Harry, I do love her. She is everything to me in life. Night after night I go to see her play. One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen. I have seen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the poison from her lover's lips. I have watched her wandering through the forest of Arden, disguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap. She has been mad, and has come into the presence of a guilty king, and given him rue to wear and bitter herbs to taste of. She has been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her reedlike throat. I have seen her in every age and in every costume. Ordinary women never appeal to one's imagination. They are limited to their century. No glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. One can always find them. There is no mystery in any of them. They ride in the park in the morning and chatter at tea-parties in the afternoon. They have their stereotyped smile and their fashionable manner. They are quite obvious. But an actress! How different an actress is! Harry! why didn't you tell me that the only thing worth loving is an actress?

 

Bourbon vanilla, Egyptian musk, olibanum, summer honey, white tea, Spanish mandarin, tea rose, cognac, and a faint trace of prussic acid.

 

Sibyl, part of our Dorian Gray series, will be available exclusively at our booth at the West Hollywood Book Fair.

 

 

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Black Phoenix will also be making an appearance at the New York Comic Con, October 8 - 10th at the Javits Center in New York City. Black Phoenix will be pitching a tent in booth 2851.

 

+ NYCC LIMITED EDITION SCENTS

$20

THE ELEPHANTINE COLOSSUS

Perfect for a Victorian Seaside Fornicatress! The Elephant Hotel, or Elephantine Colossus, was a 122 foot high elephant-shaped hotel that opened on Coney Island in 1885. Though it was a marvel of its time, it was also sullied by it's proximity to the Gut, a particularly seedy section of West Brighton that seethed with persons of ill repute, and the Elephantine Colossus soon became as famous for its prostitutes as it was for its unusual architecture. Seaside hanky panky: a strumpet's red musk with a merry splash of root beer, a swirl of exotic pipeweed, and a whiff of sweets carrying over from the boardwalk.

 

THE LADY OF LAKE RONKONKOMA

Lake Ronkonkoma is rumored to be a bottomless lake and conduit to the netherworld. The gods of the Lake demand an annual sacrifice, using the restless spirit of a long-dead Seatauket maiden to lure unsuspecting men to their doom. Balsamic, reedy water, sweetgrass, algae, loosestrife, and lady's slipper.

 

THE LINCOLN TUNNEL VORTEX

Not merely a pathway between Manhattan and Weehawken, the Lincoln Tunnel is also a site of mystery. Cars have been reported missing in mid-voyage as they passed through the tunnel, and individuals have claimed that they have exited the tunnel disoriented, with strange gaps in their memories. Are these accounts a side-effect of sanity-shattering traffic or is this a genuine highway to an alternate dimension? Swirls of discordant, high-pitched notes, pavement, and a thin coating of sweet, green-glowing radiator fluid.

 

MOUNT MISERY AND SWEET HOLLOW ROADS

Both Mount Misery and Sweet Hollow Roads are believed to be intensely haunted, and are pathways of misfortune and sorrow whose history of horrors descends deep into pre-Colonial American folklore. Black spruce boughs, packed dirt, gravel, brush, fallen chestnuts, wild tuberose, galbanum, and dead leaves.

 

THE WHITE LADY OF DURAND-EASTMAN PARK

In the early nineteenth century, a woman and her daughter took up residence in Rochester, where the Durand Eastman Park now stands. The woman was fleeing an abusive husband, and fled to Rochester to in an attempt to find solitude and safety for herself and her child. One terrible day, her daughter went missing. The grief-stricken mother searched the area frantically, but her daughter had disappeared without a trace. Over many weeks of searching, the woman became convinced that her daughter had been a victim of foul play at the hands of a local farmer. Unable to find her child, mad with sorrow, she flung herself into the chilly waters of Lake Ontario. Her spirit haunts Durand Eastman Park now, accompanied by a pair of phantom hounds. She is believed to be a protectress of women in peril, and exacts vengeance on any man that she encounters that have done any woman harm. Bittersweet and ethereal: bergamot, cacao, white tea, jasmine bud, narcissus, and tobacco flower.

 

 

+ BPTP NYCC ATMOSPHERIC SPRAYS

$25

THE BRITISH BLONDES

In 1868, Lydia Thompson's British Blondes took New York City by storm, introducing burlesque to the Americas. A cluster of hothouse orchids with smoky vanilla-touched skin musk and burnished golden amber.

 

CONEY ISLAND CREEK

The scent of silty, thick water, mud flats, and rusted ancient shipwrecks.

 

STEEPLECHASE PARK

A celebration of Gilded Age amusement parks. Sweet, sticky concessions against a backdrop of gold-leafed rickety wood.

 

 

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And last but not least, we are proud to introduce the Black Phoenix Gazette...all the news that's fit to print!