When I was younger, from childhood through young adulthood, I was told I was slow, lazy, aimless, and lackadaisical. I often flaked out and had no follow-through. But I wasn’t any of those things. I was scared and anxious all the time, and didn’t know how to express that, so I would often procrastinate, drag my heels, and I agree to things I didn’t want to do (and then be a no-show or ghost people) because I was afraid to say no at the onset.
In reality, as an adult, I am a very hard worker, tireless, ceaseless, a perfectionist. But sometimes I wonder if that’s because I’m trying to prove something to people who thought otherwise? That I’m not lazy and worthless? And when have I proven myself enough? To people who are quite literally dead and gone?
I am still scared of everything. Everything. Even though I have almost reached the half-century mark. But if there is one thing I have learned, it is that the fear of actually doing a thing is outweighed by the dread of thinking about doing the thing. So I just pick the lesser of the fears and get on with it. And since no one is around anymore to see these small victories, I’ve continually gotta prove myself to myself.
This is how I have written three books. Thank you for coming to my TED talk 🤣
If you enjoy these ramblings, or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
Even though I’d be the first to encourage you to practice the soft, sweet rituals that elevate the quotidian day-to-day, the little beauties and tiny marvels that make life more special, I always forget to do things that make life less of a struggle.
Mornings are coming earlier and earlier this time of year, and I am one of those people who wakes with the sun. As soon as I feel daylight on my eyelids, I am done with dreams. And that is fine, because most days, I am definitely a morning person! But there are some mornings that, despite the evil day star’s glaring insistence, I want to snuggle back under the quilts and snooze all cozy a little longer…and it never actually occurs to me that there are things that I can do to facilitate that.
sleep mask tableaux; photo by me
I’ve been loving this gorgeous sleep mask from Altar + Orbfor this very reason! It’s a silky swaddle of darkness for my eyeballs and a beautiful “oh fuck off!” to that blazingly brazen sun. And what’s more—I have been remembering to use it, reminding myself “you do not have to suffer—you can fix this!” And what an eerily charming fix it is!
I’ve adored every bit of everything I’ve gotten from this decadent shop—from their darkly whimsical blank notebooks that I use to record my weird internal conversations, to my “creatures of the night” tee, to the World’s Most Perfect goth sweatshirt. Well done, Altar and Orb! You are an enchantingly, brilliantly rich slice of darkness in a world that is often too blandly sunny and tiresomely humdrum.
If you enjoy these ramblings, or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
Hello friends! Just a little update video from my birthday weekend to catch you up on various things and to share some favorite things! This video was pretty spontaneous and not very well edited, so please excuse that random photo of skincare stuff that pops up in the perfume segment (or screencap it if you need the details!)
Anyway, grab a cup of tea or a fancy c/m-ocktail and come along with me while I show you my messy house and some favorite things. And you should definitely leave me comments on the video because I don’t ask for much in this world, but it’s my birthday, dangit!
If you enjoy these ramblings, or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
I spend a lot of time reviewing and recommending and celebrating the creations of others– and I love to do it! – but for the next few days leading up to my birthday, I am going to spend some time honoring and giving lots of love to my own work.
From the sheer number of people who say to me “I didn’t know it was you who did that!” it’s obvious that I need to toot my own horn a little more. I would say, “I hope you’ll indulge me” but that’s weenie-Sarah speaking.
Instead, I will step up and say WITNESS AND REJOICE IN MY TOOTLING FRIENDS! Because you wouldn’t be here if you were not my friends and you are happy to drink my own Kool-Aid with me for a little while! I think!
Anyway, going way back, in case you didn’t know…
-Did you know I began life, more or less, as akissofshadows on LiveJournal? Did we know each other back then? I changed usernames several dozen times, but that pilfered Laurell K. Hamilton title was the one that began it all.
-Did you know I have been blogging for 20+ years now, in some form or another? And I still do! I have written for myself in all my blog’s incarnations, and I have been a guest blogger and a staff blogger for: Coilhouse, bloodmilk, Death & the Maiden, Dirge, Haute Macabre, and Thespiai.
-Did you know I was the creator responsible for Skeletor Is Love?
Ever get lost in a book that speaks to your deepest curiosities? The Art of the Occult, The Art of Darkness, and The Art of Fantasy are back in stock at Unquiet Things and are ready to ignite your imagination and quench your thirst for the extraordinary!
These visual sourcebooks are brimming with inspiration, whether you crave a guide to the occult, a glimpse into the beauty of darkness, or an escape into fabulous, fantastical realms.
Before they all disappear, grab a signed copy and add a personal touch to your exploration of the unseen! **Shipping within US only.**
Art in the Margins trio photographed by Maika
Whether you’re a budding mystic, a connoisseur of the macabre, or an escape artist into fantastical worlds, these visual sourcebooks have something for you.
𖤓 Craving a visual guide to the occult?The Art of the Occult is a treasure trove for the enthusiasts of the esoteric and arcane.
𖤓 Want to delve into the beauty of darkness?The Art of Darkness is a visual feast for those who find solace in shadows.
𖤓 Yearning to escape into fantastical realms?The Art of Fantasy is your portal to worlds unseen.
Bonus content! I’m too much of a shy weirdo to ever do any book tours or public book signings or anything like that, so public appearances were not part of my marketing plan for my books. (“Plan.” Ha!) Do you know what I did instead? I made little fantasy outfits for each title. Yep.
When I was writing The Art of Fantasy, the final chapter presented a bit of a problem for me. It was becoming a real pain, to tell you the truth.
I’d covered art inspired by fantastical beasts and mythical creatures, powerful witches, wizards and incredible feats of magic, alternate histories, parallel dimensions, and otherworldly realms—but it begged the question as to who’s out there doing the heavy lifting of saving these worlds and their inhabitants from all the things they need saving from?
From realms at risk from wicked usurpers and maniacal overlords to worlds overrun by extraterrestrial aliens, ancient prophecies, and evil plots–cataclysms, calamities, and catastrophes abound, and it’s do-or-die against overwhelming odds! And, of course, artists in every culture have been capturing the essence of the idealized humans performing extraordinary feats…so I obviously needed a hero! A whole chapter of them!
But not a bunch of joyless, muscle-bound idiots swinging swords. Come on!
A Melody of Silence and Joy, Tino Rodriguez
Enter Tino Rodriguez. Tino’s art wasn’t about the steely-eyed warriors or the brooding ironclad crusaders and grizzled berserkers. Instead, it brimmed with tenderness and offered an expansive glimmer of something hopeful, a reminder that even the gentlest souls can rise to the challenge in a world teetering on the edge. It was exactly the kind of inspiration–and hero–that I needed for my final chapter.
Up until this realization, this had been a project wherein I questioned just about every word I’d struggled to get on paper, but once I experienced the artwork below, it became one of the easiest things I’d ever written.
The Wounded Healer’s Blood Nourishes the Earth That Gives Birth to Radiant Flowers, Tino Rodriguez
Infused with the captivating allure of celestial beings and Catholic saints, the whimsical charm of European fairytales, the otherworldly magic of Celtic fables, the vibrant energy of Mexican myths, and the timeless wisdom of Native American legends, and inspired by the wonder and magic of music, dreams, and childhood stories, Tino’s canvases are jubilant celebrations of ecstatic divinity, colorful butterfly-fluttered paradises, and brilliant floral explosions – sanctuaries for explorations of creative consciousness that transcend borders and language.
Personal transformation and universal connectedness are themes that tumble throughout Tino’s work, like so many spring blossoms on a sweet, laughing breeze: reminders that a hero’s work – this whole business of saving the world – often starts small, internally even, one precious human petal at a time.
The humble work of healing oneself is quiet and invisible, and it frequently doesn’t look – or feel – very good. Sometimes, it feels like ripping an arrow right out of your heart and fertilizing the ground with your blood. But you know what we call that? It’s an origin story. And it’s a great place to start.
Daydream Murmurations, Tino Rodriguez
The First Breath of Spring, Tino Rodriguez
But Tino’s art isn’t just a technicolor feast of kaleidoscopic opulence and psychedelic blooms; they are spaces of quiet revolution for creative spirits and gentle warriors of the heart, boundless realms where dreams take flight, transformation takes place, and where the questions that we carry with us are a beautiful, integral part of our complex and multilayered existence.
With regard to questions and answers and logic and reasoning, Tino says the following, and I love this sentiment so much:
“My work does not offer concrete answers. Instead, the poetic essence of my paintings questions literal and rational meanings. I am not interested in answers because I do not think there are absolute ones. Most questions are enigmas that we carry within ourselves, and they are part of our multilayered, complex existence. Novalis said: “Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.” I think the same of my paintings, which I consider visual poetry.”
Below is a gallery of my favorite visual poetics from this extraordinary artist, a testament to the idea that beauty can indeed save the world, one tender hero at a time.
If you enjoy these art-related writings, or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
Complicated Shadows from 4160 Tuesdays is a perfume for the insomniac hours, late-night strolls wandering through the deserted streets of your hometown, familiar landmarks strangely distorted by the play of moonlight and shadow. The warm, velvety sandalwood whispers in contrast to the chilling “shade” note, evoking the breathless hush of liminal, in-between spaces. The iris and narcissus here are shrouded in mystery, their earthy floral murmurations laced with a tang of acrid irony, simmering existential angst below the surface of introspective ponderings. Veiled in a bitter vanilla mist, it’s the uncanny reverie, nocturnal glooms, and haunting landscapes of the dreamless, lost in the dark.
I don’t like comparing perfumes to each other, especially comparisons of something a niche or indie creator has made to something from one of the big houses…and I hear artists of all ilks, all the time, bemoaning how they hate being compared to other artists. So apologies in advance to my beloved artists amongst us here, but I know that sometimes comparisons to something you are already familiar with can be helpful in evaluating something new.
That said, my first impression of Complicated Shadows was one of cool, dusky elegance… and there’s a definite kinship with Guerlain’s L’Heure Bleue, that melancholic masterpiece shrouded in powdery twilight. However, Complicated Shadows sheds the heavy cloak of powder, revealing a more approachable, contemporary feel. L’Heure Bleue, as much as I want to love it, has never been my cup of tea. But Complicated Shadows? I could drink it by the bucketful. In the dark. In the middle of a deserted road. At the stroke of midnight.
I know better than this, but I purchased a bottle of Fantomas from Nasomattowithout having sampled it first, and I’m surprised to say…I actually rather enjoy it? It reminds me of ELdO’s Ghost In The Shell, that bit of speculative lactonic peach, but I then realized what I was smelling in Fantomas was more along the lines of those Japanese milky honeydew melon hard candies. There’s also a bit of sterile, plastic-y musk and digitally-rendered powdery porcelain heliotrope, and the more I sniff my wrist, the more I am convinced that this creamy floral/vinyl musk is what the uncanny valley of a really expensive sex doll smells like. I’ve not smelled any sex dolls, either of the budget or the big-spender variety, but I have got a big imagination, and I’m pretty sure I know what I know. Anyway, I like it!
Parfums de Marly’s Pegasus Exclusif, and maybe I am extrapolating a bit from the brand’s copy, promises a ride on the back of a flying stallion, a journey into a realm of “masculine virility” and “exhilarating power.” But I think we need to temper our expectations; the description would have us believe this is the fragrant equivalent of a noble winged steed, all myth and muscle, soaring through the heavens, presumably being the fantastical equine embodiment of toxic masculinity. I’m not saying that I actually wanted any of that, but instead, what we are presented with is a pastel carousel pony, all heliotrope powdered sugar, and cracked porcelain. Now, there are some things I am not up to speed on here, which is to say that Pegasus Exclusif implies the existence of a Pegasus not-so-Exclusif, and if that is the case, I haven’t smelled that yet, and maybe that one is a dusty plastic marzipan macaron as well… so I am not sure how this one differs. And unlike other reviewers, I don’t get anything complex or dark or rich out of this perfume; the promised depth and complexity and woods and spices never materialize, leaving a one-dimensional sweetness and a sense of artificial whimsy that smells more like a My Little Pony collection than the epic journey of a majestic beast.
Citron Boboli from Le Jardin Retrouvé was a lovely, unexpected surprise. It’s such a light, refreshing, palliative scent; there’s hardly anything to it at all, and then the longer you sit with it, the more mellow marvels it conjures. On the hottest day of the summer, when the sun bakes the earth, and the air hangs humid, heavy, and shimmering, find a mason jar, glass smooth and etchings worn, passed down from your mother’s mother, to cradle a spell for a sweltering day. Beneath the skeletal shade of a midday tree, into this vessel layer lemon balm and blossom, a sprig of geranium, and a frilled citronella leaf–a soothing strata, herbal, citrusy, and green, a counterpoint to the relentless heat. Stream in a shiver of rainwater that has caught the reflection of the moon, and, finally, drop in as many cloves and peppercorns as loves you have lost, and smell their spiced warmth transmute into a strange, fizzing chill. Anoint your pulse, your throat, and your heart with the verdant brew, peer into its swirling emerald shadows, and let echo the words that cool the air and summon the soft, secret summer rain. This is what Citron Boboli is for me. And as a Floridian, I think this fragrance will be my go-to scorching summertime incantation of relief.
I got a sample of Flamingo from Blackcliff because thought this was for sure going to be my manic pixie pink pepper of demented glee that I have long been searching for. It’s a mangrove swamp’s heart of kaleidoscopic funhouse mirrors, twisted cypress knees splashed in the lurid, tart effervescent guava-grapefruit hues of technicolor twilight. Prickly pink pepper like a shard of shattered glass, like a frenzied clutch of little claws skitters and dissolves, and a melancholic violet peeks through, its bruised purple mascara streaking through the murky water. Damp earthy tendrils of vetiver, musky ambrette, and loamy tobacco loom faintly but unsettlingly close to the surface. Flamingo is a warped sour bittersweetness unseen creatures chirping and croaking in the twilight–and I like it– but it’s more of a pink pepper whisper than the deranged fever dream intensity of pink pepper delirium I was hoping for.
Stéphane Humbert Lucas Soleil de Jeddah is a last-gasp sour and tang of sun-shriveled citrus, fusty desiccated green herbs and mummified mosses, ashy, arid leather, and the most spectral iris wilting in a disappearing patch of shade whose earthy roots are already giving up the ghost, crumbling away in the sandy dirt. The radiant aurora of an eclipse made pale, parched apparition via a dusty, occluded lens.
SYZYGY from bloodmilk x BPAL Syzygy is the undying dream of a dusky poppy in full bloom, not vibrant and fleeting, but perfectly preserved within a gilded tesserae of amber, its vivid essence suspended in slow, honeyed time. Crumble these petrified petals into a steaming glass of milk, the creamy warmth coaxing out their hidden secrets. The first breath of Syzygy is this: a haunting sweetness, both familiar and strange. It’s the memory of summer captured in a single, perfectly candied posy, not swaying in a sun-scattered field but tucked between the shadows amongst sun-baked stones. The rich, resinous beauty of the blossom endures, a timeless lure to the dark hum of ghostly bees forever adrift, doomed to perpetual yearning. This will be available later today (4/30) on the bloodmilk website.
Zoologist Moth is the cool glooms and musty melancholy of antique lace and silks tucked away with camphoraceus mothballs; there’s a smoky rose musk aspect, the spectral embers of a rose that lit itself on fire for love, or vengeance, or maybe both, and a bittersweet powdery element, like dried honey mixed with grave dust from a tomb. But the longer this wears, the more familiar it begins to smell, and I realize I am actually just wearing the musky vanilla and dusty florals of Hypnotic Poison, or alternately, the Bewitching Yasmine from Penhaligon, or Fleur Cachée from Anatol Lebreton, which to my nose, all smell like kindred spirits. And do I really need another perfume in that vein? And then I remember that I actually only own one bottle of those three scents, and that one doesn’t have the thing going for it that Moth does: ultimately, Moth smells like a twilight shadowplay of austere embraces, a haunting chorus of forgotten languages, and basically what you wear to convince the ghosts that you are in fact a ghost.
Koala from Zoologist is an aromatic-green-soapy incense-balsamic black tea-geranium sandalwood cologne with eucalyptus and pine. It’s dapper somehow, but the ironic dapper of a 25-year-old in 2013 with a handlebar mustache and a pork pie hat. It’s the refreshing, relaxing scent of a spa, but these dapper, ironic hipsters run the entire spa. And I don’t even know if I want to call it irony or absurdity or even farcical, but after a while, it doubles back on itself, and it’s almost painfully earnest, it’s got a genuine “love is real, and I was pounded in the butt by my sentient spa experience” Chuck Tingle title vibe. I don’t know what that means. I’m all over the place for what is probably a very approachable and wearable perfume. That’s kind of wild, that I have no problem describing the weirdies, but the normies are the ones that give me pause. Anyway, I think this is both a sincere and sardonic eucalyptus scent. That’s my final word on it.
Ôponé from Diptyque(I think this one is hard to find, but you can find overpriced bottles on resale sites) is a fragrance so revolting you’d think someone was joking that it couldn’t possibly be real. But it is real, and I have a sample of it. It’s a vile cocktail of the following: a freshly-opened bottle of goopy, boozy-but-not-nearly-enough booze bitter berry Robitussin Maximum Strength Cough and Chest Congestion (possibly the one with Dextromethorphan and Guaifenesin), the most repellent, unpalatable artificial fruity-sour energy drink on the shelf with the most outrageously obnoxious packaging, the one so disgusting and foul that even the people you think might be into it would never buy, and the saddest long-stemmed fake rose wrapped in dusty crinkly plastic at the gas station. Nobody wants any part of this. Throw it in the trash immediately.
Bonus material! I can’t believe I have never shared this, but the closest I have ever come to hearing/seeing the perfume reviews I want to see in the world is this SNL sketch with Benedict Cumberbatch. They are not talking about perfume, but I think you will get what I mean…
If you enjoy these fragrant musings, or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
Many years ago, shortly after beginning my fledgling forays into writing about art, I had the privilege of interviewing one of my favorite artists. Their work, a weird hybrid of horror/comedy/adventure/and friendship, took place in an interconnected series that followed denizens of a haunted little town. At the time of the interview, the story depicted children in coming-of-age scenarios whilst encountering fantastical creatures and cryptids. It utterly delighted me, and, ecstatic at the opportunity to delve deeper, I peppered them with questions about their inspiration, their favorite monsters, and their personal encounters with the supernatural and the occult.
The response, though kind, was humbling. The artist explained that the fantastical elements – the monsters, the otherworldly details– were metaphors. They were ways of exploring the anxieties, the fears, and the very real challenges of growing up. My fascination with the fantastical had blinded me to the deeper message, the artist’s exploration of the human condition.
Madeline von Foerster, Essentia Exalta, seen in The Art of the Occult
This experience has stayed with me as a reminder to look beyond the surface when encountering art. It’s a lesson that comes to mind when examining the captivating work of Madeline von Foerster, whose painting Essentia Exalta (above) is in my book The Art of the Occult: A Visual Sourcebook For The Modern Mystic. Obviously, this is an artist with some occult and mystical interests and fascinations –after all, she’s got a whole alchemically inspired series called “Desires Distilled.”
So, I don’t think that was me seeing something that wasn’t there or that I was superimposing my own wishes and beliefs on her work. That sense of mysticism is very present, but there’s so much more to it than that …which I suspect I was blinded to at the time, because of my occult-book-writing tunnel vision.
Madeline von Foerster, Carnival Insectivora
Madeline von Foerster, Die Botschaft
At first glance, her meticulously detailed canvases, teeming, tumbling, and tangled with flora and fauna, appear like portals to lush sanctuaries imbued with symbolism that transcends the readily apparent, ripe for interpretations of the occult. The intricate symbolism, the otherworldly light, the magical beasts and shadowy, enigmatic figures – it all whispers of hidden knowledge and forgotten languages, and an undeniable aura of mystery permeates her work.
These elements of the otherworldly and arcane aren’t jarring or out of place; they feel like natural extensions of the organic world she portrays. This creates a captivating tension, urging viewers to decipher the hidden messages while simultaneously reveling in the breathtaking beauty. It’s easy to get lost in deciphering these enigmatic elements, to chase after hidden meanings and esoteric truths, to lose sight of the forest for the meticulously rendered trees. And there’s certainly room for such exploration.
Madeline von Foerster, The Promise II
Madeline von Foerster, The Mother of the Tree
Madeline von Foerster, Collection Cabinet
Her technique, egg tempera, which dates back to antiquity and has historical ties to alchemical practices, is a fascinating paradox and a laborious process that feels akin to a ritual. The resulting works possess an undeniable aura, a sense of channeling something older, wilder, and unseen. Yet, the imagery that emerges feels startlingly modern.
The scenes she creates boggle the mind, engage the senses, and speak to a spark of the sacred swimming deep within the soul. Her still lifes, gardens, and wunderkammers exist in a twilight zone where invasive species and extinct creatures frolic, and vibrant flora spills into dreamlike vistas of aggressively suffocating vines and jellyfish-flocked undersea ruins. Human torso-shaped wooden cabinets allude to the once-living trees that were their source. Deforestation, endangered species, and the ever-present shadow of war find subtle expression within future fairytales weaving a poignant commentary on the human condition into the beauty.
Madeline von Foerster, Ny Alantsika
Madeline von Foerster, In the garden
I began writing this blog post with the intention of saying that I might have lost sight of the true message of her art while immersing myself in the sumptuous verdancy and cryptic enchantments of Madeline von Forster’s cosmos. However, I realized that I am not in a position to determine what that message is or isn’t. Who is to say that art cannot be both mystical and otherworldly, while also being rooted in earthly concerns? Why can’t it be a portal to a supernatural realm and a window to the deep bond we share with the natural world that requires our attention and reverence?
Perhaps, then, it is a form of nature worship, a celebration of the deep-rooted magic that pulsates within every living thing. By capturing in her exquisite brushstrokes the intricate patterns and symbolism inherent in the natural world, she elevates it to a place of reverence. These breathtaking botanicals and wunderkammers teeming with wildness and wonder become more than just decorative elements or aesthetic choices; they are imbued with a sense of the sacred, whispered hints at the interconnectedness of all things, each revelation deepening our appreciation for the world around us.
Madeline von Foerster, The Tale of the Golden Toad
Madeline von Foerster, Wohin, Pangolin?
Madeline von Foerster, La Nature Sauvage
Madeline von Foerster, Reliquary for Rabb’s Frog
If you enjoy these art-related writings, or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
This is a screencap of someone else’s TikTok account, but that someone is using a photo which belongs to me
The above is an image I screencapped from TikTok. If you are someone who has seen photos of my perfume cabinet over the years, you might look at it and think “…hey…that looks like Sarah’s perfume cabinet!” And then you might get confused because you’d think, “Huh, that username says “redacted” not “midnight stinks,” and, “hey, I know Sarah; she would probably never attach a GIF of Ben Affleck’s dumb face to any of her photos, what the heck is going on here?”
Friends, I saw that and was similarly confused. At first, before anything else, I saw my tacky pink sparkly skull and my great-great-grandparent’s antique photo, and I didn’t notice the other stuff. I thought someone had found one of my photos, wanted to know more about the owner of the photo, found my various accounts, and thought, “Aha! here’s a kindred spirit!” In this daydream, the person was posting my photo on TikTok in the spirit of, “Wow, I just found the coolest person! You should all like and follow them!”
Of course, I am terribly deluded and naive about how the world should work. It was just some throwaway post with a trending gif set on the backdrop of my photo, for which I was not credited. For proof ( I mean, you’re following my blog and probably don’t need/wouldn’t ask for proof, but just in case, here is the uncropped 2014 photo below:)
MY perfume cabinet, circa 2013-2014
If you know anything about me at all, forget perfumes, forget my books and blog, TikTok, and everything else. You may know and SHOULD know that I am passionate about making sure that artists receive credit for their works. I have built my entire writing career on it. Now, I am no artist, and I won’t pretend otherwise, but that was a photo I had taken of a space that belonged to me, so you can imagine how livid I was when I saw that this morning.
Long story short: I left a comment, and they responded. They DMed me and were intensely and genuinely apologetic, and you know what? I couldn’t stay mad at the individual. I am mad that laziness and incurious people exist in general, but I couldn’t be angry at this particular person. I am still marveling at what they said, though. I asked her where she found the image and she said she “got it from Google,” and it’s like…how can that be enough for you? If you uncovered an image that spoke to you so intensely that you took the time to upload it to social media and caption it and add Ben Affleck’s face to it…don’t you care enough to find out who was responsible for the photo? For the human behind it? I mean, what if they shared other photos that you might like? What if they SAID or WROTE things you might like? What if they were AN ACTUAL HUMAN PERSON that you might like? Don’t you want to find out? How can you not want to know more? I will never, ever, ever understand this. I just won’t.
Another photo for good measure, several years and several perfumes later
I was going to use the incident as a teachable moment or a form of behavior modeling and make a video about it on TikTok, but you know what? I am wasting my breath, my time, and my energy. I have seen time and time again that very few people are concerned with this. Also…I mean, the person did apologize, I don’t want to embarrass them. Also…the only reason I even saw it in the first place was because one of my friends reposted it, and I was flabbergasted… did they not recognize my perfume cabinet??? But also, how could this other person, a virtual stranger, whom I have never met in real life and only occasionally chat with on TikTok as of three months ago, recognize a photo of my perfume cabinet from 2014?? HA! I don’t know! But for a hot minute, I was mad at EVERYONE!
At the end of the day though, I am on that app because it’s fun to share my enthusiasm for perfume, and I don’t want to muck it up with something that makes me feel gross. Instead, I retrieved the original photo and several other photos of my perfume cabinet from 2009-2024, and on TikTok today, I shared a little perfume cabinet progression slide show, and I mentioned none of what led up to it. I reckon it will garner just as much attention and views as the passive-aggressive scolding video (which is to say not much at all, my views are abysmal), but at least it’s coming from a more pleasant place in my heart.
And if you have read this far, gosh, and thank you. It was quite a bitchfest.
P.S. Again, the issue has been resolved. I know you all aren’t the sort to find someone and give someone a hard time but there is absolutely no need. Apologies were made and accepted! If anything, go give a comment and a like to my video 🙂
Dionysius the Areopagite Converting the Pagan Philosophersm Antoine Caron
I post a lot of goofiness all over social media, but it doesn’t always make its way to my blog. So here is a little round-up of what I have been thinking about or observing lately, as told through various imagery and anecdotes.
Are you like that, too? Do you look at a painting or photo and illustration and give it an entirely out-of-context silly or surreal backstory? Or attach it to a bit of conversation you had with someone, or overheard or made up entirely in your head? I do that a lot. And I do mean a lot.
Anyway, I just saw someone post on Facebook last week that the eclipse “looked cool, but it’s not worth the hype,” and I don’t know why that’s so funny, but I was laughing so hard I fear I may pee myself. Not worth the hype, dummies! You can all go home now, I guess!
Give yourself fun pep talks with weird wizard advice, like, “When the instrument of sleep leaves the space of nourishment, begin the work.”
Which sounds way more magical than “I need to move the mattress out of the dining room so I can concentrate on writing again!” I want to write more, but because we are redoing our flooring and doing some renovations, our guest room mattress and related furnishings are currently in the dining room, and all of that precarious chaos is too anxiety-inducing for my brain to focus on working with words. Gimme my spaces back, please!
I still haven’t listened to Beyonce’s new album, other than her rendition of Jolene. It was fine, and I am sure the album is fine, and I should probably listen to it because it’s culturally important and so on, but first, I feel like we need to fix Jolene. I got my sisters on board with this idea over on Facebook, and we are working on it. That’s one of Mary’s contributions in the second image.
Someone commented on her FB page, “Oh, you mean Jolene, like the Dixie Chicks wrote it.” Oh, no, no. Jolene, if Circe and Mr. Rochester’s first wife had written it. Jolene, if Eileen Wuornos and Loreena Bobbit wrote it. No offense to anyone’s version, but no one is addressing the real problem here.
I also listened to three or four new songs on Taylor Swift’s new album, and it bored me tremendously. I know my baby sister reads this blog and will be sad to hear that because she is a huge fan, and Melissa I am sorry. There was not enough torture in the tortured poets’ department. There was like, zero torture. I feel misled.
“Isabella and the Pot of Basil” {1867} By William Holman Hunt
“Listen, that’s between you and your pot of basil,” is a thing I am going to start responding with when people are trying to tell me shit I don’t need to know.
I have been irrationally angry at whoever was just before me in library holds line for Diavola. They took the whole two weeks to read that book! Come on, man! But my holds for both Diavola and The Familiar finally became available (at once, of course ) and so far they do not disappoint! I usually read about 10 things at once, but because the queues are so long for the both of these, and I will not be able renew them, I am focusing on them exclusively …no great difficulty there, they both drew me in immediately and entirely.
Pemberton-Longman, Joanne; Professional Jealousy
I have been writing and sharing on the internet for a long time. Both personal blogs and social media, as well as more widely read websites. But. As a writer of things, I could never say something like, “y’all liked my X thing so much, I’m back with another!” I mention this because it was something I saw over on fragrance reddit this week. Man. I don’t know. That seems wildly, toe-curlingly cringe to me. When I read that, I was stricken with the most intense fremdschämen.
But there’s an admirable audacity, too. Like… you truly believe people enjoyed the words you wrote. I love that for you. I want that, too.
On Tuesdays we wear gold. And hearts and moons and eyes. Light aloeswood incense. Find a perfectly preserved moth behind a picture frame. Listen to the owls’s hoot fluttering through the wind chimes. Slurp a scalding soup of bitter greens. Plant a crimson sunflower seed. Tuesday stuff.
Vertigo, Leon Spilliaert 1908
A joke, but it’s a recurring nightmare from another life; a joke, but it’s a voice from the moon in the dark; a joke, but it’s a beckoning finger from a broken mirror; ha ha haa ahh ahh.
The Vegetable Gardener, Giuseppe Arcimboldo
I forgot the word for “vegan” and was like, “You know…vegetable edge lord?” VEGLORD, if you will.
Something I tried to sneak into each of my books was at least one instance of an image that had been shared and memed all over the Internet without credit. Something that you see people repost all over the place with “artist unknown.” I want people to know there were actual human artists that created these works! I wanted it in black and white, something that couldn’t be lost to 404 errors and lazy reblogs.
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