Unquiet
Things

Three Black Moon Rising scents from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab…

Black Moon Mineral-sharp sourness, cedar and graphite alchemized in lunar essence (I initially wrote cedar and pencil shavings steeped in moon juice, hehehe.) Underground chambers are revealed, mineral veins exposed; xenolithic flora, Earth’s scar tissue, sprouts shadow-fed roots and subterranean blooms, ghostly and calcified fronds.

Luna Negra Jammy incense, midnight berry-stained narcosis, the plush blanket of shadows, falling into the darkness of dream. A sumptuous plummy-amethystine obsidian ode to the pantheon of night.

Schwarzer Mond Brooding resins, dark lurking patchouli, pitch-black pine blood, abyssal anise; a warped and wicked tripping of the tongue summoning that which dwells in shadow, feeds on secrets, and sleeps in the ancient wounds of cursed soil. Predatory, perilous, and potent, you know – a real good-time gal. And my all-time favorite BPAL scent since 2006.

Arcana Wildcraft Dreamer Fatal temporality in a pale pink slip dress, frayed lace hanging by threads. Kinderwhore but not really, now not anymore– a tragic, beautiful mess, elegiac-grunge. Rich jasmine/lime vintage expectations, lush vanilla coconut doll parts, sweet plastic ache doing anything-anything to feel something different, something real. Rhubarb discordant, off-kilter, jangling/janky knife’s edge self-destructive poetry of sour survival and want. The girl was always doomed. But bitches, she’s still here. She’s still fucking here.

Liis Celestial Object A tender comfort in the annihilating face of the aloof suns, the indifferent cosmos, the total dark sublime. A small silhouette emerging from deep shadow, arms extended skyward toward infinity, engulfed in a lullaby of sepia and softness and warmth. Sweet offerings from home planets, celestial pastries, caramelized starlight, golden toasted nebula dust; gossamer sweets of crystallized petals, preserved blossoms, fruiting flower essences, and orchard nectar suspended in jellied orbs of weightless honey. Souvenirs from stellar nurseries, wafer crumbs and fragmented nougat, half-remembered songs hummed against the void, rations for the long journey home.

Immortal Perfumes Madame Moustache is a soapy-cozy-clean musk that’s so cute, it is almost ridiculous. It conjures rosy dimpled cherub cheeks, pinchable and plump; its nose wants booping, its belly needs a little blooping poke! Bubbly and plucky, adorable beyond reason – honestly, this smells like a tiny, tooting kewpie doll fart, a gentle cloud of foaming soft white soap, creamy lather, gentle musk that feels like marshmallowy cotton balls, and sudsy skin. The fragrance notes mention campfire or tobacco, and I don’t smell either at all, but …something evoking that sort of warmth? But warmth as a vibe, not a temperature; the essence of snuggly vintage comfort, a fluffy, cushy familiarity. But there’s also a plastic-y porcelain floral aura, like doll skin coolness rather than human skin, pulse, and breath, creating this odd little tension between the intimate warmth and the artificial, cutesy collectible charm of something endearing that you might win from an olde-timey state fair, like a proto-Labubu in a bottle.

Air & Weather Lilac Purple hedge clusters, tiny white woodland bells dissolved to mist at daybreak’s soft, drowsy threshold. Salt-tinged vapors drift landward, cool and questing, ruffled wisps drifting low, just outside the curtains. An atmosphere like tentative hope, like hushed waiting, like a held breath. A lingering musk, gentle, scarcely perceptible, threading through the stillness. Sun lifts the morning, a brightening shift parts the grey, the air begins to ease and warm; with apologies to Emily Dickinson… not knowing when the Dawn will come, I throw open every window.

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