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Sunlight wipes the sleep from cobblestones
I have had an absolutely wretched day. I resort to BPAL for therapeutic purposes.
(Cut for Bluebeard. Paging Angela Carter.)
Description
A scent swirling with dark rage, unbridled jealousy, and murderous intent. Violet, lavender, white musk and vetiver.
Vial
I have to say, this is the first perfume in the vial that has reminded me of sushi. Well, the sidebar to sushi. There's the usual floral this-that-and-the-other, and then there's a prickly sweetness that after a moment I placed as pickled ginger. Yeah. I have no idea how that works.
Wet
So far I can't detect either the violet or the lavender, which are at least two scents I can recognize, and what I have right now is an almost loam-like odor: is this the vetiver? The ginger has subsided into a variant on the cloudiness I associate with musk. There are flickers of crushed green stalks. It's a weird scent. Every time I decide it's actively repugnant, there's some stray note that changes my mind. I suppose that's not an implausible interpretation of a sociopathic husband, but I'm not sure that I should be so fascinated.
Drydown
Still no flowers. I smell like earth and musk and rotted leaves. Forget "The Bloody Chamber," I'm wearing "The Erl-King."
Later
The flowers are AWOL. Rather than fading, the rest of the scent has warmed and intensified and does not smell sweet at all: green bitters and, for once, dark; an almost queasy richness. I suspect other people might ask what the hell I doused myself in, but I keep compulsively sniffing at my wrist. Damn. It's like crack for the nose.
. . . okay, that simile failed on all levels, but the perfume's a keeper. And now I am out of BPAL. Ototoi.
(Cut for Bluebeard. Paging Angela Carter.)
Description
A scent swirling with dark rage, unbridled jealousy, and murderous intent. Violet, lavender, white musk and vetiver.
Vial
I have to say, this is the first perfume in the vial that has reminded me of sushi. Well, the sidebar to sushi. There's the usual floral this-that-and-the-other, and then there's a prickly sweetness that after a moment I placed as pickled ginger. Yeah. I have no idea how that works.
Wet
So far I can't detect either the violet or the lavender, which are at least two scents I can recognize, and what I have right now is an almost loam-like odor: is this the vetiver? The ginger has subsided into a variant on the cloudiness I associate with musk. There are flickers of crushed green stalks. It's a weird scent. Every time I decide it's actively repugnant, there's some stray note that changes my mind. I suppose that's not an implausible interpretation of a sociopathic husband, but I'm not sure that I should be so fascinated.
Drydown
Still no flowers. I smell like earth and musk and rotted leaves. Forget "The Bloody Chamber," I'm wearing "The Erl-King."
Later
The flowers are AWOL. Rather than fading, the rest of the scent has warmed and intensified and does not smell sweet at all: green bitters and, for once, dark; an almost queasy richness. I suspect other people might ask what the hell I doused myself in, but I keep compulsively sniffing at my wrist. Damn. It's like crack for the nose.
. . . okay, that simile failed on all levels, but the perfume's a keeper. And now I am out of BPAL. Ototoi.
no subject
How are the word mines these days?
no subject