BPAL Reviews: Seraphim, The Twisted Oak Tree, French Love, Dance of Death, Jólasveinar

SERAPHIM (GC, Sin & Salvation)
A perfume sacred to the highest of the angelic hosts: calla lily, wisteria, white sandalwood, Damascus rose and frankincense.
( Review. )

Verdict: Seraphim isn't to my taste to begin with, but it would never work on me given my skin's enormous ability to amp rose notes. I washed this off and obviously don't need it.


THE TWISTED OAK TREE (LE, Halloweenies: The Haunted House 2007)
Blackened, rotted oak wood blanketed in moss and choked by a cloak of grasping ivy.
A gift from sisterite.
( Review. )

Verdict: For better or worse I get nothing black or rotting here, but that doesn't mean that The Twisted Oak Tree completely abandons its dark inspiration. I wonder if it should, though. The moss-heavy, golden woods final stage of this blend is often gorgeous and comforting while maintaining adhering to its wild, organic origins, but the bitterness that haunts the edges never quite settles out and, frankly, it's disconcerting. An interesting scent, and one I'm glad to have tried; I'll test it again to see if my opinions change, but for now I think this errs just on the wrong side of unwearable. Certainly an intriguing blend, though.


FRENCH LOVE (GC, Bewitching Brews: The Conjure Bag)
A warm, soft, sexual blend. Sweet and alluring. Used to entice new lovers and add an aura of temptation and carnal sin to your environment.
( Review. )

Verdict: French Love does just about nothing for me, but then out of the vial I don't get any of the dragon's blood, etc. as reported by others. Nor am I particularly attached to this scent's intended purpose. I washed it off, and won't keep my imp.


DANCE OF DEATH (GC, Ars Moriendi)
A gloriously elegant representation of Lady Death. Dry, bone-white orris, black musk, serpentine patchouli and our murkiest myrrh.
A gift from sisterite.
( Review. )

Verdict: I'm not sure what magic makes Dance of Death so beautiful in the midst of its intense harshness—this isn't an innocuousness, palatable scent, but it is striking, proud, and intensely lovely. It's a disappointment then that it has such a short wear-length, but the fact that the scent is so stable—with a straightforward drydown and no real morphing—may be its saving grace, because it could easily be reapplied. I still prefer scents with more staying power, so I may not reach for this often. But I will keep it around.


JÓLASVEINAR (LE, Yule 2010)
Their scent is a mishmash of snow, dirt, Icelandic moss, marsh felwort, and the smushed petals of buttercups and moorland spotted orchids, with the barest hint of the scent of pilfered Christmas pastries.
Won from crystal_star_ss
( Review. )

Verdict: On one hand, pine is one of my death notes and, while others get it, it doesn't show up on my skin—a welcome reprieve. On the other, all I really get from Jólasveinar is florals. Occasionally they're wintery outdoor florals, and their lean towards masculine/neutral is refreshing, but for the most part they're not particularly interesting or unique, and there's not enough of the other notes—dirt and moss would be particularly welcome—to balance them out. This is a scent for the swap pile.

Drowning in media: Initial D, Persona 4 anime, Hocus Pocus, Homestuck, and Star Trek rambles.

I came back from California feeling approximately like shit on a biscuit. It always takes me some time to recover from this sort of thing, and this was a particularly long trip, and there were a number of delays on my journey home, but it's still been worse than I was expecting—nigh full-on depression, if I'm honest, which I've not wanted to be.

So instead of thinking or living I've been drowning myself in media.

When I was visiting, Express got me hooked on Initial D because he is a creature without a soul. The art is horrific, the pacing is transparently slow, it's about a billion episodes long, and it's exactly like Dragonball Z or Prince of Tennis except with little cars that go vroom and squeal around corners. There's parallel Vegeta and Piccolo characters, a Tezuka, and Takumi and his father are prototypes for Ryoma and Nanjiro. Every race is even more extreme than the previous race, and there are minutes at a time given over to eyes squinting—foot on brake clutch gas—hand on gear shift—taillights making trails in the darkness, and yes, of course I love it, nevermind the raging sexism and the fact that, and you have to believe me on this, the art is truly awful. You can't watch just one episode because one episode may just be the decision to go to the race, or the first half of the race—so, yes, it's just like DBZ and Tenipuri, and you watch it for five hours at a time: what of it. It's exactly what I've wanted these last few days, but I do worry about the havoc it'll wreck on my next few weeks.

In California we also watched—on a whim—the first episode of Persona 4: The Animation. It ... it really shouldn't be good, given its incredible redundancy (it's the game turned into one long cutscene, really) but it is so gleefully self-aware and fandom-aware that I can't help but love it. Watching something still in production isn't my style, but there's no suspense to a story I already know so eh, why not.

California was pleasantly mild, but still didn't offer much in the way of autumn save for the pumpkin pie samples at Whole Foods, so I've been watching Hocus Pocus in the attempt to get my brain back into the season. As corny as the film is, I'm enjoying it more this year than I ever have.

Against what may be my better judgement, I've gone back to Homestuck. (I read half of it before, and stopped at an intermission.) I find reading Homestuck for me a lot like reading Death Note: both are long, convoluted, and ridiculous (although Homestuck is more aware of it), both are surprisingly good, and both are surprisingly popular in a way that makes me feel dirty inside. It's partially the haughtiness of better-taste-than-thou and partially authentic surprise. The majority usually has shitty taste, right? But here's this thing they like, and I like it too—I even like the fan favorite characters, and so help me even the humor is my style. Woe is me, for I like something other people like, behold but I am normal, yeah. It's like falling in love with Buffy's Spike. I STILL HAVE MY OWN OPINIONS I SWEAR oh god this is fantastic.

Devon and I together are tearing through episodes of Star Trek: Voyager, from the brilliant Message in a Bottle to yet another episode about 7 of 9—who would be a much better character if she didn't star so heavily, because it swamps out the joy of episodic Star Trek with too much maudlin continuity. The show wants badly for a good antagonist, Neelix makes me want to stab someone in the face, but for all of its foibles I'm preferring it to Star Trek: The Next Generation just now (which I've been watching on my own)—because the characters have more personal appeal, and because even if they didn't TNG is unlikely to make me tear up but this, this does. Both shows have weaknesses, but in the end Voyager has more to say.

And I've been reading, but the books of course will get their own posts.

Each day is marginally better than the one that proceeds it, and so even as this recovery period drags on I know that it can't last forever. A good thing too, as Dee's family is in town tomorrow (although I'll have some time while they're here to housesit and take it easy). I know it's getting better. It just feels like it never will.