Serge Lutens - Un Lys

In the novels of Laura Ingalls Wilder and L.M. Montgomery (esp. the Emily series), there would be meticulous, paragraphs-long descriptions of women's clothing - ruching, button width, bustles, calico, collars. Un Lys is chocolate-coloured sateen with silver clasps.
I realise that my reviews are abstracted the point of utter absurdity so here is a guide:
Do I like it?: it doesn't move me. I like lily of the valley's virginal gleam and verdure, but lily itself just reminds me of vases blocking my view and pollen falling in dirty piles on the kitchen table.
TAKE TWO: fleshiness, pods, peachtone, dusty brown.

roc's eggs

Having found a mini of Chamade parfum, I am now at a standstill for perfume buying. Finding a cheap bottle of Chamade was an obsession for a year - I've held (and cursed) many empty bottles and factices, but now that the glass heart pierced with a dart is safely in my closet, what do I do? What do I obsess over next? Tell me what I should place a target over and I'll try to let the arrow fly.

* * *
In my head now is witchery and future folklore. You wouldn't tell by looking at me (dirty Vans and lazy hair) that my secret world is scented with beeswax candles, brackish fern-croaked holywells, and various roots and sprigs. Here are some roc's eggs for you to search for (pref. to a soundtrack of Broadcast and Sonoko):

The Living Stones: Cornwall by Ithell Colquhoun. The 'Obby 'Oss, charms, walking barefoot on country lanes. Pure silence. A reminder to be receptive

The Man, Myth, and Magic encyclopedia set. Everything to know about ley lines, holy rollers, hysteria, and menhirs. This set will take you down so many paths. I read these over and over again as a child. These made me, ha!

Down Below by Leonora Carrington. Even though this book describes her incarceration in an asylum, Leonora still represents ultimate Surrealist freedom in love and language.

Paquin - Ever After (vintage)

Do people wear Chanel No. 5 in daytime hours? Can one wear Chanel No. 5 in broad daylight? If that little square bottle is too sacrosanct for mundane fritterings (post office, bank, buying groceries), put on a dab of Paquin's Ever After, and be fooled by the aldehydic champagne-bubble opening. When the spume subsides there is a heart of almond blossom and iris, white and fluffy as a cotton boll.

(I was lucky to find this in a little weather-beaten set, with 9x9, Espoir, and Goya.)

Nina Ricci - Bigarade (vintage edt)

(It is possible that this has charm in early fall, sunset walks. But for now when it is -83765 out and I feel like constructing a wigwam/fortress/tumulus of crocheted blankets, sofa cushions, and living cats, its coppertoned, borderline-immortelle feel goes down sickly. The promised bitter orange is not there. This is a cedar cabinet filled with maple leaves.
This did not age well.)

the stork dropped more off

Nina Ricci - Bigarade edt mini
Christian Dior - Dune edt mini
Jean-Louis Scherrer - Scherrer 2 edt mini
Coty - L'Aimant parfum mini (vintage)

Houbigant - Flatterie (vintage)

"In December 1959 at the Daniel Cordier Gallery in Paris the eighth 'International Surrealist Exhibition' devoted to 'EROS,' as conceived by Duchamp and Breton, opened its doors . . . In another room a tape of the recorded sighs of women making love played endlessly, while mists of a perfume by Houbigant, called Flatterie, scented the air."  - Perfume: Joy, Obsession, Scandal, Sin by Richard Stamelman

Glass labyrinth of mirrors opening onto billows of snow-white iris, lilies with violet hearts. Flowers with grasping hands instead of stamens. Nusch Eluard. Diaphanous milky agate of smell. I want to cradle my head to my wrist and never wake up.

EDIT FEBRUARY 14: The iris, the iris of Cuir de Russie. It's there.

Necessary Destruction Part 2 - Lentheric Dark Brilliance (s)nip

After laying low and skulking about (illness, lack of employment) I am ready to demonise the earth ONCE MORE with inane perfume talk! Yay, clap hands.

In the mood for breaking things, I decided today would be the perfect moment to break open a perfume snip. Immediate death (a snip is only good for one use, and barely gives out enough to warrant a vial) = good! The satisfaction of hearing the icicle snap of obsolescent plastene = good! Having a little crystal chunk of said artificial material embed in my finger = not so good, but it matched the spit 'n' bile mood.

I broke off both ends of my black-tipped Dark Brilliance (s)nip and wrote with the uric-acid yellow fluid on my arms. The consistency was slightly syrupy, and left a strange film on my skin. Thick incense and soap-flake smell, a wraith of something that has been imprisoned in plastic for the past 65 years.
It smells like it wants badly to be My Sin by Lanvin, but it has none of that narcotic slumberland oneirism. It smells like ironing out those oldtimey gel air fresheners that shrivelled like scrotums once they hit the 2-month mark.