Climbs green trees and drinks peach tea, then holds orange flowers at paws length during the descent to the forest floor.
Sweet, comfortable and ponderous, but not terribly exciting.
The latest version of this is done with green apples instead of bamboo–I think I liked the older one better.
Daniel Caesar is an R&B artist from Canada, too. (Zoologist is out of Toronto.)
It’s blue! And weird and wet and marvelous.
Marine water and smoke out of the vial that darkens down to black fountain pen ink, dirtying up sea foam.
Algae blooms, delicate green, strangely organic and chemical at the same time, with big juicy sillage.
The ambergris rises to the surface an hour later, making it even wetter with ocean spray; benzoin sweetens it, turning it fresh again.
Six hours later and it’s still there, chaotic, never seeming to settle down to one depth; yet it’s oddly comforting and beautiful.
Gov’t Mule does a terrific jam cover of Jimi Hendrix’s 1983 (A Merman I Shall Be)–from Electric Ladyland–that goes deep under water around the 4:15 mark.
Green pond lilies and sugar dipped flowers steaming in summer rainstorms.
There’s an amber shard edge that keeps it from being cloying, but it’s still too sweet for me.
An acoustic track from a post-grunge group that definitely has an amber edge.
Bat is entertaining, but makes me feel like I’m in a nature documentary narrated by David Attenborough.
“The species Chiroptera wakes in his cave, rife with mineral dirt, dust and a trace of smoke, hungry for the tropical fruits of his diet. Bananas and figs sustain him for several hours, but eventually rain hinders his foraging, and he must find refuge in the green forest floor, hiding under his own leathery wings in the woody undergrowth until it passes.”
This weird little song was in the soundtrack for Batman & Robin and might be the best thing about that whole movie.
This does not smell like some sexy anthropomorphic Furry wet dream musk, this smells like road kill during rutting season. Shrieking tire residue and terrified mammal anal gland excretion.
It won’t scrub off. My skin still smells like turtle pee and tarmac and rot-gut bourbon. I am not okay.
My cat is not okay.
Camel is that delicious import shop halfway down a dark alley that greets you with dried roses in enamel vases and sticky dates on brass trays when you walk in the door.
Cedar boxes of incense, the animal musk of raw silk tapestries…
The shopkeeper has smuggler’s eyes, and you laugh when he tells you there’s a djinn in the bottle but you buy it anyway because he’s so incredibly sexy.
My cat just peed on the carpet.
No, that’s not what Civet smells like–it’s actually quite lovely. Leather and citrus and peppery carnations, smoke and it’s so lush.
But when I dabbed it on my wrist my cat freaked out, frantically pawed at my sleeve and then took a stress squirt on the rug.
Never have I felt so sexy doing laundry.
Carpet is clean, cat is sleeping, perfume calmed down to sweet black coffee on the skin.
This Rolling Stones cover was the B-side of Jesus Christ Pose. (Best played loud.)