Dry cold earth. Dense, villainous, unbothered. Cacao like a drug, not like a chocolatey treat, dominates at first but ultimately loses out to the elements; something primal and austere. Galbanum (just as the dark arts described it) and cardamom hum and seethe respectively around a heart that shakes off hippie in favor of chic freak. Initially I was less than impressed with this acquisition in spite of being a classic patch-head. It took spilling nearly 25 ml of this for me to give it proper attention. Dirty, real patchouli, the last black key on the left side of the piano, pitched-down vocals. Coarse, not minerallac in any clean sense but a bit like moss on cooled volcanic rock. Attics, basements, black mold. The story behind this: the silk road, patchouli used to keep the insects off the fabric, the ladies loved the smell of their soft new silks. Probably only because it was exotic, maybe only because it contrasted so perfectly with the weft of silk itself. Rough-hewn peace and the grand, unsentimental love of mother nature.
