Yes, my friends: I’m woefully behind, but utterly committed to the Devilscent Project nonetheless.
As I sit at my 50+ year old lemon yellow tiny kitchen Parson’s table, the Boston harbor seabreeze eases my labors of love; I’ve JUST dared to open my Aroma M package from Maria and Alexis.
WELL worth the wait.
Anticipation is part of the journey.
Our lasses have, as is their wont, ingeniously presented their offering bound in gold wire, affixed to singed paper, and color-coded , sealed with sealing wax- Dev’s is RED.
My poor paws struggle with the wire, my hands tremble eagerly, too eagerly.
I don’t want to spoil the surprise…
I needn’t have fretted
Darkly debonair, I may be enticed into transgression by the deepest cocoa note I’ve ever encountered, accompanied by what feels like a possible davana, soft florals and dirty business underneath.
Filthy business, truly. Animalic growling, nasty unwashed toenails which more resemble hooves than anything human. Long, slender clever fingers with razorsharp fingernails; the nails look like an auto mechanic’s, strangely at odds with the pale violinists’s hands.
Wistful tenderness vies with a thoroughly Pagan sensibility. Don’t be lulled by the familiarity of coffee, cigarettes, a creaminess grounded in the resinous depth of an endless evening. And leather, smooth black leather: perhaps, it’s chaps ? Nothing to beat a deadly man in chaps.
[I used to frequent a particular haunt on The Fenway in the early '70's, where gentlemen in the back room were often attired in chaps, spurs, boots-
And little else.
Lovely place, that dive.]
I’m amazed by this genre: by what name shall I categorize it ?
Besmirched scorched gourmand ? Fair is foul and foul is fair ?
Evil, be Thou my Good ?
Dulcet, foul, earthy, gloweringly divine.
Maybe THAT’S it.





































