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stantoncassandra · 6 years ago

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Brand Writing for Alchimique

CBD Company Product Descriptions

Cycles explained:

Alchimique provisions provide specific powers to maximize your intention for healing. The remedies are differentiated by the sun, earth, water, and moon cycles: sun offers radiance, earth centers, water relieves, and moon alleviates. These elemental cycles are nature-crafted, hand-curated to address the needs of your physical and mental states, from inflammation to anxiety.

Moon Cycle: Consider the luminescent mysteriousness of our lunar system; this cycle supports the similar system of feminine function, from menstrual pains to emotional irregularity, Moon Cycle relieves femme distress.

Tincture-Drip 4-10 drops of Moon Cycle into coffees, teas, or directly on the tongue to minimize the maladies of menstrual aches and pains. Each bottle contains 500mg of fair-sourced CBD.

Ganache: A rich, blended spread made of raw cacao butter, raw cacao powder, raw agave, raw coconut butter and low-temperature coconut oil that contains 240mg of fair-trade CBD.

Choco- Use this smooth Moon Cycle blend of raw, fair-trade ingredients on toast, made into hot chocolate, or just eaten with a spoon to relieve menstrual maladies. Each jar contains 240mg CBD, ingest at your discretion.

Coco-For those who dislike chocolate or may be allergic the coconut ganache is a blend of raw coconut, raw cashews, low-temperature coconut oil, and unrefined palm sugar. Enjoy in all the ways of the chocolate ganache.

Mints-After meals, pop a cherry or mint leaf flavored Moon Mint for a sweetened palette and milder menstruation.

Earth Cycle: When we are rooted to the ground and balanced throughout our subtle selves, daily actions are doable. At times, we feel further from ourselves than the earth to other planets. Use Earth Cycle when you feel inexplicably uneasy about who you are; if anxiety's grip is too tight or your body feels uncontrollable.

Tincture-Drip 4-10 drops of Moon Cycle into coffees, teas, or directly on the tongue to center your selves and lessen the strain of anxiety. Each bottle contains 500mg of fair-sourced CBD.

Ganache: A rich, blended spread made of raw cacao butter, raw cacao powder, raw agave, raw coconut butter and low-temperature coconut oil that contains 240mg of fair-trade CBD.

Choco- Use this smooth Earth Cycle blend of raw, fair-trade ingredients on toast, made into hot chocolate, or just eaten with a spoon to access yourself away from anxiety. Each jar contains 240mg CBD, ingest at your discretion.

Mints-After meals, pop a ginger or mint leaf flavored Earth Mint for a sweetened palette and a sturdier sense of self.

Water Cycle: For many organisms, submersion into water provides a great sense of relief. Perhaps the weightless, floating state recalls the tranquility of prenatal existence. Water Cycle wholly focuses on relief from pain in body and brain; think seizures, nerve spasms, and overall aches that debilitate your everyday.

Tincture-Drip 4-10 drops of Moon Cycle into coffees, teas, or directly on the tongue to alleviate the pressure and pains brought on by injury or illness. Each bottle contains 500mg of fair-sourced CBD.

Ganache: A rich, blended spread made of raw cacao butter, raw cacao powder, raw agave, raw coconut butter and low-temperature coconut oil that contains 240mg of fair-trade CBD.

Choco- Use this smooth Water Cycle blend of raw, fair-trade ingredients on toast, made into hot chocolate, or just eaten with a spoon to alleviate discomfort and pains from head to toe. Each jar contains 240mg CBD, ingest at your discretion.

Mints-After meals, pop a grapefruit or mint leaf flavored Water Mint for a sweetened palette and subterranean pain relief.

Sun Cycle: Days that are overcast may not be gloomy, but the moment the sun reveals itself expectations may brighten and smiles might widen. Allow Sun Cycle into your routine for a breathable boost of self-assurance; to shine beyond mental haziness or fatigue from a long previous night.

Tincture-Drip 4-10 drops of Moon Cycle into coffees, teas, or directly on the tongue to brighten your current stasis and elevate tired energy. Each bottle contains 500mg of fair-sourced CBD.

Ganache: A rich, blended spread made of raw cacao butter, raw cacao powder, raw agave, raw coconut butter and low-temperature coconut oil that contains 240mg of fair-trade CBD.

Choco- Use this smooth Sun Cycle blend of raw, fair-trade ingredients on toast, made into hot chocolate, or just eaten with a spoon to bring a boost of positivity into your day. Each jar contains 240mg CBD, ingest at your discretion.

Mints-After meals, pop a lemongrass or mint leaf flavored Sun Mint for a sweetened palette and a boost of brightness from within.

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stantoncassandra · 6 years ago

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Brand Writing for Honey Pot Co.

Brand Story – THPC

Let’s be honest, the feminine care aisle hasn’t changed since we can remember—far-removed brands have pushed the same products with the same heavy-handed ingredients to more than half the population. People settle because they’re surrounded by the same names. These companies often use harsh ingredients in their products that may resolve symptoms, but not in a healthy, preventative way. Well, have you heard of The Honey Pot Company, time to bring about some change.

Welcome to the future of feminine care. What started as a woman’s passion to better her own care with a plant-based feminine wash, soon evolved into The Honey Pot Company, the first plant-based feminine care system on the market with one sentiment in mind: Resolution.

As women who intimately understand the needs and intricacies of all vagina varietals, we set out to revolutionize the industry with a company built on consideration and self-care. We are the first and only feminine care brand to offer a specific solution to everyone’s selective needs, all under one honest name, and there’s no honey without honesty. Let’s meet the team; from the pH balancing, plant-based washes, natural feminine wipes, to our soothing herbal menstrual pads, you can comfortably purchase your daily doses or impromptu irritation heroes from a company like us. We see your care as our purpose.

If you dig what we offer, there’s a cherry on top! The Honey Pot will soon expand its line to welcome organic tampons, feminine supplements, and holistic ways to treat an ailing vagina. What does it feel like to get all of your femme care from the same brand? Victorious, bacteria beware.

Our simple, reliable subscription service means your feminine needs are met with complete comfort, and that means you stay home with Netflix and chill. Just don’t forget us on your doorstep! You’re smiling right now, right? The Honey Pot Company is made for vaginas by those who know their vaginas. Takes one to know one.

Our vision: To provide women around the world, with all types of vaginas and needs, the tools and resources to promote feminine self-health and wellness while educating our market through better ingredients.

Our mission: To lead the natural, feminine care market by engaging and empowering the women we serve while inspiring confident body health, one healthy honey pot at a time.

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stantoncassandra · 6 years ago

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Brand Disruption Blog Post

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stantoncassandra · 6 years ago

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Published Art Essay

Tourniquet

Scene I: Finding L

I found you. Took me weeks, hours at a time. I figure you’d been anticipating my internal arrival because when I finally forced my way through the dark static blizzard, between imprinted afterburn of what I’d been seeing, the shadowed neon canvas parted like a white rip. Your eyes met me; sought me. As a child, I felt soothed by the movement still present in the dark after shutting my eyes. When you see a thing only you can see it’s as if the universe has a secret for you, like you’ll be okay because you’re here for a special reason. Of course, the sensation is simply blood pooling into my thin eyelids. I long for the strange hope that, like death, there would still always be something swimming beyond the permanent darkness. I do not have time for belief anymore. Death is fine, it hasn’t stopped me from finding you in its clammy palm of calamity. You sit there cross-legged. One of you sits. Dozens of you dance around the terrain in a frenzied symphony of body, but I long for stillness; stillness weighted enough to be envied by the silent hunter who waits patiently before ripping into its fruit. I am not sure what I am physically doing. I left my body limp somewhere hazy. A messy afterthought of an olive-skinned stocky figure lies in a room. I beat mindfulness into myself with a dull-headed hatchet. I search the taste of my recollection. I don’t risk the thought of another room. Being here takes everything. I am gulping the synesthetic taste of late noon on the gritty wallpaper of your basement. I didn’t break-in, I had a key cut hours before you died. I am violating your space. I am saying all of this to you without speaking. Longing is a language. I am certainly the shadow wrapping itself around all of you, not letting you go in any dimension. Our memories together are the thorns on a syndicated timeline. I pluck a thorn from the body my mind has made for me. A memory ensues.

Scene II: Barren Circus

When away from a person too long we experience corrosion. Whether the memory becomes corrosive or the details corrode incorrectly remains unknown. We visited a traveling circus in Alamosa; accidentally. Or maybe it came to visit us. There’d only been one act, a slew of similar people whose similarities made them not so human at all. I looked over at you often to protect you or read your reactions, whichever intention seemed more intentional. You never gave much away in the way of fear or excitement just constant straining inquisition. You said they reminded you of tourniquets, I told you you were thinking of the wrong word. You said you didn’t care, the word sounded exactly how you thought it should for what you saw, which was this: dozens of performers glittering the plain and plugging any blank space the eye searched for on the horizon. Ashen mountain backdrops gave an infinite stage effect. A barren, formless, full landscape of grandiose squalor due to the frantic static meddlesome motion of them. “Semi-organic apocalyptic phenomena,” I could hear you whispering all sorts of incomprehensible descriptions to my left. You with your words took a hotel painting and projected Basquiat all over the unhappening landscape. You were not wrong about the odd feeling they provoked. Contortionists put it mildly, acrobats from hell, they didn’t say a single word or burp up a goddamn sound while they twisted around for us, only us. Why wasn’t anyone else around that day? Their bodies played intimate Tetris together, I couldn’t look away, the completion felt satisfying, but I never admitted so to you. Instead, I feigned uncomfortable. The thought of you finding any satisfaction in their prickly postures meant another entity was pulling you away from me. Their springy motions were bizarre, the majority were smiling to themselves. Some looked critically at the others. This helped, knowing their eerie act had breaks in the execution. The way their garment wrapped around their bodies reminded me of artifacts on a sailboat we took out, just the two of us; a white beacon against the beastly Cerulean sea. You kept us afloat.

(We touch mouths somewhere)

Scene III: Evolving Ocean

I hear myself feeling this. My body jerks distantly in response, a tug in my chest and trousers. You still remain seated in front of me. This place is more familiar now. Another you I see from the corner of my vision drops its tongue to the ashen ground. A thorny vine takes its place. I allow myself to be taken for a moment: I fear you so deliciously. I want to eat your expressions from a depthless cereal bowl. I pleasure myself daily for drawing your face in the sand, remembering, finding your face in the marble veins of my shower, ripping a hole in the mattress where you slept. What’s an echo without the source? You’re always contradicting our pasts, so misdirection makes you my sole soul consumption. Locked into you, a freckled foe offering me a gift to husk hands-free in exchange for simple sanity. My mind has an ongoing affair with right and wrong. Avoidance places itself at the tip of that trismic palace we used to call home. I lied. I can’t say I’ve avoided a single inch between the whole passing of yes to no. You do not sit any longer. A pressure I can’t see is pressing onto you. Surrounded by leaping constant leaping, you now lay as still as the atmosphere allows. Your leaping is your longing. The twitches pull grafts of your flesh away. I’m losing you in this mind. You exist as time does in the loop of impossible roving. Magnets pulse behind your vision; features twitch with stagnant anoxia. The tongue is writing in the ash now. You’re begging me to remember our time at sea, so I do, and you pull yourself back into focus and speak inside out.

L: Evolution is a maxim.

Me: I don’t know what that means.

L: Ev -olution- Ev -eryone- (ev) Something and everything has to apply to everyone.

The vessel we rented was called Apocalypse, No! which you liked very much. I recall ruffling your hair as we walked towards the beached boat that just kissed the waterline. You didn’t like that very much. You walked ahead after confirming times with our Thai tour guide. You were a renegade trying to exsanguinate lightyears of evolutionary dilution by going about your ways in such obvious dissociative behavior. My mistake was seeing you as my novelty. At one point on the ship you read me something you’d written. The magic wouldn’t stop, minutes prior we’d seen a whale in the far distance, such a dark far-cry sounded so many miles away. Your words seemed the source of its pain.

Enigmatic loss becomes the sun

Animals fall dead in a consolatory clap

A wash of sanity sirenic at last.

Beautiful suffocation blossoms grand singularity

Enigmatic loss, a fortified wash to a quiet world.

Your dark hair pooled in my lap while we floated aimlessly. When you slept the world had time to be without scrutiny. I don’t want to be in this memory any longer, why have you put me here?

Scene IV: Four Walls

The only way to find you is to swallow either side of symmetry. Fucking the life out of contradiction with the one state of being it cannot exist within; emptiness. I wonder where you sleep, nest or web. The only real difference between the two is life and death. Webs are mid-air traps spun for death’s sustenance. Nests are nourishing proof we’re all collectors. We collect materials for comfort, for new life. I prefer stolen comforts. I see you crowding yourself. I see your faces glitching with repetitive velocities, like a bullet shrouded in cotton pegging the sides, resuscitating truths. There is only your movement or stillness. I am violating the gray maggoted coils in my skull by forcing myself to stay just a bit longer. I am distantly evolved to simply get me through the day. This day is the pinhole I strain my whole being against wishing my two eyes could evolve to one in order to focus better. The smell of the oceanic air followed me back to this squandered present place. I slink from the memory of our sailing while rolling my eyes around to reset. I stay wrapped in your unempirical flicker. You stay folded in the mind desert around me. I spoke with a specialist about losing you. They suggested meditation. I would’ve taken sailing advice from the middle of the black ocean, from a tide trying to swallow my sails. I don’t trust professionals but such simple advice from a decorated person made me giddy. Triumphant deterioration of self. I release the grip. Strain is replaced by paresthesia. There is no loss. There is hard work. The days between my finding you will shrink into seconds. This is the only way to love, at either pole of perfection and destruction. You make feats of my dreams but not tonight. I feel a caressing between my shoulder blades and remove myself from the restraints, then the room, then your house. I walk into the night, picturing white rips opening the tight night. Sleep is soft, tempting, and terribly asking. Meditation is following something with your eyes while they’re closed. Forced meditation is being. Being without is living with death.

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stantoncassandra · 6 years ago

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Aural Poetry

"The Sound of You"

Newly nubile, you appear from sounds foaming, inching into sight; eyes fight over moments on you in increments, those inches slowly implementing a remedy to prevail. Predominantly because I boast myself the cherry cordial of debauchery, words of silk form archery—a point spun with sherry tilts. I kiss her breastbone inside out, tickling arteries already red, irritated with lust from breathy inhales. Are you tantalizing only to those infantile, void tongues ashen by awareness? Chiding chocolately creaks in cartilage of your choosing, they lap you up in knobby gurgles to taste you in yesterday’s fog.

Ruminate away, carcass those hovering between air and suction. Edible cries alert cavities, shuddering sweet blisters when you blink. Rolling eyes sing feathery with motion, clucking, prior to your poison, become yolks of milky vision unsure of your precision. Ink pours from cerebellum to earlobes, mimicked fingerprints claiming sounds previously slain as you purr erratic ecstasy should thumb and knuckle press. Purple buttons stretch you closed while inside blue roots thump Morse so your skin calls for the deaf.

Trembling, colloquial. Eat it, Eden, gnash from the plastic impostering flesh.

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stantoncassandra · 6 years ago

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Story of a Friend

Places You Can’t Go

Tyler walks quicker than I do despite his childhood arthritis, the same arthritis who wrapped its heavy cloak around T’s body, leaving him bedridden for three months. The very same that recognized his aptness for professional skateboarding and said ‘I think not,’ attacking his legs first. He makes up the for pace by looking back at me, assuring me of something romantic or assuring himself I hadn’t disappeared with the sun. Maybe I think everyone I’m alone with wants me. The sun is behind, too low to hitchhike. Light holds onto the sky by fingertips. Once we’d made our way out of the parking lot green began to emerge in such a tropical fashion; a harsh juxtaposition from the shanty rows of dilapidated buildings we came from replaced by emerald awnings. I walk slower as he turns around and meets me at the bamboo—shooting up out of nowhere it forms a chaotic wall. There is a foot of space between us and the building behind the brush but the wall illusorily indicates enough space for a lifetime exploration. Tyler picks a flower the color of mulberry and disarms half the branch with an uncouth yank. We are somewhere I’ve heard of, spoken about in broken descriptions as if people pay entrance with a dollop of their memory. The mosaic image in my mind begins to caulk itself. Each step allows me to see the clearing we’re headed toward. I think I notice the skyline first. Not the impressive backdrop of tall city buildings, those teasing shadow giants, but the same shanty buildings we’d walked along. From my standing position on the hilled clearing, I see above each roof. They’re the sea and I the cliff asking to be taken. I am more permanent than I know or accept. The rooftops have uniformity in style a sameness in their plaque-stained façade, the bottom teeth of the city’s underbite. Tyler suggests we explore the installations we came to see. Large, bulky forms erected for interaction tower and cower around us like guilty dogs. We approach one the color of dried blood shaped like arteries. He moves lucidly to mount the piece. The way his legs swing up to straddle the arm makes me pause. He perches on the joint of three jutting arms not looking in any direction just out. I stood stuck feeling the last twelve seconds unable to climb yet. The man who appears on the verge of breaking in half had turned to liquid and evaporated only to reappear, poised and perched. I checked the ground to see his disheveled cloak sprawled crawling upwards.

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