Archive | January, 2014

Her Majesty

26 Jan
Mother Earth_copy
Oh, and because I forgot to add in the important exemptions…if you are gravely ill or have some kind of physical impairment that reacts insanely painfully to extreme temperatures then I am obviously not including you in the group of people that need to stop whining about the miracle of our Mother and all her children. It is so very sad to me that I have to even write this…blah, blah, blah….
Property of Her Majesty, The Beautiful Mother…

Every winter,
When the great sun has turned his face away,
the earth descends down into a vale of grief,
and fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in raven wings,
leaving her wedding-garland to decay-
Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses…

Oh, how very beautiful she is!

Our Mother looks dead in winter because her life is gathered into her heart. She withers the plant down to the root that she may grow it up again, fairer and stronger. She calls her family together within her inmost home to prepare them for being scattered abroad upon the face of her body, our earth.

So, everyone quit your belly aching about how frickin’ cold it is! You can’t claim to be a child of nature, a Pagan, a Witch, a wolf, any kind of beast, and especially a living vampyre/human blood drinker/dark angel, if you can’t even understand the majesty of our Mother Earth! If you can’t truly see the miracle that is winter, or summer, spring or autumn, then how in the hell can you claim to be a spiritual mother/father, elder, all-seeing, all-knowing, blah, blah, blah…if you can’t even truly understand our real Mother? You know, the one from which all life was born!?! In my opinion, how about everyone stop posting memes, and quotes and excerpts from books, which they clearly do not understand or actually live, and try to truly see the world in which we our lucky enough to inhabit.

Just a thought…as always, you choose your course of action or lack thereof.

~Julia DarkRose Ray

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Stardusted-Revamped

26 Jan

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2012
By Julia DarkRose Ray

stardusted
When all is done, much of human life is, at the greatest and the best, but like a froward child, that must be played with and humored a little to keep it quiet till it falls asleep, and then the care is over.

Why waste a perfectly miraculous and beautiful thing, your life?

One of the perks of being me, a real living Dark Angel…wasting my life, not living my life the most passionately and the fullest that I can, is not a part of who/what nature hath made me!

Whatever your path in life is, whatever you do, try to understand how miraculous life is. I speak as someone who has (from those looking at it from the outside) an unimaginable life of pure horror. I do know what the worst life has to offer actually consists of…Yet I know with all of my being, that life is a miraculous and beautiful thing. Don’t waste it on nonsense!

Stardusted

Lower than the grave
my darklight began,
into the starry heavens
soon I ran:
Here between earth
and space I shine,
my fallen dust
the twin to thine…
Star that I was,
star that I am,
star I shall ever be,
my name is woman.

While you see me across the sky
to wake and live and burn and die,
all in a crimson flash,
eternity watches me fall.
My trail of fire, no fire of the sun’s,
my star, a silver mirror,
a sphere, clear as glass,
my veiled face, a bright cloud,
more radiant for it’s obscurity,
my mystery, whose shadow
stands proud beneath the light,
my world, whose lands remain
unknown to most,
while I shinest most evident of all
beyond this world:

I reveal to you now
all that is obscure and hidden under day’s illusion;
I reveal to you the nature of all that you see,
set so far from earthly lands,
above earthly sight;
I appear to you now
in this crystal of fleshly stardust…

If you will have Antares,
scarlet sting of Scorpius,
or count for wealth, Capella,
gold-fleeced goat,
or Rigel, fire of sapphire,
pivot to Orions pace,
or Sirius his dog,
as white as snow,
yet flashing every color,
then come and find the darklight
you seek.
Mirrored in the red water,
break the wet glass,
pluck out my star
by my radiant tresses…

But do not dare
to look upon my stardusted face,
do not dare to know truth,
lest you go blind;
Bear me only in your mind.

A shuddering star,
I shiver and burst
on the moons white horn,
on this flashing sphere,
this globe of rainbows…
streaming air,
turbid world,
trembling planet,
great as what’s inside your head,
but thin as a thread
that wind can tear
from your precious life’s web,
do not despair…
Let this be said:

Out of the sun
you are ever born,
follow it not, that blinding orb,
with anxious eye…
With my words of midnight silk
and actions of dark love,
I will hold it together,
your web of life,
though what we have created,
may fall,
in tears,
like meteors,
from the sky.

I am the darklight…

I am borne from stardust…
Like falling glitter from the eye of the universe,
down, down, down,
onto this Earth.

I am woman,
the beloved daughter of our Mother,
the darkest light of all.

~Julia DarkRose Ray

Walk With Me, Never Follow Me

15 Jan

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray
Julia DarkRose Reality
*Just a reminder of who I am and what The DarkRose Journal Family of Dark Angels stand for, believe in, fight for, and live.*

Who Shall Come With Me?

As I walk through the wilderness of this world…

I learn, speak, and act upon things sublime, or things earthly; things honorable, or things divine; things sacred, or things profane; things past, or things that might be to come; things foreign, or things at home; things more essential, or things circumstantial…

I walk through the wilderness wide awake, not asleep or dreaming. While walking, fighting, and living, great horror and those selling false darkness and light continue to fall upon me…

Who shall life’s true valor see, let them come forward; one here will constant be, come winds, come torrential weather, come the bloody storms. There’s no discouragement shall make them relent their first avow’d intent to be a warrior, a valiant spirit, a truth Sayer, a dark angel, their true self.

My well used and blood soaked sword I give to you that shall succeed me in my sojourn and my courage and skill to you that can carry it and understand it.

My many marks, scars and wounds I carry with me, to be a witness for me, that I have fought the battle of truth, who now will be my rewarder?

Naught will I be rewarded for battling against the false darkness and light…The courage and freedom to fight is itself my reward…

Who shall come with me?

Please, walk with me, never follow me.

~Julia DarkRose Ray

Lamia

11 Jan
Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray

*I am leaving you with a little story for your spirits and minds to feast upon. It’s been a very long day & night, for me. I bid Dark Angels and the like, everywhere, a goodnight.*
Julia DarkRose**Yes, this is me, Julia DarkRose Ray.**

Lamia

No moon yet, but starlight burns in every direction. The crickets sing in the low lands as I climb, ears pricked and aware. The grass is dry, and the storm it desires but a distant rumble beyond the high ridges.

I, a dark rose, who have attained all life, now ask still further joy. For what is my sovereignty if I turn aside from my bestial pleasure? What is my earthly power if it stands still and rest content? I have flown from flesh to spirit, I have laughed at death. Should I not rejoice in this corporeal realm where flesh and death prevail?

I am invincible, I descend upon the ungrateful child’s conquered land and claim my spoil. I have lived here before, fixed to earth, now, I live again. With my new strength, just as the long vine that hangs upon the tree of all life, I wind my dark wisdom home again and seize what is mine. Night is my drinking hall. No longer held by death and his minions: I crowd them out, those joyless hordes of earth’s bratty progeny. I pour the ruby wine of victory! I have conquered blood, now the precious blood of all life I shall take delicious delight in imbibing.

I seek the others. Wolves and dark angels, no longer a phantom echo of my voice but a separate-therefore real-presence to feed my essence and run wild and free with me over and through our world. I hear them singing to me, the notes ring out this time on their own, scaling low to high, then dropping into a moan. I hear howls in the mountains, mournful, aching, desirous, calling to me, and I must go.

Up into the black sky I climb, as the moon rises past the river. I come closer to the sound, stepping along narrow ridges of sheared, weather-blunted slate, eyes watchful for a glimpse of shadowy fur or the gleam of midnight eyes in the silver light.

My nipples harden, my silky midnight tresses become electric as all my attention focuses on the guiding whine: less than a thousand strides, I judge. I creep forward.

Silence. The howls have stopped. Hidden in the darkness of the grove, are the tribes of the moon, my brothers and sisters. The underbrush explodes, paws and wings crashing in a panicked flight. Once again I have noise to follow, and I begin to close on the others.

I fight the wind to climb the mountain and follow their bloody trail. My nose sniffs each clump of dirt, desperate to hold their scent. I gain the snow-lined ridge and find fresh spoor, barely an hour old, in the pine groves. I cover each urination with my own mark. I will not sneak up on them and frighten them, but make my presence known as wildly and vocally as possible.

I feel stronger than before, and I notice as I pee that the stain is more pungent than last fall-signs of maturity driven home by the taste of blood as I nuzzle my crotch in investigation.

The rain seems endless in its vigor and intensity, but it lessens to a steady drizzle as I approach the tribe, my tribe. I am so very close now, I can taste the copper in the air. I begin howling and rolling in the grip of strong emotions.

I lift my face toward the silky moon and howl one last time. I am prepared to do this as long as my throat holds out, but almost at once an answer comes from upwind and uphill. It rises, in a mixture of surprise and happiness, and I hear the invitation in it: “Join us!”

I bound rapturously towards the direction of my tribe, and find myself on the banks of the rapids. The others stand on the far bank, and we look at each other, across the chasm that separates us.

A tangle of many branches, mud and small annoying rocks swell the river at a bend above the tree. Flash flood! I bark in warning, but still it seems my tribe cannot hear me over the crash of the lying rapids.

Even as the dirty water smashes the tree of life and engulfs them, I spring forward into the false dark flood. I hear a frightened yip as my tribe paddles to keep their heads above water, then silence. I swim into the flood towards the last sound. Everything is swirling and collapsing in the green-brown delusional froth atop the river.

A thump-splash of a wet, furry body against mine, and I sink my teeth into him to hold on while I strike out for where I think the shore of truth and darklight is. The soil of the banks erodes under my feet as I scramble, burdened with weight, to climb out of the raging river.

Then I feel him twitch with life and scrabble with his paw on the slick slate just underwater, finding toeholds under his own renewed power. I unlock my jaws thankfully, and I push my weary body onto safe ground.

Our skins have cuts from the jagged rocks and splintered branches of deceit, but they are surface wounds. Too cold and tired even to clean ourselves, we curl together into a small hollow on the north edge of a rabbit clearing. It offers some shelter from the sleeting wind as the eye of the storm moves southward and the backlash begins.

There we sleep, nose to tail for warmth, as the winds howl our names.

We rule the darkness and the light. Our blood is strengthened by the truth. We are the living gods and goddesses. The stars and the earth are ours to watch and rule.

We, my brother and I, awaken to a few bright stars and the moon upon our shoulders, glimmering in white and crimson silver. We set out to continue our journey, we must find the rest of our brethren. We must find the tribes of the moon…

I am neither vampire or wolf. I am Lamia, I am what I was born to be. Stay strong, I’m coming for you.

~JDR

Love Me Not (Just Fuck Me, Please!)

9 Jan
Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray

*I’ve posted this prose I wrote last year, a couple of times, I know, forgive me. I did update it a bit. BTW-this is meant to be a fun prose. I am most definitely poking fun at over dramatic Goths and wanna-be vamps. ;-)*
vampires-lugosi1
Love Me Not (Just Fuck Me, Please!)

Tell me no more of minds embracing minds,
and hearts exchanged for hearts;
Tell me no more of dark spirits meeting and becoming one dark soul.
Tell me no more of our unbodied essence sharing the dark bloody kiss,
and then like fallen angels, twist and become one in our despair,
and oh, so very misunderstood, dark bliss.

I was once that silly thing that once wrought
to practise this esoteric love;
I climb’d from Gothic sex to Gothic soul, from somber soul to thought;
But thinking there to move,
headlong I rolled from thought to soul, and then
from soul I lighted at the bloody sex again.

As some strict down-looked women pretend to fast,
who yet in closets eat;
So lovers who profess they spirits taste,
Feed yet on grosser meat;
I know they boast their souls to souls convey,
however they meet, the body is the way.

Come, I will undeceive thee.
They that tread those vain intangible ways,
are like young heirs and alchemists misled
to waste their wealth and days,
for searching thus to be ever rich,
they only find a medicine for the itch.

Oh, keep thy delusions to yourself.
Oh, lie not to me about those imaginary
things which you cannot see.
Oh, my poor, poor, misled, Gothic soul,
oh, love me not,
just fuck me…please!

~JDR

The Undoing

6 Jan

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray
Undoing
The Undoing

Oh, my undoing:
Those striking ruby lips,
divinely spiced threshold to a mouth
where ego vanishes…
Eyes flitting beneath raven brows,
snares for the heart,
and the milk-white breasts,
so lovely shaped,
the twin blooming buds,
lovely beyond all other flowers.

And there in the room, poor and squalid,
hidden above the dubious tavern,
moonlight filtering through the filthy and narrow window,
lying there on the much-used, lowly bed,
I had the essence of love, wrapped in Goddess’ flesh.
I had the lips,
the voluptuous and rosy lips of ecstasy-
rosy lips of such ecstasy, that even now
as I write, after so many years!
in my solitary house of skin and bone,
I am drunk again.

My hunger deprivation
absence of her flesh…
My endless thirst for her
for her damp porous center
the warm interior
her sunflowers at night,
her breasts, belly, thighs
of the Goddess, of Cybele.

Her spring has run dry.
I now reside in the land
of ashes and desert,
in a mirage of clouds and trees.

I thirst for her…
I am drunk again
I am drunk with the absence of her.

~JDR

The Sleep of Madness

5 Jan
Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2013
By Julia DarkRose Ray

sleeping goth
The Sleep of Madness

How do you fill the silences between the ticks of time?
Whither fled your strength and your ascending spirit?
Whither fled your laughter and your superior condescension?
Where now stands your scaffoldings of knowledge,
those limbs of light and truth whereon you climbed,
wherein you played?
All are now pulled down by the truth,
your lean possessions of your soul shrunk to fill a little box:
And all your senses, your delights,
turned pale and leached of taste,
paled to a scentless draught
that rusts your heart to a mere foolish ticking clock.

Oh, how your brain
Must break
Your bone
Must crack
Your blood
Must clot
Your heart
Must stop
Your flesh
Must rot
Your spirit
Must wither.

You are the stricken,
dying the true death,
shrouded in your long black veil of lies,
wrapped in your loss:
Silent you wait,
clouded by the tears of your true spirit,
torn by the wind,
ragged with soiled mist:
Where you are wounded,
there is no healing.
Where you decay
nothing is sound.
Ravaged by the false dark,
abandoned by your own self,
silent you wait.
Shadows of gray:
Old in your broken
houses of flesh and spirit.
Old among ruined
pillars of stars,
old as the halls
to which you descend.
Old as your deception
that does not end.

Elixirs fade
and potions fail,
the gold is rusted from your grail,
the wine is changed
to water thin.
The blood is wasted
from the skin,
and all that from
the glass is drunk
may leave you only
smaller shrunk.

Shall there be no alternative?
Neither recourse nor choice?

The choice is to fall into the sleep of madness
or follow that which is truly within…
The truth of the universe,
your primordial energy,
your true dark angel awaits.
Open the door to your mind…
Come on in.

~ JDR

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