Archive | April, 2014

Fire and Ice

28 Apr

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray
Julia 1994(Photograph of me taken in 1995)
The following post is quite long, but I can assure you that you will not regret the few minutes it takes out of your life to read it.

*I can not explain it, not with the words that I have at my command. I can not completely understand it. I can not prove it. I can not dismiss it. I can feel it with every ounce of my being. I can understand the psychology and the science behind it. I can not deny its power and its sway over my entire existence. What I can do and will continue to do until I breathe my very last breath of my miraculous life is to write it all down. I will continue to try and explain what is at this moment unexplainable. I will leave my legacy of words for those who come after me. I will never stop believing in this feeling, in this truth that I feel so very deeply, that comes from the darkest abyss of my essence. I will never forsake the truth that I know, that I have experienced. I will never forsake him, my husband, my devoted blood, the very reason for my unshakeable faith of what I can not explain in its entirety but what I can live, feel, and share with the world. I absolutely believe in the butterfly effect. I absolutely know with all that I am or ever will be that time is fluid and my path is not set in stone and my husband and I have always been together no matter what path I am living within the fluidity of time, of the universal continuum. I know without the words to completely explain that he always finds me and saves me…always. The words that follow are but a sliver of my truth.*

For my Husband (Devoted Blood)…

Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood

*The following is a true story*

Fire and Ice

My heart is racing. I am full of lights. I feel my beloved’s pain, a sharp instrument pressed through his skull, his left eye. Devoted Blood. I squeeze my hand down on the ice. It hurts terribly, a sort of burn. He starts to push my hand away–“Don’t,” I plead.
I start to cry from the pain of the ice on my right hand. It gnaws at me, it eats me.

I feel myself growing wieghtless and quiet inside my shell of anguish, his, mine. ‘Wait,’ he said to me.
I waited. I waited fifteen minutes by the chime of the kitchen clock. By now I have completely turned to ice. The core of me, my groin, my breasts. My stomach, my heart.

I have finally removed my hand from the freezer and I am walking back to my love. I open the door of his sleeping place.
I feel very tall (which I am not), and feel like I’m floating in the air. I see his chamber with its bare plastered walls, the bed, and Devoted lying on it. He is rigidly immobile. He tells me, “Even in the midst of my pain, you are all I can see and think about, you are still perfection–”I cross the bare floor, floating, and stand above him. My braids have somehow come undone, and black hair showers over me.

I take hold of his left hand and pull it away from the most beautiful face I have ever known. There is no mark on him. His face is only hard, clenched, a stone. He does not resist me. He says to me, “You have already eased my pain by simply existing.”
I put my right hand, frozen, against his left eye, forehead and temple.My beloved screams. His whole body erupts into motion. I cry out too. I clamp my frozen hand against him. I force my hand to remain on his face, which is like furnace heat.

The world seems to have cracked.

Then I feel a hurt worse than before. The pain in my love has come into me. Into my hand. I am kindling. I am on fire. Now it has extinguished.I feel bruised, perhaps smashed, but I continue to sit on the bed. A band of flame still circles my right wrist. It is my husband’s hand. He is looking at me now.

His eyes are such a pale shade of hazel they are nearly white.
He says, “What did you do?”

“You said–ice.”

He says, hoarsely, “You can heal and save as well as devastate.”

“No, it was the ice.”

“Once in a hundred or so years,” he reveals, “it comes like that. You are a true healer my Lamia. So many claim that title but it is only a label they use to make themselves feel better.”

“Is it better?” I ask. “Are you all right?” Then I start to cry (he hates to hear me cry), I try to stop but cannot. His pain, my pain, has morphed into emotional pain, a sweet release.

“It’s gone. You took it. What did you do with it?” He lifts my hand and turns it over. My palm and fingers are burned blue, and bleeding. “Your hand,” he says, “your writer’s hand.” He puts both of his hands over mine.

It hurts like fire again. I do not care. “Don’t leave me,” I say to him.

“At the gates of the abyss,” he tells me, “there you are, Julia in her long black hair and flawless porcelain skin.” He keeps my hand in his left hand, and reaches up to me and pulls me slowly down.
I am laying over him, my lips on his. He kisses me softly but urgently. I kiss him back. I kiss his mouth until his mouth tenses and takes mine. I put my arms around his neck, my live hand and my dead hand. Suddenly I draw back. Lift off my dress
like a wreath, and reaching behind me, clumsy from the burn of the ice, undo my brassiere. My white breasts are full yet high, firm, with budded petals.

“You don’t need to seduce me,” he whispers, I’ve belonged to you since before time began.”

“Please,” I beg.

The tears upon my face are like splashes of gems. My eyes are wide and black and crazed with life. My savior, my husband traces my breasts with his hands, then with his lips. I sigh. I clasp his head, the mantle of dark hair, holding him to me.
He lowers me down, until I am beneath him. Now he strips both of us, until we are equally exposed, naked and glistening.
His body is tawny comapred to my white flesh. He strokes me. I cling to him. The entry of his flesh into mine is harsh and savage.

“You’re hurting me.”


I don’t care. I want to die. I want to die for you.”

He kisses me, moving inside of me, the pain like a cathedral built up toward the heavens, arches and pinnacles, bronze and air.
I turn my neck.

“Drink me, my blood, all of me. Please. I want you to.”

“Hush,” he says.

“I love you,” I cry, “don’t leave me. I love you.”

He cries out, as he had in pain. I look and see his eyes and in the depths of them, as if in polished mirrors, the ages of the earth, truth and eternal love, fire and darkness.


For My Devoted Blood

Oh, could you view the dark melody of every grace
And the ethereal music of his face,
You’d drop a silent tear;
Seeing more harmony
In his hazel eyes
Than now you hear while
imprisoned in your daylight fire.

When I lie tangled in his hair,
And fettered to his eye,
The gods that wanton in the air
Knows no such paradise.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
that for a hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
and in my soul am free,
angels alone that soar above
can never enjoy such luminous liberty.

If to be absent were to be
away from thee;
Or that when I am gone,
You were truly alone;
Then, my husband, my Devoted Blood,
might I accept pity from the tornado and stabbing wind,
or swallowing wave.

Without you, my love,
There is no me.

True love, our love, is a durable fire,
in the mind and heart ever burning.
Never sick, never old, never dead,
from itself never turning.

I love you beyond all my breaths, beyond all my passions, beyond all life. Our love is so very much a precious, priceless, sought after, by all the world love…to let go would certainly be my true death.

I love you, never doubt, for even the span of a single breath, that you are my everything.

Oh how you love my lips
when they are wet with your sex
and red with wicked desires.

Amongst all the regal beauties of the bowers,
you, my love, ache for only me.
So sticky sweet I am, you suck the coital honey
from my dewy bowl,
and intoxicatingly mad,
with wild, delirious dark bliss,
within my unholy grail,
you ,my perfect dark angel, yields, to me
your very soul,
and drinks in my bloody kiss.

I let down my silken tresses of blackest night over my milky white shoulders and open my creamy thighs over you, my beloved…

Oh beastliness! the raptures
of this night!
What fierce convulsions of
fiendish delights!
In each other’s arms embraced,
We lay confounded, and dissolved.
Hot bodies mingling, garnet juices blending,
darting fierce and flaming kisses,
plunging into boundless hellfire bliss.
Our bodies, and our souls
engulfed in a crimson blaze.

Enslaved in your wolfish charms,
I crush you, my true love in these velvet arms
and make you destroy me…utterly.

You fire my blood with untold desires,
your kisses, razor sharp,
upon my lips and limb,
sends my senses reeling and pulses
swimming in the savage river of our sanguine abyss.

Oh darkest rhapsody,
cherished absolution,
sweetest-rapture past expressing!
We melt together in
perfected serenity,
breathing our soul into the other with each
midnight kiss.

Then suddenly, with a brutal, passionate,
enshrined caress,
we draw completely into one another,
flesh of flesh,
blood of blood,
one spirit.
Smoldering still with blasphemous hunger,
we sink into the shiny earth
our blood-soaked bodies aflame,
with a spell-binding happiness
of which we cannot name…
‘Twas pain, ‘Twas pleasure,
‘Twas infernally intense.

Swift rivulets of the dark fire have found
their way and bound our hearts.
We know not night nor day, nor life, nor death, nor aught that foolish mortals know.
We only know that we love
each other so…

We sleep no more. We are wide awake.
From dusk to the stained glass rays of dawn,
amongst roses dripping red
upon some muddy hill,
we share with each other our unearthly dreams
of ebon bliss,
only to find our ruddy mouths all
melted in a fiery, ruby-soaked kiss.


*Thank you for reading that which I can not fully explain.*
**This is the very first image DB (Devoted Blood) ever saw of me. He loved me before he even knew what I looked like. This photograph was taken in 1995. :-)**


Midnight Strands of Silk

27 Apr
Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray
Julia DarkRose Ray 2014
Midnight Strands of Silk

Who shall understand the Beloved’s hair!
So subtly caught, and coiled, and garlanded-
That maze, that glittering net, that shining snare.

Men of true love, and alike untrue,
trapped in that cunning waylay upon her head,
are captive there-
‘Tis but a little for such midnight strands of silk to do.

Thy darkness of beauty and love, is just a miracle,
an innocent gift that the celestial sphere gave to thee;
But ah! The uses thou hast put it to,
are downright sorcery.

Thy lips breathe out such healing that the time of ancient men is come back, and dead men rise.
So long thy locks, so strong, thy lovers climb,
holding thereby, safe into paradise.

On thy dark eyes a hundred blessings rain!
Though at each look indeed a lover dies,
touching thy lips he comes to life again.



Deeds Must Follow Words

26 Apr
Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray
*A few Juliaisms on my birthday (4/26/1968). It is my hope that my thoughts conveyed to all the beautiful Dark Angels that peruse and inhabit The DarkRose Journal Page, website, and magazine, except my gift of words on this day, the day (or so they tell me) of my first breath. Happy living this miraculous thing we call life, to each and everyone of you. You are all so very beautiful. Thank you for touching my life and sharing your wisdom, humour, insight, ideals, philosophy, genius, creativity, and most of all your shining spirit.*

Juliaism #1

I know that I always label things, light and dark. I know that I most especially differentiate between dark love and mundane(light) love.

I do that metaphorically as well as poetically. The truth about love, real love, as I know it to be, is quite simply this:

Love is love. It has no color, no station in life, no country, no religion, no gender, no ideals, no philosophy, and certainly, does not belong to any realm, be it dark or light. Love just is.
There is truly nothing more powerful.
Juliaism #2

For this is my very hard earned wisdom: to love, to live,
to embrace what life gives you, to revel in what nature hath made you, to take what the universe has to give.

To have–to hold–and–in time–let go!

The worries and burdens that most of humanity drags around their entire lives are less than the dust beneath thy chariots wheel, less than the rust that never stains thy sword, less than the weed that grows beside thy door.

It is all up to you. It is always your choice.
Juliaism #3

I always allow The Mother (Nature) to take her own way; she better understands her own affairs than I.

With all that has been taken from me, again and again, in the most vile and horrific ways possible; To know how to live well and in true freedom and true happiness is all my calling and all my art.
Juliaism #4

Deeds Must Follow Words

I am inferior of any person whose rights I trample under foot. People are not superior by reason of the accidents of race or color, or station in life (imagined or real). They are superior who have the best heart-the best brain, the most valiant spirit.

The superior person is the providence of the inferior. He/she is eyes for the blind, strength for the weak, and a shield for the defenseless. He/she stands erect by bending above the fallen. He/she rises by lifting others.

I am an armed warrior, I am armed with my words, my hard earned wisdom, my kind and valiant heart and spirit. I am a plumed knight. I throw my shining lance full and fair against the brazen forehead of every traitor of truth and decency, and every malinger of a true Dark Angel.
Thank you and a very sweet goodnight to you and yours.
Happy Birthday to Mother Earth, she is another day older!

Now I creep into my narrow bed, I creep and let no more be said.

~Julia DarkRose Ray

Do You Truly See Me?

23 Apr
Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014Julia DarkRose Ray 4-23-14
Do you truly see me?

Over the mountains and over the waves,
under the fountains and under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest, which Neptune obey,
over rocks that are steepest,
dark Love will find out the way.

With a burning spear, and a horse of air,
to the wilderness I wander.
By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I’m summoned beyond the wide world’s end.

From the wicked hags and hungry goblins
that into bloody rags would rend me,
and from the spirit that stands by the unawakened,
naked man,
I rise above thee,
and fight for a better day.
In the book of Moons, there you will find,
written in The Mothers own blood,
my name.

Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, only love me for my valiant spirit
And my constant loving dark heart.

*Tonight, in this very moment, I look back upon my life and this time I do not cry tears of pain and utter sadness. This time I cry tears of revelation and joy. I know, in this very moment of fluidity, of the seemingly endless cycle of time…I now understand with such complete clarity that I was sent into the darkness, by my own volition, not to suffer for myself or for humanity. I went into the darkness so I can shine. Within my liquid darkness, I am the Darklight.*

With that said, I now creep into my narrow bed, I creep and let no more be said.



Life Is A Hell Of A Thing

22 Apr

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray
Life is a Hell of a Thing
Life is a hell of a thing…

Does all that you know fit in the palm of your hand? Can all that you know fit into a giant box?

Do all of your thoughts and ideas belong to someone else?

What do you know that truly belongs to you, that are truly your own thoughts and ideas?Even though as a society we take ideas from all kinds of different resources…it is still possible to have your own thoughts and ideas born from within your essence.

Many are afraid to voice or write their own thoughts and ideas for fear of their “peers” ridicule and admonishment…

I’m here to tell you about something new…it’s called believing in yourself and your own thoughts and ideas!!!! Try it, I mean really voice or write your own ideas and thoughts, believe in yourself and what you know, for you, to be true.

I’m here to tell ya, there’s something else.

It’s called NOT being a sheep.
It’s called believing, I mean really believing and having faith in yourself not giving all your glory and power away to some made up, mythical being…you are the true divinity that permeates our universe!!!!

It is time for a new reign…the reign of ignorance born from unfounded fear and willing slavery (which is an oxymoron) is over, at least it is over for those who embrace their own truths born from within their very essence, their core, their true foundation of who and what they really are.

Our reign (those who practice true freedom of thought) is one of non-reign, we, Dark Angels (or whatever label you choose to identify yourselves to the rest of humanity) should be conducting ourselves as an example to the rest of our world, an example of how non-sheep, free beings actually live and thrive in a society of
enslaved sheep!

No one is qualified to tell you whether you are truly free, or who you truly are, that’s true, however, most people’s conduct and subsequent inability to NOT be an enslaved sheep, is quite telling of who and what you truly are.

So, please, if you have your own thoughts and ideas, please have faith in yourself and believe in your ability to help change the world, for the better…And share your ideas with us, The DarkRose Journal Family, for we are truly a Tribe of the Crimson Moon and we honor and cherish and learn from all that are willing to walk with us upon this miraculous sphere that we call Earth.

Thank you.

~Julia DarkRose Ray

Juliaism 4/20/2014

20 Apr

Today’s Juliaism…
“Appearances can be important, for many reasons. However, it would behoove humanity to remember that appearances are an illusion, and all power is built upon illusion.”

Have a wonderful Sunday doing whatever it is that you do on Sunday’s.

~Julia DarkRose Ray



18 Apr

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2013
By Julia DarkRose Ray
Bartok Image 2
Night, oh adored night…
When the harsh, unforgiving words of the desolate day fade,
and the beauty of the mysterious Witching Hour, comes alive…
When the destructive division of day is done
and all that is truly important becomes whole and requisite again…

The dead of night…
when people reassemble their fragmentary selves
and shift into a consummate Being.

And with that “said”, I bid you farewell and goodnight.

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