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The Dark-Re-Vamped

23 Aug

Just another excerpt from ‘The DarkRose Journal’ and the thoughts that occupy my mind. This excerpt is from the original DRJ from the early 90’s. Enjoy the dark pleasures…

The Dark
By DarkRose
© 1996

Re-published (But not re-written or edited) in Issue 5 of the DRJ-Re-Vamped
©2013
*Images are from issue 5-2013.*

It was dark…
So very, very, dark:
An envelope of darkness.

And it was warm…
So very, very, warm:
An envelope of warmth.

And the only sound
Was the distant, comforting murmur
Of the Great Being.

It was, in other words, a perfect place.

This is the opening of a short story* that describes the pre-natal comfort and security of the womb. This is how I feel about the Dark: warm, secure, comforting. I reflect in the irony that so many people are afraid of the dark-the literal as well as the abstract-when it was the dark in which we all lived so peacefully for those nine or so months. It was the glare and the harshness that caused us to first wish we had never been born; to wish we could retreat to whence we came; to go back into the Dark.
So we see that the body and the spirit have a natural affinity for the darkness. It is only through learned responses and the anti-dark prattle of others that we become fearful of the dark. We are told that the dark provides safe harbor for the evil and nefarious, that the dark obscures the truth, and that the dark is the last refuge of the weak of spirit. Nothing could be further from the truth.
We must start our understanding of the Dark by shattering the biggest misconception there is-that of the dark as a place of Evil. If being of the Light is necessarily good, so goes the argument, then being of the Dark is necessarily bad. Neither of these positions is accurate-at least not for everybody.
This idea stems from the human need to put things in two categories. Yes and No. Wrong and Right. Good and Bad. Black and White. Light and Dark. The problem is that there is not a person known who is totally good, or totally evil. We’re told that even Hitler loved children and animals; that even Jesus Christ lost his temper and promoted alcoholic beverages; and that even the Prince of Darkness is a perfect gentleman. Yet we seek a balance. An eye for an eye. A yin to a yang. A tit for a tat. Quid pro quo. And a Dark for a Light. Since most people see themselves as creatures of the light, and they further perceive themselves as good and worthy, which leaves the balance to fall to the dark, and thus is created a world of evil.
You stub your toe in the dark, the cat springs at your feet in the dark, you lose your way in the dark. That’s where the bogeyman lives, in the dark-and it must be true, because our parents said so. You shouldn’t wander the streets at night. Why? Because it’s late? No, because it’s dark. Light a candle, flip a switch, turn something on-dispel the dark!
In medieval times a solar eclipse was a portend of impending doom. Even a dark cloud passing in front of the sun at the wrong moment could brand someone a witch. In the darkness there is the Unknown, and the human animal is by nature terrified of the unknown. Beyond these seas there be dragons, the cartographers warned. Beyond the dragons, there be the edge of the world. And once you fall off the edge of the world, there be eternal darkness. Magellan finally put a stop to that, but his crew kept a wary eye out for dragons anyway!
The Unknown. The Dark is the perfect metaphoric hiding place for all that we do not understand. Our fears. Our biases. Our hatreds. And most of all, that part of ourselves that we do not wish to examine in the bright light. Yes, my dear friends, the Dark is the ultimate scapegoat; the repository of our sins, real and imagined. But just as one can clean out the cobwebs of a spooky old attic and then enjoy the treasures that are revealed, so can we all learn to if not love, then at least appreciate the dark.
But is it true? Is there evil there? Some. There are deceitful spirits and lost souls and a certain amount of karmic dredge. But there is much more of that in the Light. The contemptible con man that cleans out his victim’s bank account does so with a pressed suit and an engaging smile, not with a black hood and mask. The church goer sings long and loudly in the pew as sunlight streams through the stained glass window, then rushes out to bed his neighbor’s wife. The perfect housewife dumps out a half gallon of milk exactly on the due date, then snorts in derision as she passes a homeless family on the street. And it’s all done by the good and pure people of the Light. Jeffrey Dahmer was the boy next door. Ted Bundy wad the Boy Scout next door. John Wayne Gacy was the clown next door. Tit for tat. Quid pro quo.
So instead of being turned away by the perceived evil of the dark, let’s look to see what else there might be in there. We’ve admitted that it’s hard to see in there, so let’s step in long enough to let our eyes grow accustomed. As the pupils dilate, so let the mind open and expand. Let the senses be aware. Let the soul be eager.
Let’s imagine a scenario. It is somewhere around the year 1200. We’re in England-a scary place at that time, until you realize the rest of the world is even scarier. Power and position come much more swiftly at the point of a sword than the nub of a pen. The local sheriff is subservient to the Earl, and enforces the law as it is convenient and handy. To get from one town to another, one must walk-only the rich have horses. And to walk on these roads is to take your life in your hands. Bands of outlaws have free reign outside the gates of the city, and are eager to relieve a passerby of their purse and their life. The outlaws live in the thick forest; since by their outlaw status, they are denied citizenship. Thus the forest is a place of the Unknown. Evil lurks there. The forest is the Dark. Beyond these woods there be dragons. Beyond these dragons there be death.
Everyone has his or her place in the pecking order. Peasants serve craftsman, serfs serve knights who serve nobility who serve the king. Everything in the system works until someone decides that they don’t wish to be a part of the accepted system. Maybe they feel they should be able to own land without having the royal blessing; maybe they feel they should be able to have authority without having a noble lineage; maybe they feel they should be able to worship according to their own belief system rather than that of the powerful Church. Whatever the reasons, these people feel slightly apart from the norm. They are independent. They are the exception, rather than the rule. They cluster in small groups of like-minded souls, finding solace in the very few who also wish to chart their own course. They realize they can’t continue living in the city, because the city is very intolerant of those who are intolerant of the city. People hang for things like that. They want to go live in the forest, because there the city will leave them alone. But the forest is Dark, and in the Dark, there is evil.
This small band of society’s displaced ventures tentatively into the woods, keeping their eyes and ears open for the dangers that dwell there. They find a cave. It is dry and warm, but it is also dark. Their desperation finally overcomes their fear, and they move into the cave. It’s not bad. As a matter of fact, they become quite comfortable there. Other people hear about this new little sub-society in the forest, and the braver of them venture past their apprehensions and find the cave. They, too, find support there.
All of these formerly displaced people are now placed. They have found a home in the Dark. And they are making discoveries-the differences between their home in the Dark and their old residence in the Light. Now please don’t misunderstand me when I say that these people lived in the Dark. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they lived in actual darkness, that there was no light, and that they had to stumble around in an unseen void until their senses developed bat-like sonar. They used candles. They used lanterns. They built fires. They were artists and writers and mathematicians and scientists and scholars and parents and clerics and sellers and buyers and all the kinds of things that people of the Light are-and for these activities they had to dispell the physical darkness. They had to venture out of the cave to interact and commune with the world outside. They were bifunctional. They moved at ease in both worlds, when necessary. It’s just that for their personal growth and nourishment they preferred the Dark.
Why? Because the Dark is an incredibly sensual place. Their sense of being has become focused. Their senses of being have become sharpened. When they seek pleasures, they are rewarded with ecstasy. Intense touches, intense aromas, intense sights and sounds. They have never known an odor so fragrant and full-bodied, or a taste so fulfilling, or a sight so beautiful. They have never known an orgasm so full of love and so full of life.
They have discovered that the Dark, rather than serving to mask and deceive, does instead act as a filter. It forbids the invasion of the cluttered and confused. It intimidates the cowardly and short-sighted. It makes a barrier that the hypocrite and self-deceiver find hard to penetrate. The kindred spirits of Thoreau, Epicurus, and Dionysus make it past. Diogenes shines his lantern approvingly here.
The cave-dwellers, those disciples of the Dark, live in one with their surroundings. They love nature, for it is nature that has given them their safe haven. They do not wish to exploit their fellow denizen, because that is their family. They do not want to shut out that which is mysterious and incomprehensible, for it is there that new knowledge and discovery dwell. They sincerely wish to find their inner spirit, for that is their essence. They sincerely wish to find their other kindred, for with them is their past and their future. They learn to look at everything that comes their way with an appreciative and curious eye. In the Dark, things reveal themselves slowly, but once they are revealed, they are true and pure. It is only in the Light that there is a need for pretense and masquerade, for it is only in the Light that judgments are handed down based on surface rather than substance.
These cave-dweller citizens of the Dark were my ancestors. They were my family. I, was one of them. I watched from the safety of my cave as the outside world slowly turned increasingly to turmoil and destruction. I ventured out as necessary, for my life in the Dark better equipped me to deal with life in the Light. I was on to them, yet they were helpless and blind in my Dark.
I was then, I am now, and I will always be, a daughter of the Dark. Night* is my Mother. And, I, her faithful child continue to find solace within her dark embrace. My lover, my teacher, my immortal Mother opens her veins to me, and I drink. From her flows the blood of life. The blood of life washes my soul clean. I bathe in its sensuality and truth. I celebrate its wisdom and beauty.
It is time for all of Night’s children to come home. Our great immortal Mother longs to embrace her lost children with her black wings of endarkment. She longs to fill your mortal life with dark pleasure and love. She longs to teach your spirit the wisdom of the Dark. She patiently awaits for the return of her beloved and beautiful children.
Although my recollection of what came before is sometimes dim, my spirit most assuredly remembers the dark from whence it came. It recalls fondly the security and comfort that was found there, and it rejoices that I have found my way back.
I look out from the Dark with bright eyes, and my senses revel in its erotic purity. The Dark is home, and the home is Dark. Welcome to my home.

*From “Light at the End of the Tunnel” copyright 1985 by L.L. Hart
*Night, also known as Lilith, the Sumerian goddess of beauty, sexuality, and truth; in Judaism, the mother of darkness and demons.

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Real Vampire News Intertview

19 Jul

http://realvampirenews.com/vampire-media-a-roundtable-chat/

Julia DarkRose~Living Vampire 2013

Love Me Not (Just Fuck Me…Please!)

15 Jul

Image and prose are property of Julia DarkRose
By Julia DarkRose
©2015

*This is meant to be a fun prose. I am most definitely poking fun at over dramatic Goths and wanna-be vamps.*

Love Me Not (Just Fuck Me, Please!)

Tell me no more of minds embracing minds,                          JuliaDarkRose~2015 Watermark
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 of the 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!

~Julia DarkRose

The DarkRose Journal YouTube Channel

1 Jul

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBH8hJSiCxJoC9iRfUx1STg/feed?view_as=public

DarkRose Journal Cover Art

http://www.darkrosejournal.net

Life

1 Jul

©Julia DarkRose
2015

Life                                                                       red night sky owl

“I’m not losing my mind,
I was just looking for the breath of life,
trying to find my dreams again,
a little sight of the beginning and the end,
a fleeting vision of the stars and the glittering air,
a vision of the All from the Nothing.”

Oh, my hallowed lambs, all you need is one more touch,
one more sweet caress,
just one more sensation of the mystical storm,
just one more breath of life.
Oh and then you’ll believe,
oh my, how you will believe then…

You say you just need your heart to bleed,
to beat in time with the thunder.
You say you just need your eyes to cry tears,
that cascade down the banality of your creviced face,
like the silky rain,
of a deathless life.

You need to dance with the wind again,
but your heart is a hollow place,
and for you the wind no longer blows through your soul,
the thunder has stopped crashing through your mind,
and the cleansing rain simply slides off of your numb flesh.
For you, the moon reveals no secrets, She is silent.

Oh, oh, oh, oh,
you’ll never find that breath of life,
you’ll never taste that mystical storm,
you’ll never have just one more touch…

Oh, my sacramental darling,
If you just breathe out the distorted fable of nirvana’s gleam,
and inhale the black blizzard in,
to dance with you once again,
under the ruby moon,
you’ll search no more for a breath of life…
Oh, my, no,
you will finally be the breath of ALL life.
~Julia DarkRose

Freedom

28 Jun

Excerpt from The DarkRose Journal, circa 1998…
By Julia DarkRose
©1998
**This is based on an actual entry from one of my Julia Journal’s from 1998. This was published as a non-fiction piece. It is up to the reader to understand which parts of my Journal entry have been fictionally enhanced and which parts are written as my experience truly happened. I will just convey to the reader that it is not as black & white as it might read. :-)**    JuliaDarkRose1998 Watermark

Freedom

The sharp iciness of Father Winter’s breath provides my soul with an undercurrent of repose and contentment. In the dead of winter, the Great Celestial Expanse has once again opened her arms to embrace me and fill me with her Essence. With her ebon wings tightly wrapped around my very Being, there is no power in this universe that I cannot comprehend and one night be a part of.

The beauty of the stark winter fills my senses with sweet rapture as does the breathtaking visions that are my Dark Angels. My precious Angels are infused with the passions and desires of the glorious night.They have become my haven in this mundane world of deceit and ignorance.

As I gaze outside my bedroom window, in anticipation of the ravenous night that awaits me and my Tribe, I have discovered Snow Faeries and their cousins, the Fire Sprites-performing their erotic dance amongst the death that has now engulfed my
rose garden.They are beckoning to me to come share in their beastliness. Oh! to dance naked in the moonlight, to let my primordial carnality take over completely, even for just a moment, is an invitation I will not refuse.

“My fierce beauties, it is I, Night’s beloved daughter, DarkRose. I have come to join you in your dark edenic dance.”

The ethereal beauty of my sisters brings a tear of ecstasy to my eyes. As I draw nearer to the frenzy of the savage sexuality before me, my purest being has become a torch of bestial bliss. My nymphs have swirled around me in a whirlwind of crimson lust and immortal desires. In an explosion of fiery passion, the faeries and sprites have torn from me the delicate crystalline nighty that had moments before gracefully clung to every very feminine curve of my silky white body. As my gown lay abandoned amongst the dead roses and the meager creatures of the night, so does my last breath of human morality. For a few moments, I am totally free to be the gloriously inhuman predator that dwells inside this soft mortal flesh of arteries, bones, and precious dark wine.

The pounding in my heart feels like the beating of some ancient warriors drum right before the onset of battle. My nipples are painfully erect in a joyful salute to the sexual debauchery that has engrossed my body and spirit. The fervid moistness between my thighs is perfumed with the lust and desires of the dark seraphs. As my liberated flesh trembles with heavenly sable hunger, I notice that the night and all her creatures have fallen silent. The only sound is the soft murmur of the eventide wind as He whispers my name and rejoices with me in my return to myself.

For a few precious moments in this world of light and lies, the beauty and truth of the true Darkness was revered and honored. The Great Father and Mother fell silent in our awe-inspiring dance. Then as quickly as they appeared, my decadent sisters have left our moonlit rendezvous. I know not why they came to me this night, or where they are going. I do know that they touch the part of my inky spirit where no human dares to journey. They are welcome to enter the portals of my world whenever they desire.

I ardently await their return.

~Julia DarkRose

*As you can read, The DarkRose Journal has been publishing the beautiful darkness for Her readers for a very long time…We are not going anywhere, ever. We are dedicated to bringing you the unabashed erotic truth, wisdom, and beauty of the realm of real living Dark Angels.*

DarkRose

26 Jun

By Julia DarkRose
©2015

DarkRose            Issue 7 image 4

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, Owls, 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.
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 dancing and becoming more…myself…in the grip of strong emotions.

I lift my face toward the silky moon and writhe and howl one last time. I am prepared to do this as long as my throat and lithe body 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…

Who and what am I? Who and what is it that hears my cries of darklight, my cries of erotic dark truth? Who am I, well, I am…Julia DarkRose…I always have been and always will be…

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 shine my darklight 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 cry 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, as the winds howl our names.

Our blood is strengthened by the truth. We are the stars and we are the earth. We are not a fictional character. We are not all powerful all knowing beings. We are not merely mundanes. We are evolution in its most glorious and majestic form…at least I know that I, DarkRose, am without a single doubt or need of pretense to convey this truth, to convey that which I was borne to be.

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, nor owl or anything other than that which Nature needs me to be. I am what I was born to be.

Stay strong, if you should call upon me and desire to walk with me… I’m coming for you.

~Julia DarkRose

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