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About Deviant Artist The Warg WitchFemale/Bulgaria Recent Activity
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I am a fool. I couldn't choose not to be one if I wanted to; and yet I have the arrogance to think myself clever for the simple consolation that I'm not as foolish as to believe I'm not a fool. I was born to be one; it's in my bones, my blood, in every inch of my skin, in the memory of my ancestors, and no matter how far my intricate, intelligent, educated spirit tries to fly from this inherent foolishness, it's still chained to the ever victorious flesh - and no matter how elaborately I try to fool myself into thinking I can turn my back on it, it always reminds me of its needs in most painful for the mind ways.

And you, who are reading this, will think me a fool too for either losing this struggle or ever beginning it - but that is because your flesh is not my flesh. I was born ill, dear deader, a disease of the body rather than the mind, one no doctor or psychiatrist has yet discovered a cure for. I've sought, in vain, help in the advice of my family, friends, peers, lovers, in the writings of the immortal poets and philosophers, in various scientific and occult doctrines. And my disease, while mercilessly wrecking the foundations of the mind infused with all the solid morality of civilization, thrives in my body like a glorious cancer, transforming every cell of it into something beautiful. Beautiful: like all wrong things.

And what are the symptoms, you ask? Oh, they can be masterfully hidden underneath a cheap mask of powder and lipstick and the right garment, an elaborate camouflage and warpaint to lure the eye into seeing a being set on destruction - but beyond this foolish facade the disease grows ever so proud of itself, of its fearless vulnerability... and it manifests itself in one irrational, foolish desire: to love, to love, to love something worth loving. It's the disease of the poet who wants to be the muse; the craving that makes even the most educated of us patients fools for a chest to press our teary faces against, for blood from a fistfight staining a shirt, for a letter written in haste and confusion, for the look in the eyes of the representatives of that peculiar species, half animals and half explorers, screaming to love them, to fulfill our foolish purpose. To love them, them, who think themselves the beasts and us the angels, while really it's the other way around, for no matter what the mind does to keep the body at bay, it wants what it wants and hunts it, like a wild animal hunts its prey, and no more than it can it be domesticated. And that, my dear reader, is the wicked beauty of it.

My disease, you ask?  I was born a woman.

And however cleverly the cleverest of us may fool themselves, we are beautiful monsters that will never be satisfied with being poets or warriors; we want to be written about, fought for. And while some of us are more drawn to the poet and others - to the fighter, some to the mind and others to the body - I assure you, my dear reader, that the most foolish thought of them all is to think that a perfect compromise can be made between the two.

The educated mind understands this and gives way to one over the other. But what good is your education against the love constantly dripping from our fragile bodies? What good are your books against the disease that, ironically, makes sense of this entire incomprehensible world?

Some say that love can never reach the perfection it demands. They are as right as they are wrong. For this, dear reader, is a story about poets and fighters and muses and, above all else, the extremely rare individuals in which all three come together.

Some say, among other things, that women do not know what they want.

I am a woman, dear reader, and a fool, perhaps. And, despite all my foolishness, I know what I want.

Everything.

               
Prelude - On Poets And Fighters
The beginning of another novel. Title of said novel still under construction, so bear with this lame one for now.  
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Two kinds of people: those who need compassion
And those who take it in the cruellest fashion
Those taught to hand out mercy and refuse it
And those that teach them mercy just to use it

Two kinds of people: those that fall too quick
And those that carry them when they themselves are sick
There ain't no rest, no mercy for the wicked
There ain't no help for those who do not seek it
They cut away the blooming tree
By which we used to kiss
They made him break the ring he vowed
'Till death did us together
They filled my photographs with faces I would never miss
And still we lived through this
For worse or better

They took him off my walls and chased me far away from here
They burned our little shrine
And made me worship different gods
They tempted me in hope my love for him would disappear
And still we loved through this
Against the odds

They tortured me in silence
So he couldn't hear me scream
And said I only did it for attention
They tried to cure the madness that was binding me to him
And still it lived through every intervention

They filled my head with memories of someone else's brain
While trying to work out my mechanism
And as I lay dissected
Through it all you kept me sane
And our escape they labelled escapism

I was a failed experiment
And you're the side effect
My heart is not, will never be
A fucking apparatus
It takes more than a broken ring
Or mind to separate us
Insanity
Is helping us connect
Let's pretend the last twenty-six years never were
Erase
Every trace
Of a scar, time and ink
I sit here and think
Through the wet salty blur
Of a faulty familiar face

I know I'm a terrible person for this
And I know way too much has gone wrong
And I've got a song
Of a love of my own
But as I lean above the abyss
I can't help but feel the abyss leaning back
For a kiss
And maybe you wouldn't agree
(It's not right)
But that night
We spoke you and the Devil and me

That's three, not a pairing
I know I'm despairing
So the thoughts in my head aren't straight
But I hate
To admit
That if I had to give
More than pain, it's with you I'd be sharing

By the time you have read this, I'll still be alive
And you busy sedating and sinning
Fake a grin; this is void of all meaning and strife
I just thought I might drop a few lines because
From this spell soon I'd have to be free
Go to hell (I just might)
If I tell
Of that night
When you spoke with the Devil and me

     

deviantID

Soulstripper
The Warg Witch
Artist
Bulgaria
Interests
Hey guys,

Once again in university so I've been unable to upload anything, but I'll be more active once I get back home. Until then, the good news is: I've started - at last - writing again! And this time I'm truly excited with the story as it will have nothing within it for me to feel embarrassed by. Here's an improvised resume of (working title) "The Bird Whisperer":

Milford "Milo" Swaggers is an unusual girl - um, boy (there was some debate after the birth) who is unusual in the fact that he is not as good at being unusual as the other unusual kids. Technically, he lives in the Alterlands where witchcraft is vital, and he just doesn't seem to fit in. While others summon demons, he runs around and causes trouble. While others raise ancient spirits from the dead, he's busy smoothing his hair or spitting in the teacher's drink. While others ride dragons, he... um... talks to birds.

Which is why his parents decide to send him to the best correctional facility in Crow Valley, one of the darkest and most dangerous places in the British Alterlands. There, his life will most certainly change. Perhaps so much that he would eventually decide to end it.

But no member of the Swaggers family just dies of common suicide. Milo Swaggers needs to find a way to get out of all the messes he's made since the very beginning of his life.

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:iconsparky-corpsee:
Sparky-corpsee Featured By Owner May 18, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the watch!
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:iconplugin848y:
Plugin848y Featured By Owner Feb 13, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks very much for the watch! :)
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:iconlaurahelenarose:
LauraHelenaRose Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Happy Birthday!!! happy DA B-day :3 Happy Birthday Godliek :D :happy birthday: :ihavecaek: Hide Birthday Emote Birthday cake  icon 
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:iconsoulstripper:
Soulstripper Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2015
Thank you :hug:
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:iconlaurahelenarose:
LauraHelenaRose Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
You're welcome! Heart 
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:iconpatchheart:
Patchheart Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2015  Hobbyist Artist
Would you be interested in my harry potter rpg? We're trying to make it active, and it's very new. Sorry for bothering you.

www.sutemeny.proboards.com

SO sorry if this is a double message!
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:iconsoulstripper:
Soulstripper Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2015
You're not bothering me at all, and thank you for sharing this with me. Unfortunately I'm not an RPG person, plus I can barely find time for anything these days, but I'll definitely recommend the site to the fans out there :) 
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:iconlaurahelenarose:
LauraHelenaRose Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Your gallery is amazing! Your art inspires me so much :heart: I love your style. It's so unique. I saw your works many times before on other people's accounts on istagram and etc. But I couldn't find the author of those amazing works.. And finally I've found your account on DA 
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:iconsoulstripper:
Soulstripper Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2015
Thank you so much :heart: Seeing it as I'm way behind on my Internet life, it always comes as a surprise to me that my art exists somewhere on Instagram. Thank you for enlightening me, and for all the compliments; it means so much that my works (far from perfect ones) have been inspiring for someone. Greetings from Bulgaria to Poland ^^
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:iconlaurahelenarose:
LauraHelenaRose Featured By Owner Aug 30, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
You're very welcome!!! Hug And thank you so much for the watch! Have a nice day^-^
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