At times I remember how out of phase I am. It can come as a shock, though it rarely arrives. Once I have lived under a rock for enough time, I stop consider what lies beyond the rock, or see it as merely an extension of its solidity; Shadows on walls of granite.
Repressed, but known, there is always something casting the shadow.

As close as you want it to be, you cannot create ten artworks without one being dis-satisfactory. You cannot say a hundred sentences without being unsatisfied with one. For some the ratio is slanted in or against their favour. Perhaps half your sentences come out garbled, or perhaps only 1 in 10 artworks becomes something you are proud of.
So then, the more you try, the more results you will achieve.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Howdy everypony,
Today comes the follow up from last week's story, and a warning, it is pretty explicit and filthy~.

Where do we place the value of a life. Do we place it in the individual? Their own experiences and emotions, perhaps a selfish stance. Do we place it in others? Their effect on the lives they have touched? Perhaps on the world at large, the legacy they leave behind? But that would spell dread for all but a few, and even those time will erase.

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Memory. We talk of our memory, of events in the past, so often with grand words of certainty. I know this happened, that is how it happened, you did this. And yet, our memory is the ghosts of shadows coloured by our own perspectives, beliefs, and moods. Memory and the past, both are representations fabricated within our minds. Fleeting.
If memory is fickle, then what is Knowledge or Wisdom?
Knowledge is the information we known in the know.

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We continue the Trip to the Orchard today, time to record another advertisement fot the filthy brothel~. Who is up next? Well, you'll have to brave the studio yourself~.

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And here I thought that Pony month was over. Instead we have a fun filthy vore tale about Rarity inviting Applejack to a particular indulgence. Find a link to it down below.

I can taste the grease in the air. Once I walk out the door, the air becomes infected. All around me are machines and people performing nefarious actions, breathing in what purity is left in our oxygen and expelling billowing clouds of grease. The air is fat. It clogs my gullet to inhale. I am left struggling.

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When I close my eyes, I want to be gone from the world. Everything that was before me, just to be darkness. Just behind my eyelids, an expanse of complete blackness and solitude. However, that is a fantasy. When I close my eyes, the darkness takes shape. The impressions of chiaroscuro filling my perception. An afterimage of the world with light pouring through. As if reality is saying I better haven't forgotten it, and won't escape it or my problems so easily.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I wish to remain inside. Inside, this place I have crafted, this state of emotions which I have kept in balance, where I can languish in peace. Though, were I to screen reality out, it would soon come knocking. So I pretend, I appease, and I worry, if reality will remain outside.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Sweet memories. What I base my knowledge on, what I base everything on. Everything that colours and warps my perspective, found somewhere in a secluded or pronounced cloud of colours, locations and faces. Without those, there is nothing. There is no path to walk, if I lack the context for walking. But looking back, were I able to see it all, I could surmise where I am going.
In a sense, my past is the map to my future.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

The world is so big, from where were are standing. It stretches out forever, eventually back into itself, though that is far beyond the reach of our sight and comprehension. Instead we stay at the bottom, as an insect peering up at a tower without end. And yet from the top of the tower, soaring above the world, it becomes tiny. A little blue dot, looking up at the vastness of cosmos.
At least the insect can fly for a better view.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Dreary days pass and in their wake leave footprints. Dreary shoes dig down in mud and sculpt their image on the road. Tired legs struggle through their aching muscles, moving forward once and again. For the path their footprints lay, turns solid ground for the next wanderer.

Happy Black Friday~.

Times appears to move slower when there is nothing to spend it on. An observation made my many, though why? is it a phenomenon of coincidence, or or deliberation. Perhaps it is far more distant and ethereal. For you see, time as we perceive it exists only when we measure it. Until we observe it, its existence remains in flux, or perhaps entirely in-existent.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Greetings, and welcome to Filthy Friday~.

Today we have a tale that has been marinating and brewing for a while, ready to pounce when you least expect it... A situation the story's protagonist is all too familiar with, as it turns out his step mother is a-...

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Spotlight Friday~

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In times where we face ourselves, there is little to exchange. One would believe we have much to say of our own being, yet to ourselves, all is there. All is not known, yet knowing oneself is a sisyphean task, for the process of learning, too, changes our being. Then, instead of talking with ourselves, we merely talk at ourselves, at what we cannot affect grasp, yet our actions can influence, as it always does.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I prefer to measure success against myself, rather than others. That way, it ensures that I am evaluating my own abilities and growth, rather than the hum of our species pooled talent.

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Inside is warm.
Outside is cold.
When I brave the outside, I dress accordingly. At times I only find my gloves and jacket, at times I dress up too much, but I can always anticipate the cold that is to come.
Unless the cold invites itself inside. Where my fingers freeze before I find gloves, where my toes are ice cubes before I walk to close the door, where my teeth clatter and come to a stop.
So far I remain.
Though I have to fix that door.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Sometimes I miss the old days, sometimes I forget there were any other days. The present belongs to those alive, and it always has, though few get to enjoy that gift. Few compared to the past ruled by legions upon legions of souls, innumerable, yet locked to their times. I stand with my back against an army of ghosts, and I smile.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

The act of consumption is a decadent strive for prolonging the same transient existence snuffed out from other beings.
But it is hella tasty if done right.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

At certain moments, we wish we could go back, to experience life from a new angle, to take a peek into what was. OR perhaps, to simply slow down our perception, to see what was around us. Those shining little moments of reality that linger in the back of our mind on days bereft of the moments we cannot point to on a map. At those moments, one wishes they could slice time in half, to halt the beginning and end, for but a snapshot of the majesty of one... single.... instant.

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Time comes as many would call it, too often for our own good. Too often are we made aware of it, acknowledge it. That is when it holds dominion over us. For mankind is a species of intellect, where issues are waged in the abyss of the conscious and unconscious, such have we isolated ourselves from the world.
Even when it pierces our defenses, it is our own thoughts and machinations about the outside, that haunt us the most.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Keep clean and safe.