Can we see our footprints when they are swallowed by our shadows? Does it matter, when the road ahead lay clad in mystery? To stop is to sink, contemplate not the step you are on, but the one you will take. Darkness or light, all pass. They affect our stride, as much as our last step did.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Quite strange, it feels as if a year had just passed by in an instance... So many voices calling out to be muted by aethereal filaments. Of untapped potential and personality. Wherefore hath this presence made itself manifest?
Will it ever return, or will we then have changed too much to recognize it?

Happy Filthy Leapyear Friday~

What is the road? We tread upon it during our journey - the quest of walking, waking, understanding - yet the road itself does not exist, merely a concept brought about underneath us through a collective will to have it there. We see because others see it. Because we need to walk? We need a destination. We have to put one foot after the other. How deep does it go? Will someone who does not believe in the wall have it cease existing for them, or does it run deeper? Is there a collective

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It is a curse to live during interesting times, despite the ravenous hunger one has for stories.
Interesting times, make for wondrous stories, though a miserable experience. As always, any good story requires conflict.

Happy Filthy Friday~. And Happy Twin Month~.

Slowly does one sink into tar,
it feels like standing still, least not going far.
It feels fine, not a change in their smirk,
Slowly they find themselves, waist deep in murk.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

As storm clouds loom ahead, I upon my bed, and knit a pouch or sorrows, to carry for tomorrow. I line the piping in dread, and thread the warp with fear, and once the pouch is woven, I wash it out with tears.
Come bright morrow I step outside, bag of mine in hand,
It is filled with bright thoughts and fantasies, I carry across the land.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Thoughts of snow. Of the pleasant chill that invades your veins, chains your nerves to the whims of winter and sends your spine rattling. It rouses a heat. The throes of your body engaged to keep you warm, to keep living. A visceral experience of your essence clinging to life... made tactile. You cannot just feel it, you are beset to feel it...
Few, though, desire to dance with their own mortality.
They are a rough partner.
Present, or not.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

This week we have a new story to share, one involving The Orchard, a pleasant bar where like minded pony folk can relax and indulge in some depravity. And sometimes, a mutt or two.

Struggles harden the mind, through the weight of hardship the body molds.
Stress toughens the body, through the pressure of failure the mind buffs.
Both follow a pattern, weaving through one another, to craft the felt of consciousness.

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We trap ourselves in a cycle, it goes commitment, that reaches deep into the night, and to then rest the brief amount of time I have, to wake up and realise there is more commitment. At which point, instinct delays it, and becomes pushed forward, down the day, into the afternoon. And then work begins again....

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Today marks the first story we publish to Fimfiction of 2020, the start of a new chronicle, with a familiar franchise peeking in behind the veil~.

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When I was young, there was a daily need that stewed within me. A desire to fill. Often this was met with food. Though, hunger could be sated, a physical hole to be filled and plugged. But this desire was different. Impressions, ideas, media, stories, items, exploration... If all desires were slaked, all holes filled, it dug new ones, always moving to the next, shifting, running, pouring into several at a time. Yet also it kept moving. Spare little time spent to dedicate oneself to a single

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5 steps away, I didn't give the time of day.
4 steps away, I had nothing to say.
3 steps away, I attempted to delay.
4 steps past... I hadn't expected it would move so fast.

Happy Clean Friday~.

There once, was a creature, from the wilds,
Its apperance, it used, to beguile,
but with claws like knives, and a breath so vile,
its reception, was cheritably, quite mild.
So it found new ways of entry,
Its apperance, quite elementary,
For isn't it so, a single thought is quite strong,
and can dig deep into your memory.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

A few people added some of my older stories to their libraries and reading lists this past week, and I was just sitting here looking at them. If you click through, you can see "Of Clouds" with the most reads and upvotes. People genuinely liked my story (which shocked the heck out of me because it was my very first attempt at fanfiction). As you look at the later sequels, though, you notice the number of views drop, along with the number of likes and comments. I'm not complaining, though, just

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Oh to fly as the paper in the wind, carried to your destination, though said location remains unknown. A paper seldom considers its situation, but would it ever wonder where it is going? That this method of progression is not of its own accord, but drawn by outside forces? Will it wish to have the freedom in forsook in this path? At the whims of the unknown, lacking any agency to propose.

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How we look ahead affects our actions in the now. What do you see? Do you see a straight path? Do you see twists? Is your gaze aimed skywards, or dug beneath the roots of trees?
Could one see what is ahead, as no mere path at all, but a bend, a curve we close towards, or long since past the reaches of its clutches.
Do we turn away, or move to embrace it?

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Whatever dreams can we form in the wake of daylight? The moments before we can absorb sunlight and merely wallow in the dusk of our rest? In that moment, when reality seems as nothing more than part of our dream, it is then we remember our escapdes of the night the strongest. And yet, they are dismissed. Our minds realising there is nothing of value to be found there. And thus, one wonders, what truly separates dusk from dawn?

Happy Filthy Friday~.

With one side in darkness, and struggles in tow,
each vary step, is a challenge to swallow.
To give up ones baggage, and stride without weight,
leaves open your body, for the darkness to sate.
Giving in to the shade, as some see them do,
makes the baggage fade, but so do they too.
In the end we must balance, perception and mind,
keeping sights honed ahead, and vary of our hind.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

I dug three feet into the ground,
three feet and nothing more.
Had I went all four foot down,
There'd be gold and treasure galore.
And while some think, that fact is sad,
truth do be told,
three feet was all I had.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

Our minds like to work in extremes, it is easier to handle and sort that way. but our mind is also crafted by our own perspectives. Thus if we think of situations ad black and white, we might find another conundrum whose black option is much deeper than anything we had imagined, and whose white is blinding.
are then the previous options still black and white? Thought exists between those extremes, for the road of life is as black as the night sky.

Happy Filthy Friday~.