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~.

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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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~.

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~.

Hidden at the edge of society, along the road to a field, follow the path beyond the premises, and cross the water on the ancient bridge. There, in a hidden house, packed under the worry of clothes, something lies waiting, something without a home.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

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~.

I can emulate a sense of home, but only to the eye of my mind. The most potent medium to craft and recollect the past, could craft the uttermost detailed and spectacular view of that nostalgia from my past. And yet it is also what will stop me from ever reaching the past, because it lets me know it isn't real.

Happy First Filthy Friday of the year~.

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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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.

Long we await, in times passing where not experienced. I would dread, turning back on my road, and getting a glimpse of my footprints, seeing how many of them were spent in the emptiness of unaction. Yet, it is with these moment we can create, express, and live. Without them, there would be no live. Without negative space, there is no road.

Wishing you all a Happy Filthy Friday~.

This a time for contemplation, where the winds of change peruse us on their brief passby, flying by the sidewalk of the road of life.
Hooves clatter to the ground, and in it we can find peace, lost in the noise of daily life as to not think of where we are going, merely that we are moving forwards, with the winds at our backs.

Have a fantastic Filthy Friday everyone and pone, and a wonderous weekend~.

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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We continue the tale of Twilight and the surprise party that never happened, how will we get through to her?

Time makes fools of us all, for in the end we are a product of the now, and the now never lasts. Those in the past may as well be on a different planet for all the connection we have to them, yet some we place on pedestals for what they have done. That will one day be us. Yet, the past also shapes our now, the most relevant factor to the present.

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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~.

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.

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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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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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~.