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~.

Twas so long ago now, since I knew true peace, the kind which frees one from all obligations. I recall those moments fondly, yet know they cannot come again. Obligations, are healthy. The ones I set for myself aids me through each and every day, despite them perhaps, greedily devouring my time. If they were not spent on my obligations, I would have wasted them elsewhere.
The greatest part of the obligations.

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Morbid curiosity has gotten me further than I would like to admit, times I prod past the veil of taboo and work my way into someone's deb. There is only so much to a person's physical form, and the grander your understanding of it, the closer you get to the spirit. For if you can understand its control scheme, the way it has to puppeteer this meat suit, the more your grasp its limits the further defined the negative space of the ethereal creature becomes.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

As days blends into months, our perception picks up speed, as years go by each day becomes an ever diminishing part of our lives. What was once a week feels as but a day, and hours shave as minutes once did.
And yet, some days lasts, if we make it so.

Happy Filthy Friday, and a Happy Vore Day~.

Sometimes I just want to bake bread. What kind? One I can knead, one which I can force all the thoughts and distresses of the day to day into, one that not only is capable of taking the force, but will grow from it, will mature and develop until it is presentable. I strive to do the same.
One day I will develop gluten.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

When it was still relevant, I had commented on multiple occasions D G D Davidson's depiction of G1 in his story, A Mighty Demon Slayer Grooms Some Ponies, was dull and insulting. Along with having slogged through the story itself, I had read many of his blogs about his thought process in creating it. One such blog probably explains the linchpin behind why he made Dream Valley such a depressing place.

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Results are often the boring part of an endeavor: they signify an end. The culmination of work, time, effort, and planning. Yet, once you arrive at the results it is over. What do you do next? Listen to the world provide you feedback? What for? So you can begin your next journey towards a result.
Another Journey.
Another Wait.
Another one.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

We bounce, between the real and the unreal, between the worlds nourished by unconcsious and those fed the impressions we decypher from the world at large. Clockworks threading towards their chime, is never heard. Every other tick, is mystery, every other tock, is waking. A blend of the natural and unreal. Yet, to a clock, all seconds chime the same.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

>> Greetings, readers. There will come a time, soon, very soon in fact, where a new story will be provided for your insatiable minds.

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Tens of times have we met on the road,
each time we averted our gaze,
who has eyes for those going backwards?

Wish you a Happy Filthy Friday.

Life is not a road. It is not a linear path to travel down, despite an uncountable myriad possibilities lay nestled between each edge of the path. We do not walk the road, we have been to every part of it, and yet experiencing it for the first time. We craft our own understating of reality through the lens of our ones perspective, a perspective molded by ourselves, and tinted by communion, relations, experiencing, the collective minds blotting out enough of the world that the negative space

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There are few's judgement which affects me more than my own. In the moment, that feels odd to claim. To some extent, the judgement imposed on me from others shapes the person that I am, to whatever extent I deem to listen to it. Though, that is just it, isn't it? In the end I am arbiter of my own judgement, of what I take to heart. What sticks. In addition, it is responsible for how I weigh my own shortcomings, and how long they remain, and remind. I have the greatest effect on myself, for in

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How much excitement is your time worth? If an experience brought you less excitement than it has done in the past, is it worth less to you? What if you did it with someone else? How much is their excitement, worth in terms of your time? Had you spent your resources elsewhere, and gained further satisfaction and excitement alone, was your time better spent? Each other person, surely does the same, so should each care only for their own investments?

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Long nights and cool stars, the sounds of road frogs croaking, time passes us by and through it we venture. Some steps you have cherish, the ones you enjoyed the most, for their mark on you is fleeting, and on the road even more so.
It is the memory that entertains the goodwill of those steps, even if by time the memories erode and reshape. It does not matter if the step you remember were in reality as great as you conceived, all that matters is what it means to you.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

What trouble us can easily stack up, and when you have your gaze aimed forwards, you miss the luggage which weigh you down. However, many of us know it is there, we simply tell ourselves that we can handle it.
For some weights this is true, but if we use the excuse enough, soon we pick up and carry everything, unable to leave any worries behind us.
Acknowledge your weights, and they can be lifted.

Wish you all a Fun Filthy Friday~.

While threading the road of life, whether in the warm or cold grey light, we will pick up luggage; ballast we carry with us, that weigh us down.
As time goes on, it grows. Guilt, anxiety, and other ailments. Carried for too long, and their scent will grow rotten. But by that point we do not notice its smell, we are used to it.
It is only when we acknowledge that we carry this luggage, that we can discard it. While the scent will linger, the journey will be lighter.

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There is a pleasure to action, a thrill and eager to achieve, doubt and uncertainty in the moment, followed by a grand elation upon its success.
Yet, I find myself treasuring, inaction. There is a luxury to allow yourself respite. Perhaps savouring an anticipation, for something waiting ahead. In those moments, where I have done nothing, and not required to do anything, have I been happy?
Or, do I cherish nothing, all the more, when there is something else, that should be done?

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What if I existed in place of one of my fore mothers? How would the sensations I feel today, translate to that of a creature in the dawn of life? Minds, senses, and out interpretation of ourselves in the whole of the world has changed dramatically again and again. What of me, as I am now, would exist back then? Perhaps, only the basics. Perhaps, some aspects only coincide tangentially to what I might have experienced. Perhaps, nothing.

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Greetings small ponies! It is I, Ziltoid the Omniscient and writer of War Against the Sun, broadcasting telepathically into your minds once again about an update as to my readings from the mile-long list of books. This time, it was Clausewitz's On War, a very solid book, if but very long and very dense in its language. Apologies for the radio silence, I've been very busy and also trying to read this 200-year-old book. I recently got a job at a local factory and will continue to work there for

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I saw them far away, they did not consider me at first. I had seen such many times, and they became but a fleeting image passing the balcony of my senses.
Yet, something curious happened: they saw me.
I wasn't prepared for this, why would I be? I had seen them days on end, and we had both carried on. I still would, if not for the gaze that met me. They made me stop, they made me think, to consider them. As I imagined, they considered me.

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