What does it feel like to be a tool? To be not of your own mind and sense, of your own desires and ambitions, but as the extension of someone - or something - unself? This 'unself' could achieve greater things than it could accomplish by itself, and all it requires is your sacrifice, your willingness to be a tool in the unself's hand. Perhaps I should know by this point. Yet, judge not your tools preemptively, they may host more than you bargained for.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Tremble. Is it a word of deeper meaning? One can tremble in fear, though one can also tremble at the prospect of something... desired. By this alone we could say the word has many faucets. Yet, does it? Is it not fear the trembles invoke even when in the context of desire? A dread of anticipation, if it all will truly work out? Is tremble then tied, irrevocably, to fear? Perhaps. And perhaps, fear is broader than common perception paints it.

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Today we have a story about Applejack out on Sweet apple acres. With the help of a crowd of farmhooves, cider season is better than ever. A festival for the apples is held, where everypony "enjoys" themselves to the fullest~.

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It can take a moment for a body to register what is happening, a moment where the flesh lags behind the mind. Sometimes this moment is unnoticeable, and at other times it stretches on for weeks on end. And yet it is in the body where we can relate and make feelings tactile. Is this lag between mind and conscious a desired outcome? Or merely a quirk of our biology? Who would figure it out first?

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Is art, without observer? Is, any work, without a beneficiary? Is there creation, without a creator?

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What wonders awaits us, none. As simple as that, for nothing waits for those walking, all that is we have now, and nothing more can be created from nothing. Withing ourselves, it is what we think that becomes a reality, how we act and how we portray ourselves is what matters for the world. If you strive to be responsible, then you will forever strive.
You are what you are, and all that matters is what you are now. For what you are now, you will be for the rest of your life.

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This week we check back on Reign and Sinder, seeing how he will hold up for a party of ponies all packing their puckers with pudding... Perhaps there is some way to persuade him out of this predicament? Possibly.

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We have a bit of a month of pony going on, there will be pony uploads for almost the entire month~. And today we start up a new story, we are heading back to the Orchard, and you know it gets wild and filthy there. You have been warned~.

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We come to the conclusion of the Orchard ad chronicle today and it is time to get intimate. Story linked down below.

What awaits in the past will stay there forever, only your perception of it can change. And only the effects its ripples have on the future, is what you can better.

Happy Midsummer~.

How does the custodian with thumbs for fingers pick her nose? Having 4 extra maneuverable digits compared to her associates, their fine motoric is splendid and articulate. Through some practice they overshoot the limits of their coworkers and deliver results with accuracy and precision. Through this obscene altercation of biology, they grasp further. Though some tasks are made difficult.
The custodian with thumbs for fingers, have wide nostrils.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I sit on a beach, a bit mellow and sad,
when out from a burrow, scuttles a crab.
The shelled critter stares, across the sand it zooms,
it hasn't seen anyone, beset by this gloom.
It is there for a moment, then fades out of sight,
The shelled critter has no input, on my weary plight.
When out from my sorrow, bemused and, glad?
I sit on the beach, an monument to a crab.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Time goes by too quickly, and time speeds by to fast, while I sit back into my couch and pack on cushion ass.
Light now withdrawing, and nights growing... roaming, that could have been anything.
You just, have to keep out of its sight.
As long as you stay moving, you fade from its bright. So do not just stand there, with robe unveiled, while there is lot else worth exploring.

Happy nightmare night~.

Almost a year ago now, I took part in the Lustful Lent Pony Artpack, and today I'll start posting the story submitted for it. It has been a lot of fun, and I am eager to work with them more~.

At times, when walking down the road of life, I see some in trouble. I see those with legs in poor condition, their pace rickety as their osseotissue clockwork grinds ever onward. Some can be helped. Yet the road is wide. Densely populated. Perhaps I am just scared.

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There is so much to do, and yet I choose to do nothing. It pains me not to work, and yet I leave it be. Days are fallen leaves, and autumn's clutches firm. Auburn crumbles through my fingers, the dust of time's allure.
Yet staring down will only fill the mind with a carpet of tree's veil, but looking up gives me a chance, to catch one by the tail.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Whatever comes after is something I consider, after, there always seems to be an after. After this, after that, few things that are not n after are ever brought up, and when they are it is but a brief window. Everything leaves all thoughts for after, but in doing so, miss out on their afterthought.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I have heard the story of the ship of theseus: a vessel you gradually replace, bit by bit, until none of the original remain. Then if you took all the discarded parts and assembled those into a ship, which is the true ship?
I have also heard this likened to the the body of living creature; if each cell is gradually replaced along a person's life, what remains of them at the end is not a separate entity from what they began as. Or even what were were just a few months ago.

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Sometimes ideals as pleasant to hold. It can invoke a sense of drive, sculpt a destination out of uncertainty. A goal which becomes easy to tunnel into. And see nothing else. Until you neglect what lies around you. and sometimes. You just have the tunnel.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Those with planes reach the sky with ease, just to stare back down.

We have a new story being posted next week.
Happy Filthy Friday~.

It is surprising how much distance I create to others by focusing. Were I to absolve myself of my routine shackles, I would flow from person to person, a stream of interaction to fill the seconds of the day. Though without those shackles, I would be unable to get anything done. My focus breeds results, but severs ties.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Uploading the story sent in for the Pony Vore Anal Autumn Art Pack from last year~.

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