I rest in the shadow of a young, sprig tree. Its branches reach just past the tip of my boot. The air here is crisp, freshly brewed and vented, by the same aamaritan providing cloak from the sun. Yet all around it stand grander trees, with grander branches, soaking up sun, sighing cool air. My tree is dwarfed, in the company of the ageless, those who savour the same world, drink the same atmosphere, and yet are a distance away, greater than any journey. I may never know the experiences of a

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Can progress stand as a function of effort and fuel? There are more variables, certainly. Though despite how much effort you might have, without fuel there is nothing. Then again, if there is an abundance of fuel, far above that of the effort, then we run into diminishing returns. One can only expend so much, and one can only consume so much.
So then it is again a balance, a tug of how much one can achieve, and the resources needed to accomplish one's goals.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Days pass, the campfire is lit. Sparks fly and stories are told, knowledge shared and wisdom grows. Age and knowledge cultivates into the cornerstone of civilization. Despite the stories being told, for the most parts, were those unconcerned with worldly events. All were important, both in their own way and their contribution, yet at the moment it was a way of spreading joy between neighbors.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Time goes by, hands turn wrinkled with experience. What do we see in those wrinkles? Seldom clean, as they forge they open the gates for dust, dirt, and grime to nestle their way inside and clog every crack. It goes too far to wash out completely, yet without the dirt, the wrinkles themselves would be made harder to distinguish. Through hardship, our experiences are defined.

Happy FIlthy Friday~.

There are some people with which there is no compromise. Your reason or logic incompatible with theirs. Where every word lies upon a golsilver scale, and as soon as it begins to tip against them, they accuse you. At times, I have to remind myself, of how much I a relationshi weighs on me, and if I should leave the scale unattended, to gather dust.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Pony month was casual fun. There will still be pony content, especially when it is commissioned.
I have gone back to look through several stories, and each time I see someone sharing their joy about my stories, I feel that much happier to continue writing.

~ ~ ~

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When do trees become a forest? Can we put it to a number? Perhaps it i when they stop being individuals and start to become a pattern. Patterns we intersexual, we interpret, we match and decipher, though we just as easily look past it. When the chaos grows too strong, we ignore it.
Until such a time, we find ourselves lost in a forest, unable to recall the trees we passed on the way in.

Happy clean Filthy Friday~.

Wash your hands for 30 seconds.

To seek closure, to complete what has been started and connect the pieces of a puzzle, a goal which to many are inherent. There is a joy to discovery, heightened by said discovery's need. To hunt is to discover and conquer sources of sustenance, a necessity. Once closure has been found in a hunt, we are left with the spoils. A hunt gratifies mind and body, the spoils sates ones needs. But a puzzle, has less to offer.

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Sometimes days take too long to process. And I start going over it in my head again and again, until it is long into the next day, and there is even more to digest. Eventually there is so much I power down, and reset to a blank slate to catch up with myself. But then it happens again.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

They say the spirits whisper,
on cold days by the fountain,
about a lonesome spirit wisher,
their existence debated, uncertain.

She once held claims of her own,
and many did she berate,
but now in the dump she's thrown,
those who believe it, do relate.

But the whispers aren't lasting,
their memories... are passing.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Once devoted, now deceased. And yet devotion outlives the devoted, as it does the cause. There is safety in the sensation, the belief of purpose and belonging, stronger than that of words or motivation.
It forges and tempers effort, though has long since lost the control over its subjects.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

When time slows to a crawl,
where to can you go at all?
If every moments last a life,
when is there time for fun and vice?
Whence hours die and seconds come to rest,
You will discover your patience put to the test.

Happy Vore Day~.

Relief is said to come when you alleviate your ties, the tension eases and your mind unwinds. Perhaps that is so, but were I to listen, I would relinquish all that my mind is tied to. If I untie one know, who is to say it won't undo them all? And if not, who's the say the next knot won't? Or the next? Or the next?

Perhaps I have already sunken too deep. Perhaps I have made it unattainable to myself, perhaps it doesn't matter.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Closure is, perhaps, only a word.
One which is brought up and spoken to highly,
for the merits it provide is lauded as the sole justice.
But in the end, closure brings little joy.
It is a word, that has to exist.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Ooo, I want to brew the stock of life, a bullion so fair,
for despite being full of strife, inside the bones of mares
you find marrow, and juices, and tasty treats galore,
if you let it simmer these fuses, have your patrons knocked to the floor~.
Ooo, I want to brew the stock of life, this task's myself I have wrought,
for even a single speck of trite... would spoil the whole broth.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Passion demands sacrifice. Sacrifice which makes itself known in time, investments, or devotion. They are core to passion, for passion is not static, passion exists in the moment it is paid tribute to.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

Floating in silence. There is no embrace to catch you, nor bottom to reach. Falling was lost on you long ago, the sense integrating to your thoughts, your sensations, to your routine. Perpetual. That is how your mind sees it. That is how you make your mind see it. The thing with falls. Is that there is always a bottom.

Happy Filthy Black Friday~.

Thoughts malign affect those close,
expression wry and worries rose.
Infectious is the thought of ill,
inviting by mystery and promise of thrill.
Soon one thought has turned for the worst,
and the subject in question, afflicted and cursed.

Wishing you all a Happy Filthy Friday~.

I took part in a Pony Vore art-pack, if you an find my other profiles, you can find it. Happy new year.

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Sometimes, the magnitude of life becomes apparent. If I look to the horizon, everything eventually shrinks, further and further away from me, its relevance diminishes. And yet, the path to that horizon is long, far beyond my sight. All things that my mind glosses over, laid out before me.
Until, I turn around. And face another horizon.

How much, am I not seeing?

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.