Dark, is the road, stretching beyond our vision. Few see its end, some are wise to it, yet once you have reached that point, your journey is set to change. Wherever we saunter, endings come. Even our time on the road. Thoughts to be considered, but not consumed by.

Today's post brought to you by the absent of the mark after K, because sometimes keyboards break.

Have a Great Fithy Friday~.

Wash your hands~.

To seek gemstones one does not uncover glimmer and scintillant forms. There lay not grandeur nestled beneath your feet, waiting for a palm to reach it. A gem is as its element, dirt. Rocks and filth crust it, dulled to a point where treasure hunters would pass it by. But one who truly seeks gemstones is patient, meticulous, and pours in the effort to polish rocks into things of beauty.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Days pass as footsteps, the prints on the road below us, those we never get to see, which we never experience fully. Each step precedes another, always a focus on the new, yet all we see of the days are the diffuse outlines we entertain within our recollection. Even if we were to turn, the past of the road is shrouded, cast in dusk of neglect. Yet, many spends their days marveling at this very abyss, while others could care less, for the road is unending, and there are always more steps to be

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What is dance? A celebration of life and togetherness? A gesture to the elements? A distraction? It functions this way, as many tasks do. The practitioner is engulfed in the act, disappearing into their focus. At the same time, they rob the focus from the watcher, interlocking them in a chain of distractive influence, allowing the world around them to fade away. To dance then, is meaningless.
However, the first interpretation was right on the money.

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Today comes the first of a 2 parter, a treacherously lewd and filthy combat contest between griffons. You could say it is a cockfight. With slightly higher stakes, and more actual cocks.

Why. Because?

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Today we have a warm, comfortable tale brewing, one only coming round every once in a while. To cherish and care and for.

What is lost won't leave our side. Transient encounters leave n impact, and what we attribute a short length in reality has sown its root within our minds and beings long before. Some see clouds of greed, othes see a flurry of opportunity.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I wish to remain inside. Inside, this place I have crafted, this state of emotions which I have kept in balance, where I can languish in peace. Though, were I to screen reality out, it would soon come knocking. So I pretend, I appease, and I worry, if reality will remain outside.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Dreary days pass and in their wake leave footprints. Dreary shoes dig down in mud and sculpt their image on the road. Tired legs struggle through their aching muscles, moving forward once and again. For the path their footprints lay, turns solid ground for the next wanderer.

Happy Black Friday~.

Today we have a new story about a changeling, left to their own devices in the aftermath of the canterlot struggle, and the lewd ways he recovers and satisfies their hunger.

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One can strive without strife.
There will be pressure, there will be resistance, though without it, there is stagnation.
Would I wade through the waterfall, were there no current?
Would I rest in a dry valley?
There will come a time, there will require action, though in constant use, it wears thin.
One can strive without strife.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Memory. We talk of our memory, of events in the past, so often with grand words of certainty. I know this happened, that is how it happened, you did this. And yet, our memory is the ghosts of shadows coloured by our own perspectives, beliefs, and moods. Memory and the past, both are representations fabricated within our minds. Fleeting.
If memory is fickle, then what is Knowledge or Wisdom?
Knowledge is the information we known in the know.

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We continue this week with another chapter in the "Of the year" series. Within, we see how the festivities culminates, and if all is going according to plan.

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Sweet memories. What I base my knowledge on, what I base everything on. Everything that colours and warps my perspective, found somewhere in a secluded or pronounced cloud of colours, locations and faces. Without those, there is nothing. There is no path to walk, if I lack the context for walking. But looking back, were I able to see it all, I could surmise where I am going.
In a sense, my past is the map to my future.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

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~.

Above me rests the sky, and ahead stands a glacier. Am impregnable wall of nature's marble, sailing along at a minuscule pace towards the inevitable. I give it no thought, and stare above once more. Each breath it moves closer, each beat of my heart chokes on worry, and yet my eyes avert towards the serene and beautiful. It will take ages for it to arrive, I tell myself, despite the ice in my lungs. I can mange anything, I claim, with knuckles frozen to ice cubes. And should, against all better

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It takes a long while to process a moment thoroughly, we pass through so many that there is little we can absorb. But when I pause, and consider, every moment is worth so much discussion, so much depiction, so much attention. And yet we leave most of them be.
Terrifying to think, of all those unappreciated out there.

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~.