Oh, lonely tower made of bone
days of endless sun shone
and made you unready for flights of rain
that made breaches of your walls that forever stain;
the cracks and the voids in a tool now useless
to show your life as one that was ruthless.

O' tower, your tyranny delights in the flights of fancy
your material expensive. exotic. chancy.
In glory divine, in destruction divide
is it really not clear why your enemies hide?

Is there naught in your reign you cannot justify?

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So I literally just finished watching the MLP triple-header ending (mostly on YouTube, after Brony Network got spammed and suffered buffering issues), and I figured I'd talk about how I'm feeling now that it's all over. Yeah, I know there's one more movie, an Equestria Girls special, and the comics will be doing a Season 10 in the next few months, but the show itself is over how we know it.

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Rumble was a bit of a pain in Marks and Recreation. If the Crusaders’ hadn’t made a safe place to be Cutie Mark-less, perhaps he might have been the subject of ridicule. Diamond Tiara might not be a bully anymore, but I doubt she’s the only one in Equestria.

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Well...

At around midnight, I finally sat down with my pony watching buddy. We had, each of our own accord and independent of one another, dressed fancy with some pony swag attached. We also each brought our favorite plushies to have and to hold (his, a Build a Bear Rarity, mine was a Critter Corral Sunset Shimmer). We watched it more or less in straight shot, occasionally pausing to laugh or crack jokes as was our habit.

... and it was good.

Real good.

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First all, let me say that work on Chapter 7 of A Tale of Two Suns is proceeding very well, despite my earlier.... setbacks. sigh.

I've gotten a lot of the background data I lost back in my file as well as the old story text, and as of right now I'm working on the last scene, and then I need to go over the rest of the scenes and polish them some more. I hope to have it out in the next few days.

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Hey readers, got a short post for you here today. It may not have escaped your notice in recent weeks (or maybe it did, and you’ve spent your time better than I) that the book industry, specifically traditional publishing, has been under fire.

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If a single ripple can disturb a pond, and a single event sculpts all forthcoming, then what is the magnitude of everything? All events,rippling the surface of the water, spreading through lakes and into the oceans, in all that chaos of disturbed peace, is one contribution truly meaningful?
Perhaps not.
Good thing we aren't ripples.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Should I listen to the voices today? Would I heed the call set out for me? Shall I strive ever onwards on what missions have been put a-front? What is, the purpose, really? For someone of my niche, to strive feels purposeless, for what is achieved can again soon be forgotten, locked away within a glass closet, whose doors lay cloaked in dust.
But should I not to strive, then what would call shall I heed?

Happy Filthy Friday~.

My perspective of time ran out.
It didn't tell me when it was going, perhaps it wanted to pick up some ice cream. A time sensitive dish, as they all are, though this one more than most readily available alternatives. Perhaps it needed to cool down? You usually do not rush out in a hurry, without saying where you are going, when you are calm and collected. I ponder if I should go out and find it. But, perhaps I'll just let it be.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

What dangers await in a world where we know nothing? how much do you prepare for the inevitable and unpredictable? What do you bring? Such questions are posed every moment, every second, every twitch of an eyelid.
The answer to most is: I bring myself, the only tool to have survive every previous venture.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Farewells are difficult. Often it is unexpected, the deed is done, the stone laid, text printed. You cannot help it at that point, the finality has overtaken. But in the unexpected, a farewell never comes, it is left liminal: it is never to occur, and it has already been done.
Is it harder to say farewell in the moment. When it is known. When it is expected, than to never be allowed to ever say it.

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I begin as I end, in the comfort of myself. Each cycle I live for the moment, content in leaving the chasing for others while I delight in the moments I have and keep having. I think little of the past, though I hold it in high regard; I strive to satisfy in the moments I live, yet every moment passes me by; I see everything around me just for what it is, and yet I am blind.

Who am I?

Happy Filthy Friday, and a pleasant new year to you all~.

Does this day, even exist?
Is a day that appears once every 4 years, still a day? What makes it less of a day? It has a morning, midday, evening; the run rises and sets; the world goes about its daily business. But the people, the people know this isn't a "real" day.
That brings them comfort.
Comfort in the chaos.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I still wish to see more, to know more, to understand, more. This more keeps me going, has my senses peaked, has my interest captured. And I barely understand what I already have, what is important to me is n disappears in a haze of striving towards new goals, towards new horizons, towards new... more.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

“I can state flatly that heavier than air flying machines are impossible.”

—Lord Kelvin, not long before the flight at Kitty Hawk.

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With tirades driving my mind on twisted creeks and darkness swathing in the periphery, I cannot help but wonder if I give enough thought to what matters. How much of my time is necessary, and where could it else be spent?
Though the odd argument here and there, does fuel the spirit.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Greetings, and welcome to Filthy Friday the Thirteenth~.

This will be the last filthy Friday for neary a year's time, so of course we-...

...

Tailor thy vest to suit thine needs,
Tailor thy vest so you cannot breathe.

Take a stance to face the world,
Take cover in shadows from all it hurled.

Tread with vigour towards thine goal,
Tread in silence, so no one beholds.

Thus you ensure that you see all,
Thus you ensure no one sees your fall.

...

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The times move with us, though we already knew that. It is in fact our perception of it which makes it tangible to us. Tangible, though not tactile. In that line of thought, time only exists when we care to let it. when we bother to give it a glance, or obsess over it with zealous vigor.
Then, taking a break to relax, holds a temporal duality:
It is the single largest waste of time.
And a moment where no time passes.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Memory lingers, memory is fleeting, through memory we perceive the world. Clouds condensed of thought, serving as the canoes for sailing the seas of perception. In this context, it is sound that we fear death; the loss of our ability to remember. And, perhaps more so, we fear being forgotten.
But then, how come we experience tranquility,
in those moments bereft of memory?
When life slows,
to a stand...
still.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Hope is a curious prospect. Hope is the last to leave us, and in that sense it never does. Without hope, there is no desire, there is no future to be ready for. And yet, in times of hopelessness, where all options have been exhausted, when no action makes a difference, when hope has truly left... That is when hope is at its strongest. To hope when there is none, shows dedication beyond measure.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.