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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What sort of summer will it be?
Did you ever pay attention to the first butterfly you saw when the first warm days came? Some say it is a preminition of the season.
From its colours you can scry the future, finding purpose.

Butterflies are not inherently magical (at least I believe so). However, it is a reminder of what we do in our world every day: finding purpose.

Have a lovely weekend, and a thoughtful Filthy Friday.

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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Long we await, in times passing where not experienced. I would dread, turning back on my road, and getting a glimpse of my footprints, seeing how many of them were spent in the emptiness of unaction. Yet, it is with these moment we can create, express, and live. Without them, there would be no live. Without negative space, there is no road.

Wishing you all a Happy Filthy Friday~.

This a time for contemplation, where the winds of change peruse us on their brief passby, flying by the sidewalk of the road of life.
Hooves clatter to the ground, and in it we can find peace, lost in the noise of daily life as to not think of where we are going, merely that we are moving forwards, with the winds at our backs.

Have a fantastic Filthy Friday everyone and pone, and a wonderous weekend~.

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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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~.

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~.

At times I remember how out of phase I am. It can come as a shock, though it rarely arrives. Once I have lived under a rock for enough time, I stop consider what lies beyond the rock, or see it as merely an extension of its solidity; Shadows on walls of granite.
Repressed, but known, there is always something casting the shadow.

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~.

Howdy everypony,
Today comes the follow up from last week's story, and a warning, it is pretty explicit and filthy~.

Where do we place the value of a life. Do we place it in the individual? Their own experiences and emotions, perhaps a selfish stance. Do we place it in others? Their effect on the lives they have touched? Perhaps on the world at large, the legacy they leave behind? But that would spell dread for all but a few, and even those time will erase.

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Perhaps I should not be trusted to my own desires? What would I do if given free reign? How much would I craft and consume, how much would be wasted by my hands? How much would I devour to sate my own desires? The desires planted within me, and grown through neglect and inaction?

Perhaps it was never my trust to give.

Happy Filthy Friday.

Whatever tribulations arrive, I am of the believe I can overcome them. Were I to cave to the pressure then all I could do would be mute. Trying can always lead to success. That does not entail being oblivious to danger or the struggles of a task, but to rather be mindful of them. IF you study what is difficult about a task, you can observe what is rendered easy.

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 the Trip to the Orchard today, time to record another advertisement fot the filthy brothel~. Who is up next? Well, you'll have to brave the studio yourself~.

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And here I thought that Pony month was over. Instead we have a fun filthy vore tale about Rarity inviting Applejack to a particular indulgence. Find a link to it down below.

I can taste the grease in the air. Once I walk out the door, the air becomes infected. All around me are machines and people performing nefarious actions, breathing in what purity is left in our oxygen and expelling billowing clouds of grease. The air is fat. It clogs my gullet to inhale. I am left struggling.

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When I close my eyes, I want to be gone from the world. Everything that was before me, just to be darkness. Just behind my eyelids, an expanse of complete blackness and solitude. However, that is a fantasy. When I close my eyes, the darkness takes shape. The impressions of chiaroscuro filling my perception. An afterimage of the world with light pouring through. As if reality is saying I better haven't forgotten it, and won't escape it or my problems so easily.

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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