Sometimes I miss the old days, sometimes I forget there were any other days. The present belongs to those alive, and it always has, though few get to enjoy that gift. Few compared to the past ruled by legions upon legions of souls, innumerable, yet locked to their times. I stand with my back against an army of ghosts, and I smile.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

The act of consumption is a decadent strive for prolonging the same transient existence snuffed out from other beings.
But it is hella tasty if done right.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Thus we rise once more, stand to the sound of the becoking call of the unknown we cannot but fear and revear equally, the fuel which propells us into vast stretches of never before experienced moments. The roads trails ever forwards, and who are we to deny its lustre?

Happy new year everyone, and I wish you a Fantastic Filthy Friday~.

I move too slow for time. It will not listen, it will not yield
My feet drag behind me in the cleft of weaving moments. Time can not listen, Time cannot yield.
I shout my frustration, condemning each future or past moment with one of my present.
Time has no ears. Time has no blame.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Rainfall reaches far, stretching beyond one person, one understanding, one experience. It cannot be taken and contained, not shaped and crafted to give a whole of its event experienced through a single pair of eyes. Who is to say what pespective, time, or length a rainfall truly is? When it is all a collective of numerous opinions, of subjective experiences.

Have a Fantastic Filthy Friday, and a Wonderful Week~.

How deep does the worm burrow? Far enough to escape the light, far enough to escape the dry, far enough to be safe from the surface. Striaghtforwad, it seems. Yet why is the answer so clear, how do we know?
For the worm in the light shrivells, the word in torrid earth withers, the worm on the surface gets caught. Thus, they are no longer worms.
Thus we know, what the worm is.
Except, for those who dig far enough, those distant to our sight.

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Steps merge into one as we journey, one to the next, so that there is no longer any one, and the steps taken are long gone. There is just the next, for life does not slow down, and each action is in preparation to a future event.

Wishing you all a Fantastic Filthy Friday.

A rush of adrenaline gets a human being through a lot more than they would expect. Limitations broken, and new horizons located in those brief glimpses of time. To reach beyond the possible.
Of course, such acts carry a price, an overdose of the impossible sends shock waves through the material, and can leave ones strong bones brittle, and wills reduced to rubble. There is a price to reach the impossible, but how far we need to reach, lessens gradually.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~

Wash your hands for 30 seconds.

Sleep is dangerous. It is a threat to creativity and progress. We bow to it for our biology deems it so, and yet moments of grand inspiration and energy to work comes just during the small hours of the night where our body urges us to rest. Why this torment, why this torture? Why must we be besieged by the horrors of sleep?

Or. Mayhaps it is an illusion, of our own grandeur.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

Trade up. A progression of profit for oneself and the craft one partakes in, experience is gained for the craft, whilst nothing visible is given.
To trade up is an exchange of good, whereby the goods you offer provides you with a benefit, as what you gain has a higher worth attached to it. Yet, two objects are merely that, the benefit is the implied, unseen force weighing down the scale.

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How many years old am I, if we disregard hours slept?
Would you consider yourself alive in your sleep? You are only so many steps removed from the alternative. What constitutes as an active-life age? Perhaps it does not matter. We have all lived as many days as our age shows. Then again, days is a concept, a dream we share together. Our life, is what we do. Perhaps some who sleep less, have more experience, or would their opposites, be able to use their energy in more elegant manners.

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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~.

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~.

I have collaborated with some great artists to bring out another pony artpack.

Anal vore Autumn

It contains animations, over 30 illustrations, and a new story of mine that has a tie in comic by Dendollae.
Blazeblue, Augustbebel, Crazy Water, novaspark, Ladytechna and more are all involved.

Head to Derpibooru or Eka's portal for the announcement, since I cannot post links to it.

The artpack itself is on E-junkie.

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As night showers from on high, there is relief flooding through the the internal web of brawn and musculature. A sense of ending, a sense of rest, and a promise of passing. Each time it comes, whether rest be night or day, the constants are welcome. For the road on which we tred changes by each step, it gives us something to adhere to. Despite, even this promise, is not to last forever.

Happy Filthy Friday, and keep your eyes sharp~.

We have a new story today, and it is a naughty one. Beware of promiscuouse filth and lewdness.

About time I got a commission for a pony story again, has been a bit, but it was enjoyable to work on it and the process was quite smooth.

This means no poem or journey text this week.

Ahhhh, we can have one either way.

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Time draws close to all, a string of events as beads on a chain, the further we draw it the more beads correlate throughout our vision, we make beads every moment, but never to see the chain we've made, or where this chain will lead.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Fortune is in high demand, though they stopped making it years ago. With only so much to go around, the one reliable way of acquisition is to pilfer from others. Some who has fortune to spare, for others it is all they have. There is a balance, equilibrium can be achieved, though this would not benefit those who carries the largest fortune.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

As easy as it flies in our grasp, it flutters forth into the abyss. Who is to say they have any grip on this world? Every moment is fleeting, every action meant for not. Time mends suffering, the only way it can.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

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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