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

Read More

Wash your hands.

A branch knocked onto the explorer's head,
they thought nothing of it, and went on instead.
A branch knocked onto the explorer's chest,
they thought nothing of it, ill time for a rest.
A branch knocked onto the explorer's neck,
they thought nothing of it, and continued their trek.
they paid no attention to what latched onto their nape,
for while out exploring, every branch looks like a snake.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

Fester, thoughts believed banished, rising foam of doubt and terror sprawling through our mind. A call of falsehood only fuels them, the more we think of them, the more life they are granted. The past is only real because we recall it, our memory dictates what remains in our reality, and what falls by the wayside. Despite being selective, there can always be the hermit thoughts, those too deep to pluck, who foament doubt and sorrow, we believed to have banished. A hole in a puzzle, is as much

Read More

There is a new pony artpack, summer edition, which I can not link to here, but if you find my other Septia accounts then you can find a link to the artpack~. A lot of artists making some fun content for it.

Sometimes, it does not go the way I wanted it to.
It still goes.
And while I can, it is how I react to the changes that determine my path. The path has but one end, until then, it only forks.

Happy Clean 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~.

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~.

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~.

I don't like measuring my progress in years, because it starts to feel too short, a year is such a large span of time, we have a double digit of them in a life, and to think I spent so much of that without a clear purpose, is scary. Thankfully, it is easier to forget than to think.

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.

~ ~ ~

Read More

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~.

Stuff's on pause for a bit. Here's why.

I recently heard about an experimental treatment for depression: a series of low-dose ketamine infusions. So I immediately took off work and headed to the nearest clinic (about four hours away), and that's where I'll be all week.

Read More

So I found the original First Chapter of A Thief's Tale, and it is now in my Gdocs where I'll never lose it again. I actually found it in my Gdocs, but it was under a fucked up title or something, so I never paid attention to it.

Read More

Some of you may have noticed that A Thief's Tale has a sibling now under the name of A Thief's Tale: The Road To Penance, and apparently it's better than My Brother's Keeper. Reviews came in fast and the results were pretty clear: RTP > MBK, and I don't think that it's far fetched to say that MBK will be turned into a short story and folded into the Thief's Tale universe. I have a few ideas as to how I should end it and get the ends to connect, but I'm not sure about

Read More

So we hit three milestones here recently: We're halfway to a million words, the story now has twenty thousand total views, and it's within the top 150 longest stories on the site. I like all of these things. Share my hype.

Read More

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~.