Long days, extensive nights, our experiences are warped by our minds, by the way we have experienced. The matters which mean little or a lot, or nothing it all, it still holds impact. Every step leads you close, uneven, pristine, or forgettable.

Happy Filthy Friday, and may you step into the new year in a stride to be remembered~.

Stars are wondrous things, but you know all about them already. Will there ever be a time where you know more than you can learn? How many lifetimes would you have to experience? How many roads would you traverse, before you learned all you desired of life?
Funny thing, desire, we believe it is a sensation that will be satisfied once we acquire the object of our want. However, desire is ever present, it only changes what it projects upon.

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Perhaps what awaits us is pleasant? A notion often dismissed by those who have thought deep on the topic. It grows all the more pleasant, the less we know about it. Often, we can see things up, but we only notice the bottom, when it is clearly labeled. How much do we have provide?

Happy Filthy Friday of Matte Month~.

Thus the time of change comes, the world alters around us. Each step, each decision, we mould it. And it turn, it moulds our vessel. But, that is only what the world interacts with, our masks. There is something deeper, the roots that fuel the high crowns of verdant splendor, something our decisions merely scratch the surface to.
Yet, in time, even that can wear.

Happy Filthy Friday the 13th~.

Once when I was younger, I looked upon the cities and streets. Eyes growing wide as I turned to my guardian: "But, to think of all this street, that takes so long to build."
"Yes." They responded.
"And look at all these buildings. It takes so much work, from so many people, just to raise a single building, and we have so many of them."
"Yes." They responded.
"Is it not... bewildering, to imagine how much work this all must have taken?"
"Yes." They responded.

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Today we continue the Throne Chronicles. With so many seats met before, how will this one hold for the changeling ambassador? Will they rise above, or be flushed down the drain.
Check out the story below.

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Sometimes I wish it wasn't time again. And the fact I do tells me a lot about myself, there is still a lot to learn, a lot to accept, a lot to make peace with. If I ever wake up, and wish I had but one more day, then eventually there will be no days left. So one day, I will wake up, and feel... content? Perhaps. Or perhaps when all preparations are fulfilled, there will just be emptiness.

Happy Birthday to me~.

I would like to be a worm. A carefree existence, where I eat as much dirt as my stomach can hold, and unload it all the same.
Where I remain hidden from view under a cool, safe rock.
Where if I were split in twain, I would have a new friend to nurture together.

The more I think of it, the more my life resembles that of a worm already.
We even bleed the same.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Where do I go when my path weighs even across both sides? I always think I can observe it closer, deeper and deeper, on the scale of worth and value, there should be a dent that puts one side over the edge. And if not, I scrutinize closer. And if it is still even, I go deeper. The more I observe, the more my surroundings alter and adapt to the lens of my vision.
however, if the scale remains even through the most minute of observations, then I will tip it myself.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Distractions are what makes up life. Down to its core. Joy, pleasure, sadness, grief. Whatever it is, it is something to do. And the times where we have nothing to do, is the time where we get closest to that fateful, dreadful moment. That which followed us from the beginning. What we are distracting ourselves from.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Can we see our footprints when they are swallowed by our shadows? Does it matter, when the road ahead lay clad in mystery? To stop is to sink, contemplate not the step you are on, but the one you will take. Darkness or light, all pass. They affect our stride, as much as our last step did.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Today marks the first story we publish to Fimfiction of 2020, the start of a new chronicle, with a familiar franchise peeking in behind the veil~.

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When I was young, there was a daily need that stewed within me. A desire to fill. Often this was met with food. Though, hunger could be sated, a physical hole to be filled and plugged. But this desire was different. Impressions, ideas, media, stories, items, exploration... If all desires were slaked, all holes filled, it dug new ones, always moving to the next, shifting, running, pouring into several at a time. Yet also it kept moving. Spare little time spent to dedicate oneself to a single

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What is the road? We tread upon it during our journey - the quest of walking, waking, understanding - yet the road itself does not exist, merely a concept brought about underneath us through a collective will to have it there. We see because others see it. Because we need to walk? We need a destination. We have to put one foot after the other. How deep does it go? Will someone who does not believe in the wall have it cease existing for them, or does it run deeper? Is there a collective

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As storm clouds loom ahead, I upon my bed, and knit a pouch or sorrows, to carry for tomorrow. I line the piping in dread, and thread the warp with fear, and once the pouch is woven, I wash it out with tears.
Come bright morrow I step outside, bag of mine in hand,
It is filled with bright thoughts and fantasies, I carry across the land.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Thoughts of snow. Of the pleasant chill that invades your veins, chains your nerves to the whims of winter and sends your spine rattling. It rouses a heat. The throes of your body engaged to keep you warm, to keep living. A visceral experience of your essence clinging to life... made tactile. You cannot just feel it, you are beset to feel it...
Few, though, desire to dance with their own mortality.
They are a rough partner.
Present, or not.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

This week we have a new story to share, one involving The Orchard, a pleasant bar where like minded pony folk can relax and indulge in some depravity. And sometimes, a mutt or two.

Struggles harden the mind, through the weight of hardship the body molds.
Stress toughens the body, through the pressure of failure the mind buffs.
Both follow a pattern, weaving through one another, to craft the felt of consciousness.

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I took part of a nightmare night artpack for the spooky season, check it out~.

Perhaps it is for the best to linger in the chiaroscuro, the twilight of what is visible and not, what is real and imaginary. To not be seen, but to be able to see what you wanted as real, enough. Perhaps saying so is giving up, to not fall into complete safety, to not stride into the light. But in light or darkness, one is blind. Vision is bred from shadows.

Happy nightmare night~.

Shadows grow, reaching past their limits, stretching towards the horizon. They all harken back to the vanishing point, a destination as distant as it is fictive, yet we rely on it every moment of observing the world. Every step, towards an abyss without end, beginning, nor reality.
Perhaps it is so, because for there to be existence, we require contrast to make it out.
Else, we would stare at but a blank canvas, lacking the marvel chiaroscuro grants us.

Happy nightmare night~.