I have a lot of little things, it is how i keep myself occupied:
Wherever my eye lands there is a place of intrigue, of comfort, of stimulation,
and it gives me no hope to rest.
I have a lot of little things, It is how I keep my memory intact:
Each object imbued with energy, past experiences and emotions that remain through time,
and it lets my mind wander forever.
I have a lot of little things, it is how I judge my value:

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Prisms reflect the skies ahead, marking shards of possibility through the the darkness. The streak through the canvas of creation, falling towards the abyss. In its moment of fall, the dreams turn tangible, moments before impact, closest to the hands wishing to hold them close, the desire to believe. A transient visit from the ethereal, and even among those who try, few grasp these shards, and those that do might hold so hard it rends their hands.

Happy Filthy Friday~

Worry melts away with time, when we realise there is no one who knows the ins and outs of everything. The most comfortable plunge off of a cliff, is the one of accepting the world bigger than any person can fathom. Made comforting, by the fact, that you join everyone in the fall.

Happy Filthy Friday~

Wash your hands for 30 seconds.

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Reclined, relaxed, with the world floating by outside the window, the safety of dullness, of oblivious meandering through thoughtscapes and mirage. Lacking in excitement, though one is cursed to live in interesting time.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

...you miss the feature box by this much.

(If I cared about success, this might actually be tragic.)

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Yesterday, I posted an essay about Summer Sun Setback, the princesses, and the fact that the end of the show is neigh. There are, however, a few more thoughts on the episode that I wanted to share that don't quite fit into that box.

The theme of Summer Sun Setback was growth - moving on, and the story reinforces that theme in a lot of little ways in 22 minutes.

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Image Source
The title isn't a bitchy remark, by the way.

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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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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~.

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.

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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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~

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

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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~.

One mushroom, a foot in a cap lounging in place, defying expectation in shying away from sunlight, towards the crannies of comfortable darkness where other plants stray far from. Course, they are not flora. They feed elseway, they drain their nourishment, cleaning the underbelly of nature of the sickened, or create the cause of the sickness. So inconspicuous, so small, creatures of the dark need not impress with their volume, their size is as their preference: secluded in darkness.

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