It does not matter, if you do not have energy. Two separate forces dictating our reality. What is matter, what is somatic, has ties to the energy that fuels it, though they depend on one another, their visits are not more than transient. Our bodies do not make energy. We invite it. Or we dismiss it. Sometimes, there is no choice to be made.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

Long nights, starry skies, finding amazement in but a minute detail of the complexity that makes up our lives. Even the most common building blocks of our worlds house great mysteries. Every grain on the highway of live has its story, a mimicry of those that thread it. Highways, towards the infinite, towards the origin of light, we realize even illumination is a mystery. Our knowledge still outside the reach of its nature, what it is, why it behaves as it does.

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I await you in the evening, I see you in when it's dark.
You know of me, master me, yet you remain my slave.
I am by your side longer than any, yet my visage remains veiled.
And in the twilight of consciousness you ponder, the brief moment I am known.
Each of those moments, I scrub from your mind.
And await you again, in the dread of night.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

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~.

Is it not odd that rot can smell sweet? After years of deteriorating and building rust, a saccharine nature blossoms? Is it a sign to consider what rot represents, what it means to sink into the ground? Or perhaps to make one reconsider what sweetness truly is?
Leave a spoon in sugar, give it time, and it will tarnish into a tattered shadow of metal.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Separated by a thread,
over the abyss.
Latched together one more time,
every day a miss,

Tensions mounting,
All are shouting,
Silenced by a kiss.

Happy Filthy Friday, and a Happy new year~.

My perspective of time ran out.
It didn't tell me when it was going, perhaps it wanted to pick up some ice cream. A time sensitive dish, as they all are, though this one more than most readily available alternatives. Perhaps it needed to cool down? You usually do not rush out in a hurry, without saying where you are going, when you are calm and collected. I ponder if I should go out and find it. But, perhaps I'll just let it be.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

What dangers await in a world where we know nothing? how much do you prepare for the inevitable and unpredictable? What do you bring? Such questions are posed every moment, every second, every twitch of an eyelid.
The answer to most is: I bring myself, the only tool to have survive every previous venture.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Sometimes I linger too long. Standing on the precipice of opportunity I waiver, apprehension swallows my mind. And in that darkness I forget that there was ever any ledge. So I keep going; back away from the precipice or over the cliff. The result is usually the same: the choice is made for me, be it in peril of amnesia.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

We conclude the small party surprise today, the usual warnings apply, but always feel free to read if you dare~.

And so the morrow passes, and so the dawn is gone, before I got to say hello it left me all alone.
I speak with it to twilight, I speak with it to dusk, I always get so sleepy, passed out in evening's musk.
And so I try to speak again, with morning as it dawn,
but when it shows and when I am there, all I can do is yawn.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Farewells are difficult. Often it is unexpected, the deed is done, the stone laid, text printed. You cannot help it at that point, the finality has overtaken. But in the unexpected, a farewell never comes, it is left liminal: it is never to occur, and it has already been done.
Is it harder to say farewell in the moment. When it is known. When it is expected, than to never be allowed to ever say it.

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I begin as I end, in the comfort of myself. Each cycle I live for the moment, content in leaving the chasing for others while I delight in the moments I have and keep having. I think little of the past, though I hold it in high regard; I strive to satisfy in the moments I live, yet every moment passes me by; I see everything around me just for what it is, and yet I am blind.

Who am I?

Happy Filthy Friday, and a pleasant new year to you all~.

Does this day, even exist?
Is a day that appears once every 4 years, still a day? What makes it less of a day? It has a morning, midday, evening; the run rises and sets; the world goes about its daily business. But the people, the people know this isn't a "real" day.
That brings them comfort.
Comfort in the chaos.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I still wish to see more, to know more, to understand, more. This more keeps me going, has my senses peaked, has my interest captured. And I barely understand what I already have, what is important to me is n disappears in a haze of striving towards new goals, towards new horizons, towards new... more.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

With tirades driving my mind on twisted creeks and darkness swathing in the periphery, I cannot help but wonder if I give enough thought to what matters. How much of my time is necessary, and where could it else be spent?
Though the odd argument here and there, does fuel the spirit.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Today we have a new story, a follow up on a tale posted just about a year ago, the ever month late Lazy August makes their return in september. However, what is going with her lately? Has she got butterflies in her stomach for somepony?
Or somepony in her stomach for... butter, purposes.

Suppose You will have to find out~.

Once there was a bird ruminating,
they sat on an egg and just waiting,
For motion they heard,
then thought the bird,
Whoever's inside is just baiting...

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Greetings, and welcome to Filthy Friday the Thirteenth~.

This will be the last filthy Friday for neary a year's time, so of course we-...

...

Tailor thy vest to suit thine needs,
Tailor thy vest so you cannot breathe.

Take a stance to face the world,
Take cover in shadows from all it hurled.

Tread with vigour towards thine goal,
Tread in silence, so no one beholds.

Thus you ensure that you see all,
Thus you ensure no one sees your fall.

...

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The times move with us, though we already knew that. It is in fact our perception of it which makes it tangible to us. Tangible, though not tactile. In that line of thought, time only exists when we care to let it. when we bother to give it a glance, or obsess over it with zealous vigor.
Then, taking a break to relax, holds a temporal duality:
It is the single largest waste of time.
And a moment where no time passes.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Memory lingers, memory is fleeting, through memory we perceive the world. Clouds condensed of thought, serving as the canoes for sailing the seas of perception. In this context, it is sound that we fear death; the loss of our ability to remember. And, perhaps more so, we fear being forgotten.
But then, how come we experience tranquility,
in those moments bereft of memory?
When life slows,
to a stand...
still.

Happy Filthy Friday~.