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~.

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~.

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~.

Fun little Pinkie Story to come today~.
Be on the lookout in your gardens.

When the darkest nights are coming, when the sun breathes a sigh of relief,
how the spirits are ever longing, though their visit might be brief.
Masks are brought and placed upon, ripped from many mannequin,
they take the streets to roam thereon, the mask unveiling what's therein.
all year they play a masquerade, until late in fall they're free,

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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~.

When we let our mind wander, is it taking its own journey?
Considering how it steers us down the path of the conscious, is it then free when we allow it to saunter as it pleases? Or is the lack of connection and influence eon the rest of our body in fact depriving our mind of its impact in our lives? Is it locked in a cage of its own design?
If so, it is quite a relaxing experience, to be caged in yourself.

Happy Clean Friday~.

Whether it comes by bird, post, smoke, sound, or light, all communication is tainted by people. Both directions, in every exchange, recipient and orator engaging in a melding of perspectives, a filter unique to not only each individual, but each exchange. Time and effort is required to clarify ideas between the parties. That is to say, if each party does not intend to influence the other...

Happy Filthy Friday~.

There are too many ethereal wasps drilling through my head to process what you just said? Could you take it from the top? You said something about a warning not adhered to? I am uncertain what the bull squid would have to say about that.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

We have a new story today, one of Princess Celestia Indulging in a Taboo feast, and later paying the price.

Choice is a powerful concept, it implies a certainty of power, in what lies behind the right choice. If I am offered choice, and I choose to do nothing, it is powerful. It lets me have a kind of peace, it puts me in a spot where I have something I can do, I am wanted, and I choose to do nothing. Resting, while you are wanted, it a delicacy.

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To split a worm I have done it a disservice. Though some consider it a boon. A worm should function still, with all its necessities nested along the body. So, who is to say that cleaving it caused the worm any misfortune?
Shared joy is joy doubled. Shared sorrow is sorrow halved.
Yet the worm, is no more.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

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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The chase makes the prize all the sweeter, but perhaps even the chase itself is what some people seek, the thrill and joy of locomotion and action. This locomotion, is all that keeps the path going, in the end. Some chose to embrace it.
Some Choo choo choose it.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

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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Results are often the boring part of an endeavor: they signify an end. The culmination of work, time, effort, and planning. Yet, once you arrive at the results it is over. What do you do next? Listen to the world provide you feedback? What for? So you can begin your next journey towards a result.
Another Journey.
Another Wait.
Another one.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

We bounce, between the real and the unreal, between the worlds nourished by unconcsious and those fed the impressions we decypher from the world at large. Clockworks threading towards their chime, is never heard. Every other tick, is mystery, every other tock, is waking. A blend of the natural and unreal. Yet, to a clock, all seconds chime the same.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

We rise, we fall, a curve in every step.
We rise, once more, each fall another prep.
We fall, so often, and yet each day we move.
We fall, we rise, to persevere through doom.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

When one is bent,
to feel content,
you might resent,
to pay your rent.

"What good's it for?",
"They need no more".
Then they appear,
at your front door.

Happy Filthy Friday~.