• Published 26th Jul 2015
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The Things Tavi Says - shortskirtsandexplosions



Let me tell you a few things about my roommate, Octavia. After all, she saved my life.

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Undertaking Things

Author's Note:

I do my best thinking when I go for a trot.

Too bad I've chosen to do so tonight with the weight of all my yesterdays hammering into my ears.

How curious a thing, the pony mind... the equine heart...

That something so beautiful and gentle could be so harrowing... ...

And, yes, Cyan Sings is beautiful.

I can say that without fear of being subjective. It's a good album—this sonic seraphim symphony that's echoing across my brain stem.

But even the most fantastic things are utter garbage if they aren't finely crafted, cultivated, and spread.

Maybe that's what Tavi was trying to teach me.

Maybe it's what she had in mind when she... she...

Dammit...

That's my first mistake right there. I keep thinking about Tavi. I'm always thinking about Tavi.

That's not the reason why I'm here... stumbling like a deaf and mute zombie through the rustic streets of an old Carolineigh city.

Well... okay... perhaps it's the roundabout reason...

But I need to get my head in the game... literally.

I'm here for myself... to salvage the vestiges of me.

I can't relate to Cyan. I don't know her joys. I can't understand her naivete. I sure as Tartarus no longer share her fashion sense.

But somewhere... on some fundamental level... I can recognize her talent.

It's the same spark that ignites in my Dr. Pony carbonated veins whenever I sit down to craft the next hopeful masterpiece of music.

Somewhere in Cyan Sings is the same mare who knows how to power through it... to muscle her way through what challenges her and come up with a work of art. I was that mare once... and I've been that mare several time since.

We just haven't had the opportunity to meet... to shake sonic hooves and combine our harmonies as once.

Now's the opportunity. I stand upon the precipice of it. I trot the skirted line, limping, aching, yearning.

And one block at a time... one street lamp glimmer after another...

...I think I'm starting to see the pattern unveiled before me.

There is structure to all of this. Beneath the glitz and the glamour, there's a prodigy in Cyan Sings. I need to stop thinking of her as a shadow... as a shredded remnant of the past.

She still lives. By Celestia. She still lives.

Maybe I need to stop focusing on finding something that is already found... that was only flourishing in the dark, just waiting for the doors to open and reacquaint it with the light.

Like fine wine... something that ages over time... only to be spectacular when it's finally consumed.

Cyan Sings... meet DJ P0N3... that which was fermented—in secret—by years spent in the company of a mare far more beautiful and sophisticated than either of them.

And maybe... just maybe...

With Octavia Melody's spirit still lingering inside of me... ...

... ... ...I can grasp ahold of that spark.

And set ablaze the new effigy that is—now and forever—Vinyl Scratch.

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