The act of consumption is a decadent strive for prolonging the same transient existence snuffed out from other beings.
But it is hella tasty if done right.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Sometimes I miss the old days, sometimes I forget there were any other days. The present belongs to those alive, and it always has, though few get to enjoy that gift. Few compared to the past ruled by legions upon legions of souls, innumerable, yet locked to their times. I stand with my back against an army of ghosts, and I smile.

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~

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~.

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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Fine print, is a skill check. But what skill does it fall under?
Perception is possible, particularly when perusing parchment.
Knowledge is a candidate, considering ones curiosity.
Falsehood is factual, fortune favours fakers.

But in the end, it does not matter which way it is failed, only that it happens.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I can emulate a sense of home, but only to the eye of my mind. The most potent medium to craft and recollect the past, could craft the uttermost detailed and spectacular view of that nostalgia from my past. And yet it is also what will stop me from ever reaching the past, because it lets me know it isn't real.

Happy First Filthy Friday of the year~.

Treading towards the end, watching the cobble of the path fall apart, but the rocks staple together beneath my feet, each step progressing as if nothing happened, as if everything was right. But then, before the fall, new pathways converge, cobble clatter together, and before I have a chance to look down, the path is the same as it ever was.
And so it will be, until that fateful day.

Happy new Year~.

How much longer will it take to complete this task?
How often do I think about that? How often is the question not, what am I doing? Why am I doing it? But: When am I done?
Yet, sometimes, for very few tasks, this melts away. Everything revolves around the what, how, and why. And in those rare moments, if the question of when comes up... the answer is the same: There is no after, there is only this.

Happy Filthy Friday~, and Happy Darkest night.

We have a new entry in the Lustbound Chronicle today, one that is technically out of order. A look into what the future might hold for the stallion of the hour~.

Precipice of action, a weight towards stagnation and an abyss of possibility. Picking specks of sand from the broken hourglass suspended above me.
Picking, picking, picking.
The same grain appears again, again, again.
it calls, more friends come ticking.
And the balance continues ever onwards.

Happy Filthy Friday~.