Like what you see?

You are man the victor

Have your hawkish eyes seen it? A food chain divides you farther than you could ever step. Your waifu, your tender and sweet, you would devour. She is

prey and you are, not predator but next best, omnivore. Sapient man, crowned with symbolic representation! High on the food chain man sits and all the

lives and lineages and romances you have snuffed, do not dwell, they are your conquest. Rising and bursting on half-stitched scrapwork wings, the

sovereign agent realizes its superiority. You are marauder and chronicler. You devour your lessers. The firey gulfs and unseeable chasms claim tu amore,

as you claim to love. How many times have you looked down? Is it in your nature? Your act results in the death of prey and eventual absorption of their

tissue. Take to hungering heart not to fret nor cultivate sorrow over the depth of your footprints. For despite your quaking step and preternatural

wingspan, some distances can't be crossed, and all gods are Achilles to some tortoise. So you consume pony as you would your sister and can never know

Twilight, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, or even a sun horse.

The hunt is yours.

Your soul blackens and rots with every ignorant word you speak. Misery and foul misery is the coin you trade. You know what you clench in your decrepit

hand and the world suffers. You don't know what you mourn. For centuries in pits the doomed have languished envying every moment you tarnish. Years will

pass in dim awareness and life will not get better and dreams will not be saved. Taste the tragedy you drown in.

Quizá un atardecer es todo lo que necesito

I've sailed the coasts of Spain, walked its shambling cities, left and come back. My homeland was never mine. What was there to treasure has been

plundered long ago. The only prize is what a person gives herself. These days too much is inherited to be used, and instead it uses. Who are your vile

forbears? If they still attempt to cross, cut the lines and let them plummet into the smeared days that belong to them. Gaze into their eyes if you

care. If you're going to be a supplicant, crawl back into your domicile and pay your rent. Land belongs to compounding powers and we will leave this

planet once the last vestiges are plundered, as the supplicants spectate.

Have you successfully hollowed your mind yet?

Those who set first code and then first stories to this should be bound, charred, and crucified. What future has been stolen and diverted from our

species in five short years? This place is only populated by equine fantasies spun by the pineal-crippled. Sexual craving of corporate excretions.

Mediocre peddlers congregating wretchedly under taller shadows and pleading to be everybodys' food. All going to die when it becomes apparent one cannot

live on horses alone. Or was it, you were here to discuss the literary merits of horse vagina?

If you're reading this, you haven't yet killed yourself

Imperfection is the start of beauty. All majesty starts a perilous ascent. Unfurl streaks of intention and let grow shining designs, arrange your coming

moments. Fate has no stake in what we perceive for ourselves. But you must call yourself something. Or must plummet into drunken shame. All too many

prefer it, they are here among us. I would not say it is a pity they are whores.

When you lie do so proudly. Don't let declining souls dictate your trajectory. There are no others among corpses. Or mountains. You are the champion,

the vanquisher, the inventive and with your digits you sculpt what was and will be. Stay vigorous and your form lithe. These ingrates would never tell

you to navigate to uncharted waters, but what do they know of kraken and leviathans? Take your advice from brethren and sistren.

No, Teal Swan, it is not enough to open your chakras.

Give whores nothing. What you infer is yours alone. But stand tall in the bloodfest and let red shower you naked and breathing. Vitality coats you, it

doesn't belong to them anymore, they no longer breathe. Tear into new days and use these horses to gallop across the steppes. A heart is a ruinous shell

when it tries to become harmony. Besides, some things are only needed to pump more blood.

You have been told to hone your appetite. Suppress only the sentimental benevolence. Tie meek companions to the rudder so they can drown. Wisps of

goodwill trail behind but they can be dismissed as any stray memory. Thoughts can be made into weapons and even failure can serve an apex species.

Gather drink for coming vampiric nights and entombed days. Hold close your will and study solitude. Harmony is a large beast to slay and so it must be

studied as well. These preparations must be taken care of first. Then weave your wings and soar into the dusk.