I stare up at my city with my mind caught between being distraught and what it was taught to be which is kind. Life flashes bye bye before we know it. We try to show it a thing or two along the way and atleast try to grow for it and from it. We try to remain open and not allow negativity to train our brain to shun it. But what once was is changing. It’s rearranging in strange ways from more pained days to a prize which you’d be proud to have won it. So when they find a body, we may never know who done it, nevertheless I profess in the winter the ice man cometh. The Truckee is always running. Mt. Rose is always stunning. And the art district fronting is always stunting to make you keep coming. So I try to lay claim to my name, my game, and moments in time, where life seems to pause and feel sublime. I’m in love with my city. The biggest little one the world’s got. Playground for artists, professionals, recreationals, students, now with legalized pot.

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Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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