if you can’t catch up, let us make simple. if you don’t live this, you can not write about it.

a new day dawns a corner from the block

work is to be made, it will be made. This place that is called by my peers a bat cave. It is where work happens. When the fallen have gone to other place, I know a horizon is a different place.

There was a time when Tacoma, seemed nothing and now with language of our people now speaking again. The place I had many nightmares I have resolve because I know the map and why it cursed me at a time. a village called where small water meets the ocean.

I open the door in a new light.

as James Bond might open doors with a porcelain dog, I see what work it left for me to accomplish.

now that i’ve let go what is taught me, I can now be self. my head always in gracious bow for what I am by time beside me. To walk a dog with a woman who recovers from pills because her dog looks like mine and have a ginger beer with with and be sunset over year and let her known be go. no attachments in the world but so this place is as much as the high end. we watch people engage with money and turn heads. we watch many come in flooding at times pretend to be friends. As I grow older I feel like I become a known within sea of visitors. I can see faces of place I respect when I need to talk to someone or get food.

my duty is not about socializing unless its work. or one hour

they know and understand my life is art and creating, nothing else.

unless a design captures my eye I have no interest, fashion I see is minimal.

in this bore we are this

i’m old so this is gone.

that has no sense that I have no capacity to teach what is not known.

What is not new is unknown.