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Upon a dusk of endless gray,
When all the world has ceased to play,
I stand alone and hear the moan
Of fleeting hours, like winds unknown.
The sun, once warm upon my face,
Has gone to hide, to leave no trace,
And in the air, a shadow lies–
A quiet call, a soft demise.

I feel the chill, the creeping dread,
Of all that lies in darkness–dead.
The earth beneath, so cold, so wide,
Where none shall walk, where none shall bide,
And though I weep, and though I pray,
I know the dawn shall never stay.

O fleeting life! O Fragile breath!
You whisper soft of coming death,
Yet, still, I cling to moments bright,
To touch, to feel, to feel the light.
The sun upon my skin, my soul,
The warmth that makes my spirit whole.
But how it fades, as shadows creep,
A bitter thought that bids me sleep.

And in the stillness–far, too far–
I hear the call of death, a star
That beckons from beyond the tide,
Where none may go, where none may hide.
Nevermore, it softly sighs,
A promise etched in midnight skies,
That all things end, and so Must I,
And yet, I shudder as I die.

For though I pass, and though I fade,
The sun I loved, the light I prayed,
Shall burn no more, nor warm the skin,
Nor kiss the earth beneath my chin.
Yet in the darkness, still I stand,
A soul who sought with trembling hand
To touch the sun and hold it near–
But now I live in endless fear.

For what is life, if not the breath,
That dances bright before the death?
And what is death if not the shade
That comes too soon to steal, to trade?
O fleeting breath, O fleeting sky,
You whisper low, yet wonder why–
And I, who long to touch the light,
Am lost within eternal night.

The 2024 Right Leaders Network (RLC) is spotlighting a group of Republican candidates hoping to reclaim control of Nevada’s state legislature, organized by the Republican State Leadership Committee (RSLC), seeking to strengthen the party by promoting women and diverse candidates for down-ballot positions.

Over the weekend, the RSLC launched its 2024 Right Leaders Network (RLN) Spotlight Candidates Series, featuring several Nevada candidates poised for the upcoming elections. Among the challengers are April Arndt for Assembly District 21, Rafael Arroyo for Assembly District 41, Lisa Cole for Assembly District 4, Annette Owens for Assembly District 29, Lori Rogich for Senate District 11, and Diana Sande for Assembly District 25.

The candidates have received endorsements from Governor Joe Lombardo, who is working to preserve his veto power amid a Democrat-controlled legislature.

Nevada Democrats hold a supermajority in the Assembly and are just one seat shy of achieving the same in the Senate. If they secure that additional Senate seat while maintaining their Assembly control, they would create a veto-proof supermajority, significantly hampering Lombardo and his Republican colleagues’ ability to pass legislation.

The RSLC plans to implement a new email campaign and a strategic social media initiative. Earlier this year, the RSLC and its affiliated PAC launched the “Republican Roadmap” ad campaign, highlighting state Republicans as “the last line of defense” for constituents during the election year.

The bedroom reeks of sweat and something worse. Fear, maybe. Or just the stale air of another wasted night. Hank rolls over, gasping, having just escaped the jungle where trees drip blood and the dead scream louder than the living.

He rubs his face hard like he could scrape the nightmare off his skin. But it sticks to him, like the smell of piss in a dirty stadium bathroom.

3:13 a.m. The red numbers stare him down.

Hank will be at the factory in a few hours, operating a machine that will rhythmically drown out his thoughts through sheer repetitiveness. But for now, he is fighting against an unholy silence that grips your insides and twists.

His wife is softly snoring in the other room, out like a rock. Sturdy, dependable, like the old fridge humming in the kitchen. Hank hates how easy sleep comes to her and how she can switch it off like flipping a light switch.

He stumbles to the bathroom, mumbling to himself.

The piss comes slow, his prostate playing games again, making Hank wait. He leans into the cold wall tile, feeling the weight of everything—the years, the fights, the nothing. In the mirror, his eyes look like they belong to someone else–someone who has been through the wringer and failed to come out clean.

He shuffles back to bed and sits on the edge like a man trying to decide if he is worth the goddammed effort. The mattress sags beneath him, tired as he is. Sleep for another half-hour? Or drag his sorry ass into the day?

The glass on the nightstand is mocking him. He picks it up. Cheap shit, but it burns good. He takes a swig, the warmth crawling down his throat like an old friend. The jungle fades. The bourbon does its job, replacing one ache with another.

His wife stirs, and Hank wonders, how did it come to this–a small bed in a room cluttered with worthless shit, haunted by empty, broken bottles and busted dreams?”

“Fuck it,” Hank mutters. Sleep is not coming back this morning.

Nevada Department of Sentencing Policy awarded Lyon County Human Services (LCHS) a taxpayer-funded Nevada Local Justice Reinvestment Grant.

The grant will expand and redesign the county’s Forensic Assessment Services Triage Team (FASTT) program, which provides critical case management and reentry support for incarcerated individuals transitioning back into the community. The FASTT program offers services reducing recidivism, including evidence-based behavioral health and risk assessments, educational support, medical referrals, and individualized reentry service plans.

LCHS says that the newly created reentry support services will address gaps in resources that released inmates often face, improving their chances of successfully reintegrating into society. At release, inmates are paired with a Peer Support Specialist who provides ongoing assistance to help them navigate their reentry transition plans developed by their FASTT Case Manager.

The personalized support is designed to reduce the likelihood of reoffending, ultimately contributing to increased public safety through crime reduction.

Get ready for a spine-chilling adventure with the Haunted Horseless Carriage Ride through the ghostly streets of Virginia City. The haunted tour offers a thrilling dive into the town’s eerie history, complete with terrifying tales that will send shivers down your spine, all while riding in a carriage with an extra touch of haunting flair.

The Haunted Horseless Carriage Ride will be held on select weekends, running on Saturday and Sunday, October 12 and 13, Saturday and Sunday, October 19 and 20, and Saturday and Sunday, October 26 and 27, from noon until 7 p.m. each day. The ride is $25 per adult, with a reduced price of $10 for children, making it a perfect event for families or anyone seeking a spooky good time.

Participants will be picked up next to the famous Bucket of Blood Saloon, a fitting location to begin such a ghostly journey. Don’t miss your chance to uncover the haunted secrets of Virginia City in a unique, unforgettable way.

For more details and to purchase tickets, visit visitvirginiacitynv.com and prepare yourself for a haunting experience like no other.

Attorney General Aaron Ford has announced that Nevada will continue to enforce self-assembled firearms or ghost gun laws after a district court ruling upheld its constitutionality.

The court largely sided with the state’s arguments, affirming that Nevada’s ghost gun law aligns with public safety objectives and legal traditions surrounding firearms regulation.

Ford emphasized the importance of such laws in addressing the ongoing issue of gun violence in the U.S., particularly mass shootings.

“Reasonable, common sense gun laws make Nevada a safer place to live and visit, and our state’s ghost-gun law furthers this goal,” Ford stated.

He reaffirmed his office’s commitment to defending legislation that promotes safer schools, neighborhoods, and public gatherings.

The court ruled that the lack of historical regulation on self-assembled firearms did not have implicit approval by the nation’s founders. Given that ghost guns are a modern phenomenon, the ruling asserted that public safety concerns justify current regulatory measures.

The Comstock Lode birthed Virginia City—where fortunes bloomed like desert wildflowers and faded just as quickly. Cutter, once a dreamer, now a cynic, patrolled the narrow alleys. His boots kicked up dust, each step a reminder of lost chances.

“Why do you linger?” The voice echoed in his mind—the same voice that had led him to the Old Washoe Club, its walls sagging under the weight of secrets.

Samuel had glimpsed the faded daguerreotypes—the miners, their eyes hollow, their laughter swallowed by the mines.

“Answers,” he muttered.

The town held them, buried in its veins like silver ore. He had read the Poe & Chollar Mine records—the tales of cave-ins, of men trapped in the dark, their screams swallowed by the earth. But there were gaps like the missing teeth of a gambler who bet it all.

The Silver Queen Hotel loomed ahead—a relic of opulence. Cutter pushed the heavy door, the brass knob cold against his palm. Inside, the air smelled of whiskey and stale beer. The bartender, a grizzled man with eyes like tarnished coins, poured him a shot.

“For luck,” he said.

Cutter stared into the glass. The amber liquid held memories—of a wife who left, of a daughter who died too young. He wondered if the ghosts of the Fourth Ward School whispered to her—their laughter echoing through empty classrooms.

“Cutter,” the voice returned. “You seek answers, but do you dare face the void?”

It was the same voice that had led him to the Savage Mansion, its gables like the claws of a forgotten beast. The mansion had secrets—rooms locked, corridors winding into darkness.

“I’m no fool,” Cutter replied.

But the itch remained—the itch to know. So, Cutter climbed Cemetery Hill, the gravestones like broken teeth. The wind carried whispers—names, dates, memories. Cutter wondered if the dead envied the living—their struggles, their choices.

At the summit, he stood before the Silver Terrace Cemetery gate. The wrought iron creaked, and he stepped inside. The tombstones leaned, their inscriptions fading. He traced a name—Evelyn Blake, 1863-1880. A girl lost too soon. He imagined her—pale, eyes wide, staring into the abyss.

“What lies beyond?” he asked.

The wind carried no answers, only the scent of sagebrush. Cutter’s heart raced. He thought of the Piper’s Opera House, its stage haunted by forgotten actors. They performed for miners, dreamers, and those who hoped to strike silver and find salvation.

“Cutter,” the voice whispered. “The veins run deep—the silver, the sorrow. Will you dig?”

His fingers brushed the soil. He imagined the tunnels—the darkness swallowing him, the walls closing in. But he came too far to turn back.
He dug—a desperate man seeking truth.

The earth yielded bones—miners, children, lovers. He wondered if they glimpsed the ancient ones who shaped the land, who murmured secrets into the veins. He touched the silver—cool, unforgiving.

And as he dug deeper, the earth trembled. The tombstones shifted, their inscriptions rewriting themselves. Samuel’s hands bled, but he kept digging. The void yawned—a cosmic maw hungry for answers.

“Cutter,” the voice boomed. “You found it—the heart of the Comstock. Will you listen?”

He hesitated. The wind carried Evelyn Blake’s laughter—the echo of a girl who had danced on the edge of the abyss.

“Tell me,” he said.

And the earth opened with a whisper.

“Damnable traffic,” I thought, gripping the wheel tighter as I tried to rush from two valleys over–to a store where I knew I could buy some honey. It was not just any honey, it was for Leggs.

After her show and at the after-party, I wanted to give it to her, a sweet offering to match her wild spirit. But as the minutes ticked by and the road clogged with cars, I knew there was no way I could make it.

“Damnable traffic,” I muttered again, frustration thick in my voice.

Finally, I was beginning to make some headway, creeping toward the traffic light. Just as it turned green, I heard the unmistakable pop of a tire blowing out. The truck lurched to the right, dropping with a sickening thud. My heart sank with it.

I cursed under my breath, guiding the truck across the oncoming lane and into a large pullout by the side of the road. Anger surged, but underneath it, there was a strange calm, a quiet resignation to how things unfold—like the universe was nudging me, reminding me I had no control. Not really.

As I wrestled with the jack and lug wrench, sweat dripping down my face, I promised to get the flat tire fixed first thing in the morning. I was breathing hard when I finished, my muscles sore from the effort. I sat down on the tailgate, wiped my hands, and closed my eyes, listening to the hum of traffic rushing past.

When I opened my eyes again, something caught my attention–just up the hillside, not twenty feet from where I parked, stood a small table. A hand-painted sign leaned against it: “HONEY.”

I blinked in surprise, sure that table was not there when I pulled over. A small SUV parked beside it, and jars of honey glistened in the afternoon sun.

I smiled, the irony not lost on me. I walked over, and a woman sitting in the SUV looked up, a warm smile crossing her face.

“What’s your favorite?” I asked, my voice soft, feeling like the moment wasn’t real.

Without hesitation, she picked up a jar labeled “Wildflowers.” And in that instant, I knew. Leggs had always been a wildflower—strong, vibrant, blossoming wherever life happened to plant her. She moved with the seasons, blooming when conditions were just right.

It was not a coincidence that brought me here. It was something else, something beyond—a divinity at play in the details.

I bought the honey, and as I walked back to my truck, I felt the rush of time fall away. There was no more hurry. Somehow, I would make it to the after-party in plenty of time.

And I did.

Nevada is one of ten states where Democrats are spending a portion of their $25 million voter outreach efforts.

As the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee (DSCC) ramps up its operations to defend its slim Senate majority, Nevada stands as a crucial battleground, particularly given its history as a closely contested state in recent elections. The investment comes just two months before Election Day, as Democrats face a tough Senate map.

They are defending 23 of the 33 Senate seats up for grabs in November, including seats in Republican-leaning states like Nevada. DSCC’s latest financial push to mobilize voters and shore up support for Democratic incumbents.

The funds from the DSCC will go towards on-the-ground organizing efforts in Nevada, including hiring additional field organizers, hosting in-person events, and launching digital campaigns targeting specific demographics like young voters and communities of color. Democrats hope these measures will help boost turnout and maintain their momentum in the state.

Michigan Senator Gary Peters, chair of the DSCC, says “a formidable ground game makes all the difference in close races,” and Nevada’s Senate seat will be a high priority in this cycle.

Although Nevada is just one of the ten states where Democrats are concentrating their resources, its role in determining the Senate majority is crucial. The DSCC’s broader strategy involves bolstering Democratic defenses in states like Montana and Ohio while targeting Republican incumbents in Florida and Texas.

As part of this outreach, Nevada’s Democratic Senate candidates are aligning their strategies with Vice President Kamala Harris’s presidential campaign. Harris’s fundraising success since taking over the Democratic ticket in July has further boosted the party’s down-ballot efforts, with $25 million distributed to various party committees.

Senate Democrats have received $10 million from this, with Nevada expected to benefit directly from the additional funds.

Early morning, dark, everything just crawling out of its filth. This asshole, out of nowhere, takes a cheap shot at Dog, just some half-wit kicking at anything that breathes. Dog jumps back, knowing better than to get tangled with human garbage.

The guy, though, puts all his weight into it like he is trying to punish the world for his miserable existence, misses Dog, loses his footing, and the idiot goes down hard, head bouncing off the sidewalk like a cracked egg. Blood oozing out slowly.

And Dog? It barely gives a fuck, sniffs him the asshole, thinking, “You ain’t worth the piss,” and trots off. No rush, no care. Dog is the smartest one in the whole mess.

Me? I just watched this useless meat sack of bones leak onto the pavement. I drove on as I did not feel like wasting my time on a waste of skin.

Sometimes, you fuck with life–it’ll fuck you right back, leaving you bleeding out on the street while the world moves on without you.