How to sleep with the weight of ghosts squashing the air out of one's lungs? A gate of horn and a gate of bone and specters and demons behind each. Wake with the motto 'I can't go on,' caught on my lips when there is every reason to keep going on. Saturnian folly in the holy days of Saturn. Those savage old gods staking their claim in the blood. Phoebus Apollo battles the Rabbit in the Moon; the blood of their wounds records a narrative on the paper skin of the world. A ghost's apocrypha. The ghosts sing those hymns in the caverns of the ears in the desolate hours. Thus they steal one's dreams and those hollows under the eyes are stained grey-black with the layers and layers of their fingerprints.