Look deeply. Deeply if you care. It is through the blood of the ghost revealed the world alternative she says we may invite. It’s true. It’s true. Old and the new. As the climaxed world we think we’re in thins, the veil between now and then dissolves. Faint we lay upon the ground. Gulping breathes of ground and suspending the nausea until the breath steady movement promotes meaning. We dream? Seeing a clear sight of another tragic minded despotic mistake. It’s Sitting Bull in retiring repose. Again the army makes a preemptive strike. Without reliability, without honor, without fair deliberation the death act spikes. Another genocidal shiver deprives the ignorant of bliss. Yet we look. Look deeply. See through the blood of the ghost which streams in blind space. Thoughts to erase and remember. Blasts of psychedelic fractures broker brightness of the furnace of forgiveness in the land behind time. It’s our leisure. Forgotten by a scramble of metric signals and false relations, and reminded with the love long features of the most favorite friends. Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. So alive. The deep greens, spirals, and blues drape the apparently lost in remarkable hue. It’s the splendor reward of not forgetting the dream, facing a horror, and beating, pounding, thumping the ground with a blood line conviction of ocular compound. It’s the heritage you see. The beginning the end, ending begin. Liberty is at hand with enhancement and strength, while the forces of parasitism must freeze in the sand. Walking calmly and holding the space for all free who witnessed through the bloodline of a ghost just like me.