Laceworks

As the lacy aura is being articulated in the language whose syntax relies on increasingly separated crystals as its constituents, the glow it radiates is spreading unobtrusively, yet steadily. The afflicted dweller hesitantly emerging from the tumultuous dynamism within the cracks in the barren landscape spits a minijet in the direction of the bubbling, shiny, silver circle.

The moon hanging low. Leaning above the weary stems. The spitjet in its miniscule projectile launch. Travelling cautiously through the roaring silver vastness. Its trajectory obstructed abruptly. It reached the solid surface. The moonwall barricading the passage of anything attempting to either enact or mimic movement : watcathinkyodoin / wheredoyathinkyogoin, ha?

In response, the arrowlike, jettrial traveler first turns into a re-enactment of the idea of frozen spit, then holds the momentary transformation of the image of itself sustained in an impossibly infinitesimal fraction of a second, followed by the first move of the lower lumplet, starting to slide downwards, in its slimy glide forming an oneiric reflection of its fantasy of itself as an icicle in the mouth of a fireplace : spitmethefuckout!

Advancing from the spot of subversion, the spitminijet is branchstylingly being molded into a web of molten crystallike formations, like a delta spreading in reverse its distributaries, estuaries, and / or diverging flows away from where it would typically leak in : thou shan’t essay yo majestic sense of direction, aren’t i. no, thou я!

On one side of the sound barricade, downpour continues. On the other side, facing the gliding lumplet, the spatial reverberation dominating the surrounding is slowing down the journey along the slippery slope. Its presence is impressive. Its immobility fascinating. Its power unbeatable. The minidelta is halted. The slippage is irrelevant. Nonexisting when the lacy whiteness establishes its branch in a form of a mirror type of play : resemble it does not / reflect it may / face it does.

Incomparable in size, discrepant  in shape, different in texture, the tiny spittage is spittage no more. From the other side of the membrane, it was infected with a crystallizing kiss of dew, solidifying its dwarfy, filigrane world into a superdelicate empire of laceworks.