The lemurs shimmering blue. Their sharp glass sounds that only appear at rare frequencies. The sounds as a whole deadly—could tear the eardrums out of our ears if we did not constantly stiffly keep the bifocal muscle contracted. I can adjust my body at an angle, preferably in the light-pocket between the optical wavelength bands. I would be able to perceive the spotlight's nervous ray then, or maybe during certain cases of sparse twilight. The urclouds of our solar system would then move balanced—through the Skrea Chasms like limberly billowing, pain-red masses of ether. From the corrosive odor I would also be able to localize the burning point of the lenses.

The lemurs shimmering radiation blue. To break minerals with light waves. From the mountain nobody comes back alive. This is sharpness—concentrated spectrum—this is burning liquid glass. From the vaguely corrosive odor I would also be able to locate the smoldering point of Purgatorius. In the crypt there is a deadly clinking and crackling: here rests the lemur queen of the cornea. And on shelves of ore, in the inner caves of Skrea, climb screaming, volt-racked glass animals.