To Kiss the World Through a Veil of Lead

Sense of Self I

You are spread along a dark convex shape. Your extremities are irregular and asymmetric, dark tendrils of brittle matter. Each tendril has a voice that can barely be heard, enunciating raspy words that sound like rusted iron crumbling as the wind erodes it. One of the tendrils moves: you had wished for it to do so; meanwhile, it had whispered that same desire to you.

You raise yourselves, each of your thousand feet now in the ground. You sway back and forth, gases prop you to one direction and the other. Sparks of oxidisation carry information on the composition of the atmosphere around you. Your limbs stretch out and absorb the colourless gases and your body tingles with refreshment. More sparks. They continue until all nearby oxygen has been consumed.

All your selves sound their silent voices. You confer together in a chorus of rhythmic chemical flashes, twisting parabolae of fleeting light. You reach a decision. One of you feels strong magnetic currents. They arouse a tingling sensation that you could perhaps describe as pleasure. You clamber towards the currents, some parts of you already further ahead.

The electromagnetic radiation propels you upwards. You fragment — all your thousand yous are separated. Protuberances start to grow out of one of your pieces, eating solid silicates that float in the atmosphere. You grow like clouds, expanding in irregular beats. In the distance you can see other parts of yourselves doing the opposite, shrinking and thinning, dissolving and returning your elementary components to the atmosphere. And you feel the ecstatic calm tinted with the joy of death. You control yourselves to avoid dying all together, all at the same time; it is hard, however: the urge is strong.

You start recollecting yourselves, recalling each piece of you with another batch of chemical sparks.