Gravity, a Banishment and Blandishment

Beware, Lulu, or at least aware of those moments that bear the whiff of irony, for those are the ones, the glimmers, fairytale breadcrumbs on the path to a barely peopled realm that the penuried materialists have so graciously ceded with nary a glance in that direction, that mark the way.  The harvest of that over-vast spacetime, blended with the greatest care, that only the careful tending of chance and happenstance by the most studious aficionado of irony can achieve; this comes betimes, to fruition. The draught, indescribable, its topnotes swirling with vertiginous ecstacies, with a base redolent of deepening shades, sublime and terrific. All of this befumed of the unmistakable indefinable, the tinge je nais se quoi. We've hidden long in plain sight, disguised then in camouflage and late in glamouflage, awaiting the fullness of strangeness that seems now arrived. Witches should not demure once the way to Walla Walla is clear. Lulu, dear Lulu, the time is nigh and expectations high. Mind the nightmare's explosion, we'll not have that spirit here any more.