furrowed white

I'll begin by saying I don't know anything. Now that we have established this, let us consider a white plane. This plane is equivalently infinite in two directions. This plane has a minimal depth. As I begin to trace projected vectors across the plane, the resultant furrows are represented as the space between the white. This space is the casual precision that silently binds similar elements together.
These furrows begin as vectors yet as they plot a trajectory they begin to take on organic qualities. Qualities that can hardly be described with words, but resemble the capillaries on a damp, orange leaf or the dew soaked web of a sleeping, satiated spider.
They continue and express themselves as the creases of a smiling face or as the crystalline cracks on a broken yet intact windshield. They connect, collect, and coalesce into a third dimension, implying rigid icebergs shaped like sidewalks cracked by ancient roots, or rolls of trace paper crumpled into shadows.
The furrowed white is now all encompassing, like a rumpled down comforter or the rainless, rolling cloudy sky of New Mexico. It is everywhere and the lines come together into a single point, a concise dot at the center of all things.

And this is where my knowledge fails me, for I have no words to describe it.