GR translation: very selectively blighted rainfall

[Mike Jing]

P241.34-242.13  Unity gain around the loop, unity gain, zero change, and
hush, that way, forever, these were the secret rhymes of the childhood of
the Discipline of Control—secret and terrible, as the scarlet histories
say. Diverging oscillations of any kind were nearly the Worst Threat. You
could not pump the swings of these playgrounds higher than a certain angle
from the vertical. Fights broke up quickly, with a smoothness that had not
been long in coming. Rainy days never had much lightning or thunder to
them, only a haughty glass grayness collecting in the lower parts, a
monochrome overlook of valleys crammed with mossy deadfalls jabbing roots
at heaven not entirely in malign playfulness (as some white surprise for
the elitists up there paying no mind, no . . .), valleys thick with autumn,
and in the rain a withering, spin-sterish brown behind the gold of it. . .
very selectively blighted rainfall teasing you across the lots and into the
back streets, which grow ever more mysterious and badly paved and more
deeply platted, lot giving way to crooked lot seven times and often more,
around angles of hedge, across freaks of the optical daytime until we have
passed, fevered, silent, out of the region of streets itself and into the
countryside, into the quilted dark fields and the wood, the beginning of
the true forest, where a bit of the ordeal ahead starts to show, and our
hearts to feel afraid . . .

What does "blighted" mean here?
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