Thursday, April 24, 2014

A Forest Life

Twenty years in the forest –
watching trees grow –
watching trees fall down –
What have I learned from this?
That trees grow up –
That trees fall down.

   *          *          *

Blazing in the sun –
white glare off the grass blasts the eye.
Green light off the sun beams the sea.
Light through leaf and light through green –
The beetle shuffles.
Sing birds your chirpers to the sea’s boiling roar –
Drowning sunbeam’s silent rush through space.

   *          *          *

Chiff-chaff a chatterjack crackle -
Crow scaw a roeking mock in black –
Buzzy bumble a bee go gathering.
Leaf’s banner’s spread and Spring declared.

   *          *          *

Miles Davis - Ornithology

Friday, April 18, 2014

Ebryl - Gwakter ha Materyoleth

Aforementioned in the above vernacular it’s the spectacular trembling atmospheric stratospheric Caterpillar.    

Charlie Parker – Ornithology

Martinu – Fantasia for Theremin, Oboe, String Quartet and Piano

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Primordial Gravitational Waves

Waves of Gravity broke black and glassy on the shores of Time.  Time stood unmovable and would not be turned back.  Energy smiled, knowing what was the Matter.  And Spacetime exploded out atoms and all.  And waves of a ripple left traces in Space.  And Time’s echo true sounded back through its path.  Then Origin’s Light/Particle/Wave illumined the many Worlds and Beings saw the Way.  But before the Beginning where was the Origin?  When the first millisecond erupted, where were its roots, its folklore and culture?  What ancestors?  Was it a crack in the SpaceEgg?  Gravity waves bent out in light Primordial?  Or Luminous beams warped by Original Gravity Particles?  Either way, Karma’s Silvery Ripple Glistens Down The Surface Of A Mercurial Chimerical Looking-Glass-     licked by the eye of a many-faceted fly-

Friday, March 28, 2014

Gravitational Waves Original Face of Universal Cosmology

The Caterpillar can reveal new leaked study that finally disproves theory that the Universe had an ‘origin’.  
From our Infinitology Correspondent:
Kosmologists agog over gravitational fog from the future.  Primordial gravitational waves lap knowledge’s further shore  -  Particle physics posits miniscule ripples in the very phosphorescent fabric of space.  We ask:  What borned the Universe?  Was it a egg?  Do they hot?  Scientists believe they have found the echo of the 28 billionth day of the Universe.  Did the Universe congeal while expanding into Sunyata?  A detectable signal, was it?  A detecting consciousness, is it?  Residual energia.  Vestigial energy residue.  No Origin to universe posited.    No Universe to posit origin of.  No consciousness to consider Universe and Origin.  Universal Origin.  Awareness of Universal Origin.  Material support of Awareness of Origin of Universe.  No Universe.  No Origin of Universe.  Universal Egg remains uncracked.  
Now we go over to the Institute of Knowledge –THIS JUST IN:
A group of research-scientists have discovered that the Universe cannot be experienced outside of the Mind.  This has created a schism in the Physics Community, with one sect claiming that phenomena can only be a product of Mind;  the rival camp claiming that Mind is, in itself, a product of phenomenal reality.  Abstaining from the debate, the Dark Matter School claims origination in a cloud of liquid green Time. 

Boguslav Martinu – Puppets (Kloutky) Books 1, 2 & 3.

It had seemingly been a long time since I had run into that mysterious and magnanimous carapaced character sometimes known as ‘The Caterpillar’.   That haunter of dark and sidereal sinuous thoroughfares of Time’s skirling skein.  Particle-rippling cultural transmitter of nebulous and autochthonous knowing, he abides in the spaces between other places, near and far.  Empathic antennae alert to vibrating ethereal moleculars.  Multitudinous limbs concealed beneath trenchcoat of misty nightways wanderings.  The Caterpillar had taken to capering and none can cut a caper like a caterpillar can. 
          I wandered on through night’s archival galleries,
                        In galleons I sailed upon the oceans,
                                    In gravity I walked upon the surface,
                                                Of lands I knew not where or neither heard of,
                                    And on I journeyed into night’s bright imagery,
                        A treasury of all that is imaginary,
            I wandered thither starshine zither celestial,
And halcyon drowsed a bright September Sunshine.
            To fall under the whirling spell of the hyper-hypnotic hypnogogic spinning feelers was to wake transfigured and transformed, suffused and raised to a more subtle level of perception.  A figure ahead, always seemingly just ahead, twisting through time’s alleys and runs.  Flowing on, almost gliding over the ground, turning sharply at the junction of alleys, spinning round to glance – yes – all is safe - - - the figure continues, enraptured in nocambulatory blissful experiential reverie.  Lambent dewdrops tell all there is to know, dangle from grass-blades, perfect

The lepidopteral leitmotif continues, rolling and flowing along, humming or vibrating quietly like a wasp.  Rounding a corner I come face to face with the Pupa, the Many-Legged-One, Carrier of the Iridescent Carapace.  Huddled in multi-buttoned surcoat, battered hat pulled down low.  Falling into the charismatic spell of the presence, I reeled and into my hands he placed the consignment of arcane and crypto-coptic accoutrements, artefacts, rolls, scrolls, discs, tapes, microfilms, parchments, bits of carved reindeer-antler and walrus tusk – riddled with symbolic richness, such like as these and the scattered jewels and rubies of learning he cast before me to throw into the wind unto the World be thrown, whirled and scattered to show the flow and share flaring glazed mosaics myriad spicules. And as in a whirling Dervishi dust-devil, the figure had melted off, had rippled ahead in time, dodged between molecular occilations or some anomaly in the echo of fabric’s first reality.  Riding effortlessly Gravity’s rippling Primordial Waves, gone into the sunlight’s dazzle of another yesterday.  The Lepidopteral Being was as a phantasm.  As a whisp.  As a mist.  As a breath.  A feather in the wind.  A speck of dust.  A thing not known.  


Friday, February 28, 2014

Ebrenn Kommolek

To the clouds, to the air, molecules in motion, water in vapor.   To the trees, to the woods, branches blowing, wind in motion.  To the sea, to the wet, to the briny waters awash.  The land.  The sand.  The knowledge of it.  To the mind.  

Monday, February 24, 2014

THE CATERPILLAR 59, Featuring The Journal of Elias Gillpington - Part 15.

Something is evolving down at the lab and it’s not getting any more bearable, any more pleasant or relishable.   Seemingly some entities are best left alone.  Our drama unfolds in the gothick backwater of New Lynsmouth, West Cernyw, a seething cauldron of archaic and primeval forces, bubbling over with unknown and unutterable things.
It’s no tale for a greenhorn, mark me well, as greenhornhood be the mark of the unmarked.  Now, blow wind, blow, and on with our tale.  Let the players take the stage as the trumpets sound a breezy fanfare blow and the clouds zephyr slither o’er tumbling rich dripping streets of slumbering eldritch slitherers.  

Friday, January 31, 2014

Caterpillar Dub 58

When a great soul leaves this World, a hush falls like the twighlight and for only a brief moment, the birds pause in their song.  Then, after a deep breath of weary fleshly rejoicing meditation, the voices raise up again in song, rising on high in the clear blue air of the sky.  Singing to Life;  singing for Joy and sheer Endurance;  singing because that’s what people do.  Singing the Spirit Alive.  Singing the breath in and out of the body like a great Pranha-message.  Singing to lift a hundred million hearts, weary, wearing dusty work-clothes, toiling and struggling in their own separate worlds of strife, struggle and frugality, united in Human experience, Human striving.  Raise those voices and kick some hay up into the air.  Join hands in the dance, the good old dance.  Stomp a thousand feet down in the dust.  Clap those myriad hands and raise the dust, raise the dance and sing the songs, the old songs as were sung in times untold.  The Spirit soars aloft on the wings of a million voices.  

Pete Seeger – Which Side Are You On?

Pete Seeger – Little Birdie

Pete Seeger – Joe Hill