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.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Monday, February 24, 2014
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
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
Thursday, January 30, 2014
With the passing of Pete Seeger on Monday, we have lost one of the true giants of modern music, culture and activism. It’s no exaggeration to say that without Pete Seeger, contemporary music as we know it today would sound totally different. Pete was one of the major influences behind the 1950’s/’60’s Folk Revival, which formed a vital bridge between the traditional songs of yesteryear, and the rapidly evolving music of the 1960’s. His blend of musicianship with activism also inspired a generation of arising singers to take a conscientious stance on many issues. His spirit will go right on inspiring people long into the future, as long as there’s a song to be sung. I’ll let his songs speak for him now – I’ll just say I feel like I’ve lost an old friend – an old friend of the World. You made the World a better place, Pete, and for that you’re surely bound for glory.
To Hear Your Banjo Play – Pete Seeger – 1947
Tzena, Tzena, Tzena – The Weavers – 1950
Pete Seeger – We Shall Overcome
Pete Seeger – The Power of Song (2007 Documentary)
Pete Seeger – If I Had A Hammer – Songs of Hope and Struggle (Anthology)
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
Follow in the fallow footfalls of a flight of mere folly as alleys echo and walls resound to whisps of chatter and skrawking cries of wheeling spinning gulls. Here among the tottering and rotting cottages and rickety dwellings of the quaint old fish-towne of New Lynsmouth, things are taking on an unwholesome hue, a creeping blet blighting and blasting the folk hereabouts with a species of utter ghastly horror undreampt of for sleepless jabbering aeons of utterly unutterable and vile tremulous twitching nemesis!
The Caterpillar is also rereleased in Dub.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Rolling nostalgic melodies from Konstantinopoulos across the silken sea, the breeze grazes on the Keltek cliffs, murmuring through the grass, spreading blessings of Nature’s radiance and visionary clarity to the teeming Beings. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And through the tracery of twigs, the loamy damp green fields roll down the Combe to the silver river. Gwyhd Idhiowek, and ivy-clustered grow the trees – branches bleak and bare against ragged curtains of dark, slate-grey scudding clouds. Druids in flight – starlings darkling nebulous in glooms of Ingelonde’s dusky twighlight nightfall. In the Valley of the Universe lies a cottage warmed by a crackling fire. Flow of time-stars echoes there. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *