Of course, it had not been my specific intention to seek out that mysterious carapaced presence, transmitter of cultural aftifacts, radio-telegraphic telepathic mind-waves, magneto-grams, gasometers and general bivalve-envelope oracular dramatic. The Caterpillar was not one to be sought, so much as one to stumble into, no doubt in some archaic and eldritch spot, probably a mist-haunted cross-roads, at around 3.15 am, on a rain-rattled morning when even the dogs howl not and upon the towne falleth a blissful slumber; but not, of course, for all…
No, not for all – for some wander, stumble and blunder, blusterously billowing forth with sails hoisted high up the mizzen-mast and thoughts of a whaling voyage around the Cape of Greenland or some such doom-shattered remnant of mind’s utter, outer and outré folly. So yes, as I say, The Caterpillar is not to be sought, any more than one would rightly chase shadow-chimeras upon the chiming chimney-hearth on blasted heath. For that noble & elusive figure does flutter forth shimmering in High Yogic Concentration, giving off a humming, a sort of knowledgeable pulse of warm glowing yellow energetic plasm-pulse, utilizing internal magneto transmitter antennae system.
Rattling down alleys and ancient lichenous byways, the form ripples on like photons on a hot tin lozenge. Ululating and simultaneously undulating was culminating in simplistic dualistic rustic risk multitudinous to spinning discs of info fixed on crystal wheels, encapsulating glittering vistas of spacemind’s inner and outer eyes turned forever twixt a constellation spinning fixed, whirling disc whisk glittering mind’s sharp edge.
The scrolls and optical viewing equipment were passed from the shadowy, pupal one, to me, inexplicably, inextricably, indubitably and indistinguishably by the very same being, that rippling and many-footed furry hooded figure of night’s foggy moonglow. I say night’s foggy moonglow.
Hazey horizon means Summer has come to the sea. The Lizard dreams in the warm, indefinite haze. The chugging trawler gives bass to the hissing rippling waves licking the shore-stones. Cloudless – radiant – only haze for a terrestrial corona. Only life clinging to this planet, such a warm island in a deep and cold space. Such a peaceful friendly island on which life can flourish, can grow goodfully and diversify into a chiliad myriad species, eggs, wings, legs – fishes and things. 600,000,000,000 years ago the molluscs – what’s this year’s thing? An internet argument for Homo sapiens? Or the mass-transformation of humanity into ten thousand billion Avalokiteshvaras?
A small, shiny thing, creeping off the path – a lizard basking in sun’s radiance, in glimmering viridian carapace waistcoat. Moving away, with the delicate, swift, hesitant, slow movements of the Jurassic.
In the clearing, an art-deco fritillary thing, rare speckled happy Butter Flye, lapping the drowzy nectar – opening and closing your mystery rococo wings – very very slowly.
White snow-falls of thorn-blossom dust the hedges along by the sea; horse-chestnuts bursting into stemmy, furry leaf – and oaks fragile baby leafes resplendent.
Chiff Chaff chatter, the burbling of warblers and rusky cooing of wood-pigeons- crack! A pine-cone opens in the heat. Sounds like a Canadian guiro being played by a crossbill.
(If you enjoy ‘The Caterpillar’, please spread the word, by printing out some of these flyers, cutting them up & distributing them… thanks!)
Space is the Place:
Another Girl, Another Planet:
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