In a faraway towne, scuttling feet, polyploid feet, padded, rattled, scouring the streets with antennae intelligently twitching, moon glinting splendidly reflected in myriad facets of crystal fragments in the wall as scurrying feet go clattering by---
Last sighted long ere aeons ago here in the twisting tumbling alleys of New Lynsmouth of old, eldritch, terrible, unspeakably ancient, I speak of the unspeakable, I point to the pointless, faring forth from this ancient whaling-port, rustling down side-streets, clear as the moon, light haloing the clouds, the atavistic ancestral carapace emerges, fresh from the shadow-play- threads of causality – who are you? Said the Caterpillar….. I looked, but the street was empty. Unspeakable.
And in the city, the market closed today at 1.7.
More rain is expected later this afternoon, with sunny periods, scattered showers and signs, wonders, mysteries, water-spouts, revelations and globes of blue fire. And the cuckoo shall cause his voice to be heard.
John Henry – John Jacob Niles
You Got To Cross That Lonesome Valley – John Jacob Niles
Βρε μάγκα το μαχαίρι σου ( το Κουτσαβάκι )
- Στράτος, Μάρκος, Μπατης, Δελιας
ΕΓΩ ΚΑΛΑ ΚΑΘΟΜΟΥΝΑ
(ΓΙΑ ΝΑ ΦΟΥΜΑΡΩ ΠΗΓΑΙΝΑ)
Catalogue d’oiseau - Messiaen
and the cuckoo sang with the lark.....