In Moonlight

The scribe-s house was deep in the high moorland country which dominates the very tip of Britain-s most westerly shyre -  The lane which led to it twisted its way between high Cornish hedges - some of which contained massive block-work redolent of the mystic Bronze Age -  The scribe walked this lane one moonlightful night alone in the bright radiance that glazed the countryside all about -
  The lane snaked along the side of a valley - its high hedges following the natural contours as if it was originally built to defend the valley -   After some time and a brief glimpse of a fox out hunting he finally caught sight of his house bathed and dappled in moonlight -
  It was a large - rather Gothic and curiously ancient house - set alone and aloof in its isolated enys - its patch of rugged and empty moorland -  He had bought it for its solitude - its considerable distance from any other habitation -   For a writer needs a certain amount of solitude and here he could truly write -  What-s more the conditions on that particular night were perfect as there was nothing that stirred his imagination more than a full moon -  like the one that at that moment was shining in through the many windows off his ancient abode -   After taking a moment to brew tea he proceeded to the centre of his kingdom - the large mahogany table in front of the window through which he could view the spacious lawns and topiaries of the rather formal but deeply enchanting garden -
  A slight mist shrouded the shrubs and anointed them in glistening jewels of moisture - Whisps of atmospheric fog drifted over the lawns looking sometimes like clouds - sometimes like figures or fauns -  He picked up his pen to write - moved by the scene in front of him and its haunting atmosphere but even as he did so he seemed to swoon and spin into a blissful trance - a reverie or species of dream-vision or seeing -
  The crystal-glass paper-weight before him gleamed with untold and unusual clarity and it seemed the glare and glister was enmeshed somehow with his own mind and self and he himself was becoming crystalline and clear in feel and mind - as if the clarity of the crystal in the moonlight was transferred to his own perception thereby clarifying it and making it pure as clean water -
  He stopped - drew breath - stared in wonder - the pen dropping from his hand and clattering quietly to the table -  He let go and felt no need to fathom the cause of the feeling or seek explanation but rather merely he kept to a quiet stillness and rapturous flowed the time around him -
  The moments as mere pebbles in a stream or fluttering birds of the air - glazed and joyous he sat rapt and rapturous in a symphony of curious happiness -  And if such was so strong and real and true he mused it must have been there all along -  This he did not so much think as wordlessly intuit and know in his heart - 
  A cathedral of moonbeams illuminated the room and bounced and glittered from a thousand and one shiny glints hither and thither -  The still beauty of the moon had crept stealthily into his domain and wafted him into a deep samadhi state -  Joy and wonder are one really -  They brimmed over in him and he gazed before him as the seer of a new world --
  Knowing this to be the nature of beings he was content -

Seas Sail Strange

Flashes of light in the sky - Cloud-formations looming up - Things in the sky and things on the wind - Seas sail to strange shores and the cosmos throws out strange new forms - 

The Dream Flows Awake

Come in my friends - come on in and take a seat in this Platonic cave of dreams and colourful illusions and chimeras - The luminous liquidescent resinous flow of Rebetiko fills the air - 
This music that is all soul - all Muse - all dance with 9 beats to the bar and thousands of years of culture in the measure - Dripping liquid amber in the voice of Stratos Pagioumtsys and the hands of Vasilis Tsitsanis scatter magic sprinkling dust over the stings of his ebony Olympian bouzouki - These sounds of the soul speak uniquely of a time and place Greek - resplendent in the sun dappled drowze of yesteryear-s 30-s phonograph pine-cone past -  Rippling silver strings drizzle drips of fine treble notes amongst the collected warblings of the Kompania -  The group swoops into song - climbing the irregular pavement of nine steps - ascending to the exalted heights - the fields in the sky -  the golden fields - 

ΜΕΣ' ΤΗΝ ΠΟΛΛΗ ΣΚΟΤΟΥΡΑ ΜΟΥ -

ΣΤΡΑΤΟΣ ΠΑΓΙΟΥΜΤΖΗΣ - 1938 

Old Fish In A New Kind Of Water

DREAM ALL ABOUT IT - LATEST FROM THE OTHER SIDE - THE CATERPILLAR DUB - AN ANTIDOTE TO CONCEPTUAL JOURNALISM - AVAILABLE EVERYWHERE SIMULTANEOUSLY - THE ONLY PAPER THAT TRULY TELLS IT LIKE IT IS - 
Written in light in the space between the atoms of solid conditioned quotidian reality - A yelp from the forest at the edge of town where the wilderness begins -  The drip of rain on the back of a fish - An echo of the explosion that gave birth to the sun and stars - The primordial rush - a pocketful of stardust - a rustle - a hustle and bustle - It-s the Dub!  It-s the Caterpillar Dub and it-s available everywhere now!

Rippling through the aether - - -

A Turbid Colourless Viscous Solution

Back in the wilderness at last - when a raven circles round and round overhead cawing you know you-re in the right place - Where else is there to be but nature ~

Glorious Tewlwolow Vision

Ten luminous Earth-years rumbled by as the transmissions continued to emanate from the abstracted whirling antennae of the larval and carapaced entity known to me only by the nomenklatura of The Caterpillar and these atom-rippling mysteries did indeed sparkle bright and glitter ever before me - enticing me on to realms of glittering light - of shining harmonies and districts of molten energy that lurk in those unimaginably vast and unfathomable gulphs between the atoms of structural matter - 
On other and many another divers voyage across the watery globe in pursuit of the shining waters and the shimmering seas and all that they hid and held hasped in their samfire-grasp I wandered forth distracted and dreamy-footed I stumbled out upon the Spanish Main to chew cactus-buds with vultures for my companions and spit the golden pips at the bones of the bleached buffaloes wallowing in the dust of nothing on a blistering day of droning flies and rippling glistening heat - As such I followed my feckless feet and set pen to ink and paper to fire in a frenzied attempt to warm my gelatinous skeletal frame - I clutched at a spy-glass with grizzled hand and spun it out towards the land - the land I saw was golden dust with glimmering hedge-rows of autumn-s rust - I rattled on in country-clogs and ate the miles up under me - 
I thought I could make out the Caterpillar scuttling on ahead - always ahead - and ever disappearing round the next corner or behind the next tree - 
I-d been on the trail of that glorious beast for many a year now and had had only but the fleetingest and most ephemeral of encounters with this great abstract being - this conduit of cosmological diamond-dust - I was determined to catch up with the rattling crustaceous body of him and find out what the blazes it was all about and all!  
Well way back in 1911 The Caterpillar transcribed the journal of Elias Gillpington which in turn mutated into the Gothic novel The Kramvil which is itself the root-cause of The Buxtereide Prize For Literature - one of the most far-reaching - successful and well-known literary prizes in the entire world of West-Cornish Surrealist Collage-Journalism - 
Well - with a track-record like that it only now remains for me to introduce yous to The Caterpillar himself - but that-s just the thing you see - I can-t - because he-s flittered off again - doing a runner on his innumerable scuttling rattling clod-hopping gutter-jumping square-toed diamond-buckled rhythm -n- blues (that-s shoes to you) so I-ll be off after the vanishing glistening footprints of carapaced sparkling mirth and see if he-s gone back to the phone-box - there-s just a chance he-ll remanifest out of the ephemeral archaic aether there in his aerie eyrie atop the midnight classical kiosk where many a jar of nature-nectar necked and knocked gnashing and dashing it to the floor as the visions spun in - 
A desert road - a leafy lane - a watery meadow - a dusty summer road through the slumberous country - eagles over the mountains and rivers spilling down into the rich plains where gypsy fiddles sing and pungent woodsmoke swirls subtle but sweet - moon sets and dawn grey paints dew glistening with diamonds on the cobwebs and the chattering of the first wren coming through the mist of a silvery day rising - 

Dizzy spins the Milky Way -

Stardust and jelly -

Whispered Echoes

If time is an illusion then you can-t be late so here is The Caterpillar Dub for June 2018 -  For iconographic reasons the portrait of The Luminous Three had to be represented in a new way -  The figure of Quan Yin was drawn by Flora -  She also did the small horned creature which represents Lao Tsu and the caterpillar which represents a transformed emanation of Shakyamuni Buddha - Seems like a good symbolic animal for this purpose as the transformation of wiggling grub into a beautiful flying creature is a good illustration of the change that takes place on Enlightenment when the true nature of mind and reality is finally realized - 

The Luminous Three at peace in the mountains

Will the Circle be Unbroken ~

The Luminous Three

From out of the mouth of the Caterpillar pours silk - From the mouth of the whale pours amber - from the lips of a tiger pours a roar that rounds the world to reach the ears of a faraway girl -
But in another land - in another time - in another realm of understanding - something else unfurls and shines its emanation -

The Laughing Choughs of the Feathery Roads of the Sky

Fashionably late here is last month-s edition of The Amazing Caterpillar Dub - The World-s Most Popular Newspaper!  Oh yeah!  

Pyrrhocorax pyrrhocorax - Fire-Crow fire-crow

Well they Do say - - -



Wheal Roots - The Greensplat Jynn-Kebber and other Underground Ephemera from Kernow (aka Cornwall)



μπουζούκι

Yellow Shamanism and the Cargo Cults of Polynesia - A critical overview of polytheistic syncretism across the eastern hemisphere

The Caterpillar drools with relish contemplating the cultural exchange of expressions of human spirituality amongst the tribal peoples of central Asia and the Pacific Ocean -  Stridulating with the iron-rigor of the crystal carapace the luminous lepidopteral lavae looms large afore me like a quilin come to roam the land in times of great auspicious happenings and mass luminary visionings -  With quick and flicking movements of crisp rattling antennae the Primordial Lavae transmits suchforth lore and knowledge to the teeming world - ever-hungry for Mystery - 
Such is the fish that breams are made of and eye for one nose it -
Myriad many-faceted jewel-like eyes of lepidopteral-wonderment shine bliss and bubbling humour through crystaline antennae via the quivering wavelength of psychic-Chi - 
The countless hands of the Carapaced-One hold quixotic angular and eliptical parchments - tablets and scrolls that hold more juice than all the rantings of the Babylon-media many-tentacled squid-monster - Subduing the babble of deluded dwarves from the City of the Somnambulists the Caterpillar calmly goes about his way - rippling with delight - blissful in reverie and resplendent in iridescent molecular regalia -

or so they say anyway - - - 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yellow_shamanism

So There I Was Going Down The Road When All Of A Sudden

Nature never went away - we did -  Now it-s good to step back -  step back into nature -  It never went away -  You did -  your foreparents did -  your fake-culture did -  nature never did -  still here - 

Still dropping leaves in the forest and raindrops in the sea -  Still unfolding the fern and shining the eye of the seer -  Still mossing the wood and lichening the stone -  Still stronging the bone and redding the blood - still coursing in the loins of lions - the heart - the brain -  bringing the rain - bringing the surge -

ΤΟ ΠΑΙΧΝΙΔΙ ΤΟΥ ΑΜΕΡΙΚΑΝΟΥ - ΡΙΤΑ ΑΜΠΑΤΖΗ - 1936

The Caterpillar Laughs

For some years now the elder eldritch lepidopteral lava had been crepuscular-flitting and transmitting the pieces of the Minoan Mosaic Culture to me via mystic meet-ups at the midnight phone-box in Pendoze – Behind the Hump-Me Dump-Me statue - In the heart of the old Jewish Market District – near the wharves where whalers rot unsung at rusty anchor and doubloons rattle in the silt and bilge underfoot – Katapliktikos was the Great Antennaed One as he quixotically and osmotically beamed soft luminous neon blue-white rays from his ancient centres of knowledge and shone them my way – Such was the power of the rays I was frequently stunned and on occasion rendered totally unconscious – only to come to some time later – slumped in the midnight phone-box – some time after midnight now of course and rain rattling on the carapace shell of the tiny glass hut -  Never without the glow of celestial knowing do he leave me before going back to the myriad unravelling ways of the night and the mystic business of his thread-spinning and weaving kind -   In tubular glass vials and philes of philtres he left chemicular imprints of significant finds in the realms of organic-structure and the nature of all things -  On waxen cylinders he left strands of music in many forms and styles for a vast range of instrumental forces -  Jars and pots and chests and boxes of scrolls and parchments he passed on and also glass slides and photographic images in many forms – Keys – cyphers – clues – lexicons and harbingers were left loaded – pointing the way to yet more doors to kick open and unleash the collected forces of many cultures and powers – many magical traditions and shamanic studies were included in the ken of the Caterpillar-s whirling feelers – his sentient all-embracing mind flowed over with cultural knowledge and inside nature knowledge like a mighty fountain that sprayed the pigeons that played at its splashing feet -   Shedding the hasps and masks of identity and mortal conformity he re-emerged and re-appeared constantly in ever-slightly-changed forms – ever aetherial and elusive – ephemeral and insubstantial – more idea than flesh-body – more thought-form than sinew – this beast was composed of the very threads of mind-stuff and knew no such limits as ye or I do know – So to learn of lute and lyre and kindle Olympos-s fire in company with this great ephemeral creature was joy untold and over aeons did he the tale unfold – Ever holding in the folds of his robe a book – a telescope and a globe – therewith to scan the scene and scour the worldly-realme and surf upon the billows of the foamy deeps and bustle free and high among the puffy clouds of cumulus nimbus blue and aether and jazz on in the sunset-s gorgeous dripping scarlet purple honey of a sunset howldrehevel evening on old Kernouac Cornish cliff most high and gritty grained bulwark of Atlantek-s roaring shore -   Zeibekiko he scratched with peculiar charm on the many-stringed lyre he clutched with several of his iridescent exoskeletal arms as he spun the melody in slow sedate largo nine eight shuffle – A noble rhythm for an eagle with wings outstretched or circling vulture high above the mountain-valleys looking for carcass with bead of an avine all-spying eye – Thus did he vouchsafe:

Melting myself constantly –

I dissolve into cocoon silk -

Then I spin again –

Afresh the tale unwinds –

You won-t unravel me by grasping at the thread -

This tale starts at the centre –

                                                                                                        *

Winding country road – Many years ago – Leaves blowing from the trees – Yellow the light of the sun – Rain had been driving in sheets – Mellow the smell of the earth – Birds were returning to song – Scatter the light of the sun – Raindrops on dewdrops on grass – Bush-crickets running for shelter – ants sliding skilfully down their holes – Rabbits are running for cover – Thunder breaks dark clouds in two – dark covers over the sky – coolness fills into the air – breeze softly mumbles around – leaves stirs about on the ground – windy and starting to rain – drops big as coins hit the ground – Ears of the forest look round – eyes that have listened to the ground – Skin that has smelt all the ground – whiskers that twitch with the sound – listening the forest around – creatures are stirring in sound – breath coming out of the ground – badgers are mulling and brooding – snorting and snuffles and grunts – badger-breath sticky and hot – Fly hiding under the leaf – glistening radiant eye – shiny the carapace glows – thorax and feelers as one – Well the moving of the morning was unfolding and the waters of the ocean were all seething with scintillating light the waters dancing and all around the winds were softly singing and the hearts of countless people lifted upwards and the rain of light fell gently on the people and the laughter of the throngs was like an ocean and the dancing in the streets was like a heatwave and the singing went right through the flowing morning and the fires still burnt on by nightfall-s darkling and the sparrow and the starling were rejoicing and the ivy was entwining with the elder - 

Print - Cut centre-slit - fold into your eight-page miniature edition of The Caterpillar Dub (This month-s edition features The Luminous Three - Sakyamuni Buddha - Quan Yin and Lao Tsu)









melting from the edges - the surface dissolves to leave only the radiant centre - 

Out Of The Cocoon

Street scenes of the everyday night – Phone-boxes of the street-corner hook-up – Phones off the hook and hangs dangling by the wire – Carriages rattle past oblivious to the pathos of the scene – Here-s where – tendrils whirling – I have had the melting experiences of meeting the Caterpillar – encountering the entity face to decapodic face – Katapliktkos and simultaneously cataleptic this beast flowed with a natural rhythm that defied artifice and nullified the bourgeois mind in one fell swoop -  This Caterpillar was the repository of myriad untold dreams from many creatures of many aeons and epochs of singular collective popular and universal flow and human surge through time-s tapestried halls and space-s unfathomable caverns – the lucky beast!  
Well luck was with the humans too as the gifts of caterpillactic knowledge culture and science would soon be spread amongst – disseminated among and generally bestowed upon a seething and pullulating species of monstrous dream-primate sometimes known as Homo sapiens sapiens – the thinking man-s ape –

Dreading that forces unfavourable to the transmission of these cultural treasures were at work – pitting their unwholesome strength into an attempt to thwart the Caterpillar-s work – he reacted by spinning a cocoon of activity – changing form and occilatory-rate – seeming to become more aethereal yet palpably sentient and present – almost human – no – much more than human – and so capable of seeing into the human heart – the human body and blood – the endocrines and adrenalin – the biological underlay that has such influence on the constitution and thus on the typical thought-process – He could observe all these things with his sweeping – scanning antennae and drink in the essence of any activity to which he was exposed –

Plankton-papyri and ambergris archives were opened and revealed by the hundred feet and the swirling papillae – namely the psychic-antennae but fundamentally he would work by direct-communique – he could talk straight into your mind – thus eliminating the need for the crude semaphore of flapping lips and tongues – the monotonous music of the human voice was obsolete and seemed unutterably primitive once he had established the direct method and cut out the middle-man of verbal verbosity -  Such things as happen in red public phone-boxes at midnight in the main streets of Kernouac towns – namely in Pendoze – a quiet little place by the sea where nothing much ever happens – a cobbled hobgoblin hovel huddling high on ramparts of steel-slate pewter skies -  

                                                                                    *

{For your mini Caterpillar chapbook simply print - fold and cut as previously instructed - a video will appear on this one day - meantime - if you-re stuck - ask your kids!}

                                                                         *

Feel like I-m under water – like I-m in a trance and I can-t wake up – My mind is blunt and I can-t wake up -  Handel bludgeons me unconscious with his ancient formal-garden layouts - lead-lethargy is aemic and osseous - invading the body with its insidious weight - puling as gravity pulls and wrapping bladder-wrack around me ankles as I stumble and tumble in slumber I wander and seek and search and wonder still with head aloft unto the sky and to the stars my eye doth shine a twinkling reflection of all this - of all this -

All twinkled in the eye of a reflective movement like the birth - life and explosive death of a vast Universal System - a Tri-Chilocosm - a Maha-Loka - Births coming and going and exploding and popping like thoughts - The thoughts of an ant - The thoughts that fill the head that fills the aunt-s hat - The ant-s heart and the hart-s panting breath - Breathess entranced - the Arhat has no thoughts -

                                                                                       *

Inexhaustible realms of consciousness - States of mind - programmes - mental-worlds - mind-sets - beliefs - feelings - feelings - feelings - feel - 

                                                                                        *

Death-s Little Imps come and tap you on the shoulder - Mini-deaths - deaths miniaturized and minisculed - death-hints delivered by the Imp Servants of the Skeleton Lord - A bony finger taps you on the clavicle - "You haven-t got forever you know - 
What do you think you-re doing ~  
What do you think you-re doing~" 



Phenomenal flow radiating through the tangible part of the universe - atomic poetry unravelling into molecular chemistry and cellular biological entity - Hallo human - please step forward - you-re on -     It-s your show - You are the star - it-s yours - all yours - your world - take it - take it easy but take it - take it back to the source and shake it - take it to the shiny void - to the misty cloud - to the starry sky - take it away and sing it to life - offer it life and reflect on it -
Ravens and crows have plenty to say -

The last thing you need is more words in your head - but have some anyway - just in case you do - Anything is better than serious media - a squawking crow is a refreshing sound after you-ve enjoyed the sound of ten thousand fiddles steeped overnight in maple-syrup by demented goatherds  - punctuated by the percussion of krogens - carapaces - cocoanuts - goat-skulls - tongueless bells and drums that don-t stick - The sound of falling earth is sweeter than any radio and the sea has more to say than ten million monkeys all chanting the words of Shakespeare - Chaucer and Dickens - So in the light of these revelations you can follow this trail back to the realm of the Caterpillar!