The glossolalia-echo of summer’s fruiting-body, drenched and marbled in a vaporous film of flimsy imagery.
Relishable to sit on the low cliff, overlooking the water. The Cor-Mor-Ant skims over the Mor, projecting his silvery reflection. This lapping pewter mirror meniscus slips over the bed of the Earth. Cloudy sky dips drooping down to meet and marry the mor, grey billows puffdadaist pillows of watery vapourous flimsy stuff. Searing sun slinks hidden above the puffy layer, basking, rasping, replete and resolute in shiny shark-skin suit.
At the water’s edge the land is muted, swaddled, subdued and subsumed… The soft land melts into the soft sea. The clouds disolve the hills. The ocean absorbs the land and the rocks.
Technical note: Since Blogger seems to be having a problem with letting you enlarge images, we’ll print the text of ‘The Caterpillar’ No.38 for you:
Hallo, and in today’s news we have reports that large sections of the country are dreaming in golden black earth fields as flamingoes wield glint feathery glowing rivulettes.
Reports are beginning to reach us from the Mid-Country, the Centre-Earth, the drowse-field, the furrowed furlong day, the hinged flint hinterland saying mercury runs through time like sand.
And now over to our home-affairs correspondent in the home counties where tea-cozys chuff and puff scones, thatched-roofs, brittle biscuits, croquet lawns clacking, a sunny day, a drive in the motor-car, ducks on the village green, the Weald, the Wold, the wobbling early World, bakewell tarts, cricket, cloche hats and a phonograph playing the Charleston.
And from our foreign affairs department we are receiving reports of vast open spaces, titanic gangetic deltas, Obs, Dakotas and Orinochos. Of teaming hordes, stampeding herds, shattering ice-bergs, lava-flows, cactus jungles and steppes. Of turbans, Turfan, Dong Fang, Ming Ching and deep-fried chicken-wing.
And in the city today a basket of currants see the light of a market day, on market street, buzzing, fizzing metropolitan jazz schisms scatter frissons of shivering glissando rhythms. And souls of the city soar, searing and seething gleefully revealing today’s street-feeling.
And today’s weather – there will be shattered skewers in the rest and sloth, with bands of grain and packets of isolated sun-hailing. Sleet sleek she slithers silently forth. Sun-glow a-boom a-radiate down like a radio tuned to warm. Magical under the sun, maroon earth slumbers.
& Here's some flyers to print, cut out and scatter around - Share the Vision.....
We have thought of ourselves, perhaps, as creatures moving upon this earth, rather helpless, at the mercy of storm and hunger and our enemies. We are to think of ourselves as immortals, dwelling in the Light, encompassed and sustained by spiritual powers. The steady effort to hold this thought will awaken dormant and unrealized powers, which will unveil to us the nearness of the Eternal. PATANJALI – YOGA SUTRAS Interpreted by Charles Johnston, N.Y. 1912
Just heard the sad news about the death of Captain Beefheart - early hero and musical Visionary - lots of Love to the Spirit Flying Free...
http://yecaterpillar.blogspot.com/2010/03/lick-my-decals-off-baby.html
i love you you big dummy...
To Minore Tou Teke - Ioannis Khalkias
The Caterpillar - The Paper That Remixes Itself.......
A Poster For Your Wall
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