Plates Full of Curious

Eat the bread – publish the bag – stick some stuff on it – call it a mag - 

Shawn Phillips & Donovan - Kingfisher

Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band – Pachuco Cadaver

More Music…..

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Meitheamh Bolb Macalla

From Aphrodite to Zeus – it’s the paper you can’t refuse – Fast & Bolbos, Bolbic, also papered- it’s The Caterpillar Dub- The Shyre’s first Collage Magazine!  Forget Fleet Street, Forget Le Monde and The New York Times, and make way for a REAL newspaper – The Caterpillar Dub- it’ll change the way you look at news…   No other paper even bothers to report on what’s been going on in the rotting wharfside district of New Lynsmouth.  No other paper gives you the latest bulletins on the goings on of Lazarus Taxon, Elias Gillpington and their friends and associates.  No other journal dares to penetrate the murky maze of alleys and twisting, Minoan back-streets that writhe their way up Kyvounder Hill, overlooking the Old Quarter, where the shadow has started to fall.  What other paper will warn the people of the dread doom creeping towards their slumbering lives??  What other paper will raise the alarm, mobilize the populace and rid the towne of the eldritch peril that broods and leers, biding and abiding, waiting for the day;  the day when- (no time to continue – the shadow approaches – run – save yourselves – RUN)

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BOLB

Elias Gillpington 12 BOLB

Flying together on slumber’s winged horse, let us visit the drowzy and dream-bedrenched seaboard towne of New Lynsmouth, soaring over its beetling spires, spiraling chimneys, clambering cottages, lurching gambrels, juddering porticoes, nettled by-ways and shadowy arches of a foggy night, long ago, as lanthorns shimmered and fog-horns honked in earnest.  As we fly together, over the slated, tiled and thatched roofs of the nocturnal port, why don’t we take the opportunity to catch up on the activities of one of it’s most prominent scholars, sinologists and proto-orniphopterists, why, none other than the aforementioned Mr Elias Gillpington Esquire, &c.&c..    Thyngs have not stood still for our protagonist during our absence from the seaboard of West Kirnowe, for even now comes a shadow- and murmurs and whispers fill the air.  

The Jimi Hendrix Experience – 51^st Anniversary

   

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BOLB

Autochthonous Dub

…As if for the hundredth time it seemed, my ears did glean the clattering feet of the carapaced companion of my nocturnal fog-bound wandering wayfaring ways.  By rotting wharves of eldritch and ancient buckling beams the galleons moored, awash to the gunwales with spices and pots of squid-ink, crabster-lobster hybrid thynges in baskets and barrels of salted starfish for ‘Pymbis Pie’.  Here strolled those scuttering pendulous feet and here followed I, aghast and agog with amazement – to be again on the trail of the Carapace – like a beetle blue he scuttled across the tremulous flower-head that is New Lynsmouth.  His tour of the lurching and festering wharfs was taken at a leisurely pace – he consulted a quadrant that he produced from under his maroon quilted coat – he took bearings on the sun and the land and the celestial objects, bodies and Worldes.  Picturing hieroglyphics in his mind’s splendid inner eye, he described arcs and great ballistic perambulations with the point of one of his many prehensile feelers.  Prodding forth an exoskeletal hand, or sort of an appendage of sorts, he traced the trajectory of the great heavenly globulations in their interstellar gyrations and oscillations.  Like a dirigible sailing through a great antediluvian cactus-forest he sailed and sallied forth, sails full of steam and boilers straining at their halyards.  Mesmerically galvanized by the sheer wattage of his radiant moonglow soul, I yielded as I always did, to the subtle influence of his presence, which was like the gradual incursion of a yak-herd upon a grassy upland pasturage.  Αυτόχθωνός – Autochthonous things did stir and wind beneath the rich native soil.  Vapors and spirits did whirl as the multiple feet of the carapaced thing crept along.  His glow radiant-warm and self-contained, his culture emanating in waves like a wisdom-radio device.  This was the Caterpillar as I had come, fleetingly and in a will-o-the-whispish way, to know him.  As on other occasions, I was not to be disappointed, as he whirled round and set those unfathomable and barely meetable eyes of his on me.  I felt the ground seem to give way, as my mind was swept up in the powerful luminous waves of his vast and buzzing consciousness again – and again that dread leaden drowse that I fought in vain to fight ere wakefulness took winged flight and I felt my waking-mind flee, flying free to realms buoyant and unknown and most relishable and wonderful – and I was glad.   And I flew I knew not where.  The smell of rain on the dust filled the hot spring air, the drowzy air of afternoon.  Like  cattle lost in the pillars of an ancient temple I wandered in my mind, through hills of purple heather and upland hinterland dodder and furze, broom and burs.  Through ivy-clad ancient dripping woods I wandered whithershins with my back to the sun and my face to the moon, stars in my eyes and the dust of a million aeons smote my skittering feet.  The cultural-transmission began and the carapace clicked and clattered in glee as the stream of mind-stuff was beamed into midstream and minds streamed as one.  Smiling on his acolyte, I felt that he was pleased so far with my efforts to pass on his message of lepidopteral fluttering moth-bliss, a thousand swarms of suchlike things as this.  Rivulets flew and flowed through and into a luminous glowing golowji, a towering beacon of nautical, dry, aquatic and spiritual knowledge, a flow of musical elements, an image-stream, an ideation alight and lit from within by lambent and translucent quivering foxglove dewdrops.  Rolls, scrolls, phonographic moles, dewlaps, specimens of various orders, cordata, taxonomological oddities, quirks, freaks, frequent flumes, quercus robur, plumes, enflorescenses, tribal-chants, masks, amusing anecdotes, stoat-skin waistcoats, outbursts of furious imagination and amplitudes of utter gargling bliss – nay, waves of the stuff, sheer waves of the stuff.   ---  Later, of course, events were less clear in my mind, but the essential event had eventually unfolded and with it a new chapter of carapaced culture unrolled upon a million crystal compound eyes.  

Magnetic Rag - Scott Joplin

Riding on a High & Windy Day – The Paragons

Let’s Get Together - H.P.Lovecraft

I Wasn’t Born To Follow – The Byrds

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Hope you enjoyed The Caterpillar Dub, A Visionary Ghetto Tabloid…  thanks for reading and see you next month!

Autochthonous Caterpillar

Αυτόχθωνός  - Springing up out of the Earth    -    grasshopper songs – indigenous,  preagricultural,   preconscious – sparkling,  rippling,   self-radiant,     autochthonous,  vivid and iridescent.  

Τσάμικο σόλο βέρσο Σωτήρης Σγούρος    

(Tsamiko  - Sotiris Sgouros)   

Κερατζίδικος - Σωτήρης Σγούρος (Keratzidikos – Sgouros; Gardiki)

Σκάρος - Σωτήρης Σγούρος (Skaros -  Sotiris Sgouros; Gardiki)

Tain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do – Bessie Smith

Jah Jah Bless the Dreadlocks – The Mighty Diamonds

…too subtle for words, something hovered over the vicarage lawn…        the smell of rain in dust brought the day to a standstill.  An elm creaked.  A hoverfly hung suspended as hours and minutes melted.  The preternatural shimmering of a dragonfly’s wing wrung wonderful rivulets of iridescent glow in glas golowji.  In an insect’s eye a thousand mirage-images hit the tiny brain simultaneous.  Under the grass-blades, the real action is happening.  Lambent foliage rumbles as sky-lark darkened spring night quakes awake at night be the old wood fire.  Strains of a grasshopper klarino song billow the echo of a beetle’s glistening carapace shell, krogonek surkot, as he dips through his dog-trot door into the eye  of summer.   Sheep stream across the mountain, Tsamiko soars, reflecting mountain’s soul.  Phonograph spins shimmering awareness, a stream of song, a conscious swirl of reed-throated upland warbling.  The golden thread of Melodia’s musing.  Τσάμικο σόλο βέρσο Σωτήρης Σγούρος        Sotiris Sgouros takes a solo in the Tsamiko. Screes of the rock-wall kingdom echo to the sound, happy the nomads who jam in the tent. 

Whirling Swirl 49

Clouds bilious accumulate towering and flimsy- blowing down the sky flits a scrap of newspaper- whirling and curling overhead, riding the seaward breeze- it’s The April issue of The Caterpillar Dub and it’s coming your way….. and it’s blowing away down the street… a gust picks it up and into the sky it’s whirled-

                                                   

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Swirling Whirl 49

                                               
Rolling on over golden fields of grain- sky blue haze casually drifts across-  spotted mottled cloud shadow today, rolling on the wind-  blowing down the day flies a scrap of paper- swirling and circling overhead, riding the breeze- it’s The April issue of The Caterpillar and it’s coming your way…..

                                                 

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