Pathways of the Celestial Bodies Inscribed on the Keltek Landscape in Antiquity

At first I was joking when I used to say I was 'going back to the Bronze Age', but quite soon the joke was on me and I found myself enshrouded in the crepuscular Keltek dusk of Kernow's tewlwolow husk.
The stones broke through like teeth emerging.
One finger points to another.
A long shadow cast by the moon.
Defend, Cultivate, Observe - study the Universe.
Honour nature.
Unlock the code.
Discover what is to be known - nature, the stars, people, the ocean, insects, your dreams - all one.

Well the ray of the moons' glow bounded off the tongue of a sleepless lark and glittered hard against the Druid's old stone tower.  Some things never change.  Bits of sunlight glimmered, glistened, glittered and glinted in a shimmering frazzle of dazzling glare, looming and rearing up all radiant daring to blaze through the haze and shazzam through the fleeting vaporous spindrift shimmer.  
The eye of seeing saw to it that the mind of knowing knew the deal.
Nature resplended in its entire perfection.
Nature comes with thorns.
Nature comes with horns.
Nature flows inseparable from the mind that perceives - thus, 'you are the eyes of the Universe.'

The entire fleshy, rocky and salt-water-croc-riddled trip centres around ye, the experiencing perceiver at the centre of the web, the heart of 'reality.'  
Well, if the whole Empire of Dust is pulling one way, might as well pull the other way, blazing up with the fire from the diamond-eyes of the stars.  Blaze against the cold steel rail, the numbing aparati of stagnation and the death of freedom - blaze away and rave, rage and rant - it's always better that way.  Rock the joint with ten thousand watts of pulsing rhythm and the wailing and popping cones of a hundred speakers, barking and yelping out their joyful song of life.  Just don't turn down the music if you want to meet the Muse.
*** 
Stay back where you are - you wouldn't like it here - this is not your place - stay in your age, you'd despise these weak and sneaky moderns with their stinking fire-chariots and their life of utter weakness.  There's nowhere left to run a horse and the game's all gone.  The chase has been replaced by the queue - they have these things called 'supermarkets' - stay where you are, my dear bronze ghosts, for you'd certainly hate it here.  All the towns are in the wrong places and nothing is aligned with nothing - Says it all - stay where you are - I'll come to you.
***
Rita Abatzi - One of Greece's greatest singers of our era:


Some stuff about my book, The Horned Whale... a Celtic Mystery Tale from Ancient Brittania

The pathways of the sky, painted across the land - a gift from the Old Ones, for those who have eyes to see.  

An Gath Vlewek Dasson 100 / The Caterpillar Dub 100 - The Bloom, The Mule and The Looming Blossom of The Luminous Jade Pagoda of Jasmine Fragrance (a.k.a.: Asiatic Stridulation Frenzy Dub)

Like a puffer-train pulled by a drunken mule, The Caterpillar Dub Number 100 finally rolls off the press and hits the news-stands, where it is quickly snatched up by an eager public, ever-hungry for news of the Unconscious-Front and developments in the inner and outermost realms of the Alaya Vijnana, the Deva Loka and sundry realms hither, thither and higher than you know - right here - under your nose.
In an illusory world, what could be more appropriate and needed than an ephemeral and non-substantial journal, of which this is the mere echo, the mere shadow of a shade, perhaps dreampt of one drowzy summer afternoon, many long summers ago, if I do remember arightly.
Gather ye blessings, my brothers and sisters, my old ones and young ones -gather ye virtues and kindnesses and ye shall be blessed with a bliss that blossoms in deepest fragrant bloom - the Great Kindness that hides within, like the tree within the seed.  The carefree seed of joy - hey ho the heart that hateth not is free indeed.
Well hey I could waffle on like this all night but I expect you're all waiting for the hard-news, the in-depth, investigative journalism and fearless reporting that has given The Caterpillar Dub it's hard-won reputation in the world of international journalism.  So anyway babies, here's The Dub Version so I hope yous enjoy it -

Well the blurb is being mixed in the print-house and they're just getting the glue to the right consistency - these things are important you know.  When the alphabet runs low, they simply import some characters from the collective unconscious - it's a process of Universal Flow and it's what gives The Caterpillar Dub it's peculiarly and distinctively local feel.  Worlds melt and collide, forming colloids and celluloid jelloid gelatinous constellations that spin in joyous union with time and mind.  Other journals tend to focus on more mundane matters that the clitter-clatter of a Caterpillar's glittering antennae in the dew-drop morning of the promise of magic - well,so be it.  Anyway, ya know where to go when you wish to meld with the flow.  Not a shilling, not sixpence will ye be asked, nor thre'pence, tuppence nor nout whatsoever as The Caterpillar Dub is a freely given echo, straight from the heart of the original Caterpillar, which is itself beyond cost, price, feathers and mice.

Don't forget to check out my book - it'll rip ya soul out.
The Horned Whale or An Morvil Kornek by Jeremy Schanche

Here's some jams I like to listen to

The Lyre of Apollo

Being, streaming, conscious awareness feeling the Universal Flow - More than this you probably won't find - More than this I do not know.

The Caterpillar No.100 / An Gath Vlewek 100 - Oh Yea, Oh Yea, Here Ye The News! (Calling The Carapaced Muse)

Well a ripple forms up out of the aether and up rises The Caterpillar, lost in the fog again.  Where have you been?  What have you seen?  What have you to tell of The Shyre and it's perpetual dream?  Many leagues have I laboured and many versts have I vaulted, faultlessly vaunting a Raven's crawk, I rattled back to town and blended in with the sleepers.  Now I drift among them, a globose and gelatinous thing of the night, putting cats and dogs to fright with the fire in my jelloid orbital eye. Back from the Ancestral Lands where Spirits seethe in blissful ecstatic writhe, churning in a sea aethereal and glassy I brood gothic and austere, as lichen clings to the unspeakably ancient rock.  Moss my bed and granite ivy and rooks for a pillow of illusion, dew-drenched and peeped at by wrens.

From the soul of your scribe streams a scroll of jive, freely given with aethereal fingers five, a pympbys starfish is a five-fingered hand - left hand stranded on the spindrift sands till time waves a hand holding a magic wand and oceanic billows crash - the thought-waves of a sea of mind.

Yes me friends, let the sun stream into your hearts, the jewel-like crystal images into your minds - from an autumnal hay-field blows a golden breeze bringing a gift from the Goddess of Harvest, the richness of the Dreamland, scattered to the breezes of summer's end.  A tear trickles down the marble face of a Karyatid and a faughn shivers in the morning dew.  Light glistening through a clear glass flask onto a pure flower of violet - memories of a youthful idyll, a bliss of the mind, a blessing, a wish, a dream, globules, crystaline fragments and jewels of the inner-lit-mind.  Poetry poured from the horn of the proclaiming piper, a figment at the Gates of Dawn, wrapping his purple cloud cloak around shoulders of shimmering bronze, towering, ancestral, imaginary, wrought of jade, ivory and mother-of-pearl, you ride the Keltek breeze and guard the souls of the tribes of old, your eye sweeps the ocean deep and scatters souls to sleep.  

Rippling Moth's Wing Revelations

Too long the lines of the Sun - too arced the zenith and peak - too long the beams of the stars - gravity bends time-waves and matter - regardless, the skein unwinds, the dew collects, the song upwells, the music swells, the spirits rise, the spirits rise - and songs unwind -

Send this postcard of Syd Barrett to your friends...

Lucifer Sam - Pink Floyd

The Gnome - Pink Floyd

Scarecrow - Pink Floyd (supply your own music - whistle the tune or sing it if you know it… I sing it in D)

Bike - Pink Floyd

 

Julia Dream - Pink Floyd

The Narrow Way - Pink Floyd

Cirrus Minor - Pink Flord

If It’s In You - Intro-Blurb Outtake - Syd Barrett

Long Gone - Syd Barrett

Golden Hair - Syd Barrett

Effervescing Elephant - Syd Barrett

If - Pink Floyd

Jugband Blues - Pink Floyd

Tyranosaurus Rex - Stacey Grove

Or groove to these hip LP's - it's up to you...

The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn - Pink Floyd

        
More - Pink Floyd


The Madcap Laughs - Syd Barrett


Jet Propelled - Soft Machine


Prophets, Seers and Sages, The Angels of the Ages  - Tyrannosaurus Rex


Playlist of stuff about Syd


Walk With Me Sydney... Pink Floyd, 1965
- early Syd songs, recently released....

and in the dreaming shall be wakefullness!

Hellys - A Golden Metheven Mandala of Bliss in Kernow's Dreamy Kiss

Down the time-tunnel – through to 1966 and beyond – all stations are stations of possibility – in this Lovesummer of Explosive Peace and bright joy – revisiting the pastown like Marley’s Ghost, Marcus’ Ghost, Garvey’s Ghost, and all the ghosts of Pengersick’s wizard-haunted towering realm, espied afar overseas, far over tramor and trasna na dtonnta – this Keltek tin-town tin-pot real – look and learn it… old newspapers – all the styles that have gone – yesterday’s modernity – faded futurism and peeling paint on boutique doors and discotech tactile touchstones – all is revealed in the streets of archaic and lichen-crusted granite and in the faces of those you meet – reality unfurls its banner and rattles replete –

Metheven howlyak scorches the pavements on the south-facing hill, the nettley hill over the Cober – June sun sears streets and blue azure dark dome broods happily with sparkling light-points- pointillism come to life in impressionistic drowse – nothing changes too much here, I stuck my head round the door of the dark and cavernous inn to see that naught had changed too much, except for the bairns running around – playing in the drunken footfalls of ghost-monks from the 13^th Century – the Bewlay Brothers blasting from a teenage tape-player, sunshine- sunshine – fields of the sun-

and all this shot through with great truths I have yet to imagine-

ΣΑΝ ΕΓΥΡΙΖ' ΑΠ' ΤΗΝ ΠΥΛΟ, 1935, ΣΤΡΑΤΟΣ ΠΑΓΙΟΥΜΤΖΗΣ

 

ΔΕΝ ΜΠΟΡΩ, ΜΑΝΟΥΛΑ Μ' (ΓΙΑΤΡΟΣ)_Μάρθα Φριντζήλα

Κοντούλα η βλάχα στα βουνά-Αλεξοπούλου Ντίνα

Ο καιξης - Χατζηχρηστος- Βαμβακαρης

ΧΑΜΕΝΟΙ ΑΓΓΕΛΟΙ - 1948 (Χιώτης-Εσύ 'σαι η αιτία)

Irie!

Lives of the Unknown

Many another life has brushed against your own - self and other appearing separate, most of the time, not always- 

merging-

The Caterpillar 98 - A Visionary Ghetto Tabloid - London Cameo of 1952

Moonlight flickers over the spiraling scene - and thoughts unfurl from a life ephemeral - one of the lost billions - a flicker of light and a life lived fleetingly - thoughts flung and pictures hung on walls of crumbling plaster - Samsara flakes flicks and fumbles away for ever a bumbling bee in the heather of summer's hilltop pinic-

ΦΕΞΕ ΜΟΥ ΦΕΓΓΑΡΑΚΙ ΜΟΥ - 
ΑΘΑΝΑΣΙΑ ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΠΟΥΛΟΥ


Απόψε η Πούλια μάλωνε - 
Αθανασία Αλεξανδροπούλου


ΔΥΟ ΜΑΥΡΑ ΜΑΤΙΑ ΑΓΑΠΩ
- Γ.ΠΑΠΑΣΙΔΕΡΗΣ, Γ.ΑΝΕΣΤΟΠΟΥΛΟΣ


ΣΒΑΡΝΙΑΡΑ -ΝΙΚΟΣ ΚΑΡΑΚΩΣΤΑΣ - (ΟΡΓΑΝΙΚΟ-1934)


Giannis Papaioannou - Otan klaiei to bouzouki

the sepia memories in yellow newsprint...... lit by the sun....
blown by the wind......