An Gath Vlewek Gortheren ha Gorwir

I lit a new lamp in my garret. The old one had burned too dim. I loved the light from the brand-new lamp that flooded the flat and showed it to shine, but that was as nothing for this same night I’ve seen the almost-full Moon through a glass and it’s a sight to stir the psyche to euphoric rapture and slide into blissful glissando white lunar reveries of infinite peace and silence, courted by bright Venus, so clean the craters and cloud’s rag-shadows racing over flicker the face of the great moon and cast a vast spell of great nature’s power and airless luminous silver mystery, also thrown upon the face of the waters in the glistening shivering merriel meniscus on the wet silver fishwaters of the shores of old Newlyn Green. Flatfish teem and eels in countless thousand myriad shoals and schools I thought, churning and churring, just below the surface, teeming, pulsing and beetling they shiver and rattle the water to glint back the moon’s borrowed glow of the Sun, who’s hiding round the other side of the drowsy night world, yawning and stretching, dreaming under the diamond myriad skies of fishwet night. All asleep and drowsy deep the sea, the light, the flickering scintilla that struck with rapture shiver and gape in sheer naked wonder at the course of the stars through the heavens and the bronze colossal archaic structure of time’s very veering as it looms from nothing to nothing, blazing meanwhile in full effulgence humandivine. Searing sideways the moon’s light slithers gelatinous yet crispy-dry, pulsating and pullulating yet uttering an ever-deathly stillness to the dark night of another transient eternity. 

Eightfold Dub

Never mind the other news - The Caterpillar Dub tells you all you need to know.....   Simply print, cut down the centre line (but not all the way!) and fold into your souvenir Alice book.... 

Eightfold Alice

Can Alice work out how to print, cut and fold the images into a coherent book? Not if The Mad Hatter can help it! And he's not the only baroque character out there trying to impede Alice in their own crazy way.

Awareness Flows Clear

Yes, that fluffiest of bunnies, that most albumenesque of pseudo-rodential, mythic trans-dimensional watch-clockers, the fabled and fantastical so-called and self-styled ‘white rabbit’ has been seen in the area – Beware!

If you are the punctual type, it’s best to keep well away from this curious little critter – he has a way of making people late.  Very late.  I’m talking of days and weeks, not minutes and hours, by the way.  It’s your call, but I’d keep away from the little sucker if I were you…

{I heard that! Quoth the White Rabbit wrathfully.} 

Flow Of Clear Awareness

I love to see the lights come on warm and golden in the evening’s misty damp grey.  These beacons of homely glow and cheer lure the weary home, like the disembodied souls of the universe flying home to roost.  This priceless golow glister that shines from a sea of earthly windows on the houses up on the hill, it speaks of the sanctity of home, of the beauty of warmth and shelter and also of the hint of adventure as your life crosses that of another. 

Lovers play in some of these lighted looming rooms whilst in others, solitary sit the solo, lost in thought and musing the universe through an eye to the sky.  Spangled light orange as barley and glowing from within, seeping and dripping from gambrelled windows and gable-pitched rooves.  Each window a splodge of golden orange paint in my oil-painting, my structure of dark blue brickwork against the city sky when I was youth incarnate. 

Casting away sorrows, the rebetis takes up an ancient lute and breaks into song.  Now let the light shine. 

P.S.  You might have noticed that The Caterpillar frequently comes out late these days.  For that, we can only blame the influence of the white rabbit.

Spirits That Rise With The Sun In Their Eyes

From out of the mouth of the gyni came forth fables and parabels - this was good - as long as the gyni never offends the sultan he is free to babble - but if the sultan gets too pissed off the gyni will have to hide in a jar until he passes or turn him into a camel...

he doesn't mind doing this.

Rising Spirits

Walking through golden mist knee-deep and swirling thick and glutinous like luminous marmalade, through budding meadows brim with the efflorescence of ages and the mysterious hoof-prints of the miniature deer that run by night.  Over the bridge into yet another realm, this one congealed and composed of conglomerations of sensory experience, like the five skandhas or aggregates of personality as taught at Nalanda in times antique and gone to the Indian sun of past millennia.  Glittering sea-glass and muted orange-barley glow in the harvest-fields, following, following, following;  ever following the super-luminous trail of The Caterpillar as he loops across the land;  now here, now there.  Blessing the Earth, suffusing it with culture and knowledge, parchments scattered like leaves in his tracks, clattering clogs on many a foot going round many a block and skittering down alleys and country cart-tracks and byways where sun shines dappled through leaves that tremble when the breeze comes around stirring and soughing high and lonesome in late afternoon.  Reaching a wondrous isle suspended just above midstream in the dragon-fly river, it glistens in water surrounded and fish spit and gurgle there.  What nature whispers in the waters and the leaves of the trees can not be written in the tongues of man.  The nature-feeling that we write of is just an echo of the real nature-feeling.  Only a lungful of air can say it.  Only an uphill puff can inflate it.  Only the rustle of wind in the corn, the long meadow grass and wheat, only the rustle of cereal crops under dark thunderous blue and purple skies in the summer’s blasting heat can say it.  Only the splash of the surf can say it.  Mordros mutter tramor and back, wondrys, marthys and Glagolitic.  Subsisting on glossolalia is no substitute for nature’s silent roaring laugh.  If the world is old and ill then the spirits of the Earth will rise.