MUST KEEP MY EYE ON THAT CATERPILLAR

Aeons ripening and decaying , decaying , de caying – pure! mandibles clutching, clutching a shapeless manuscript – no-one else to be! following the figure, eldritch flickering thunderdogs licking my temples and shivering rivulets of sweat trembling in Lethan trickles. A Daguerrotype electrified alive. time he travelled , I kept pace but I could not .the singularity. The anomaly. a gliding, skimming, skeeting many realms, many dramas. Dream rams and fleecing flounders abounded.
Over the dancing cobble stones, the skittering of those tiny shoes, all those shiny shoes, muted only by tufts of straw from the maw of the horse - sent swirling, skirling and wailing by a kind of zephyr breeze, a sea breeze.
Turning, twisting and taking yet another corner-block turn in that snaking and shining seaport towne, I saw my companion emerge, emerging directly upon the sea-front. picking up papers he had dropped along the way. Parchments thick and of Chinese flower garden petals. Relishing. – must keep my eye on that Caterpillar – trail him - he is becoming remote. Follow him.
Carapaced cornucopia flittering. I saw him moving, gliding ahead, onto the rocks of the seashore, with ease and agility, & again I paused - some papers of his could blow into a rock-pool! The wind blew back a shred - his chuckling laughter – playing some kind of game?? A joke - Is that it? - so struck by the beauty of the scene. moonlight casting a hollow glow on the softly rolling face of the micro-ocean, sharing silvery light with fronds redennek and sea-weeds and little shells and creggyns creeping. iridescent spiraling shimmers - shimmering of the perriwinkles. Strawberry Red Anemones eating sea-meat and little Gorgons, the tiny creatures at play within, glassy bubbles trailing upwards – bursting silently - darting fishes in miniature , unfamiliar limpets. All this drew me, this little world, with its dizzying beauty, its mysterious story..... possessing ..
Lunar kommolek. darkness ensuing. sesquipedelian vanishing act.
Strangely, unbelievably, I was not to set eyes on him for an entire year. Our paths were to part, but not forever. * * * * * * * * * * *
events extricate my transyek shore of gorhan croggans, blewek brenniganns, glothach smugairles and slinking sea-serpents, I did what I could and I could, did and couldn’t.
A few scraps of papyrus perhaps rumbling hard earthenware tablets, cultural souvenirs, as well as the papers I’d gathered from the glittering, The shimmering sands of the moonlit cove. The previous year gone. starting to consider the case . the juddering case. quite suddenly, ,, the mist-shrouded one appearing... cool and laconic, a sceptic question - his own existence an inexhaustible joke. We like jokes. Think he said he antennaed to emanate more gems of visionary gift and multi-faceted eyes agaze. The city of simmering history unfurled fernlike on tapestries of spider-web shimmer. Roads and rails traversed. Dream-slips and ships weighed anchor and wash adrift on sleepy silver rails. Cycling of times revealed cleared and cleaned- new!. Pure fresk universal Time presented as a gift for the One, for the All. All for you.
And now again he’s departed, Sailing for a land beyond the reach of hands; now the channel is bright and crystaline. The signal strongly beamed and held. He seems satisfied with things Strongly speaking of regular encounters with transmissions of culture-nature. Communications assimilated and re-beamed, replete with the Dub Plates, via this and associated channels of communication. Lyres ring and sing mad grasshopper songs, Psyche shines doesn’t she sing rising like sunlight on Eleusis, fragrant flower-petals of consecrated pastel are scattered tumbling and turning again and again to the winds of the West each inscribed with a haiku. look right up close, look, you see riding along on one of those fragrant petals a little blue caterpillar, smiling

Go ask Alice...

REEMERGENCE OF INTERDIMENSIONAL CARAPACE

Finally, after aeons seemed to ripen and decay, I caught sight of him again; mandibles clutching a shapeless manuscript - it could be no-one else! I followed the figure, eldritch thunder played about my temples and icy rivulets of sweat trickled Amazonian. A Victorian etching galvanized into life by a proto-physicist. This time he travelled a long way, and as I kept pace with him, I could not help but notice the singularity of his gait, a glide, a skimming, as of many feet.

Over the shimmering cobbles, the skittering of those shoes, all those shoes, muted only by tufts of straw from the horse-market sent swirling by a kind breath of breeze, sea breeze.
Turning yet another corner in that twisting and glowing labyrinthine towne, I saw my companion emerge suddenly upon the sea-front. Keeping him in sight, I quickly stooped to pick up some papers he had dropped without seeming to notice. The parchment was thick and smelled faintly of Chinese flower gardens. I would relish checking them later - must keep an eye on that Caterpillar - he was becoming remote again.
And then a strange thing happened, which I can only attribute to the extraordinary influence of that carapaced cornucopia. I saw him running, or gliding ahead, onto the rocks of the seashore, with great agility, and again I paused to retrieve some papers of his that were about to blow into a rockpool. The wind blew back a shred of his chuckling laughter - was he playing some kind of game?? I looked down again and was very struck by the beauty of the scene. The moonlight was casting a meriel glow on the softly rippling surface of the miniature ocean and giving silvery light to the fronds of seaweed and little shells within. The iridescent spiral shimmer of the periwinkle's shell. Red Strawberry Anemones and little Gorgons, so many tiny creatures at play within, bubbles trailing upwards from darting fishes and the tenacious settlements and hamlets of barnacles and limpets. All this drew me in, this little world with its beauty and its mysterious story..... I was becoming possessed.. A cloud passed over the moon. A long darkness ensued. My sesquipedelian friend vanished. Strangely, unbelievably, I was not to set eyes on him for an entire year.

When I eventually managed to extricate myself from that transyek shore of croggans and brennigenns, of glothach smugairles and slithering morsarfs, I did what I could with the few scraps of papyrus and crumbling shards of earthenware tablet in my possession, as well as the papers I'd gathered from the glittering sands of the moonlit cove the previous year. I had finished putting these in order and was starting to consider the case closed, when quite suddenly, a year later, the mist-shrouded one reappeared... Indistinct, yet there, a cool and laconic presence, as if sceptically questioning his own existence and finding the whole process an inexhaustible joke. Think he said he intended to antenna more jewels of vision my way from his multi-faceted eyes. The city was unfurled on a tapestry of spider-web. Roads and rails travelled. Dream-voyages embarked and awash aloft. Cycles of times traversed.
Well again he's departed, sailed for a land beyond my reach; only the channel is clearer now. The signal strongly established. He seemed to be happy with how the transmissions are going. And for my part, I was happy to assimilate his message and pass it on, in cuniform staccato archives, broadside all abroad. Dub Acetates will be pressed up and distributed by this and associated channels of Universal Rapport. So, as the Chryselephantine Bouzoukis play mad grasshopper songs, and Psyche shines singing like the rising sun over Eleusis, the fragrant pastel flower-petals are scattered tumbling to the wind, each inscribed with a tiny poem. And if you look right up close, you'll see riding along on one of those fragrant petals in the breeze, a little blue caterpillar.

No.2: MUSES DUB

Pastel foggy dewdrop cloudy kommolex evaporation entities Lime, Fern dripping pictorial recall - passing of books, glass slides and stale phonograph rolls of battered shellac. Vague entymological encounter resembling previous intersections - Did it happen? Swirling rich in gothick nature-feelings and saxon tapestries of yore- it happeneth all right - the connection was renewed and song-deities imbued appeared from Apeiron's play. Drowzy at noon. Grasshoppers sing and play. Minotaur mumbles in his Neanderthal Pre-Palatial maze/zone, babbling asleep as the Caterpillar crawls across the ancient sunlit rocks.

Issue Two: SONG TO THE MUSES

Between pastel foggy dewclouds and limegreen fronds of imagery I seem to remember a second manuscrpit pick-up. I don't recall how it came to be set up, I almost doubted that it happened at all, amongst that patchwork of impressionistic scintillating fragments and slivers of mercury reflections. Somehow the connection was made and the Ancient Muses were called again. The Carapaced One; I only hope he was happy with it, feasting his myriad eyes on glistening hyacinths in his warm Minoan levitation.

the caterpillar, Issue 1, DUB VERSION

BeingStream concious I fell unconcious falling into a slide I fell and when I awoke I flew to show the call of tattered fragments all as a dream echoes again its call. Larva figured, swaying, steaming in creations mists and vapouring; a meeting at the crossroads at night; and parcels a-bulge with documents.
Found to contain archaisms, lexicographers dilirius outpourings and copious sheaves of notes, many in non-Indo-European languages and all scratched as if with a stylus.

.. figure .. conveyed vivid me .. study these documents ....and print and publish essence; using wires, canvas, glue/paint, electric lightbulbs & any channels of communique in current coinage. A body, a body of information, a body of information, and it was up to me - he placed great emphasis, emphatically and unequivocally; That's about all really I recall - a murk, a smooth shard of glass, a feather in an autumnal breeze. Vivid conveyed. A figure shrouded in sails of obscurity...sails of obscurity shrouded.. blurring..mistifying.. blackening in outline - a figure forever huddled in his incandescent overcoat like it was still the forties; fast fading into night's bronze black bewilderment, leaving only words & echoes of words fast fading.......

So I wandered back home through dripping echoing vaporous streets a-dream and a-slumber and stange old alleys of the night and found my amazed way back to my crumbling tenement room and fell once more into a slumber deep as fog did creep across the towne.

...... a mere evdaemonia, a dream a-fevered, apparitions of the midsummer night.. beyond the night there remained the material - the sparkling flaming tongues of the Visionary Ghetto Tabloid, The Caterpillar, with its cut-up antiphon-echo, its revisioned Dub Version, vitalizing the echoes and symbols crashing and reverberating anew. ..and much babbling of tongues. Elusive creature, worm of Eleusis, haunter of diamond-rippling time; departer in fogs of dark. And harking out I watch and hope .. watching I wait and brood on the arrival of that figure; be it in a dream, in a dream or in a subway tunnel, in a subway tunnel or in some other place in this physical world.

THE CATERPILLAR, Issue Number One

Being the Stream of Consciousness I fell into a slumber and when I awoke
I struggled to recall the tattered fragments of a dream. A larval figure, swaddled in dark mists and vapours; a meeting at the phone-box on the corner at midnight; an antique bundle thrust into my hands, later found to contain an archaic lexicon and numerous sheafs of notes, many in obscure languages and all written in an extraordinarily lepidopterous hand. The figure somehow conveyed vividly to me that he wanted me to study these documents and then print and publish their essence; using whatever channels of communication were in current usage. He was giving me something, some body of information, and it was up to me to disseminate it - he placed great emphasis on that. That's about all I can really recall - the impression is murky, as though viewed through a smooth shard of ancient green glass, washed smooth by phosphorescent tropical seas.
A figure shrouded in sails of obscurity... blurred.. misty.. lacking an outline - the penumbral figure huddled in his indistinct overcoat like it was the forties; he was fast fading into night's bronze blackness, leaving only words & echoes of words.......
So I wandered back through those vaporous streets and strange old alleys of the night and found my way somehow back to my own crumbling tenement and fell once more into a slumber deep. & I would have dismissed the incident as a mere evdaemonia, a feverish dream, an apparition of the midsummer night but there remained the material itself - the sparkling glossalalia of the Visionary Ghetto Tabloid, The Caterpillar, with its cut-up counter-point-echo, the Dub Version, and much babbling of the tongue. So I have tried to be true to the wishes of that elusive creature, that haunter of the diamond-rippling patterns of time, that departer in the fog. And I can only watch and hope that I can meet that figure again, be it in a dream or in a subway tunnel or in some other physical place in this world.