Caterpillar Dub 57

All your latest news and sport…

Hirgylghyek Marmaroglypheion

Follow in the fallow footfalls of a flight of mere folly as alleys echo and walls resound to whisps of chatter and skrawking cries of wheeling spinning gulls.  Here among the tottering and rotting cottages and rickety dwellings of the quaint old fish-towne of New Lynsmouth, things are taking on an unwholesome hue, a creeping blet blighting and blasting the folk hereabouts with a species of utter ghastly horror undreampt of for sleepless jabbering aeons of utterly unutterable and vile tremulous twitching nemesis!  

The Caterpillar is also rereleased in Dub.

Pool of Vision

Rolling nostalgic melodies from Konstantinopoulos across the silken sea, the breeze grazes on the Keltek cliffs, murmuring through the grass, spreading blessings of Nature’s radiance and visionary clarity to the teeming Beings. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 And through the tracery of twigs, the loamy damp green fields roll down the Combe to the silver river.  Gwyhd Idhiowek, and ivy-clustered grow the trees – branches bleak and bare against ragged curtains of dark, slate-grey scudding clouds.  Druids in flight – starlings darkling nebulous in glooms of Ingelonde’s dusky twighlight nightfall.  In the Valley of the Universe lies a cottage warmed by a crackling fire.  Flow of time-stars echoes there.  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

http://www.poemhunter.com/the-caterpillar/

Ye Caterpillar

Silence of Time

A clear day.  A still day.  In the hedges Wrens, Robins and Ravens and on the field light's ripples play.

Lost Astral Sorties

Glaring lights, gas-lights in pools of fog play tricks on the eyes on the boulevards, stripping vision of its mist, fading in time lost, the streets explore your soul and trace its earthly meanderings.  

http://www.youtube.com/user/floydyopz

East Central Stories

The Caterpillar No.55 explores streets lost in time and fading into foggy strips of vision, boulevards of brick and tricks of the gas-light’s glare.

http://www.youtube.com/user/floydyopz

Bagla Reverb

Same sun – different splinters- shattering shadow’s realm with photon-haze raking at the day’s rippled perimeter.  Footsteps echo the tinkling of a tiny lute.  Concealed now, slipped under the overcoat and swallowed in its fold, the song-bird nestling within.  Looking forward in sunny yellowed time we find our footsteps wandering along alleys and wandering byways – bustling quays by the sea.  Winding lanes with cellars and taverns.  A whirling zeibekiko emerges like a Dervish through the echoing teke door and we find in our footsteps we’ve been here before.  These echoing zithers, tinkling finger symbolic zelia and tapping darabukas- yawling karamusas and mellifluous clarinos-  and the guitar, bouzouki and baglamas of the Piraeus-style zeibekiko 9/8 sound- rebetiko’s early chant punctuated and decorated by the ethereal and shimmering bagla – surely one of the most mystical and enchanted instruments ever to be given to man by the Gods…  

Rebertiko Movie:

More on Rebetiko from ‘The Caterpillar’:

http://yecaterpillar.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/blog-post.html

Baglamas - μπαγλαμάς

Dazzling in mottled sunlight, shadowed by moonclouds, moving through misty dockside streets – something under his coat- a miniature lute.  Overcoat-cautious he glances round, pencil-moustache and trilby hat.  Sunshine’s soon shaded as he takes an alley and then another.  Starlight sparkles fresh as he winds through the maze.  Then a door swings open and he steps into the teke…..  Now the Baglamas can chirp like a grasshopper…  

ΟΙ ΜΠΑΓΛΑΜΑΔΕΣ, ΣΤΡ. ΠΑΓΙΟΥΜΤΖΗΣ, ΣΤ. ΚΗΡΟΜΥΤΗΣ 1946

 

At the Teke – A Scene from the movie ‘Rebetiko’…

http://www.nine-eight.com/article3.html

Baglamas:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQPt1cziPxM&list=PLkMZb0s_TYEarjnbS1SAN4FkS2ufdDt9u&index=1

μπαγλαμάς

 

Nebulous Gazette

Brisk breeze blow autumnal bright below golden Gwinngala light – leaf-litter splatters showers bringing curtains of grey moisture ashore * * *  roads diverge and spin off snaking and sneaking through the country * * *  photon-streams play on the cottages – crystals glints spicule and speckled sparks glimpsed in a passing glance as a pale afternoon darkens***

                                                                                                                     

ΒΑΔΙΖΩ ΜΕ ΠΑΡΑΠΟΝΟ - 
ΓΙΑΝΝΗΣ ΠΑΠΑΪΩΑΝΝΟΥ, 1939.

More Music…..

http://www.youtube.com/user/floydyopz

Afterword:

A note to our readers:  Excessive exposure to unbridled verbalism can occasionally lead to an advanced case of glosalalia.  If tempted to speak in tongues untempered by considerations of glossary, lexicon, form, relevance, significance, meaning, communication, impartation, revelation, exposition and the great unfolding- do. 

It is not advisable to mix The Caterpillar Dub with other reading material without first consulting your librarian or your local poet.  If read accidentally, or otherwise ingested in excess, please flush through with some light, or preferably conceptual material as soon as possible.  If symptoms continue, consult a bard. 

Cassowary Chronicles

Crisp, crunchy and straight to the point – it’s journalism you can’t afford to not miss – conducted to you by chemico-mechanical channels, it’s the dagblat broadsheet samizdat tablet from Trebizond – further will not be found. 

The Caterpillar is a product of your own perception. 

ΣΤΡΑΤΟΣ ΠΑΓΙΟΥΜΤΖΗΣ - ΜΠΗΚΕ Ο ΧΕΙΜΩΝΑΣ

If  words  could  talk……..

Minoan Mosaic Meniscus

These pictures show of the infinite variety of Amazon shells as amazing as Minoan Mosaic Mazes created from coral as Kronos crunches krogens and mists whirl, stirred by summer’s rattling grey breezes – snaking and weaving into the memories of imagery, particle, participle, particular, an atomic weave it is.  The Zephyr cools brows and as the breeze blows, frowzy through flyblown baked clay-image-tablets (cuniform- early Pre-Palatian period) so it sways and cools as it winds from Knossos to Illium, in zig-zag winding Zeibekiko ecstasis.  Rebetis at Elusis dreampt once of a Dublin pub, heard o’ the good grog from nautical meanderings around the watery globular.  The elderflower hid the bower of the ale-door-man as stealthy-like the bowler spun to the aeldermans acre of bookland, clacking the clogs of a Keltik Hypothesis.  There goes old Don Quixote charging madly up windmill hill, shattering beakers of bronze-age booze astride a Trojan horse – slow down!  But the Don charges on.  Cthonic, very early, a fine example.  I’m off for another one says the old ‘n and scatters quick to split.  (“You can get them in this style for ten and six!” whitters twittering hatter.) For, after all, what’s written on these shimmering Amazonian conches is merely the photogravure plates of curious advice from The Caterpillar, nebulous and diffuse though it often is of a summer’s evening as thrush warbles on sweet feathery wings.

The Termites – Love Up, Kiss Up

The Progressions – Fair Deal

Hopeton Lewis – Come Live It Up

John Holt – Ali Baba

Prince Buster – Dreams to Remember

Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band – Trout Mask Replica

http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trout_Mask_Replica

More Music…..

http://www.youtube.com/user/floydyopz

 Aeld Englisc:

http://ang.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C4%93afodtramet

It wasn’t a Trojan Horse – it was a Greek Horse! 

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…..

http://www.youtube.com/user/floydyopz

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)

http://www.youtube.com/user/floydyopz

http://www.radiofreepenzance.blogspot.co.uk/

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

   

http://www.youtube.com/user/floydyopz

http://www.radiofreepenzance.blogspot.co.uk/

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

http://www.youtube.com/user/floydyopz

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