Crystaline Fish Slippeth Forth Full Shine Silvery

The Caterpillar is beamed to you from beyond the carapace of eternity in the shell of the infinite sky and the everlasting moment of golden sunlight and silvery moon–merriel on the face of the ocean at night -  

No wind-s whistling wild nor string-quartet-s smile can ripple the Caterpillar-s carapace nor alter his lepidopteral pace one inch nay give him grace for he is not of this world and cometh forth from deep realms of sleep his secrets not to keep but to spill forth sharingly unto ye frothy worlde of day upon which ye sunlight doth sometimes playe – oh yea – oh yea – lack a day ye lackadaisical daisy picker and sleek city-slicker – lack ye never a day I say!  For amongst ye The Caterpillar has come to play – 





Beyond the carapace - - -

The Dream Flows Awake

Come in my friends - come on in and take a seat in this Platonic cave of dreams and colourful illusions and chimeras - The luminous liquidescent resinous flow of Rebetiko fills the air - 
This music that is all soul - all Muse - all dance with 9 beats to the bar and thousands of years of culture in the measure - Dripping liquid amber in the voice of Stratos Pagioumtsys and the hands of Vasilis Tsitsanis scatter magic sprinkling dust over the stings of his ebony Olympian bouzouki - These sounds of the soul speak uniquely of a time and place Greek - resplendent in the sun dappled drowze of yesteryear-s 30-s phonograph pine-cone past -  Rippling silver strings drizzle drips of fine treble notes amongst the collected warblings of the Kompania -  The group swoops into song - climbing the irregular pavement of nine steps - ascending to the exalted heights - the fields in the sky -  the golden fields - 

ΜΕΣ' ΤΗΝ ΠΟΛΛΗ ΣΚΟΤΟΥΡΑ ΜΟΥ -

ΣΤΡΑΤΟΣ ΠΑΓΙΟΥΜΤΖΗΣ - 1938 

The Caterpillar Laughs

For some years now the elder eldritch lepidopteral lava had been crepuscular-flitting and transmitting the pieces of the Minoan Mosaic Culture to me via mystic meet-ups at the midnight phone-box in Pendoze – Behind the Hump-Me Dump-Me statue - In the heart of the old Jewish Market District – near the wharves where whalers rot unsung at rusty anchor and doubloons rattle in the silt and bilge underfoot – Katapliktikos was the Great Antennaed One as he quixotically and osmotically beamed soft luminous neon blue-white rays from his ancient centres of knowledge and shone them my way – Such was the power of the rays I was frequently stunned and on occasion rendered totally unconscious – only to come to some time later – slumped in the midnight phone-box – some time after midnight now of course and rain rattling on the carapace shell of the tiny glass hut -  Never without the glow of celestial knowing do he leave me before going back to the myriad unravelling ways of the night and the mystic business of his thread-spinning and weaving kind -   In tubular glass vials and philes of philtres he left chemicular imprints of significant finds in the realms of organic-structure and the nature of all things -  On waxen cylinders he left strands of music in many forms and styles for a vast range of instrumental forces -  Jars and pots and chests and boxes of scrolls and parchments he passed on and also glass slides and photographic images in many forms – Keys – cyphers – clues – lexicons and harbingers were left loaded – pointing the way to yet more doors to kick open and unleash the collected forces of many cultures and powers – many magical traditions and shamanic studies were included in the ken of the Caterpillar-s whirling feelers – his sentient all-embracing mind flowed over with cultural knowledge and inside nature knowledge like a mighty fountain that sprayed the pigeons that played at its splashing feet -   Shedding the hasps and masks of identity and mortal conformity he re-emerged and re-appeared constantly in ever-slightly-changed forms – ever aetherial and elusive – ephemeral and insubstantial – more idea than flesh-body – more thought-form than sinew – this beast was composed of the very threads of mind-stuff and knew no such limits as ye or I do know – So to learn of lute and lyre and kindle Olympos-s fire in company with this great ephemeral creature was joy untold and over aeons did he the tale unfold – Ever holding in the folds of his robe a book – a telescope and a globe – therewith to scan the scene and scour the worldly-realme and surf upon the billows of the foamy deeps and bustle free and high among the puffy clouds of cumulus nimbus blue and aether and jazz on in the sunset-s gorgeous dripping scarlet purple honey of a sunset howldrehevel evening on old Kernouac Cornish cliff most high and gritty grained bulwark of Atlantek-s roaring shore -   Zeibekiko he scratched with peculiar charm on the many-stringed lyre he clutched with several of his iridescent exoskeletal arms as he spun the melody in slow sedate largo nine eight shuffle – A noble rhythm for an eagle with wings outstretched or circling vulture high above the mountain-valleys looking for carcass with bead of an avine all-spying eye – Thus did he vouchsafe:

Melting myself constantly –

I dissolve into cocoon silk -

Then I spin again –

Afresh the tale unwinds –

You won-t unravel me by grasping at the thread -

This tale starts at the centre –

                                                                                                        *

Winding country road – Many years ago – Leaves blowing from the trees – Yellow the light of the sun – Rain had been driving in sheets – Mellow the smell of the earth – Birds were returning to song – Scatter the light of the sun – Raindrops on dewdrops on grass – Bush-crickets running for shelter – ants sliding skilfully down their holes – Rabbits are running for cover – Thunder breaks dark clouds in two – dark covers over the sky – coolness fills into the air – breeze softly mumbles around – leaves stirs about on the ground – windy and starting to rain – drops big as coins hit the ground – Ears of the forest look round – eyes that have listened to the ground – Skin that has smelt all the ground – whiskers that twitch with the sound – listening the forest around – creatures are stirring in sound – breath coming out of the ground – badgers are mulling and brooding – snorting and snuffles and grunts – badger-breath sticky and hot – Fly hiding under the leaf – glistening radiant eye – shiny the carapace glows – thorax and feelers as one – Well the moving of the morning was unfolding and the waters of the ocean were all seething with scintillating light the waters dancing and all around the winds were softly singing and the hearts of countless people lifted upwards and the rain of light fell gently on the people and the laughter of the throngs was like an ocean and the dancing in the streets was like a heatwave and the singing went right through the flowing morning and the fires still burnt on by nightfall-s darkling and the sparrow and the starling were rejoicing and the ivy was entwining with the elder - 

Print - Cut centre-slit - fold into your eight-page miniature edition of The Caterpillar Dub (This month-s edition features The Luminous Three - Sakyamuni Buddha - Quan Yin and Lao Tsu)









melting from the edges - the surface dissolves to leave only the radiant centre - 

Ahead Of Thoughts

A baglamas and a travelling guitar balanced on a menhir - a fallen and ravaged menhir - tewlwolow dusk on Halloween -   just an everyday scene in the Shyre where the ancient past is right there with you to help you along your way - 

Ο ψαράς - O Psaras - The Fisherman -

and awareness is right there in your hands - - -

Tectonic Horn Shell

A series of old photos showing  

protocols 

among pigeons, owls, feathers, bucks, fowls

eggbirds of the starry night’s rustling feathered web                 * * * * * * *

Eldritch and monotonous moans

swirl lurk bloom

barking like wolverines

among the nipple-mountains of pale wood-cells

stark blasted forests

shattered mountains

fragmented and writhing seas

darklight skies

& Auricularia auricula-judae

gwynjak yw hethyw

look to the sky

hurling her visions

through 

your 

awareness

Το φιλί δεν είναι κρίμα
- Βασίλης Τσιτσάνης

Πίνω και μεθώ - Κασιμάτης

(Οφ αμάν) Συνθέτης Περιστέρης Έτος ηχογρ. 1934 

Πίνω και μεθώ, οφ αμάν, μέρα-νύχτα τραγουδώ, οφ αμάν

Μέρα-νύχτα τραγουδώ

Και το ντέρτι μου, οφ αμάν, στο μπουζούκι μου ξεσπώ

Γένηκα μπεκρής, ωχ αμάν, χασικλής και μερακλής, ωχ αμάν

χασικλής και μερακλής

Γιατί όλο λες, ωχ αμάν, κούκλα μου πως δε με θες

Τα ματάκια σου, ωχ αμάν, και τα κορδελάκια σου, ωχ αμάν

Και τα κορδελάκια σου

Με τουμπάρανε, οφ αμάν, και με κογιονάρανε

γειά σου δερβίση μου Ζαχαρία γειά σου

Πώς μου τα 'φερες, οφ αμάν, και μου την κατάφερες, οφ αμάν

Και μου την κατάφερες

και μου το 'σκασες, οφ αμάν, μέ το μάγκα το 'στριψες

(γειά σου Σπυράκι μου με το μπουζούκι σου)

Θα 'ρθω, Μια Γλυκιά Βραδιά 
– Στράτος  Παγιουμτζής



Clustering galactic jewel-net             sterennek

     

     the thought of the jewel is the jewel 

               flags wave in the wind, mind

  Πίνω και μεθώ  -  Κασιμάτης 

           

          turning world most dear

   the following a furlong:  shafts of sunlight luming the cool waters of the pond;  verdant path a tunnel of summertime green;  purple cobwebs of glowing coral cow-horn shell-horn horn of the sea and corn of the prairie pod pea;  humus loam subtle bonfire waft, rotting sycamore leaves, rooks cawing and carking;  the tolling of a bell, crunch, crisp, snow, windmills and dust and valour;  

                  Ocean of mind; sea of space 

           pale orange sunlight on faded brickwork;

         the distant hooting of a hooter,

            lowing cattle;  water-meadows;

          cowslips, cowlicks, cows, bullhorn                           rumblers 

                 dew-drop drip from a fern and 

                     fleck the hoof of a fleeing faun

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

 

The Caterpillar Dub 19 - Flying Carpet Cult

In The Glyptotek tonight - texts from Aztec cliff-caves, narwhal shavings, whirling wheels, glyphs and reels of magnetic tape...

To Minore Tou Teke - Ioannis Khalkias

Bros Sta Kleista Parathira - Stratos Pagioumtzys

Yannis Papaioannou - To Bouzouki San Klaiei

To hear 150 Rebetika songs, and lots of other stuff, check out The Caterpillar on You Tube:

http://www.youtube.com/floydyopz

Burning Spear - Marcus Garvey

Burning Spear - The Ghost

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