Quivering, shivering, scintillating illusory myriad mirages shimmy in shining icy heat-haze. Mind’s wondrys undulating ululations shake unsullied imagery in imaginary genie cities. Shattering mosaics mimic languid lyric linguistic lipstick tricks, lip-synched in Dub daubs and dabs – cut-ups of Caterpillar poemimages merely milage for slime and silage. Mimeographed wobbles dangle bobbles of chromatic schematics and semantics freeze in their trax. Facts found foolish forgotten feelings flung far following feeble falsity.
A Samizdat Dagblat Ghetto Tabloid Dubplating Diploid Locus Diplodocus Lo-Fi Locust Visionary Focus With Poster Floats and Flyers Flapping From Telegraphic Crocus Joker's Toadstool Topiary Motors...
Hi Folks - This month we're giving away a Free Poster with every issue of The Caterpillar - all you have to do is print it out and stick it on your wall. Also for Public Display - attach it to your local notice-board or the wall of your local mysterious alley in the Old part of Towne...
& Here's some flyers to print, cut out and scatter around - Share the Vision.....
We havethoughtofourselves,perhaps,as creatures movingupon this earth, ratherhelpless, at themercy of storm and hungerandourenemies. Weare to think of ourselvesas immortals,dwelling in the Light,encompassedandsustained by spiritualpowers. Thesteadyeffort to hold this thought will awakendormant andunrealized powers,whichwillunveil to us the nearness of theEternal. PATANJALI – YOGA SUTRASInterpreted by Charles Johnston, N.Y. 1912
Just heard the sad news about the death of Captain Beefheart - early hero and musical Visionary - lots of Love to the Spirit Flying Free...
Forgive me, dear reader, for casting a ghastly and foul shadow across this bright and fair day.... for what I have to tell you today is not a thing of joy & light, but an unutterably vile and loathsome thing. A thing thatwholesome folk such as your good selves should never have to endure the telling of, much less the thing itself... It all started when I motored down to the ancient seaboard of West Cornwall to visit an uncle of mine. What could do one more good than some fresh local sea-food and all the fresh air that New Lynsmouth could provide.....?
Porphyry dripping caverns miniaturized at the darling Cornish Cove – caves of hermit crustaceans mesmerized by the gurgling whoosh of the blow-hole, lapping brine licking at aqua-lichenous igneous metamorphic porphyry pyroclasts – lobsters lurk.Waves breaking out at sea –
Dirigible ridgeback hog of eggs, bristle-boar in the mist * stars scattered through an icy sky * twigs cool with moss in the swamp - things unseen by man, nature rattling * dulse boulders surround the kelp cluttered island - black birds of the sea spatter its summit * grass-tufts springy - plants of the land lichen * globular celular mercury * fluttering gelatinous cells - the world glimpsed through a fly's wing.
Thanks to all the Caterpillar Readers around the World! You can contact The Caterpillar at savetheholyheadland@yahoo.com - please put Ye Caterpillar in the subject box. If you like The Caterpillar, you could print out the flyers below, cut them up and give them to your friends. Thanks. Why not start your own paper? Blogspots are Free and you can increase your circulation by printing your own leaflets, flyers and posters. Take back the power of words! Enjoy.......
The Caterpillar - The Paper That Remixes Itself.......
Hope you enjoyed the Music. To check out 100's of Rebetiko records, and many other styles, including Ska, Two Tone, Reggae, Folk, 60's, Psychedelic, Punk, New Wave, Jazz, etc., go to:
This is The Caterpillar Dub, Visionary Ghetto Tabloid asking "Who Are You?" The Caterpillar Dub is a FREE paper, never bought or sold, disconected from gold so free to unfold chimeric ripples of caprice, clouds, cart-tracks and byways of old. Stained-glass sponges, lattices, turrets spires breaths and whispered formulae.
A Poster For Your Wall
The Dubliners - Whiskey in the Jar
God damn, man, turn it DOWN!!!
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band - Neon Meate Dream Of A Octafish
Kollell-lessa, Ochtapas, chameleon prairie pods trigger museum to close our eyes to the octopus rise. These days we tend to cool our tentacles with yogic tendencies. Confused? Go ask Alice, but hey! There's no need toSHOUT!Fun-loving fans dabbing at fun-dubbing bands. Leaving only the great unanswered question -Who ARE You? said the Caterpillar. wHo ArE yOu?! echoed The Caterpillar Dub, aRe YoU? ArE yOu? Echoed The Caterpillar Dub, The Dub,The Dub,The Dub, The Caterpillar Dub - A Visionary Ghetto Tabloid - A Dub - an echo - an echo - an echo...Eight limbs, it climbs, ate clams, it reverberates like an invertebrate pressing its ten tackles into blocks of black ink, it sinks, squirms and seethes, sea-green cephalopod slithering to juddering collywobbling oceanic. Flying from pool to pool styn elada - in our beautiful Greece - heroic home of Minoan transcendent trance extasis taximi lyrasyou need eight arms just to play it. Vehicular tripods trying to steal the squirming lovers and give them the chop. Ink in the face from eightlegs is mightier than the penchant for seameat.Patanjali meerly folds his two legs in subtle Samadhi. Copious lagoons of Lanugo coated copepods lampooned in Harpoonville Harbourview News – EXCLUSIVE
TO Valis, from the Muses, via the Sutric Jewel Net these syllables are thrown into space – so many dreamthreads and ragged shards of meanings pointed to collective future consciousness.
Briny hollows bristling with acqueous quilts.... Lynmouth inundated with skraws, gorgons, lobster-claws & klumps of kelp..... Only The Caterpillar Dub brings you all the latest news as it happens.....
Howdy Folks! and welcome to the tumblin' Caterpillar! The blogspot that brings you all the latest desert dust and prairie pods! It's True! Caterpillar flyers are included for you to print, cut and give away, if you enjoy the Visionary Ghetto Tabloid why not spread the word? And don't forget - The Caterpillar is the World's first newspaper to be remixed and reissued in a DUB VERSION! And remember - words are your Friends! It's True! So long, little dudes!
Of course later I could not be sure, but at the time it had been very clear. I had wandered through the Town, the old town dripping with fog and I had picked up his trail. I felt a little reserved for some reason, I had not made his acquaintance for some time so I was not in a hurry to interrupt the maze-like wandering of his buskined feet. Curling and weaving he wandered swaddled down to the sea-front where the Great River of Ocean swirled and swam, green, glutinous and brineful. He hurried on. I followed. He seemed to be muttering to himself, but when I crept nearer I realized that he was reciting ancient poetry, humming hymnals to Helenic wonder-deities, formulae of mystic subtle luminous pathways; words of glorious upfullness. I spun my code-wheel-machine open and loaded a fresh spool of microfilm - must map the pupating presence - must percieve his depth of meaning - must not misinterpret. Must try to glean the meaning articulated authenticity. He knew I was monitoring, reading him - he made that clear through his ripples of wisdom-humour, his kind indulgence. "SO! You want to play!" - he thought. His compassionate indulgence was my fortunate template of tolerance. Afterall, he wanted his message transmission to disseminate, and I, for some fortuitous reason, was his link to VALIS, the transhuman inteligence network. His feet scuttled now to the East, then to the West, looping and twisting a skein of tatooed rhythm before settling down on a course to the West-South-West - towards Old Lynmouth! Why, the Old Quarter, he's going towards the Old Quarter! That timecrumbled ghetto of poeto spudfish and manta-ray middlemen, of course! I should have realized he'd be making a bee-line for that rhyme-encrusted neck of the woods. I'll dip behind this swirl of fog and chuckle momentarily over the audacious inevitability of it! Where else would the Carapaced Coat be heading but to that legendary burg of codling merchants who pin their Fradgile 'Opes on the Myth Foundary and all its myriad muttering bliss-waves! The lapping shore of the Glass Sea of Lapland that swooshes at the rusty shell-crusted pillars of East Pier - known to some as the landing place of Sunfish galore and Eels by the score wriggling ashore. Why of course! That's it! He's moving his operation to pupate in the West, with lots of pubs and lobster pots! Why didn't I realize before!! He certainly misses the shore and he's migrating back to alleys of old, twisting lanes of Jackfish and Flounder. (Must keep an eye on the dial of my ancient code-wheel-machine - yes- all good...) Antenna picking up static - will he stop to wet his beak at that piscine alehouse of low repute? No, surely not, he merely nods to the knot of pescadors huddled outside with tankards of fish-fine ale and clatters on his hoof-horned way. He seemed to lift feet off the ancient pavement momentarily as he turned portside down a side street. In wondrous pursuit I chuckled at his fine clacking technique, unique footwork - original and refreshing to watch. Up the hill he wound and wended, then turning again and he ducked through the fabulous ope, that archaic archway that harbours multitudes of fradgile memories and preserves the long past whilst echoing the forming fresh foam of the future. The mist in the moon created chimeric prisms and refracted crystal slivers of lunar luminosity. Subtle waves of silken bliss/humour wove the trembling air into spiral appiritions and projections of gossamer myriads. The Larval One laughed - I distinctly heard him laugh. He was enjoying our psychotelepathic game of hide and seek. Once he had turned round to look with his physical eyes, in imitation of the everyday folk for whom he had such kindness. I had instinctively ducked into a green flaking doorway and held my breath, but just then the microfilm had got to the end of the spool and made that rasping clacking noise that was a sure give-away - coincidence? I don't think so. Such things tend to happen in the Old Quarter on nights such as these when pursuing interdimensional wisdom-pupae. A rolling, jingling bell gave out its toll - the lamp-lighter was passing by. We exchanged greetings and he illuminated another guttering feeble green glass shining gas-lamp on its ancient oaken pole. In the cottages a dim blue-green glow shone forth. Broth brewed and bubbled in the cuttlefish cauldrons and cauliflower croquettes were acrueing to the hearty dinings of my good folk. The laughter of children seeped out from the glass-bubbled windows of the antique dwellings thereabouts. Fog particles danced in the flickering gaslight. A gull screamed scrawing overhead, dissapearing its voice molding and melding into the nightsoup of dank mizzled sky, so low. Keeping the Creeping Fellow in my sights I set forth anew, hat askew. Pausing to adjust the microfilm I sussed him clicking across cobbled wayfares. A big fella asked him for a light, a marriner fresh returned from brine-fathomed meanderings on Posidon's lapping lair. The Sesquipidelian One obliged him, taking tinderhorn and flickering a candle to light from his overcoat pocket. Bemused the marriner puffed at his pipe, adding sweet fragrant clouds of smoke to the murk that hovering droplet by droplet lurked. A wish-fullfilling wanderer, the light he shone was many-hued, imbued with health to plant seeds of good suggestion in the wave-lapping mind of the nocturnal sea-farer. Flowing and following him down many more a twisting turning lane we came upon a wattled ware-house. A long-disused net-loft from days of yore. He pushed the door and entered. I stepped forth boldly but he was too quick for me and with a stifled chuckle the portal snapped shut slam! Damn! shut out and excluded - surely not. I turned up my trenchcoat collar and willfully waited within the arch of the door-post, biding. Surely he would not be hiding from me, his acolyte... As I dreamed and mused within my mind, distracted momentarily by distant thoughts of Parnasos and jingling mule-bells recalled from mountains high and dappled days of autumn far, remote and high - the door swung open and, leaning as I was upon it, I fell within. Laughter was my greeting as I lay on my back with the Carapaced One looming over me directly, his shadowed face looking full into mine. "Don't bother to get up" he seemed to beam intuitive in humourus gleam as his presence washed like a wave of wisdom-presence around my startled mind. "Kind of you to drop by, now try these" he said without speaking as he handed me an acetate case containing spooling tapes to transcribe and teleport by telex-lexicon- conection. I smiled and mumbled some inanity as a wave of joymind swept up my Heart. He knew I'd be faithful to his intention and strive to impart his messages abroad and across the trembling telegraphy of telepathic integrity, emanating the Caterpillar vibe to a hungry World. At least that's what I think happened. Of course later I could not be sure, but at the time it had been very clear.
Monarch Butterfly egg hatching Time Laps
Caterpillar Transforms Into Crysalis Time Lapse
Time Lapse of Butterfly Life Cycle
Ever seen a caterpillar transforming?
Painted lady butterflies develop, emerge in time lapse
The Sound of The Butterfly
Language has, since our pre-Human past, been used as a vehicle for conveying meaning. It is one of the many forms of communication available to us. Its habitual use has given rise to forms of linguistically-conditioned-consciousness. How many of us ever go beyond play-words?
Iridoplasts shimmering,shining, scintillating glimmer, ever crackling lichen licks the oceanic crust that lifts an inferno exquisite drenched by rainclouds. Hickory Horned Devils hawk moth-movies door to door down dusks alleys in Magnetogorsk, gored by tusked allies elephantine and elegant. Bizzare Heads transcending Death in Amazonian Dreamscapes of huge Bugs. Rustling foliage reveals Stegosauri, glossy elephants, stegolepis, Elaphoglossum possums and pied wagtails wiggling. Ordinary Mind shimmering, stirring...
Death’s Head Hawk Moth Caterpillar Movie:
Big Assed Caterpillar (silver, 5 white leg blotches)
Check out my fiction ebook, The Horned Whale - available from all good ebook sites - The Horned Whale or An Morvil Kornek by Jeremy Schanche - ISBN: 9780993490910 - 175,710 words - $3.99 - Contains the mystery novel - The Kramvil, plus short stories, poetry and glossaries. Find out more at : http://yecaterpillar.blogspot.co.uk/2016/10/the-horned-whale-by-jeremy-schanche.html
Please also see these blogs:
https://haroldhempsteadcagedcrusader.wordpress.com/
https://savetheholyheadland.blogspot.co.uk/
A poster for your wall, or your street...
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