Sunday, July 31, 2011

RaSpBeRrY rOcKeTs aRe Go!

The Caterpillar Dub No.28 – Hallo there, stay with me from now until midnight so that we can share that which we call ‘our kind of Journalism’, all of which comes from within THE CATERPILLAR DUB COLLECTION. Pulp ably ghost knows the inside ChiChinese sidekick psyche sees lambent the trembling eve, aglow, all aglow. In yesterdays dappled midsummer meadows sepia flowers grow, fragrance thrown from chamomile over and in the rustic style, calm o’er a mile or more till ocean laps the ancient craggy shore, thrifty, calcinated with molluscs shattered shells strewn, strawn, bestrewed, scattered abroad and scat. Existence, metaphysical accent of the physical Universe – is the space between your atoms you? – Basically playground twist, twisting nebulae without necessity Wattsoever- James steam molecules streaming from kettle to engine as the space between them shone- tincan spins past globe, globular unconscious home street home for homo sapiens sapiens, the sappy buds of July rocketing raspberryesque into a bright new niwl summers day, astray adrowze in infinity and golden shining mist of silver mercury deluge. Destination destiny? No direction home for you old geo-orb george. By george. The best conductors would be those whose busses went fastest, maybe the late night 73 routemaster from Knightsbridge to Olympia hold on tight! Dover geyser Kynance Big Sur perchance outerspacedust scattered frothing in your mouth sparkling like the baby Krishna’s mouthful of Earth showing the glittering Kosmos. Big Sur, Kwe-Lin, the Northern Lights – just one great crashing chord! ‘Cause that’s the end! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ! ! You don’t aim – but we don’t see that – at a particular fractured curly cabbage spiral as choirs sing, chanting utter bosch and nonsence to tickle yer ‘magination….(*) Sunflowers, Gerkins, Pyramidal Dalinian Michelangelo Parthenons enjoying a last supper based on a baseball player^ Dem system of schooling gives square equilateral equatative grades for intellectual eggheads to crack Humpty against each other before joining the Kings lighthorse. What we do is we put the child into the corridor of infinite physical kosmotic space drift spinning pond of the skynight shuddering moonglow ‘50’s spacepod thynge……… Kumon Kiddee Kiddee Kiddee!?!?!?!** Sunrise Ocean Mountain Snowscape Overarching Beauty-that’s the thynge! Flickering sunset moonlight dover chalkwhite crustoskeletal remains compressed into Vera’s best request, all from within the cabinette you love the best – the one that’s clearly marked: The Caterpillar Collection. It joins the WORLD> follow me over the white cliffs of Dover and practice cymatics to gain gluteous braingains in intellectual semantic pediatric pendantics. The Great Thynge is coming, the success of Saturn, when you wake up one day… Skiing my god I’ve arrived on the beach unfolding like a foxglove – I’m THERE!! Blooming coteledons under Northern Lights is what you’ve always felt and the hoaxers lurk in the tunnel of surf, miss. Everything is Easter Everywhere nautilus retiring to the 13th Floor, you’re sure gonna miss me – fishes, corals pulp palpitating polyps in subaquatic senior gloop aflow HA HA Rainbow squid, you flickering cephalopod evdomaniac of bounteous beauty enjoying your journey…. (There IS a serious purpose to this – perhaps to get to heaven) Let us not miss the point all along – the journey of life and spaceexistence – it was a Beautiful Thyne…. a beautiful thynge……..


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Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Palpably Gnosient Psyche

Hi Babies! & Warm Greetings to all you readers of The Caterpillar, & all you random-house stumblers upon it by freakish accident. You are now entering a late and much shredded outpost of post-literary blog-posting. The old Chinese sage in silk robes paints poems & pictures on Mulberry leaves and sails them out of the windows of his breezy Pagoda, under a scudding moonclouddrenched sky. (Some call him mad – to him that is neither hear nor there) he scuds the painted leaves out from his narwhal tusk-tower, over the black shiny river, over the dark hills and fields of food where sometimes lovers lie, he sends out his little messages, never expecting a reply, response, reaction or comeback. Such is the contentment of the silken-enshrouded one. Like Satie, when writing his 7th Gnossienne, the leaf-painting poet does what he feels he must! And what of you, my friend; how is YOUR creative life going? Are you sailing out bubbles of humorous colour to bespatter the greyness of mondial mundanity? Old mad moon tower-dwelling inward pagoda man aspires for your collective sentient Happiness – Look- it’s written on the back of one of the Mulberry Leaves, in glittering silver ink!