|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||!!!!!!!!!........... . . . . . . . . . . . . o

__ a collaborative forum for spontaneous ranting ___ ... the space below the eldiem

CLICK HERE TO SEND ME YOUR RANDOM TALES

Scroll down to read what other people have added.

It's about words this time and it's about time.I__________________________________ o

YOU!
Let rip at the Diastemata.___fill the gap. ___ it will keep changing!

It's as pointless as everything else.

email me at >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> lee@eldiem.co.uk

As she dances on Meat Puppet strings, aloof and jingling in her shimmering suit of stars,

I know I won't time travel, anytime soon
Or suddenly remember how to fly to the moon
I'll never again see my younger days
As the galaxies ahead pour blissfully away


But another red sun rises in the sky
and flowers and the eyes, open wide
despite the cyanide

So, it's here or oblivion, it's cold outside
It's a Helta Skelta spiral and a white knuckle ride,
but it's red inside and the owners gone

l..

=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Hurtling towards this tiny little sphere of blue and green is a speck of ice and rock and it’s coming to kill us. And it’s coming towards me. And I’m happy, I’m imagining lying underneath you with my back arching towards you and I can’t help but smile. I am awash with lust and contentment and the safety of oblivity.

“Come, tell me of your fingertips,” she held out a hand and smiled. The two drew closer and their fingers entwined; and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

A needle tearing through space, the smallest of scratches in the universe.
“Then I defy you, stars”
Stare at me.

When we die, float away with me. When we die, and we’re together, we will be born again as one.

What if the music never stopped? What if our heartbeats echoed out of our bodies when we die and find themselves resonating the nearest drum-skin or the string of a guitar? I am alive in music.

What if the words never stopped? What if our blood drains away from our bodies when we die and finds itself flooding inkwells and cartridges, telling my life story onwards and forever? I am alive in words.

My thoughts are adrift like light particles, vibrating across the universe as they fill my consciousness.

The motes of dust swirling in that sunbeam, just there, reaching through the window. They are the remains of our last night. They are all that is left of us.

-- Sssssssssszzzzzzbbbzzz

We're all actors, and this is all a ghastly carnival. Yet, we're forced by instinct to care for this influx of information, the barage of the senses, due to living such a painfully short existence. It is all so entertaining. This joyouse godamn miracle. An experience frought not merely with "pain" and "joy", those ugly words, polarising the infinite, but a tragic rollercoaster of experiences. The unwilling by-produce of some brilliantly chaotic chemical reaction. The child of energy. But ultimately, nothing matters. Not to the individual. Not really.

However. Evolution itself is a subconcious and pure persuit. This life. The result of this explosion of light and energy, matter and memory is too precious to let die. So we will walk forward, irrelivent and miniscule but riding the wave. Taking in as much as possible to allow this explosion to continue. Individually inconsequential, we LIVE none the less.

Who is this? This sweet young Succubi in my head. A Banshee wailing sweet notes.

She's got some real heavy stones, in her hands. But I like her.

======= ?

SOMEWHERE ELSE" " "

random tales - oh young waggling tails
when all else fails
hold out love lust love must
candidly prevail

dreams sOme come tru

there is hope

i see it in you

onE step beyond this couped up horizon
one step beyond the fires been heightened

the mind it struck
and the time it brought luck

heart lead the way
young chickens cluck cluck! _ _ _ _ _ _:D

------------------------------------------------ - - - -

here comes the Question
___heres stepping to the unknOwn
rightfully striving so doubtfully climbing
?
unassuming their cut of the thronE

minds cowardly corrupt
tainted thoughts
do erupt

accepting no other-dENying the clone

will Fine love
form Art^^
or
will piercing stride resume the dart LIKE scorched flamed pathways along this fired hearT............................... .

whooo knowssss evErywhich way th e wind blows - -? ? ?

%3E%3En.b - the question in question as yet stands- -still very questioned abit somewhat pondered kinda desolate %26 beyond-erd!! - -- - - --for now-atleast until tomoro--oh no---so very very today . 26/01/tooo fousand PLUS 6

*sigh* Oh yesh indeed. The Ragga Tip Top condition on a mission to write a piece of ranky old meat on the wall like a brush, the red painting and mush, the blood of the pigs and the fruit of the crush. I'm all lucked out, here-a-bouts where the trout spews stout onto sweet young Blip, Oh yes indeed. On a Raggety Flip. I'm a-gleam as the stream with my tears hidden deep, all alone me and bones, undergound in the Creep. Where the worms of the Core, twist and bore their way through the dirt, swallowing hurt, rained down from the men in their black oily glen, where the Unicorns died and DoDo once flied and the magic turned grey, under milky ways and stars so blind to the chores of mankind, the animals fail and run with their tails between their weak thighs, fear in their eyes and a dream where they die____________________________ .

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Flippety skip cross the old wooden ship with a rickety hip and a trusty old
whip went blip, the alien from afar with a robot horse from an old dark
star. Pay up me pocket with pieces of eight mate so I can escape said old
Bill with a cake made of rocket and skate. What a load of old tripe said
spike the guy with the bike smoking herbs in a pipe. Take care while you're
there cause the place is quite rare and the people run bare in the night and
take flight. Under the mansion there is and expansion of underground tunnels
with squirrels and burrows and old grey moles who sit in their holes not
quite sure of their roles. So there went blip, the alien from afar with a
robot horse from an old dark star on a ragga tip he'd had his first trip and
things were starting to literally flip, even his rickety hip was givin im
jip cross the mutha ship. Artex was startin to wobble in waves and zombies
were startin to come out of caves and all of the wind-up brass monkey slaves
were amazed at the cyclopses gazes in the mazes what the blazes! He took a
single drop in the haberdashery shop it was taking effect and it needed to
stop but the drop was a potent old jewel from the bile of a wizard who swam
in the old river Nile and bitter to taste but he took with such haste and
his liver would turn into brownygreen paste what a waste thought blip with a
rickety hip and a trusty old whip on a mutha ship experiencing a very nasty
first trip, the alien from afar with a robot horse from an old dark star. 'I
want out' he began to shout but they poured him some stout from the mouth of
a trout which was winking and shrinking but growing in size there at the bar
right in front of his eyes as they fed him some pies laced with flies. The
trip would last years said the doctor from Bremen who wielded the powers of
twenty old shaman a place called the nut house should do im sum good these
psychedelics are misunderstood but go did e fuck fingers up as e took to the
sky with a deafening cry a cursed horrible terrible roar like a werewolf
hound from deep underground and rumour has it if truth be found that a wolf
will cry if touched on the eye by a guy on a trip called blip with a rickety
hip and a trusty old whip the alien from afar with a robot horse from an old
dark star.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Glow Bug and Beetle Droid

I once found a little droid beetle in the under bush which squeaked and
hummed as sweet as a mogwai and beautiful as a bush baby bathing in blueberry
buttercups. A little glow bug had found a home within the capsule case on
the back of the droid. They had become best of friends in their
unintentional symbiosis and soothed each other like little love bugs. When
the droid bug hummed the glow bug glowed and when the glow bug glowed the
tune began to slow like a laid back pulse of primal rhythmical sensations
that loosen up the joints and make brain wave palpitations. The pale glow
bug light powered droid bug at night when the sun slipped over the tip of
the horizon they took flight making tunes and hovering above moon lit clouds
with projections of imagery coming straight from droid bugs mouth. When it
was time for bed they kissed each other goodnight and little glow bug
wrapped them up all cosy and tight in a soft silk cocoon gently swinging on
a tree, telling droid bug stories and glowing them to sleep.

O_O

_________________________________________________ by O -_

(0)

The Calamity Clammy Handed Clamp Monkey, sat there, cold and shivering in his kingdom, was crumpled up tenfold. His quietest times were filled with regret. His heart, drying up, by the day. He holds the potential to really pour love upon the object of affections he most desires. Although ... this object, this apparition, only resides in his skull. A frail ghost, which cannot ever touch him, blood to blood.
An imagination. Which while holding no water ... ... ... holds hope, at least.

Hope itself, being the product of a desperate emotion. An invention of man, designed to soften the blow of loneliness and the bleakest of futures.

We're so dumbed down by our monotonous lives, that we need drugs, in whatever form, be it alcohol or less fashionable, to allow our brains to look passed it's conditioning. To find a certain truth among our chaotic thoughts. To allow objective criticism of the self. Drugs, being a messy side step passed proper focussed thinking. --

It's kinda strange, how mirrors allow you to have a relationship, with yourself. A reflection in every sense. Eye to eye contact with you. With out reflection, you don't have a real place in the universe.

Is our problem purely, that we attempt to KNOW ourselves via these reflections, when the animal in us, beneath the language is still fighting forward, slowly? Blinded by the torrential snow of the bullshit we've invented in this constant race for nothing. Perhaps it's time to relax? The end is nigh, after all.

-----

I hate this infernal body. This cage. Is it unusual to feel trapped in your body? There are so many universes, we'll never know. Each of us spinning, lost in our own. A gift. Yet somehow a curse. A mockery. A teasing finger. Beckoning onwards, until death.

Music. Music. The megaphone for the soul. The channel for incoherent noises to travel down. Blissfully. Beautifully.

--------

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 ? redwinebeerredwinebeer

--------

Diastemata, lie on her back. A broken girl. Limbless and bloody. This torso, so beautiful in it's disgrace. Ripe for torment.

29/11/2005

Her name is _ Sweet glow.:
....sittin somewhat uneasy for what lies ahead has foreseen me - staring
sparingly through the dispersed leaf tree in front something to hold thee-
a nights setting in pure moonfed blue - street lights lead the purple - the winter hue...if only time could hold for jUst a few -if only who knows what that would do - --
> >> > > >> > > >
if there was a line
to depict this word
this
notion of
(((((TIME)))))))

if it didnt defy
rule the roost
pass uS by

would it be wrong just holding on
for a while
not be gone
- -- - - - - i'd be reaL
Live and steaL
we'd catch seconds in one* * * *

>>> > >> >> >yesterday - i think time sto -p- p- e- d - today - -- -- i > >>>think work flopped- money dropped and off off again one diiiiiiiiiiiiiid
>>>hopped--------------------------- ...

REMIXED by lee:

....sittin squinting easy at the sunlight ahead. has she foreseen me? - staring
paringly through blue ice. blue eyes. the dispersed leaf tree in front, barking mad, she's something to hold

all night

set in pure moonfed blue - street lights bleed in purple - the winter hue,

reflecting you

...if only I could hold for just a few -if only who knows what we could do - -- ???

>> > > >> > > >

if there was a line to walk
to depict this word, to talk
this notion of ((((( ME )))))))

if it didn't defy, I'd simply lie
on the grass
rather than let it pass

US by

would it be wrong just holding on?

share this song?

for a while we could, be solid in meat
symbiant treat

not be gone

- -- - - - - it would be real

Live and steaL
we'd catch seconds in one* * * *

>>> > >> >> >yesterday - i think time sto -p- p- e- d - today - -- -- i > >>>think work flopped-
like bunny-rabbit
(just grab it)
dropped and off again one did hop,

chased by the fox, into the forest a top, the mountain from which the waterfall drops.

for now. time to _______________________________________________________________ stop.

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27/11/2005

Kiss-mass time a-cometh. A time for joy and love and a time to live. A time to feel obliged to give and most importantly $pend. An empty story repeated each yeah. The remnants of a dying religion, being mercilessly swept under the carpet by a Holly Jolly peadophile in a red suit. An obese alcoholic with blood shot eyes, born of a useless company, hell bent on selling a pointless yet addictive sugar drink to us ___ the domesticated. It's a time when the paper we've taken from the trees is wasted completely on empty gestures. Folded relief for lazy friends. And behold. The churches rise from the ground. The lights are tied to the trees, the luminescent bait of a thousand angler fish. Beckoning the already wilfull. Angels with platinum wings and cans of mace, guard the gates of the shiny new market places. A familiar labyrinth of gold and plastic wonder. Just another dragons cave. A magnet for the glutinous hordes in Winter. Consume we shall. Growing ever more bleak and weary under our own cheap and magical inventions. Teetering on the edge of drought. Gorging until the stomach bursts and we're left exposed. But why care anyway, when there's mistletoe and wine?

Kiss and rain down on me , from a screaming sky.
|||||||||||||||||||||||||

Lullaby split in two, with a burning red blade. A mass cherade. Parts are played by actors made from meat and bone. On a stage, yet each, alone. Darts in eyes, no tears to cry. I'll sit and think of scenes gone by. And while away the night and day in a dream about the nearest thing to the perfect fit, for me, right now, in the middle of it! This mess of light and lust inside my mind, this universe I've come to find, can heal or hurt, be cruel or kind. And it's here to share with beauty bare, under flower suns, no time to care, just take my hand I'll guide you there, deep in my world, so pointless. Listening?

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Teeth and blood.

Moon Daughter. Time to _______________ sleep.

Lay your face down in the dust. Pretty one. Close your eyes. Hide that look of surprise. Paralysed. Coma toes curling. Ice white homicide in the moonlight.

O

So slow, it is, the way you dance with the Earth. And the insects. Incestuous, carnel and ugly. I devour the carnage. Pulling it in. Harness it's energy. The adrenalin. Fear fountains in my spine. I'm energised. Focussed and lusting after the Moon. Drinking it's milk and meat. It's purity and power. Then running through the forest, I'm crying. Aching. Hurting bad, and falling.

___________ asleep.

But locked and lost in a dogs dr e a m . s...z. . . ... . . ..z.............z...z. . . . . . until...

______.( O ).______
S u n r i s e .

No alibis and a thousand trees staring at me in disgust. Who was it this time? Where am I?

I can't find me anywhere.

This world, where mud rains! Where vanilla dolls dance in the streets, opening mouthes and thighs for the shiniest lullabies. Where children fire toy guns into themselves and peel their friends from the roadside, insanely grinning into the steaming viscera. Dreams can be held in the heart, only until it breaks, when all dreams and experiences ascend and disperse, becoming nothing more than flickers of light in an endless, edgeless cacophony of chaos. This is where the birds find themselves. Be they from paradise or pavement.

77777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777/\\

::::::::::::

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Bring it on, sweet Angel.

In my eyes. Bam. Like a train wreck.
Collision inside. I cannot hide.
Gaping synapse mouthes, singing in my skull.
Here deep wet down and snug inside me, a chemical lull.

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((( ( OO ) ))))))))))))))))):::::::::::

Memoirs of the headphoned psuedo misanthropist.
Apply a soundtrack to your life as much as possible. To taint the movie you're living in, to remove the noise of the city. Of the people...

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| o ||||||||||||||| o ||||||||||||||||| o | o ||| o |||||||||||||||||||||

Chicken Royale -
"Statutory rights, non moving-fry that scrambled egg ted screamed and ned--while the man with the gibbon on his head looked on in quiet desperation...drunken tom foolery was all that was left for them to exploit--maggie was on the other side of the pathway covered in oil,,coveting the scrambled egg that ned and ted now eat in bed..."

Stationary kites, non grooving flying machine that crashed and mangled, dead on the grass like an insect who spent her whole life in the eye of a hurricane. A lame offering to the soil. Devoured in no time. Dr Gibbon-hat still says nothing. Sipping on Absinthian fumes and juice. Wormwood crawling in his brainstem. Gibbon teetering on the edge. Time to clean Maggie. One way ticket to the car wash for that naughty b!tch! Head-pillow collision. See you in the morning Ned. Ted...I offer you cot death!

Chicken Royale -
"The trick being to forget then remember all they had just witnessed,, ted declined the offer of cot death his mind was clogged with too much even to contemplate another night of sweet lullabies--a revelation an unabridged dream that swept all thoughts from the floor--meanwhile, under the covers maggie screamed "save me from tomorrow", as the gibbon waxed and daxed her soul!"

The Gib and the Mag, symbiant now. Two heads, four legs and a self loathing Nihilist in the making. In the oven. Baking. Tomorrow, no longer a concern. Survival jumping to the top of the charts. The horrors of being a freak. Ironically loathed by all other monsters. This was her/his/it's new worry. How to blend in, when you have a dribbling, malformed Gibbon face on your shoulder!? She decides Soho is the best bet.

On with the roller blades. Time to fuck!!
..

The sky

drips



____ ... fat from a thousand holes, onto the steaming tarmac and brick, where fleshy beasts of all shapes and sizes sink and shiver in unison. The acid in the rain, burns wormtunnels into their bones and releases the spirits they harbour. The skin peels back to reveal new eyes, alive with light and fire. The black in the sky, an omnipotent shadow queen in the stratosphere, forever looms and strikes, with lightening fingers, at the unwary and weak. This place can hurt. This dimension in which we must fight to survive worries not about such things as consequence and morality.


>

He whispered to himself. "I'm bored already." He looked up at the clock on > his monitor, it flicked over to 8am. He laughed sarcastically at himself and slumped further into the office chair. There he sat and day dreamed about murdering everyone around him, later on in the day. The weapon that instantly sprang to mind was the trusty Machete. He liked the idea of spinning around, slicing off limbs and cracking skulls with his hefty blade. Or a Mace-on-chain. He imagined what it must have been like to hit someone with a Mace-on-chain. To get it to move you would have had to really swing it up and around. It would always have tremendous force. Pulling you forward into your opponents skull meat. Cracking open the box and releasing the > demons into the ether. Whichever weapon he chose. Be it tank or spoon. > Either way it would do away with the other people. The strange ones outside his head. Outside his realm. They were external yet had the power to indirectly manipulate his head country, and were a constant threat to his well being. And so, the machete won. He wore a hocky mask aswell, just for effect. He laughed hysterically as he, stabbed, sliced and gutted his > co-workers in a flurry of blood and screams. His screen saver came on. He slammed back into reality. He decided he was hungry. He slumped off to the bright white lights of the office cafeteria. Knowing he would be the first person to the toasters again. Head hung low in shame.

l d m _________________________________________________________ ?????

>Looking through the window, you see
>the trees are made of paper
>but the birds are digital.
>
>A glitch in a fragile world, nearly dead
critical
and fukking pitiful

>but nothing is real
>every idea missed
>we'll never know a truth
>and including this

>nothing ever matters
>or nothing but this game
>while Gaia lies in bloody tatters
>sipping acid rain
>
>And the stars that turn
have no
sympathy
>For the burning eyes
or for the powers that be

>distracting from the chaos
>and the complicated, self inducing,
gas giant
love
symphonies

>
So put down your sticks
We need a looser grip
On the fairy tales
shadow puppet tricks

6.5.5 billion apes

Ape jaw, sarcasm tap. Try to tie the ties that bind the names to the map. __thisonesforyou