Denver, CO
United States

Write   here...

We are inviting anyone who enjoys putting words on a page, on a screen, in someone's mind for some purpose (we hope it is helpful, not harmful). But there

is no censorship by the keeper of this page. Write what you want. Write what you feel.

Just write. Here.

If you have the courage to face both the dreams and nightmares of your own mind...if you want to share the fantasies and realities, the repulsive and erotic, beauty or horror of the human psyche you have experienced...send to the address below (following the links).

Really folks...intention is to start "quasi ezine," but based on architecture of human joy or pain...the frail mortar holding our species together at the moment, is our ability to use language -- to attempt reaching some common place to meet without bashing heads (metaphorically, or otherwise).

-- This page...this text here, is subject to change...depending on you. And I would like to begin by stating...rjwing...Wingwrite...Isaeri...te amo mi corazon... mi flora...que bonita...que bien...

Sky and Wing's favorite links...WriteHere!

Blue Web Learning Sites
resources for teaching and learning on the net
The Short Story Page
short stories, poetry, experimental writing -- some of the best on the net!
Native American flute music
Ward Stroud's Flutes, history and traditon of Native American flute music and folklore
Global Network Academy
a hub for internet teaching -- links to multiple distance learning sites
Blade Runner Off-World Site
history, architecture and inter-active media related to Ridley Scott's interpretation of Philip K. Dick's cyberpunk masterpiece

New Additions!

The following are new additions to the skydax page -- most recent are listed
first. Thanks for sharing!


Forgotten Chant

It was a chant I would say so softly
and dear to myself each passing hour,
It sent feelings through my soul
that exploded the world’s outer limits,
and were discarded as child’s play
to the passing bodies that were never 
capable of feeling such a miraculous thing.
It allowed me to feel content with myself 
and made me beautiful in a land 
of shriveled minds.
As a ship at sea,
it paid no heed to the gulls overhead,
for their foreign tongue spoke nothing 
of truth.
It was a thimble upon my own finger, 
that guarded me against the inharmonious objects
that pierced through the night.
Holding me tight, as to not let me go,
it restrained me from running paralyzed with fear 
from the formidable waves that came
crashing down onto my cold, shivering
body each and every moment,
and stood beside myself
with no empty breath between us,
only one cold flesh pressed soundly 
against a warm soul,
so as to stand firmly against
the rushing, speeding liquid,
and be capable of lifting our
heads above the rush and roar,
and place our eyes upon
the sunlit sky
that brightens the mind, 
and clears our thoughts.
Growing old,
it becomes lost among
all the things gathered upon the shore.
Now left to face fear alone,
I recall sweet words that
once touched my lips so often
gather again,
and whisper them softly,
so that one day they may travel to the
forgotten lying upon the shore,
and bring life once again.

-- Valerie Beasley

-- copyright May, 1996


Icon of Msism... 

 Hell's still living in my being. Can't get all those lost girls out of my mind.
Or the fact that I can't get out my other problems either. Why doesn't God just take
me now? I feel terrible now. How come no one else has to go through with this? I
can barely breath right.

        After this class I'm going to go home and be treated bad and feel empty once again.
Only to escape my coordinates and not my position. Only to face another day with
its back turned toward me. Only to ruin the hope of having an imblated future. Who
has me?
What is it? Only to stand in the rain while everyone is in the sunshine. A victory
that hasn't existed. Like tommorrow, always coming but never arriving.

What is something of yours that everyone uses more than 
you do?

        I'm standing in dark while everyone is suffering
from delusions of grandeur.

        I am invisible, my words ring on deaf ears, 
you can not touch me, I have no scent,
no taste, I am a dream.
A figment of one's imagination. A plastic man.
A tomorrow that will never come. The
best, but seen through because of lack of 

Lack of physical necessities.

        No hope. No glory. No victory. No first place.
No loved one. No family. No friends.
No physical matter.
No trust. No fame. No memory. No existence. No word in the say. 
No importance. No
help. No worrience. No realness. No future. No past. No present.
 No anything. But

        What hits? Try this melon. 
        The word to describe me:
        Yes nothing. The imblated, the icon of Msism. For what? 
 Imaginary, a fairy
tale, a myth, a legend, a lost thought on everyone's brain cells.

        Nothing just nothing

-- copyright -- November 18, 1997 -- Msism