Category Archives: Blook

For The First Time


i love us

So I was contacted by a friend online, naming no names (Jessica Barley) who has read most of my work and suggested that I put my talent to the test and write a short erotic story. Well I don’t read erotic stories so I’m not sure how well I have done. 50 Shades of Grey: Eat your heart out! Tell me what you guys think.

FOR THE FIRST TIME

Let us get lost now, lost in each other. He draws his index finger from her upper knee to the tip of her hazel skirt. She stares into the infinite possibility of bliss which may or may not overcome her as she holds in a bottom-jawed quiver which could let him know her thirst for just a little more. They both echo is each other’s peepers hoping the other would eventually set the fire for them to huddle around.

There were no games, no peer-pressure and no influence here in these moments, only the expression for want and animalistic behaviour. The whole world is empty as the young man drives slowly in for a kiss of life he has been searching for. The young lady’s eyelids close gradually as her plucked eyebrows rise to the occasion of love. The creature in her ravishes out from her as she wraps one of her hands around his upper back and other clutched to his hair on the back of his head. The love game has begun folks.

They fall for not quite forever, neither one backing down to the others advancements. Slight whimpers of cherishment dissolve away into the dim corners of the bedroom. The sun beams in through a crack in the curtains and basks a warm subtle glow over the couple. They part ways for a brief moment where the young man undoes his black jeans and removes his cardinal coloured shirt and the young lady unlatches her bra and the button on the back of her skirt. They were making sure this was no clandestine act.

He scoops her head up with one hand with such a force both their faces very nearly merge together, as she has become something the young man needs for the first time. The twosome begins to refulgent over the world as the rest of their clothes fall away into the twilight of nothingness matter, because nothing matter now; no dreams, words or situations… It’s the only time where time does not exist.

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What Did I Just Write? What Was I Thinking?


2014 Alex kennedy

What did I just write? What was I thinking?

The jags from their stares wrench and echo beyond my eyes, their eyes are now chock-a-block with a monster. I invert my own look towards a daydream away from this pit of despair I helped dig for them. Hands clenched within my pockets, they will never know how close they had come to a detrimental dental demise. I tell myself, they lie through their teeth, smash through those pearly whites and find self-satisfaction within the truth.

Raise Hell!

They’re coming to take me away to the funny-farm; I’m up-in-arms, hooray! The dark clouds are forming above; Hells-mouth is foaming for a taste of me beneath, especially when I drive my evil pen through these skinned sheets. They call me bad names, they call me ugly, that’s okay, because so are you! How I sleep well with my disfigurement? I dream of killing you! I’m prising open hell; you’re all men of God, have faith in me when I say, I’m a man of my words. Now the world of words should have begged my momma to boil this baby at birth.

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I’m the writer the good book looked-upon and shook fear from their every praying nook. I see words differently; they could be definitively disastrous definitely, defacing dimensions infinity infamously from the dragon inside me, diminishing dabblers dripping ink trying to deign diamonds. (That rhymes…. Fools.) YOU’RE IN MY WORKSHOP!!! I cycle down the path of a serial killing psychopath; reading recycled crap, redial that, RECYCLED CRAP!

pics of me for my blog 3

I’m done being the nice guy, time to write or time to die, lost my fights and ran for my life. This is the return of Alexander Kennedy, the evil pen strikes back. Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream, make it the most gruesome that these people have ever seen. What am I thinking? What am I writing? Alex, there is a method to your madness, can’t you see? I’m starting a war against humanity, sanity is the culprit and it must be smudged clean from this spirally flushed floating toilet.

there is evil within us

Bring you picket signs, pitchforks and lit torch, gather round, gather round the monster writer of the century. Sane people fear what they don’t understand and cannot control; I don’t play well with others, why do you think since I grow teeth they kept me caged up? I can out-write you all with my left arm tied behind my back. I cannot rub out these words, like when the world tried to rub out this mistake. I auto-corrected myself and picked up a dictionary for meaning for the word, Pain.

I learned a few more bad words along my way; I don’t need swear words to curse at you. I write you into my world and let the ground swallow you whole. An emptied soul and a mind full of poetic words help formulate a plan beyond insane proportions. I peel my skin and try to fit in, but sooner or later they find new ways to get to me, further under my skin. So I put my faith and collective insanity and create a fictional world, where human rules do not apply, only the evilness that seeps from me. So I will slog my way through the slutty, semi-silent but slithering away siren ridden streets for some sort of success. I will figure out a way to pull your eyeballs out to my blog; and once I am in your minds, I will manipulate my way to the top of the food chain and then start to munch my way down the pyramid.

bipolar_by_jaeia

So you can blame Eminem for giving me a second chance at life; Or you can blame my mother for giving birth to me. But it is society in a whole that failed me, pushed and pulled me to my own extinction, this is not an attitude problem, this is manmade evil. I’m your Frankenstein monster, you do not wish to confront. But just know I will take everything from you. This is all I know. This is my design.

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I scrape my nails across my face,

Self-hate has set sail for that new place,

A doomed fate,

The world is clueless to this,

It’s as easy as tying my shoelace.

One thousand screams,

Confounded dreams,

Come huddle round my murder scenes,

Doctors try to de-feather me,

But they looked further in me,

And heard him climbing.

Now I’m breaking free,

They took everything from me,

Here’s their severance pay,

For all eternity.

Living in this glass cage,

Stopping me from a rampage,

But this is my bat-cave,

I’m planning your last days,

While you’re in the fast lane,

On this world as a bad stain,

The world will have a bad day,

Now watch as I make the glass break

And come around your way.

 

 

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An Epic Duet: The Beautiful, the Bad and the Psychotic – Part 6 (Final)


Part 6 and final of the duet poem I wrote with my friend Just Patty!

No, no, not the final poem we are going to write together! Hell no! 🙂

I meant the final in this particular series!

To read the previous parts, check out:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

I highly recommend you check out her blog, if you haven’t already because Patty is an awesome writer!–> http://petitemagique.wordpress.com/

Enjoy this final part of our insanely long duet!

Patty, keep your pen busy!

Great poet

Great poet

New me

 

Alex –> https://youngadultfictionblog.com/

Just Patty–>http://petitemagique.wordpress.com/

The Beautiful, the Bad and the Psychotic

Part 6 Final

Alex & Just Patty

I’m a volcano ticking time-bomb,

A tsunami riptide so hang on,

I can solidify your soul with my eyes,

I have blind hope,

I can topple the very skies,

Seeing you through this storms evil eye,

Cyclops.

A spells cast for evil dead,

A lethal weapon aimed at your head,

A lethal injection prescribed as my meds,

You know true evil has no sex,

Through your keyholes you are next,

In deep holes my secrets sleep in kilos,

Heartless without a cage.

Suicide, suicide,

On my mind, all the time,

Every time I close my eyes,

All I think is,

Suicide, suicide.

Reread again, repeat.

All Hell is breaking loose,

Talking to myself,

You’re in my shoes,

I show and tell,

My horror corridor cells,

Again I have broken myself,

Now you know I am telling the truth.

Tiger, tiger, burning bright,

Symmetry of fire within my sight,

When you scratch, feel my bite,

I fit in well, a façade with stripes.

Hunting prey within this grass,

Running away into my grasp,

Clasp the notion whence you dance,

I’ll be back to a no-one,

A serpent upon sand.

I’m a force of positivity

So take my hand and hang on

I can scare the night away

I have blind faith

I can climb every mountain

Swallowing you whole

Dragons

A fiery breath to keep you warm

Sharp claws to defend my treasure

Wings that can fly you right out of here

You know true love has no face

Compassion doesn’t cost a dime

In dark woods I keep my heart

Mindless without shackles

Never give up, never surrender

On my mind, all the time

Every time life breaks me down

All I think is

Never give up, never surrender

Like a broken record

I will fight hell, taunt the Heavens

Talking to you

Lighting the beacons

I show and tell

Breaking down the prison cell

Where you are holding yourself

Captive

Inside your own damned mind

Symmetry of ice, sparkling bright

When you bite, feel my rage

I don’t fit in, never did

A ugly duckling between swans

Swimming in a sea of madness

I will save you from drowning

Save you from yourself

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True Evil Holds a Pen


joker-laughs

I am flirting with fire; from normality I had cold-feet. I am a kerfuffle of trouble, there’s no saving me now as I have mushroom-clouds for thought bubbles. They lacerate my world believing they killed me, I’m letting slip my dogs of war until they know me as a reformed super villain. Challenge Completed, Planet Earth; I’m spinning out-of-control, no fault of my own, I couldn’t keep hold. I’m a libertine shoulder barging my way through the captive creators; I’m writing on black paper in the dark.

No brain freeze or frisson, picking up lightening-bolts and throwing them at the pages of rapture I capture. This is merely reverie I reveal and unravel, I time-travel back and thwart all my enemies plans for me. I am no poltroon, I pollute pages personally I made it personal because I am no longer a person. The rain trickles down and washes away all my plights from my face, I change my mind and change my face and I am giving the world hell again, true evil is holding a pen. My calm levels are unstable, upon this page I have too much sycophantic horsepower, I bucking-bronco my way out from this web of life.

bipolar_by_jaeia

In school, after Maths was English class where I jotted down my aftermath from the bullies pulley, I guess I’m pure vile and puerile, I’m not a Transformer I can transmogrify. Rambunctious to my soul’s battery core; setting my switch to self-destruction. A man can only receive so much failure in his life before superiority takes over his eyes focus. Insanity is a gift from the Gods; I wield and shield it against sanity.

This world sees what they want to see; I could have charming characteristics, suave and soigné, hats off to me, my undercurrent is currently a catastrophe. All passengers, we have a slight insurgence for turbulence and wizen, please, fasten your seatbelts and come join me within my plummet. Its drizzling green and yellow pills, I’m dancing in the pain, I jump in blood puddles and reappear in sky tunnels of bliss. This hurt in my head I play it over and over again, until a joker smirk arises on my face, I’m no longer insane, isn’t life splendiferous.

insane 12

Within my writing I cannot be a stentorian, so I must visual lies my memory video-taped life, transplant and transport all of my supercilious kisses of life, these pages are where my wishes go to find a place to die. This world should have boxed me in early, now I can create topsy-turvy from everything that profoundly promotes to hurt me. Here comes the valetudinarian again, turn away, don’t dare turn that page, it’s all of the same. I could be a beacon of silver-lining light, but the doctors beat my head in with a rock to keep me under it for eternity. I am a writer, this is what I do, keep bringing you words and I shall sit here and laugh at you.

This image was selected as a picture of the we...

This image was selected as a picture of the week on the Malay Wikipedia for the 44th week, 2009. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Writing My Fear Out


fearless

I’m overdosing on madness, this is my design. Stop me before my thoughts make this pen kill again. I’m hiding under my own bed waiting for myself to wake up, monsters lie here. I and the evilness I possess have a tryst and our relationship is based on volatile trust and bad words such as deflesh then devour. You may call my work whimsical fiction with a smidge of tittle psychosis but through my peepers they are iris-portholes to other worlds balanced between love and flames.

I’m lonely, no friends over here but I like it this way, no one enters – no one leaves. You sane people think we are unthinking sharks but the reality is we do ponder about wonders and within this pond we can breathe under deep waters. This world has damaged me more than your eyes can take before you squeeze them shut tight; I wish I was born blind sometimes. These words keep the darkness at bay; I waft a light wherever I go, I am ready for the night-time this time, clutching my pen and teddy-bear tight before bed.

I have hit a precipice in my life, today, while I write this; one where I can stay and enjoy the endless drone of life until I wake up at the age of fifty and tell myself I should have jumped feet first into that black hole. I know and you know I am not normal, well I consider myself as normal through my eyes but it is your observation and critique of me telling me the exact opposite. What will happen if I can’t stop writing? What if I carry on with this and achieve nothing within this skin? What if I acquire all I need with my words? This dream has my reality telling me false lies or un-yet truths. Do I continue or do I put the quill back in the bird? Take a breath, Alex.

Two things are certain, I know who I am and I know my limitations; what does my gut tell me? Perhaps and maybe’s. I am merely a blank page dweller who knits words for people’s amusement, I may not have an obligation to you, yet, but you and I know the killer’s story brings forth their eyes.

But my thoughts can switch from pleasant to scattering around the atmosphere and landing with a confidence with a dark undertone, which even scares me sometime. I can’t help what I think or write, they don’t call it a flow for nothing.

fearless 2

You cannot save me; I only have one hand, the other is only a bald stump with a pen attached. Alex, you’re ugly and no one likes you; start writing your bones outs boy. My knees have given way and my hands are soaking wet with sea-water and blood as I clench onto razor-sharp mountain peaks; our whole world is literally against me at this juncture in my life and I am still holding it up.

They throw their battle fists at my face or mouth but forget I am writer, you want to hurt me? Break my fingers, I’m good with them in all fashions; here’s a small show for you, my middle-finger. Viola!

The sane don’t believe in miracles or dreams, thus this rapscallion slash escape-artist will venture from this abattoir to the best-sellers list of all time. You may think this is my mere reverie or twaddle but this is something I can feel at the end of my fingertips every time I type.

You want it in rhyme form? Not a problem.

The air is always cold in my area-code,

Heavy loads holding malaria,

Better bury my soul,

Spending all February wincing in this hell hole,

Now from this fake burial I will charge a worldwide revolt,

Word to the wise,

First to tell lies,

He don’t,

Alex, now burst into flight,

Turn your words into light,

Be the worst in the wild,

Fear not!

stand up

You do not fear me world, but you will fear me; all of you against me, seems accurate enough. What makes me different from you? All of you perambulate through hell but I stop and smell the venom of the fire-flowers because there is no getting out; and I am so sane to the thought of it. I do not write for money nor fame, I write because it is all I have in this world. It is a not just art; it’s an extension of my being so let this human-being become refulgent for once. These are my delusions of grandeur, but one day my work will be looked upon as teaching purposes; or maybe I am striking false matches and blowing smoke up my own Ar$£!

This is the part of life I like to refer to as, mental illness; this is the part of life teachers never taught me about in school; maybe I was ill that day? But you believe in the comprehendible to be your saviour; it’s all about control with you people, ain’t it? Thinking if it can’t be beaten and packaged neatly into a snug little cubicle then it must be a threat. It’s a control technique; weak people like to use it. Smile! That might be you!

Do you think the monsters disappear from me at the end of the day once I have written the story and you have read? Nope.

Order or Chaos?

Order or Chaos?

Order or Chaos?

I’m still in debate!

But I will tell you something real that you can look upon and take with you today.

tornado

We’re all raindrops racing to that endless ocean. Some of us don’t even try at life; they look from the ground to the sky and live in the shadow of their beasts. There are people out there who would run at their hurricanes head-on, fist clenched and teeth bared. The majority would call them crazy; to me, they are living up to their fullest potential and not stopping, fearless and facing themselves to become reinforced with an impenetrable vision to become whole in that single second. Why don’t I give it a go and conquer my own life?

I am picking up this pen and writing with the ink of my tears.

I am the fearless writer!

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