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This Pen Is a Monster; It’s The Only One That Gets me!


This pen is a monster; it’s the only one that gets me!

I’m coming for it all, one last stand on every piece of paper, crumple it up and use them as bombs or make myself paper aeroplanes. Extremists, Haha! Please… I’m an extreme extremist; I eat terrorists as if they were bubble-gum, see what I did there? I just blew-up another one. Pop! I’ll be waiting here forever on these pages; a pen as my gravestone, a bunch of blunt pencils as flowers and a papier-mâché coffin.  I’m throwing sucker-punches at this page but this isn’t the bible, less holy! My life stinks, I can’t even afford to pay my water bill; I’m the stinky-kid. Help me, I’m a writer! What have I gotten myself involved in? I’m sick of this life; this must be the withdrawal from sanity. What can I do with this life except become a writer; there a light-bulb has just switched on, turn it off! This headache is getting worse. My words jump straight off the page, don’t they? Beware they could blind you.


This whole big bad world has nothing on me, why do you think I peeled off my own skin? I wanted to become appealing to everyone. You cannot do what I do; you can only do what I cannot do, which is stop and fail. I’m now stabbing my eyes with my pen, so I can really see what I am writing for you. Can you see passed my words and see the light? Here, let me put this computer over your head. This is what I’m meant for; to me it’s as if I’m carving my name in cement. It’s that easy!

So throw all your pens up in the air, blacken out my Sun, no matter; I write in the darkness. Human emotion is my only kryptonite; it radiates through and clouds my vision, I just have to remember I’m not human. I live in this pen, I live in these words, now you have read me; I’m on your mind – my job is done. Don’t blame my mother; she did her best to raise Hell! From every litter you must have a runt, that’s me. I’m Mr. Brightside though; I must have rolled on my side on this hellfire. I could always count my blessings in life but I’m a writer, I don’t deal in numbers.

when you start getting resentful

I sleep with this pen every night; I think I have contracted ink-poisoning, it’s life-threatening with every word I scribble. Fame is in a frame on my mantle, I’m in love with her but she is too busy satisfying other people but I will be the love of her life, until we’re both dead! I bucking-bronco off all of my mental baggage, I’m sick of carrying all of the dirty laundry; they call me a pig-headed ass!

there is evil within us

Why are you asking me to leave? I don’t even live on this world. These aren’t words, they are only spasms I suffer with, so what exactly are you reading? That’s right, nothingness. Why are you here? You could be writing screenplays, you could be living your perfect life, you could be making money; don’t do what I’m doing, I’m doomed!

On a scale of one to five, in women’s eyes, I’m usually number 4. Why do you think I never step forward in this line up? I don’t want to be underrated. But I did it! It’s like a murder he wrote.

I burst into laughter every time I read my journal, my life is such a sick-joke it’s actually funny. I can’t talk to some people, I get more sense from talking to brick-walls, so I did that and they tried locking me up for that too.

A problem shared is a problem doubled, my words can be infectious. Does Alex live here? Sorry, his upstairs is vacant. This pen is a monster; it’s the only one that gets me. We’re all prisoners behind this mortar; I’m reaching through the brickwork to show you I’m still alive.


And as soon as my stars have aligned, you can then watch me as I shoot! Because I’ll be a Superstar.

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Filed under Scribbling Insanity, Writing

This Blog is Finally Mine!

It’s alive! IT’S ALIVE!!!!

This blog finally belongs to me.

That means, my precious little sane followers, the psychotic creative writer has set up shop in your neighbourhood and he ain’t leaving.

Sorry for taking such a long hiatus, had to pull myself together and had some domain and mapping troubles, but I am here now, thanks to our “happiness-engineers” so chill.

Got some great new material flying your way very soon, so your reading taste buds won’t go amiss, I know your are probably sick of all the craptastic writers who claim their fame, the only thing I want from you is your ability to read and your imaginations, you can keep all what others have come to shake you for.

So without further-ado, have a look into what I am thinking.

I know we all have “THAT DREAM!” You know the one where everything is perfect. So here is my version of what my dream consists of. Yes, I shall be dropping names and what I shall be buying. Enjoy!

The Writer

I am walked into the MTV Movie Awards by the black-suits of off duty police-officers, moonlighting as bodyguards. The paparazzi are lined up and controlled by red-tape and railings. Each flash from their cameras reflects the twinkle of this superstar.  I am the writer Spielberg calls when he is looking for his next masterpiece, now. I am the scribbler Lady Gaga texts when she needs a giggle and a catchy new tune; Business is good. The first main floor seats is where I park my behind. The lust-lucked ladies wink my position to forward their careers or sexual desires; I don’t even write X-rates.

“And the award goes to, Alexander Kennedy. Best Screenplay.” Who would have thought LL Cool J could make my ears perk-up without rapping. I don’t act to bashful or overzealous but I ooze my mature nature with my uncaring eyes and slow walk to give off the essence of cool, don’t want to overdo it, which most do.

A firm hand shake for the rap legend and I step into my tale to marvel at what I have created for myself. Right now in front of this podium I am making my own history, my own path and not anyone can stop me. It was never about my education nor my background or even people’s expectations, but comes from what drives me; what drives this pen also.

So I bring forth to you, your writer. I may not have the biggest of vocabularies or the Oxford education but by God, no one will beat me. That is how you become a somebody on this planet; that is how you become a star; that is how you become a writer.

Don’t I wish? Haha! (One Day at a Time.)

This has been a psychotic creative writer’s announcement.


Keep those pens busy.


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