Tag Archives: Fiction writing

My Evil Pen Once Again


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My Evil Pen Once Again

Crimson hands nailed to the crucifix, a mental martyr for all mankind, now firing mortar shells at their warp minds while I’m on fire. Welcome to my mad world, invasion of the sanity snatcher.  This is a historic event, placing my beating trusted heart on a silver platter of judgement. I am not trying my hardest to get through to you for you to save your own life; I am asking we join our forces so we can destroy sanity together. I am the prime example of the worst writer to grace this planet, Oh, I can write but my words are that dark you cannot read this.

In my head all I hear is… “Life is too difficult, it’s a cynical miracle, if the pains not emotionally whimsical it’s probably physical, poetically and lyrically visual; my words are terribly killing you, sent here by the wind to preferably out-best you to my pinnacle proportions, I put the devil in his coffin, Figaro-Figaro! Mr. Barber let me go and cut open my own throat, I’m abysmal. This world is too much for me to hold so I am running for that door.”

Now is it classed as suicide or homicide if your evil persona tries to kill you?  The temperature I’m blowing is either hot or cold; within the blink of an eye I’ve turned the heat down into a flaming temper. I’m a poisonous flower; as a toddler I was a bad seed little monster. Half the time if I change my mind I have to change my life. Those broken words and these broken wings are holding hostage this world which cannot do a thing. Run for life!! Here comes my pen, again. Follow me – Follow me, you’re the only one who can deliver me towards infinity.

This world belongs at the back of my mind,

When I have flung my body back in time,

My tongues not working I guess it’s time to write,

One lost person isn’t cause for a riot,

I’m back from the dead, the baddest to death; madness vents while my friends and family burn.

You have no remote chance to control me,

I never hang my head because I channel this anger well,

No soul has a hold, a centrefold that should be censored gold but my words promote worm food.

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I Received another Rejection Letter


Writer Wordart

Writer Wordart (Photo credit: MarkGregory007)

I received another rejection letter again from a literary agency… Hey, we all go through it as writers, at one point or another.

Their exact (Key) Words they sent were:

  1. We are sorry to inform you…

(Always a no-brainer where this is going)

  1. Not currently seeking out new clients at this time…

(Erm… Okay)

  1. We enjoyed your stories but…

(…no words…)

  1. All the best in your future representation…

(Worth a shot…)

We can’t always hit a bull’s-eye on the first shot. I was told by another writer when I first started writing “You will get nowhere in this industry if you don’t have a name people remember.”

I guess he was right; without exposure I will not get anywhere in this writers life.

So I came up with a plan, a plan that would boggle the minds of most… I shall write and lie in wait.

What more can I do?

If I am to write all that overcomes my pretty-little head and share it upon my blog, sooner than later the readers and views will come, which in turn could eventually bring forth the right eyes for my work. (That’s innuendo for an agent.)

So instead of writing and passing out your work to Lit-Agencies who will NOT cloak you within their name, write all you can through a blogging portal and bring the agents to you.

You have waited this long to be a great writer; why not wait a little longer?

Look at my blog;

  • One year ago I was a no one. Now I am less than that…
  • Today my blogs views have increased almost 400% within the last 3 months.
  • With the ten new wordpress followers a day, comes ten new readers.

We as writers will always find a way to satisfy our urges to scribble.

Find your own and be comfortable with it and I bet my soul, respect, a name and your dreams will soon venture your way.

Write!

Keep your pens busy!

I will be posting another post for you all tomorra’

Alexander Kennedy – Creative Writer.

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The Out-of-Order Writer


eminem

Thrashing around in agony, I am an injured run-over animal; slumped in this gutter dying. Internally bleeding for eternity, defensiveness is my primitive art. Keep your distance, my disease may spread and you may contract my illness, being broken. My heart is still in this race for life and when I drive down whoever was behind the wheel of the metaphorical car, I am wheeling over their heads.

This is the worst day of my life and I am carrying a smile in my palms to upset the dark clouds people have conjured over me with society’s black magic. Hunched at the side of this road the rain hocks at my indecent aura let this paper protect me while I root evil in the puddles of bloody muddy memories. I am simply a death-dealer, now who wants to share this half kilo bag of evil?

I am being held by the angels,

Does that mean I am in danger?

And now I can’t stay with you.

I’m afraid death is my cure,

Jumped my last stepping stone,

Let myself in through heaven’s door,

Set forth for the light beyond,

Laying here going, going, gone!

Thrown into the darkest of holes,

This is the farthest I’ve ever been from home,

I wonder if my mother even knows.

No matter though,

Under these wheels,

Blood, sweat and bones

I am now part of the roads,

I have lived upon and always known.

darkness

You can only see parts of the horrors I have seen, all you can do is visual lies. My darkness moves within me, this is its job as it’s on the nightshift; because as it hits night fall this son will stand. I’m running naked in the rain; the shadowman is coming for me. I can’t sleep, not now, a shield of safety under my bed covers. If I close my eyes now he’ll take over my status in this hell. I will never bend over backwards for this dream, I am spineless that way. These pages are haunting me; they are the only thing besides coffee & sex that keeps me awake at night.

My writing expertise,

Gives me special needs,

The want for more can set me free,

My page is my bedroom walls,

These words can put a spell on me,

Is this blood or red pen on me?

If I ever mislay my mind and lose my place in humanity, I will re-member. One of a kind with two sides of mind, I misplace myself within myself. They say stick to what you know, so I glue myself to pain. My whole life is in complete disarray; do you get it? It’s my Mess-age! I should call my bully, Mud; as everytime I come close to him, he sucks off my shoes.

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My Evil Pen Told Me to Write This – 3


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My Evil Pen Told Me to Write This – 3

I am a mere scab upon this world as the whole planet wants to pick on me. Beware world, this is my turn! When I straddle this pen, I can kill you with my mind. I would scribble this world as an ignited cherry-bomb to have revenge upon you and you alone. Why individually miss a target when I can wipe clean the table in one sitting? I have eaten a dictionary. Each page thrashes out and rustles with a shiver with the knowledge of what my pen is about to carve upon its skin. Get them, boy!

if i fall asleep

I am wearing my madness as a medal; this world will not allow me to forget what I am, so neither should I. Bring forth your scrolls of paper and your flickering quills, condemn me, crush me and quarter my limbs; for I will write myself a new destiny, one where you are all alone in the darkness where I have lived, let us see how the monsters shall treat you in time.

michael phelps

I am running on the fumes of past fears, my memory sticks out from my brain as a protruding cocktail sticks. Lobotomize these thoughts forever Alex! There is madness in my method of writing, yes, but my method in which I use helps tame the madness into a constructive horror show for you all. I am a master sculptor with a pen, chipping away at my mental illness so you can see revulsion from my perspective. Behold a masterpiece from my membrane pieces. Doctor, open me up and fish these voices from me; Priest, open my soul and take this ghost that is haunting the hallways of this body!

ernest hemingway

Fear is only a choice – A brain tidal wave! I choose to grant it, as it is the only thing to ever stay consent within my life and thinking. These words are actually flesh-eating ants, that when you inhale with your eyes, they feast upon your brains. Yummy!

If you think reading is boring

I am cold towards this world, hence the shoulder barge; I am marvellously a marvel with a heroic heart which has stopped beating; I am burning words along with my cape to keep mildly warm from your frozen breathes.

rained upon

I am running naked in the rain for revenge, pointed fingers and tuts ensue. I have made a deal with the devil; if I use him to write and give him a purpose, he would return the favour. My words are jumbled and my blog is a jungle book; can you hear me roar in pain on my pages? My apple has fallen light-years from my family tree; my DNA is not even human, let alone the same as my mothers.

Risk

I’m living in your walls; I know all of your dirty little secrets. What you do when no one is looking and what you think to yourselves when no one is around. You’re all damaged, just like me. I was brewed in the chaos of humans malfunctions, now I have doctors telling me I’m the one that needs fixing?

edgar allen poe

“You have me confused with all of them, wait! Please don’t lock me up, I was happy before they came into my life and broke all of my windows.”

Now I am smashing each of their windows in revenge, well, I do need a breakthrough. Haha! I’m not aiming for the stars, the sky is far enough, this where I will explode into smithereens and my ashes will twinkle downwards upon the clouds and wreak havoc with acid rain. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Nope; it’s only blindness for looking for me. Haha!

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The Broken One


im-tired

I’m the type of kid who doesn’t belong here; I stick out like a sore thumb. They tried to fix me, didn’t work; now they are biting nails around me waiting to see how much I can stamp on these pages before I snap off for good. How much is enough to call enough is enough? I couldn’t control my past but observe how I sculpt my future. Fire-red is the new Blackness, these pages will go up in smoke. These pages are my playground.

This world didn’t break me, I was already broken. And the brick that was thrown through my window, I am holding onto as if it was my dream, because when the time is right, I will make this world swallow what people have done to me. Looks like The Evilness has raised its ugly face again, it’s all only bravado, I just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  My sane-self is trapped on the other side, he sees all; tonight I will be your host and he will be my hostage. Welcome to the Alexander Kennedy Show!

SONY DSC

He’s going cuckoo again! Doctors stop the treatment, it’s the wrong diagnosis; I merely write better when I have my head in the clouds. Well, it does give new meaning to higher functioning!

My brain is an intricate web; make sure you don’t get tangled in the words I weave. I’m the type of writer who pretends he’s a spider, for one purpose; to spin the peace symbol around before I chomp down on a fly girl. As a writer you must know I can kill with only finger and a thumb. They say one man’s delusions are another man’s faith. Do not worry; I have faith within my delusions.

I have to beat life because I can’t cheat this death,

I say I feel fine but my heart has raised secrets,

I may be in deep rhyme as I’m sitting at my desk,

As every night I die because my mind can regress.

I’m morphing into a monster,

Everybody stand back!

This horror-show I’m applaud in,

Know I have the quickest-hand on this pad,

Stand back!!

i just wanted to become a writer … i’m sorry

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