Category: poetry
Exorcising The Evil Out Onto The Page
Yes, that’s me in the picture… Let me begin.
Live a moment in my unmovable momentous monument, it might merit your millennia, like it did mine. Seeing sycophants, building psycho fans with their slippery rants, they’ll all need to switch their pants when they get the chance, because the King has returned, skinned burned, skinny and malnourished. I pay penance with a petrified pen, play writer in the eyes of the Earth, praying liar flailing around in the fires of my moral wire or mortal-coil, my sport is horrible, spurting spectacular humble spots forward onto smashed mirrors, what hurts the most is what has been cast within us, the foreword has hatch the final villain, he’s me, bad-ass and brilliant, lavished in the ink-blood on millions of killed innocents.
As a matter of fact, it’s a matter of pride and it hangs high… Like my rope choking around my necktie. I produce each body of work until my body is hurt, emerged from this body of dark water to show you my curse. Should I have said sorry first?? This folly is my curse to curse on the cursed. I feek and wamble through forbidden parts of my flaccid foamy thoughts, welcome to my shilpit stuck shtick of a shipwrecked existence. I threap the idea of my deep pipe-dream and chisel into my bones, I will form my face on a platform of predictive pandemonium. Keep writing, keep writing; leave life within the leap of your lies, the skies are dull, a spotlight, I’m hit by cheap lightning, so I cheat at the chessboard fights and confess wrongs rights, righteously.
Rampid scarlet nights, wrap rapid around the pad of writers might, until I’m knee riding, let’s set this carpet alight, realign my alien mind, I put a space between ship, relation or friend… Why???
Life, Love and death, most certain to happen at one point or another to everyone, you have no choice in these matters, neither do the Gods nor the devils, you may have a slight influence on when they may occur, but you can never cause these forces to react by your own will.
Dig deeper to find my heart, I will hold yours over you, with a xiphoid object, time stops to observe, I’m from projects, time to write more the world conserved.
The Broken One
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 with go up in smoke. These pages are my playground, push me and I’ll swing.
This world didn’t break me, I was already broken. And the brick that was threw through my window and did it, 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!
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!!
Writers Of The World Should 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 cool, 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.
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!
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 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.
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 peal my skin and try and 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
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 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. not wish to confront. But just know I will take everything from you. This is all I know. This is my design.
How To Write Successful Fiction
Where to start? Where to start? …If you cannot pull fantasy from reality, click on a clothes website or some porn now because I will be wasting my time…. I’ll wait until your granny porn page has loaded……. Okay, now those losers have skedaddled, what I am going to tell you will help you come up with some amazing ideas and can also sometimes beat writersblock, as it always works for me.
I go outside!!! I know; I know we’re writers and some of our best ideas happen inside – On the crapper – after sex or masturbation over all of our granny porn (Jokes!) But to be possessed by an idea that will fester as an incurable disease within you, you will have to live. And within my experience all of the monsters live out in the big bad-ass world; so I make myself bad-ass to fit in and fill my mind.
Pick something that you have done in within your life or something you do. An idea could be running away from home (I swear this is how I usually start my ideas; not with a craptastic idea like running away, bear with me, I will make scene. A slim line between genius and madness remember…. Jeez!)
So where can we go with that? Well perhaps you begin on running away or you ran away time ago and it’s time to return…. RETURN FOR REVENGE! THEY TOOK WHAT YOU LOVE; A MILLION GUNS, FIVE MILLION DEAD BODIES, ONLY ONE MAN AND ONE PURPOSE! ….Sorry…. I really mean that; my mind wanders most of the time. Okay, back on track.
Well you can have unfinished business or have someone you love or something you need.
What we have so far is…. “You ran away; it’s time to go back home for _____?” This is what I like to call general fiction, it’s not real and never happened but you want to write it.
Now I know it makes sense but here is the tricky part; YOU DON’T WANT TO WRITE GENERAL FICTION, DO YOU? YOU WANT DRAGONS OR VAMPIRES AND FAIRIES IN YOUR TALES.
But you have a small outline of what is going to happen within the story. If you are female within your story; you can possibly be a princess who ran away because of your abusive father the king, he helped drive your mother into a grave and some other bad-ass shizz’.
So from that I can see. A young girl running through a dark wooded area, her dress is being ripped by the twigs like witches elongated fingers. She is bawling her eyes out. She needs to out run the image of the castle in the background because it is only a reminder what her father has done. SWEET! (You need a good imagination to be a writer. Some have it, others don’t, sorry, that’s the way the world turns… If you can’t write Fiction, I am sure you can get a job writing granny porn…. Haha!)
– If you are a writer you must think as yourself as a God, not thee God, but a God who is willing to make and take life. – Alexander Kennedy. –
Now as a writer I am putting faith in you that you know about character building and building tension and other things. Well as our character has had a bad spurt within her life, it is now time for her to leave the weak ways of princess-hood and become a warrior woman. And the only way that will happen is if you break her thought processes within the story. (No, I am not going to fill in all the gaps for writing a good story… Jeepers! The idea alone is pretty good, a bad-ass version of Snow White. Booya!)
But you can end it with her, I don’t know; riding on a huge dragon that she met on her travels of womanhood and they are best friends. She attacks from the sky while her love interest is on horseback with an army from a rival country to destroy the castle and her evil father.
In reality that story could be a teenage girl runs away from home because her father’s a dick, so she meets some friends and with their help she and her gang go back home to retrieve her clothes, or something boring like that. Yes, reality does depress me slightly, that’s why I live in a far away world.
So there you have it. Use your own life to write any genre of fiction. ALWAYS! ALWAYS! MAKE SURE THAT PEOPLE CAN RELATE TO YOUR WORK WITHIN THEIR LIFES. Great works come from others experiences because people can see themselves as the characters, remember that.
I actually use this method for all of my work.
Try it out or if you are having trouble. Email me or something and we can talk and will help you develop your own idea. (Don’t worry I don’t steal, it’s tacky, stupid and shows you have no talent.) But I am here to help.
Oh…. And the simplest ideas are always the best, writers’ nowadays over think and complicate their stories and that’s why when people read their work all they get is “Well, it was okay, one time is enough for that story…” Pfft…. Write your heart and fingers silly people; lit agents – certain doors and greatness await you.
This has been a psychotic announcement from Alex Kennedy.
Keep those pens busy….
Medicine Time
The walls are closing in on me, time to expand my mind again; my last defence against the grim pace of life. I have finally put the knife down and picked up a pen and a handful of pills, cracking open my skull and throwing my brains at the paper, so this world can call my writings masterpieces. This master of writing is laid in pieces, broken and sobbing naked in the corners of the living-room, hiding from the knocks of the door, rocking backing forth.
I can be a pain killer,
Now watch me grill-up these chickens,
Wherever I be, weed suspicions be in us,
It’s a lot me similar to David and Goliath proportions,
Saving Private Problems,
Raging rhyming destroyer,
Wait until I get hold of,
All this weight I hold on my shoulders,
My soul dominates these golden-gates,
So…. Game over!
Courage and Knowledge mix with hate is a bonus,
Anticipate for another brain donor,
I should just escape to my other persona,
Cause I do love no one,
The world is sick,
Time to give it its medication,
Red ribbon wrapped with exhilaration,
Reward myself, a pill I page in,
Suppose to look after this commonwealth,
And still I am a patient.
Stick to what you know, so I am glued to this pen and paper and surrounded myself with memory photos of pain. I am not sure if these feverish tablets are making me sweat, or if I am crying; still not sure. Tomorrow I will be less of the same man! I can’t handle the wobble of sanity, my fingertips grip on the verge; I will plummet into insanity with my arms wide open and be engulfed into the darkness. Here we go again!
Nail in my Coffin
Arm-wrestling with adolescence,
I can’t count my blessings,
As I’ve never been blessed,
My life has always been a chess-game,
That or a test, now I’m back at it again,
Grab myself a pad and a pen to be the baddest again.
Now I have a kid on the way,
Where there’s a will there’s a way,
“He’s crazy!” They’ll say…
I will kill for this day,
Now put this drill to my brain and rip out the sane.
For the past year I’ve been living in dark corners,
Shark waters; where I flash forward to happier callings,
Eyeball bawling,
Relapsing solely but these pills are so lonely.
Gotta’ do it for them, as my Dad never did,
“Alex, you’ll flip again… This is never-ending!”
I’m running from my devils,
What is heaven sending?
At God-Speed, have hope for me,
I’m more in-need of it before this corners me,
I wish I were a younger me, not hungry,
Not to put these pages under-siege with this thunder in me.
So let me sail the seas and swim with the dolphins,
Make my endorphins spin uncontrollably,
And help me bang in the nails of this coffin.
I’m all in.
I slowly am coming back….
Alexander Kennedy
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