I’m In Love With This Pen, I’d Kill For It

A Monster of a Writer Lives Here!! – I Told You Not To Click!!! –

 

I believe in my words, as you do fairy-tales. One day a silver lining shall prevail over all of my darkness. But until then, I shall cut clouds azure veins and make it rain blood-red, twirl underneath something so passionately beautiful, I need you to see what is inside of me; what I am capable of doing, become tantalized by the colours of my soul. This page is writer’s stage; I’m sacrificing myself to the music of horrific words for your entertainment only. I’m leaping from buildings and drowning in an oceans currents, currently at the end of this pen I am immortal; nothing can stop me for achieving this deathly desired gift from life, turn the page and gain a paper-cut from me, even my words feed on your blood.

 

monster-writer

Keep going, Alex. Keep going! Show them all what you can do with words, out write them all, have them think twice about you! “Who Said That!!” Shuddered the writer, his fingertips quake over the space-bar and mouse.

 
Bite those fingernails down to the bone, keep going and swallow your arm, for this one idea you are looking for. They have gangs and hordes armed to the teeth, you laugh through your teeth and bring forth an undead alliance with the real monsters of this unnatural world, watch them cross you now, forever is all you have to get ready for war, luckily we are not men of the cloth.

 
Every word is a brick, so you say; are you building a new home for a new life? In my eyes, Alex, you are only another brick in that wall, the one that is holding up all of your foundations, do you not know that you are supposed to space your life out evenly. Hahaha! Mr. Broken!

 
I’m trying to escape from this haunted house from my bedroom window, the room has started to bring all of my nightmares to life; but as soon as I do I am dangling from my ankles from the windowsill, the evil is keeping me here. The whole neighbourhood has come to have a gander at something more damaged than them. Don’t help, I’m not scared to be dragged under this bed again. The monster under my bed ate the monster in my closet, there is no comfort within home. Come live with us, Alex, you are one of us.

 

the-monster-undre-my-bed

 

I like the idea of becoming a writer; you can’t blame me for believing in it, I’m a dreamer. No colour but so vivid, so close as I hand-slap myself away from grasping it. Maybe it’s not for me? Maybe I’m holding this pen wrong? Even if I have to steal the sun and use it as a bargaining-chip to ensure this dream doesn’t flourish away into the back of my mind as another failure, I will!

 
This pen is my Excalibur, with so much calibre that when I write people board up the doors and windows to make sure the evil I conjure doesn’t come knocking. Nothing grows upon the pages I write upon, death lives here, the birds migrate around me and wind changes direction to ensure it doesn’t come in contact with my shell. Something’s cannot be explained, plus the mystery brings in the readers.

 

I’m in love with this pen, I will kill for it.

 

leave-this-book-alone

 

They have tried to stop me from writing before; the priests came for tea and they tied me to the bed, they asked me cease and I projectile vomited all over them. I’m still chuckling. This is my way of exorcising my demons, do not read; do not think, close this page; they will come get you.

 
I only have one question. When is enough – enough? When will I know I have reached the end dark adventure? If I scream through my words would you be able to see the stream down my face?

 

 

You’ve made it this far down, leave a little LIKE & COMMENT! Thanks…


 

Sick & Tired

I’m sick & tired of being poor,
I’m sick & tired of being beaten-up and shown the floor,
I’m sick & tired of not having enough food,
I’m sick & tired for always asking for more,
I’m sick & tired of all of these doctors’ meds,
I’m sick & tired of these voices in my head,
I’m sick & tired of my job,
I’m sick & tired of living for less in this mess,
I’m sick & tired of my past,
I’m sick & tired of always coming in last,
I’m already sick & tired of my future,
I’m sick & tired of being white trash,
I’m sick & tired of not being a writer,
I’m sick & tired of having to be a fighter,
I’m sick & tired of having no views,
I’m sick & tired of being a live-wire,
I’m sick & tired of my evil deeds,
I’m sick & tired of no one dreaming of me,
I’m sick & tired of being sick & tired,
It’s worse than you know, believe me.

Continue reading

A Letter To My Future Children

Hey kids, this Dad.

 
This is a letter to my future children; a small light upon my all darkness. I know Alex is already here, but I wrote this for when you’re a little older to understand things.

 
I want to tell you the story of my life before you were even born, so you know what I was like around the age you are now. First off, dad was a mental patient; the worst time of my life, I almost lost myself which could have reflected on you never being born. But I want you to know, you are my legacy! You will help our blood carry-on, as well as our family name “Kennedy” We have a creative gene within our family, if you do not have it, your children will.

 
But Dad was a player at one point in his life, he loved the ladies, yes I did. I was never this way inclined before, I couldn’t talk to women before, I missed that chunk of my life when I was mentally-ill but I caught up and overtook all those that believe they could talk and dazzle the ladies. And I have loved some stunning women; some hurt me and some I left with the ache. But every one of them I did love. I have my feelings in the right place now and have tried to build bridges.

 
Now my writings, here we go, my words are all I have; they were all I really had. I write to make sure that when sunlight finally does blush upon your skin, you will not be born into poverty like me and my brothers & sisters were. I want you to know what life is, I don’t want you to be a spoilt brat like some children I see on movies and TV shows. I want you to work for things so you know about self respect.

 
Now your Grandma, my mother, is the strongest person I know. She is my evils kryptonite, she backs it away with logic and riddles, the doctors stuck to a script and it didn’t work for me, but she saved my life. She has been through her own wars, which I can see in her eyes. Look after her; we don’t have many people like that on this planet. People are too hectic in nature; no one smells the roses anymore, unless their I-Phone 5 can squirt smells under their noses.

 
Now please don’t judge me through my writings, it’s my process to keep the voices and urges at bay. But I know I will be proud of you, I will write the most amazing things this world will ever imagine so that you can have the proper upbringing. I will not stop. Yes, I have a dream and there are certain things I would like, but I must work and fight for what I want; you must do the same.

 
I am not sure exactly sure why I am writing this, but this is just in case there is an accident and I am no longer Earth bound or I have lost it completely and there is no cure for my madness; if that is the case, do not come and visit me, I do not wish for you to see me in that state.

 
But I will continue to write for you, even if I die, I will send you secret scrolls from Heaven.

 
I will love you forever.
Dad

Why Mental Illness Can Save Someone’s Life

So I’m crazy. The doctors drilled it into me, mom and dad wept for me, brothers and sisters didn’t pick on me and friends stayed clear of me. Can you blame them? But we’re all a little crazy, the world is one big mental asylum and all the countries are personal padded cells for all nationalities. But in this day and age, broken is the new fixed.
And for me as a warped minded writer, this gives me a certain advantage over other scribblers out there. Yes, they have fancy educations. Yes, they have big bank accounts. Yes, their daddies know the right people and connections. But no, they do not have a genuine gift as I do. Yes, I am poverty ridden, broke to pockets seams. I failed high school, except for English. This is where I triumph.

I do remember heading to school once; my feet sprawled out on the top deck of the double-decker bus. I was having major headache recently, but I hide it well because I had no one to complain too. I was still a geeky teen in high school. My bus stop was coming up and I stood and shaking I walked down the bus aisle. As I reached the stairs blackness hit my eyes and the next thing I knew I was on my back covered in cuts and bruises and a bus full of people laughing at me. I made a hasty retreat from my embarrassment.

That was the first time I blacked out, this was the onset for something dark coming into focus readying itself to consume me. I at never played truant from school, I always did the right thing, which made me a target for the bullies. I never wanted to be this guy but this is the result of my history that shifted my geography, since then my mathematical problems doubled, tripled and quadrupled and within my science all I am left with is the P.E. I learned that made me run away with a pipe-dream for bad English and dark-side of the human anatomy and biology for my evil fiction homework.
But as my good behaviour shifted into a bad attitude, I felt I gain control of myself, finally. No longer was I a robot stricken by routine. And when my imagination hit me between the eyes, I concocted a devilish plan, use what I have and write everything you can.

Now this is easier said than done; especially when you have no money, no help and no readers. First thing was first, I needed a computer. I needed money for a computer, I needed a job. For a job I needed the right grades, which I didn’t have. Shop work it is (I am still working here by the way.) So now I have my computer, a little money, not a lot but hey, we writers have to start somewhere.
But if it wasn’t for my mental illness, I’m sure I would have given up on my life a long time ago. So now I plod on with my damaged baggage dreaming of something I can only imagine.

But I am sure, as long as I jot down all I can and keep reaching out to people, one day my dreams will come true. I am working on my second novel, which will shock the pants off this world, but I know you will enjoy it.
And I am still blogging short stories and creative writing; from time to time waving my poetic pen across the paper for you too.
So keep reading.

And keep your pens busy.

Psycho for life!! Haha!

Alex

The Enhanced Humans Versus Me

Generations ago the shield went up, separating our world in two, humans on one side and super-humans on the other. Our governments came to the conclusions to reside on either side of our planet, as jealousy began to play a major part from schools, winning all of the scholarships, to the workplace; the completion of tasks seconds after being told what to do was too much for us to catch-up with. We humans were the lower of the species on our world. So, for over two hundred and twenty-seven years we have lived separately. Until now.
The shield stands with a light whooshing sound of a purring engine which ripples from the ground to the sky. The mechanics of the walls generators are all buried meters under the ground.
“Don’t you just wonder about what they are like now? How do we know there is anyone even on the other side of the wall?” I roar with a dreaming tone as I look up into uncharted sky beyond the red shield on the super-side.
“Matty, we have all seen the human movies that portray all their powers, of course we have to use wires and special-effects but we get the idea of what they are. You always do this, dude. They are still over there; don’t worry about that, focus on your life on this side of the shield. My opinion from what I have read and seen, they’re all ass-clowns.” Dev takes another swig of pinched beer as he loafs on a raggedy sun-lounger; his cap drooped over his face. “C’mon Matt, let’s roll-out, I’m getting bored.”
“Go on without me, Dev.” I babble from my innards.
He looks over at me with his wavy-eyes, no hope there.
“Your rents still giving you jip?” He wipes the beer sweat from around his mouth. The sun is banishing quickly for another day. From his peepers to his feet my eyes are dragged down. “You know, you shouldn’t let them push you around, it’s not their life. You’re the smartest guy I know, make your own future. Forget what they say.”
I turn back to the shield and place my right hand on the red wall. My family’s demons rest within my eyes when I begin to talk about them.
“I guess we’re a lot more broken on this side of the shield. I’ll see you tomorrow, dude. “
He stands for a brief minute; eventually he throws his beer into the shield, smashing it. “You’ll figure it out, Matt. You always do.” He stumble strolls away over the loose clumps of rocks.
I’ll imagine a little more until I am surrounded by darkness, at this point I will go home and live within my nightmare. The wind picks up slightly, covering me in a chilly sand cloud.
I prop both my hands on the wall and look down at my feet, spitting at the sand, crestfallen.
“All my dreams will come true one day, pick-up you pride, Matty.” I close my eyes and try to wish for it.
I fall forward and land side-first on the dirt.
“Okay, that hurt.” I turn onto my back, brushing off the dust soil from my clothes. “I’m on the super-side.” I rise to my feet swiftly and race to the wall, trying my hardest to push back through. “Dev! Dev, I’m on the other side of the wall, I need help. Dev!” No use, he has beaten it. Out of breath I sit on a massive boulder and stare at my campsite, where I have sat with Dev since we were kids.
“A glitch, they’ve only ever been seen; no person from either side has ever fallen through one. Yeah, I am one of the unlucky ones, now not only on my side of the world.”
There’s only one thing from it, wait from Dev to come back, get our government involved and probably start an out-international incident. First time for everything. Or I could find a kind Super who can fly me back home.
The trek is on for life. I walk unknowingly on uncharted ground; even though I am desert-bound the night air still brings on cold-goosebumps to my upper-arms. I check my watch 02:13 am. I think it’s time to rest up shop, I prop my back up against a dead almost-fossilized tree, with a pulsating pain, I believe I have broken a rib when I fell earlier. Shiver yourself to sleep, Matt, it will all make sense when the sun comes up.

 

 
I shoot myself awake to the sound of a snap-pop of thunder and the screech of wind, but no breeze rubs arms with me.
“What the hell was that?” I bark to the cacti and dung-beetles that scurry across the floor. Readjusting my spine from a terrible and short night’s sleep I gain bearings, it wasn’t a dream, I’m still here.
I stand, looking around for signs of enhanced living, nothing. I do hear poppy-music far-familiar to the ones I hear on the human radio. I sceptically jog up a hillock and try to hide behind a few mass of rocks.
A small town, no roads leading neither in nor out; none the less a community has flourished in the dry eyes of the deserts mirage. On one of the streets an undersized blonde girl, standing at the end of a road looking out onto a plot of land. From out of nowhere the skeleton of a huge apartment building is materialized, from thin-air the exterior of the building is wrapped in brick. Lastly windows, doors and guttering are imagined into reality, right before my very eyes, a building is made; the young girl skips off down the street.
“What you doing skulking up here?” An observed female’s voice puts out.
I slip in scare; falling backwards onto my bed of sand. From blur to focused, she must be an angel if angels were real. Wavy black hair; she is Goth mirrored but her eyes were as peaceful as the rebellion statement she wears.
“I was looking at the young girl make that building from nothing, like with her thoughts.” I sang with grog-voice.
“Her name is Cassie; she lives next door to me. And her job is making things with her thoughts. It’s a better job that I have; she just made ten-thou-notes. Here give me your hand.” I pull myself up to her level. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”
“Well no, I kind of fell through a glitch in the shield and couldn’t get back through.” In shock the strange girl takes a step backwards.
“You’re human. No – No this is bad, this is really bad. Oh my God, they will kill you if they find out a human has crossed over. You’re such a div! I can’t protect you from them, I can only fly.”
I interrupt her meltdown. “You can fly?” She looks at me with lightening then her seas calms.
“Yeah, I’m a delivery girl. It’s the only thing fliers are good for; taking things from A to B, that’s if you’re not a teleporter. Low money but second hand things needed to be shifted too.”
“That’s so awesome. I just have a question.” She nods. “What’s a div?” She laughs from her nose.
“A div is a stupid person; I wasn’t calling you stupid, I’m sorry. The whole situation is messed-up. You need to listen; there is a special part of our government here called the N.S.A.A.H. The National Security Association against Humans. This branch wants to eradicate all humans from this world so we can live as a whole not as equals, they look at you as a threat.” I see the look of fear in her eyes.
“Damn, well can’t you do your supergirl thing and fly me over the shield?”
She sits on a rock looking for her next move in the sand.
“It won’t do any good if I took you up there, it ends on the outskirts of space, that’s the reason why no of us have ever stepped foot on your side. There might be one way.” A light bulb is switched on.
“Name it! I haven’t even been here one day and my life is at stake and I am bringing more people or supers into my trouble. Its fine you don’t have to help me, I’ll find a way by myself.” I look out into the horizon.
“Hey, if I were to leave you and something happened to you then I would be a sucky hero, wouldn’t I? There may be one way but it’s going to be hard and we will have to walk through government territories, which if they find you with me, my ass is worm food also. So we’re going to need help, come with me.”
She grabs hold of my hand and runs me down the side of the sand hill onto the street.
“This is where I live, Superville, excuse the name. Act natural, do not act like a human I mean because all it takes is for one nosey neighbour or mind-reader to get in your head and figure out what you are, game over. I have a couple of friends that mind be able to help with our little problem.”
She leads on entering into a garden, walking up to what looks to a 50’s ranch house. She rings the bell. “What’s the password?” A voice from the other side commands.
“Open the door Butt-hole!” She grins into the peeper of the door. “Close enough, Blondie” The door swings open to a nerdy teen, around my age of seventeen, dressed in close to a mix of a doctors scrubs and casual clothing; a box of popcorn gripped tight. “C’mon in. Butch and I are about to watch When Humans Attack four. Who’s your friend?” He states throwing popcorn into his mouth.
“This is….” She didn’t even ask my name, I jump forward with an open hand. “I’m Matty, nice to meet you, man.”
With a full mouth of popcorn. “Hi Matty. I’m Jensen but everyone calls me Brains. Alicia has never mentioned you before.” She stands in front of me.
“We need to talk Brains.” She hastily urges.

 

 
In Brains bedroom lays taken apart computers that have been reassembled to make a Frankenstein-computer. Mechanical objects have been given life, he must really have brains. Jensen sits in front of me, mouth resting in awe. In the corner sits a quiet girl, very introvert within herself wearing what can only be noticed as librarian clothes. She is the one they keep calling Butch.
“A human here, sitting right in front of me. I thought I would never see the day. Licia’ if the N.S.A.A.H finds out you know he’s a goner, right?”
Alicia sits down beside Jensen, placing a hand on his back.
“That’s why I have come to you. You are a marvel genius; you are the smartest guy I know. We need your help to make sure he gets back home or they will cut him up in a lab. And I can only do it if I have my friend on my side with me. Take a risk with me.” She pleads.
He exhales the worry from his racing heartbeat within a blow, slicks back his head and nods in agreement. “What’s the plan?” He gives in.
“Sweet! Well, there is no actual way we can turn off the power to the shield but if we talked to Lady Helen and get us on our side, she may take Matty home without anyone even knowing.”
“I’m sorry; I’m feeling a little more human today than usual. Can someone tell me what is happening and why they call the girl sitting next to me, Butch?” I interject in a stern tone.
Jensen stands his eyes are moving like his is reading something, perhaps he is writing scenarios within his mind.
“They call her Butch because she is impervious to everything, she won’t even die, bullets, radiation nor even a common-super-cold could stop her but she is as quiet as a mouse. And Helen is the President of the Super-world’s daughter; she is the only living teleporter to have lived in over forty years. Now if we go there and manage to talk some sense into her, she may actually be able to take you home without tripping over bad grounds.” Alicia bites her bottom-lip.
“I’ve got it!” Jensen stammers with an eerie shriek. He stomps off through our huddle into his closet. “I made something when I was thirteen that might be able to help you, Matt.” Clothes, porn-magazines and old half dismantled machines are thrown out. “Tah-dah! I would like to introduce to you the static-human-flier. Which when turned on will harness the magnetic energy from our own world and resist our curse to it, which in theory should make you fly; no it will make you fly, Matt. Try it on, dude.”

 

 
I exit the bathroom; all the suit contains is some boots and gloves that have some circular holes within the base of each of them, wires from all four limbs lead under my clothing to a belt that has an on and off button and a volume knob.
“C’mon let’s go see if it still works.” Jensen inquires.

 

 
I stand in the middle of Jensen’s back garden the trio of heroes stand at his back door.
With one of his hands palms he holds around his mouth, Jensen asserts. “Okay, turn the belt on and turn up the volume knob to the halfway line.” I do that – Nothing.
I shrug my shoulders and begin to walk back. “I don’t think its working something must be wro…..” I shoot off like a rocket missing the homes chimney by centimetres. I climb higher and higher into the clouds, uncontrollably and dip and weave through clouds. I try and slow the speed by the volume knob but reaching for it I accidently flick the off switch.
I plummet downwards like a rock, repeatedly turning on and off the switch in a frantic rage. “C’mon, turn on! Help!”
“I’m coming!” I hear Alicia’s voice come from the cloud I just fell through. She shoots out with an opened hand. She grabs my shirt and pulls me into her; she wraps her legs around me.
“I can’t hold your weight; brace yourself for a crash landing.” We crash down in the sand area close to where we met.
“That was close. Thanks Alicia, you saved my life.” She stands up and brushes herself off.
“I’m a superhero, its kind’o my thing. C’mon, let’s go get you home.”
Brains and Butch are cheering at the start of the street. “That was awesome!”

 

Birth Of A Superhero

The dinning-hall at St Peters High School, reminds me of feeding time for the animals in Africa. The pop-jock-kids are the lions, they devour whatever is placed upon their plates; malevolently scoping out their next gazelle to pounce as they digest and bask in the sun of the football field, after they rip apart their burgers and hotdogs. We shall leave these beasts alone.

 

The beautiful make-up-girls, they would be the leopards, majestic to look at but they will eat your very soul in front of everyone if you get too close, sometimes just for kicks; unfeeling and unflinching to every other animal that roams these hallways. They eat their healthy pasta and salads but do divulge in the fatty luxuries we have come to know as the first basic food group, chocolate. Their attack choice on other animals, manipulate, bitch and backstab; their beauty is just a smokescreen, under it they have their taste for virgin blood and paranoid friendships between each other.

 
And then there’s me and mine, the chimps, day-dreamers and star-gazers. Popularity food for the pop-kids, we are meant for one purpose and one purpose only, to make others look good. Mediocre looks means a mediocre school-life, we do not stand out in any crowd except the classroom. This is where we come alive and also write our social-subconscious-suicide notes because in the teacher’s eyes we are looked upon as the hopeful but in the cross-eyes of our teenage equals we are deemed hopeless.
And as a chimp we certainly can never have a love with a beautiful girl, one like Alison Stook. If I were a chimp she would still be a Goddess. Here is the kicker of my stance in this place. I am a geek; I look and keep up the act like one as well. A thin exterior and shabby hair, what will I have to offer her, except from love.
“You’re doing that thing again, Chris. Hello, earth to Chris!” Mark snaps his fingers.
I drive my head into my chilidog and chow down.
“Sorry guys, it’s just so hard not to stare at something so… beautiful and perfect and everything I want and need to be with… I’m in trouble, ain’t I?” I tear myself from the dream which could lead to an ass-whoopin’ by friends.
“I mean this seriously mate, just go over and talk to her, she is just a lass at the end of the day.” Danson interjects as he slams down his dinner-tray and taking a seat.
“Well mate, you have no idea what it is like to daydream about the girl of your dreams and would except every detail about her, it’s not that you can’t dream, it’s because you’re English.” I copy his British accent.
Mark and Danson start blowing kisses at one another; I grab my carton of milk and stand.
“Screw you guys, I’m going to the library to do some research on my next project.” I stomp away from their jeering.
“Bye Bye lover boy!” Mark has one last poke of embarrassment to throw.

 

 
I sit there looking at a webpage on how electricity’s metamorphosis on a magnetic field will either dissipate it or make it increase.
“Hi there, it’s Chris, isn’t it? Your friends said you’d probably be here.” A quiet voice takes my attention.
“Hi… Alison…” She is standing in front of me, keep calm; keep calm. “Just working out; I mean I’m doing some working out.” I stunningly stammer.
She sits down with the huge green eager eyes, giggle-some.
“Have you heard of the charity skydiving drive we are holding at the weekend?” She leans closer inwards, I can smell her perfume.
“Vaguely; why?” I keep my answers small to not trip-up my cool composure, not that I had any before.
“Well we are filming it live and we need it to be streamed over the internet to watchers who are funding it but couldn’t be there and also to raise more money online. So I was wondering…”
I jump into her words. “No – No. I can’t jump; I’d be too scared of messing up in the sky.”
She squint’s her eyes and puts on a side smile, brushing her red hair behind her ear. “No, I was wondering if you would come up in the plane with us and take care of the video feeds from all of our cameras and make sure they broadcast properly. “ She brood’s her bottom lip and places her hands in a praying action. All I can do is gawk at her mouth which is outlined with incarnadine lipstick; she is a kaleidoscope to me, all the pretty colours I wish to surround myself with.
“So there’s no jumping for me?” I relieve. A shake of her head and a bite of her lip say it all. Stop staring – stop staring – stop staring. “Sure thing, I’d happily do it for you.” Finally I acquiesce.
“Great!” With a clap of her hands she leans over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “People always said that you were weird, I don’t really see it.” She ended.
There I sit; the vile view of society has rested upon me, all my nightmares shown to me by the girl of my dreams.

 

 
I manage to open the door to Granddad Wilsons house. He is a hoarder of the old world; the interior to the huge house is the colours of browns and greys, it’s as if I walked into a noir film and I am trapped in rainbow shading clothing.
“Granddad – Granddad, I’m here for my weekly visit.” I lower my tone. “To be bored out of my mind for the next two hours.”
Slipper scuffles shift from the kitchen. I turn and in toddles the oldest guy I know. An aged frown is directed at the floor, through his fickle-rimmed glasses that hang on for life at the end of his nose. A bold moustache he keeps as a statement and high-rising pants that lip his belly.
“I told your mom she did not have to keep sending you every week to look after me, I’m fine. I tell you, if your Grandmother was still alive she’d make sure you never came back around, with her tricks and antics.” He barks as he rests in peace in his chair with a huff of chest infection.
The room is filled with books of ancient history, myths and legends and superhumans; the top book on the pile upon the coffee table is a book about Sumerian tribe links with aliens.
“Yeah, well I’m here now. What’s with all the books?”
He fixes up his glasses. “It’s only taken you almost two decades to ask me. It’s been a hobby of mine since I was about your age. Mostly about people being more than they are. Powers that not even a God could muster-up only within you.”
“Like superheroes?” I advise, readjusting myself in this cardboard chair.
“You kids and your damn superheroes; I will tell you something, being a superhuman doesn’t come from outer-space or radioactive ants or whatnots. It all comes from within you.” He grumbles as he taps his finger on my chest plate.
“What do you mean, Grandpa?” I confusingly beam.
“Think of yourself as a battery operated machine, son; your emotions produce enough energy to muscle your power of choice; if you feel love or anger to an extreme, your level will rise, a lot like a pulse, whoosh – whoosh – whoosh. Back before man was recorded I believe we had the knowledge of our potential and we used it to shape the world we live in today, but like everything, we got lazy and forgot. We are all superhuman; all we need to know is how to channel ourselves through the obstacles that keep us grounded.” He slurps his syrup styled motioned coffee.
“That’s a nice theory, Granddad. I know I don’t listen to you a lot, but it’s not every day you hear a hypothesis about being super and it actually making sense.” Ponderingly I scope-out a new day-dream in the cobwebbed crevices of the ceiling.
“I mean it has never found me, but you should focus on your feelings in front of mirror to see if anything happens.” He hints as he picks-up the TV guide.

 

 
So here I am, my bedroom door barricaded with my straight-bar weight. My shameful body is shown as my T-shirt is thrown on the floor.
“Okay, focus on my feelings and becoming a superhuman.” I psych myself up as I try and look buff in the mirror, lacking the muscle mass.
What could she ever see within me?
I think about why no one had ever crossed their own path before in this instance. If they gained strength, they would probably rob banks or take on the army for fun. If they gained speed, the Olympics could be their golden run to glory. It would probably be best for everyone if they didn’t cross that path.
The want for better overruns all that had been done-wrong upon this place, someone with only pure of heart, someone who believed in right before themselves, could harness this power.
I close my eyes and I can only think of her and soon realise that thinking of such magic could never exist within our world.
As I lay myself down to sleep for the night, I feel let down by my own being; my belief for a better me to have all I want, it’s never that simple. A total apocalypse of the heart.

 

 
I get off the bus to a fresh sky of azure. A slight nudge towards the airport hanger by the wind and the alacrity of my fellow student jumpers knocks my thoughts out of sync.
“Sup’ dude! Can you believe this? Finally here, I am shitting my pants but weirdly in a good-way.” Derek chortles.
“So glad I am not jumping.” I shuffle into myself.
“Yeah, we all know why you are doing this and let’s just say we all know that it’s not to do the right thing, unless the right thing has red hair and has a nice rack.” He jeers as we both look over at Alison who is surrounded by her female followers.
From a joined office at the side of the hanger a middle aged but grey haired man enters. This must be the skydiving teacher, Clark; the female faculty have a thing for.
“Okay, gather round, guys. This is what you have been training for, the time is finally here. Now for those who are jumping today you have to remember the temperature up there is going to be gelid, so precaution is advised at all times. You know what is needed and expected of you all up there; each other’s wellbeing at all times.” He claps his hands. “Let’s do this!”
She and I create a succinct eye contact, smiles attached; I don’t know what to make of it. Does she fancy me the way I fancy her or is she being polite the way she usually is? Who knows?

Sitting in my corner of the plane, scared out of my wits, I do not know what to make of all the turbulence and jilts. I have a laptop screen, secured down; on screen there are windows of live-feeds from the cameras located on the helmets of each jumper. It is my job to monitor and link up.
Derek scoots over to my side.
“Wear this.” He hands me a bandana to cover the bottom part of my face. “When those doors open it is going to get really cold in here, dude.”
“Thanks, man.” I flick through the screens.
“A little woman advice for you, you have to take a risk if you want to know anything, take a leap of faith for your own good.” He punches my upper arm and shifts back over to his position.
Clark comes through from the cockpit, putting on his helmet.
“Two minutes! Check and recheck your pulls and restraints help the person next to you if they need. A horde of twelve people wobble from side-to-side, tugging and pulling on straps, at this angle they remind me of fawns on an icy lake. I make a beeline for her, taking my words and forming them into lascivious manner.
“Hi Chris, thanks for doing this again; will you fasten up my chin strap.” I fiddle around with it. “With this helmet and all the wind, my hair is gonna’ frizz like a bitch.” Alison whinges.
“Perhaps, but I do guarantee, you will still be beautiful within my eyes, Alison.” Her eyes drift down to mine; flutters, this must be the energy my granddad was talking about.
“Okay, everyone in to position!” Clark Crows.
I back up and find my seat and belt, strapping myself in. A line of leapers form to face a formidable monster, Mother Nature. Alison is behind Derek, second to last. She looks down her body, going over all of her straps one more time in her head. She arches her head back up and turns to look at me, a look of love for erstwhile. Rather ironic, I have falling in love; she shows love before she falls.
The door is automatically opened; one by one they hurtle themselves from the aircraft. They fall as cascading teardrops which reflect magnified within deaths eyes. For a brief second I do not believe she will do it, confusing burns a fuse of feeling in her heart. I wrap and tie the bandana around my face.
They jump!
The rush of wind is conducted through the speakers; I focus in with a click on her camera-feed. Aerodynamically the divers chase away birds.
Camera 11 has some interference, the white noisy lines stretch across the screen. I check the list, the camera is Derek’s; I watch closely on the screen. The camera is pulled from Derek’s helmet by the winds evil fingertips, it’s is catapulted into Alison’s direction, she collides with it and is sent unconsciously into a furious freefalling spiral. My heart within my chest is on the edge of its seat. In the clouds my worst fears come to me in the shape of a frisson.
I cannot just sit here and watch love fall away from me, shall I cry into my hands and give death the satisfaction or shall I take charge of my feelings? A warm rush of blood tsunami’s through my veins, when it has hit a curved end it backtracks. Is this it? Chris, undo your straps!
I vease my feet forward into the openness of a sky-shot without a parachute. The wind causes brouhaha to the ear, my eyes squint and my heart shudders behind my ribcage. I only make out the jumpers as they have formed a handheld circle within their fall. Two flyers have broken away from the pack, one must be Derek and the other is definitely Alison. Remember what Granddad said. I close my eyes to regain courage.
“Think of yourself as a battery operated machine, son; your emotions produce enough energy to muscle your power of choice; if you feel love or anger to an extreme, your level will rise; a lot like a pulse, whoosh – whoosh – whoosh. ~ We are all superhuman; all we need to know is how to channel ourselves through the obstacles that keep us grounded.”

 

Alison…

 
I plunge myself into an arrow position and let gravity do the rest. I soar straight through the handheld-sky diver’s circle, with the speed I have now attained; they all disburse away from one another and pull their shoots. Derek is still trying to reach Alison, nowhere near and thinks of his own life and gives his parachute a lease of life.
She is within my sights and we are within deaths. She is falling back first, her arms and legs wafting around as if she was trying to break-dance.

 
I chrysalis around her, my right hand becomes a search party for her shoot-strap, it is wrapped around her jackets zip; I yank and yank…. I can’t get it free.
I drill my face into her neck; I do not wish to watch either. Only in death can we be together, rather ironic. Our first and last hug; No… It cannot end like this.
“I love you, Alison!” I scream over the wind.
“Love you, too.” A sleeping beauty replies.
I lock my eyes and focus on the feeling of love, 100 meters to go. Love is my key.
We are both shot through some weedy-twigs and brush, eventually landing in a marshland area.
“What the… I am alive?”
Alison, sleeps on a heap in the mud, we have caused a path of destruction for our landing, but how?
I stand slowly and peel the mud from my hair and face.
What is this new found power? And why do I have it? I guess we will find out…

 

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.

As a Writer, What We All Expect…

As a writer just like you, I do hope for a literary agent one day. I guess we all have that dream to be up to the same stance as Stephen King, J.K. Rowling, Edgar Allen Poe or even Jackie Collins… So on and so forth. But While I wait here at Rock-Bottom or at the Bottom of the Ladder I am able to perfect my skill and gain an audience.
Now I know when writing a blog every page always hits a Dead-Point when no one is coming in especially when your dream is at stake. But DON’T STOP! I don’t mind if I get 20 views one day and the next day 200 views on my blog because I have faith not only in my writing but also myself and time will form my future.
Now I know we all have dreams, we all just drift away and think of a life unlike the ones we are living now and a writing career where you are at the top of your game and no one can stand to you.

If you want greatness, no one else will pick up that pen.

But I have seen writers do the minimum amount of work and expect the world to fall at their feet and call what they do as art. ~ Hang your heads in shame. ~ But I have also seen writers like this gain a writing-contract and deliver everything that no one wants. Awesome!
But I have also seen people do the maximum amount of writing and still heading nowhere.

Show your feathers and you will fly.

Be something more than yourself; be like The Dark Knight and become an idea, an idea that is unbreakable, unmoveable; do not show your scars – create your own. And from this an audience will form and follow your shadow. This is when you become great.
Think of yourself as a superhero creating your persona; each time you type you save a soul and the more you save the more your name flies around the globe. Until the time a literary agent comes forth from a spaceship and presents you to the world of Fame and fortune and hands you a costume and forever you will never be able to be defeated.
Yes, I do realise that is a little far out there but it make sense to me. Haha! So be Clark Kent for a time, grow into your powers and soon you will become Superman. (Yes, I have seen Man of Steel, found it to be Awesome!)

 
But do not write for Fame or Fortune because all you will get is broke-pockets and fewer friends than when you started.
We all start somewhere but being at the bottom isn’t all that bad because it just shows us where we want to arrive.
So, do your work, take your time and don’t reach for greatness sooner than you’re ready. In time everything will come.

 
Keep those pens busy….
Alex.

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.