C. Sean McGee's Blog, page 8
March 3, 2015
a thought
You are not your thoughts, just as, the young man who stands on the mountain's edge watching the valley below, is not the cloud that is forming under his feet, that which lifts and gently settles in front of his sight to blind his view. He is neither the cloud, nor is he blind.
- C.SeanMcGee
- C.SeanMcGee
February 25, 2015
The Light Mantra
“Lord of Light and Light of love,” she prayed, “let my spirit be, on the Earth as is above, thy divinity. Lord of Light and Light of love, come into my soul, shine your grace within my heart, and keep my spirit whole. Lord of Light and Light of love, all that I revere, lance these devils with your sword and strike away my fear. Lord of Light and Light of love, knelt before your throne, here I beg, an inch of grace, take me to my home.”
- The Mantra for Fear
{untitled) C.SeanMcGee ₢2015
- The Mantra for Fear
{untitled) C.SeanMcGee ₢2015
February 10, 2015
On the Art of Educating Victims
"Infants never learn to soothe themselves to sleep. They learn, abandoned in seclusion, that no matter the volume of their despondence, no matter the force of their tears, when they are alone and frightened, no-one will ever come to their rescue. Infants do not soothe themselves. They merely surrender. And it is caged in their cribs where the infants learn, in the face of their demons, to remain silent and submitting"
- C.SeanMcGee
Alex and The Gruff (a tale of horror)
- C.SeanMcGee
Alex and The Gruff (a tale of horror)
January 30, 2015
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January 14, 2015
{untitled} Extract: On Describing 'The Demon'
It was the height and shape of a man that much was true. And it dressed in brightly red attire, as if it were anomalous yet stately. Its body was arched and splintered, and made of decay, while its fingers, reeking of tragedy, were shaped like a poet’s quill.
Where its face should have been, there was nothing but vacuous rot, looking more like an aged and arborous canker, upon arched and skeletal shoulders. And it spoke, just as a man might, but the sound of each word was less like a man’s, and more like the deciduous fall of ripened fruit. Between every word, its teeth chattered and ground like the hacking of a rusted saw, with every breath that it took, sounding much like the calamitous whoosh that might follow a fell tree.
It wore too, the strangest boots the boy had ever seen. On each ankle were what looked like a baby eagle’s wings, which flapped whenever it became alarmed or excited.
{Untitled} C.SeanMcGee ₢2015
Extract: On describing 'The Demon'
A story of fear and love, death and infinity. All is light and such, all is one.
Take Risk and Take Care,
C.SeanMcGee
TheFreeArtCollection
www.cseanmcgee.com
www.facebook.com/c.sean.mcgee
www.goodreads.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.scribd.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.issuu.com/c.seanmcgee
www.smashwords.com/profile/view/csean...
Where its face should have been, there was nothing but vacuous rot, looking more like an aged and arborous canker, upon arched and skeletal shoulders. And it spoke, just as a man might, but the sound of each word was less like a man’s, and more like the deciduous fall of ripened fruit. Between every word, its teeth chattered and ground like the hacking of a rusted saw, with every breath that it took, sounding much like the calamitous whoosh that might follow a fell tree.
It wore too, the strangest boots the boy had ever seen. On each ankle were what looked like a baby eagle’s wings, which flapped whenever it became alarmed or excited.
{Untitled} C.SeanMcGee ₢2015
Extract: On describing 'The Demon'
A story of fear and love, death and infinity. All is light and such, all is one.
Take Risk and Take Care,
C.SeanMcGee
TheFreeArtCollection
www.cseanmcgee.com
www.facebook.com/c.sean.mcgee
www.goodreads.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.scribd.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.issuu.com/c.seanmcgee
www.smashwords.com/profile/view/csean...
January 3, 2015
IronArchy
"Rebel not against the government. Rebel against yourself, and how you were educated, be it for or against, it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same. Without corruption, you would have no voice; you would be ordinary and impassioned. Your oppression defines you and as long as you define it, you define yourself and as long as you continue to define yourself on your ideals, you continue to hence the importance of your adversary" - Sahu.
The Anarchist (or about how everything I own is covered in a fine red dust)
Download Free eBook Here: http://goo.gl/847MFd
On the night of 'The March', The Teacher will find himself, in the most profound and liberating test of his ideals. Part philosophical and politcal satire, and part gut wrenching horror, The Anarchist, proving once again that C.SeanMcGee is to be found neither on the left nor the right of traditional and scholared ideology, points an ironic, poignant and articuate finger at idealism and its literal implications.
Take Risk and Take Care,
C.SeanmcGee
The Anarchist (or about how everything I own is covered in a fine red dust)
Download Free eBook Here: http://goo.gl/847MFd
On the night of 'The March', The Teacher will find himself, in the most profound and liberating test of his ideals. Part philosophical and politcal satire, and part gut wrenching horror, The Anarchist, proving once again that C.SeanMcGee is to be found neither on the left nor the right of traditional and scholared ideology, points an ironic, poignant and articuate finger at idealism and its literal implications.
Take Risk and Take Care,
C.SeanmcGee
December 31, 2014
Jonathon and The Collector - A Dystopian Fable
Jonathon and The Collector:
Once upon a time, there lived a boy named Jonathon who loved nothing more than playing in the wild forests of his imagination.
He had a mother and father who loved him so dearly and friends of plenty of whom he danced with so freely.
But one day whilst playing by himself in snow, dear Jonathon met a man he quite surely didn´t know. The man said to him: “My boy, have you the time, for if you have none you can make haste with mine”.
Jonathon thought what a strange thing to say, for why would a man count existence away?
“A second, a day or a week or a year, are treasures to keep, my boy, nothing to fear”.
Jonathon knew that his musings were wrong, that time only is, in each note of a song. And just as a note may be grandiose and vast, a song that´s been sung cannot sing in the past.
“My boy you´re so clever, then care you a treat? I have in this bag a prize for your feat."
Jonathon smiled and ran to his side and tugged at the bag to peer deep inside. “My child if you will, reach as far as you can, a surprise for you waits at the stretch of your hand. Wiggle your fingers and tip on your toes, the deserve you desire is beyond your nose”.
Jonathon did as the strange man had said, he stood on his toes and he buried his head. When balance was lost there then came a mute cry from a brown hesham bag with a young boy inside.
"How did I fail? Stranger please tell me why."
“You won me with logic but I fooled you with pride”.
The Collector moved on and he vanished from sight; into the
darkness, away from the light. And inside his bag a collectable toy,
with movable parts, a collectable boy.
When The Collector got home he dished up a feast, he cordoned his
bag and he put up his feet. On an old rocking chair he rested his rump
with his tiresome feet on a rickety stump.
It was back and forth he swayed with delight with a lick of a finger after every bite.
He ate cat, he ate dog he ate rat he ate frog he ate fox he ate ox he ate minks he ate lynx he ate mice that had lice he ate maggots for rice, twere the nastiest things twere the things he found nice.
For dessert what he wished on his grubby old plate was the boy he
collected, no older than eight.
He then cast out his belly and turned on the telly for the air in the room was now thick and was quite smelly. The stench form his farts and his burps and his feet were then made all the worse by the stifling heat.
A scary old man on an old rocking chair with long fingernails and grey
greasy hair; skinny white legs and filthy back toes; distracted by
thoughts of maundering prose.
And then out of his reach and still far from his sight stirred the making of
trouble; the start of a fight.
From inside his bag well now wouldn’t you know, there now wriggled a wriggling wriggly toe. Then came a foot and from there came a leg and a hand and an arm and a little boy’s head.
Out of the bag the boy jumped for his life and he carried in hand an old hunting knife.
He motioned toward the old man and
said “I’ve something to tell you before you are dead."
The Collector was startled and screamed to the night for a prisoner was he, of distraction and fright.
“My boy if you do you’re no better than me for to kill of one’s will is to set hatred free; for desire it rules from the heart to the hand from the seat where I sit to the stance where you stand."
Jonathon smiled and shook of his head and leaned in and hugged of the old man and said:
“To live is to die and to fail is to try and to be an old man is to seldom ask why hath the hole in your heart and the dread in your head be the burden you carry from the road to your bed and these things you collect and forever keep near hath done nothing to vanquish the state of your fear, for this hell you preserve above one, above all; it deepens your downing it heightens your fall. You siphon the past through a memorial sieve as a bitter old man with a life gone unlived."
The Collector sank into a sad empty stare as Jonathon pulled on the old rocking chair and the old man he hummed such a dark mournful note as the young boy he plunged the knife deep in his throat.
The lesson to learn in this tale of a boy is to caution of conscious, a dangerous toy. For just as a rattle keeps a child at distraction; the thoughts that one keeps tend to speak of inaction.
- Johnathon and The Collector is an extract from the dystoian novel
A RISING FALL, book 001 in the dystpoian trilogy CITY: A Literary Concerto.
This fable is preached to children within The Nest, to teach the importance of focus and maintaining a state of 'one'.
Download your FREE copy of A Rising Fall here: http://goo.gl/BtHpCk
A Rising Fall is the first book in a dystopian trilogy entitled City: A Literary Concerto.
The story starts ten years after the blackout as a group of humans struggling to fight off a conscious famine, try to re-learn empathy to save humanity in an old industrial assembly plant.
In 3 days; feigned affection, deception and a black heart will take them further into the repression of their own fears in search of unconditional love.
The City Concerto through literary prose; answers one question: To what lengths would a father go and what horrible wrongs would he do, to teach a god how to love again?
Following the theme of a concerto, City is divided into three parts; A Rising Fall, Utopian Circus and I, Cannibal. Each book is then divided into three pieces and with A Rising Fall, each piece refers to a day; the three days leading to the fall of their city.
The trilogy illustrates the human emancipation from three states of love; Eros, Philos and Agape as each is torn apart under the guise of well intention as humanity; now void of identity in the wake of a century of dehumanising dependence and necessity upon industry and digital technology; has separated itself from the labour of its existence, aborting empathy and setting in place the death of mother nature.
Yet, on the verge of extinction; mankind presses on; towards salvation; towards the city of light and sound; towards New Utopia.
Take Risk and Take Care and Merry Festivities,
C.SeanMcGee
TheFreeArtCollection₢2014
www.facebook.com/c.sean.mcgee
www.goodreadds.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.cseanmcgee.com
Once upon a time, there lived a boy named Jonathon who loved nothing more than playing in the wild forests of his imagination.
He had a mother and father who loved him so dearly and friends of plenty of whom he danced with so freely.
But one day whilst playing by himself in snow, dear Jonathon met a man he quite surely didn´t know. The man said to him: “My boy, have you the time, for if you have none you can make haste with mine”.
Jonathon thought what a strange thing to say, for why would a man count existence away?
“A second, a day or a week or a year, are treasures to keep, my boy, nothing to fear”.
Jonathon knew that his musings were wrong, that time only is, in each note of a song. And just as a note may be grandiose and vast, a song that´s been sung cannot sing in the past.
“My boy you´re so clever, then care you a treat? I have in this bag a prize for your feat."
Jonathon smiled and ran to his side and tugged at the bag to peer deep inside. “My child if you will, reach as far as you can, a surprise for you waits at the stretch of your hand. Wiggle your fingers and tip on your toes, the deserve you desire is beyond your nose”.
Jonathon did as the strange man had said, he stood on his toes and he buried his head. When balance was lost there then came a mute cry from a brown hesham bag with a young boy inside.
"How did I fail? Stranger please tell me why."
“You won me with logic but I fooled you with pride”.
The Collector moved on and he vanished from sight; into the
darkness, away from the light. And inside his bag a collectable toy,
with movable parts, a collectable boy.
When The Collector got home he dished up a feast, he cordoned his
bag and he put up his feet. On an old rocking chair he rested his rump
with his tiresome feet on a rickety stump.
It was back and forth he swayed with delight with a lick of a finger after every bite.
He ate cat, he ate dog he ate rat he ate frog he ate fox he ate ox he ate minks he ate lynx he ate mice that had lice he ate maggots for rice, twere the nastiest things twere the things he found nice.
For dessert what he wished on his grubby old plate was the boy he
collected, no older than eight.
He then cast out his belly and turned on the telly for the air in the room was now thick and was quite smelly. The stench form his farts and his burps and his feet were then made all the worse by the stifling heat.
A scary old man on an old rocking chair with long fingernails and grey
greasy hair; skinny white legs and filthy back toes; distracted by
thoughts of maundering prose.
And then out of his reach and still far from his sight stirred the making of
trouble; the start of a fight.
From inside his bag well now wouldn’t you know, there now wriggled a wriggling wriggly toe. Then came a foot and from there came a leg and a hand and an arm and a little boy’s head.
Out of the bag the boy jumped for his life and he carried in hand an old hunting knife.
He motioned toward the old man and
said “I’ve something to tell you before you are dead."
The Collector was startled and screamed to the night for a prisoner was he, of distraction and fright.
“My boy if you do you’re no better than me for to kill of one’s will is to set hatred free; for desire it rules from the heart to the hand from the seat where I sit to the stance where you stand."
Jonathon smiled and shook of his head and leaned in and hugged of the old man and said:
“To live is to die and to fail is to try and to be an old man is to seldom ask why hath the hole in your heart and the dread in your head be the burden you carry from the road to your bed and these things you collect and forever keep near hath done nothing to vanquish the state of your fear, for this hell you preserve above one, above all; it deepens your downing it heightens your fall. You siphon the past through a memorial sieve as a bitter old man with a life gone unlived."
The Collector sank into a sad empty stare as Jonathon pulled on the old rocking chair and the old man he hummed such a dark mournful note as the young boy he plunged the knife deep in his throat.
The lesson to learn in this tale of a boy is to caution of conscious, a dangerous toy. For just as a rattle keeps a child at distraction; the thoughts that one keeps tend to speak of inaction.
- Johnathon and The Collector is an extract from the dystoian novel
A RISING FALL, book 001 in the dystpoian trilogy CITY: A Literary Concerto.
This fable is preached to children within The Nest, to teach the importance of focus and maintaining a state of 'one'.
Download your FREE copy of A Rising Fall here: http://goo.gl/BtHpCk
A Rising Fall is the first book in a dystopian trilogy entitled City: A Literary Concerto.
The story starts ten years after the blackout as a group of humans struggling to fight off a conscious famine, try to re-learn empathy to save humanity in an old industrial assembly plant.
In 3 days; feigned affection, deception and a black heart will take them further into the repression of their own fears in search of unconditional love.
The City Concerto through literary prose; answers one question: To what lengths would a father go and what horrible wrongs would he do, to teach a god how to love again?
Following the theme of a concerto, City is divided into three parts; A Rising Fall, Utopian Circus and I, Cannibal. Each book is then divided into three pieces and with A Rising Fall, each piece refers to a day; the three days leading to the fall of their city.
The trilogy illustrates the human emancipation from three states of love; Eros, Philos and Agape as each is torn apart under the guise of well intention as humanity; now void of identity in the wake of a century of dehumanising dependence and necessity upon industry and digital technology; has separated itself from the labour of its existence, aborting empathy and setting in place the death of mother nature.
Yet, on the verge of extinction; mankind presses on; towards salvation; towards the city of light and sound; towards New Utopia.
Take Risk and Take Care and Merry Festivities,
C.SeanMcGee
TheFreeArtCollection₢2014
www.facebook.com/c.sean.mcgee
www.goodreadds.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.cseanmcgee.com
October 20, 2014
The Time Traveler's Wife
The Time Traveler's Wife is now ranking
# 1 on Amazon U.K (Romance/Sci-Fi)
#4 on Amazon U.S (Young Adult)
#4 on Amazon U.K (Sci-Fi)
Seems wrong, doesn't it?
Download your free ePub here on GoodReads
http://goo.gl/iH5xnk
Or Download Free Mobi, Epub, Deluxe PDf, Azw3, Lit from the BedroomWindow
http://goo.gl/1tT0zs
Download TheFreeArtCollection by C.SeanMcGee
(Dystopian, Sci-Fi, Strange Literary Fiction, Black Comedy, Satire, Horror, Philosophical & Theological Satire, Odd Romance)
12 Novels - Free ePub, Mobi, Pdf, Azw3, Lit
Click Here - http://goo.gl/5THNQX
Like & Follow on Facebook
BathroomWindow - http://goo.gl/8US8Cl
Take Risk and Take Care,
C.SeanMcGee
www.facebook.com/c.sean.mcgee
www.goodreads.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.scribd.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.cseanmcgee.com
# 1 on Amazon U.K (Romance/Sci-Fi)
#4 on Amazon U.S (Young Adult)
#4 on Amazon U.K (Sci-Fi)
Seems wrong, doesn't it?
Download your free ePub here on GoodReads
http://goo.gl/iH5xnk
Or Download Free Mobi, Epub, Deluxe PDf, Azw3, Lit from the BedroomWindow
http://goo.gl/1tT0zs
Download TheFreeArtCollection by C.SeanMcGee
(Dystopian, Sci-Fi, Strange Literary Fiction, Black Comedy, Satire, Horror, Philosophical & Theological Satire, Odd Romance)
12 Novels - Free ePub, Mobi, Pdf, Azw3, Lit
Click Here - http://goo.gl/5THNQX
Like & Follow on Facebook
BathroomWindow - http://goo.gl/8US8Cl
Take Risk and Take Care,
C.SeanMcGee
www.facebook.com/c.sean.mcgee
www.goodreads.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.scribd.com/c_sean_mcgee
www.cseanmcgee.com
October 15, 2014
A prolific blunder
New book coming in coming days.....
The Time Traveler's Wife
...tell your mother to tell her mother
The Time Traveler's Wife
...tell your mother to tell her mother
