Thursday, February 28, 2013

Coffee and Sugar: Excerpt

The ordinary and mundane had never been as appealing to him as it was right now; cleaning a floor, opening a can of vegetables, peeling the sticker off of the tomato sauce bottle, sweeping vomit, tucking his father into bed, watching the television or combing his hair, anything at all was what he would rather be doing and anywhere but here was where he wished he could be.

Coffee and Sugar Excerpt ₢2013

***nearing its end. I feel awkward. I don't like the book and i hate myself. this should end when it's all over***

Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Coffee and Sugar Excerpt ₢2013

Joao saw them all though, every one of them. He saw how the rapists, junkies, drunks and vile torturous pigs put on their masks and became lawyers and teachers and preachers and prayers and mothers and fathers and judges and doctors and every single person in this entire city, in this whole wide world, every last one of them, they all had their own bastardised and vitiating hill, and they all looked scant and horribly naked under all their clothes and no amount of scouring would ever do away with the second skin of filth and decay of which they lathered and layered and made more perdurable in how they spent their wished upon days.

- Excerpt - Coffee and Sugar ₢2013

I am tired and sad and confused and unliking and the story is coming to an end. I want it to be over. Let you deal with it.
C. Sean McGee

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Amazon fascist stand over tactics - Amazon threaten to refuse the sale of my books


This morning I received an email from Amazon Kindle (KDP) threatening to remove my books from their store because they did a search on one of my books and found that I was providing the books free on man websites which apparently contravenes copyright issues and unless I provided sufficient explanation and a detailed list of where i published my book, they would refuse to sell my ebooks. Below is the list they demanded form me and my response:



We are writing to you regarding the following book(s):

Heaven is Full of Arseholes by McGee, C. Sean (AUTHOR) (ID:3294692)

During a review of your KDP submission(s), we found content that is widely available on the web. You can do an online search for the content inside your book(s) to discover which sites are offering the content for free. Copyright is important to us – we want to make sure that no author or other copyright holder has their work claimed and sold by anyone else.

To confirm you have publishing rights to and control where you distribute the book(s), please provide all of the following information:

1. The URLs for all websites where this content is published
2. An explanation as to why the content is available online
Please respond within 5 days to, and include the title and ID of your books in your reply. If we do not receive the requested documentation, your book will not be made available for sale.


Hello Automated hate Mail,

Now in response to your requests regarding my copyrighted material which in its entireity I have exclusive right to do what I wish with said material, here is my resposne to your badgering:

Your request to the URLs where i host my work:

Do you understand how google works? If so, don't be lazy, use it, create your own list. This is my work I do not have to justify where and how I post my art and I sure as hell don't have to provide a list of such to you. If you choose to scout my art and my methods, feel free, troll along and create your own list.

You have no right to ask me for such.

Why is this content free?

Because I made it so. This is the most basic and rationale argument I can provide. We could hit back and forth with intellectual rationalisation of the effect of industry and the liberation of art for the sake of culture, the reservation of artistic ideals and just to fuck with the larger companies who spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on advertising to only hit a minute percentage of the access, downloads, reads and fans that i am acquiring by doing the contrary to the standard ideal. but let's not.

I put my art for free because I choose to. The question should be put, why do you put your books on Amazon Kindle? In this regard, Amazon unfortunately doesn't offer a free option to access my works but it does allow readers who are feeling generous to donate to support my work by buying a copy of the mobi, epub or pdf (in your cause limited to mobi) that they have previously downloaded free, which has been the case in digital format and in print format.

Go figure, people are kind and file sharing is not copyright theft, it can actually be a practical tool to promote your art and develop a strong fan-base who will step aside from the digital medium, which for all sake is more practical than actually neat, impressive, sleek  tangible or collectible and they; when stumbling upon something new and exciting, will follow that artist as has always been done throughout time and acquire that piece that they can keep on their shelf and attain as being a marker and a stamp to their ideals or a period of their lives that allows them to re-enact in their minds, memories, feelings and sensations the premise of time and evolution would have them suppress. 

So my art (and not just heaven is full of arseholes - there is also A Rising Fall, Utopian Circus and very soon, Coffee and Sugar, The Anti-Man, iCannibal, oh Culto ! and many more given I write a book every 3 months) is available on KDP so my readers and fans if they choose because of their moral standings, their inherent beliefs, their stand-off-ness towards evolving culture or because like all living creatures, they can be thankful and rewarding in the giving of a gift, if they decide they want to return the favour and give me some money for my art, they can.

Now my question time. I think this is only fair?

Why are you attributing that my books published on KDP (Amazon) are yours to follow, police and control? 

You hold absolutely NO copyright to my books so why are you sending these threatening emails to me?

So far the rumours that escalate regarding Amazon are frighteningly true or seem as much. 

You're acting like fascist bullies. Stop it. It's not nice. 

C. Sean McGee

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Help - Text Editor Needed Urgent


PAY - $0

Acclaim - Lots

Most of my work unfortunately is laden with editorial issues, ask Evie from Dark Matter.
There is nothing i can do on this regard.
I miss a lot when i am doing my own edit and I am emotionally unstable and usually have a mild breakdown at the end of a piece and want it published immediately. I rush things.
I need someone who doesn't to work with me, to be my left brain, whereas I create the art, I need this logical owl to see the issues and line everything up, to cut off the crusts and to make my art presentable.

I earn nothing from my writing. I give the entirety of my art for free and I need someone who can think that the art is more important than their ego or at least, more important than some jingling coins.

I need help !!!!!!!

Coffee and Sugar is almost complete and I will have to justly re-edit A Rising Fall and Utopian Circus and do a re-release to justify a cleaner finish. Down the line.

I am talking to you. You that comes by silently and comes back. be a part of this. Be a part of something that may be silent now, but of whose silence may echo long after our voices run hoarse and old..

Contact me. I am emotionally fucked up. But i don't bite and I need your help.

email -

Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

nothing at all

Now is one of those moments where it scares me to think about all the other people out there who might just be feeling more emotionally perturbed than me. it's getting harder to wear that 'nice to see you' smile and not pick at my own eyelids. what choice do i have? my children call me daddy and they have yet to find any difficulties in any of this. and then some days i feel like the messenger of god. today isn't that day.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Coffee and Sugar

Joao smiled and tensed his hand and as he did, Eve tensed hers; entwining her fingers around his, curling the tips underneath so that they stroked at the palm of his hand so gently as if the skin on which she strummed were the nylon strings to his heart.

Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar ₢2013

Friday, February 22, 2013

Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar

The mood in the café was electric. People were pushing over one another, waving crumpled notes patriotically and shouting short sharp commands to get the attention of Joao who; in the midst of frantic baristas taking money, scribbling notes and confusing orders, sat like a thinking monk, his hands entrenched in a jar of coffee, looking with his shut eyes into the life of an old man with missing teeth, scruffy hair, torn shorts, a rather large and oddly shaped middle toe, a nervous twitch on the muscle in the right side of his neck, an uneven beard that looked more like the burnt out scrub ion a desert dune, a runny nose, a virulent cough, a lazy left eye, a crazy right other and a hand full of one cent coins in his clenched fist; a week’s work that he held tighter in his left hand than a mother would, her child through a thunderstorm.

Extract: Coffee and Sugar ₢2013

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

A Rising Fall the Song



The music to accompany the novel by C. Sean McGee

enjoy :)

quote: Fatts - Coffee and Sugar

You see, family is like acetone, they take the shine off of everything you do, they make you dull and uninteresting, and they bring you back down to earth.

- Quote - FATTS - Coffee and Sugar  ₢2013 

Update: Free Art Collection 10,000 downloads

I may have failed to mention but over the weekend we passed the 10,000 download mark for The Free Art Collection.

Thank you to everyone seeding and spreading the word and for being apart of this, for reading my work and for returning for more.

I have personally uploaded 31.7 gig from my laptop including A Rising Fall ebook and cd, Utopian Circus ebook and cd, Hypercenter cd and Heaven is Full of Arseholes ebook.

I will be collaborating with Adelaide engineer and composer Adam j Keane for my next full novel entitled Oh Culto !.

Myself and Adam will define guidelines for the story so that we can each take our own direction with our mediums and create a truly expansive and emotional experience for you the reader and listener, engaging more of your senses.

For online reading, you can see The Free Art Collection @ Scribd here:  C. Sean McGee on Scribd

Also in the works is a book entitled THE ROCK ALBUM.

this will be a collection of short stories based on rock songs. i have previously written and published a short story based on the track Enigma of the Absolute by Dead Can Dance entitled 'Girl',
As you know all of my work is heavily influenced by certain musicians. music is very much my opium and my trip to Elysium so that i can disconnect and write these tales unconsciously as i do.
My intention is to write several more tales and package as a novel using music by Adam j Keane, Steven Wilson, Porcupine Tree, Johnny Cash, Dead Can Dance and Nick Cave, to name a few.

More on that later. For now I am off to celebrate a great review for A Rising Fall with my lovely wife and 2 manically adorable children with some Brazilian BBQ and some cold Stellas.

And I would like to thank all of you and for those following me on Facebook, Scribd, English tips, here and everywhere. I am flattered. My art is everything and it is nothing. I don't read. I have only read maybe 2 books in my life so i don't come to this art form as a fan in any way but I am so happy to know i am doing it right, except for the whole editing thing.

I am still looking for someone to become my left brain and work with me on editing. if you want to be involved and be an integral part of the FREE ART COLLECTIVE, contact me, please....

take Risk and take Care,

C. Sean McGee

A Rising Fall Review by Evie Kendal - Dark Matter Fanzine

AR1S1NGFALL (“A Rising Fall”) by C. Sean McGee
a review by Evie Kendal
CSM Publishing
AR1S1NGFALL is the first book in a dystopian trilogy entitled CITY: aliteraryconcerto by author and artist C. Sean McGee. It is set in a dystopian future that, unlike the standard post-apocalyptic wasteland often depicted in such texts, is actually a vast nothingness of the soul. The inhabitants of this world suffer from what is described as both a physical and metaphysical “famine” – the poisoned soil limiting food production while a lack of direction and purpose plagues their minds to distraction. People are seen queuing in the dirty streets for scraps of information that are “rationed” to them each day to think upon; meanwhile the human race is degrading and descending into cannibalism and violence. It is believed the state of humanity has come about due to the absence of the “empathy gene” in the population, essentially rendering the humans psychopaths. Into this chaos, Marcos develops a new philosophy, based on a system of binary oppositions, in which behaviour and focus are conditioned into “collected” children (those kidnapped from the “famined” citizens living outside Marcos’ cult-like educational facility) in an attempt to cultivate empathy in the next generation.
Marcos and his partner, referred to as The Woman, teach the children brought into his complex, The Nest, to exist in a state of one or zero: love or fear. Children are assigned to sub-sections War, Peace, Love and Work, with battle training and farming techniques among the standard lessons. Marcos believes returning humanity to a state of purposeful employment is vital to the “rehumanisation” process, in addition to experimenting with different methods of eliciting empathetic responses. The people under Marcos’ protection in The Nest are referred to as The Collective, with The Collector being responsible for “saving” children from their natural parents before they die of neglect. The Collective is ruled by logic and reason and was intended as a utopia “free from disparity of emotion, free of distraction” (114). Those who follow Marcos’ vision believe he is the saviour of the human race and are willing to fight to ensure he maintains control. It is believed he will lead humanity to the Forever New Dawn, a place described in heavenly terms as “the city of light and sound.”
Following an initial exploration of the dysfunctional relationship between Marcos and The Woman, the story continues with an exploration of The Nest, and following the disappearance of one of the students, Marcos and his army of White Hearts (black-clad officers with white hearts affixed to their shirts) raid the area outside the complex. After trading at the “child market” where children are bought and sold for various purposes, the soldiers start destroying contraband, such as brightly coloured items intended to elicit emotional responses and mirrors and other reflective surfaces (as these encourage self-adulation and thus increase the psychological effects of the famine). During their search, Marcos is concerned to discover tools being created by members of the “famined,” evidence of planning ability and possibly indicative of an intention to challenge The Collective and his authority.
As a dystopian novel this book has all the classic tropes – totalitarianism, brainwashing/conditioning, pharmaceutical control of the masses, oppressive thought policing, military rule and darkness, derangement, disease and destitution. In flavour it is a bit of a mix of Greg Egan’s Diaspora, Yevgeny Zamiatin’s We and the 2002 film, Equilibrium. As such, it is in good company.  However, while the storyline is unique and interesting, there are a number of issues with the text that warrant discussion.
The major problems I had with this book were aesthetic and editorial, and as such could be easily fixed. I do not like white book covers, most obviously because they easily get dirty. I also did not like the use of binary code instead of chapter numbers as this made it difficult to know how I was progressing through the book. The faded text on the front cover just looks out of focus, and although clearly deliberate, it gives the book an unprofessional appearance. The use of side-ways type with the author’s name on every page also looks a little tacky. The font of the text is also inconsistent, which is particularly evident when looking at the apostrophes (sometimes curled, sometimes flat). These elements are quite distracting, although the font size is good for fast reading. As the book is quite addictive, this is a significant advantage.
The editing is also a major concern, with countless spelling mistakes, grammatical errors and punctuation inconsistencies. (For example, the term sub-conscious, which appears numerous times in the text, alternates from “sub conscious” “subconscious” and “sub-conscious,” sometimes within the same sentence.) As this book appears to be self-published the lack of an editor to correct these errors is expected, but quite unfortunate, particularly as the writing style is otherwise very sophisticated. The kinds of typographical errors present indicate an over-reliance on “spell-checker” programs with words like “buy” appearing where it should read “by,” “now” instead of “know,” “too” instead of “to,” “of” instead of “off,” “vein” instead of “vain,” “from” instead of “form,” “one” instead of “on” and “exciting” instead of “exiting,” to name a few. Often the wrong your/you’re is used (and in one instance both are used yielding the rather confusing sentence: “I spoke to him and you’re your sister”). In addition there are missing words and random acts of capitalisation that are not consistent, and I strongly believe an editor would have deleted or drastically re-worded the first two preface sections of the book. These sections are the only major weakness in terms of writing style, being full of hyperbole and flowery language. I was deeply concerned when I read them that the whole book would be the same, however was relieved when the bulk of the text was written in a much better style.
In terms of plot, there is only one element that I particularly disliked, which was the representation of gender. It is common in dystopian literature for authors to depict depravity by focusing on the behaviour and/or treatment of women in the fictional society, so this fault is certainly not something that McGee is uniquely culpable of – however, his depiction of The Woman as emotionally needy, nagging and baby-crazy was a little trying. The assumption that all men are physically abusive (“speak through their fists”) seemed rather ungenerous for the men as well. There was also the rather offensive insinuation that the fall of humanity was due to women ceasing to breastfeed their young, presumably as “empathy” may be necessary for lactation. This also indicates a potential plot hole, as it is not explained upfront why alternative feeding methods are not engaged.
 My list of likes far outweigh my list of dislikes, starting with the fact that McGee has a policy of making his texts available for free download. As a firm believer in open access this impresses me and I would suggest that people who are interested in reading this book take a look at his online presence (and perhaps consider purchasing a hard copy of the book in support). Another thing I really like is the experimental nature of the book. Although stylistically it is a bit hit-and-miss, I can appreciate the bravery of giving it a go (I particularly like the blurb: “wrong side: turn over don’t live your life in summary”).
As mentioned previously the writing style is good, and the vocabulary is also impressive. The distinct linguistic styles of different characters are also written very well and add three-dimensionality to characters that would otherwise run the risk of being quite flat. The plot is engaging and keeps you reading, with a successful “show-don’t-tell” technique that is often lacking in contemporary literature. In fact, I would recommend this text for university study were it not for the editorial issues already discussed.
I also liked the theme of binary running throughout the story, demonstrated well in this quote from page 72:
All things were zero or one; At Distraction or At Focus. The same could be said for all adjectives, all colourful post-event descriptive states of being. One could only be At Bravery when it was in that moment that he divorced from At Cowardice and only on that infinitesimal moment would he be At Bravery for the moment his focus shifted and defined new direction, he would be At War and in the age of conscious splendour where self-introspection was deemed the vice of the intellectually superior, he would no doubt be At Contemplation and from there, either At Expectation or At Disappointment. But whilst attending any or all of these states, one will always be At Focus and to not be such would mean being At Distraction; zero or one.
In terms of narrative voice the author engages a third person narration that is very effective (with one slip into first person on page 78). My favourite character was the stray dog, Ruff, whose perspective the narrator sometimes explores, thereby providing a good comparison between the humans and animals in the fictional world. In fact, the chapters written from this perspective are among the best in the book. This type of focalisation is well executed throughout the book and covers many different perspectives.
Another plot element that I liked was the twist on the “guide” trope common to dystopian literature. This trope can be seen when a dystopian reality is explored from the perspective of an outsider or someone who is fighting persecution within the system. This is done in order to explain the world to the reader and paint the picture of whatever horrors make the fictional world undesirable. However, in AR1S1NGFALL, the characters the reader may sympathise with are only meaningfully introduced toward the end, with the perspective of the dictator figure, Marcos, being central to the narrative instead. In fact the “victim” character’s indictment of the dystopian society only appears on page 213:
Under the guise of well-being, they committed daily torture on the innocent and weak famined. They would speak of love, while they tore out your heart, they would speak of liberation, while you were bandaged in their binary bondage, they would speak of peace while they whispered sweet insanity into your dreams and they would speak of war while they cowered behind great walls, feverishly domesticating their enemy but never fighting for anything greater than the keeping of their own specific delusion.
As such, the book engages with many of the literary devices of the dystopian form, while also providing a fresh methodology for exploring these. The book manages to discuss some horrific themes without sinking into torture-porn too, which is a delicate balance to maintain in a work of dystopian fiction. (There are some very distressing scenes toward the end of the book that, while short, may upset some readers.)
AR1S1NGFALL fits well in the dystopian sub-genre and fans of such texts are likely to enjoy it. It is definitely geared toward an adult audience, with some extreme coarse language present and various adult themes not recommended for younger readers. There is quite a lot of thought required to make sense of the plot, so people who like puzzling things out will find this text a worthy challenge. There is not any real resolution to the plot at the end of this first book though, so it is not recommended as a stand-alone read, but promises to be an interesting series to follow.
Take Risk and Take Care,
C. Sean McGee

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Soundtrack to Words




Soundtrack to iCannibal
book 111 in the CITY Trilogy

Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar

Eve smiled as she danced in the light breeze, her fingers catching pockets of air and pulling them with her as she turned on a dime, her heels, high in the air as her body rested on top of her toes and she sprang; like a wildflower, up into the height of the sun, so high that she took Joao’s breath with her and his heart paused as he held sight of her floating like an angel, drifting in the warm summer air, the sea of content unto which he thirsted to drink

Excerpt: coffee and sugar ₢2013

Monday, February 18, 2013

Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar - The Devil

“The righteous path has no fair price” said The Devil.

- Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar ₢2013

Epiphany: coffee and sugar

Epiphany today whilst doing lat pull downs. The gym is my temple where i communicate with the universal orators of story. They put ideas in my head. Much like Muhammad.

I have the ending for Coffee and Sugar. Different to what i had originally thought. More biblical but ok, it is what I see.

Back to writing this afternoon.

This once again will show another turn in my writing and story telling.

I am excited, without all of the emotional show.

Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

Friday, February 15, 2013


Riches get spent, fame is forgotten.
I want only infamy.

- C. Sean McGee

Extract: Coffee and Sugar

Joao said nothing. 

- Extract - Coffee and Sugar ₢2013

Humans can be kind

Hi Sean, just read 'Heaven is full of Arseholes'. Really funny and poignant too. Great writing feller, keep it up! 

Regards, Franc

"Email I received just now. I've said it before and maybe it is a fact of my growing emotional dysfunction and mental instability but a few kind words jingle so much louder than a few coins in my pocket. i feel like a blind and curious Literary Sperm Donor, quite unsure of the effect of my creation. I have referred many time writing to Literary Masturbation, an individual self gratifying and stimulating process, but it good to know i'm doing it right every now and then. And at this point I would like to reiterate the giant fuck you to literary agents worldwide. Have a great weekend. More Coffee and Sugar writing tomorrow and more updates to follow"

Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

Coffee and Sugar Excerpt

“Are we going to your special place?” asked Joao, his voice gurgling at first as he swallowed a lump in his throat, sounding more like a concerned Muppet than an excited lover.

- Excerpt - Coffee and Sugar ₢2013

Thursday, February 14, 2013

The Nazi's Coffee - Coffee and Sugar Excerpt

These symbols took him from being a young child, embossed in torment and ridicule, trampled by the abandon of his mother and father and preyed upon by his need for his adoring grandmother; always being the insect having its wings and limbs torn from its body, to being a young man; confident and strong, a leader, powerful, listened, learned, well spoken, assuring, domineering, hardly a victim, always the threat; a king amongst men.

The Nazi's Coffee   -     EXCERPT   -  COFFEE AND SUGAR    ₢2013

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Wanted: Copy editor / reviewer / Nice Human

I need the help of a copy editor or whatever title you want to assume, I will endorse for you.

As you know, there are many slight errors here or there in my published works. Mainly because the writer develops domestic blindness with their work, in that, the sub conscious when confronted with missing words will infact introduce these words into the conscious mind to make up the context and flow of the story; why? Because it is a self generating and supporting mechanism of the mind to generate and correlate understanding also, because i wrote it, my brain knows which word to choose.

So there have been in the three published works so far, some grammar issues and double wording of articles and conjunctions. though this doesn't bother me in the slightest. Anyone can have pretty teeth, but take the note of Shane MacGowan. you don't need pretty teeth to tell a fancy tale. The missing words though bug me, which takes me to my request.

I write and publish all of the work for free and get $0 in return.

I would like to see if someone would like to work with me and help me to review and edit my finished pieces before they are published.

I cannot pay any cash because i have none but you will receive:

- Paperback versions of A RISING FALL, UTOPIAN CIRCUS and HEAVEN IS FULL OF ARSEHOLES and the novels that you edit.

 - Your work will be credited in the ebook and paperback versions of each novel that you edit


Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

Writing Update

Carnaval is nearly toast for another year. The Brazillian method of adopting holidays for every tradition is astounding. We would have been with the developed majority years ago were it not for the exorbitant amount of holidays each and every month.

Carnaval had me taking time off work and writing. Exercising intensely in the gym and running countless kilometers with my dogs and spending the rest of the days like a frayed wire, lying in a heap on my bed while my daughter used my lifeless body for a spring board.

Monday I am back to writing and Coffee and Sugar is speeding along well. I predict maybe that the writing should be done mid March. As I said previously, I am taking a lighter approach to writing now than I did with A Rising Fall and Utopian Circus.

That said, I am still writing at a pace that makes me one of the most productive writers in the world today. Pitted against my rigorous work out regime, my family a=and animal commitments and working 15 hours per day; this title of most productive will be a tough one for any offended writer to break.

Anyway, that aside, Coffee and Sugar should be finished and uploaded for in the FREE ART CATALOGUE around April.

Around this time I will also have written another short story. This one is about a feminist. Should be fun. It is based on a fun little proverb from the Bono of the philosophy world, Nietzsche. a little one about fighting monsters... More of that later.

I am already mapping and planning novel number 6, Oh Culto !  which will be a very personal tale; taking a ride through some trappings in my past.

Listen, I know I am not much for this while blogging thing and twitter and I apologise for those following me on facebook that I don't update random thoughts on traffic and my expanding toe. I am not a very social person and really, I am so engaged in writing these stories for you to read that i have no time to be trapped by the ordinary. Start harassing these pop artists of yours to stop tweeting shit and actually create something. I can't imagine why anyone would ever want or be able to stop.

Back to writing on Monday. I'll have more snippets of Coffee and Sugar to update for you.
The book will be published for free on The Pirate Bay, Smashwords and Scribd in April, i hope.
And of course, paperbacks will be available heavily discounted for those that like the tangible.

Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

Monday, February 11, 2013

Fractal of Love

There's a cat on the windowsill
with a rat in its stomach
that ate the cheese
that my lover left behind
Before she went away

- Fractal of Love ₢2013 C. Sean McGee

Sunday, February 10, 2013

In response to a request for a synopsis

So I do get asked, why are there no blurbs for your books? How do I know if its good or not?

First of all, you shouldn't be asking anyone else how you feel. Read it, its ok, gauge yourself.

I was asked for a Synopsis for Heaven is Full of Arseholes, a short story of 9,459 words. I can't make a short story any shorter. It's pretty difficult to write in such a defined space, to write a smaller 2 line piece would just be an insult to the story and your creative intelligence and wanting imagination.

Below is a link to a previous post i did on this issue.

This is the closest I come to blurbs:


"wrong side turn over. don't live your life in summary"


"tis better a story remain untold than be castrated in brief for the sake of being sold"


"what does this have to do with god?"

Have a wonderful Carna(L)val people.
For those not entrenched in the Brazillian festvities, happy normal week.

Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

Genesis by Nacho Cerda

For those who don't know his work, take a moment to experience Genesis from Spanish artist Nacho Cerda; the final installment in his death trilogy. This is a beautiful, sensual, distilling and desiccating piece. This was one more of those accidental finds that sped me along to this artistic and philosophical curve i find myself carving with my own hands. I would love to work with him so if any of you have his number.   - C. Sean McGee


Saturday, February 09, 2013

Circle of Life - Toddlers _ Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar ₢2013

“Now when a baby gets a bit older he or she becomes a toddler. As soon as they get those legs working they’re running around grabbing whatever they can and generally, breaking it. To mum and dad, causing a ruckus and making a mess, to the toddler, they’re just having fun, exploring, learning, being. So as soon as a baby gets its legs, it goes from being a kitty cat to a puppy dog. You leave that toddler alone for a second in a room and when you come back, there’ll be paint all over the ceiling, your prized books will all be scribbled upon, cups broken, computers pulled apart, wallets devoured and in the centre of the room, there’ll be a bare bummed little walking terror telling you that they didn’t do it; just like little puppies, learning their limits, sharpening their teeth, pulling things apart, having some fun." 

- FATTS on the circle of life - Toddlers   (Coffee and Sugar)₢213

Thursday, February 07, 2013

Excerpt: Fatts (Coffee and Sugar)

"And like the cow, the grown up is given freedom, democracy, shopping malls, pornography, churches, theme parks, rock shows, football and choice. Give a man freedom and he’ll do nothing with it. You wanna make a man strong, you take away his will to fight. You wanna hear him scream, you force his mouth shut but if you want him to be stupid and still just like a cow, take down the fences, put a bell around his neck and make him think he can leave if he wants to"

- FATTS on the circle of life (Coffee and Sugar excerpt) ₢2013

Wednesday, February 06, 2013

Baby You're a Rich Man

This track was written by a dear friend of mine, Adam J Keane, the musician responsible for A Rising fall and Utopian Circus albums and a bandmate of mine from Hypercenter and my old conspiring roommate.

This is a cover of The Beatles' Baby You're A Rich Man recorded by Adam as The B-Tools (engineering joke)

This song is the inspiration for COFFEE AND SUGAR which I am currently writing.


and just for kicks

Please, please, please and She Loves You by Adam J Keane

Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar

These souls were not to save. They were being saved and the whores who hobbled about with infection drawn upon their skin and tragedy upon their youths, were merely cunting priests whose moral servitude was to invite the devil between their thighs and gaping mouths and to swallow whole; like an open drain, the residue that built upon normal men, threatening to colour them badly, of which they must scrape off of their skin and cleanse the avenues of their minds in a storm of debauching indecency.

Excerpt - Coffee and Sugar ₢ 2013

Tuesday, February 05, 2013

Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar

He took another breath and spoke in machine gun spread.

Excerpt: Coffee and Sugar 


I have this overwhelming need; an itch, to say something to you. I feel like a monkey in a zoo or a cripple in a coma, as if it is my right to make your visit worth attending.

Read Books for Free Online


Sometimes I feel like a blind man being visited by mutes

Monday, February 04, 2013


A great man once said: nothing.

C. Sean McGee

Extract: Coffee and Sugar

“Did you know that Jesus kept the company of a, well a girl like…”
“You mean a whore, like me? And I aint no girl honey” The Smoking Whore said, lifting the slither of fabric she called a skirt, tucking her hand inside her stained, once silken panties and pulling a scabbed and swollen penis out into the morning light.

- Coffee and Sugar (extract) ₢2013 C. Sean McGee

a things

eventually stumbling upon the oridinary in everything and everyone

Sunday, February 03, 2013

Utopian Circus - ebook and Musical mp3 torrent release

Just uploaded to The Pirate Bay, a new torrent pack for Utopian Circus containing:

1 - Utopian Circus eBook - .ePub / .Mobi  /  deluxe pdf

2  -Utopian Circus Musical by Adam James Keane
     This Musical is a 28 minute classical opus; string, woodwinds, percussion without breaks between tracks     that moves between classical music to extreme metal, rock, pop and industrial.


Enjoy the music, it is a beautiful experience from the mind of a true musical genius and my friend, Adam James Keane

Take Risk and Take Care,

C. Sean McGee

Coffee and Sugar (sample chapter) - Chapter Zero

Coffee and Sugar

Sample Chapter

Full Work Coming Soon as Part of the FREE ART COLLECTION

From Irish Australian Brazilian Artist, Writer, and Philosopher:



“Get over here. Come on, come here little donkey. Look at him; doesn’t he look just like a donkey? He has his mother’s genes; long useless arms, hands like a little girl. And look at those fingers; they’d snap just trying to grip a toothbrush. Hey donkey, bring your daddy a drink” The Bishop said in a drunken slur to Joao whilst chafing some passers-by, rocking waywardly on his white plastic chair; the thin legs bending under the strain of his heaving upper body that twisted and turned with the eschewal of his foul exuberance.
From behind the bar came Joao, walking with sullen eyes and full hands; balancing a rickety metal tray holding a large bottle of cachaça and a single glass. As he crossed from the bar to where his father sat by the entrance to the small church, he patiently and obsessively counted every tile, watching his feet magically appear from out of sight and then always stepping on the space where his eyes had been.
He wondered to himself that if his feet always landed where his eyes had been, how much longer would he need to stare at the moon before his feet carried him there?
He imagined then that the tiles below him were great ash white asteroids and that if he stayed on them longer than it takes for a passing eye to pass on by, he would fall forever into the oblivion of space, always falling downwards, regardless of what direction he was falling; kicking his legs aimlessly while all the while keeping the rickety metal tray steady so as not to spill daddy’s drink.
As he moved from asteroid to asteroid, he sensed himself closer to the moon and with every next step; the thrill of accomplishment was met with the hurried fright of expected failure and he nervously tip toed his way over the last few obstacles; a heavy depressive weight cementing itself in his stomach, pulling on his focus and negotiating the exchange of his equilibrium as the sound of a low phlegmy cough willowed through his ears and threw him into expectancy; the boy tipping his hand slightly and his eyes drifting from an ash white tile just beyond his right foot to a piece of space just outside the reach of his left arm where the glass of cachaça sat idly in mid-air, having so naturally and unsubtly just slid off the rickety old metal tray like water off a duck’s back and crashed against the floor, smashing into a hundred thousand pieces and waking the old man from his momentary slumber.

“Are you retarded? What the hell is wrong with you son? You just dropped a full drink. Have you any dignity, any bloody respect? And in the house of god? What the fuck is wrong with you boy?” yelled the old man slapping his fist across the table as if he were laying his firm hand across a cattle’s rump, ushering it to move its insolent arse along the path of his righteous choosing. 
“I’m sorry daddy. I’ll clean it up, you’re right, I need to focus. I’m sorry; I promise I’ll be better from now on” said Joao, putting the tray down on the table in front of his bullish father and hurrying to the floor to sweep the shards of glass into a small pile with the thick of his palm, trying to be swift yet gentle so as not to cut his hand.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s all I ever hear. ‘I’m sorry daddy; I promise I’ll be better’. You’re the reason this church is always so empty. You cursed the farm and now you cursed my church. How about actually using that thing inside your head for once? It’s called a brain. Figure out how to turn the thing on and use it. You know I wonder what I did to anger Jesus for him to grace me with you. You don’t see your mother here picking up that glass do you? No, of course not. I do everything for this family and still this is what I get, a lack of respect from my own son. I know exactly how Jesus felt with Judas and…” said the old man trailing off into lexical slur before his heavy eyes and drunken breath undid his temper and lowered his head upon his outstretched hands; his face nudging the chilled bottle of cachaça like a cat’s head, rubbing itself exhilaratingly against the tender loving touch of its owner’s amorous caress.
“Silly, silly, silly” said Joao as he continued to clean up the glass from the floor. As he swept the last shard, he cut the tip of his pinkie finger and it stung wickedly as it basted like a hairless chicken in the dregs of old cachaça mixed with cigarette ash and cheap domestic bleach.
His finger burned horribly but he wouldn’t make any more of a fuss than he already had. He had no right to deserve compassion for his own stupidity and that lesson he hadn’t forgotten, having been beaten into him many time before at a time when his drunken disgrace of a father carried more swing in his fist than he died in his curling tongue.
He tore off a piece of cloth that was wrapped intimately around the broken end of a metallic squidgy, dousing his wound in a vile cocktail of undesirable fluids; the remains of what would be of every Sunday service in the world’s least popular church in a part of town where not even your own shadow will stalk you under a beseeching summer sun.
As he washed the floor with a putrid blend of alcohol, bleach and old dish water, he allowed himself to slowly drift into the impossible again, this time imagining himself as the lead singer of a rock band taking to the stage in front of ten million people; maybe more and running around the length of the stage from corner to corner standing on top of the tables; that to him were giant fold back speakers and holding his microphone stand high into the air and singing at the top of his lungs; “Baby you’re a rich man, baby rich man too, you keep all your money in a big brown bag inside the zoo, whatta thing to do.”
Joao loved that song; he never knew who sang it and he hadn’t mastered the pronunciation but ever since he was a little boy he would hum the tune quietly to himself and disguise it as evening prayer so as not to offend his simple mother and displeasing father, sneaking up on the words he knew and then pouncing on them, splashing through the melody like a massive puddle in a summer rain.
He never quite knew exactly what he was singing but he imagined a very rich man that had so much money and he was really worried about trusting it with his financial advisor so he put all of his money in a big brown paper bag and snuck into the zoo one night; late, after everyone had gone home and when the keepers who stayed there overnight had fallen asleep while watching their favourite television show.
Then; when he knew nobody was around, he cut a hole in the fence and dragged behind him, his big brown bag full of money and left it somewhere that he thought nobody would find it, probably in a monkey cage, but whoever wrote the song obviously thought that was stupid because they couldn’t believe he would do something like that.
The song was explained to him when he was young by a travelling hippy with bad Portuguese; one of those spiritual questers who in the search for their inner Zen, cast themselves into a river of disquietude thinking the key to existence is found in the inheritance of the external struggles of the downtrodden native peasant; tied spiritually to nature, so that when they return to the drudgery of their corporate middle class configuration, their feet can be grounded, their mind humbled and their heart can be deep rooted in the memory that even to this day, they know and live the plight of cultural indignation and that the Indian inside of them will beat the tanned hide, playing its hollow drum as the beat of their heart while he or she hangs tight to the arduous threads of their inner sanctum as this cruel world threatens to copulate with their identity; or something equally introspective.
He said the zoo was a metaphor and asked if Joao he cared to know what it was a metaphor for. Joao just smiled, nodded his head and asked; “what’s a metaphor?” The significance of the song wasn’t important to Joao. He didn’t need to understand the words to enjoy singing them just as he didn’t need a doctorate in geology to enjoy playing with rocks.
And as he sang and danced around the room, he accidentally kicked over a pile of crates and old cardboard boxes. The boxes had been stuffed with construction material to make them more sturdy for the Sunday service and he squealed as he subbed his toe against the bricks, causing the old man to be jolted from his drunken pasture, throw his weight backwards, opening his eyes in a drunken flurry and waving his arms about as if he were calling a 747 in to land, eventually falling backwards on the ground below, his head hitting the floor and his stubby, little legs kicking away in the air and as they kicked, one of his feet knocked against the plastic table making the bottle of cachaça fall onto its side and spin in a flashing circle moving dangerously close to the edge of the table.
Joao leapt from where he stood, diving through the air and catching the bottle just as it rolled off of the table and with the precious bottle of cachaça entrenched in his hands, he crashed down hard against the floor hitting his chin on the wet tiles and biting down on his tongue but, the bottle was safe and for that he hoped the old man would be slightly happier than displeased.
The Bishop stepped over him; reaching his hand down to pick up the bottle of cachaça and made his way to the podium which sat next to the bar; at the head of the church. He wobbled and swayed as he stepped up onto a little wooden box hidden behind the podium and held his arms out in the air, welcoming the eternal love of Christ.
The Bishop fought angrily with gravity and his weak grip as he wrenched hard on the bottle’s lid trying to twist it open without success.
“Surely this excaliburian bottle has been packaged for the king of kings, to set free the spirit of Christ to fight the evil in the world and lead mankind to the judgment.”
This was what the old man thought as his sweaty palm slipped and slid over the metal lid and twisted and turned until the skin on his palm it burned and it burned and he cursed a ton of vile obscenities into the air, throwing all of his insult at his dim witted son who was now picking himself up off the floor, looking disgraceful in his Sunday’s best with a trickle of blood running from his chin down onto his white shirt and a stupid wash cloth wrapped around his right hand.
“You’re nothing like your kin; always on the nearside of an accident. Your brothers, now they were smart. Don’t know how in god’s grace I ended up with you but for the eternal grace of Jesus I will endure your hellish deviancy. For the love of god, would you look at your shirt, it is a disgrace, you are a disgrace. Hurry back there and make yourself presentable for Jesus. There’ll be no service with you looking like that” yelled The Bishop, steadying himself on the podium and trying to catch his swaying vision by steering his head in all directions, over correcting each time and aquaplaning his conscious mind, taking with it, the bottom of his belly as with every spin of his mind he felt his stomach swinging about wildly and willing itself to evacuate onto the floor below.
“What’s the time donkey?” he yelled out at the top of his lungs.
From behind a curtain in a small room behind the bar, Joao was busily removing his shirt and quickly soaking it in water and bleach before the blood stained permanently. His chin was stinging as the warm humid air flowed against the small, loose flap of skin from where he had hit himself against the ash white tiles; ash white because no matter how hard he scrubbed or how much bleach he used, he just couldn’t wash away the filth that had collected over the years that, so instead of returning to an off white like when they first moved in, had a thick greasy ad greyish residue from years of dirty shoes, cigarettes, beer, cachaça, urine and rain washing all over it and so, no matter how hard he scrubbed, the best he could get was an ash white colour.
“It’s eight thirty five” yelled Joao from behind the curtain; racing to dress himself in a clean white shirt to match his Sunday suit; the pride of any man’s possessions if his heart was true to the lord that is.
“Why did you let me sleep this long? You know the service is forty five minutes and I’ve only got twenty five minutes before the soap operas start. You1ve upset Jesus” said the old man.
“Can we miss the soap opera tonight?” asked Joao.
“What?” screamed the old man belligerently.
“Every Sunday we give a service from eight until eight forty five. Not a second earlier and not a second later. At nine o´clock every night, we sit with Jesus and watch the ‘The Carriage of my Heart’. That’s the way it always is, it’s the way it’s always been” he continued in a lecturing tone.
“Sorry daddy, I didn’t forget I just thought that…”
“You didn’t think little monkey, that’s your forte, speaking on an empty mind. Now what are you doing in there?” yelled the old man ushering the boy along so that they could start their service.
“I’m coming daddy” he said, tucking his shirt into his pants, all the while staring at picture of his mother who sat upon an old wooden bench on their farm wearing a long floral dress that covered her big bulbous knees and holding a small pocket sized leather bound bible; being long from where they were, surrounded by barren land and lots of stinging insects. A joyous warmth washed over him as he thought of the work he and his father were doing for the sake of their family and more so for the kind and brutish woman sitting painfully still in the photo.
Joao came rushing out from behind the curtain and sat on one of the crates in front of his father who was now standing behind the podium with his chest high into the air like a proud preacher, waiting to deliver the word of Christ our lord and saviour.
“Fix your tie son, you look like a Catholic” he said acrimoniously.

All works by C. Sean McGee is published 100% independently and all ebooks are given for free.
Tis better a story be a thousand times told than a single time sold.

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