Reboot, Restart, Resurrect

Hey, it's Sean
Ok, so it's been forever and a day
since I posted anything here.
I think that I got hamstrung by some
wonky thinking
about the purpose of this blog.
I've learned some incredible things
from my Father in the last few years
and I've been busting to share them with folks,
especially
folks who are facing some of the same
pain and frustration
that this world is so ready to dole out.
However, in trying to do that I got sidetracked.

This is an artist's blog.
Not a preacher's blog.
Not a teacher's blog.
(Although I've done both of those things.)

I am artist.
Of oils.
Of paper.
Of words.
Sitting here pontificating about all of that
(or getting overwhelmed by the idea
and doing nothing)
is not what I'm called to do.
I'm supposed to make you feel.
Make you think.
Make you happy.
Piss you off.
Scare you.
Comfort you.
Whatever.
But I'm supposed to do it as an artist.

So, to re-kick things off
I'm posting the first story in a series
called sarx.
The majority of these stories were
published elsewhere online
some time ago.
My apologies to those who have
already read them.
You may want to re-read them,
however,
because I guarantee you that
you haven't read the last chapter
because I still haven't written it yet.
So there.
Without further ado...
(ado ado ado ado)
damn.
Ok, with four further ados
I present to you sarx.
(in the next post)

-sean

PS:
I will go ahead
and alert you
out of love for your
conscience
that there is, in my stories,
what the MPAA refers to as
language.
Which means that my characters
talk
like the people they are.
There is no other word than
"shit"
when an egg hits the floor.

The language shouldn't make you blush
or want to
take a shower afterwards,
however.