Yung Lord Krishna’s Tooth

“Don’t believe everything you read.” Pitter patter. Rain dots the windowsill. I lick and leaf the page. Why wouldn’t I believe every word? When I read, the same voice that I think with speaks the very words I am reading. I am only repeating thoughts inside my own head, letting them wriggle their way in, letting them play and tingle with the spindling hairs curled in my pink-knots, where the memories are.

They should instead say: “Don’t believe everything you think.” That would be far more honest. People are happier to believe a book than to believe their own thoughts. A book puts thoughts in order. Thinking day-to-day twists thoughts apart, and shows contradiction, seeds and stems. The crystalline kush is the book. Reading sedates you.

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21st Century Symphony Manifesto

Artistic Assumptions

1.) The universe is a process

2.) This process is the ‘becoming’ of soul

3.) Human beings have one foot in the world of soul, but remain mostly in matter

4.) History moves in cycles, and time is accelerating these cycles

5.) Awareness of cycles, and consciously rejecting them, is how soul creates itself out of matter

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Christ Returns to Heaven

By Alex Blum

Fires stains the soul, the demon-soaked world

Haunt rises from the bodies, amassed at the throne of God

He smiles, the lows of demonology alight in His mind

The guilty throne abides by power alone, no ethic to find

Fire and fury are the tools of the devil, pure annihilation is the way of God

The devil steals, God just destroys

The bellowing Demiurge rises through the heavens, grotesque form ascending

Cynical mask against white clouds.

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Sophia’s Prelude

By Alex Blum

Bloodstained Sophia was poised before the silver moon, to blame for the world of matter. Pregnant she stood, beside the world that was cast in her shadow, a universe filled with demons, and in its deepest abyss, in the expanse of deepest darkness, farthest from the light, there was a world that held life.

A pygmy lived upon it. A pygmy, the lowest of all souls, in possession of its own unique and fragile magic. Slithering up from the ocean as slime, the place of the frail pygmy was to inherit the kingdom of consciousness. The imagination, the mind’s eye, created oceans and demons so vast that the physical world could not hold them. The world of creation, the inner world of soaring angels, fire and monsters, palaces and deep seas, the cold and the dark…this was the world of God. This was the world bestowed unto the pygmy, unto the slime which became reptile, the reptile which became ape and the ape which became man. Through the light of evolution, the pygmy was to become greater than the very light which spawned it.

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By Alex Blum

The snowy courtyard stood before the church, at the edge of a cliff. A steel black fence lined the perimeter, and each pike ended in a fearsome tip. White smoke billowed from the church, past its bell tower, into the misty sky.

A man stood in the snow, dressed all in white. Ebon hair flowed past his shoulders, and his fingers tingled with discomfort.

“Turn away from here,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “There is nothing for you here.”

Four figures walked through the courtyard, wearing hoods and robes, leaving shallow footprints in the snow.

One of them cracked a smile.

He pushed away his hood, revealing a head of long golden hair.

“If you want to kill me,” said the ebon-haired priest. “Then you will become a corpse. My last rite will be to defeat you, to defend this church.”

His eyes were gray steel.

“This is where a God will be born,” he continued. “If you interfere, then you will be testing the mettle of all creation.”

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