the infant deity

No longer dreaming, the idiot God Azathoth was murdered by my ancestors, the sacred trumpet players who were tasked with keeping the God in it’s perpetual slumber. Tired of their generational curse, their musical valerian transformed into a grandiose poison — they bellowed their final death note. And with the murder of the God, came the subsequent destruction of all it’s dreams. The Aleph now exists within the fragile imagination of a infant plucked from the dreams of the old God.