Asphyxia
The Paradox Chronicles
Book One
The Paradox Chronicles
Book One
Gori Suture
Genre: visionary paranormal erotic horror
Publisher: Inside Henry’s Head
Date of Publication: re-released October 30, 2019
ISBN: Paperback 9780359916146,
ISBN: epub 9780359941834
Number of pages: 420
Word Count: 81,920
Cover Artist: Apothekari, Gori Suture,
& B.H. Young
Book Description:
Nathaniel, teenage occultist, is in love with Jithinia, a nihilistic sexpot. All is well, until they meet Eldridge. A shape-shifting creature from another dimension, he is quite mad. He still feels the ghostly remnants of his amputated wings. He can smell them rotting, feel the squirming maggots eating them. The only thing that eases his suffering is devouring souls. Cursed with this hunger, he knows that he is a monster, which only feeds his lunacy. He is moments away from killing Nathaniel when he discovers something so astounding, he cannot continue. As he falls in love with Nathaniel, he learns that true horror lies not in his monstrosity, but in his growing humanity.
Danielle was abducted and physically mutilated in the name of God for years. Her vile keeper, Preacher, tortures his broken dolls until they pray, to help them find God. One day, Danielle does. She reunites with her lost love Jithinia, whose world is now spinning out of control.
What follows is a magnum opus of magick and the true nature of God as the characters make their way through the sordid underbelly of modern Christian America.
Expand the mind, expand the soul! The Paradox Chronicles are a series of metaphysical allegories which use extreme imagery and scenarios to jolt the psyche as a catalyst for spiritual growth. Mind expansion doesn’t mean to simply elevate one’s thoughts in the highest direction; one must also debase one’s thoughts in the lowest direction. Only then is the mind truly expanding in a balanced and veracious fashion.
This book series attempts to rouse people from their hypnotic waking sleep.
The Paradox Chronicles utilizes shock and horror juxtaposed with higher spiritual thinking to catapult the ego past its blockades, allowing for a deeper understanding of the veiled essence of divinity. Asphyxia illustrates the power of perception and will, of enlightenment sought through debauchery, of awakening through titillation.
Falling somewhere between the genres of visionary fiction and paranormal erotic horror, Asphyxia is a unique blend of depravity and insight.
Excerpt:
A dreary dirge,
thick like molasses, wept from a single organ as Jithinia gave her grandmother
one last kiss goodbye. She took a seat
on the pew next to Nathaniel. Despite
the bitter cold outside, the funeral chapel felt like July in the Deep
South. She pulled a hand fan from the
hymnbook rack and cooled herself. On one
side, there was a picture of white Jesus, and on the back, there was the
twenty-third Psalm. She read, “Yea,
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil:”
The hymn ended,
and the pastor began his hollow bit — ashes to ashes and dust to dust, the
bitch is dead; don’t make a fuss.
Jithinia heard
the flapping of wings and a woeful coo.
She looked up and saw four doves trapped in the heating vent above
her. Two of them were dead; their stiff
little feet hung down through the shit-caked metal grid. She elbowed Nathaniel. “Look up,” she whispered.
When he saw the
birds, he remembered the dove from his dream, flailing its wings and screeching
as its chest split open, and a feeling of foreboding washed over him.
The heat came
on. The birds squawked and hopped
about. The clicking of their feet
sounded like Sammy Davis Jr. doing a tap dance.
Feathers rained down upon Jithinia and Nathaniel. The hot air spilled over the carrions and
filled the room with the rancid stench of decay.
Jithinia felt
caged, too, like she could do so much more with her life, be anything, even
fly, if the Fates would only release her from their trap.
Just then, the
vent fell open. The dead birds landed at
Jithinia’s feet with a fleshy thud, and she felt dizzy and hollow as she began
to hyperventilate.
The two live
birds flew around the chapel in a panic.
The acoustics of the room caused the flapping of their wings to amplify
and echo. One dove flew to the skylight
and began thrashing against the glass.
The other flew back and forth from the pulpit to the doors, finally
lighting on a rafter above the pastor.
A thick, white
glob fell from the bird’s ass, landed on the pastor’s right eye, and then
slowly slid down his cheek.
Murmurs filled
the room as everyone shuffled in their seats and looked at other things. Jithinia’s mother turned a fan over and over
in her hands. Her uncle looked down at
his watch. Those with no other
distractions scrutinized the hardwood floor.
The pastor
paused his sermon. He cleared his
throat, wiped his eye with his sleeve, and began again as if nothing had
happened. However, he hadn’t gotten it
all. He had snow-white bird shit smeared
across his face. He looked like he’d
been making out with a mime.
Jithinia didn’t
mean to laugh aloud. What began as a
stifled giggle became an unreserved guffaw.
Everyone stared at her, but she couldn’t stop laughing. She felt vacuous; her chest ached, and her
limbs felt numb. Her skin flushed red as
she became enraged. “What’s wrong with
you people?” she cried out. “Can’t you see how funny this is? Don’t sit there and pretend like none of this
is happening! This is hysterical!”
Loving arms
wrapped around her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” Nathaniel said. “Calm down.
Come on.” He led her outside.
She fell into
his embrace and wept uncontrollably in his arms. “What the fuck’s wrong with me? I ruined my grandmother’s funeral.”
“No, the chapel
ruined your grandmother’s funeral. You
just laughed at it. No big deal.”
“I’m so
embarrassed!”
“Why? ‘Cause you had the balls to face what
everyone else chose to ignore? Fuck
them!”
“You don’t
understand!”
He pulled back
from her and looked at her in disbelief.
“I don’t understand? Come on,
now. Who are you talking to?” He lit two cigarettes and handed one to her.
She took a deep
drag. “Let’s just go home.”
About the Author:
Hailing from the outskirts of Mayberry, North Carolina, Gori Suture has been writing fiction since she could hold a crayon. In addition to penning Grand Guignol style horror stories and audiobooks, she is also the creator of a hybrid genre of literature that melds metaphysical and visionary fiction with erotic horror for the purpose of spiritual advancement. Presented in a series of seven novels called The Paradox Chronicles (formerly The Smut Sagas), these books are allegorical, chronicling man’s pursuit of understanding God and the god within, juxtaposing eroticism and horror with metaphysical introspection for the sake of jarring the reader into an altered mental state. Additionally, as an occult theorist, Gori Suture is the mother of modern Paradoxism, her interpretation of the mind-bending nature of God as Paradox, expounded upon on her blog The Color of Paradox (and soon to be in print), where she presents radical elucidations on color theory, Kabbalah, the dimensions, and the gods. As an artist, Gori illustrates her own blogs, short stories, and audiobooks, and she co-creates the covers of her novels. For fun, Gori enjoys tabletop role-playing, Arkham Horror board games, and video games.
