- 225 g cashews - 100 ml water - 8.3 g of ground coffee - 60 g coconut oil - 1 pinch salt - 2 tbsp agave syrup - ¼ tsp vanilla powder
Topping
- 50 g dark chocolate
Instructions
Soak dates in hot water for about 10 minutes to soften them up. Drain and process with remaining crust ingredients to a lumpy texture and press onto the bottom of a 18-centimetre diameter spring-form pan. Chill in the freezer while you're making the filling.
Prepare strong coffee in a percolator, following the recommended dosage. Allow to cool.
Mix cashews, coconut oil, salt, vanilla and agave syrup, adding coffee progressively while processing to a thick smooth dough. Spread over base, tapping the mould to remove any trapped air bubbles, and then smoothen top with a spatula. Freeze for 1 or 2 more hours, then remove from mould.
Coarsely grate chocolate and sprinkle it over the top of the cake. Return to freezer for 15 minutes to allow the topping to harden.
NOTE: You may enjoy this as a frozen dessert. In this case, remove it from the freezer 30 minutes before serving.
The Real is not reached by adding meaning, but by letting the dream die.
If you've been following my work, you might have noticed a gradual decrease in translated materials, as well as the removal of some older articles. Since supraconsciousness clicked in, at the end of 2024 (and after a brief period of uncertainty), I've found it impossible to continue relaying concepts that I no longer endorse.
I therefore initiated a major purge of both original and translated posts (in spite of the countless hours of work involved), whenever these contents conveyed overtly astral concepts or beliefs that I now know to be erroneous.
I haven't embraced any movement, belief or doctrine. All that is behind me now. I have always carried this knowing with me — despite the many layers of matrix lock and its many attempts to erase it. It was never lost: it is re-emerging.
My approach is not about replacing anything, but refocusing: eliminating noise and keeping what's relevant. It's not a matter of denial nor an impulsive gesture, but a clear-headed and well-aligned decision: I refuse to contribute, even indirectly, to the matrix confusion.
However, that doesn't mean everything has become irrelevant. Many articles (even though they may contain inaccuracies or perspectives that are now obsolete) will remain online as markers of my journey, rather than reflections of my current position. They add to the transparency of the process: one does not emerge from a supraconscious activation unscathed, nor unchanged.
If you come across any material dated before late 2024, bear in mind that it reflects an earlier understanding — useful for grasping my progression, but no longer aligned with my current inner axis.
The road ahead will be simpler, clearer, and more authentic. I shall continue to publish what resonates, and remove what no longer does, all in peace and without any sense of loss. The path is carved out by moving forward — not by piling up discarded layers.
Coco Sian Ryder hails from an iconic British musical lineage” (Donovan, Happy
Mondays, Rolling Stones). In this lengthy interview with Gareth Icke (David
Icke’s son), she talks about her childhood, steeped in creativity, a world
away from the excesses of show business, but also marked by dark moments,
manipulation and strange memories.
She points out that the artistic world is saturated with psychological
imbalances, perversions and unhealthy behaviours, not always visible from the
surface, and addresses the ‘dark side’ of the music industry, tinged with mind
control and occultism, illustrated by the 27 Club (rock stars who died at the
age of 27), which includes Brian Jones — the father of her uncle Julian
(son of her maternal grandmother).
She also mentions infiltration by a global interconnected network involving
cults, intelligence agencies, the entertainment industry, criminal
organisations and finance. These groups cooperate on the basis of a covert
network of reciprocity, “I know someone who knows someone...”, in order
to gain power, money and spiritual and mental control over the masses. She
also stresses the ‘organic’ nature of this network — not one global
conspiracy, but a multitude of temporary and fluid alliances.
According to her, some artists are consciously involved while others are
manipulated unawares, but all the big stars (Mick Jagger, Taylor Swift) act as
antennas, energetic conduits. They are not the ultimate target: their
influence serves to condition the masses.
In this regard, Coco draws a parallel between mind control programmes
(Monarch, MK Ultra) and contemporary mass manipulation, particularly during
the Covid crisis. She also recounts how artists are methodically isolated,
surrounded by manipulative agents who alienate them from their loved ones, as
she was able to observe within her own family.
Finally, she rejects the naive idea of ‘backwards messages’, popularised in
the 60's, explaining that true programming occurs at a subconscious and
symbolic level, and pointing to the presence of paedophile symbols and
esoteric overtones in modern popular culture.
In her final words, she encourages us to learn the basics of mind control and
manipulation tactics so we can escape them, saying that awareness is the best
defence because “it's awareness that dissolves the spell”.
In other words, without falling into the matrix’s involutionary trap of
so-called ‘evolution’ and ‘spirituality’ — which, incidentally, has nothing to
do with Spirit but with the Sandman and his vast network of interconnected
sandboxes, which are great channels for vibrational recycling — it's all about
an energy industry of entertainment where creativity is turned into an
instrument of vibrational enslavement; a gradual assimilation of consciousness
by popular culture, through fascination, polarisation and hypnotic suggestion;
and the need for vibrational discernment because everything that ‘feeds the
imagination’ also feeds the archontic hive.
And speaking of vibrational discernment, I had to smile when Coco Ryder
mentioned Taylor Swift and Bono. I've always had an immediate and inexplicable
visceral aversion to the former. As for the latter, a brief conversation with
him in the 80's had left me with a very strange, even uncomfortable feeling.
Yet it took me all these years to stop rationalising my vibrational readings —
a subject I will address very soon in a short video.
All our words are but crumbs that fall from the feast of our mind.
Khalil Gibran
With Thanksgiving just a few weeks away — ahead or behind depending on whether
you live in the United States or in Canada —, what more natural for the patsies of
the farce than to give thanks to the cracked pots of the matrix? The faceless
cooks who work so eagerly to groom us, pulling out all the stops in order to
extract every last drop of the precious nectar from the cornucopia. Loosh
cooking is a flourishing business, as illustrated by this month's King of
Diamonds: an archetype of strategic ambition and prosperity. However, for us,
this card would be an invitation to move forward despite doubts, exhorting us
to take action, lest we end up bogged down in inertia, and to stand firm
amidst the turmoils of matrix life.
Nightmare in Your Plate
From the Latin coquina, which became cocīna, cooking refers to
the preparation of food, while gastronomy, from the Greek gastèr,
“belly, stomach,” and nomos, “law,” literally means “the art of
regulating the stomach”, combining a certain level of expertise in preparing
meals, selecting refined products, and the know-how to savour
them.
Thus, cooking does not necessarily equate with gastronomy, as some dishes
rather tend to deregulate the stomach. This is referred to as junk food or,
more recently, as “eco-friendly” cuisine. We're no longer just dealing with
processed food, GMOs, preservatives, pesticides and other toxic ingredients,
but also with synthetic food and insect flour, adding to the long list of slow
poisons in our “diet”. Alchemy of death would be a more appropriate term for
these deadly concoctions.
The greatest achievement in cooking is to be able to fill stomachs with
imagination.
Jose Manuel Fajardo
But all it takes is a little effort — to create a cosy atmosphere, with
beautifully laid tables, skillfully arranged dishes and exotic names that
trigger taste bud memory — for hyper-vigilant activists to suddenly suffer
from selective amnesia and forget about the whole supply chain. Forbid them to
eat out and they will forget all about the cricket powder you want them to
ingest. Proud as they are to bend the rules, they'll throw caution to the wind
and willingly rush off to where you meant them to go.
Who Eats Whom?
The next major pitfall is tricking humans into believing that they are at the
top of the food chain, when in fact they are its main resource, while some,
driven by ethical considerations, mistakenly think they can escape the cycle
of predation with a plant-based diet.
However, eating fruit and vegetables is also eating “life”. We have no choice
but to draw on the energy of other kingdoms (both animal and plant) to sustain
ourselves, because that is how we were designed.
Humans and animals are a passageway and conduit for food, hostels of death,
conduits of corruption, making a living off the death of others.
Leonardo da Vinci
The only difference between a meat-based and a plant-based diet lies in the
presence or absence of blood, and therefore memories that pollute one's subtle
bodies and lower their vibration. It is essentially a conscious individual
choice: to consume memories — which, in turn, will consume you — or to
transmute them. Unfortunately, this choice has become yet another excuse to
polarise and divide people.
Restaurant Star Awards and Reality Cooking Shows
Thus, from a basic biological necessity, cooking has become a source of
division on several levels: those who go hungry vs. those who overeat; those
who “chow” out of necessity vs. those who “savour” for pleasure; those who
consume memories vs. those who burn them.
Most importantly, it has now become an essential cultural feature — a show in
its own right, a “boiling business” where egoic appetites take precedence over
those of the stomach. We no longer eat our food: we put it on display. We no
longer savour the substance: we show it off on Instagram. When cooking turns
to entertainment, it's a clear sign that hunger no longer resides on our plates, but in our souls.
Behind the cult of healthy eating is the same control mechanism: creating a
need and then artificially fulfilling it. Gastronomy is now just another link
in the great food chain — a liturgy of taste that stirs up hunger without ever
satiating it.
Just like the military “top brass” or the who's who of Hollywood, Top Chefs
also have their stars. Whether pinned to hats or uniforms, or embedded in
cement paving, they all point to the same vault: that of the archontic
heavens. These stars, touted as badges of excellence, are actually the seals
of brilliant enslavement.
It's no longer about raising but luring consciousness. And no matter how many
crumbs we are given, the bill is always steep and the pill bitter to swallow.
The Last Supper
Since everything always seems to revolve around tables, whether forced to
spill the beans or encouraged to take careless vows induced by alcohol fumes
(which keep you in a state of impaired consciousness), no archontic recipe
has ever been more expertly cooked up than that of the Last Supper. Under the
guise of communion and sharing, it has never been anything more than a
protocol for assimilation. For although blood is a symbol of life, it is first
and foremost a carrier of memory.
Saying “this is my blood” is tantamount to offering one’s memories for
assimilation and integration. And whoever drinks this blood also consumes the
egregore it contains. These are the foundations of the first great karmic
cuisine: a vibrational feast where humans, misled into believing they were
communing, actually bonded to the archontic intelligence they worshipped via
this blood connection.
The wine was merely a code, a signature. Behind the promise of collective
salvation was the hive-mind project: one body, one mind, one network.
Assimilation was not metaphorical. It was cellular.
If one must laugh or sing in the midst of a feast,
A doctor is then at his wit's end:
A glutton takes all the glory.
Come on, you old fools, go learn how to drink.
Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux
And whilst the guests raise their glasses one more time to what they think is “life”, the archons savour their favourite dish: humanity al dente.
Yesterday was All Saints' Day — a celebration for the entire swarm of Archons, as the late French comedian Coluche would say. Today, with All Souls' Day, it's the same old story: the living pray for the dead who, due to matrix programming, could not be canonised, while the dead pray to finally be alive.
The Church calls it a commemoration. I call it consensual energy vampirism — a collective loosh recycling under incense and candlelight.
Beneath the varnish of ritual, the same mechanism prevails: celebrating the cycle. Death sustains life, life prepares for death, and everything turns in a closed loop to feed the machine.
Everyone clings to a different script. For many, death means eternal rest or torment. For others, the otherworld is only a waiting room — a change of state before the next recycling on the wheel of karma. For some, it is a return to “nothingness.”
But Overdeath promises nothing. It is a passage — through the magnetic tunnel where memories flicker, illusions of “reunion” shimmer, and promises of “light” (information) unfold. It is the courteous refusal to reach for the Recycling Angel’s hand. It is the choice of the side exit — the one no one sees, because it emits neither light nor sound.
"Outremort" (Overdeath) is my fourth anti-brick in the wall of the archontic theatre: an inverted squaring of the circle — not to grasp, but to dissolve.
Outremort
At the gates of oblivion, The illusion goes on In the depths of
boredom Where souls act without spirit Listening to the echoes, Embracing
chaos, Enduring the assaults Of the waves of sorrow.
The army of false pretence, With whom the Other lies, To destinies
on hold In the corridors of time, Whispering rumours, Piercing
armours, Deepening the cracks, Reopening wounds.
Make the effort, break the spells, Flee from the egregores, And take
back your momentum. Defy the oxymoron, Revoke the accords, And
tear your body out Of the realm of the dead, Overdeath… Overdeath…
Tired of life and death, Where envy, down here, Feeds your karma With
every step you take, Come out of the trance, Wrap yourself in
silence, Away from the schemes Where life begins.
Step aside, Beyond the thoughts, Beyond the injected loops, Where
everything's orchestrated. Cast out the images, Tear up the
pages, Dissolve the mirages, Leave behind their trail.
Make the effort, break the spells, Flee from the egregores, And take
back your momentum. Defy the oxymoron, Revoke the accords, And
tear your body out Of the realm of the dead, Overdeath… Overdeath…
The Call of the Real The Real is not reached by adding meaning, but by letting the dream die.
If you've been following my work, you might have noticed a gradual decrease ...
FR
