Overdeath

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…

© La Pensine Mutine. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited.

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