Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

Days go by as the number of victims goes up. We are the voyeurs of this indecent show of the masses. Death no longer exists, we are strictly forbidden from dying. So the others do it in our stead, all around us, they fall one by one. "Poor him", "What a tragedy", "Thankfully...". Past the initial knee-jerk rejection, our interest grows when death disappears, to the rhythm of Jean Ray's music, in a vortex of announcements. A chorus of serious faces, more or less defined, sings a Danse Macabre that rings like a memento mori.