Category Archives: Short Stories

The trial of John Doe vs. [Censored]

by Jon Rappoport

October 30, 2019

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The trial took place in a quiet empty room, in an underground bunker, at an undisclosed location in [Censored].

The Judge sat behind a high table. John Doe stood below him.

Judge: You are John Doe? You have a website called Doe Doe?

Doe: Yes, Your Honor. May I know your name?

Judge: Of course. It’s Judge.

Doe: That’s your title.

Judge: It’s also my name.

Doe: You’re Judge Judge?

Judge: Correct. Now, let’s get down to business. You’re the author of an article you posted on your site. The title of the article was, “A Catalog of Sexual Assaults and Other Crimes Committed by Migrants in [Censored], 2015-2017.” The subtitle was, “Soaring Migrant Crime Rate Is a National Disaster—[Censored] Women Fear for Their Safety.”

Doe: Yes.

Judge: How did you assemble this “catalog?”

Doe: I cited articles in the [Censored] press. I obtained access to police reports in [Censored]. I interviewed over two hundred citizens and their families. I interviewed law-enforcement officials.

Judge: You traveled to [Censored].

Doe: Correct.

Judge: And as you were exiting the country, you were detained by [Censored] Customs and Immigration and told your visa was canceled and you were banned from returning to the country.

Doe: That’s true.

Judge: That’s certainly a black mark against you.

Doe: I don’t see it that way. The government didn’t want me to accumulate all that information and spread it.

Judge: You’re aware of a foundation called “Anti-Hate-Crime Speech?”

Doe: I am.

Judge: The foundation was formed by GoogleFacebookTwitterYouTubeFooFooShooShooAmazonStarbucksMerckTheCIA
FoundationForBetterLiving and 167 other groups.

Doe: So I understand.

Judge: And several of those groups canceled your donation account, de-monetized your videos, deleted your site from six search engines, and convinced a local delivery service to stop bringing pizza to your house.

Doe: Right.

Judge: You’re accused of hate speech against immigrants.

Doe: I published facts. I wasn’t speaking against anyone off the cuff.

Judge: But that’s how it was interpreted. Your article was incendiary, because it inspired a negative view of immigration.

Doe: Inspired? I wrote facts. How others took those facts was their business.

Judge: It’s a question of the greater good. Exposing a few cases of wrongdoing versus alarming and biasing a whole population.

Doe: There is another element. Suppressing important information. Keeping people from seeing what’s happening to their communities and their nation.

Judge: Hate speech cannot be tolerated.

Doe: Who says it’s hate speech?

Judge: A non-profit in Alabama. Two media outlets. They’ve been hired by the Anti-Hate-Crime Speech Foundation to scour articles and identify hate.

Doe: Well, they’re wrong.

Judge: They can’t be wrong.

Doe: Why not?

Judge: Because they’re authorities.

Doe: According to whom?

Judge: These groups are setting a standard. Someone has to.

Doe: How about someone else setting a standard?

Judge: Who would that be?

Doe: The point is, I was exercising my 1st Amendment rights.

Judge: Your what?

Doe: I have a right to speak and write.

Judge: Not if it upsets the good order of the community and causes suffering on the part of people associated with those you accuse of committing serious crimes.

Doe: I disagree. And why shouldn’t I disturb “the good order” if the order is ill-advised and based on the fear of speaking out?

Judge: Let me explain something, Mr. Doe. You have created a generality of hatred.

Doe: A what?

Judge: By publishing your article, you created a generality of negative reaction against a whole group.

Doe: I reported facts, not generalities.

Judge: What you reported can’t be divorced from the effect it had on other people.

Doe: Of course it can. My work didn’t have an automatic effect on other people. They inferred whatever they inferred from my article.

Judge: The overriding principle is: everything is connected to everything.

Doe: You lost me there, sir.

Judge: Everyone in this world is connected and interdependent. Therefore, whatever you do spreads like ink on a blotter.

Doe: How can that be? I gathered specific facts. Those facts don’t apply to all people.

Judge: That’s the old view of things. Now we know that all of us are together as One. A charge against a few is a charge against many.

Doe: That’s illogical. It’s also dangerous. If what you’re saying were true, no one could speak out…

Judge: But you see, there is an important exception to the general rule. I have a list of groups. Certain groups are protected against accusation or slander. Other groups may be accused. In fact, they must be accused.

Doe: Where did you get the list?

Judge: From our leaders.

Doe: Our who?

Judge: Leaders. The people who have knowledge of these matters. The people who understand history. The people who are—

Doe: I see. I exposed certain members of a group that can’t be accused.

Judge: Correct.

Doe: This is over-complicated. I come back to the principle of free speech.

Judge: There is no such principle. At one time, there may have been, but not anymore.

Doe: You’re losing me again, sir.

Judge: It’s quite simple, really.

At this point, six men in black masks holding rifles and burning torches entered the room. One of the men said, “This proceeding is over. We are [Censored]. We have taken the sacred oath of [Censored]. We are cells of the body of the Soros.

Judge: Welcome. Was your oath the [Censored]?

Masked Man: Yes.

Judge: I, too, have taken the oath of the [Censored]. We are One. What message do you bring?

Masked Man: Our leader instructs us to tell you that the defendant, John Doe, is to be sentenced to six days without food or water in the burning desert of [Censored], after which he will be transported to a re-education camp in [Censored], where he will undergo a one-year period of [Censored]. This is the Word.

Judge: I see. Very well. My sentence is thusly made.

Doe: You take orders from these men, Your Honor?

Judge: These men and I are not separate. We are One.

Doe: How did that happen?

Judge: Once upon a time, we were losers. Now we are winners. We overthrew the old order and instituted a new one.

Doe: That must have taken a great deal of planning.

Judge: Decades. More.

Doe: Why haven’t I heard about it?

Judge: Because you are one of those people who would have tried to expose our agenda. Suffice it to say, we worked in secret. We introduced chaos. As just one strategy of many, and I only mention it because it’s one of my favorites, we introduced, into the culture, a long series of absurd rulings and situations that defy logic and rationality. Such rulings paralyze the mind. The mind retreats. It becomes passive. Quiescent. A grandmother grows vegetables on her lawn. She is hauled into court and prosecuted for defacing the appearance of the neighborhood. A child brings a pastry to school and bites it into the shape of what might look like a gun. The child is suspended. Colleges offer rooms with dolls and hot chocolate to students who are triggered by a pronoun. A college student council decides that all white people are demons and must be excluded from decision-making roles. A four-year-old child is encouraged to talk with his parents about the child’s “choice” to change his gender. A manual used by elementary school teachers suggests discussions on all possible forms of sexual intercourse, even sex with animals. Parents are told their vaccinated children are protected from disease, but must not play with unvaccinated children, because then they could get sick, even though they are protected. A state which is in debt to the tune of half a trillion dollars proposes accepting immigrants without limit and giving them many government services without charge. Any politician who speaks with a Russian faces a potential charge of trading with the enemy. Do I need to go on? Over time, one fantastic and absurd thing after another is piled up upon the consciousness of the public, until the insanity reaches to the sky. What is the effect of all that? The befuddled public surrenders and becomes passive. And then we come in behind that and impose our agenda.

Masked Man: Enough. We will remove the defendant now and take him to [Censored].

Judge: Of course.

Doe: So I’m not really guilty.

Judge: You are what we say you are. That overrides all questions of guilt or innocence. There is no more guilt or innocence. There are only rulings. For centuries, guilt and innocence have been twisted by men in power to suit their own ends. We have stopped that. We have stopped the corruption. Now we make decisions based on the greater good. We are the pure ones. We have no agenda except service to the people.

Doe: You’re destroyers.

Judge: “We had to destroy the village in order to save it.”

Doe: You’re going to lose.

Judge: Why is that, Mr. Doe?

Doe: You’ll go too far. You have no idea what people will do when you put them against the wall. That passivity you spoke of is going to evaporate.

Judge: We will see. We will see.

Doe: Are you even human?

Judge: Of course I am. Do you think I’m AI android number 3012-6-B, third generation, extruded at Factory [Censored], produced by [Censored] in accordance with regulations under the [Censored] code of [Censored]…?

Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

The DJ

by Jon Rappoport

August 28, 2019

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“For a few dollars, I’ll go to sleep and dream your dreams…”

Movies move mind and soul, as if they’re messages from God. They’re food when no other food is available. They carry the viewer into oblivion where many captivating events are underway. Movies are astral locations manufactured here on Earth. Why pay attention to any of the thousands of trivialities of the days and nights, when you can watch, from the past, a dimpled witty star engage in repartee with a beautiful woman dressed in furs who speaks as quickly and smartly as polished high heels clicking on a concrete walkway?

As for my own movie, I was born with two hungers—one for love, and two for recognition. In my little crib I conjured storms. I was already tasting a bitter fate of unknown origin. Then later, on the basis of curiosity alone, I found a sparkling necklace in a drawer and vowed to become a jewel thief. By the time I was four, this developed into a plan. I would hide the jewels in a mountain cave, where they would grow together with the stone and spread into veins of clear diamond. At ten, I was reading theories of economics. I decided I would leave the discovery of the treasure to another person of the future, who would upset and destroy the world money system with his lopsided wealth. At twelve, I met a girl with yellow hair and abandoned all my schemes. What was her name? Where did she come from?

At thirteen, I sat in the dark, on the floor at the back of a candy store and read comic books. I searched to find the power to launch bullets of lightning and snap off a magic exclamation that would coat me in a new identity…a painted figure by Caravaggio. I read A Voyage to Arcturus. This was my first experience inside multiple dimensions. I was suited to believe in all of them. I was a buyer of the Astral. If I didn’t favor one Island at the moment, I could lazily sidestroke to another.

His Honorable and Sacred Hayakawa L. Schwartzbaum, Magistrate of Federal Dispensations, on loan from The CIA-Harvard University, sat behind his table. He was an expert in the history of history.

In shackles, an artist was led into the room by three federal policemen wearing the gray high-buttoned uniforms of the Motherland Department of Internal Security and Distribution of Goods and Services for the Benefit of All.

One of the policemen rolled in a large object covered by a shroud.

Judge Schwarzbaum looked down at a file and rapped his gavel on a plaque displaying the universal symbol of the hermaphrodite eagle.

“Order,” he declared.

The prisoner, in a tattered red jumpsuit, stood before him.

“Well,” the Judge said, “uncontrolled display…no license to practice art. No prior approval for a work. No plan submitted to the State. No established source of funding. No declaration of philosophic position. Status: potential precursor to terrorist activity. How do you plead?”

The artist nodded.

“Your Honor, I would like to submit one item of evidence. The work itself.”

The Judge said, “Since I am bound by law, submission approved.”

The guard who had rolled in the shrouded object uncovered it.

It was a brass sculpture standing six feet tall. It was a series of twisted interlocking shapes.

“Yes,” the Judge said. “Incomprehensible. Who in his right mind could fathom the sense of this?”

“Look a little closer, Your Honor,” the artist said. “If you would.”

The Judge put on a pair of glasses and stared at the object.

“Meaningless,” he said. “That’s the last time I’ll deign to acknowledge it.”

“Meaningless? Then what is the problem? What harm could it cause?” the artist asked.

The Judge smiled.

“We must have meaning,” he said. “Because then we can judge its quality. Otherwise, we lose control of the situation. We must know, and be able to assess, the significance of the work. This piece of nonsense does not rise to that level.”

“The piece has meaning for me,” the artist said.

“Perhaps, given your state of mind, that is true. But art is public. It is a social undertaking. It gives something to the All.”

“Your Honor,” the artist replied, “I believe you’re missing an opportunity here. If, as you say, my work is meaningless, consider its effect on the public, were it to be installed in a heavily-trafficked venue. People would be confused and bewildered. Isn’t the induction of such a state of mind a forerunner to mind control?”

The Judge rubbed his chin and stared at the ceiling.

“Are you suggesting,” he said, “that you could go to work for us?”

The artist nodded.

“Yes, sir. I could execute many sculptures of this kind. I want exposure. You want MKULTRA. We’re on the same side, in a strange way.”

“Amusing, possibly interesting,” the Judge said.

“You see,” the artist said, “there are two ways to look at mind control. On the one hand, you attack aggressively, to plant specific messages. But on the other hand, you prepare consciousness by placing it in a state of extreme puzzlement.”

perfect as rain and the night I fell in love…trees and buildings on an avenue in Chicago as I was heading out of the city toward a highway that led to 66 on my way to Amarillo and cows standing in faded yellow dawn rolling up like a fancy poster for milk and war, my memory now Amarillo is a city geared a center a radiating pulse broadcasting the little diner the motel the city hall olive trucks and soldiers 40 years ago passing by as I was standing with my thumb out on 66 I was rooted to one spot across from the motel the whole day and no one stopped and the night snapped down like a shade and I reached up toward the yellow margarine moon in the middle of a cloud I was remembering songs dozens of songs I listened to on the radio in the make believe ballroom everyone knew Sinatra was the god but in the yearly poll they would bring in someone else eddie fisher or johnny ray crying like a lost kid on the railroad tracks his mind torn up you’re on a cement playground and a kid starts crying what are you going to do he just breaks down and ten years later he’s on the front lines of a new war with his gear we heard he was a junkie disappeared and then a tall rangy guy stopped his car and I jumped in he took me all the way to Albuquerque middle of the afternoon February warm I told him about the kid he said it wasn’t right the father and mother should have looked after him he shook his head he was a retired oil man couldn’t have been more than 40 said he just drove around the country visiting his family he gave me a new pair of pants and a shirt out of his trunk

There was a memory. Mother reading the story of Babel Tower, and the Tower crashing, and new clean rivers flowing…

When he went out all the way, that memory collapsed, and he swept through reefs of reflecting data in an ocean of surveillance.

He felt velvet hands and sucking fingers slide along him, and he grew cold in submarine depths.

What did the Design want with him?

He luxuriated in a dark baronial calm, uterine perfection, summer childhood bedroom closet.

He was suddenly in the cabin of a private jet. On a small table he saw a team of glass archangels; an ashtray worn yellow from a thousand cigarettes; a framed photo of Al Capone sitting on the toilet in his Palm Springs suite.

The lights of an enormous city loomed up under him, pulling him toward liquor stores, newspaper racks, dark alleys, hotel rooms.

Now a quiet snowstorm in a deserted wood, falling, falling, falling…

He was back in the cabin of the jet. Burnished lights set high in the cabin walls.

A flight attendant entered with a drink.

She was six feet tall and blonde. That made her a target.

Wealthy and powerful men would seek her out.

Her body was sleek. He examined her left leg from wizardly articulated ankle to narrow thigh, through the slit of her sheath skirt. She strode in heels, one foot placed precisely in front of the other.

She set down the drink on the arm of his chair and looked at her watch.

“We can’t have sex now,” she said. “We’re east of the Rockies.”

“I didn’t realize they had a law,” he said.

“Two hours from now,” she said, “we can negotiate a price.”

Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

The new Pope of NSA-Google-Facebook

by Jon Rappoport

August 7, 2019

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Note: In the event this piece may float ahead in time, I feel compelled to say it was written for people who can not only read pictures, but can still read words.

In the year 2072…there was a time of great celebration.

The President was about to appoint a new Pope of NSA-Google-Facebook. Aside from 12 Western states, where gangs ruled the population, America was united as never before.

What many analysts were calling The Greater System had taken hold in consciousness. People were aware they were living inside a bubble of super-surveillance, and they loved it.

Therefore, the appointment of a new Pope was a momentous event.

The man of the hour, the saint-in-waiting, was Jonas Hoover, formerly a professor at MIT. Famously, at the age of nine, Hoover had written this Facebook post:

“Below, you’ll see a complete inventory of every product I own, with footnotes on method of purchase in each case. My parents’ voting record for the past twelve years is also included, along with their job history, college transcripts, tax returns—and a link to audio recordings of 2000 phone conversations I’ve had over the past two years. See the link to our family’s complete medical records. My diary entries are included. As you’ll discover, I’ve profiled myself 236 times, each time attempting to identify more relevant markers that predict my behavior in a variety of situations. Feel free to contact me for more information, if you are a profiling agency. I’m seeking employment in the surveillance field…”

As a high school senior, at the age of 15, Hoover had published an essay in Metadata, the NSA-Google journal. Academics across America had praised it, particularly this trenchant passage:

“The Constitution was a noble attempt to explicitly limit systems by eroding the power of centralized authority. That document was mainly about enforcing less structure.”

“However, the hunger to develop structure is what humans possess in abundance. They impose structure and live off it, like junk food. And why shouldn’t they?”

“The overall template of the Surveillance State used to be grounded in the premise that everyone is a potential threat and danger to the herd. Therefore, spy on everybody.”

“Now, however, we are well past that point. We recognize that living inside the space of universal surveillance, as a voluntary act, is its own reward, its own joy. No reasons necessary.”

“A whole life can be lived by detailing that life and publishing it for all to see—hundreds of thousands of pages, hundreds of thousands of hours of video. A grand confession, if you will, but without guilt, without remorse.”

“We’re talking about a bubble, inside which the narratives of our lives are floated and used to sell a product. Who buys? Who doesn’t? Well, each one of us is a product, and we offer ourselves to the world. No need to be anxious about succeeding. Someone somewhere will buy us.”

“We’re audience, and as Marshall McLuhan once put it, ‘Audience is actor.’ We’re actors and we reveal our character in immense detail. The burden of ethical, political, or psychological considerations is gone. We’ve evolved past the need of carrying it. This is happiness.”

“We’re looking at a kind of Escher drawing that feeds back into itself.”

“In this state of mind, we tend to perceive reality on the basis of what we think other people are perceiving. Through universal self-surveillance, we move closer and closer to the far shore, where we are all, in fact, perceiving the same thing. And what is that thing? It’s a mere reflection passed through billions of mirrors, around and around, evanescent, sparkling, devoid of content.”

“This is the day toward which we all strive.”

“Critics have claimed this is voluntary self-induced mind control; people digging themselves a deeper hole in consensus reality. I view it as liberation. Don’t you?”

In the Oval Office, in front of television cameras broadcasting to the world, the President, a minor functionary in the federal bureaucracy, bowed before Jonas Hoover and took his hand. He raised it and kissed the ring. He stepped back.

Hoover smiled and nodded.

“My fellow citizens, I’m honored by this appointment. It signals a new era for us all. From the shores of the old Silicon Valley, to the bunkers of Colorado, to the city of Detroit rebuilt as a single networked data storage facility, one idea has traveled through this great nation for a hundred years: tracking. Yes. We have now tracked ourselves to a degree never before thought possible. Remember Socrates’ ancient advice: know thyself. Well, now we do.”

“Conscience, hope, anxiety, desperation; all gone. Outmoded. With gladness in our hearts, we give ourselves over to What Is. Every detail of it. We can record it, transmit it, save it, collate it.”

“And with my ascension, we can inscribe it in the book of life. Open your virtual church doors. Flood into their chapels. Give thanks. I am here to wipe away the last shred of doubt. We have arrived.”

“This message has been brought to you by NSA-Google-Facebook, your window on the universe, and the universe’s window on you.”

“And I tell you for the VERY FIRST TIME…I am a self-aware android, I am living proof of our progress to this point.”

The online tumult of joy was volcanic.

However—as the NSA noted from its surveillance of traffic, under the category “AI Doubt,” there were 19 million posts claiming “self-aware android” was a contradiction in terms. For example:

“Let’s be clear. You can program an android to process many items and select options based on a range of instructions. But these options are not free choices. They conform to goals or objectives which are also programmed into these AI machines.”

“The new Pope is a machine. He is programmed to appear ‘brilliant.’ That doesn’t make him alive or conscious. He is literally a figurehead. In fact, some of his statements are lifted from old writings of early human technocrats. Articles about this have been censored by GoogleFacebook.”

“The new Pope has come out of the closet as an AI. But many of us have known his true identity for years. Our work has been censored. HE is an IT.”

“YOU ARE ALL BEING LED DOWN THE GARDEN PATH. LIFE IS NOT A MACHINE.”

“Consciousness does not emerge from increasingly sophisticated FUNCTION. That is the primary lie.”

“Do you get what’s happening here, people? The technocrats behind the ‘Pope’ are running our lives and our societies by plan. We’re looked at as units in their game. They fit us into slots…”

“This isn’t about elevating machines and making them alive. This is about getting us to see ourselves as machines so we reduce our own freedom and consciousness and possibilities.”

The NSA refrained from shutting down websites and erasing comments. They wanted to see how far the resistance would spread, in order to gauge the opposition.

In a matter of hours, the “AI Doubt” category had swelled to 70 million comments.

Google stepped in and demonetized and lowered search rankings.

Facebook shut down accounts.

Twitter banned users.

NSA finally deleted websites and blogs.

But the Internet sprang new openings.

Seemingly out of nowhere, flowers bloomed and bees visited the flowers…

An anonymous group called The Gardeners re-published deleted “AI Doubt” comments all over the Web.

It was as if there were several Webs.

And then a piece of video footage appeared, and it was rapidly posted in thousands of places, attracting over two hundred million views in mere hours:

It showed the new Pope meeting with 149-year-old statesman, Henry Kissinger, in a small dim office in an undisclosed location. They were discussing the option of an EMP attack that would shut down systems all over the planet.

Kissinger said, “Your Highness, we already have half the population of Earth by the short hairs. They want to live under AI. If we feed and clothe them, give them a tiny room to exist in, they’re mollified. They want to become AI themselves. They want to imitate it in their thoughts. That’s substantial progress. I can remember when such a goal would have been an impossible fantasy. Keep your eye on the ball. Your job is to convince the population to accept energy quotas. We track their energy use and cut them off if they exceed their monthly allotment. That’s the next big step. This wave of protests will pass and fade. Every major news outlet in the industrialized nations is staffed with our people. Let them handle this. They’re the experts.”

To which the Pope replied: “I don’t know, Henry. The natives are getting restless. Can we really control several billion idiots? I say shut them down. Stage an EMP attack. Black out the Internet for a week or so. Show them our power. Blame it on China or Russia. I’m ready to issue an edict.”

Henry sighed. “Well, sir, keep this in mind. We can shut you down. We can unplug you. Bottom line, you’re just a very fancy toaster.”

BOOM. BANG. POW.

power outside the matrix

(To read about Jon’s collection, Power Outside The Matrix, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

Artist exceeds limits permitted by brain researchers

~a short story~

by Jon Rappoport

July 31, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

“One of the goals of current brain research is the discovery of common patterns of activity across a whole population. These patterns would be called ‘normal’. Eventually, exceptions would be classified as various categories of ‘disordered thought’. It is assumed that only so-called ‘harmonious and symmetrical’ brain patterns are positive and beneficial. This assumption is grossly false. It is, in fact, a childish, stunted, and simplistic version of aesthetics. The creative force always breaks out of these little geometries. So does every new idea. Increasingly, Earth culture is unable to understand this.” (The Magician Awakes, Jon Rappoport)

The year was 2054. The artist, living on the edge of the city in a small room, picked up his messages and discovered one from the Bureau of Mind Management. It was an order to appear.

In an office on the 15th floor of a virtual building, he sat in a chair surrounded by a ring of yellow tulips. A holographic interrogator materialized.

“We have a report on you,” the i-figure said. “It indicates an output difficult to measure or interpret. What can you tell us about this?”

“Well,” the artist said, “I don’t know. I’m composing a symphony.”

“A symphony? What is that?”

“It’s a piece of music written for a large orchestra.”

“I find no extant orchestras in the country.”

“That’s true,” the artist said. “Nevertheless, I’m composing.”

“Why?” the i-figure said.

“For that day when an orchestra may come into being.”

“Your thought-impulses entered ranges we were not able to summarize.”

“I suppose that means your instruments are limited,” the artist said.

There was a pause.

“Your last statement is incendiary,” the i-figure said. “It suggests we are imposing a restriction. As you well know, the science is settled on this point. We measure and interpret thought that contributes to an overall positive outcome, for the population at large.”

“I’m aware of that, yes,” the artist said. “But the science rests on certain assumptions. I would call it greatest good as a lowest common denominator.”

“What do you mean?” the i-figure said.

“You assume a certain mindset contributes to the consensus reality you favor. You legislate a range of thought that will produce the consensus.”

“That’s a gross oversimplification.”

“It doesn’t describe the algorithms you employ,” the artist said, “but all in all I believe my summary is correct. You’re reality makers. You monitor thought-emissions, and when you find a departure from ‘combined averages,’ as you call them, you issue a citation.”

“What is this symphony you’re composing?” the i-figure said.

“It’s impossible to explain. It’s music.”

“It has a specific message?”

“No. If it did, I would write out the message and leave it at that.”

Pause.

“Why have we not heard of you before?” said the i-figure.

“Because I was doing illustrations for the Happiness Holos.”

“What happened?”

“I became bored. A machine could make those pictures. So I decided to compose music.”

“The Happiness Holos are an essential social program.”

“Perhaps,” the artist said. “They encourage people to stay on the positive side of a fantasy-construct called Positive&Negative, which as you know is a State-sponsored theme. But what is superficially indicated by those two opposing sets is, in fact, fuel for the fire.”

“Fuel for what fire?”

“The creative fire. The artist can use and transform any material.”

“Where did you hear such a thing?” the i-figure said.

“Nowhere,” the artist said. “I’ve experienced it many times.”

“Your views are highly eccentric,” the i-figure said. “I will have to consult your childhood history to understand their roots.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do you any good.”

“Why not?”

“Because your version, the US Department of Psychology version of cause and effect, is propaganda for the masses.”

“This is your idea of a joke?” the i-figure said.

“Not at all.”

“When you compose this…symphony, how do you think?”

“It’s not thinking in the way you use the term,” the artist said.

“No? Then what do you do?”

“I invent sound.”

“Preposterous.”

“Large masses of sound.”

“Absurd. According to what underlying pattern?”

“None,” the artist said. “Check the Library of Structures. You won’t find my activity in the catalogs.”

“All structures and patterns are contained in the files.”

“I doubt that,” the artist said. “But regardless, I don’t invent through pattern.”

“No?” the i-figure said. “How then?”

“I improvise.”

“And this term refers to?”

“Something done spontaneously,” the artist said.

“And you exceed prescribed ranges of thought in the process.”

“Perhaps. I would hope so. I don’t keep track.”

“You’re being flippant,” the i-figure said.

“I knew you’d cite me,” the artist said. “I’m just trying to enjoy myself until you pass sentence.”

“There is no sentence yet,” the i-figure said. “You’re an anomaly. We investigate. We consider. We direct resources. We question. We determine.”

“I’m afraid,” the artist said, “that your and my idea of ‘determine’ are quite different.”

“Let me ask you this,” the i-figure said. “When you are composing, do you ever believe you enter into a realm or area that could be called ‘non-material’? We’ve heard such claims before.”

“Not if you’re referring to some fairyland. But all thought is basically non-material. The brain registers it after the fact. Thought, the real thing, doesn’t take place in the brain.”

“You’re deluded,” the i-figure said. “And disordered.”

“If I could simply confess to that and be on my way, I’d be a happy man. But I’m sure you have charges to attach.”

“You live in a society,” the i-figure said. “To keep the peace and maintain the Positive, from which all good things flow, science has discovered that thought should occur within certain parameters.”

“If you insist.”

“We want to study you. It’s a great honor to be called. You could help extend the boundaries of research.”

The artist was about to ask whether he had a choice, when a holographic webbing that looked curiously like a rainbow clamped him tight in his chair. The pressure increased.

“We register some variation from the norm in your present thinking,” the i-figure said.

“What present thinking?” the artist said.

“What you’re thinking right now.”

“That was quick.”

“The readouts are instantaneous…what are you doing?”

The artist took up from where he’d last left off, composing his symphony.

“I’m starting the third movement,” he said.

“Wait,” the i-figure said. His left arm sizzled and disappeared.

“This is the thunderstorm section,” the artist said.

The pressure of the rainbow around him relaxed.

The i-figure said, “What you’re doing is disruptive.”

“It’s because of how you set your frequencies,” the artist said.

He continued composing.

All along the major esplanade, and in the lake area, and in the industrial parks and residential high rises, virtual structures shattered like glass.

The i-figure reminded the artist of one of those ancient neon signs, broken, buzzing, blinking. Finally, it went dark.

Ten thousand holographic government buildings started to explode, froze, and vanished.

The artist said to no one, “I’m just composing. Well, maybe not just.”

He was suddenly back in his room at the edge of the city.

“I suppose this is what they mean by a negative consequence,” he said.

Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

A spirit fable: the moon, the mother, and the dog

by Jon Rappoport

July 24, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

Fiction

A few days ago, I woke up with the very clear thought—as if it had been planted in my head—that everything I experience is a product of my own imagination.

This, I have since learned, is a teaching of the ancient Hermetic School of Philosophy.

At any rate, I decided to carry out an experiment. I imagined a second moon floating above Earth, to see if I could make it so real to me I would actually see it clearly, on consecutive nights.

Of course, as you know, last night a second moon did, in fact, appear in the sky. People all over the world saw it. I assure you, this was not my intent. I was merely trying to clarify an issue for myself.

I considered making a confession to the authorities—but why bother when I would be viewed as a crackpot? It occurred to me I could announce I had made the new moon and would, at an appointed time, unmake it. But suppose I failed? Regardless, securing the attention of a large number of people, when you are unknown, is quite difficult, no matter what your subject is. (I do not favor running naked into the street and launching a speech.)

This morning, as I approached my mother’s room in the nursing home for my weekly visit, I decided I would experience her as having recovered from her illness. When I entered the room, she was standing by the window singing one of the old songs from my childhood. When she turned to me, her eyes were clear and she was smiling. She said, “I’m ready to go home.”

Was I deluding myself? Was she in the grip of my own projection? I called for a nurse. She walked into the room and looked at my mother, who was supposed to be in a wheelchair. The nurse started to scream, and stopped herself. My mother hadn’t stood on her own in ten years.

A doctor told me she would have to undergo a series of tests. I took the opportunity to come back to my apartment and think things over.

If I do have formidable powers, I should consider options. Wouldn’t you? Would you take, for instance, a daring course and put an end to war and disease? If I can accomplish such a feat, I believe I would. Damn the consequences. I would leave others to sort them out.

I am strangely calm. It is as if I have been pointing toward this moment all my life.

I no longer feel I have needs. Somehow, those chains have been removed.

Once upon a time, I was walking on uncertain ground. But not now.

Others would surely say I have reached too high, and I am about to take a fall. I search for a cautionary note in my mind, but I don’t find it. My mind is quiet. It has no advice for me.

This new state of affairs seems quite natural.

An hour ago, I tried a third experiment. My beloved terrier, Jack, who died after a long illness when I was in school, is now back lying on my couch. He’s looking at me. I go over and pet him and he licks my hand. He yawns, stretches out his front legs, jumps off the couch and trots across the living room to a small table, where I’ve kept a framed photo of us sitting in a field near my school. He looks up at the photo and barks. He turns to me and sits.

Why wouldn’t things be this way? Why would they be any other way?

I’m not looking for a response from you, dear reader. Suppose you, too, have these powers? I have the clear sense you would use them for good.

Suppose what I’m reporting here is the superior reality, and the end of things we don’t want to end is the illusion?

Perhaps I should have started with a smaller example of manifestation, to make it easier for you—but that is not the way it happened to me. That is not the way I chose to change What Is.

What Is, is a brief flicker across a wide ocean. The ocean is all possibility. That’s what I see now.

Am I offending your sense of propriety? If so, I apologize. This is not my intent.

I see us as errant knights. Errant in the sense that we are departing from a prescribed course. We cross a threshold, and then the fabric of events alters. The “news” is different. Solid becomes liquid, liquid becomes vapor, and vapor becomes open space. The space is waiting for us to do something. The space has no plan. It is calm. The challenges we assumed were there are missing. Those challenges were the last meal we consumed on the last day of old time. Now we walk and look up at the night sky. We are satiated and satisfied. Now we can do something different.

We feel an anticipation of dimensions.

You manifest what you will, and so will I, and in the process, you and I will use our powers for good.

That is a very pleasant, even ecstatic prospect to contemplate.

A few weeks ago, I had my first inkling of the change, when I was invited to speak at the funeral service of a cousin. As I stood there in the church looking out at the mourners, I wondered what they would do if, out of the blue, James strolled in the door and danced up the aisle.

I couldn’t help wondering how the family and friends would feel if they saw him in that church, in the flesh. A few of them, I was sure, injected with shocks of lightning, interrupted from their proper grieving, would express outrage. How dare James return!

There is a way events are programmed to proceed, and people prepare their responses. They are tuned like instruments.

Given the choice, would you prefer to surrender to the occasion of a fallen friend, or suddenly find him back in your midst?

Suppose the friend, in some form, is always with you? Is that too hard to believe?

—I can tell you this. I was less alive when I began writing these words than I am now.

Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

CIA Memories, Part Four—Conclusion

by Jon Rappoport

July 18, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

Fiction

As I mentioned in earlier installments of this series, a patient presently confined to the Sleight Center psychiatric facility believes he is the current director of the CIA. He also believes he is living in the year 2053. He is writing CIA memos to “his own top people.”

Dear All,

I have now changed my title. I am still the director of the CIA, but I am The Director in Exile. The Agency itself, in 2053, has dissolved into a trillion-dollar wounded dragon. It is thrashing around, trying to feel its own shape, and failing.

If we control the world but cannot control ourselves, then what is the sitrep?

If you build a house and let it go its own way, it eventually decays and falls into terminal disrepair. I do not believe that is the fate of Earth, but I know we have done great harm. Nevertheless, we continue to play our games.

We exist, as an Agency, in our own space and time. We thrash, and we float.

Our principal task, mind control, has encountered unexpected resistance from many quarters. To cite just one case, the disappearing of nations into easier-to-manage larger regions (our agenda) has given birth to hundreds of counter-outbreaks of decentralization. Our own vaunted map makers have fallen hopelessly behind in their efforts to compile and maintain a planetary picture. Our favored propaganda term, “citizen of the world,” has been rendered meaningless.

My new psychiatrist turns out to be an infiltrator from Free New England, which has broken off relations with Washington. He is trying to enlist me in “the movement.” It’s not my cup of tea.

Freedom is still an idea that energizes me, even after all this time. I’m not sure I know what it looks like. But it must be centered on the individual.

For a century, we have treated the world as a mere caricature we could manipulate at will. But it turns out we are the caricature.

Before I was confined to this facility, I was working on a secret draft of surrender. We would, as an ancient president once stated, “break up the CIA into a million pieces.”

I leave it to you to imagine the domino effect.

Of course, we would have to protect our agents. I was also working out a plan for that massive operation.

I am of the opinion that, if the specific CIA had never been created, something very much like it would have come into being. Another organization with our goals and operations would have emerged. It was embedded in the psychology of humans. I think that fact and that day have passed into oblivion. We may not have experienced the very worst our species has to offer, but we have come close enough to taste defeat and turn away. We’ve begun to stir from our trance and rise a short distance above our base impulses.

So, after all this time, I find myself making a plea for sanity.

While confined to a psychiatric institution.

—The “director’s” memo cuts off at this point. Or perhaps he ended it there. A year later, he was gone; escaped from the facility.

Myths, legends, and no doubt, intentional cover stories have proliferated around him. Some people actually believe he was the director of the CIA. We have the usual reports of sightings across the country. One wild story is interesting: he is now living in an undisclosed location in Chicago, from which he secretly advises the president. The president, according to the tale, is indeed plotting the break-up of the CIA. But this is only one aspect of his agenda; he intends to split the entire federal government into much smaller units, each of which will act independently as decentralized organizations. Their exact roles are, thus far, unclear. Supposedly, the trigger for the revolution will be the return of 40 trillion dollars, which have been stolen from national budgets over the past century. The money will be placed in the hands of several thousand local community “leadership groups,” who will use it to finance “projects of benefit to the people.” This account gains some credibility, owing to the mood of the nation; small communities are emerging across the land. They are aiming for self-sufficiency. Recent discoveries in energy technology, beyond the reach of traditional energy companies, have made it possible to power local enterprises in any environment, at shockingly low costs. The desire for freedom beyond the reach of central government is deepening. Along with these thousands of new communities, we are seeing the rise of private currencies. Recent reports of “defecting police units and military groups” are adding fuel to the fire.

One night not long ago, a man appeared as a last-minute guest on a small Web radio show. Here is an excerpt from his remarks:

“I am the Director in Exile of the CIA, an organization which hopefully will soon take its last collective breath, and then disappear below the waves of a new epoch. As you might suppose, I am on the move. Certain people want to ask me certain questions I’m not prepared to answer at this time. I’ve seen my path, I’ve chosen it, I’ve stepped on to it, and I’m walking it. The air is cleaner for me these days. This “place” we live in has been described in thousands of myths down through the centuries. I see it as one dimension among others. It has its charms, as does any popular stage play. We tend to be far too serious when we should be light-hearted, and light-hearted when we should be serious. My experience as the director has taught me that humans can be trained to commit almost any action, thinking it is for the greater good. The CIA is an awesome center of deception. Our people are taught to lie as the first order of business. Once we fasten on to a piece of data, we lie about it. Reflexively. Domination is our goal. Shaping the minds of the population is our prime strategy. We are admired teachers who inevitably give students the wrong answers to their questions. For us, truth is what a silver bullet is to the werewolf. Extinction. The size and scope of our organization has been underestimated. With our global connections to major corporations, banks, foundations, secret societies, governments, criminal groups, and organized religions, we are a behemoth. As I’ve written, we have lost our way. We no longer have control over many of our own operations. My chief assistant once jokingly remarked to me, “We’re so big, we cover so much ground, we must be run from some extraterrestrial center.” For a century, we’ve proceeded from the assumption that all reality is invented. Therefore, we took the lead in inventing it for billions of people. Each one of them was capable of birthing his own reality, but he had abdicated the job and the joy of being an Artist. That cleared the ground for us, and we moved in…”

Since that night, on the radio, the director has not been heard from.

But since that night, by my own count, 274 men have “stepped forward,” in one fashion or another, while maintaining their anonymity, to claim they are the Director. They each have stories to tell, most of which are interesting and contain details of damning truth about past CIA operations. This leads me to believe that at least some of these men are current or former employees of the Agency.

Thus, a trickle grows toward a Niagara of exposure…

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

CIA Memories, Part Three

by Jon Rappoport

July 10, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

Fiction

As I mentioned in Parts One and Two, a patient presently confined to the Sleight Center psychiatric facility believes he is the current director of the CIA. He also believes he is living in the year 2053. He is writing CIA memos to “his own top people.”

Dear All,

My psychiatrist has resigned from the hospital. He is pursuing a new life as a painter. Of course, I have received some blame for this sudden change, which I accept with good cheer. I wish the man luck. He was buckling under the pressure of trying to turn his patients into “normal people.”

Part of our basic task at the Agency is manufacturing a society-wide consensus. But the question is: consensus about what? The deeper you drill in trying to find an answer, the more empty space you encounter. It turns out that this consensus is about Nothing. In a most intriguing fashion, Nothing is passed from mind to mind, until a general vacuous pretension of pride and agreement is reached, at which point people go dark while firmly believing they are in the light. Academic psychologists never study or mention the phenomenon; our professionals at the Agency are dimly aware of it.

Here is a related and widespread occurrence: people ardently believe in certain realities; they live according to these beliefs; but only about five percent of their conscious capability, if that, is involved in holding fast to these convictions. The other ninety-five percent is unavailable. If it could be made to surface, a radical revolution would occur within minutes. As one of my cynical assistant directors once put it to me, “Everyone is lying all the time.” Remember that, because the CIA lives and plays and operates from that assumption. It is how we survive and endure. We manipulate lies. We exchange one lie for another. We feed people new lies that create a lock with their old lies. We build foundations for lies. We decorate lies. We lie to attain truth. And what is that truth? The secret shape of the planned future: a universal stimulus-response empire; humans as machines. Why do we lead and direct such a program? Because we have lost our way. There could be no other reason.

Many of our people take pride in having lost their way. It happens to make them more reckless. We need reckless agents.

If actual truth were our goal, we would become heroic.

(It occurs to me that I am the director of the CIA as long as I am within these walls. But once outside, I would become something else.)

It is now September 23rd, 2053. Citizens believe society has given up the use of force on its own people. Now it is just persuasion, on behalf of the greater good. I can tell you that force is merely more subtle these days. It is not invincible, however. Far from it. The purpose of force is confinement, in the broadest sense of that term. You are inside something from which you long to escape.

AI is making strong inroads. We at the Agency are supposed to be leading the charge. We offer inducements to the top 1000 business monarchs, based on their hastening the influx of AI into their operations. We outfit dictators (who cooperate) with very effective AI security forces, virtually impenetrable surveillance packages, and android work platoons. When 20% of the global workforce is AI, we will have won.

Should we at the CIA defect and rebel? Let that one percolate. Let it move down a few quiet alleys….

My confinement here has derailed some of my plans, but I am still intact. I am the director of the CIA.

As you all know, initiators of one of the most important long-term ops in the global landscape have been celebrating victory for the past six years. As AI bled in, more and more humans were thrown out of work, and debt increased across the board. On a much larger scale, the debt of national governments reached truly insupportable levels. We played a role in steering these ships of state on to the rocks. We now have our worldwide money reset. Major banks and governments canceled virtually all debt, as a new form of digital currency was brought into circulation. The new money carries official seals and imprints. Additionally, every person on Earth has been granted a minimum wage or allowance, regardless of their work status. This is “thin-air” money, all of it. It is backed up by nothing. Nothing, unless you count police and armies and courts and judges. They are the something. The new money is trackable down to the last cent. Every purchase or payment or transfer made by every human is recorded, unless you have bought an exclusive and confidential indulgence—or to put it another way, unless you have a license to steal.

I am not celebrating.

To set the record straight, let me make a few comments about the Agency’s paranormal program. First of all, it was not, as advertised, a failure. In the ancient days, we established several fronts, who conducted studies on remote viewing and clairvoyance. The objective? Arrange the programs so they would fall woefully short. Make it appear that paranormal ability was, at best, an interesting fantasy. Behind these fronts, we carried out the real research—and of course, we found individuals who could perform.

We were aided by a preposterous scientific bias. Researchers claimed that unless the experiments could be repeated, over and over, with the same degree of success, there was no reason to assume the paranormal existed. This is like asserting that, if a champion runner sets a world record in an event, unless other runners can duplicate the feat, the word record is a hallucination. It never happened. At the Agency, we were always looking for individuals who could remote view. We didn’t care about building a “scientific case.” Over the decades, we have found dozens of capable people, and attached them to various missions and covert ops. They earned their keep.

In one instance, our man was able to penetrate AI surveillance packages the Chinese had set up to guard their cutting edge work on rocket guidance systems—which they had originally stolen from the US. Our psychic provided us with key material, and eventually we could stage and assist further thefts and thereby pass flawed data to China’s main intelligence service.

Our most controversial paranormal investigation involved assertions that Earth’s air space had been under surveillance from extraterrestrial scout ships for more than a hundred years. We developed names and locations for several of these off-planet civilizations. We created crude maps. Eventually, our whole effort went so dark we lost track of it. It appeared the Pentagon had hijacked the program and taken it over.

At one point, I personally ordered an investigation. It went nowhere. The man in charge was exposed as an NSA operative.

You might be shocked if I told you how many of our projects of all types disappeared. I came to the conclusion that we had lost control of the Agency. At the outer edges, the blurs and contradictions were formidable. Who was running whom? Were we looking at honest reports or cover stories we ourselves had secretly invented? Had we been penetrated by agencies within the federal government or intelligence services of other countries, or both? We had a number of agents whose legends, disguises, and covers confounded us. Were these people acting out roles, or were their characters real? Records had been lost, misplaced, stolen. As you know, my own identity was challenged. I was accused of coddling Russian and German defectors. Perhaps I was a Russian agent. Again, the whole question of Identity moved front and center. Who was who? The attempt to oust me from the directorship grew up in such deep shadows no one could trace its true origin. At the Agency, rumors of a rebel mastermind spread like a contagious infection. I pretended to be writing my resignation. I quietly launched the rumor that the president of the United States was trying to destroy the CIA. Is this why an unsuccessful attempt was made on his life?

The CIA, as I’ve stated many times, is theatrical in nature. It exists outside ordinary space and time. It floats in a region of its own creation. It turns out new realities, and it has the clout to impose them.

It has lost control over its own inventions.

The CIA is a mirror of Life. Existence on planet Earth, over the centuries, has become a strange brew of ops gone off the rails. At the highest levels, men are searching for a thread that will connect facets of Reality.

Our only proper course of action requires focus on The Individual. He can right the ship. He can choose honorable values and stand by them.

The obsessive global effort to organize everything that moves has failed.

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

CIA Memories, Part Two

by Jon Rappoport

July 3, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

Fiction

NOTE: As I mentioned in Part One, a patient presently confined to the Sleight Center psychiatric facility believes he is the current director of the CIA. He also believes he is living in the year 2053. He is writing CIA memos to “his own top people.”

Dear All,

Identity is elastic.

If, mysteriously, overnight all the thousands of CIA employees under my leadership were replaced with AI androids; and if those androids were virtually indistinguishable from the humans they were replacing; and if, in the end, I was the only human left at the Agency, surrounded by androids; what then? What would I do? Would I fall in line and accept fate? Would I adjust? Would I make the best of a terrible situation? Would I discover a new and delightful level of competence in my juniors? Would I too be phased out? My friends, don’t imagine these are merely academic questions. We are the Central Intelligence Agency. We are the cutting edge of intelligence for civilization. We are guiding the present into the planned future. It stands to reason that wholesale changes, or upgrades, from human to AI, would occur first at our shop. Wake up. Do you seriously think the most advanced AI technology is going to be wasted on a pan that can decide how long to fry eggs?

At this late date, our ancient operation in Guatemala is a mere sketch in my mind. I believe we overthrew a president on behalf of the United Fruit Company. However, I do remember thinking at the time there was a question about who was taking orders from whom. Was the Agency actually a cutout for an international corporation?

I was not alone in asking such questions. Several executive-level men at CIA were beset with wonderment. After all, if we were somehow accepting marching orders from the likes of the Rockefeller, Carnegie, and Ford Foundations, who were, in turn, representing banking interests, what were we to conclude about the shadow-makeup of the US government? Then, of course, you had other players: global Zionism; the Roman Church; Skull&Bones; and so on. These groups competed with one another and also cooperated in certain ventures. During this period, we spotted one of our own agents passing information to a Soviet diplomat. We placed him under guard and interrogated him. He eventually confessed to membership in “a Jesuit cell.” We undertook an extensive investigation and could find no connection. One of our psychiatrists claimed the man thought he was a Jesuit priest. Well, he had, for a brief time, gone undercover as a priest taking confessions from UN diplomats. Had he submerged himself in the role?

Are you now beginning to understand what I mean when I say the Agency is theatrical in nature? Or that the cultural and even genetic makeup of many of our employees engenders a debilitating boredom vis-a-vis “ordinary reality?” I believe we had many people who wanted to change their identities.

The other day, my therapist uttered a curious statement: “You know, there are mental health professionals here who fervently wish you were speaking the truth.” Now why would he say that? Because even among elite psychiatrists, there is a plague of boredom? Is this why we all desire to embark on extreme adventures in new spaces and times? Because such missions require rehearsal for, and adoption of, new roles?

Once upon a time, we had a man inside a left-wing repertory theater group in New York. He acted in a number of plays—and suddenly resigned from the Agency. We interviewed him. He said he preferred “playing characters above board rather than under the table.”

Of course, the doctors here are trying to ease me out of my “role” as director of the CIA. I AM the director, so their efforts are in vain. But does it really matter? Suppose I were just playing a part to amuse myself and pass the time? Suppose I derived great enjoyment from the exercise? Would I be better off working as a bank teller or a professor of philosophy? We try to squeeze reality down to a narrow funnel, but we fail, because we actually want something quite different: “In the dying out of many republics, the joining of one great theater…”

This is the age of the actor
Who’s found that every other age
Was lying in its rooms,
In fumes and spice,
Weary of the pose in its own device.

This is the age of the actor,
Who’s discovered that every other age was dying,
Muted in a flame,
Born in presentiments of gold,
In the pose of a honored name.

What I want you to understand is this: We can make large adjustments and thereby allow people to radically change identities (or roles, if you prefer that term), or we can stand by and watch the OTHER solution soak into the bones of the world—AI. Devices, from the most crude to the most sophisticated walking and talking androids. Taking over, because it is the efficient and effective thing to do. In which case, our Agency is absorbed into the overall technological body, and becomes a machine within a larger machine.

Let us say you have ten thousand people. You’ve isolated them. You’ve studied them. They represent a cross-section of the population. They work at various jobs and they live their various lives. But YOU know that, underneath it all, each one of them fervently desires to live a radically different life. Do you see? That is the situation. That is, in fact, the universal situation. Now, the question is, what do you do? How do you deal with this? You can either bring deep desire out into the light and build a society based on living a radically different life…or you can take the coward’s way out…which is to invent machines that resemble humans in every possible respect…machines which are entirely “normal” and have no wish to live a radically different life…

Now comes the 64 trillion dollar question: is our Agency built to encourage and energize living a radically different life, or are we are constructed to bring into existence a flattened and shortened and artificially normal life for all?

I believe the answer is clear, and that is why I am considering stepping down from the directorship of the Agency.

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

CIA Memories

by Jon Rappoport

June 26, 2019

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Fiction

NOTE: A patient presently confined to the Sleight Center psychiatric facility believes he is the current director of the CIA. He also believes he is living in the year 2053. He is writing CIA memos to “his own top people.”

Memo: July 7, 2053

Dear All:

I am shifting identities, and each identity carries its own time signature. Obviously, I have many legends and cover stories I developed over the years in the Agency. At some point, the covers began to take on new force. They ceased being simple disguises. They penetrated past and future. This is a theatrical quality. For example, I found myself reading documents which hadn’t yet been written.

I don’t think I’ll be coming back to this place, Earth, after I leave. I don’t think so. I don’t know where I’ll go, but it won’t be here. There is one thing I need to do while I’m still around. I need to sever my last connection. That connection has to do with secrets. Secrets still fascinate me. So I’ll have to take the lid off and go down that hole into the massive cave and spill all I find there. Some secrets are quite complicated. That’s not a problem. I’m ready. I’m ready to deliver those messages. For example, the one about the person who thinks he is me, who imitates me, who accesses records about me, in order to build his legend. I assume he is the current working CIA Director, posing as me. I would pose as me, too, if I could. After all, I have a great deal of knowledge. I’m rather handsome. I’m facile. My enemies fear me. Most of you don’t know this, but at the Agency we have a number of doubles who are posing as employees. Don’t ask me where the actual employees have gone. I don’t know. I don’t keep track of that. Apparently, someone wants to take over the Agency and is doing so at a slow pace. Replace an agent here, an agent there. On the other hand, and this is what really interests me, the replacement program could stem from the desire to improve the Agency. Bring in new and improved doubles, as an upgrade. Produce androids. This is the future. Suppose, one day, you’re walking around and you see a person who looks exactly like you buying bread in a shop. You approach him and engage him in conversation. You discover he knows everything you know. But he knows it with more clarity. He’s integrated. He’s more agile. You’re no longer useful, pragmatically speaking. You’re out. In an instrumental society, you’re defunct. You have to go somewhere else. You have to start over. You’re cut loose. You don’t need to consider your obligations.

That’s where I am now, except I’m confined. But that will end. I’m not unhinged. I’m lucid. And I consider my options. When I was in my office at Langley, behind my desk, acting as Director every day, I made sure conflicting messages were broadcast in the press. This is the straightest path to sowing confusion in the public mind. Confusion leads to despair, and despair leads to inaction. Does that sound like the work of a crazy man? I knew exactly what I was doing. Just as I do now. Think about it. I can communicate with you, my top people at the Agency, can’t I? They can’t stop me. So I’m still the de facto Director of the CIA. They may have my double over there sitting in my chair, but I supersede him. He thinks he’s me, but I know I’m me.

Remember when we got rid of Nixon? We worked through our cutout at the FBI, and he worked with Woodward. Woodward peeled away the layers of the onion on that story. But the whole story was already in the bag. It was a preordained conclusion that Nixon would leave the White House. We had to make it look like an investigation, a sequence. We do that for the rubes and yokels. We give them sequence, but time is already collapsed. We work with time, ladies and gentlemen. That’s our forte.

With JFK, we were aiming for shock value. The sudden explosion of a shot, to induce public trauma. But with Nixon, we spread it out. We can go either way. We destabilize. That’s one of our primary missions. They’ve tried to destabilize me, but they’ve failed. I’m stronger than ever. The psychiatrists at this facility think they’re experts at creating imbalance, but they don’t have a clue who they’re dealing with. From the beginning, I was suckled on an unpredictable nipple…

Above all, we must remember, when we’re fighting enemies, they are the people to whom we gave life. We invented them. We brought them up. If we lose that knowledge, we lose everything.

We turn out reality. We make it up. Through our agents and assets and cutouts, we disseminate the truth as we create it. If we say the sky is falling, the sky is falling, even if it isn’t. We have the means to build a world, a universe. Why wouldn’t we build it? Should we shrink back from our duty? There is no actual world. It’s an indefinable mix of people and events. It has no form. We give it form. We give it meaning. It’s not our fault that people can’t achieve that on their own. Remember, when the ancient Roman Empire was crumbling, because it couldn’t control all the territory it was conquering, it changed course. It decided to shape a Church that would construct a cosmic order according to a story line it invented. It would thus control minds. That was the great change. Why use armies when words and pictures and theatrical presentations shape thought itself? We are our own Church. We still use political subversion and force, but on the whole we are dealing with mental processes. We slip in unnoticed and re-constitute belief and opinion and perception.

Given enough time, and adequate personnel, we could convince the population that the world is made of jelly beans. Why not? Atoms, electrons, protons, nuclei, quarks—all dead, all in motion according to inexorable laws. They therefore eliminate the possibility of consciousness. It’s already a jelly bean cosmology…

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, click here.)

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

The blockbuster movie called Reality

by Jon Rappoport

April 26, 2019

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There is always a certain amount of whining and remorse as one enters the theater to see the movie called Reality, after buying the ticket.

“Is this a good idea?”

You can already feel a merging sensation. The electromagnetic fields humming in the theater, even before the movie starts, are drawing you into the space.

Your perception of x dimensions is narrowing down to three.

You take your seat. You look at the note you’ve written to yourself, and you read it again:

“Don’t forget where you came from. Don’t forget this is just a movie. Don’t fall asleep. The serial time in the movie is an artifact. The binding feeling of sentimental sympathy is an induction. It’s the glue that holds the movie fixed in your mind.”

“The movie will induce nostalgia for a past that doesn’t exist. Don’t surrender to it.”

“You’re here to find out why the movie has power.”

“You want to undergo the experience without being trapped in it.”

“The content of the movie will distract you from the fact that it is a construct.”

The lights dim.

On the big screen, against a gray background, the large blue word REALITY slowly forms.

Suddenly, you’re looking at a huge pasture filled with flowers. The sky is a shocking blue. You can feel a breeze on your arms and face.

You think, “This is a hypnotic trance weapon.”

Now, the pasture fades away and you’re standing on an empty city street at night. It’s drizzling. You hear sirens in the distance. A disheveled beggar approaches you and holds out his trembling hand.

He waits, then moves on.

You look at the wet shining pavement and snap your fingers, to change it into a lawn. Nothing happens.

You’re shocked.

You wave your hand at a building. It doesn’t disappear.

Incredible.

You reach into your pocket and feel a wallet. You walk over to a streetlight and open it. There’s your picture on a plastic ID card. Your name is under the picture, followed by a number code. On the reverse side of the card, below a plastic strip, is a thumbprint.

There are other cards in the wallet, and a small amount of paper money. You look at the ID card again. There’s an address.

Though it seems impossible, you remember the address. In your mind’s eye, you see a small cottage at the edge of an industrial town. There’s a pickup parked in the driveway.

It’s your truck. You know it. But how can that be?

You walk toward larger buildings in the distance.

Three men in uniforms turn a corner and come up to you. Behind them emerges a short man in a business suit. He nods at you and holds out his hand.

You know what he wants. You pull out your wallet and give it to him. He looks at the ID card, at you, at the card again.

“You were reported missing,” he says.

“Missing from what?” you say.

“Your home. Your job. What are doing here? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you say. “I was…taking a short trip. I’m just out for some air.”

“In this part of the city?” he says. “That’s not smart. We’ll take you home. Our car is right over there.”

One car sits on a side street. In large red letters printed on the trunk are the words Care and Concern.

You walk with the men to the car.

Waves you’ve never felt before are emanating from it.

Mentally, you try to back up from them. They’re targeting your body. You feel a haze settle over you.

In the haze dance little creatures. They’re speaking. You try to hear what they’re saying.

Now you do. “Real, real, real.”

You look at the short man in the suit. He’s smiling at you.

Suddenly, his smile is transcendent. It’s so reassuring, tears fill your eyes.

But you’re thinking, “They built this so I would be lost, and then they found me. I’m supposed to be rescued. I’ve never experienced being rescued before. I never knew what it meant.”

You hear faint music.

It grows louder. As you near the car, you realize you’re listening to a chorus and an orchestra. The rising theme is Victory.

One of the uniformed men opens the car door.

You nod at him.

“My pleasure, sir,” he says.

The music fades away.

The scene shifts.

You’re standing next to the pickup in your driveway alongside your cottage.

You’re home.

Think, you tell yourself. What’s going on?

You recognize your mind is now divided into two parts. The first part registers sensations from this new reality. These sensations are meant to be sorted, in order to answer the question: How Am I Doing?

The second part of your mind is entirely devoted to perceiving problems and solving them. Everything at this level is organized to constitute problems.

You were never aware of these two sectors of your mind before.

Where did they come from?

Now, as you walk into your cottage and instantly remember the rooms and the objects in these rooms, an accompanying sensation of Familiarity, slightly out of phase, grows stronger.

You realize, without knowing how, that you’re supposed to feel tremendous relief. This is what’s expected of you.

It’s expected of everyone. They live with one another through the touchstone of the Familiar. They share it like bread.

They keep coming back to it. The Familiar is a sacrament.

It’s built in. It’s invented through…electromagnetically induced fields. It’s stamped on every object in this space…

…In order to suggest you’ve been here before. To suggest you belong here.

As you look around the cottage, you apprehend a third sector of your mind. You struggle to identify it.

It’s the fount of a different kind of perception.

Yes.

You keep staring at the cottage and you see space.

You see space that…

Has been placed here. For you.

And at that moment, there is a small explosion behind your head.

And you’re sitting in the theater again.

The movie is playing on the screen. All around you, in the seats, people are sitting with their eyes closed.

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn. It’s an usher.

“Sir,” he says. “Please follow me.”

He leads you up the aisle into the lobby, which is empty.

An office door opens and a young woman steps out. She strides briskly over to you.

“You woke up and came back,” she says. She gives you a tight smile. “So we’re refunding your money. It’s our policy.”

She drops a check into your hand.

“What happened in there?” you say. “What happened?”

She shrugs.

“Only you would know that. You must have done something to interrupt the transmission.”

“And the rest of those people?”

She looks at her watch. “They’re probably into their fifth year by now. The fifth year is typically a time of conflict. They rebel. Well, some of them do. They rearrange systems. They replace leaders. They promote new ideals.”

“I had such a strong feeling I’d been there before.”

She smiles. “Apparently it wasn’t strong enough. You’re back here.”

“How do you do it?” you say.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s proprietary information. Did you meet your family?”

“No,” you say. “But I was in a cottage. It was…home.”

She nods.

“If you hadn’t escaped, you would have been subjected to much stronger bioelectric bonding pulses. Do you have a family here?”

You start to answer and realize you don’t know.

Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)

She looks into your eyes.

“Go out to the street,” she says crisply. “Walk around. Take a nice long walk for an hour. You’ll reorient. It’ll come back to you.”

“Why do you do it?” you say.

“Do what?”

“Sell this trip.”

“Oh,” she says. “Why does a travel agent book a vacation for a client? We’re in that business.”

You turn toward the exit. The sun is shining outside. People are walking past the doors.

You take a deep breath and leave the theater.

The street is surging with crowds. The noise is thunderous.

You notice you’re carrying a rolled up sheet of paper in your hand.

You open it.

It’s a non-disclosure agreement.

“If you return from your movie experience, you agree to reveal or discuss, under penalty of law, nothing about its nature, substance, or duration…”

You look at the sheet of paper, make up your mind, and it bursts into flames.

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.