~a short story~

by Jon Rappoport

April 12, 2014

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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 15^th 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 iFigure said. “It indicates an output difficult to measure or interpret. What can you tell us about this?”

“Well,” the artist said, “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 iFigure 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 statement is incendiary,” the iFigure 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 iFigure said.

“You assume a certain mindset contributes to the consensus reality you favor. You legislate or permit 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 iFigure 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.”

“Why have we not heard of you before?” said the iFigure.

“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 iFigure said.

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

“Your views are highly eccentric,” the iFigure 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 iFigure 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. “I assume you’re from 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 iFigure 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 iFigure 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,” the iFigure 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 iFigure said. “When you are composing, do you ever believe you enter into a realm or area that could be called ‘non-material’?”

“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 iFigure 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 iFigure 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.”

---

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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 iFigure 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 iFigure said. His left arm sizzled and disappeared.

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

The pressure of the rainbow around him relaxed.

The iFigure 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.

Then adjoining suburban towns blew away into the sky of the communal apparatus. The iFigure 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. But now there was no edge and no city. The room felt like a vehicle traveling through space.

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

The room increased velocity and…jumped.

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 29^th 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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com