by Jon Rappoport
Copyright © 2021
July 23, 2021
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After money was sold down the river and resurrected on a cross of blood
After a cash-loaded God strolled into town
After the Universal Hospital drugged synapses and drove the wild horses of imagination down into underground canyons
and sculpted androids stepped out in the aftermath buying back their own memories
geologic wraiths spiraled up inside television sets—
their only ambition to stunt prayers for deliverance and kill raw desire—
we watched wildcats of Texas dripping sweat into their high hats pull black blood out of the ground and send it through tubes of night to porcupine refineries on the shores of the Body of Christ
apostles were resurrected in knife-cutter fins of long Cadillacs running hot across the Kansas plains with blondes in the back seat drinking
New horizontal towns were multiplying on Long Island, stage flats of perfect geometry coddled in the breasts of hopeful mothers asking for redemption from pill-addled afternoons and hallucinatory music cooking in shining ovens
monthly budgets laid out neatly on Formica counters below the knives
distant farm fields dead in the snow
blank-eyed children walking in the snow
cultivating nightmares they would one day visit on Reality
I flew over those fields and heard the crackerbox houses rot and rust as nothing ever rotted before
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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.
“we’re out here on the edge
inventing and destroying dimensions”
You have found your raison d’etre……
A few days ago, I sent the following communication to your store e-mail, not having noted that I could leave a comment.
“I have subscribed to your blog for a few years now, but had ceased to read it as your focus seemed to be wholly upon the hysterical 3D reality. However, I did not unsubscribe.
With what great pleasure and depth of experience I read your Ayn Rand and William Blake entries, I cannot describe. I have read both authors and have studied William Blake’s astrological natal chart. Keats is perhaps my favourite poet.
O solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
‘Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
Please continue this path you have chosen, that of the sacred. Communicate your vision and share it. It is beautiful.”
Faith, as a thought process has destroyed America’s ability to reason.
“Of all the systems of religion that ever were invented, there is no more derogatory to the Almighty, more unedifying to man, more repugnant to reason, and more contradictory to itself than this thing called Christianity. Too absurd for belief, too impossible to convince, and too inconsistent for practice, it renders the heart torpid or produces only atheists or fanatics…”
― Thomas Paine, American Founding Father and personal friend of Thomas Jefferson.
“The Age of Reason”: https://archive.org/details/ageofreason00painiala
Jesus wasn’t hung on a cross. He was executed on a simple upright pale, the Roman torture stake.
After following the fake news for some 5 years , it is YOU that consistently outshone. Now I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Enter the actor Dr. David Martin
Thanks for all you have done, Jon
P.s. I emptied all my cookies and now I have to re register all my pages except lookoutfa Charlie… go figure
Ginsburgian…Allen not Ruth Bader
Great poem, Jon. A Howl for 21st Century(ions).
My favorite lines, off the bat:
“In a long, long Los Angeles bar on a slow Tuesday afternoon I counted six Hindu gods sitting on stools drinking rotgut and
transmitting sign language to their London banker lolling outside the men’s room.”
“in a jar the size of Des Moines I pickle brains of ancient Sinatras”
I’m sure there’ll be many others upon re-reading. I also love the shout-outs to Henry Miller and Patchen, though I could have gladly done without overrated Corso.
Quite a production. Salute to you.
What a Fantastic Landscape !
It seems we are not alone here on Earth.
[ ] …
Really quite beautiful and emotionally powerful capturing the essence and dilemma of our fading empire and the agony and the ecstasy of our modern turmoil and the drive to achieve transcendence, while appreciating the imminent reality that we must inevitably face…a heartbreak handed down by the generations that both haunts us and challenges us. I loved it and will read it over and over again so that I can really feel it deep down. As an aspiring poet, of dubious talent,this is one way to grow by becoming inebriated on the fine esters of other poets’ imaginations and insights. It is soul to soul, heart to heart, ship to ship communication. Thanks greatly!
rappoport, he be multi-lingual, mon…
Micro: “Money For Sale! Buy Now At Rock-Bottom Prices While Supplies Last!”
Panarama: “The Heaven-The Limitless Reward Of Love And Truth!”
Another reading for the day…
‘I stepped out of my house one morning and realized I no longer knew where I was. The streets looked the same but somehow they were different. The grass and the trees were still there but the morning dew made them wet as if they had been crying.
I turned to look back at my house and it didn’t seem real any more. It didn’t seem like mine any more. My house was always a place of comfort and safety and a harbor from outside harms. But the harms had somehow gotten inside and I realized the place had a stench that I hadn’t noticed before because I had gotten so used to it.
And then, I caught a glimpse of myself when I looked at the mirror next to the outside doorway. I didn’t know who that was for a moment. What happened to me? That doesn’t look like me. But it was me. And still, I knew it wasn’t.
Nobody wrote a book for how to handle this. What happens when the World you knew suddenly disappears in what seems like a heartbeat? What happens when people’s own hearts have grown cold? What happens when people’s minds have been twisted into something vile? What happened to waking up with hope and optimism and a belief that this new day will be better than yesterday? What happened to all that? Where did it all go? Who stole it?
And then I realized… none of this is ‘real’. None of it. It seems real enough, but it isn’t. It was I who saw the streets and the homes and my mirror image differently. No one had stolen it away but me. I chose to see the ugliness and darkness and weirdness and emptiness instead of the joy and energy and light in life. I was the thief. I had taken it all away.
I went back inside and sat down. And I saw my house and my trees and my mirror and my doorway and myself maybe for the first time. And I cried. And then I noticed… the room was brighter and that nasty smell had gone away.’
ahh, my brain just got a massage. Thank you.
Hello Jon. The fact that Thomas Jefferson Jefferson thoughts that large city buildings were to become a breeding ground for evil political crimes is easily understandable today. These skyscrapers and such and produce only Only what the cafeteria produce, and that product ends up at the sewage treatment center. At your age for ginger fighting for justice can be only described as commando to the highest degree. Socrates in Jesus were failures because they both gave up. It’s been proven a plethora of times that living people are better at changing the world than dead people. In the United States, the only thing dead people do is to vote.
Epic odyssian poetry – Xanadu
Thanks for your dedication to individual creativity and invention
Visions… Brilliant and beautiful.
The Old Norse Religion had more imagery and thought-provoking experiencing – than most of today’s religions.
Starting only with the first assaults by the mono-theistic Roman Empire,
And later successive attacks – by the “New Holy Roman Empire” (The “Frankish Empire under Charles L’Magne (Charlemagne)”),
And finally, the finishing “coup d’gras” – by the later “churches”,
Are what helped to finish off the last remnants of “Ye Old Ways”, as they were not written but oral traditions.
Funny how after the firm suppression of “The Old Ways”,
The time-honored respect for the Earth, it’s various creatures, and of Humanity itself – have eroded to the point we find ourselves today – staring into the abyss of total de-humanization and the destruction of “The Family”, and massive-oppression of the truly creative expressions of Humanity.
Oh how I long for the returning of the honest and simple principles of “The Old Ways”, and the many poignant lessons bestowed by their very words!
A truly free People, are a People filled with joy and wonder – that presses them on – to create and re-create the many universes – that lie in wait to be birthed – all from the power of human Minds!
If such knowledge and such passion be denied the Peoples – then what meaning of Life – do they ever come to know? What bonds shall be broken – laid upon their minds and upon their Souls – if they be wanting in the freedom of Mind – to create their own realities – and see to their OWN salvation?
Salvation for a price – is perhaps the biggest CON – to have ever disgraced humanity – and fooled the many captive Minds!
You MAY know “The REST of the story“!
( Yeah, I LOVED Paul Harvey, too! )
we are in a good place
a catheral once – in Milano:
entering into the furious activity of the dome, the vacuous spaces fill with the percussion of a modern building-site. Warm air meets the cold and vaporizes in draughty passages. The sun enters nowhere except where it is permitted, filtered through stained glass and from the walls angelic hosts appear arrayed in warring coloured lights. Behind heavy tarpaulins, machines whirr, motors and engines burst into combustion, invisible workmen, engineers and crane-drivers, bill the work in progress while the steady sound of drilling pervades all. A feat of restitution. The encroaching spheres of industry, the railway terminals, defy definition. Menaced by the growl of minute cars which fill the skies with acidic airs, with assailing rains, indifferent to the elements once-white statues occupy the rooftops where saints and prophets pose their limbs in eloquent language. Stately statues raise their limbs in mild protest, united in formation they seem to challenge the ideologies of the encroaching metropolis from a stronghold of an old faith. The cathedral torn back by gravity to the ground, its supine cones deadly as missile heads. towering, vaults of stone amass charged with impetus, indulge an impossible urge to soar. It seems as if titanic columns would be released as rockets, if only the massive energies which hold them back, were eased. Sometime soaring organically, steadily bound for inexpressible heights, suddenly the stonework cascades, decorously. conceding to the futility of endeavour, falling back gracefully, flowering into sculpture while silent medieval journeymen reassert in their strong vernacular. Voyaging through unlit skies, veering dangerously toward points of tension, the magical construction sings.
Last night I stood on the roof. Full moon to the east; to the west the lighted mountain where the Theban kings are buried. This morning your long poem is coursing through me. Thank you for the invitation to enter the flow.
Here is another vision.
& LITTLE CREATURES
IN & WITHIN
he drove long along the long, lone asphalt road of the windy pike. he could hear the tearing music of the torn peebles as they traversed along the spinning spider rubber tire’s edge, to only be lifted into sunshine bright & propelled to cascading arc behind the rotating steel wheel, left tumbled about, back onto obsidian.
the sun’s rays clung to its soot surface dark & integral aggregate shone out & shimmered like twinkling diamonds, embedded in rolled pitch & ash, lighting brighter still with sun sky high.
off off in the distance, spiked immobile tendrils rose from the solid steel superstructure, of the “porcupine refinery.”
guard-hair fences, standing now roundabout, borne barriers to unstoppable industry. ownership of the resourced land was the rule & now ruled from neo source.
coal blood courses through its tortured veins to be rendered once more clear. toxic ink issued smokily from quilled barbs, stingers to weary eyes & crystal environment.
THEY haven’t a clue about energy.
Thanx for loan…
Copyright © 2021”
“…there’s a lot of it about…”
Brilliant and monumental creativity at its finest- thank you for this, Jon. Some people talk about it, and some people DO it. Thanks for your inspiration!!!
Brilliant! Much better than Ginsberg’s gay-soaked stream of consciousness “Howl”. A great piece of Literature here!
This VISIONS Piece is an absolute masterpiece.
I just now read it to my wife. She taught an online course this summer & I wanted her to be in the right frame of mind to cohere its essence.
She finds the online format frustrating, as it’s a shadow of classroom interaction.
We’re discussing the depth of your narrative.
I believe you favor jazz, & I’m mostly unschooled in that genre.
To my incline, this Piece is all Rock ‘n Roll.
Visors, pulled down, blotting sun, from eyes.
No one would deny a parent to place a roof, above abode, nor place a plate upon, a table, for their younglings, through their handiwork.
A society has been created round about us, that fosters the black blood of monied enterprise.
A chokehold established, with further-futuristic establishing.
The future, may bode unwell, in future-d circumstance, toward individuated sustenance & fostering.
Tho’ Man… still remains, most Inventive.
They of Ads & Vising, ought not forget Buddha’s Noble Teaching of Right Work/Livelihood. And deny the cult, Man by Man.
This I pray.