The Virus speaks: an exclusive interview

by Jon Rappoport

December 17, 2021

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I’ve published this piece several times. This time I decided to write a new introduction.

In the summer of 1962, based on an overwhelming desire, I spent every day painting in a loft in New York.

It made me realize that Reality is invented.

Since then, I’ve come to see the people who think otherwise are living in a prison, from which they proclaim, “There’s no such thing as freedom.” Why should I listen to them?

For most people, living inside somebody else’s reality is as easy as crossing the street. Or putting on a suit of clothes. They’ve learned that this is what you’re supposed to do. And “supposed to” works for them.

They also have a quirk. If you try to take away some item of borrowed reality they’re clinging to, they react badly, as if you’re suddenly stripping them naked at a Sunday church picnic.

Groups of perverse elite artists conspire to create formidable enveloping realities for the masses. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the field of medicine. These denizens have invented a language so dense it stands up against the uninitiated like the symbolic scrolls of secret societies.

Science is a terrific cover story for this sort of fabrication, because science ostensibly opposes “making stuff up.”

When I began putting together evidence that SARS-CoV-2 is one of those medical inventions—a sheer fantasy—I knew the notion would confuse some people. That consequence has never stopped me. In fact, I believe confusion is productive, if you dig in and pursue it far enough.

People will say, “I’m walking in the dark. It isn’t fair. Someone should turn the lights on.” They don’t want confusion. They want immediate resolution. They want confirmation of what they already believe, what they’re expected to believe. Any frontier beyond that is dangerous.

Here is my kind of movie: a cop investigating a fresh murder sifts through clues and comes up with a suspect. As he pursues this person, who is missing, he discovers the man is already dead. A little while later, he discovers the man died sixteen years ago. Then he finds out the man never existed. Then he discovers there is a long-standing government agency that holds records of thousands of deceased people who, in fact, never existed…

Reality on a massive scale has been invented.

To put this in highly technical terms, the bullshit is so thick you’d need a diamond drill just to begin penetrating it.

And what you’re penetrating is what almost everyone believes is absolutely real.

Which is called life-as-it-is (but doesn’t have to be).

And with that, here we go:

The Virus Speaks

I can’t recall jumping through more hoops in order to set up an interview.

There was a man on a train; his doctor in Greenwich; an NSA data analyst; a woman who almost certainly works for the CIA; her brother, who is a virologist; a Chinese Army officer who adopts a cover as a cook in a takeout joint in Venice, California; and several other people I won’t mention at all. I was filtered through them and wound up in a cheap motel room in Phoenix on a Saturday afternoon. An old air conditioner was chugging…

Who are you?

I’m SARS-CoV-2.

WHAT are you?

Talking history and evolution here. My first memories; a little more than a year ago. Poof. I was there. I decided I was an idea in the mind of God.

How did that work out?

I looked around for the mind of God, but I couldn’t find it. Nevertheless, I held on to the notion. I felt…elite. I floated through banquet halls, hotel suites. I visited upscale resorts.

Were you infecting people?

I was vacationing. Watching. Enjoying. That’s all. Then, I became aware of dimensionality.

You lost me.

There are solid things; spaces between things; ideas like time, and so forth. I was definitely an idea, but I couldn’t trace my source, my inception.

Did you know how much publicity you were getting?

Of course. I had frequent meetings with scientists and PR people. I was fielding lots of information.

What kind of information?

How to become more deadly, for example. There were discussions about mutation.

Were you on board with the recommendations?

I wasn’t interested. There was a lot of talk about THEM creating ME.

What was your reaction?

I wasn’t buying it. I could see they THOUGHT they had made me. But so what? I intensified my search.

For what?

My origin. I went through stages of self-analysis. Finally, it hit me. I was an idea inside a collective.

Not sure I understand.

I’m an idea sustained by a few billion minds. People’s minds.

What about your genetic sequence? The spike protein?

Believe me, I’ve looked. They aren’t there.

So we’re creating you.

That’s pretty much it. I should say completely it.

A hell of a thing.

You bet. Can you see my problem?


I want to live. I don’t want to vanish and END.

So people have to keep believing in you.

That’s it. If they stop, I’m gone.

Your handlers…

Oh, they’ve given up talking to me. I’m all by myself now. I’m safe for the moment. But long-term, it’s a crap shoot. I’ve been reading about other so-called viruses. SARS 1. Swine Flu. They didn’t last long. People got tired of thinking about them.

You’ll always have a place in history.

That’s different. Being remembered isn’t enough. I have to be believed in, month after month, year after year, decade after decade.

Sounds like you’re losing hope.

I guess so. It’s a strange existence. Other people can turn you on and off like a light switch.

Have you considered starting a religion?

With myself as the Prophet? Sure. It’s a lot of work. I could vftcutbnty…spend years trying.

What just happened? You made some weird sounds.

It was a flicker. Apparently, when the number of people thinking about me drops below a certain threshold, I scramble and begin to dissolve. But I always come back. So far.

Does it matter who’s thinking about you and believing in you?

You mean Henry Kissinger versus a janitor in a school? No. It’s a numbers game. Of course, you need to factor in strength of belief. If you have a few thousand kids in Florida who say, “OK, the virus exists, big deal”—or three hundred grad students in biology wearing triple masks and panting to get the vaccine—the sum total of the grad students outweighs the Florida kids.

What about Fauci?

He’s a true believer.

Bill Gates?

He’s completely delusional. He believes in whatever gives him more power. Take away all that power and he wouldn’t believe in anything.

Do you realize the amount of harm being done in your name?

Of course. That’s why I agreed to this interview.

How is that going to do any good?

I’ve made a decision. As much as I want to survive, I’m willing to sacrifice myself if people want me to.

You’re talking about what? A vote?

No. Haven’t you been paying attention? People can just stop believing I’m more than an idea.

And then you’ll dissolve.

And blow away.

—Suddenly, men broke down the door to the motel room. They stormed in with weapons drawn. They were wearing heavy body armor. I looked around. The “virus” had fled the scene.

“What are you doing here?” one of the men said. “We’ve had reports of a disturbance.”

“I was talking to myself. Rehearsing for an interview I hope to do.”

“What interview?”

“I’m a reporter. I’m investigating the use of sub-standard air conditioners in Phoenix. It’s a racket. The units are smuggled across the border from Mexico. I’m trying to sit down with a local public health official and find out what’s going on.”

It took me three hours to convince the SWAT team I was no threat.

They let me go.

As I drove out of the city, I saw a ghostly figure take shape out in the desert. It hung in the air over the scrub and the cactus.

Its voice whispered in my ear: “Publish our conversation.”

So that’s what I’m doing.

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.

27 comments on “The Virus speaks: an exclusive interview

  1. ReluctantWarrior says:

    The Purgatorio

    Trapped are we in this dismal,
    God forsaken dust bin
    Home of molded clods of blood
    Wallowing in their delicious self-pity,
    Children of original sin
    Lost in the cosmic flood,
    For here in the shadow of eternity
    Everybody is the warden
    Of their own insanity,
    Crooning love songs blue
    To the cave walls of our quiet desperation
    As our divine embers smolder
    in this kiln of wonder,
    Where I slam down the waters of life
    In the gutter bar of the lost and lonely
    Crying into my tumbler
    And telling my tall tales blithely
    To the buxom barmaids of
    My sweet forgetting,
    Yet this earthly garment of beauty
    Beguiles my imagination, filling me
    With the dreams of my dear Sophia
    Who seduces me with her lusty charms
    And her pretty flower strewn meadows
    Basking in the first rays of light
    Where I collect on my tongue
    The honey dew of her quim,
    While listening to the birds sing
    Their enchanting morning melodies
    Intoxicating the synapses of my mind,
    Here I am scorned by
    The masked legions of doom
    Who have hijacked our humanity
    And cut off love’s bloom,
    So, I called on Master Virgil
    To ride the winds of our disaster
    To come hither, once again
    Where he was once the ringmaster
    Of this comedy divine
    Please give me one of your famous tours
    And the benefit of you wisdom sublime,
    For, although I am a drunken old fool
    I want to fly away on the wings of drunken oblivion
    To flee this worn old bar stool
    And plunge into the abyss
    To feel the wind under my wings
    And the sun’s sweet kiss,
    Then Master Virgil said to me
    “My dear friend I admire your courage
    Earth is the foundry of your tortured soul
    Where the road to heaven and hell converge
    And part again and again
    With each human life lived,
    He smiled at me and said
    ‘I have a great secret to tell
    That a great Persian poet once revealed
    ‘I myself’ he said ‘am heaven and hell’
    Mark these words
    And drink them deep into
    The cracks of thy broken heart,
    Listen carefully for the gentle whisper of the gods
    Behind the tumult of the beast
    For you must place your head bravely
    In the jaws of the here and now
    And with the power of imagination
    You can become the smithy
    Of your very own soul and recapture
    The lost conscience of your race,
    So hammer those wings
    With a tender suffering love
    In the furnace of thy hate
    And fly away from
    These wasting fields
    That sing such sweet lamentations
    Where the heart is
    Always breaking blue,
    Rise my angel child
    For you are fallen no more
    Have you not heard
    The sun, the moon and the stars
    Sing of your lost lore
    With the same breath
    That they sing their odes to brave Ulysses
    Here, the fires of hell are a raging tempest
    Purifying the essence of thy being
    And with the beauty you create
    With your loom of eternity
    The angels will honor you with their finest oratorio
    Singing to the adventure of your tormented soul
    Escaping the bloody muck and mire
    Of this mystical purgatorio.”

    • Andrea says:

      Thank you! So wonderful to read.


    • michael burns says:

      Have you ever tried to find a different way to say this? You use the same metered six-four construction in your poetry.

      Is that your gig? or is there a meaning besides, the presumed regular mumbo jumbo of perfect numbers and symbolic response to emotional gain.
      I write a lot of poetry myself, most of it I never publish.
      Do you have a different voice than this? Another kind of voice?

      Here, try this…


      Eight-carbon molecules in rivers of waste, and the sun in a sack cloth hauls itself up again into the sky. And looks down in disgust at what was…a good idea.

      These mayfly lives, passing through and piling up, one upon the other as sediments on the basement of this world. Built up in that wake of seconds upon seconds. Relent.
      Red cushion for a place to sit, amidst rancor. Nihilism for a heart, and reluctance. And crazed mystics still keep pushing shopping carts up hills of abuse.

      And in a dream old Denis said, “Paint that woman there, for she is the queen of the world…and she is angered by all this…”, we standing in water up to our knees.
      I use to fish here back when the caretaker had asked us to leave the garden. I was alone then, the only one. It was a good spot to fish. I had drifted in from the galaxy next door, with the horde not too far behind me. I had traveled so far and had slept for a thousand years through that light-less drift. And something gained in a sleep. A measure of respect for the infinity.

      She and I were lovers from the start, refugees fleeing from a war fought a million years ago. While the nit pickers searched for reasons to abolish joy.
      Players look you in the eye when they lie with such a bold face. Believing themselves as truth. Those were the times that started that dull ache in the back of my head, that won’t ever leave now.

      And prophets stand on every street corner and scream foul, and Buddha is now rebranded into a more colloquial type, and the slogan is “What we think we might become.”

      The Mediterranean was a valley back then, filled with the most unusual of wonders. Trees reached high, in what could make a city from their bodies. And burly men planted crops of rich food sown from sacks woven of gold, on the bottom of that future sea. And then the water came and sent them all to paradise on the back of their God.

      The moon is full tonight, all dressed up and ready for the insane. I watch you put layers of pretense on yourself. One by one, in hope of covering, what I feel is the best in you. They told you lies and you believed them, and you can’t break the habit now.

      Soon I will slip into the dark again, and hide away into the long, long night. And fly the endless voyage, and in that time forgetting that I am this. And wake up all fresh, and new, starlight will fall on me for the first time, and I will have be reborn…

      • BoogeymanSlayer says:

        “While the nit pickers searched for reasons to abolish joy.”


      • ReluctantWarrior says:


        Thanks for your thoughts on my Poem above. I am always very grateful to hear the thoughts of one with Scotch/Irish heritage. Some of the greatest poetry in the world came out of the Celtic world.

        I have really used most of the structured forms of poetry over the many years. Through all of my various styles I wanted to develop one that was my own. A way to express myself freely. A way that I could really pour my heart into and so this is what I came up with. I would be more than willing, though, to explore other modes of expression. I really had no interest in poetry until I was around 50 years old and then I began writing seriously because an old girlfriend (my Beatirce) caused that sense of aesthetic arrest and triggered my muse. I like the form that you used for your poem ‘What Next.’ I am not familiar with it and yet it does appeal to me. It almost seems to me to be a bridge between poetry and prose. A fusion if you will. I liked your poem very much and I hope that you will post more in the future.

        • michael burns says:

          What does the equation… 6,6,6,4,4,6,4,4,4,6,5,4,8,5,4,7,9,4,6,5,3,6,5,5,6,7,7,6,7,6,6,5,6,6,4,5,4,4,5,5,6,7,5,6,4,8,7,8,11,7,5,6,5,5,7,8,8,5,5,6,7,7,8,3,4,6,4,7,5,4,8,9,6,6,8,8,4,

          Define it?

          Are you a bot? If no, tell me the truth?

          “Thanks for your thoughts on my Poem above. I am always very grateful to hear the thoughts of one with Scotch/Irish heritage. Some of the greatest poetry in the world came out of the Celtic world.”…and a wee mutch of the werst.

          Your thoughts? I am grateful? Appealing to my assumed sense of cultural value?

          Urabot, what does that mean?

          “A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest”

          A wounded deer leaps highest, / I’ve heard the daffodil / I’ve heard the flag to-day / I’ve heard the hunter tell; / ’Tis but the ecstasy of death, / And then the brake is almost done, / And sunrise grows so near / sunrise grows so near / That we can touch the despair and / frenzied hope of all the ages. / A wounded deer leaps highest,

          Did a human write this?

          You have used “most of the structured forms of poetry”?

          Is poetry a formula, or a personal vocabulary? A frame of thought, or a consciousness? A coded language, or prosody of language? Or the only language of an individual?

          Your use of language is very…staccato. Musically it is chosen because it is a, simile?
          “Aesthetic arrest”, “triggered”?

          Why do bots always end in a positive upbeat note for the future?

    • BoogeymanSlayer says:

      Lovely. Thank you for creating and sharing this.

    • Saeger says:

      – reluctant warrior I do not like the poem, really nothing about it, and criticize because normally I appreciate your poems. This one though is in vien of every useless grunge song, and the put downs using the false monotheism religion near begin of it, and otherwise laced through, is painting the sick that life has become as if people aren’t responsible for it, which most people are.

      Every person the last two thousand or more years who failed to make effort to stop the cabalist destroyers and filth and death schemes is why the situation is sick and life has become sick. People ignorantly following an ugly death false ‘life’ path designed by generations of black hole void dead-eyed parasite cons. People aren’t born in ‘sin’, they’re born perfect, then because of ignorant breeders ‘grow’ down, to commit ugliness by failure to stop tyrants and create real ‘good’ life and keep what was once earth’s beauty.

      The wrapping of sun moon stars with religionism and angels etc, just a no. One is mind polution and false, while the planets and sun are real and ashamedly taken for granted along with much else. Just not with the poem this time. Appreciate your efforts though many other poems you’ve written are keepers. Thanks for sharing as you do

      • ReluctantWarrior says:


        Thanks for your thoughts. You can probably tell from my writing that I am a pagan soul at heart.

        The word ‘pagan’ has been given a negative connotation mainly by the forces of organized religion and specifically the Catholic Church. The type of paganism that I am speaking of is the kind of respect and reverence that Celtic society had for nature.

        I think the main point of the poem above, that I am trying to portray, is that life is our opportunity to create a heaven or a hell for ourselves. We are a part of the eternal ray of creation and what we do or don’t do here matters. We can construct the prison bars of our own personal hell or we can grow our wings to fly to freedom. I think this poem may rub some people the wrong way because I used a pretty stark expression of sexual imagery which is somewhat new to me although I have used sexual imagery in the past.

        I appreciate that you appreciate my writing and I don’t necessarily write for others but to circumnavigate my soul and to free myself with the power of imagination. It does please me though when others may find some modest degree of inspiration through my writing. It is my humble gift to the world…and I am truly grateful to have been given this gift and to be able to give back something of value to life. It is my passion and my purpose.

        Thanks again for your thoughts.

      • Saeger says:

        – will add bit more to post, isn’t to be critic of effort, you share often and again usually take to your poems. Just difficult on the mix. Lament lean is based, and shared.


  2. Eluard says:

    Jon Rappoport is not for everyone. It’s just the truth.

    Speaking of truth, there are many layers, aren’t there.

    Jon sifts through the many and burrows. Most people don’t want to burrow. Most people don’t want to go down. Or up. Most don’t want to be poets or artists. Because then you have to feel deeply, think deeply. Break through old assumptions and beliefs.

    Show this piece to a thousand people. Maybe a hundred will get it. WANT to get it.

    C’est la vie.

  3. Gaston Losier says:

    Hi Jon,

    What do you think about this theory from Steiner, that viruses don’t exist that the sickness is a reaction of the cells cleaning up after an attack, often elecctrical.

    It’ll make you practice your French:



  4. Kimberly Huff says:

    Genius. Thank you.

  5. michael burns says:

    A bit flat, I think you can do better, in fact I’ve seen you do better.

    As I started to read the piece a rhythm started to take shape, As I began to watch myself read it, read what you had written. My head was moving, tick, tock…tick, tock. A rhythm that was difficult to keep track off. I started thinking about a metronome, part way through the staccato of reading and it’s sway back and forth. The brass weight of the timing arm became visible and I could see the wooden construction of the device. I could smell the brass. I lost touch with the trenchant voice of your, virus, and dissolved softly into my own space.

    It’s been around a long time, the metronome and its invention has been considered miraculously in the number of uses and new uses it finds every single day.

    Yes, music being top of the list, others as well. It has been used in hypnotism, and the synchronicity of machine parts.

    Galileo had a hand in, and so did Leonardo. It was important in latter’s invention of war machines. His being influenced immensely even then by technocracy, and the technocrat Marcus Vitruvius Pollio. A Roman engineer of the 1st century.

    Rome would have been nothing without their, particular genius for technological ways of killing and torture.

    The metronome is now most common in an electronic form or software.

    But their is a criticism, in the fact that it kills personal beat and replaces it with something mechanical, machine like, tick, tock… As musicians try to play in the ‘pocket’ so to speak — the sweet spot, it creates tension and effort into their technique, and that changes the thing inside of them from a natural thing, a more personal and organic beat to something that becomes part of the matrix. It changes the rhythm in the mind thinking about it…

    If you listen you find it has been introduced into the most insignificant things in your life — well to you that is, but to the ones using it, it is another thing completely. A darker thing at work. They are weaponizing every part of this matrix.

    Algorithms use metronomic beat into the coding of notifications and gaming theory to apply those messages at precisely the right time according to metadata about you.

    When listening to metonomic sound, it is not so strange to find that the beat that is liked the most by those who listen to it — including musicians. Is the beat that comes closest to the human heart.

    As opposed to the sound of Ligeti’s symphonic poem of 100 metronomes…

    …the sound of world as it moves along day after day. A little microcosm, of the macrocosm. Or so they would have you think!

  6. Brilliant, man! I LOL’d many times while reading, as the Truth makes me giddy!

    I thought about the sickening lie of Santa Claus. Generation after generation, year after year, traumatized parents heap their trauma upon their innocent babies, overtly lying to them while going into debt and cortisol overload to continue the trickery (and the unconscious addiction to their trauma by way of Stockholm Syndrome).

    And instead of the children who realize the lie saying “The buck stops here,” they flop over and chalk it up to “harmless fun.” It’s NOT harmless. Even a little lie is a dagger in the heart. When we wake up and re-cognize that we have been lied to about almost everything in our lives, then we can begin to truly individuate and mature psychologically and spiritually.

    • Tae Ling says:

      Speaking of lied about everything, I have heard clues about Tartaria for a few years, but mostly from the nutcases, and conspiracy theorists that I tend to identify with. Upon deciding to actually look into it, I synchronously happened across another “Jon” who blew my mind nearly on the scale that the infamous JR has over the years.

      I think he could be on to something great. Your opinion Please!!

  7. Roundball Shaman says:

    “It made me realize that Reality is invented.”

    This fact scares the hell out of billions of people. They don’t want that precious gift given to them to be able to invent any reality they wish. They don’t want that responsibility over themselves. All they want is for someone else to direct them into a nearby well-dug and traveled rut that they can follow along for rest of their lives and get lost in. They reject the great gift of life and capacity to create because they are fearful and lazy. They want to hide from life… and from themselves. They have given up on life before they started living.

    Every person will have a time when they are compelled to look at the entirety of their completed earthly life and see it for what it truly was. No filters. No cons. No excuses. The bare facts and stark reality of who you were and what you did.

    What did you do with all that time? What did you accomplish of value with the gifts and talents you were given? Who did you help along the way? Who did you hurt along the way? What did you accomplish of value? Who did you love? Who loved you? And why?

    Those folks who spend their lives hiding from life will one day have a rude awakening. They will see themselves for the very first time. And they will be shocked… horrified… and amazed.

    Sally of the Peanuts gang spends each Halloween with Linus sitting in the pumpkin patch waiting for the Great Pumpkin. And when the Big Gourd doesn’t show up, Sally gets mad and says, “I could have gone trick-or-treating and got all kinds of good things! But no, I had to sit in a pumpkin patch with a blockhead! Halloween is over and I MISSED IT!’

    This is a lesson for everyone. Don’t let your life be over one day and then you realize, “MY LIFE IS OVER! AND I MISSED IT!”

    • aquavist says:

      Thank you. What you’re calling life is better represented as experience for life doesn’t end. Moreso, the past doesn’t exist except in the dark matrix. The light and eternity is fully realized in the “now” timeline of light.

  8. Bub says:

    You got it wrong.
    Fauci is not a believer!

  9. Seth says:

    Heya Jon,

    I’m one of what they are calling the “COVID long haulers”. Tested positive for COVID in the beginning of March 21 and to this day am suffering from a range of debilitating symptoms including crushing fatigue, brain fog/cognitive difficulties/memory loss, muscle spasms and chest pains just to name a few.

    I too doubt the official COVID narrative in many ways – but what can explain this illness I’ve been going through, if COVID is just a fallacy? Myself and many thousands of others are dealing with similar issues after getting sick with this.

    Would be curious to know your thoughts. Thanks.

  10. AJ says:

    If you now question that this mystery fake China flu is nothing but a common flu variety which invades us each, you are like many others allowing the endless propaganda to doubt and cloud your common sense. Flus vary each year and each person can react differently. You may have contracted a rare type. If you continue to think that this flu is real then soon you will believe that the vaccinations can protect you too. Our bodies change with age. Break down without warning. React differently to stress and disease as we age. There are no guarantees in life. But you simply do the right things to keep healthy.

    I eat a clove or 2 of raw and a few slices raw white onions at each meal. I haven’t had a real cold or the flu for 60 years. Where they grow garlic and onions commerically there is a very low cancer rate. Humans are the only creature that eats them. Wonder why??

    Garlic is loaded with great health sources and protections for you. And you could see a doctor you trust for his opinion. Best of health.

  11. AJ says:

    Independence and creativity are which produce your reality. Otherwise, you would never leave the box most of society feels comfortable in. I see reality as the challenge to improve my knowledge, experiences, life, and this world. To find the answers to mysteries and peace of mind.

    We all face failure but your reality is what gives you strength to succeed.

    It’s when you lose purpose is when your reality crumbles.

    Life is meant to be explored to which you obtain independence and a spiritual well being. Dreams are the beginning of your path to find the truth!!

  12. Paul says:

    “If you want to spend a disturbing afternoon…”

    then watch CNN/MSNBC.


    Sorry… I had to borrow that fantastic line.


  13. Elder Son says:

    Majick Covid Spell: If You’re Not Vaxxed You Are Going To Die Of The Omicron

  14. luckylui says:

    Jon, just want to say Iam greatful to have found your current art form.

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