by Jon Rappoport
May 6, 2022
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Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not writing for your mother-in-law. I’m writing for you.
Your mother-in-law is still deciding whether to vote for Jimmy Carter or Ronald Reagan. She thinks J Edgar Hoover is Herbert Hoover.
A few readers have suggested I should make several adjustments, so my work is more “accessible” to the general public.
The general public is a collectivist cheeseball which has been sitting in a frying pan, with the flame set on low, for a very long time.
I published my first article in 1982. I’ve never made any adjustments.
Since then, I’ve only worked one change. I stopped taking assignments from editors. I don’t like them. I’ve always had the crazy notion that if editors want writers to carve away THIS and add THAT, they should write the pieces themselves. There are three reasons they don’t: they can’t write; they’re filled with self-importance; they’re lazy bureaucrats.
For me, writing has ebbs and flows. They depend on me finding a tag-end I like, which I then pull on. The article then takes shape. The tag-end might be a headline I read. It might be some absurd insane sentence uttered by a news anchor. It might be a scene in a dream. It might be an answer to the question, “What would be crazier than the last tag-end I found?”
If I can’t think of a tag, I sit here and stare at the wall and keep thinking. Or I watch a cooking show. Or I go over the five or six pretentious scuzzy reasons doctors deploy when they assure readers the virus exists. Or I fly my Gulfstream to London, where I dine with the Queen, and discuss how non-existent climate change will force us to eat insects for protein. Or I find a medical review admitting that, in 2001, only 18 flu deaths in the US could be traced to a flu virus. Actually, the number is zero. Or I reread the NY Times opinion piece which revealed the three major clinical trials of the COVID vaccines were designed to show the injection could prevent nothing more serious than cough, chills, and fever—after which the Times never mentioned the subject again. Or I consider how fear of the virus and love of the virus and the conviction the virus exists merge like a subconscious nursery rhyme. Or I imagine a time when men and women would have laughed off orders to lock down and would have gone about their lives without a second thought. And THAT’S a tag-end:
JULY 20, 2020. Look at what happened to a great city, to the people of that city, who over several decades were subjected to forms of cultural mind control…and who then became DIFFERENT.
…People turning into caricatures of themselves. In the process, they were ripened for takeover—which is what happened when the fake pandemic was declared.
New York. Once upon a time, I was married to it. No more. But it’s still my city.
I was born there. One of my early memories was looking across 2nd Avenue at a candy store. This was 1943. The candy store no longer sold Fleer’s bubble gum—the best bubble gum—because the latex was needed for the War effort. But the rumor was, they peddled it under the counter for an exorbitant two cents a chunk, with the cartoon inside the wrapper.
When I was 22, after growing up in the suburbs, I moved back to NY and for several years lived among some of the smartest asymmetric people in the world. You could have an argument with the dumbest person in the city and it would be a smart argument. Everyone had opinions, and they could back them up. There was no such thing as political correctness, believe me. If you had uttered the phrase, no one would have known what you were talking about.
New York was a great city. The thing was, no one was proud to BE a New Yorker. That false synthetic layer of goo came much later. In the old days, there was no pose, no artificial front. People had ideas, they had talent, they had survival instincts.
The best jazz musicians in the world lived and played in New York. When a giant like Bud Powell was playing at Birdland, you could get in for a dollar and sit in a hard wooden chair and listen to him until two in the morning. A buck for the greatest pianist in the world.
And now, the city is wrecked and boarded up, and the people are locked in.
Out on the street, the few aimless glazed pedestrians wear masks. They’re not the same people. They’re replacements. Pods.
OVERNIGHT, the people of New York could throw off the whole phony pandemic, not only for themselves, but the world. They could come out of their apartments and go back to work, defying the petty little lunatics like Cuomo and De Blasio. They could open up their restaurants and bars and stack in the customers. They could start building again. They could open wide the libraries and museums and fill the concert halls. They could open up the little groceries to all comers. They could laugh in the face of the public health authorities.
And it would be OVER.
In 1960, that’s exactly what would have happened. And not for some cause. Not for the chance to do a little virtue signaling. Not for the sake of “being a New Yorker.” For survival. For continuing to live their lives, people would have shaken off that slimy fraud Fauci like a five-minute bad dream. A joke played by an idiot.
They would have looked at the screaming lockdown headlines in the newspapers on the corner stand and shrugged and gone on their way. “You’re telling me I can’t walk down the street and listen to John Coltrane at the Jazz Gallery on a summer night? You’re out of your mind.” And the Termini brothers, who owned the club, would have packed the place even tighter than usual, just to thumb their noses at the mayor and his con artists. They would have put in a call to their contact at Democratic Machine headquarters. And it would have been OVER.
No one would have obeyed. Independent scholars would have walked into the 42nd St. library, as they did every day, and gone to the reference desk and asked for manuscripts on ancient Roman law and the Walt Whitman papers and the early maps of the city. The quiet upstairs macrobiotic restaurant on 2nd Avenue would have served supper as usual. The Cedar Bar on University Place would have turned in another raucous night. The Irish bars would have been jammed. A chamber orchestra in Washington Square Park would have performed Vivaldi, with the sounds of traffic from 6th Avenue in the background. Miles Davis would have played two sets at the Apollo. If Ravi Shankar was in town, he would have laid out a few stunning hours of ragas at the Asia Society and adjourned to an East Side apartment to continue on until dawn. No one and nothing would have obeyed a lockdown.
Pandemic? Virus? Get serious.
That New York…where is it? Who are all these flat minds swearing allegiance to medical fakery? Are they passively waiting for gold stars on the blackboard from the teacher?
In the old days, New York had DISDAIN. You didn’t get by with platitudes. You didn’t blithely mouth Left or Right and get away with it. The city was plugged into its own non-stop bullshit detector. What did you have to OFFER? Aimless blabbermouths were consigned to a special circle of Hell.
There was no political PROGRAM. Today’s “New Yorkers” would apparently be afraid to live in a landscape like that. They wouldn’t know which way to turn. They have a desperate need to become slaves to an IDEA. In this case, an idea about a virus.
In the 1960s, concealed by the Vietnam War, the city was undergoing a transformation into a cartoon of itself. That’s when the synthetic notion of “being a New Yorker”—based on nothing—started to take hold.
There were many reasons. The shrinking value of the dollar. Crippling street drugs. Mind numbing leveling television. The raising of children to be targets of advertising and fetish objects in a consumer society. The new New Yorkers were taught that liberal politics were a necessary adjunct of their status. Liberal equaled big government. Messaging from every possible quarter was aimed at turning the people of the city into servants of share and care as defined by government…
Going to doctors and acquiring serial diagnoses of physical and mental conditions was starting to take off as a social trend. The medicines and the vaccines were, of course, toxic. The city was taking in more immigrants than it could handle. There weren’t enough jobs. Desultory schools were steamrollered. Literacy was being destroyed. Even skyscraper architecture was moving away from unique structures like the Chrysler and the Empire State, into functional steel and glass boxes. Signs of the minds.
With people dumbed down enough, they would fall for any con. Any piece of shiny gloss. And it was eventually provided:
New York media covered the rise of New Money in the city as if it were a perfumed cultural signal of a dawning utopia. By the 1970s, envious intellectuals in the city were reading and admiring hyped chronicles of the emerging $$ stars of Manhattan: painters, fashioneers, stock speculators. And yes, Trump. The content of these celebs’ characters was entirely irrelevant. All that mattered was that their hustles were ringing up extraordinary sales in inflated dollars.
And finally, to view how thin and vulnerable new New York had become, and how brainless—when, in 2020, the fake pandemic hit, and lockdowns were announced, the population promptly folded, stayed indoors, went into mask and social distance mode without a whisper of protest.
In short order, the city was made over into abject wreckage, shuttered, obedient, loyal to a psychotic delusion.
In a silly song he recorded long after its internal demise, Frank Sinatra said New York was the city that never sleeps.
Now that’s all it does.
CODA: If the September 11th attacks had happened in 1960, there would have been no need for Billy Joel or the Yankees to rally “all New Yorkers.” The people of the city would have looked at the firemen and cops as human heroes risking everything for other humans. Period. That would have been enough. More than enough. That would have gone deep into souls and minds. Where it counts.
—Entraining minds. The job of the Super-State. Reworking independence into devotion to a synthetic pose of altruism.
But in this phony pandemic, it’s good to be BAD…
I’m not talking about looting and burning. I’m talking about a different type of BAD. Think it through. Figure it out. It’s always there, like a tag-end. You just have to pull on it…
(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.
Jon, you are always honing your skills. This is excellence.
I think you posted most of that NY ode in 2020, am I right? Loved it then, love it now.
I just wonder how long what Jon is saying herein about the “old NYC” will resonate? Not resonate, but actually be viscerally felt? When many of us who knew that NY–or remnants of it later on–have gone on to other cosmic adventures?
I remember when I read this in ’20 I already felt like it was a love letter from a very distant past. Bud Powell? Coltrane? Vivaldi in the park? Opinions FREELY expressed with no fear of PC condemnation? Will it come back? It’s becoming more machine-like, the ways of thinking, the reactions. Abundant marijuana won’t solve it. That too becomes a fog for the vision.
In the ’80s I used to hang at Folk City and The Back Fence and Cafe Reggio. Yes, Washington Sq. Park. There was still a little magic to be gleaned, some of the old timers to talk to and learn from. Maybe there’ll be a resurgence. Put down those devices for an hour or two. Maybe magic can once again rise from those stinky streets and lift up to Laguardia Place and meet me over on McDougal.
Epic and funny!
“The general public is a collectivist cheeseball which has been sitting in a frying pan, with the flame set on low, for a very long time.”
I laughed so hard. It’s so accurate. Jon has been my go to journalist since 1989 when Fauci basically killed four of my best friends with AZT.
Jon is one of the very few that helps me feel sane.
Much respect. Beyond respect.
As one who grew up in NY and migrated to NC long ago this rings pretty darn true. AND Fleer was the best bubble gum, Bazooka, the most popular, was a distant second.
Too many soy boys!…..I am sure people in New York are still showering with masks on! Right on, Jon
Generally I urge friends, family and neighbors not to get the jab….in my Mother-In-Law’s case I am willing to make an exception.
As a native New Yorker, I relate completely to what Jon is saying. This is no longer the same city. And yes there are pod people among us all masked up walking outside! Check out my music video POD PEOPLE BARBECUE at
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dr5y3gndykM.
I’ve written over 30 songs about the scamdemic. Get my free eBooks containing all the lyrics and links for song and videos which you can download for free at
http://turfseermusic.com.
I’m still in disbelief New York dropped to it’s knees without a fight… I kept waiting for Cuomo and Deblasio to disappear; or perhaps appear in a dumpster somewhere… but it never happened. I haven’t been to New York City in years, but I remember it having really big balls… It’s really quite unimaginable that the entire city, (America’s heartbeat) got castrated somewhere along the way…
Thanks, Jon. I have been saying since the early days of the CovAin’t that if men refused to wear the muzzle, none of this insanity would be happening:
sharinewonders.wordpress.com
Now it is a smart city. So You don’t have to be.
It is strange that I have the same feelings as you. I have grown in a small city in East Europe. Under communist rule. 30-40-50 years ago, if there were 10 people at a table, there were 10 opinions. Now there is only one maximum two opinions; and the opinions are just what TV said one day ago. The soviet propaganda was very simmilar with EU propaganda, but nobody believed a word. Now people repeat the TV propaganda like parrots. They are somehow programmed to believe.
When I think of NYC I think of Mad magazine and when I think about Mad magazine I think of NYC.
911 brought us the war on terror and Covid-19 brought us the war on fun.
Maybe the reason Mort Drucker mysteriously died in 2020 was because the CIA murdered him. Just a theory.
Smiles and laughter are forbidden in Covid Clown world and that is the main purpose of the mask. Smiling may be interpreted as making fun of the virus.
I told my wife’s doctors that the reason we refuse to take the experimental vaccine is because we are waiting for them to test it on animals first. That, and because laughter is the best medicine.
You love writing.
You are writing for you.
Which is in essence the ” I” in the I am.
The I in the ” Individual.
I was born in New York in 1954 in the East Village and ended up on Sutton Place in 1985 – 92. I saw alot of the same things you describe. My experience was Beatniks to Hippies to Bloomingdales Hippies to Wall Street and so on. When I was a kid there were beer breweries and sweat shops in New York. Small restaurants and Kleins Deptartment store. Not dominated by banks so it was people oriented. But the rot was slow and started in the early 1960’s. Took time. Tammany Hall (before my time obviously) was never squashed but remorphed. The love of money is the root of all evil and the breweries and sweat shops and mom and pop delis are gone and replaced with corruption and socialism and banks. I worked on Wall Street, a high end sweat shop.
Thanks for your work Jon
Never be a pleaser
Tell the whole truth, and if they can’t swallow, that’s there problem
“What can be made explicit to idiots is not worth my care.” — William Blake
Oh Jon. I suffer at your side. I truly do. The sciences and all else in what serves as current intellectual culture fail the cause of evolution of thought. Don’t have to say more, do I? Were that I could, I would serve you a nice single malt. And we would toast a future of the cold life of “knowing” for those who can endure it.
Double bubble bubble gum…loved it!!!!!!!!!!!!! Back off snobs. No that’s not all I “got” from the piece but I love double bubble:)
“A few readers have suggested I should make several adjustments, so my work is more ‘accessible’ to the general public.”
The General Public is never going to get ‘it’. That’s why they are the General Public. They have not stepped forward to separate themselves from the mass-level of crushing mediocrity. If They didn’t have the inner drive and flame to know that there is more to Life than being a member of the ‘general public’… They’re not going to magically find it now. There are no magic words to write. There is no invocation that will ignite a spiritual fire of self-realization.
And not even the inspired words we read from Our Host each day can do that. Not for a member of the ‘General’ public.
You can’t hold the plane ready for takeoff those who are late to the gate and didn’t do what was necessary to be where they needed to be when they needed to be. Same with This Space and the people who might read the words here.
The inspired words within This Space are available 24 hours every day to and for the
General Public if They want to and dare read them. But Our Host cannot water things down or be less than he was called to be because some people are late catching the flight. He would not be fulfilling his role as a modern-day prophet commenting on the State of the World and sharing his valuable messages with those who GET IT.
In the pages of This Space… the passengers are all ready… the plane is fueled… the engines are revving… the Tower has given clearance for takeoff… and OFF WE MUST GO. No waiting for those who didn’t or can’t make it.
The General Public LIKES what they are. Safe from being challenged… staying uninspired… shallow… not needing to exercise one’s own brain… followers always seeking and needing some Mommy or Daddy to follow… some Parent to tell them what to think and what to do and when to take toxic poisons and when to suffocate one’s self with masks that cover their nose… their face… the Life and spirit of a person and which turns them into a mindless drone ‘thing’ to be used for the dark agenda of some unseen Vulture Class out solely for their own interests and power.
This does not mean you give up on people entirely. When you can teach, you teach. You share what you can and are moved to share. When you see and have a chance to open some eyes (and hearts), you take it. That’s what those who catch The Flight of Inspiration are called to do.
But what you NEVER to is hold yourself back… water yourself down… try to appeal to those who have no claim or right on your inspired path of Life that you should sacrifice that divine road in any way for a single moment.
If you can try to reach them, try. Then… move on quickly. Those seeds you may have planted will either take root or not… and you can’t make them go one way or the other.
It’s on that other person. That member of the General Public.
A Wise One once said that if your message isn’t taking root… find some better soil. But in the case of many of the General Public… there IS NO better soil to be found among them.
General Public People today like being what They are. Less than what They can be. Less than what They were created to be. Living in a World of Shortage filled with people that embody what it means to have a shortage of drive and spirit and rejoicing in their state of… shortage.
Very sad for them. So much potential lost. So many opportunities that are missed. Entire Worlds that are not constructed because The Workers are too busy being… general.
There’s always another flight coming along if They want one. It’s up to them to find the wisdom, drive, and intelligence to take a seat and get on board for the RIDE OF THEIR LIVES.
Life is many, many things. But just to be ‘general’ will never be a feature of really living.
Concur one thousand percent!
You have an uncanny ability to peer with the pristine and precise laser of truth, your words are painted in my heart like a nostalgic melody from an era gone by, the scent of a beautiful maiden that turned left while you looked right. Keep on, my friend, I know your heart even though
I can’t see that far….
The ‘Heart’. The pathway right into our Spirit and Soul. Perhaps, the very seat of the Soul. Not the human level of ‘mind’, magnificent as It is. Not ‘reason’ and intellect. Not our ‘physical’ heart – magnificent as it is — because at the deepest level IS NOTHING PHYSICAL. It’s all energy that constantly and limitlessly flares and sparks and sparkles in all the forms we take and ‘see’ as ‘physical’ things.
Our Heart as the Seat of Our Energy and Consciousness. What we are at our most basic, deepest, truest level. And what we will always be. Our Home.
And what They can never take from us… unless we would surrender it to Them ourselves.
Energy and Consciousness. That’s what we are. That’s what Everything is. That’s the Seat of who and what we are. Energy, consciousness… and Heart.
And one never has to look very far to see Heart anywhere… because there is NO DISTANCE FOUND in…Heart. Limitless and Eternal. Omnipresent.
Keep listening for that nostalgic melody from an era gone by wherever you hear it. Because if Humans are to have a future on this Planet… that is the only way we’ll get there.
Goes in partnership with: “Choose your battle wisely, and concentrate on those who will listen.”
Even if it means only inspiring one person at a time to create change, THAT is still forward progress. Whereas those who continue to beat the drums loudly, in every direction, while trying to convince everyone to change, are the ones who are wasting their time.
Splendid bit of writing, moved me deeply.
NYC — Manhattan in particular — has become a playground for billionaires.
Tying two recent threads together, the great Bud Powell was maimed by the psychiatric profession:
“Tragedy struck again when Bud was hit on the head with a bottle in a bar fight. His psychiatric record led to a transfer to another mental institution, this time for 11 months. Bud underwent 40 treatments of electro-convulsive therapy, a new technique just being developed in the 1940s. As (Jackie) McLean recalls, “He was so messed up when he came out…I think they experimented on Bud.” ”
(https://legacy.npr.org/programs/jazzprofiles/archive/powell.html)
Spangler was right “Decline of the West” Also,
Francis Parker Yockey “IMPERIUM’ pen name Ulick Varange. 1948 The Philosophy of History and Politics. I read in 1980 and study it yet today. This book turned the light bright for me as to what starts a culture how it grows, matures, declines and dies. What takes it up to what brings it down, The hope is as I see it is to see the day as to a righteous government with increase without end written in the book of Isaih chapter 9.
This is one of the most clear compartives I’ve read. Facts all the way. I remember back in the day people from outside new york would sometimes say new yorkers were rude or tough but that would be perspective of the non-questioner. It was just as Jon says. I remember going to new york as a kid and across Wa dc also, family trip, in a van, dad had some sort of work convention to go to so made it a road trip, staying in motels. During the day he and the evil step mother would be at the business thing and sister and brothers and I were loose to do what there was to do. Imagine four kids age six through twelve wandering around new york or dc. The dad said stay within a one mile area of the motel, but still, yet in early seventies it wasn’t a problem to do that. Had to watch where you were going only because other people were in a hurry and would walk over you, or a bus run over you, other than that it was good. Went to a park, ate some pizza, went to the smithsonian in d.c., other stuff in new york. The people were just, stronger types, as Jon writes.
Adults would talk to us, and not like kids either, they talked to you like adults. Sort of tough or strong.
Really good Jon, strong points about strong people, and loss of perspective by propaganda hammering, comparison. Need to have our own spine, and hammer back.
I was born in a small town in the UK that grew up around the docks. Back in the 60s when I grew up the docks were thriving. Now its all gone. The docks are one big bland housing estate with zero character, just like the socially engineered masses glued to their doomboxes. Back in the day if a kid had measles, mums sent their kids over to get it and get it out the way. These were the days my friend.
Jon, I was a teen in the 60’s and grew up on Long Island. One article from the readers digest opened my eyes. It was a realization – locking up criminals in jail reduced the crime rate. This blew me away! Are the people in charge that pathetically stupid that it took decades to figure out locking away criminals would reduce the crime? Then you had the corrupt police dept in the city. I left NY in 1970. I was born there, but I never saw the beauty as you describe. I did see the beauty of San Diego, but sadly, over time, the corruption in California took over as in many other states. I’m going to pick a tangerine in my backyard and enjoy the view of the coast and then take a ride to a super charger just for the fun of it. It could be gone tomorrow with our ahole in chief (puppet masters) poking the nuclear bear.
Re: “A few readers have suggested I should make several adjustments, so my work is more “accessible” to the general public.”
“To gain your own voice, forget about having it heard.” – Allen Ginsberg
I face the same obstacles you do writing Posts. Some pieces come together like Magick – others have to marinate, sometimes for days.
I am proud to say I’m AntiVax. My mother kept a baby book for me. Here is my health record as she recorded it – born in May 1948.
Nov 1948 – injection 3in1 Whooping cough, tetanus, diphtheria
dec 1948 – injection
feb 1949 – injection
march 1949 – vaccination
sept 1953 – booster shot for school
oct 1955 – 2 injections for polio
They were poisoning us over 70 years ago. Now children get something like 40 or 60 vaccines – sickening. The only good thing about Covid is it is obvious that vaccination is only for money and to make people sicker, so they need more medical throughout their lives. From the beginning children were not at risk for Covid and still they pushed to mandate 5 years olds get the Jab – sick! These are crimes against humanity and I hope all those responsible are punished for it. Also, anyone who has seen the movie “vaxxed” knows the CDC knew about MMR vaccine and Autism and continues to cover it up to this day – for the MONEY!
“Are they passively waiting for gold stars on the blackboard from the teacher?”
You win the internet, today! That’s the nanny state for ya, creating docile pets for tomorrow. Which is exactly what the elites and their enablers in CONgress think of us.
If I’m to be treated like a pet, I’ll be the one that eats their grandchild. The world would be a whole lot better off if we all treated them like we are prepared to eat their grandchildren the instant we get treated like a pet.
Got salt?
This is one of the best pieces of writing I have come across in quite awhile. “Going to doctors and acquiring serial diagnoses of physical and mental conditions was starting to take off as a social trend”, this was the beginning of the undoing of an entire generation. A generation that “identifies” and introduces themselves with their diagnosis (or rather, a litany of them). A generation that lives behind a computer screen and is afraid to knock on the door of a neighbor or pick up the phone to make a doctors appointment. A generation that has lost the ability to think critically and believes in nothing.