Author Archives: Jon Rappoport

NSA: genius spying eye or bumbling idiot?

NSA: genius spying eye, or bumbling idiot: can’t have it both ways

by Jon Rappoport

June 20, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

People want to elevate Ed Snowden and his revelations to mythological status. Be my guest. I’ll write the dinner speech and lay out the silverware. It’ll be fun.

I won’t bother recapping all the holes and questions in Snowden’s back-story. I’ve done it several times already. (see the Spygate section on this blog).

Instead, I’ll focus on one point. What is the NSA?

Are they the geniuses who spy on everybody all the time, who can read the labels on the clothes in your closet?

Or are they just another bunch of tired government morons who can’t find their asses with both hands?

In his latest mea culpa, which rings about as true as a late-night infomercial, General Keith Alexander, the NSA director, said the Agency had given too much power to individual analysts:

NSA had allowed analysts to climb through the towers of Agency data without any checks whatsoever. Alexander will correct this gaping Grand Canyon flaw, and stop future thieves, by requiring two analysts to sign off before anyone can penetrate highly classified areas.

Two, two, not one.

Never seriously considered doing that before. Never implemented it. Never deployed security-stops within the body of secrets. Never compartmentalized those secrets. No.

Never.

But…the NSA can spy on everybody everywhere all the time. They’re that good and that smart and that specific and that devious and that clever.

Pardon me for bursting a few bubbles, but it’s very hard to have it both ways.

This isn’t like a brilliant absent-minded professor failing to put on matching socks in the morning. It’s like Margaret Mead not knowing where Samoa is.

Two possible conclusions. Either NSA has been conning us all along, pretending to spy on whatever moves when they really can’t find the moon on a clear night, or…

NSA really does have lockdown knockout internal security chopped up into small segments, each of which requires some serious disclosure before entry. And entries are reviewed swiftly and accurately.

Dumb as a rock or smart as a whip.

If it’s smart as a whip, Snowden didn’t waltz into work with a thumb drive and steal the farm. Never happened. Somebody else did, over a period of time, and then handed him the documents as part of an operation.

I’ve spelled out that scenario and thesis before.

The NSA built a Tower of Babel piercing the sky and then they forgot that one lowly employee could hold a mirror up to it and capture it all? I’ll take that question for 400, Alex. Send all the other contestants home. They’re wrapped up in a dream.

I’m basically a typist with a computer, and yet I could sketch out the parameters of a system that would partition off and protect NSA data far better than what those NSA boys have designed…if we believe their bumbling-fumbling story.

But why on earth believe it?

Beats me.

The Matrix Revealed

Far more likely: NSA has quite good internal security. Snowden didn’t stroll into work and steal the holy grail. He would have been caught.

Nevertheless, is it a good thing that NSA is coming under fire? Of course.

Will this result in significant reining in of the Agency and the overall Surveillance State?

The answer to that question rests on the practice of redundancy. NSA and its related partners have been cooking multiple ways of spying for a long, long time. This isn’t just because everybody wants to feast on the money pie.

It’s also because if one light goes out three more lights are going on.

If some piece of the FISA court is hamstrung, if one back door is closed off, there are other ways of accomplishing the same objectives.

If intercepting satellite transmissions doesn’t work as well anymore, they can use submarines and cut into cables. If the submarines are too expensive, they can lay in splitters in tech-company offices. If that avenue is partially blocked, they can dream up another way in.

These guys may be crazy criminals, but they aren’t stupid.

Which is my whole point.

Exit From the Matrix

And by the way, they’re from the intelligence community. In case you’ve forgotten, that means they’re required to lie to the press, public, and other parts of the government. They have special machines that tally up the numbers of lies employees tell. If the employees don’t reach their monthly quotas, they’re dumped into universities and think-tanks, where the requirements are slightly less stringent.

So when NSA people say, “Gee, we forgot to install any sort of reasonable internal security,” what makes you think they’re not simply padding their monthly falsehood-numbers?

You feel better by helping old ladies cross the street. They feel better by getting over. Over and over.

While I’m at it, here is another indicator that the “surveillance community” isn’t suffering too badly from Snowden’s disclosures and will come out smelling like a rose. Take a look at Booz Allen Hamilton’s stock chart.

In the early autumn of 2012, the stock price was riding at about 19. In September, it dove suddenly to 12, and then began a long march back to 18, which it achieved in the spring of 2013. During the initial Snowden crisis, it dipped to 17, but at the latest close it sits at 18.79.

Well-managed manipulation, no problem.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. 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

The covert op called Democracy: perverse poetry and sentimental music

by Jon Rappoport

July 19, 2013

(To join our email list, click here.)

Democracy is rule by “everybody.” Rule by the mob.

But these are fictions. There is no such thing as rule by everybody or by “the voice of every citizen.”

Politicians and their cronies, of course, know this. So one of their jobs is to present illusions of “togetherness.” These illusions are crafted. They are long-term covert ops.

PR people and propagandists and educators and media pundits are deployed for the purpose of painting pictures of “free democracy,” whatever that means. (Note: it doesn’t refer to the Bill of Rights, because that was part of designing a constitutional Republic.)

In a democracy, organizations of citizens are put together. These groups then reach out to government with their agendas. Each group becomes a faux individual seeking…what? Key symbols and phrases are deployed to answer that question—and one of the most potent is JUSTICE.

Groups are going to government to find justice.

This action becomes part of the mythology of what democracy is.

Hundreds, thousands of groups in the democracy seek justice, which simply means: favorable treatment. I’m talking about every kind of favor, from government-funded gender-changing surgery all the way to massive corporate tax breaks…and everything in between.

If you add up all the long-term effects and outcomes of this seeking, you discover that much of what the groups win for themselves doesn’t last. It deteriorates over time. Planned obsolescence is built into the system.

The quality of individual, free, independent, responsible, ethical life, for example, certainly doesn’t improve. Instead, we get politically correct life, in which people are expected to talk and act in ways that reflect “care, concern, mutual admiration, acceptance, passivity.”

This charade is promoted as progress. It’s really a program. It’s a script. It’s a stage play. It’s called democracy.

It supports small, medium, large, and jumbo crimes. Paid for by taxes.

What’s actually happening in democracy is consolidation of power at the top. The top includes both corporations and governments. But what’s out front is share and care. That’s the flag rippling with all its stars to obscure the true operation.

If a constitutional republic, with severely limited government, can exist at all, it requires eyeballs looking at each other close up. It requires small populations, educated and dynamically charged with living ideals, not dead ones.

The covert op called democracy, on the other hand, requires groups seeking so-called justice to be pitted against each other to fight over a limited pie.

Here is a cameo. In the early 1980s, I interviewed a dean of students at UCLA about the mood and attitude on campus, in the wake of the Vietnam war.

He told me that, during the late 60s and early 70s, students were united in their protests against the war, but once the forced military draft was called off, the students broke up into groups seeking justice (money) from the University.

The competition among groups, he said, was quite nasty and vicious. It involved character attacks, wild accusations, and threats.

This might seem like a vindication of the unity that had prevailed during Vietnam, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that the military industrial complex made out quite well during that war; and various wars and police actions since Vietnam—Iraq and Afghanistan the most extensive—have continued to line the pockets of military-industrial mongers.

Here is the elite psyop formula:

endlessly promote democracy;

create and empower groups that will seek justice from government;

grant some groups favors, reject others;

set these groups against each other;

in the ensuing conflict, pretend to appeal for unity;

grab more and more power at the top.

By osmosis, the individual learns what works in a democracy. He must have a cause, and that cause must reflect an unjust and disadvantaged status. He needs to seek redress and help from government. He needs to chisel and cheat and game the system.

He also needs to vote. He needs to vote for the side most likely to give him favors and breaks and loopholes and $$.

Many individuals will conclude that, in this hustle, the superior choice is to work for the government. A few years ago, I compiled a very rough tally of numbers of Americans who work for some form of the State. The total was 1 out of every 9 people.

In a small nation, that might be shocking. In a large country like America, it’s disastrous.

During a recent radio interview out of Norway, I was told that nearly 50% of Norwegians work for the government. We’re not there yet, but we’re moving in that direction.

The concept of democracy, once you peel back the layers on the covert op, is a scam. But the even greater problem comes when overwhelmingly numbers of people organize their own minds to match that scam.

They assemble and coordinate their own mental processes for the job of living and winning inside a massive crime-bubble.

Obama, like every president, operates as a PR front man for the op called democracy. The difference is, he’s made the PR into a religion. He’s taken it to a new level.

It may seem strange, but a person living out of an Obama-welfare cell phone, and a Wall Street investment banker dealing from an office high in Manhattan, are both working from the same basic mental playbook.

Their situations are vastly different, but they’re making moves inside the crime-bubble.

And if, by some miracle, they could sit down and talk long enough and honestly enough, they would see, emerging out of the fog, familiar game plans.

Yes, Virginia, there is true injustice in this country. It comes from the power grab at the top, and it leaks down to every person. But you won’t find that injustice revealed in the ubiquitous PR-op. There you’ll only find lies and groups toiling to push the rock to the top of the hill, while fighting a war of attrition against each other.

There you’ll only find the great hustle, the con, short and long, and layers of operators telling us “we’re all in this together” to remedy wrongs.

The Matrix Revealed

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

One of the keys to breaking out of mass mind control is being able to see and make the distinction between the real thing and a fake copy.

To survive and meet scheduled payoffs and bribes and deliver calculated favors and demean the independent individual, a democracy must fly the highest flags of ideals. The songs must be sung by pros. Every drop of sympathy must be wrung out of that rag-flag. Every soap opera story must be elevated to tragic heights.

And every mind must confuse this with the real thing.

Which takes us to education of the young, and the preparatory mind-control programs for living as an adult in a democracy.

I won’t bother to run down the various teaching tools for this job. I’ll simply remind you of how willing and open the young mind is.

When I was 12 or 13, my parents took (dragged) me to a lecture. The speaker was Minnesota Senator Hubert Humphrey. I dreaded the all-too-predictable pain I was in for. I would rather have been eating a casserole of spinach, broccoli, liver, and cockroaches.

On this night, in a jammed hall with a few hundred people, I listened to the Senator for two hours. He spoke about progress and humanity and hope and share and care.

I was riveted. Nailed to my chair. In a contest, that version of Humphrey would put Obama away cold and turn him upside down.

I saw visions of a new world. I saw humanity rise as one and conquer all obstacles. I saw liberalism and all it stood for as a god on Earth.

Those were the days when the Humph was at the absolute top of his game. He was on fire. He ascended one mountain range after another. He stood on a troubled sea and opened up the sky.

It took me a decade to realize I’d been conned by a master.

Exit From the Matrix

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

The op works. It taps into oceanic impulses in every mind and diverts them along channels that turn poetry into fake religion. It freezes poetry and sculpts it into idols and symbols of a labyrinth that eventually dumps you out into an alley at midnight with empty pockets.

You’re chewing on a dream of stale bread and figuring out how to get home.

People say that in a modern society, poetry no longer has meaning or force. This is one of the titanic jokes of the age. Poetry always strikes the deepest chords. It always parts the sea of the mind.

The only issue is, to what ends is it put? Does it rest there on the page and on the tongue and ear with its own fierce beauty, to be absorbed and re-imagined by the reader and the listener? Or is it run along channels where wardens of the State patrol, catching souls in their nets?

This is an MKULTRA rarely spoken of. It has stood the test of time.

It feeds on rubes and yokels and sleepwalkers and the desperate, from freezing caves in prehistoric Asia, down to the deserts of ancient Egypt, over to dank cathedral vaults of Europe, across to the streamlined consumer paradise of America.

It winds up as: Democracy. Progress. Enlightenment. Equality. Sharing.

Neon signs in the bought and paid for sky.

The great civil rights movement of the 1950s and 60s, the marches, the rallies, the protests, the suffering, the pain, the violence, the legislation—all based on a simple premise: equal protection and opportunity under the law.

Groups sought redress and justice from the government.

The movement celebrated victories. And then it was taken and twisted down other train tracks and turned into a slow-motion crash the likes of which we’re seeing splattered across television screens and the pages of newspapers around the world today.

How did that happen? How did the civil rights movement come to Trayvon Martin-George Zimmerman?

Through careful planning. Through manipulation of people and ideas, to transform honor into great misery.

The Statist machine gives, and the machine takes away. True justice is never its goal.

It preys on the worst human instincts and praises them as legitimate. It sets the agenda for democracy and gives the mob the drug of hope based on, yes, poetics.

Understanding the frequencies along which that hope is broadcast to the populace, and how the populace sponges up those transmissions, is a step out of the maze.

When you hear the particular strains of music that convey widely held sentiments, and you know the music is made for tin ears, because your ears aren’t tin, you’re regaining a species of true hope most people can’t understand.

You get a piece of the immortal joke that has traveled through eons and dipped into countless places, ever since the universe was dreamed up as a holographic blueprint on somebody’s notepad.

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.

It’s all okay, Hillary feels families’ pain, we’re back on track

It’s all okay, Hillary feels families’ pain, we’re back on track

by Jon Rappoport

June 17, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m not here tonight because you happen to be a group with an agenda. I don’t even know what your agenda is, and I don’t care. I’m here because you’re Americans, and I’d like to talk a little about what that means—”

Oops. Wait Wrong speech. That one was for 15 people at a Libertarian Party rally in Palm Desert.

No, like any candidate, Hillary talked about the heartache and pain in the wake of the Zimmerman verdict, because she was campaigning for the US presidency in front of 14,000 black women of the Delta Sigma Theta sorority.

And pretending to feel others’ pain is a Clinton family trait.

Hillary also stressed that the Justice Department is looking into the Zimmerman case, and then artfully segued into a non-sequitur about the need for a national dialogue on race.

I’ve been looking for that national dialogue for quite a while, and I can’t find it. Is there a pasture somewhere, where 300 million Americans are having a picnic and exchanging ideas on this sensitive subject?

I know editorial writers for major papers hold the delusion they’re leading the dialogue, but we can write them off as psychotics living inside the Beltway bubble.

I’m trying to catch up. I missed the national dialogue on drugs, the one on erasing the stigma of mental illness, and the one on guns. I heard a rumor they scheduled a national dialogue on poverty in Beverly Hills, but they had to cancel it at the last minute, because it fell on the one day a year it rained in Los Angeles.

Hillary has had me baffled for a long time, ever since she wrote It Takes a Village. I looked for the village that raises a child, and I wound up in Mena, Arkansas, talking to three guys about CIA planes bringing in cocaine from Honduras.

But who cares? Hillary’s back, and she’s the next president. Bill will be at her side, living in the White House, pacing the corridors, making deals, causing trouble. Then, after a quick shot of Secret Service Thorazine, he’ll wake up one morning and suddenly find himself in London, the Ambassador to England.

On Hillary’s first day in office, Bill will tell the White House staff, “Anyone who utters the word Benghazi during the next four years will be castrated in the basement.”

Hillary and Bill are the worst of the opportunists. They’ve never met a group whose agenda they hadn’t already dedicated their lives to.

If the Delta Sigma Theta sorority actually thinks Hillary is torn up over the Zimmerman verdict, I have condos for sale in the Orion Belt.

The Matrix Revealed

Official member or not, Hillary’s so far inside the pocket of Bilderberg, CFR, Trilateral, and the WTO, she picks lint off herself at the end of every business day.

Her PR people are so incompetent and transparent, reporters write stories about her successive image makeovers. Now, she’s cast as a noble stateswoman who’s above partisan squabbling, an eminence whose work as Secretary of State has been “extraordinary.”

“Foreign heads of state admire and respect her.” This is a recommendation? That’s like putting on your resume, “I play well with a dozen different mafias.”

“I worked at the Rose law firm where we represented Monsanto, I’m the wife of Bill, I won a Senate seat in New York based on nothing, and I wrangled an appointment as Secretary of State in return for claiming to support Obama.”

“And oh yes. I won a ton of sympathy after Bill had sex with Monica. Best thing that ever happened to me. Launched my political career.”

The day Hillary should lead any “national dialogue” is the day the sun sets in the east.

Exit From the Matrix

If anyone in Washington cares about black murder victims beyond Trayvon Martin, they should consult the US Dept. of Justice report, “Homicide Trends in the United States, 1980-2008.”

On page 13, we find: “From 1980 through 2008—93% of black victims were killed by blacks.”

This fact may be politically incorrect, but if our leaders are genuinely seeking to solve the problem, they should start there. What has the political establishment actually done about this horrific reality?

Here’s a piece of truth, if it interests you. The history of federal and state aid to inner cities is an uninvestigated series of major felonies.

Billions of dollars were supposed to fix education, alleviate poverty, reduce drug use, repair broken families, and create job opportunities. Yet since Lyndon Johnson launched the War on Poverty and The Great Society, things have only gotten worse. Much worse.

Any government executive worth his salt who wants to reduce violent crime would demand very specific answers to questions about where all that money went, who stole it, who diverted it, who torpedoed those thousands of programs.

To the degree that you believe lack of education, poverty, drugs, unemployment, and broken families drive crime, you would naturally want these answers.

But successive presidents have sidestepped the whole issue as if it’s made of plutonium.

Why?

Because actually getting to the roots of the problem and solving it is not on their radar, no matter what pretty things they say. They say they care, but their actions don’t back that up.

Oh, that’s right. I forgot. In the modern political landscape, actions don’t count, when push comes to shove. Only rhetoric does.

Presidents Clinton, George Bush, Barack Obama. They fit the rhetorical bill.

Hillary’s a natural in the same mold.

From her you can expect vapid generalities that hold all the rainwater in the universe and deliver nothing but drought.

Bonus: she’s a heavier psychiatric maven than any of her presidential predecessors. We can look forward to more fictitious diagnoses, more drugs, no help, plenty of induced brain damage. Happy, happy.

It Takes a Bilious. To be president.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. 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

Problem: violence. Solution: Minority Report

Problem: violence. Solution: Minority Report.

by Jon Rappoport

July 16, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Personal responsibility is the beginning and end of reasonable and lawful behavior in a society. But I could write a thousand pages on all the factors induced to create violence in this country.

The chemical (drug) factors and heavy metals alone would fill a book. The covert political, psychological, and economic ops would fill another book.

Those who design the problem, from behind the scenes, those who help create widespread violent crime, intend to provoke a specific demand from the populace: stop the violence!

Then, a solution is promoted: “science” enabling the authorities to predict who will commit violent crime. This leads to “treatment” that will keep violence from happening.

In other words, if you watch movies, The Minority Report and Clockwork Orange.

The LA Times is reporting the results of a new study. “Brain scans of inmates turn up possible link to risks of reoffending.” Prisoners with low activity in the ACC region of the brain (anterior cingulate cortex) are said to be more likely to commit new crimes.

In the research community, this study is hailed as a potential step forward in the march to reduce violence.

People in the general population, hearing about the study, while watching violence on the streets of America, in the wake of the Zimmerman verdict, breathe a small sigh of relief.

“Maybe this will bring peace. Maybe they’ll find a way to change the brains of criminals so they don’t go off again. Maybe they can find people before they commit their first crime and treat them…”

Oh, psychiatrists will. They already do. Toxic and destructive anti-psychotic drugs are big money makers for pharmaceutical companies. Of course, these drugs cause motor brain damage. (See, Toxic Psychiatry, Dr. Peter Breggin, St. Martin’s Press)

As of 20 years ago, Breggin established there were already several hundred thousand cases of psychiatric-induced brain damage in America.

The public fails to understand that medications aimed at curtailing behaviors are hammers. Despite assuring pseudoscientific propaganda, the drugs don’t end up targeting very specific neurological processes.

The drugs powerfully sedate. They attack multiple neurotransmitters in an unpredictable fashion. They “normalize” patients by putting them in a trance or manic state. They toxify the liver. They injure the brain.

Under the cover of “repairing specific brain dysfunction,” doctors can easily prescribe drugs that simply render patients into a state of poisoned docility.

The published studies won’t, of course, admit this. Pharma-funded clinical trials will “prove successful outcomes.” Selective highfalutin babble will confirm the new miracles.

There are all sorts of tricks that can be staged. For example, the early research on Prozac found the drug changed serotonin levels in the brain. Then, the announcement went out: altering serotonin was the key to reversing depression. It was science by circular reasoning.

But when violence, regardless of causes, escalates in society, people are ready, willing, and eager, to grasp at straws. Stop the crime! Do whatever you have to do!

It’s no accident that, in the wake of the Aurora and Newtown murders, the watchword is “mental health.” With new clinics springing up across the country, people vaguely suspected of having a propensity toward violence (lawful gun owners, for instance) will be ushered into the psychiatric arena.

Doctors will diagnose and drug these patients. The results will be devastating.

The Matrix Revealed

In a related development, AFP is reporting that the FDA has just approved the first brain-wave test for ADHD. The test is not certified as a stand-alone diagnostic tool. But, we are told, with other standard measures, doctors will now have a better method for accurately assessing children who are hyperactive.

A better method? Compared to what? There is no gold standard for ADHD. It’s a fictional catch-all category, and it always was.

On one end, you have kids who are bored, restless, poorly educated, smarter than their fellow students and teachers, living in homes where conflict between their parents is a daily event, frightened of other students who are bullying and coercing them. Pick one. Pick several.

On the other hand, these children are feeling the effects of sub-standard nutrition, toxic ingredients in their food, fluorides, heavy metals, drugs, vaccines, pollution, allergies. Pick one. Pick several.

Now reduce all this to a menu of behaviors, apply the ADHD label, and prescribe drugs that, in the long run, exacerbate out-of-control behavior, bring on depression, and in some cases elevate aggression.

The entire covert op to stimulate violence in America, following up with interventions, and finally “prediction of future violence,” is underpinned with, yes, a philosophic position: the mind is nothing more than the brain.

Therefore, an all-out assault on brain function is the answer. If you want a supposition guaranteed to sink a civilization, this is it.

It’s called Materialism, and it relegates humans to the status of biological machines (See Scott Noble’s film Human Resources: Social Engineering in the 20th Century (posted at YouTube)). Huxley’s Brave New World is an apt portrait of where this philosophy leads us: the garbage bin.

But a pleasant garbage bin. Because all citizens are birthed in genetic labs and endowed with pharmaceutical low-level happiness. It’s “good science.”

Crime is a thing of the past. The cure solves the problem and invents a society in which problems are outlawed.

That was one of the messages of Clockwork Orange. Do whatever is necessary to end violent impulses; the world will change; it will get worse.

Exit From the Matrix

Here are three different ideas: the individual is essentially non-material; he is free; he has tremendous latent creative power.

Were these ideas to form the basis of a society, and were its people to explore the implications, a vastly different status quo would emerge.

It would be no status quo at all. Instead, an open dynamism would serve as the prow of the ship. Hidebound fanatics and devious psychopaths would fail to affect our journey.

Violence, both as a problem and a solution, would disintegrate in our wake.

Since our present leadership has no authentic interest in these matters, the future falls to individuals. Where it has always been.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. 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

The Magician Awakes

by Jon Rappoport

July 15, 2013

(To join our email list, click here.)

Here is another section from my unfinished manuscript, The Magician Awakes.

In this scene, the “speaker” is talking to Jimmy in a cheap hotel room. Jimmy has volunteered to go to FreeTown, which some people call FryTown, because they suspect it’s a prison.

But it isn’t. It’s an offworld colony where men and women seeking a different kind of life are emigrating.

Jimmy and the speaker have already been talking for hours. Jimmy thinks he’s qualified to take his place in the new colony, but the speaker has his doubts, and he expresses them at length in this final wrap-up:

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. I keep talking to you, but everything I say disappears. How do you do that? You’re a black hole.

It’s as if you’re folding time back in on itself, Jim. Do you really believe there’s nothing new under the sun?

All the ideas worth contemplating have already been hashed over, and it’s just a matter of going Spiritual Shopping at the great mall?

Most people live in the past, Jim, whether they admit it or not. So they guard it. They patrol it with weapons loaded.

New ideas are never preordained. That’s a hard one for people to swallow, Jimmy. They enjoy thinking about a universal library that contains all thoughts. Or an ideal invisible universe that’s already there. All laid out. Is that what you believe in?

They prefer it to the notion that something can come from nothing.

But nothing is exactly where something comes from, Jim.

There is no such thing as smooth cause-and-effect from the past to the present. That’s a fairy tale. There are always gaps, Jimmy. In our best moments, we live in the gaps.

People want to plug up the nothing and pave it over with explanations. Hundreds, thousands, millions of explanations.

God is a favorite. He created us with free will but he didn’t want us to create anything new? Is that how you think it really works, Jimmy? I don’t even know whether you believe in God, Jim, but if you do, I bet you have a pretty strange idea about who he is.

You think he made everything there was to make all at once, and then he stopped, and there we were, with freedom, but everything was already laid out? How do you square that, Jim?

If you want to describe the nothing from which something comes, you could do a lot worse than “invention.”

You invent.

“Nothing new” equals slavery.

The fear of new ideas is the fear of inventing.

The universe isn’t a mother or father, Jimmy. No. It isn’t whispering instructions in our ears.

The universe is “deciding whether things are meant to be?” Are you kidding, Jim? Where did you get that one from? A New Age church on Sunday? From a guy in a suit that cost five grand who has a thousand-yard stare and a smile plastered on his face?

There’s a Great Plan? You mean, Jim, the Plan blots out all your freedom and you’re just a machine trying to figure out what your programming is so you can follow it? Is that your best shot?

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.

What am I going to do with you?

You’re walking around the dinner table looking at the food and you’re reaching out to put something on your plate, and then you’re drawing back. You’re hungry but you’re not.

You’re doing yes, no, and maybe. You’re looking for a way in and a way out.

You want to punch a time clock but you want to be free.

Let’s say you’re free right now. You’d have to ask yourself, what is freedom for?

What are you going to do with it?

Go back to the past, where everything is already settled? Is that what you want?

Imagine the whole world living in the past, moving along like one big machine, all the parts coordinated. Switch a few parts here, switch a few there. People trying to figure out what to do with their freedom inside the machine. That doesn’t sound realistic, does it, Jim?

Exit From the Matrix

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

In the middle of that craziness, somebody stands up and says he has the most important ideas to share. He says they’re time-tested and wonderful. But he’s in the machine, too.

People believe in him, and they start oiling parts and oiling themselves, and changing locations here and there. They want a better machine.

Who is going to support this new “prophet?” The people who own the machine. That’s who. But here’s the thing. The people who own the machine are inside it, too. They just don’t know it.

Could you dream up a more ridiculous situation?

I know some people believe the men who own the machine are outside it, but they aren’t. If they were really free (outside), they wouldn’t be stepping on everybody’s head. They’d be doing something else. Trust me.

Freedom is real. If you take it. It feels so good, you wouldn’t use it to crush people. Not in a million years.

You wouldn’t do that with real freedom.

You know, Jim, we started with a lot of people like you in FreeTown. And it didn’t work out. We made mistakes.

We had people who said they wanted freedom, but when they arrived at the colony, a strange thing happened. They went back to living the lives they had before.

We told them FreeTown wasn’t the past, but they didn’t understand. They were all about the principle of freedom, like you are, but inside them something else was going on.

They were putting themselves together like androids.

Look, Jimmy, we’re not going to turn you down. We’ll book your passage. But we have a way station. You’ll stop there for three years first. Three years.

The way station’s a special place. Some people call it Limbo, but that’s ridiculous. It’s anything but. But it is where you make your bones if you can.

It’s stupidly simple, when you come right down to it. No frills. No jive. No symbolism or hocus-pocus. No ritual.

It’s not a new kind of reality. It’s not a place that does something to you. You do something to it. Which is the whole point, if you’ve been listening to anything I’ve been saying.

We call the way station by its proper name. The House of Clay.

You’ll live in a little apartment over a studio. The place is all yours.

The studio has five thousand pounds of clay. Your job is to work the clay. Make anything you want from it. Use all of it. Make lots of things.

No rules. No guidelines. We don’t care what you make.

After three years of doing that every day, you’ll go to FreeTown.

We’re betting on the fact that…

Well, I don’t have to spell it out. I think you get it.

That’s the deal. Are you willing to take it?

Everybody who lives in FreeTown has been through the House of Clay. We’ve all done it. See, Jimmy, it’s one thing to say you want out of this system and you want freedom, but it’s another thing to go to a place where freedom actually exists and not screw it up.

You have to start inventing, Jimmy.

That’s what freedom is for.

Not just thinking about it. Doing it.

Inventing new realities.

Are you up for that?

Are you?

We’re giving you the chance, if you want to take it.

Or go back to sleep, curl up in the bed you call freedom. Sleep in the past where nothing is new.

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 George Zimmerman trial: life and death in the American psyop

The George Zimmerman trial: life and death in the American psyop

by Jon Rappoport

July 13, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

There were at least six extraordinary moves before the suspect, George Zimmerman, was brought up on charges.

An out-of-date photo, showing Trayvon Martin as a young innocent boy, flashed across television screens all over the world.

News stories asserted that a white man named Zimmerman killed a black child.

NBC-edited 911 audio between Zimmerman and a police dispatcher made it seem as if Zimmerman was voluntarily profiling Martin as black, when this was not the case. Several NBC employees were fired over the editing incident.

In the same 911 audio, according to CNN and other media sources, Zimmerman said, “Fucking coons.” This was corrected to “fucking cold.” Finally, this became “fucking punks.”

President Obama said if he had a son, that son would have looked like Trayvon Martin.

NBC and CNN weren’t the only the major network outlets that presented false information to the public. ABC obtained footage of Zimmerman at the police station on the night of the Martin killing. The network claimed there was no visible evidence Zimmerman had sustained head wounds. But then a still from the video surfaced which showed cuts on the back of Zimmerman’s head, supporting his statement that he and Martin had been in a fight. At that point, ABC broadcast the video, stating they’d “re-digitized” it and the wounds were now apparent.

These actions, taken together, defined the case as a black-versus-white hate crime.

The door was pushed wide open, letting in millions of voices to assert their positions and feelings on the matter of race.

The whole race issue was dealt a blow when it turned out that Zimmerman wasn’t white. His father was white. His mother was Peruvian. Her grandfather was African-Peruvian.

But by then, it was too late. Media forces and politicians and hustlers and private citizens on both sides of the race issue had already shoved in their chips and rolled the dice. They couldn’t turn back.

They couldn’t say, “Oh, well, this is the murder of a black boy but a white man didn’t do it, so let’s re-frame it as another tragic killing…”

Al Sharpton couldn’t say, “We thought we had the quintessential white-on-black murder of a young boy, but we don’t. Let’s fold our tent and go home and wait for another day and a better reason…”

Likewise, it was hard to put the genie back in the bottle after the press reported that Zimmerman said, “Fucking coons.” Ensuing corrections to the translation of his words didn’t affect the black- versus-white scenario.

Nor did that scenario dissolve when it turned out NBC had perniciously edited a section of Zimmerman’s 911 call, to make it seem as if he had put Trayvon Martin’s race front and center. NBC’s admission it had cooked the books was looked upon as a grievous media slanting of the truth, but the basic black-vs.-white storyline was still intact.

This is all quite astonishing when you stop and think about it.

The wave was building, it had already been put into motion, and nothing was going to stop it, not even the simple glaring fact that Zimmerman wasn’t white.

Obama weighed in. He took the wave to another level. If I had a son, he would have looked like Trayvon Martin. (Looked like Martin in which photo? The first one, or later ones?)

The Matrix Revealed

The race of the accused is the whole issue, and yet everyone can see, right out in the open, that his race has been wrongly identified—and it doesn’t matter.

“We’re going to go forward as if Zimmerman is white.”

None of the above is proof that Zimmerman is innocent or guilty. Taken together, it is all about establishing black-vs.-white as the context.

That context is patently false, but it functions as enduring symbolism for the issue of race.

It’s as if Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson, OJ Simpson’s purported victims in the 1994 murders, had turned out to be black, after America was already riveted by a “black-on-white” crime and refused to let go of it.

How many people have ever heard of the 2008 murder of James Shamp, a black man, by Richard Bordelon, Hispanic, in Los Angeles? Two factors prevented nationwide publicity. Bordelon was a gang member—and it was a Hispanic-vs.-black case.

Zimmerman-Martin is part-Hispanic vs. black, but it’s not playing that way.

Claims that Trayvon Martin was stalked and profiled would not be enough to turn the Zimmerman trial into a national event, unless Zimmerman were still held up, even if only in false memory, as a white man.

Many media outlets and politicians, including the president, have been instrumental in forwarding this psyop.

Inflaming racial hatreds and grabbing guns are two objectives of the op.

But Zimmerman-Martin is part of a much larger program: identifying so-called racial characteristics and cementing them in the mind. White=certain qualities. Black=certain qualities.

At bottom, this is one more way of insisting that the individual no longer matters. It’s a way of claiming that what matters is the group an individual belongs to. In this instance, skin color defines the group.

The primacy of the group over the individual is the true devastating operation in America.

Individuals have freedom. Individuals have independence. Individuals have potential power. These elements are anathema to fascists.

Groups only have agendas. They seek fulfillment of those agendas through government. That kind of partnership increases, in the long run, the dominance of government.

Underneath it all, this is what we’re talking about here: individuals must go, only groups should remain.

Black vs. white is the useful occasion and the smokescreen for the deeper aim.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. 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

Reframing reality: the shift

Reframing reality: the shift

by Jon Rappoport

July 12, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Here is a quote from my unfinished manuscript, The Magician Awakes:

You see, Jimmy, this I can attest and swear to. We’re only operating in part of the arc, a small sector. We’re playing chords in one building. That’s where everybody is.

We’re recycling these chords, and putting them in different sequences, but it’s the same basic music. And when I say music, I mean what people call emotion.

This music goes here and there, and you’ve got ten or twelve billion people convinced it’s the whole shooting match. You can feel this or that or this or that, and nothing else is left over.

We’re talking about experience, Jimmy. But see, what if there are galaxies and universes of experience we know nothing about? Emotions we know nothing about.

We’re in the visible-spectrum arena, a tiny piece of the whole arc. We have no words for all the sixty trillion other emotions that exist out there.

And if that’s true, then we’re puttering away. What we’re quite sure life is, is just a speck in the sea.

Now, Jimmy, I KNOW you’re going to nod and agree with me. You always do that, as if you already know what I’m talking about. You’re going to tell me how the very same thing I’m talking to you about occurred to you when you were a kid in Illinois.

But see, that’s a bunch of crap. You don’t know what I’m talking about. How do I know this? Because nobody has experienced those sixty trillion unknown emotions yet. Nobody.

But we could. We could get started. The only question is how. How do we bust out of the circle, out of the labyrinth?

You’re an engineer, Jimmy. You like to think of yourself as a man who’s at the frontier of knowing what it’s possible to know. You’re a hard-headed guy. You pride yourself on that. At the same time, you claim great power to have thought of everything anyone has ever thought of. My question to you is: how can your wife stand you?

A way out of the labyrinth, Jimmy…the only faculty capable of making the necessary leap:

Imagination.

Imagination isn’t about content, Jim. It isn’t about answers. It’s about creating answers to questions that will never be asked. It’s about putting something there that wasn’t there before.

This stumps most people at the gate. They want content. They don’t want power, they want what power can bring without lifting a finger.

So, Jim, they choose model B over model A and find themselves, after a time, back where they started, because both models came out of the same machine.

We’re talking about the literal mind, Jimmy. The literal mind believes that every solution to a problem is an advance. The literal mind doesn’t notice that some problems require a jump to another landscape.

So Jim, I herewith give you a metaphor. I’m not suggesting you try this. I’m suggesting you imagine this.

If you could get a person to sit still long enough, and if you could do a very long-form interview about his life and past and present, he might, after maybe a hundred sit-downs, shake loose enough material to reframe his entire view of reality.

Everything would depend on how good an interviewer you were. Everything. (And this would be nothing like therapy.)

But…the whole interview process could be based on the interviewee inventing, wholesale, a life and a past he never had. Never had!

During a hundred sit-downs, he would imagine and invent and improvise thousands of details of a life that never was.

“So where did you live as a child?”

“We had an apartment above a hardware store in Ashton, Kansas. The kitchen doubled as my little sister’s bedroom. She slept on a small cot next to the refrigerator. Every night, she peeked over the window sill and watched soldiers standing outside a bar across the street drinking beer and talking and laughing. She collected soldier toys. She kept them in a cardboard box under the cot. She’d wake up in the middle of the night and sit on the floor and turn on the stove burners for illumination and play with the toys. Put them in lines and columns…”

Never happened, Jim. No Ashton, no hardware store, no apartment, no sister, no soldiers, no cot, no toys.

A whole past invented out of whole cloth. Years, decades. Imagined.

Continuing the metaphor: Would you invent such a life so you could step into it, or would you invent it for some other reason?

The answer, Jimmy, is: it depends. Some people would invent a life they actually want to take on, and others wouldn’t.

But in either case, the value of the process (the interview) would be that it widens the scope and power of imagination itself. That’s the damn point.

And with that change, the life you have will look and feel different.

Everything might seem the same on the surface, Jim, but events and possibilities would be more elastic, more like the wet clay the sculptor uses.

In fact, the fundamental particles of existence would be Possibility. They’d replace atoms and neutrons and quarks and wavicles. They’d replace the playing and replaying of set sequences of emotions. New emotions, which have no names, would emerge.

The physical body would get healthier, as if it had been waiting for this to happen.

Emotional programming would disintegrate.

Watch a soap opera for a few years, Jimmy, if you can bear it. You’ll come to see the characters go through the same changes over and over. They wring out the same emotional ups and downs and ins and outs. On and on. It’s a farcical symphony.

People hit the same chords. They reach the end and go back to the beginning. They play the same notes. They deliver the same sequences of frequencies.

This, we’re told, is life.

Yes, a very small corner of it. It’s interesting. For a while. Then the grooves wear out. The B sets in. Boredom.

We haven’t employed imagination intensely enough.

When we do, new roads appear.

Our bodies and minds are musical instruments ready and willing to experience 60 trillion-plus emotions, not 12.

Exit From the Matrix

Jim, this isn’t Western philosophy or Eastern philosophy or any philosophy from the past. This isn’t about religion. This isn’t about a system or a structure. This isn’t about solving a problem.

Jimmy, you want to say you have all the CONTENT it’s necessary to have. I know you do. You’re the king of your own castle.

You don’t want someone to shove content down your throat.

But if what content isn’t the issue? What if content is beside the point, in this case?

What if you can imagine and create endless content and substance and even knowledge?

What if, through imagination, there’s NO limit on the amount and kind of content you can create?

What if all cultural fairy tales and myths of cultures are a way of externalizing possibilities that really proceed from inside us?

See, Jim? It’s not exactly what you thought, is it? It’s not something you engineer. I’m not arguing with you about your specialty. Your specialty is systems and programs. I’m talking about something else.

I’m talking about that 60 trillion.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. 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

“Excuse me, are you a robot in the Surveillance State?”

“Excuse me, are you a robot in the Surveillance State?”

by Jon Rappoport

July 11, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

“President Barack Obama has ordered federal employees to report suspicious actions of their colleagues based on behavioral profiling techniques that are not scientifically proven to work, according to experts and government documents.” (McClatchey News)

In 1959, two friends of mine, Carl and Michael, staged a spy experiment at the small Ithaca, New York, airport. They were students at Cornell University.

Michael was coming in on a little commercial plane from New York late at night.

In the one-room terminal, Carl waited for him and paced around, wearing a British raincoat and sunglasses. Occasionally, he’d look at his watch and glance out at the airstrip.

Finally, the plane arrived.

Michael, also wearing a British raincoat, descended the steps from the plane, and Carl walked out to meet him on the tarmac. They stood, head to head, for a few minutes, talking to each other. They gestured toward the terminal.

Security personnel arrested them.

On suspicion of seeming suspicious.

Which was the point of the experiment.

Since America is now a spy state, where everyone is expected to snoop and snitch on everyone, why not play the game?

A hundred college students walk into a large coffee shop and sit down.

They starting passing notes to each other. (1950s spy-iconography)

A few of these students approach the counter, ask for the manager, and when he appears, inform him that the waiters/waitresses are doing suspicious things: staring; avoiding eye contact; lingering too long at tables while taking orders.

This little stage play is repeated every day, until media pick up on the story.

A few hundred college students gather in front of a government building. As employees come out at the end of the day, the students pull out cell phones and pretend to make calls. They talk loudly, mentioning that they’re seeing suspicious activity from government workers.

Repeat daily, until media pick up on the story.

In a small town, a hundred parents bake cookies in the shape of guns. They give them to their kids to take to school on the same day.

Repeat every day until the literal robot-minds of school officials implode.

I think everyone in the US should have a screen saver with a picture of a gun on it.

Five hundred students hold a birthday party and picnic in a park. They all wear very large badges hanging from their necks: “CITIZEN SPY.” They pretend to make phone calls, reporting suspicious activity, while pointing at other people in the park. It’s sure to garner some attention, after two or three days.

What? You might be arrested for these activities? Oh, I see. Yes. The entire country is on lockdown. That’s right. We can’t interfere with federal and state agencies doing their jobs, 24/7, to protect us. From ourselves.

A website. Secular Confessions. People are invited to confess their own “suspicious activity.” In detail. You can add, as a bonus, a section for Thought Crimes.

“I thought about plotting the overthrow of Monsanto. I confess. I’m guilty, and I want expiation if not excommunication…”

“I considered masturbating when DHS tanks rolled through my town. I don’t know why. I was suddenly gripped by an uncontrollable impulse…”

“During work today at USDA, where I inspect samples of wheat, I started feeling that I was a suspicious character. I thought about lifting the whole building in one hand and turning it upside down and dropping it on Henry Kissinger’s head…I’m a very bad person.”

Let’s all confess.

I personally am suspicious (it should be “suspect,” shouldn’t it?) because I have a lingering obsession about the Bill of Rights. I’ve tried to purge it from my consciousness in favor of the far more cogent, “we’re all in this together,” but I can’t. I need re-education.

And I have strange thoughts when I drive through an intersection outfitted with video cameras…I want to burn those cameras in a bonfire. I want to see thousands of those cameras burn together. Why does that image produce such unalloyed joy? Something must be wrong with me. Right?

I’m guilty of another thought crime. I want to see Russ Tice, a long-time employee of the intelligence community, featured on page one of the New York Times. I want to see his assertion that the NSA was spying on Obama in 2004 plastered in a giant headline across the top of the page.

I want to see Chris Matthews, up to his Obama-tingling legs in muck, working in a giant industrial pig farm in Mexico. This thought surely marks me as a danger to the State. I must be plotting something. I just don’t know what it is yet.

I’m reporting Brian Williams, Scott Pelley, and Dianne Sawyer as suspicious characters engaged in a mass hypnosis operation. I want action. It must stop. Every night, these morons appear in millions of homes and frame the news in terms even Mickey Mouse could see through.

I want the Reality Manufacturing Company to cease doing business at once.

I’m suspicious, you’re suspicious, we’re all suspicious. Let’s form a new nation based on that irrefutable premise. Let’s quit piddling around. Let’s be SUSPICIOUS.

Stop smiling. Start looking at things sideways. Squint. Learn how to growl convincingly like a dog. Screw Labor Day. It should be Suspicion Day.

Paint on the back of your shirt: WE ARE ALL NSA.

Get into it.

WE’RE ALL NSA, WE’RE ALL SUSPICIOUS, WE’RE ALL SPYING, WE’RE ALL GUILTY.

Go for the home-run ball.

It’s a game. I can spy on you faster than you can spy on me.

“Are you saying your neighbor is a suspicious character because he’s spying on you?”

“No, he’s suspicious because he isn’t spying on me enough.”

CONFESS. REPORT.

“My neighbor is growing Chinese cabbage on her front lawn.”

“Chinese? Thanks. We’ll get right on it. You just earned a gold star, Ms. Good Citizen.”

Exit From the Matrix

This is the era of the busybody. The scum rises to the top.

That old lady who lives down the block and peeks between her curtains at whatever is going on outside? She’s beginning to feel like King Kong. The world is catching up to her at last.

It’s the time of the literal mind, which operates blind to context. In the middle of a conversation, a phrase like “they should be shot” or “I’d like to blow the whole thing to kingdom come” surfaces…and certain faces register a pause, a flinch. Hmm. “That might be dangerous. He shouldn’t have said that…”

One of my favorite media glosses is: “…understandably nervous in the wake of…”

This is used to justify grand-slam law-enforcement officers reacting to harmless events and innocent civilians.

There is always a prior event that can used to rationalize a robot response.

“Understandably nervous in the wake of the Great Flood, officials took a man named Noah into custody today, after he let two rabbits and two hamsters loose in his garden…”

The real objective of the War on Terror is the creation of literal minds, entrained to think in lowest-common-denominator terms.

“There will be no metaphors, no distinctions. Automatons forever.”

The literal mind lives, every day of its existence, guilty of obstruction of justice. It functions at the level of an insect, and delivers far less.

This is what the Surveillance State is meant to induce.

Operant conditioning is based on the premise that humans are nothing more, in their native state, than programmed biological machines. Therefore, replacing one program with another is perfectly apt. (See Scott Noble’s film Human Resources: Social Engineering in the 20th Century (posted at YouTube)).

When I was five years old, in 1943, I went to a nursery school around the corner from our apartment in New York. The first day I was there, a teacher gave me preliminary instructions. I can’t remember the specifics, although I do recall they were inane. I replied, “Okay.”

She froze. Then she smiled one of those big fake smiles. “No,” she said. “We don’t say ‘okay.’ We say ‘all right.’”

From that moment on, I remained on guard, because I knew I was in an alien environment.

I soon learned that the goal of this school was socialization. Pretended harmony.

Say the proper thing. Share and care. Be polite. Don’t be frank, be earnest. Smile. Achtung.

For the rest of the term, I observed this strange cockeyed little world. I said little. I was from another planet, called 19th Street, and I wanted to understand how these lunatics at the school were operating.

On the last day of imprisonment, as we were all assembled in the yard, the head gooney bird approached me and thanked me for my “cooperation.” She thought I had surrendered.

I don’t remember whether a politeness-certificate was involved, but I did recognize this was a wild misunderstanding on her part.

Homogenized America is now moving to a new level: wherever you see cream separating, report it to the authorities and they’ll shake and stir.

See anything, say everything.

To any literal minds who may be reading this article by accident: don’t worry your pretty little heads; there’s a flower growing over there; report it; report the breeze, the summer, the moon; and don’t forget the most important thing of all…

Pick up the phone and dial DHS and say, “I want to turn in the federal government. They’re committing crimes.”

You’ll be right, every day.

What’s left of the idea of a Republic is a memory. Now, the people in charge want to take the final step and turn it into a Pavlovacracy.

They want the Matrix to report to the Matrix.

The most pernicious advocates of the New Age preach that, in order to pass into next phase of evolution, humans must purify their thoughts, dispensing with all negativity. Otherwise, they’ll be left behind the iron gate of the past to suffer great pain and turmoil.

This is a quite adequate description of what the Surveillance State is doing.

Self-flagellation is making a comeback. You watch. Just as people show up at police stations and confess to crimes they haven’t committed, we’re going to see a wave of demented souls reporting on themselves for “suspicious behavior.”

It’s a natural offshoot for the class of those whose aspire to victim status, but don’t possess authentic qualifications.

I welcome the phenomenon. It’s exactly what the Surveillance State deserves for inventing a new category of immolation: clogged-up phone lines and email boxes.

“I want to report that I said something I shouldn’t have said…”

“Excuse me?”

“No, really. I’m a suspicious person. I need to be on some kind of list.”

In the 13th century, people started walking around in long lines, beating themselves with whips. By the 14th century, the Roman Church became so exasperated it excommunicated all flagellants en masse.

Too much bad press. Original sin was fine, but people were taking it to a whole new level.

It’s going to happen again in the Surveillance State. Get your popcorn ready. Go to work, Dr. Phil.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. 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

The museum called Reality

The museum called Reality

by Jon Rappoport

July 9, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

You stroll through an art museum.

Many rooms, many paintings.

You come upon a large landscape. Fields, cottages, hills, valleys, mountains rising in the background.

While other people move past it with a glance, you walk closer.

It’s lovely.

There, in the lower left-hand corner, you see the beginning of a narrow trail among a stand of pines. You wish you could…

A man is suddenly standing next to you. He’s smiling.

“Go ahead,” he says. “You can do it.”

Absurd. And yet…

You wonder.

“All it takes is conviction,” he says.

You look closer at that trail. Beyond the trees, there is a small cabin. It’s perfect.

And then…you’re walking along the trail. You can feel the soft earth under your shoes. You can smell the pines.

You walk faster, and in a few minutes you arrive at the cabin.

The door is ajar.

You enter.

One room. A bed, a small table, a chair, a fireplace.

On the mantle, there is a book bound in cracked leather. You walk over, pick it up, and open it.

You see drawings of a city. Crowded streets, people sitting in sidewalk cafes, cars, tall buildings. You can hear the noise on the streets.

It’s the kind of city you’d like to visit. There you would be free, unattached. You would walk and live as an unknown person. You would be a stranger, but no one would know that.

The cabin is gone. You’re exiting a ground-floor apartment in the city. You’re emerging on to a street with a briefcase in your hand.

You open the briefcase. In it are several file folders.

You see a sheaf of papers. They seem to be a report. The name of the author…you sense it’s your name.

You’ve been living in this place long enough to have a job. You think about it for a few seconds, and you realize you know where your office is. It’s up the street and over three blocks.

Suddenly, you’re sitting in that office. You look out the window. You’re above the street by at least a dozen floors.

A woman walks in and sets down a cup of coffee on your desk.

She lays a key next to the coffee.

“This is the one you wanted,” she says. “I did a little research and found out it used to be a freight elevator.”

She walks out.

You pick up the key and examine it. It’s made of gray metal. There is a circle inscribed in it, and inside the circle is a square.

You stand up and walk out of the office, along a corridor, and through an exit. There on your left is a large set of double doors.

You insert the key into a hole above a shelf and the doors open. You step in.

The doors close and you feel the elevator descend.

After a minute, it stops and opens. You step out. The doors close behind you.

You’re standing in a small room. On the walls, you see drawings and inscriptions, pictographs. Maps. Labyrinths. You see five, six, and eight-pointed stars. Animals. Circles containing squares. Other geometric figures. Numbers. Faces.

You turn back to the elevator. You look but you can’t find a place to insert the key. You try to pry the doors apart, but they won’t budge.

…Now, you feel as if you’ve been standing in that room for a very long time. You have memories of trying to decipher the drawings on the walls. You have memories of having almost succeeded, only to be stymied.

It seems you have a long history of having tried to decode secrets.

You’re an expert in these matters, but you haven’t made it to the end.

A man is standing next to you. He’s smiling. His face is familiar.

“I only encouraged you,” he says. “I’m no magician. I just gave you a little push. You supplied the conviction. That’s the main thing you have to understand.”

What does he mean?

A vague memory becomes sharper.

You were walking, a long time ago, in a museum. Yes.

And then you entered…something. And now you’re here.

Without thinking, you say, “But there’s a rule against being bigger.”

He nods as if he understands perfectly.

“If I were to exit this place, this whole place,” you say, “I would be bigger. That’s not permitted. It’s a sign of…”

“Excessive pride,” he says.

“Yes,” you say.

“It indicates you’re trying to become something you aren’t. You’re trying to be better than everyone else. Which is a criminal offense.”

You think about his words. They ring false. They spell out a rule, but who made the rule?

“Everybody who is here,” you say, “is smaller than they want to be?”

He smiles again. “That depends on what you mean by ‘want.’”

Yes, there is some kind of distinction to be made. You almost grasp it.

You say, “In this place, ‘bigger’ means ‘god.’ But who decided that?”

Then you realize you had a chain wrapped around your neck.

You reach up, and you can feel where the chain was. There is still an ache there.

The man is waiting. He’s looking at you.

“Why are you doing this?” you say.

“Doing what?”

He shakes his head.

He slowly fades out.

He was some kind of artifact. He was a construct that appeared out of your own voice and your own thoughts.

You made him.

You made him out of the scent of pines trees and the sound of water running through the forest and clouds and a desire whose substance you can’t quite fathom.

You examine…a sense that you are betraying other people. That thought is made out of old scratchy sentiments and a fascination with the idea of being like everyone else. Being like everyone else is an adventure. It’s an exploration for its own sake…

It can become a life, a holy crusade.

But it’s not your life or your crusade.

Exit From the Matrix

There is a soft explosion just behind your head.

As you feel an impulse that is going to lift you off the floor, you stare at the wall and you imprint a paragraph of text into the stone.

And then…

You’re back in the museum.

You’re standing in front of the painting of the pine trees and the trail and the cabin and the fields and the mountains and the sky.

You’re trembling with relief.

A museum guard steps over to you.

“Are you all right, sir?” he says.

“Yes,” you say. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He nods.

You look into his eyes, and you see the small room just outside the elevator. That room is inside him.

“How about you?” you say.

His face flushes.

“Have a nice day,” he says.

“You, too.”

He starts to turn away, but then he doesn’t.

“Do you come to the museum often?” he says.

“I like the paintings,” you say. “I’m here several times a week. It’s a fine place.”

“Yes,” he says. “It is. I’ve wanted this job for a long time.”

“Why?”

“I’m protecting something important. I watch the people moving through the rooms and looking at the paintings. I feel they’re learning…”

You nod.

He walks away.

You continue to walk through the museum.

There are many paintings. Many entrances.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. 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 <span style="fo

Matrix: who is Edward Snowden?

Matrix: Who is Edward Snowden?

By Jon Rappoport

July 8, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

This article is a compilation of a number of pieces I’ve written about Ed Snowden and the NSA. It doesn’t replace them, but it hits the high points…

Let’s begin here: If you absolutely must have a hero, watch Superman movies.

If your need for a hero is so great, so cloying, so heavy, so juicy that it swamps your curiosity, don’t read this.

If you can’t separate Snowden’s minor revelations from the question of who he is, if you can’t entertain the notion that covert ops and intelligence-agency games are reeking with cover stories, false trails, and limited hangouts, you need more fun in your life.

NSA? CIA? These guys live for high-level bullshit. They get down on their knees and worship it. They fall into a suicidal funk if they aren’t lying on at least three or four levels at once.

Okay. Let’s look at Snowden’s brief history as reported by The Guardian. Are there any holes?

Is the Pope Catholic?

In 2003, at age 19, without a high school diploma, Snowden enlists in the Army. He begins a training program to join the Special Forces. At what point after enlistment can a new soldier start this elite training program?

Snowden breaks both legs in an exercise. He’s discharged from the Army. Is that automatic? How about healing and then resuming service?

If he was accepted in the Special Forces training program because he had special computer skills, then why discharge him simply because he broke both legs?

“Sorry, Ed, but with two broken legs we just don’t think you can hack into terrorist data anymore. You were good, but not now. Try Walmart. They always have openings.”

Circa 2003, Snowden gets a job as a security guard for an NSA facility at the University of Maryland. He specifically wanted to work for NSA? It was just a generic job opening he found out about?

Snowden shifts jobs. Boom. He’s now in the CIA, in IT. He has no high school diploma. He’s a young computer genius.

In 2007, Snowden is sent to Geneva. He’s only 23 years old. The CIA gives him diplomatic cover there. He’s put in charge of maintaining computer-network security. Major job. Obviously, he has access to a wide range of classified documents. Sound a little odd? He’s just a kid. Maybe he has his GED. Otherwise, he still doesn’t have a high school diploma.

Snowden says that during this period, in Geneva, one of the incidents that really sours him on the CIA is the “turning of a Swiss banker.” One night, CIA guys get a banker drunk, encourage him to drive home, the banker gets busted, the CIA guys help him out, then with that bond formed, they eventually get the banker to reveal deep secrets to the Agency.

This sours Snowden? He’s that naïve? He doesn’t know by now that the CIA does this sort of thing all the time? He’s shocked? He “didn’t sign up for this?” Come on.

In 2009, Snowden leaves the CIA. Why? Presumably because he’s disillusioned. It should noted here that Snowden claimed he could do very heavy damage to the entire US intelligence community in 2008, but decided to wait because he thought Obama, just coming into the presidency, might keep his “transparency” promise.

After two years with the CIA in Geneva, Snowden really had the capability to take down the whole US inter-agency intelligence network, or a major chunk of it?

If you buy that without further inquiry, I have condos for sale on the dark side of the moon.

In 2009, Snowden leaves the CIA and goes to work in the private sector. Dell, Booze Allen Hamilton. In this latter job, Snowden is assigned to work at the NSA.

He’s an outsider, but, again, he claims to have so much access to so much sensitive NSA data that he can take down the whole US intelligence network in a single day. The. Whole. US. Intelligence. Network.

This is Ed Snowden’s sketchy legend. It’s all red flags, alarm bells, sirens, flashing lights.

Then we have the crowning piece: they solved the riddle: Ed Snowden was able to steal thousands of highly protected NSA documents because…he had a thumb drive.

It’s the weapon that breached the inner sanctum of the most sophisticated information agency in the world.

It’s the weapon to which the NSA, with all its resources, remains utterly vulnerable. Can’t defeat it.

Not only did Snowden stroll into NSA with a thumb drive, he knew how to navigate all the security layers put in place to stop people from stealing classified documents.

“Let’s see. We have a new guy coming to work for us here at NSA today? Oh, whiz kid. Ed Snowden. Outside contractor. Booz Allen. He’s not really a full-time employee of the NSA. Twenty-nine years old. No high school diploma. Has a GED. He worked for the CIA and quit. Hmm. Why did he quit? Oh, never mind, who cares? No problem.

“Tell you what. Let’s give this kid access to our most sensitive data. Sure. Why not? Everything. That stuff we keep behind 986 walls? Where you have to pledge the life of your first-born against the possibility you’ll go rogue? Let Snowden see it all. Sure. What the hell. I’m feeling charitable. He seems like a nice kid.”

NSA is the most awesome spying agency ever devised in this world. If you cross the street in Podunk, Anywhere, USA, to buy an ice cream soda, on a Tuesday afternoon in July, they know.

They know whether you sit at the counter and drink that soda or take it and move to the only table in the store. They know whether you lick the foam from the top of the glass with your tongue or pick the foam with your straw and then lick it.

They know if you keep the receipt for the soda or leave it on the counter.

They know whether you’re wearing shoes or sneakers. They know the brand of your underwear. They know your shaving cream, and precisely which container it came out of.

But this agency, with all its vast power and its dollars…

Can’t track one of its own, a man who came to work every day, a man who made up a story about needing treatment in Hong Kong for epilepsy and then skipped the country.

Just can’t find him.

Can’t find him in Hong Kong, where he does a sit-down video interview with Glenn Greenwald of The Guardian. Can’t find that “safe house” or that “hotel” where he’s staying.

No. Can’t find him or spy on his communications while he’s in Hong Kong. Can’t figure out he’s booked a flight to Russia. Can’t intercept him at the airport before he leaves for Russia . Too difficult.

And this man, this employee, is walking around with four laptops that contain the keys to all the secret spying knowledge in the known cosmos.

Can’t locate those laptops. Can’t hack into them to see what’s there. Can’t access the laptops or the data. The most brilliant technical minds of this or any other generation can find a computer in Outer Mongolia in the middle of a blizzard, but these walking-around computers in Hong Kong are somehow beyond reach.

And before this man, Snowden, this employee, skipped Hawaii, he was able to access the layout of the entire US intelligence network. Yes.

He stole enough to “take down the entire US intelligence network in a single afternoon.”

Not only that, but anyone who worked at this super-agency as an analyst, as a systems-analyst supervisor, could have done the same thing. Could have stolen the keys to the kingdom.

This is why NSA geniuses with IQs over 180 have decided, now, in the midst of the Snowden affair, that they need to draft “tighter rules and procedures” for their employees. Right.

Now, a few pieces of internal of security they hadn’t realized they needed before will be put in place.

This is, let me remind you, the most secretive spying agency in the world. The richest spying agency. The smartest spying agency.

But somehow, over the years, they’d overlooked this corner of their own security. They’d left a door open, so that any one of their own analysts could steal everything.

Could take it all. Could just snatch it away and copy it and store it on a few laptops.

But now, yes now, having been made aware of this vulnerability, the agency will make corrections.

Sure.

And reporters for elite US media don’t find any of this hard to swallow.

A smart sixth-grader could see through this tower of fabricated crap in a minute, but veteran grizzled reporters are clueless.

On the ever-solicitous Charley Rose, a gaggle of pundits/newspeople warned that Ed Snowden, walking around with those four laptops, could be an easy target for Chinese spies or Russian spies, who could get access to the data on those computers. The spies could just hack in.

But the NSA can’t. No. The NSA can’t find out what Snowden has. They can only speculate.

The tightest and strongest and richest and smartest spying agency in the world can’t find its own employee. It’s in the business of tracking, and it can’t find him.

It’s in the business of security, and it can’t protect its own data from its employees.

If you believe all that, I have timeshares to sell in the black hole in the center of the Milky Way.

The Matrix Revealed

Here is a more likely scenario.

Snowden never saw any of those thousands of documents on an NSA computer. Never happened. He didn’t hack in. He didn’t steal anything.

He was working an op, either as a dupe or knowingly. He was working for…well, let’s see, who would that be?

Who was he working for before he entered the private sector and wound up at NSA?

The CIA.

Would that be the same CIA who hates the NSA with a venomous fervor?

Would that be the same CIA who’s been engaged in a turf war with NSA for decades?

The same CIA who’s watched their own prestige and funding diminish, as human intelligence has given way to electronic snooping?

Yes, it would be. CIA just can’t match the NSA when it comes to gathering signals-intell.

Wired Magazine, June 2013 issue. James Bamford, author of three books on the NSA, states:

“In April, as part of its 2014 budget request, the Pentagon [which rules the NSA] asked Congress for $4.7 billion for increased ‘cyberspace operations,’ nearly $1 billion more than the 2013 allocation. At the same time, budgets for the CIA and other intelligence agencies were cut by almost the same amount, $4.4 billion. A portion of the money going to…[NSA] will be used to create 13 cyberattack teams.”

That means spying money. Far more for NSA, far less for CIA.

Turf war.

People at the CIA were able to access those NSA documents, and they gave the documents to Snowden and he ran with them.

The CIA, of course, couldn’t be seen as the NSA leaker. They needed a guy. They needed a guy who could appear to be from the NSA, to make things look worse for the NSA and shield the CIA.

They had Ed Snowden. He had worked for the CIA in Geneva, in a high-level position, overseeing computer-systems security.

Somewhere in his CIA past, Ed meets a fellow CIA guy who sits down with him and says, “You know, Ed, things have gone too damn far. The NSA is spying on everybody all the time. I can show you proof. They’ve gone beyond the point of trying to catch terrorists. They’re doing something else. They’re expanding a Surveillance State, which can only lead to one thing: the destruction of America, what America stands for, what you and I know America is supposed to be. The NSA isn’t like us, Ed. We go after terrorists for real. That’s it. Whereas NSA goes after everybody. We have to stop it. We need a guy…and there are those of us who think you might be that guy…”

During the course of this one disingenuous conversation, the CIA is killing 37 innocent civilians all over the world with drones, but that’s beside the point. Ahem.

Ed says, “Tell me more. I’m intrigued.”

He buys in.

Put two scenarios on the truth scale and assess them. Which is more likely? The tale Snowden told to Glenn Greenwald, with all its holes, with its super-naive implications about the fumbling, bumbling NSA, or a scenario in which Snowden is the CIA’s boy?

We have reporters at the Washington Post and at The Guardian. We have Julian Assange, the head of Wikileaks. They’re all talking to Snowden. The NSA can spy on them. Right? Can listen to their calls and read their emails and hack into their notes. Just like people have been hacking into the work and home computers of Sharyl Attkisson, star CBS investigative reporter.

But the NSA can’t do all this spying and then use it to find Snowden. Just can’t manage it.

Everybody in the world with a computer has passwords. The NSA can cut through them (as well as encryption) like a sword through hot butter. But Assange and the Post and Guardian and Snowden have super-special passwords.

They got these passwords by sending a stamped self-addressed envelope, along with 25 cents, and a top from a cereal box to The Shadow. These passwords are charged with atomic clouds that obscure NSA men’s minds so they cannot see or spy. The passwords are immortal and invulnerable.

The NSA can spy on anyone else in the world, but they can’t get their foot in the door, when it comes to the Post, The Guardian, and Assange.

And if Snowden winds up in Venezuela or Tierra del Fuego, that too will become an insurmountable mystery.

“Nope, we don’t know where he is. He’s vanished. Venezuela has a Romulan shield surrounding it. The cloaking technology is too advanced.”

Perhaps you recall that, in the early days of this scandal, Snowden claimed he could spy on anyone in the US, including a federal judge or even the president, if he had their email addresses.

Uh-huh. But the combined talents of the NSA, now, can’t spy on Snowden. I guess they just can’t find his email address.

If Snowden is still working for the CIA, he and his buds aren’t the only people who want to take the NSA down a notch. No. Because, for example, NSA has been spying on everybody inside the Beltway.

Spying on politicians with secrets.

That includes a major, major, prime NSA target: Congress.

So imagine this conversation taking place, in a car, on a lonely road outside Washington, late at night. The speakers are Congressman X and a private operative representing a covert unit inside the NSA:

“Well, Congressman, do you remember January 6th? A Monday afternoon, a men’s room in the park off—”

“What the hell are you talking about!”

“A stall in the men’s room. The kid. He was wearing white high-tops. A Skins cap. T-shirt. Dark hair. Scar across his left cheek. Blue tattoo on his right thigh.”

“Jesus.”

“We have very good audio and video. Anytime you want to watch it, let me know.”

Dead silence.

“What do you want?”

“Right now, Congressman? We want you to come down hard on Snowden. Press it. He’s a traitor. He should tried and convicted.”

The Congressmen pulls himself together:

“Yeah, well, there’s another side to this story. If Snowden gets enough support, if the wave rises high enough, the NSA could take a hit. I know a dozen Washington players who’d like that very much. They’re pissed off. They don’t like to be spied on. It’s possible Snowden was their guy from the beginning. I couldn’t say…”

Let’s make a deal. That ends up being the topic of this and other similar conversations inside the Beltway.

“Senator, we know about the underage cheerleader in Ohio. Your trip there in 2012, just before the election.”

“Look, you’ve brought this up before. But now I’ve got a trump card to play. Ed Snowden. This whole scandal can escalate like a tornado in Kansas, or it can die down…”

Let’s make a deal.

Here’s another vector. A Congressman gets a visit from his favorite lobbyist, who works for a private defense contractor in the Congressman’s home state:

“Congressman, here’s the thing. The NSA is an integral part of our nation’s defense system. Right? This Snowden thing is messy. We want it to go away.”

“It may not go away. I’m not some kind of traffic cop who can put up his hand and stop the tide.”

“We understand that. I was just talking to XXX at NSA, and he’d really appreciate your help on this. Slam this bastard Snowden. Make him into the worst scumbag in the world.”

“And if I do?”

“Your offshore account in Panama will remain protected. That’s what XXX wanted me to tell you.”

Calling in markers. Putting on pressure. Let’s make a deal.

If you’re a Congressman or a Senator, and you know NSA is spying on you, because it’s spying on everyone in the Congress, who’s your potential best friend?

Somebody who can go up against the NSA, somebody who wants to go up against the NSA.

And who might that be?

The CIA.

It’s not perfect, but it’s the best you can do.

So if you’re a Congressman, you go to a friend in the CIA and you have a chat about “the NSA problem.” How can you get NSA off your back? Your CIA friend has his own concerns about NSA.

He tells you in confidence: “Look, maybe we can help you. We know a lot about the NSA. We have good people. You might say one of our jobs is watching the watchers at NSA, to, uh, make sure they don’t go too far in their spying.”

This sounds interesting. If you have to sell your soul, you’d rather sell it to the CIA than the NSA. It’s a judgment call.

And a few weeks or months later…you read about Ed Snowden blowing a hole in the NSA. You take note of the fact that Snowden worked for the CIA. He worked for them in Geneva. Then he left for the private sector and got himself assigned to the NSA.

Hmm. Maybe you have some cause for optimism.

You, the Congressman, don’t give a damn about the NSA spying on all Americans all the time. You couldn’t care less about that. You just don’t want NSA looking over your own shoulder.

You know the incredibly naïve American public would never imagine what’s going on behind the scenes, with CIA, NSA, and Congress. The yokels and rubes in America actually believe their Congressional representatives are, well, representing them in Washington.

This fact is good. It means privacy for you: you can try to work out your problems without public scrutiny. You can play all the necessary games to hide your own secrets and crimes, and you can do it in back rooms.

Unless those bastards at NSA decide to leak one of your embarrassing secrets. That’s why you need your friend at CIA.

And now, again, you look at the recent article and see that Ed Snowden worked for the CIA. You hope this a signal from the CIA that they’re taking a battering ram to the NSA.

Some schmuck reporter asks you about the current NSA scandal and you say, “Of course we have to protect classified data, in order to prevent terrorist attacks. But at the same time, we need to respect the Bill of Rights. People can’t go around spying on anyone for no reason.”

You’re sending your own signal.

You’re tipping your CIA guy. You appreciate his help, if in fact he’s helping you. You can’t ask him directly. If you did, he’d never give you a straight answer. But just in case…

As for the naïve rubes in your home state, the voters, you don’t give them a second thought. They’re not on your radar. They’re merely clusters of polling data. They don’t have a clue about how the game is played, and they never will.

You’re representing two defense contractors, a pharmaceutical company, a big Ag corporation, and a bank. Those are your only true constituents. You give them all the time they need.

To keep those relationships on track, you only need to hide your peccadillos from embarrassing exposure. The hooker in DC, the bank account in Panama, the influence you used to move a sizable donation to a university where you intend to teach when you retire.

There are only two things you really need to think about in your job. First, what happens when your Party leaders come down the hall and tell you which way you’re going to vote on a bill—and you know your vote is going to upset one of your key constituents back home.

That’s a tricky situation. But you’ve been successful in keeping feathers from being ruffled. That pharmaceutical company understands you can’t side with their interests every single time.

You’ve got to go with your Party. The Pharma boys don’t like it, but they get it.

Exit From the Matrix

The other thing you’ve got to think about is darker. Nobody is going to give you stats on it, because stats don’t exist. Here’s how it shakes out:

How many people in Congress are so controlled by the NSA that they’d never try to break out? How many people, with how many secrets, are so blackmailed, they’d never dare go up against NSA?

This is an important calculation. The battle might already be lost. You might not stand a chance. Maybe nobody can help you. Maybe you can’t escape.

Maybe you shouldn’t even hint that NSA has overstepped its legal boundaries by spying on Americans.

That’s the conundrum that keeps you up at night.

What if the spies spying on their own government are running the government beyond the ability of anyone to stop them?

You don’t give a damn about what this would mean for America. You only care about what it means for you and your secrets.

Maybe this is the jail you’re in for the rest of your life.

When you’re back in your home state showing your face and giving speeches, and a voter comes up to you and voices a concern about his dwindling paycheck, his house payment, his endangered pension…and when you nod and gaze out at the horizon, as as if to pluck a magic answer from the aether, you’re really thinking about the conundrum.

You’re thinking about the life sentence you’re serving in the Surveillance State.

And that night, in your hotel room, you get down on your knees and pray that Ed Snowden is still working for the CIA.

Who else, besides the CIA and numerous politicians inside the Beltway, would be aching to take the NSA down a notch? Who else would be rooting hard for this former (?) CIA employee, Snowden, to succeed?

How about Wall Street?

Still waiting to be uncovered? NSA spying to collect elite financial data, spying on the people who have that data: the major investment banks. NSA scooping up that data to predict, manipulate, and profit from trading markets all over the world.

A trillion-dollar operation.

Snowden worked for Booz Allen, which is owned by the Carlyle Group ($170 billion in assets). Carlyle, the infamous. Their money is making money in 160 investment funds.

A few of Carlyle’s famous front men in its history: George HW Bush, James Baker (US Secretary of State), Frank Carlucci (US Secretary of Defense and CIA Deputy Director), John Major (British Prime Minister), Arthur Levitt (Chairman of the SEC).

Suppose you’re one of the princes in the NSA castle, and Ed Snowden has just gone public with your documents. You’re saying, “Let’s see, this kid worked for Booz Allen, which is owned by the Carlyle Group. We (NSA) have been spying over Carlyle’s shoulder, stealing their proprietary financial data. What are the chances they’re getting a little revenge on us now?”

Yes, you’re thinking about that. You’re looking into it.

The Surveillance State has created an apparatus whose implications are staggering. It’s a different world now. And sometimes it takes a writer of fiction to flesh out the larger landscape.

Brad Thor’s novel, Black List, posits the existence of a monster corporation, ATS, that stands along side the NSA in collecting information on every move we make. ATS’ intelligence-gathering capability is unmatched anywhere in the world.

At his site, BradThor.com, the author lists some of the open-source material he discovered that formed the basis for Black List. The material, as well as the novel, is worth reading.

On pages 117-118 of Black List, Thor makes a stunning inference that, on reflection, is as obvious as the fingers on your hand:

“For years ATS [substitute NSA] had been using its technological superiority to conduct massive insider trading. Since the early 1980s, the company had spied on anyone and everyone in the financial world. They listened in on phone calls, intercepted faxes, and evolved right along with the technology, hacking internal computer networks and e-mail accounts. They created mountains of ‘black dollars’ for themselves, which they washed through various programs they were running under secret contract, far from the prying eyes of financial regulators.

“Those black dollars were invested into hard assets around the world, as well as in the stock market, through sham, offshore corporations. They also funneled the money into reams of promising R&D projects, which eventually would be turned around and sold to the Pentagon or the CIA.

“In short, ATS had created its own license to print money and had assured itself a place beyond examination or reproach.”

In real life, whether the prime criminal source is one monster corporation or the NSA itself, the outcome would be the same.

Total surveillance has unlimited payoffs when it targets financial markets and the people who have intimate knowledge of them.

“Total security awareness” programs of surveillance are ideal spying ops in the financial arena, designed to grab millions of bits of inside information, and then utilize them to make investments and suck up billions (trillions?) of dollars.

It gives new meaning to “the rich get richer.”

Previously, we thought we needed to look over the shoulders of the men who were committing major financial crimes out of public view. But now, if we want to be up to date, we also have to factor in the men who are spying on those criminals, who are gathering up those secrets and using them to commit their own brand of meta-crime.

And in the financial arena, that means we think of Goldman Sachs and JP Morgan as perpetrators, yes, but we also think about the NSA men who already know everything about GS and Morgan, and are using this knowledge to steal sums that might make GS and Morgan blush with envy.

Goldman Sachs, Chase, and Morgan consider trillion-dollar trading markets their own private golden-egg farm. They run it, they own it, they manipulate it for their own ends.

If NSA has been looking over their shoulders for the past 30 years, discovering all their knowledge, and operating a meta invasion, siphoning off enormous profits, NSA would rate as Enemy Number One.

And would need to be torpedoed.

Enter Ed Snowden.

Finally, we need to understand what NSA and other agencies are doing, are really doing in their ongoing creation of the Surveillance State.

Number one, they’re technocrats who are ultimately Globalists, in sheep’s clothing. Their tracking of every human on Earth is designed to morph into a system for distribution of goods and services from a central control point. To the whole planet. In this system, a human is a unit, a data point that surrenders to a set of ruling algorithms.

And number two, they’re trying to create a single universal mind. Which is to say, the flattening and reducing of human thought down to manageable parameters of conformity and sameness.

Surveillance itself tends to achieve this over time, because when people know they are being watched and evaluated, they simplify their mental processes. They avoid many subjects, they avoid controversy, they express fewer ideas, they monitor their own responses.

Surveillance tacitly encourages a limited range of thought in which all people participate. You wind up with one cookbook of recipes for the human condition. People make the same meals. The meals taste the same. Everybody eats the same thing.

So far, the revelations of Edward Snowden have done nothing to stop the juggernaut. No major hearings to expose the overall Surveillance State are scheduled.

The NSA could take a hit, but that means nothing in the long run.

In this sense, what Snowden has exposed could be called a limited hangout. A way to let a little steam off, a way to avoid the deeper issues.

The true wild card in the op to lock down the planet is, as always, the free individual. The individual who takes his own freedom. The individual who creates something unexpected, something that can’t be predicted by any system.

The individual who finds himself in the middle of the labyrinth and suddenly has a lawnmower and cuts a new path out.

Some people think that’s Snowden.

Is it?

Whatever you believe, the idea that individuals—rather than groups and collectives—can achieve shattering breakthroughs is exactly what the Surveillance State is trying to destroy.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. 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