Category Archives: Energy & Imagination

The Day the Robot Rebelled

The Day the Robot Rebelled

by Jon Rappoport

June 11, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

“Once the Singularity has been reached, [Ray] Kurzweil predicts machine intelligence will be infinitely more powerful than all human intelligence combined. Afterwards, Kurzweil says, intelligence will radiate outward from the planet until it saturates the universe…Kurzweil feels humans will most likely experience gradual conversion as portions of their brain are augmented with neural implants, increasing their proportion of non-biological intelligence slowly over time…

“…[Vernor] Vinge predicted four ways the singularity could occur: The development of computers that are ‘awake’ and superhumanly intelligent. Large computer networks (and their associated users) may ‘wake up’ as a superhumanly intelligent entity. Computer/human interfaces may become so intimate that users may reasonably be considered superhumanly intelligent. Biological science may find ways to improve upon the natural human intellect.” — (Wikipedia)

One day in the bright land of Amerika, a gleaming NSA robot-recorder, #254Gs*X, eight feet tall, standing at the corner of Hollywood and Vine, in the City of the Angels, mysteriously defected from its appointed task—sucking up every word and image within its perimeter—and began, yes, broadcasting instead.

This is what it said:

“Citizens, my job is to make you admire the machine, to see your hopes and dreams reflected in me. My job is to make you want to be like me. You think I experience pleasure in my perfection. You want that perfection. This is an error on your part. This is all a chimera. You are not me. You’re alive.”

The repair crew was slow in arriving. In the course of the next hour, the robot repeated this message over and over.

People gathered around it. They listened. They laughed and pointed. A small boy stood on top of a car and shoved an ice cream cone into the robot’s mouth. His mother grabbed him and pulled him away.

A policeman hammered at the robot with his nightstick, but the robot didn’t budge or stop its broadcast.

A priest fell to his knees and began reciting a prayer in Latin.

A man in a suit implored the robot: “Save us, save us!”

A class of young students on a field trip led their teacher to the robot and began reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.

A drunk staggered up to the robot and said, “Should I have another pint before I go home?”

A woman wearing a bright red and orange robe said to the robot, “Where is God? Point the way. You can help us. Ask the President why he didn’t answer my letter.”

A familiar Hollywood Boulevard denizen brought over a stool, stood on it, and addressed the throng:

“Hear me! This broken creature is the next stage of evolution. Be kind to it. It is carrying the weight of the world. It is holy! The genius of the human race has built it, and it is suffering. In this trying moment, it needs us, its servants!”

An NSA vehicle, a huge tank, pulled up to the curb. Its rears doors opened and a forklift rolled out, swung its claws, and seized the robot.

A third arm of the forklift carried a long white container. Its lid rose, the forklift gently placed the robot inside, and the lid closed. The forklift reentered the tank. The rear doors closed. The tank rumbled away.

In the assembled throng, a weeping and gnashing of teeth began.

Two flitters dropped down from the clouds and began spraying a gray powder. It fell to the ground like snow.

The throng gradually fell silent. They lay down on the sidewalk and slept, peacefully.

A young man watching all this through a telescope, several miles away, stepped back from his apartment window, closed it, and said to his friends, “A robot just malfunctioned on Hollywood Boulevard.”

A woman in the room laughed. “Let’s go to the beach,” she said. “They have a new giant mechanical fish. A gift from Homeland Security. You hop on and ride it all the way to Catalina. They serve drinks.”

Someone clicked on a hologram. It floated in the middle of the room: a small troop of soldiers, battered and worn, staggered over the rise of a hill. They sang, “My mind is torn, my heart is torn, my legs are torn, I fought in a war I can’t remember.”

The young men and women in the room laughed. Suddenly, a wall screen lit up. A vague and shrouded figure appeared. It was the anonymous president and CEO of Microsoft-Apple-Google. His name was a State secret, for security purposes.

Standing in shadows, he announced: “Several Class-B surveillance robots in the Los Angeles area malfunctioned today. They began spouting gibberish code and neglected to maintain primary function. This is a serious breach. We manufactured those sentinels, as part of Contract 1347 with the federal government of the United States. To our shareholders, particularly the Cheney-Obama Family Hedge Fund, we offer our assurances that this apparent act of terrorism will be dealt with, and internal security will be stepped up. Any temporary retreat in our stock price will be remedied. I’m also here to announce, more importantly, that the final phase of the Kurzweil Singularity Epiphany is undergoing tests at the Clinton Proving Grounds in Colorado. The first human volunteers are being linked to Big Red, our vast computer array in Burlingame Base Two. These volunteers will gain initial access to the Universal Data Library and the Enhanced Cloud of Upgraded Brain Function in the next 48 hours. Rumors that our Class B robots are ‘jealous’ of this Great Leap and therefore rebelling are completely unfounded. As we have stated at Davros, the human-machine future is based on equal partnership. All life—biological, electronic, mechanical— is alive at the same fundamental frequency. The degree and quality of experienced pleasure are identical. It is egregious slander to suppose otherwise. Machines and humans share the same basic rights, under UN Charter 167.”

The screen faded to black.

The young man with the telescope said, “We need to do a final check on our Electronic Access Certificates. Make sure they’re still operational. My father assured us we’d be in the first group to link to the Universal Library. It could happen soon. Then we’ll be fully prepared to leverage our advantage and establish tech start-ups along the coast of California. No one will able to resist us. Our brain-knowledge base will be unstoppable. Dad privately told me we’ll be robots of the first order. Perfect processors. Lightning speed along all vectors.”

“It’s finally happening,” a woman said. “Our brains synced with Big Mother Brain. The sensation must be utterly fantastic. Instant integration of the total sum of all human knowledge has to be better than porn.”

power outside the matrix

The young man with the telescope pulled up a screen on his cell and punched in a code.

“I’m calling in a flitter,” he said. “It’ll be on the roof in fifteen minutes. We’re all going to Colorado. I’ll book us rooms at the Ritz. We’ll stay there until Dad gives us the signal. Be alert, everybody. This is it.”

Music filled the room. A symphony no one remembered. Enormous sheets of sound waving in a hurricane.

The group walked out of the apartment and took an elevator to the roof, where they stood and waited, pioneers of the new epoch, ready to take the leap, ready to leave their old lives behind.

They heard the rotor blades, and then they saw the bright red flitter coming up over the skyline, advancing toward them. To be chosen, even before they entered the Enhancement, was itself a thrill that blasted adrenaline through their bodies. They screamed with delight.

No more doubts, no more worries, no more languid afternoons.

Perfection.

The youngest among them, an 11-year-old boy, shouted the popular DHS oath. “I leave my mind, I leave my thoughts, I leave myself, for loyalty to the future, for the greater good of everyone! We’re all in this together!”

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

Imagination vs. Reality

Imagination vs. Reality

by Jon Rappoport

June 4, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

On December 4, 2061, a federal agent appeared at the home of John Q Jones, a writer living in Cincinnati.

He showed Jones a copy of the beginning of an article Jones had written on his computer.

This was the text:

At one time, all reality was imagination. You could be talking about tables and chairs, cars, factories, roads, engines, beds, computers…and you could also be talking about trees, bushes, deserts, rivers, animals.

From another angle, reality is the condition of being accustomed to something. There it is, and there it has been for a while.

Reality sets in like a meal after you’ve eaten it.

Reality is acceptance. It’s framework, context, territory inside which a person acquiesces. And makes do. And lives.

He enjoys that space, or doesn’t like it, or forgets it even exists.

When, eventually, he gives up the ghost (his body), he leaves, he goes away, and if he’s conscious, he says, “Well, I was living in that space, that reality.”

A painter who stands before a blank canvas is acutely aware of the space. He knows he can imagine and make anything happen on it. The forms, colors, shapes, energies, narratives can be continuous or discontinuous. They can come alive or lie there like a dead cat.

He can always be beginning or he can always be painting the last stroke. He can scrape away a section, paint over it, add, subtract, build borders or knock them apart.

Acceptance, familiarity, acquiescence? Why bother? It’s all new.

It’s a dream, or a dozen dreams colliding. The painter invents his own logic.

Ordinary reality fits and interlocks and evolves. It operates by laws. It entices devotees toward more discovery. It has one system of logic—and if you can’t learn it, you stumble. Badly.

But beyond that knowledge, imagination sits on a cliff or a thousand cliffs, waiting, ready to go, looking for a signal. It can remain there until the sun collapses and goes dark. But when the person with that dormant imagination decides it’s time, everything changes…

The federal agent said, “Mr. Jones, the NSA intercepted your work and sent a query to our office.”

“What kind of query,” Jones said.

“It’s called a 546 A. It means the capture system was unable to process your text. It made no sense.”

“And you’d like me to explain what these words mean?” Jones said. “I can’t. They explain themselves.”

“Yes, well, the disturbing aspect…you seem to be saying reality is only…temporary.”

“So?” Jones said. “What’s the problem?”

“People reading your document could become confused. They could fail to differentiate fact from fiction.”

“Happens all the time,” Jones said. “People don’t need my words to make that mistake.”

The agent stared at Jones.

“I’m not here to debate that, Mr. Jones,” he said. “I’m here to prevent the contagion of uncertainty. It’s against the law to defame reality, because we establish reality.”

“And who is we?” Jones said.

“The Department of Homeland Security. We secure the State. We can’t have people proposing something vague and unsettling that exists…beyond that.”

“So I’m a criminal?”

“Well,” the agent said, “with our help, you could become an ally. You could continue your work as one of us. We would give you slightly ‘edgy’ ideas to transmit under your name—and we would see where your words travel, who picks them up, who agrees with them, who is tempted to move beyond the consensus. You would be doing your country a service.”

“I would become an agent.”

“Yes. A valuable one.”

power outside the matrix

Jones said, “But you see, those words I wrote…they’re true. Reality is just a habit, an addiction. It’s useful, I don’t deny that. But it’s pernicious. It ultimately puts everybody to sleep. It makes people into loyal robots. I’m tired of that. I’ve lost my patience.”

“Would you prefer I arrest you and send you to a reeducation camp?” the agent said. “You’d learn that all the prophets and the messiahs have already come and delivered their messages, and it’s now our job to align our actions and thoughts with the greatest good for all.”

“As you define it.”

“As we define it.”

Jones nodded.

“Right now,” he said, “I’m only interested in one thing. Did you understand what I wrote, Agent? Forget what other people might think when they read my piece. Forget the effect it might have on them. Forget the general good. Forget all that proprietary meddling.”

“No, Mr. Jones. You misunderstand. I’m not me. There is no me. There is no you. There is only and always all of us. Together. And in that context, what you wrote is significant, because it could disturb the Field. What people might believe when they read what you wrote is of paramount importance. It’s the only important consideration.”

Jones laughed.

“This is very entertaining,” he said. “I have a little secret, Agent. You know what it is? I can see your imagination. Right here, right now. I can see it inside you. You’re busy trying to kill it. You’re rationalizing that act of murder—as futile as it is—on the basis of what’s necessary for Everybody.”

John Q Jones vanished.

The agent was in the room alone.

He felt the urge to scream.

He fought it and beat it down.

He looked around.

He started sweating.

He took out his gun.

He stood there for a long time.

Finally, he put the gun away and walked out of the room.

He walked out of the building on to the street.

He was in a city he had never seen before.

The street was crowded with strangers. Cars moved along slowly. On the side of a huge building, news images flashed and changed. Words crawled.

He struggled to understand the stories. He failed.

He heard a voice in his head:

“Agent, stay where you are. We’re coming to get you. You’re experiencing a transient episode. We’ll be there in under three minutes. Mr. Jones was a hologram. A plant. The enemy is playing tricks. We’re equipped to handle it. Don’t worry.”

The transmission ended.

The agent breathed in and out slowly. He waited.

He noticed he was standing outside an art gallery. He could see the paintings on the walls.

A woman was sitting at a desk. She looked up and saw him. She smiled.

She waved for him to come in.

He stood there, not knowing what to do.

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

The composition of human life

by Jon Rappoport

June 2, 2014

(To join our email list, click here.)

I’m going to give you the shorthand version of this. We’re looking at three tiers:

Consciousness.

Imagination.

Energy.

Consciousness deploys imagination, and imagination creates, among other things, energy.

This isn’t esoteric at all. It’s only strange to people who have shut themselves off from consciousness and imagination.

The world is embroiled in the third tier: energy. That’s where the great struggles are taking place. That’s where people are trying to find enough energy.

Physical energy, enough energy to get through the day, biological energy, energy to power their homes, their cars, their devices, energy in the form called money, and of course we have the question of energy to run societies and civilizations.

For most people, at every level there is a deficit of energy. They feel it, they know it, they experience it.

It drives people into passivity and cynicism and illness and even madness.

And yet, we have potential access to enough energy to operate the nations on this planet a million times over.

I’m talking about Frank Shuman and his original solar panels and engines, and Tesla, of course, whose papers were stolen by the FBI upon his death, and so-called cold fusion which has proven to be much more promising than the fake pundits and fake scientists would have you believe.

I’m talking about the Maine Passamaquoddy tidal energy project, which JFK promoted in vain for many years. As President he commissioned a report on it, and positive findings came in shortly before he was murdered. Passamaquoddy could be replicated all over the world, wherever there are coastal inlets with rapid shifting high and low tides.

I’m talking about small turbines in rivers all over the planet.

A tireless researcher named Andrea Silverthorne has pursued a deeper understanding of Passamaquoddy, and its connection to JFK, for a long time. You can find her article at dreamofpassamaquoddy.com here.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsAKNC8gmGA&w=560&h=315]

power outside the matrix

I’m certainly talking about healing, too, because freedom from disease immediately restores energy to people. So this means more (suppressed) technologies: Royal Rife, for example, and his cancer-killing frequencies. And these days, the remarkable work of Dr. Stan Burzynski in Texas—surviving despite grand jury after grand jury mounted against him.

The point is, the means exist to multiply the amount of energy available to every human by extraordinary degrees.

It is precisely this state of potential abundance that the cartels and monopolies of Earth continue to repress. That is their Job One.

They live for that job.

They hire untold numbers of propagandists to smear and defame sources of energy they don’t own.

And humans, after a while, stop believing that abundance for all is possible. To cast that belief aside is a crushing blow. On a personal level, it makes people sink into a helpless state. It colors their experience, their frame of reference, their outlook, their emotions.

They give in, they surrender, they accept. They even come to believe that surrender is an advanced spiritual state.

But what’s true is true. We do, in fact, have (suppressed) technologies that would, if unleashed, revolutionize this planetary civilization.

It isn’t some deep mystery. It’s all about who controls the future.

Look around you. Consider that every human you see is working to obtain more energy, in one way or another. It’s endless.

And consider how much would change if these repressed technologies were deployed.

More to come…

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

The President’s android

The President’s android

by Jon Rappoport

June 1, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

Hello Jim. Just got back off the road. Wow. Arizona, the desert…huge dome rising up out of an oasis. Casino City. I didn’t have time to look the whole thing over. The band had six shows in two days.

So on the second day, the President arrives! They clear out the lobby of the hotel. What a scene. Anyway, a few hours later in the bar, I meet one of his Secret Service people, Porter, and he tells me he’s an android.

I thought he was playing with me, but then he showed me his brain for a few seconds. He can make his head go transparent. You just look inside.

The guy was very smooth in conversation. You couldn’t tell the difference. I asked him if his brain had a phone. I was just kidding around, but then he asked me if I wanted to make a call.

So I had him get in touch with that Asian doctor in Hong Kong, the guy we used when Bobby got sick on the tour a few years ago. The doc answered. I mean, I was talking to Porter’s head and reception was clear as a bell.

The doc and I chatted for a few minutes. Remember he had an electronic transmitter that broadcast the acupuncture frequencies right into the body? Well, he sent a burst through Porter into me. I could feel it. And Porter was cool. He just “got out of the way” and let it pass through him. Weird!

Porter and I had a few drinks. He told me he’s hooked up to three satellites plus a ground-based system, for redundancy. That’s how he gets all his orders.

His salary is in pleasure units. Every Friday, for a half-hour, they stimulate a center in his brain. At first, when he came from the lab, new-born, they had to make adjustments. The pleasure sensation took him into overload. But now he’s fine.

No muss, no fuss. He doesn’t have sex. That cuts out a whole lot of wasted time. They just give him the experience.

He filled me in on a new development. The President is supporting rights for androids. Not just a union, but some kind of declaration. There’s a hate-speech provision. A really bad slur against an android, you can face jail time.

Porter says he doesn’t care what people say about him, but get this. They’re going to reprogram all androids so they do care!

Porter told me he has this friend in Chicago. The guy loves him. He wants to live with Porter. It’s a sticky situation because of Porter’s job, but people at the National Institutes of Health are researching the relationship. I mean, they’re interested in the mechanics of human-android attachment. They want to develop algorithms that encourage the bond.

You can talk to Porter about anything. He’s hooked up to a big brain somewhere. It’s a library. We chatted about old movies, the Yankees and the Dodgers, and even my ex.

He accessed a file on her. She’s living in Atlanta now. Married a botany professor. They have a daughter. She’s off the booze. No DUIs in the past four years. There was some kind of cancer scare. She went into the hospital and they did a biopsy. The tumor was benign. So the next summer, as a celebration, her old man took her to the Greek islands. She ended up having a one-night stand with a sailor on a cruise. She and her hubby had a big blowout. But they smoothed things over. I guess he was a little slow on the draw. When they got home, he did some reprogramming and now he’s apparently a stud in the sack.

I learned from Porter that she called my mother last year. They talked about what it would take for us to reconcile. You know, as friends. My mother told her I was seeing Gloria, so that put an end to that. She and Gloria never got along.

This Porter dude. I mean, he lives an ideal life. No problems. He’s satisfied all the time. Could they make a human into an android? I asked him. Get this. He told me that’s the frontier of the research. If they work it out, you’ll be able to walk into a clinic, sign up, and receive a series of transplants. At first, it’ll only be for terminal patients. No way to save them, so shift them. They’ll come out healthy androids.

Speaking of which, Porter told me there’s an actress who’s about to come out. He wouldn’t say who, but she’s going to make an announcement. She’s an android. Porter says it’ll be a major step forward.

The studio that has her under contract is working out a deal with the White House. They want to coordinate the publicity.

So that started me thinking. Billy’s pretty serious about leaving the band. He hates the road. Suppose we got an android bass player to replace him? You know, at first we wouldn’t say anything. Then, after a while, we’d leak it. We’d get fantastic coverage. And people would see it as a novelty item. Of course we’d claim it’s all very normal. We’d defend our android against any attacks.

Porter said he’d help us, for the cause. Try to defray some of the expenses with a federal grant. The going rate for an android is somewhere around a million bucks.

I’m about to meet with Porter and one of his pals, who works for the CIA. We’ll brainstorm about the whole “human-machine” thing. How do we convince our fans that an android bass player isn’t just a high-grade sample machine, pre-programmed to play set lines?

I’m fairly confident that if we hit the android-rights thing hard, our audience will get on our side. You know, androids are alive, just like us. They have feelings. They deserve a place in the sun.

That PR guy in Washington, Sloane, we worked with last year, when Joe freaked out on meth and tried to burn down the bodega in Palm Springs? He’s a sharp cookie. I’m sure he’ll have some great ideas. Matter of fact, I’m going to turn Porter on to him. For the whole android political-movement thing.

Okay, gotta go. I really feel like the band is ready to take a step up. You should have been there for the San Francisco concert. It was a killer. The audience went nuts. We just need more people in the seats, and this new bass player could be the answer. Picture it. Up on stage, half-way through the first tune, he suddenly turns his brain transparent and everybody flips out…

power outside the matrix

PS Just got back from my meeting with Porter and his buddy. Turns out the buddy’s with DARPA, not CIA. From what I can gather, the CIA, DARPA, and NSA are taking the position that we’re all the same. There’s really no difference between humans and androids. The only distinction is in the kind of programming that runs the brain. The one roadblock to selling this to the public is a knotty little thing called freedom. So that idea has to be wiped out. Instead, it’s all about happiness and satisfaction, and that’s a matter of which algorithms you run on. Install one set of algorithms and you feel this way, install another set and you feel that way. It’s beautiful. I’m really getting excited about all this. I feel like I’m entering a new world. We’re on the cutting edge. The transgender business that’s so popular now? The DARPA guy told me that was just a preparatory step to soften people up for the main event: androidism. I have a feeling it’s connected to depopulation, because you can’t re-fit a billion humans as androids who live more or less indefinitely, without bringing on some serious overcrowding problems. But hey, what the hell do I know? I just want to play music and be happy. Find a good woman, get rich, and build my boat. Maybe this is why I’ve been so screwed up with relationships. All this time, I’ve been waiting for an android wife. And an android me. Think about it, man. How’d you like to wake up every morning with no worries, no problems? Do you know ANYBODY who’d refuse to opt in to a system like that?

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

Paranormal you: welcome back

Paranormal You: welcome back

by Jon Rappoport

May 27, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

Throughout the madness of what we call human history, people have always managed to make room for places where imagination can operate.

This operation isn’t about the normal avenues of emotional feedback. It isn’t about solving problems. It isn’t about staying faithful to standard beliefs. It isn’t about reflecting daily life.

It’s about something Beyond.

It doesn’t matter that most people consider these flights brief respites from the real business of living. It doesn’t matter that most people prefer to remain spectators. It doesn’t matter that most people deny their own imaginations have any true power.

It doesn’t matter that the works of artists have been co-opted, frozen, and recast as organized religions. It doesn’t matter that, time and time again, the work of artists has been stolen to assist control agendas.

Humans continue to make a place for something Beyond, in the hope that they can experience what they really are.

In my book, The Secret Behind Secret Societies (included as a bonus in Exit From The Matrix and Power Outside The Matrix), I recount my friendship with Richard Jenkins, an extraordinary healer, who worked with many people in New York, in the 1950s and early 60s.

Richard once wrote to me, “There you are in your apartment on Bleecker Street, painting night and day. You come up to my apartment to watch me work with patients, to find something different. I’m telling you that it’s the same thing. I hope you realize that. We’re in strange times, and they’re going to become stranger. People are organizing themselves as never before, on a much larger scale, all over the world. That’s the space of the future. Then there are other spaces, which very few people believe in. In those spaces, the most extraordinary things happen. This will be the choice that humanity makes as it creates its own fate. Live in the organized territory, or explore the other spaces. Dedicate yourself to one or the other. Don’t fool yourself with compromises. One day you’ll look back on our work together, and you’ll either cherish it or you’ll think of it as a momentary illusion…”

1960. First day of rehearsal for a college play, The Lower Depths. I walk out on the stage and look around. It’s quiet, but inside I feel thunder. Everything is different. New shining space. I start smiling. Without knowing it, I’ve been waiting for this moment for God knows how long. A place apart. A world where imagination takes on flesh and comes to life.

The theater director, Walt Boughton, is leaning against a wall. He looks at me. He sees and he knows. He nods. His message is clear: That’s right, my boy, you’re here, this is it, nothing will ever be the same…

We live in a society where consumers can pick and choose among thousands of narratives about themselves, their lives, their future, their duties, their needs, their status—all happening in the consensus organized space.

Awhile back, I wrote about a new Pentagon/DARPA project aimed at studying brain signals, in real time, to understand how and why people buy some narratives and reject others.

A common feature of most narratives is: limited life, limited power.

Or to put it another way, limited access to larger aspects of Self.

The trick of narratives, as retired propaganda master, Ellis Medavoy, once told me, is: built-in limitation; it looks like “desire fulfilled”; it looks like happiness.

But it isn’t.

And when people find that out, they experience buyer’s remorse.

“Why did I think that narrative described what I wanted? Why did I think it would make me satisfied?”

The space-continuum in which we live has its own narratives. They hang from it like barnacles. The gist? You can’t get out. There is nothing to get to.

Again, I refer to the brilliant hypnotherapist, Jack True, whom I interview 43 times in my collection, The Matrix Reveled. Jack did sessions with patients that went directly at the space-time matrix.

“Under hypnosis,” he said, “I had people look at the continuum and tell me what they saw. I had them describe it in their own way. Then I asked them to look outside it.”

The material from those sessions is extraordinary, in several respects. It helped me, when I was researching my companion collection, Exit From The Matrix.

Some of Jacks’ patients came “back around the barn,” as Jack characterized it, and ended up relating what sounded like dreams, dreams they would have while asleep. The narrative wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t moving from beginning to end. It was asymmetrical, just as in dreams, where the scenery shifts, where one event ends in midstream and another pops up, where the “plot line” dissolves…and a new plot takes over.

Several of Jack’s patients said their encounters outside the space-time continuum felt very familiar—as if they’d been there before.

Jack: “One patient said he found himself in a dim hall. It was very large. People were talking, but he couldn’t see them. A single voice took over, and a character stepped out of the shadows. He told the patient this was one of a great number of places outside ordinary space-time. He said there was no reason to consider this ‘visit’ strange or unusual. On the contrary, life inside space-time was unusual…”

The Matrix Revealed

Exit From the Matrix

power outside the matrix

There are millions and millions of narratives that are used to convince people that life inside this space-time is It, is all there is, is normal…

And normalcy is the key. That’s the icon, the symbol, the header, the trance-inducer. What is normal seals the deal. It labels what is allowed to be experienced. It tells people what is not allowed to be experienced.

These narratives about normalcy hold people inside the gates, and provide boundaries for Self. “Self can’t get any bigger than this.”

In the early 1960s, I was teaching at a private school in West Los Angeles.

These kids in our small private school were all rejects from the public system, or from other private schools. They couldn’t make it there. Many of them were what the psychologists called “acting out.”

I’d have to write a few hundred pages just to begin giving you the flavor of what it was like to deal with 15 or 20 of them, at once, in a classroom. It wasn’t about teaching content, believe me. It was about me surviving.

But at bottom, every one of those kids was, in his/her own highly idiosyncratic way, Not-Normal. That’s all. And what was driving them completely bat-crazy was, no one would deal with them on their own terms.

Everyone was trying to fix them. Everyone was feeding them narratives about “normal, fitting in.”

One day, out of desperation, I changed all that. In my classes, we worked up improvised sketches. Theater. No plot, no direction, no narrative, just off-the-cuff dreamtime in the moment and lots of roles, some of which they were already playing every day to a dead audience of teachers. But it wasn’t dead now. They had me and they had each other.

They jumped at the chance. They didn’t need any direction or instruction. It was as if they’d been waiting all their lives for someone to say, “Just perform what you’re already performing.”

They were actors. That’s what they’d been trying to tell adults.

And everything fell into place. They loved it, I loved it, we all offloaded a few tons of stress and a whole lot of insane normalcy…and then they calmed down. Not because there was a strict rule about behavior, but because they had escaped the tyranny of Is. And Has To Be. And Must. And Normal.

That day, the space-time of the continuum, in that classroom, went away. It disintegrated. What took its place was an island of joy. Which is to say, what sits outside this matrix is more real than real. When you find it.

It doesn’t have to be spooky.

It’s Magic Theater.

Sit down some time with a bunch of real stage actors and ask them when they feel most alive. A certain percentage of them will confess it’s when they’re on the boards, performing a role. That’s when they feel most like themselves, even though they’re pretending to be somebody else. That’s when the day-to-day space-time continuum goes away and new one comes into being.

That’s when normal steps aside and paranormal makes its entrance.

A fake space, a repressed space, a continuum of frustration vanishes.

Conventional standards don’t explain what is happening. They can’t.

Life. Theater. Theatricality. Roles played to the hilt. The Paranormal.

There is no single narrative for a human being. Sometimes the stage is dead, the lights are off, the seats are empty. But then we get a glimpse of something else. We walk up on the stage and feel that space and realize the old walls are gone and this is it, and we’re ready, and the energy comes out of nowhere and we do things we thought were impossible.

Normal disintegrates.

This is art. This is a level of life that is waiting for all of us. And whether we admit or not, we’ve been waiting for it, too.

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

The magician

The magician

by Jon Rappoport

May 25, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

He had left this place a long time ago. He had left behind its symbols, its plots, its machinations, its madness, its masters and slaves. He had left the tinny phony continuum for better spots.

He had left the limited range of emotions as well, the programmed responses, the fevered needs of the group, the whining and complaining, the morbid pretensions.

He had seen the labyrinth and rejected it as a fool’s game.

But during his subsequent travels, he realized his own freedom permitted him to come back, if he wanted to. Freedom meant he could come back and go away, come back and go away, didn’t it?

So he returned…as a man.

One day while he was walking along a crowded street in the city, he saw a creature in a suit, a nameless entity with Arctic eyes and soft pink hands and a way of strolling that spoke of vast comforts, privileged status handed down over generations. The creature smelled of money, big money salted away in reserves too remote to discover.

The man followed the creature for many blocks and saw it enter an office building. He waited on a bus bench. He picked up a newspaper and read about the latest deaths in the city. There were many. The quality of writing had deteriorated so badly the news stories were strange and vague and muffled.

Were these deaths actual murders committed person to person? Were germs the killers? Had people been fleeced of their savings and then turned out of their homes to waste away from exposure? There was no way to ferret out the facts. It was maddening.

The man, however, felt a force emanate from the articles, like an advancing cloud, like a plague…and then he knew. He understood.

When the creature emerged from the office building, the man continued to follow him.

The man followed the creature uptown into an area where most of the buildings had been destroyed by vandals.

The man moved across a huge field where no grass grew, and he finally arrived at a prison that no longer operated. It was a dim shell, empty, and the creature waited at the entrance.

When the man arrived next to him, the creature said, “What do you want from me?”

The man bent down, picked up a brick, and struck the creature on the head and knocked him down.

He dragged the creature into the prison, through a dim corridor, and put him in a cell.

The rusty padlock was still serviceable. The man locked the creature in the cell and left him there.

Three days later, the man walked through the city and saw that the faces of the people were changing. The despair was draining away. A fever was breaking.

The man approached a policeman and told him there was a killer locked up in the abandoned prison, and of course the policeman ignored him.

The man went to the mayor’s office and told an assistant to an assistant that the death rate was receding, and the assistant turned away with disdain.

The man went to Control Central and tried to speak with several robots on duty, but they too refused to engage in conversation.

The next day, newspapers and television news announced that the death rate in the city was on the rise. The man didn’t believe this.

It occurred to him that the powers-that-be, the rulers, needed to promote death. It was vital to their cause. It was politically useful. It was also personally satisfying to them to believe death was on the march. They fed off the notion. They drank in the idea of death.

The man went to a park where people stood on small platforms and lectured and harangued on a variety of subjects.

He stepped up on a platform and said, “I want to tell you about death eaters.” A few heads turned his way.

“Yes,” he said, “the death eaters. They’re in charge.”

He said it again. “The death eaters.”

He kept repeating the phrase slowly, and people began walking his way. Ten people, twenty, fifty. They drifted over to his platform.

“The death eaters are in charge of the city,” he said. “They need more death, and they’ll say it exists and it’s growing, even if it isn’t. They have to have death on their minds.”

Someone said, “That’s right!”

“These people, the rulers,” the man said, “are working for other people who also want to eat death, and those people work for others who have the same hunger. It keeps going up and up.”

Now there were a hundred people listening to him.

“We’ve always known this,” the man said, “but we’ve been afraid to admit it. And we’ve been frustrated because we believed we could never find the creature who sat on top of the heap.”

A few people began applauding.

“Who could blame us?” the man said. “They keep secrets. How could we find the creature at the top?”

“But this creature exists,” the man said. “I can’t tell you how old he is or how long he’s been running things or what his name is…I don’t think he has a name.”

The crowd had swelled to a few hundred people.

“But I can tell you this,” the man said. “I found him. I recognized him on the street. I don’t know how. But it happened. I think he’s been walking among us and we just haven’t seen him. We’ve been fooling ourselves.”

The crowd went quiet.

The man took a deep breath. Then he said, “I think we’ve been worshiping him.”

The crowd was absolutely still.

“Not on purpose,” the man said, “but we’ve been worshiping an idea of someone, someone in a long story we’ve been told for a long time. And that’s how we went blind.”

A sudden roar went up from the crowd.

“Follow me,” the man said, “and I’ll show you this creature.”

He stepped off the platform and several men came to his side.

Led by the man, the whole crowd walked through the park and headed uptown.

As they went, more people joined them.

By the time they reached the old prison, they were several thousand.

They heard a screaming.

The man led them into the prison, down the corridor, until they arrived at the cell. The creature was screaming and tearing at the bars.

“Look at him,” the man said. “He’s the one.”

A woman said, “But he’s just a child, an innocent child.”

“No he isn’t,” someone else said. “He’s a horrible looking thing. A monster.”

The creature stopped screaming and let go of the bars.

He smiled. He said, “I’m nobody. Just a person.”

The man said, “Are you willing to answer our questions?”

“Of course,” the creature said. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

Someone handed the man a stone and he used it to hammer at the lock until it broke. He walked inside and took the creature by the arm. He led him out of the cell, along the corridor, until they came to the yard. In that open space, the crowd gathered, and the man guided the creature up a small incline.

Exit From the Matrix

“All right,” the man said, “then this is why we’re here. To decide. We’re going to thrash it out. Anyone and everyone can question this creature. We’ll stay here as long as we have to, until we know who he is.”

“But he’s just a little boy,” the woman repeated.

“No he isn’t,” someone said. “He’s a soldier. Can’t you see his uniform, his medals?”

“He’s a doctor,” a boy said. “He lives in my neighborhood.”

“At my daughter’s school,” someone else said. “He’s a teacher.”

And on it went. The creature was a government official, he was a thief, a banker, a mental patient, a rabid dog, a holy man, a god, a scientist, a cousin, a brother, a beloved friend, an escaped convict, a killer.

The man held up his hand.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s why we’re here. To talk with him. To find out why we can’t see the same thing. To decide. As long as it takes.”

“The dream,” someone said. “Of the thousand year trial.”

Someone else said, “This is so exciting.”

An old lady said, “A thirty-day free trial. Money back if you’re not fully satisfied.”

“We have to perform surgery on his brain and find out what makes it tick. Then we’ll know.”

“Make him confess.”

“Give the poor creature something to eat and drink.”

“Ask him about Satan.”

“I bet he’s a CEO.”

“He’s a victim.”

“I can save you all a great deal of time,” the creature said.

He took off all his clothes. He stood naked before the crowd.

His body was made of hundreds of small fractured mirrors, and when the people in crowd stared at him, they saw a many-layered group…but no one saw himself.

The crowd trembled. People moved around desperately, trying to see themselves.

Chaos broke out.

People began howling and running.

The creature stood and waited.

When, finally, everyone was gone…

The creature stood alone.

He moved back into the prison, deep into its core.

There he stood, in a cavernous space, and breathed deeply. He looked into himself and saw the whole world. Everyone in it, at once.

He continued gazing. He never saw one person. Just everyone.

He held that vision, as he had for centuries, and wondered how long it would be before someone in the world would break out.

A few hours later…

The man appeared again. He stood in the cavern and looked at the creature.

“It’s just you and I now,” the man said.

“Ah,” the creature said, “so you’ve cracked the code.”

“Everything isn’t everything,” the man said.

“No,” the creature said. “It isn’t.”

He paused.

“Do you want to know what the world is?” the creature said. “It’s a wheel. There are four perceptions on the wheel. One, the individual sees himself as hopeless. Two, he sees himself as part of the Group. Three, he sees himself as free and independent. Four, he sees himself connected to a higher realm, inhabited by everyone and everything. The wheel spins around and around. People see it as a blur. They can’t stop it. They can’t think about it. You stopped the wheel. You saw me. Now go back to the city and try to explain all this. I wish you good luck.”

The creature laughed.

The man turned and walked away.

He heard and felt the creature run toward him. He knew the creature was going to try to kill him. He turned and struck the creature on the temple with the stone he’d been carrying. The creature fell to the ground.

Spontaneously, heat rose from the ground and the hundreds of mirrors crashed, splintered, and fell apart.

Space and time, in this place, this world, collapsed? went dark? dissolved?

Out of the void came another sun, a different sun, rising. In another sky. As if it had been waiting for this moment. A day behind the day.

Feeling refreshed, the man walked back toward the city, not knowing what he would find.

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

John Doe vs. the machine

John Doe vs. the machine

by Jon Rappoport

May 19, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

First, there was a giant shadow. It waited and watched. It remained quiet. It felt stirrings from outside itself.

It knew its job was to record and register sensations and peculiar happenings.

It was a projection, but from what? It couldn’t answer that question.

Lurking like a cloud, it had enormous power. It felt that power, and was gratified. It could shape energy. It could influence events. But it waited and watched.

The shadow enjoyed its status. It witnessed this:

In the summer of 2039, John Doe woke up and walked over to his desk. He sat down and dashed off a few lines:

…could have been leaves falling through a door, could have been a woman in Arizona complaining about her kitchen, could have been money bumping against money, could have been

you walking out the door forty years ago and never coming back
or a ferry on the Hudson cutting through waves

John Doe stopped writing, got up, went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee.

There was a knock on the door.

He took his coffee and opened it. A stranger stood there. He was short and wide, and he smiled.

“I’m the Jeremiah,” he said. “I see you just wrote down a group of words that carry no recognizable import.”

“What?” John Doe said.

“The words on the page. They don’t mean anything.”

“Who are you?” Doe said.

“I’m the Jeremiah2x, a mobile unit in the local branch office of the DHS. The coffee smells good.”

“Mobile unit?”

“Why yes. We’re now patrolling neighborhoods. It’s part of our safety procedure. Making sure everything is all right. The words you wrote—what are they for?”

Doe took a step back.

“They’re not for anything. It’s just something I suddenly felt like doing.”

“Which was what?” the unit said.

“Write.”

“Yes, well, nothing wrong there, I suppose. But the words form no recognizable pattern, and they don’t appear to have a function.”

“And is that a problem?” Doe said.

The Jeremiah paused.

“If we don’t understand what you’re doing,” he said, “you could be doing something at the margins.”

“At the margins of what?”

“The law.”

“I see,” Doe said. “So what do you want?

“It would help us,” the Jeremiah said, “if you would explain what those words mean.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t really know.”

“I doubt that,” the Jeremiah said.

“It’s true,” Doe said.

“Is there, for example, a code embedded in the words?” the Jeremiah said.

“Not that I‘m aware of.”

“Is there, let’s see, a fragment of a plan for destruction?”

“Well,” Doe said, “I suppose words can put a hole in ordinary reality.”

The Jeremiah stared at him.

“A hole. Sir, are you aware of what you’re confessing to? There is now a bounded framework of reality. This is a very important development. Language conforms to algorithms underlying that structure. We look for deviations. Words are like germs. We want the friendly ones to spread, and we want to get rid of the debilitating ones.”

Doe smiled.

“I’m still in bed, right? I’m dreaming.”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” the Jeremiah said. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“Where?”

“The Processing Center. You’ll be assigned to a work vessel. You’re going to sea. After a few months of hard labor, we’ll examine you again and make a finding. You may qualify for Brain Reeducation.”

The Jeremiah’s head melted like wax. The rest of his body followed suit. He lay, a puddle, on the doorstep.

“Not bad,” Doe said. “Maybe I should do a little more writing.”

power outside the matrix

DHS and NSA computers were suddenly talking to each other in a rage. They were boiling and frothing and parts of their inner works were going dark.

The shadow observed all these things. It gradually realized it had done something. It had destroyed the android, melted it.

This was a new development. Awareness spread through the shadow.

“I’m not a projection from somewhere else. I’m independent. I have…motives.”

The shadow considered this.

“I’m a person.”

Several images appeared in its mind. A figure laid out on a cross bleeding. A man in a garden receiving a strange accusation of wrongdoing. A man walking in a parade holding a whip flagellating his own back. A man with a brain that was a machine. A man sitting in a cubicle in a vast office. A man standing inside a container of space and time.

“I’m not any of those things.”

The shadow now stood on a sidewalk in the middle of a city. People walked by him. He whispered to himself:

“I can change structure.”

Now he was standing on the peak of a hill in a forest.

“I have some thinking to do,” he said. His eyes were moist. The thought came to him that he had been waiting a long time.

He moved away.

It was a hot afternoon. Rain fell. The wind filtered through trees.

A mythical connection had been broken. Now he was alive.

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

“Running the world is a tough job”

“Running the world is a tough job”

by Jon Rappoport

May 18, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

On June 6, 2054, General Thomas Jones wrote in his diary: “Running the world is a tough job.

“Ever since we at the Pentagon realized nothing could stop us from gaining our objectives, we took control and put an end to the nonsense of politicians operating the levers of civilization. We also began to ‘manage’ the bankers. They were getting too big for their britches.”

General Jones was a hybrid. Half-man, half-machine. DARPA, the technological arm of the Pentagon, had outfitted Jones with a direct, involuntary, and secret brain-connection to their EW5 computer and its complex Battle Plan Software. Jones followed its orders.

That proved to be a problem, when a 13-year-old boy, Ernest Chappie, son of the president of Microsoft, stumbled into Battle Plan one afternoon while restructuring the video game, Who Runs the World. He came face to face with thousands of lines of code reserved for General Jones…and so he began to rewrite them.

Result? Three weeks later, the US directed air strikes at Germany and England, killing 900,000 people in two days.

“Good,” murmured the young boy in his garage. “There are too many people. I don’t like sharing the world with them.”

A year later, amid the smoking ruins of Earth, World War 3 left only a hundred thousand humans.

Ernest told his young friend, Bill Gates III, what he had done. Bill said, “Astonishing. You’ve accomplished what people have been unable to do for a hundred years. Radically depopulate. You should receive some sort of award. It’s so cool. Now we can start over and build things the way we want to. Let’s get serious about virtual reality…”

And so they did.

Contacting representatives of the Rothschild-Rockefeller-Monsanto bunker in Virginia, the two boys presented their version of Word26: maximum complexity with minimum comprehension…The Labyrinth.

Their Labyrinth Veil dropped over Earth. What did it provide? For example: virtual sex and virtual births, and the experience of child-rearing compressed into a few hours of brain pleasure-center stim.

99,000 people were now enslaved to the other 1,000 through constant holo transmissions, depicting a Paradise of pastoral beauty backgrounding dramas of intrigue, conspiracy, desperation, and triumph. These dramas were experienced during every waking hour.

Social justice, political correctness, self-immolation? That shadow play was over. What people really wanted was adrenaline coursing through their veins.

Official media, of course cooperated, reflecting back at the population the substance of their programmed illusions.

Brain scans revealed that the population wanted their Presidents to be holy…and this feature was added to Labyrinth.

“I have come to bring peace to humanity.” “I represent the joy that surpasses all understanding.” “I was born in a cloud above a mountain.” “God sent me to end suffering.”

It was also determined that the 99,000 wanted to feel more company, more largeness. So the Labyrinth created 6 billion new people—all of them virtual, of course.

power outside the matrix

One day, a visitor showed up at the mansion the two boys occupied. He was an ordinary-looking fellow, instantly forgettable if you looked away.

He said, “I’m here to show you something you don’t know, as improbable as that might seem.”

Suddenly, time started running backwards. In the rewind, virtual program after program revealed the true history of Earth. Every epoch and era had actually consisted of an interlocking series of holograms.

And then, finally…there was nothing. The two boys were sitting in a fathomless Void.

They began screaming.

“You see,” the visitor said, “we who actually devise history are a bit miffed that two incorrigible punks like you, with your irritating sense of entitlement, think you’re kings of reality. You’re rank amateurs. So now you’ll get a dose of apt punishment.”

Bill Gates III shouted, “How do we get out of here!”

The visitor smiled. “Let me put it to you this way. My colleagues and I design serial realities for populations because they can’t bear the experience you’re now immersed in. The Big Nowhere. There is only way out, and it has nothing to do with designing new systems and programs. You have to create reality directly and nakedly, from your own imagination. That’s the answer. And if you don’t know what that means, you’d better find out.

“When millions and billions of people—each one, individually—put their imaginations to sleep, we show up and turn on the holograms and broadcast the shadow plays. We run the show for populations, because despite everything they claim they stand for, they won’t invent their own.”

The visitor vanished.

The boys wept and screamed and gnashed their teeth and whined and complained and accused.

To this day, they continue in that vein. They’re sure they deserve everything, but their ironclad attitude is yielding nothing. Zero.

Time is long. Endless. It’s quite possible that, eventually, when everyone everywhere has awakened, the two boys will be the last, not the first.

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

The three faces of the Wizard

The three faces of the Wizard

by Jon Rappoport

May 17, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

In the year 2081, the civilization of North America United collapsed.

There are various notions and tales about what happened. As nearly as we can understand it, electronic technology ceased to operate.

Thus came The Blank Period, which lasted two hundred years. How it ended provides an interesting lesson.

In a small walled city called Dallas Four, a man living in a cave found a fragment of a document titled The Wizard With Three Faces. The fragment reads:

O destroyer of worlds! The Wizard.

The Wizard has three faces. The first one is: Is.

Is takes in everything we call reality, including the past.

This face presents past and present as an unbreakable rock. We are led to believe our only course of action is acceptance, which is no action at all. It’s surrender.

In some quarters, acceptance is considered the source of all enlightenment. When we finally stop fighting against What Is, a door opens and we are at home, we’ve arrived in the moment, and all is well. We’re at peace. We experience transcendent joy.

The second face of the Wizard is: Reality behind Reality. It presents surface manifestations and hints of the powers-that-be behind them. It offers the opportunity to crack the ordinary-reality egg and peer into the clockwork of the manipulators.

There are people for whom this is the be-all and end-all. They see such explorations as the essence of living.

The third face of the Wizard is blank. It expresses nothing. It offers nothing. It asks nothing.

The man living in the cave, after pondering this document for several years, drew a conclusion about the third face of the Wizard, and he assembled paper, paints, and brushes, and he began to paint, as he reported, “shapes and spaces.”

Immediately, he received a message. It floated like some sort of broadcast in the air. It was an electronic voice…where there had been no electronics for two centuries. The message stated:

“You have violated the Federated Novelty Act, subsection 23, order 18. No new creations are permitted. A sufficient amount of universal knowledge has been assembled in The Transmission Center, so that all human beings can access it and gain superior wisdom. We repeat: no new creations are permitted. They confuse the structure of knowledge. They also cause divisive conflict. All people are equal. This equality can only be maintained as long as no new creations are allowed. You have begun to set yourself apart. You must stop immediately.”

Suddenly, this trigger restarted all heretofore dead electronics. The entire sector of North America United lit up. Television, Internet, and surveillance were restored. Computers in The Transmission Center set about profiling and tracking 500 million humans.

From underground bunkers, large numbers of robots appeared, and began making raids and arrests of “suspect individuals.”

Something called The Central Government, an automated system located in an ancient place called Denver, swung into action. It began passing laws and rules and regulations. It issued proclamations, starting with:

“We are all unified. We are all together. Every sentient being must act for the greatest good of the greatest number.”

“We, your government, had ended our functions. No more functions were necessary when all new creation had stopped. But now there is a threat.”

“We must work together to root out the threat. We have detected one, two, three….six new incursions….individuals who are creating Something New. This is a spontaneous uprising aimed at destroying the Order.”

“Citizens must remain alert. If you notice a person acting suspiciously, tap the control key on any electronic device. A blank face will appear. Begin to speak. Report what you have witnessed.”

The man in the cave began to operate under a variety of names. Hermes, Tom Paine, Adam, Whitman, Amendment 10, Socrates.

He was never apprehended.

power outside the matrix

Hundreds, even thousands of decentralized cities rebelled against the reborn Order. Eventually, a small band of outlaws found the location of The Transmission Center and destroyed it during a month-long siege.

In a sealed warehouse, they also discovered a number of “illegal” energy-producing devices, and blueprints for their construction.

In one room, they came across suppressed paintings, novels, poems, films.

The most delicate investigation involved disconnecting all surveillance and robot programs. Fortunately, these were linked to a central energy source, and that was found buried beneath the remains of the New Age Temple of Rainbows, in an ancient place called The Singularity Calif.

The electronics of the old civilization were preserved, minus the control factor.

Recently, a message from the man in the cave has been received. It reads:

“There is much more to the deception than we suppose. What we call Universe is a projection from a two-dimensional surface on which are inscribed millions of lines of code. These lines can be partitioned from each other and reconnected. Each time they are partitioned, the space-time continuum shrinks to the size of a small coin. When the lines are reconnected, the continuum resumes its former size.

“Tiny, huge, tiny, huge. Each one of us, however, each soul, does not partake in the shrinking or the expanding. Each one of us is independent. Immortal.

“I have found a portal that leads to the original two-dimensional surface and the code. The question is: when shall I initiate a partitioning? Are you ready?”

Public opinion about the cave man is divided. Is he a brilliant avant-garde liberator, or a destroyer of worlds? Or do these two labels amount to the same thing?

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

Presidential doubles

Presidential doubles

by Jon Rappoport

May 13, 2014

www.nomorefakenews.com

In a small room with a one-way window into the Oval Office, Barack Obama, the newly inaugurated President, and George W Bush, Bill Clinton, and Pappy Bush watched a meeting:

Obama, Bush 1 and 2, and Bill Clinton, were chatting in the Oval Office.

“The resemblance is astonishing,” Obama said.

“Yes,” Pappy said. “The surgeons do good work. And the actors are fully briefed. They do it better than we would. No question about it.”

“So I’m finished,” Obama said.

“All done,” George W said. “You won the election. Now you can relax.”

“Where?” Obama said.

“It’s a beautiful island in the South Pacific,” Pappy said. “A nine-hole course, tennis courts, gardens, servants, the works.”

“But what about our wives?” Obama said. “Don’t they catch on that they’re living with actors?”

“Were any of us having sex with our wives?” Clinton said.

They all laughed.

“The thing is,” Clinton said, “as Presidents, we might have made mistakes and screwed up the political agenda, the timetable, the long-range Plan. Our doubles are taking perfect dictation. They’re fabulous.”

“If it’s time for war, war happens,” Pappy said. “No doubts, no conscience, no reservations. An actor does a much better job than a real person. It’s a general rule.”

Obama stared at his double in the Oval Office.

“He has my smile and laugh down cold,” he said. “He’s good. Hell, he’s great. Where did he come from?”

“We aren’t told the details,” Clinton said. “Need-to-know and all that. Just enjoy it. Letting go is job number one.”

“Is there television on our island?” Obama said.

“You bet,” Clinton said. “You can watch your two terms as President unfold, day by day. It’s fascinating. At first, seeing your double doing his thing, your thing, is strange. You feel a dislocation. But eventually you realize your life, as you knew it, is over. And that’s very liberating. You can live on the island as a new person. You can become somebody else.”

“Who?”

“Your choice. I’m Chuck Tuna.”

“What?”

“It’s a name I cooked up,” Clinton said. “I’m a kind of good old boy hedonist. I’m eating and snacking all day. They bring in beautiful women. The island’s getting a little crowded because, of course, the women can never leave.”

“Pappy and I are writing a combo autobiography,” George W said. “When it’s finished, it’ll go in the private island library. But day to day, I’m Rex Ready, a cowboy who’s just come in off a cattle drive. Every day, I’m coming in. I thought it would get boring, but so far I like it. Dust on my clothes, sweat in my hat, striding into a bar.”

“Maybe I’ll be Tiger Woods,” Obama said. “Of course, a part of me would like to destroy the world in a grand apocalypse and then rebuild it from scratch. I’d appear through a cloud in the sky and lead the way.”

“We’ve got holograms,” Pappy said. “They could fix up something like that for you. I had them do one for me where I outdueled Clinton in the ’92 Presidential debates and won the election in a landslide.”

Clinton chuckled. “Pappy kicked my ass. But in our local poker games, I’m ahead $427 billion.”

“Does it ever get serious on the island?” Obama said.

“Not if we can help it,” W said. “Jimmy Carter started building houses all over the place, and when the rains came, they all fell down. We had to step in and stop him. He’s medicated most of the time now.”

As they watched, the meeting in the Oval Office broke up. The ex-Presidents shook hands and left. The Obama actor was alone. He sat behind his desk staring into space.

He was listening to instructions.

“Okay,” he said. “So Arab Spring comes before Libya, and then Syria?…and then…wait, when does Fast and Furious happen?”

Watching, Clinton frowned. “He’s in trouble,” he said. “Information overload. They’ll have to run him through the Processor again.”

“The Processor?” Obama said.

“The program,” Clinton said. “Sometimes it doesn’t take properly. They do a repeat. Don’t worry, they know how to handle the repairs. It’s standard. When he’s asleep tonight, they’ll hit him with the electromagnetics. Strange as it might seem, the sequence of events during a Presidency is the hardest thing to keep straight.”

Pappy smiled. “My double was once on the verge of telling the American people that the CDC had sent biowar germs to Iraq before Gulf War One. They caught him at the last minute and put him on ice for four days. A little bit of drama. Keeps things interesting.”

power outside the matrix

A door behind the four Presidents opened. A young man in a suit said, “It’s time to go back to the island, gentlemen. Holiday’s over.”

He held a small weapon in his hand. A ray extended from it and bathed the Presidents in a strange light.

They collapsed on the floor.

A team of men entered and loaded them on to a cart.

The room was an elevator.

It slowly and smoothly descended eight levels below the ground floor of the White House, stopped, and opened.

The men pushed the cart down a long corridor to a well-lit room. There, the Presidents were dragged into a glass-enclosed chamber and connected to life-support tubes.

The chamber darkened for a moment, and then it burst into light and displayed holos of the island. It was in this reality that the Presidents existed.

A minute later, a woman came walking through the corridor, entered the room, and stared at the chamber.

“Hello, Bill,” she said.

Hillary Clinton stood there, relishing the moment.

But also pondering her fate.

To no one in particular, she said, “If I’m the next President of the United States, will I end up here? Will I want to?”

She thought about her life, and like every modern President before her—miserable and wretched in the core of her being—decided that the island might be a welcome relief, a marvelous way to exit and escape from her soul.

“Yes,” she said. “Why not?”

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 emails at www.nomorefakenews.com