Priests in white coats kill a baby of the State

Priests in white coats kill a baby of the State

~a short story~

by Jon Rappoport

September 14, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

I’m writing this on June 24, 2036.

Right now I have the dubious status of being the most wanted man in America. Number one on the FBI’s list.

Let them try to find me. I’m buried deep.

You all know the sensational story of Baby Joe and the Serenity Hospital in Tenafly, New Jersey. That is, you know what the press is reporting non-stop.

I’m here to correct the story. I’m here to talk to all the sleeping citizens in their homes and the bureaucrats and the police and the doctors and the lunatics in Congress and the parents who are taking orders from the State and the reporters who are selling themselves out every day of their lives and following the party line and the teachers who are trying to sound like doctors and the killers at the FDA and the DHS robots…

Here is what really happened at the hospital.

On June 1, at three in afternoon, after the mother of Joe had been in labor for an hour or so, the doctor gave her a shot and let her float. Then he delivered Joe, who started crying. A nurse calmed him down. They put Joe on his mother’s belly and she reached for him and took him in her arms.

A new doctor walked into the room and held up a syringe and said he was going to give Joe a shot. The Hepatitis B vaccine.

There was no argument, contrary to what the Times wrote. The mother said, “I only have sex with my husband, and I’m not an IV drug user.” Those were her words.

She said this because the Hepatitis B vaccine is supposed to prevent Hepatitis, which comes through sexual transmission and IV drug use.

The doctor said, “It’s mandatory. Your baby has to have the vaccine. And I can already see he has a problem. His head is lolling a little. His eyes are unfocused.”

This was a lie. The baby’s eyes were closed. His head wasn’t lolling, it was cradled in his mother’s arms.

The mother did not then sit up in bed. She didn’t threaten a lawsuit. She didn’t argue. She just said, “No vaccine.” Again, the Times was wrong.

The doctor said, “I can’t release the baby from the hospital until he has the shot. If you won’t give your permission, I’ll have to notify Child Services. They’ll send someone over. You don’t want that.”

He stepped over to the mother and bent down and looked at the baby. He said to the mother, “You and the baby are in our care. We have to do what’s best for both of you.”

She said, “Joe is mine.” She didn’t tell the doctor not to touch Joe. The Times misreported that, too.

The doctor said, “You’re covered under national insurance. The rules say we decide what’s best for the baby. If you refuse treatment, you can be deleted from the program. You’ll be uninsured.”

Once more, the mother said, “No vaccine.”

The doctor said, “I’ll have to call Child Services, and they’ll bring the police with them.”

Now, the mother sat up in bed. She tried to shake off the effects of the pain killer. She said, “The government doesn’t own my baby.”

The doctor said, “No, but we control its medical treatment. You have to go along with this. And if you refuse, then the State does take custody of the baby. Then the State decides everything that happens to the baby.”

The mother said, “They can’t own my boy.”

A nurse standing next to the doctor said, “They can. They will. And a judge will back that up.”

I was standing in the room. That’s how I know everything that was being said.

And I acted on it.

I said to the doctor, “Back away.”

He looked at me. He said to his nurse, “Call security.”

She took out her cell and pressed a button.

The doctor said to me, “You realize this baby has to come to the hospital every three months for the next six years, for checkups? I’ll be here. If I say he’s depressed, I’ll put him on an anti-psychotic, or any drug I choose. If I say he has ADHD, I’ll give him some kind of amphetamine. I’m the one who decides.”

I walked over to the doctor and grabbed him by the throat.

I didn’t punch him. I didn’t try to strangle him. I just put him under control for the moment. I said, “Don’t move.”

He didn’t move.

Then I kneed him hard in the groin. He yelled and I let go of his throat. He doubled over and fell on the floor.

There was a second nurse in the room. She laughed and said, “Damn!”

So this was the situation. The mother was still holding Joe. She was looking at me. Her expression, understandably, was one of shock. The baby was all right. He wasn’t crying. He was lying with his head on his mother’s chest.

The second doctor, who had delivered Joe, backed up against the wall. He was afraid. The nurse who’d signaled for security bent down to help the doctor who was on the floor. The nurse who laughed stood near the bed and just smiled.

The nurse who was bending down helping the doctor on the floor looked up at me and said, “You’re going to the psych ward.”

No I’m not,” I said.

You’re a terrorist,” she said.

I didn’t bother to reply to that.

The nurse who was smiling took a step toward me. She said, “By the time this baby is four years old, he’s going to have sixty shots. The vaccines have poison in them. Aluminum, mercury, formaldehyde, foreign genes. I’m not going to do this anymore.”

She didn’t say, as the Times reported, that she was going to help me get out of the hospital. She didn’t say, “I’m a rebel.” I know she’s in the hospital psyche ward, as I write this. I’m sure they’ve drugged her.

Then, before I realized what was happening, the nurse who was helping the doctor on the floor, picked up the syringe, walked over to Joe and injected him with the vaccine. It happened fast. The baby screamed.

I walked out of the room. I made it to the elevator before security arrived. I got off in the lobby and was in the street when I heard alarm bells ringing.

I caught a taxi and rode a few miles north in the city. Then I took a subway east and…that’s all you need to know about my escape route.

The press has reported that Joe died because I attacked him. The mother was taken into “protective custody,” so we won’t be hearing from her.

I’m now wanted for murder. The press is stating I’m an investigator for a “militia-style” anti-vaccine group called Stop Injection.

DHS has labeled me a domestic terrorist. If I’m caught, I could spend the rest of my life in prison. The vice-president of the United States has said I should be shot if I resist arrest.

This tells you how hard the government is protecting the pharmaceutical industry. Now that vaccines are mandated for every child by federal law, we’re a nation under the gun and the needle.

The government will do whatever it takes to inject poison into children. They don’t care about the truth. They’re covering up the actual rates of injury and death from vaccinations. They’re labeling these injuries with various disease names.

They’re even using tax dollars to fund research into finding the germs that “cause” these diseases, when they know it’s the vaccines.

The sun may be shining where you are, and it may be a beautiful day, but we’re all living in a concentration camp, where doctors inject poison into every child.

If you believe what I’m saying is true, the government and its media allies will call you a primitive savage or a religious nut. That’s how they keep the population under control.

There is no way out of this except by active resistance.

I have files with me. Every week or so, I’ll be releasing portions of them. Evidence that the State has been lying to you about vaccines. Evidence that the human damage and destruction is much, much greater than you imagine.

The government has banned many independent reports and books about vaccines and taken them out of circulation.

I see there are rumors about whether I’m still in the country or have fled to another nation and secretly applied for political asylum. Let me set the record straight. In this world, as it exists now, no nation would grant me protection.

I could steal secrets about US war plans or about surveillance of private citizens or rigged elections, and I’d be able to live in some distant place and avoid extradition. But when it comes to titanic medical crimes, there is no safe haven.

You should visit a kindergarten or elementary school at your earliest convenience. Notice the burgeoning enrollments in special ed units. Many of these children have suffered vaccine damage, as well as the toxic effects of psychiatric drugs and “ordinary” medicines.

Even in conventional normal classes, schools have vastly simplified lesson-plans, because the children can’t handle the usual material. They, too, many of them, are dealing with neurological damage.

The state-sanctioned daily “periods of silence” for meditation are now longer. This is an attempt to avoid the burden of trying to teach physically compromised children how to read, write, and do arithmetic. The “social interaction studies” are gaining as well. Sitting, talking, sharing—this postpones the moment when the teacher actually has to embark on substantive instruction.

Everything possible is being done to prevent an individual child from having to stand on his own merit—and reveal his educational deficiencies.

Last year’s outbreak of pertussis among thousands of children in Indiana? The State suppressed a report revealing upwards of 80% of those children had been vaccinated against pertussis—the real cause of the outbreak was the vaccine.

A hundred thousand people in Southern India suddenly developed paralysis last summer, as health workers were injected 14 million residents with the Gates-Buffet polio vaccine. This, too, was shut out of the press.

There is much, much more.

I only ask that you examine the information I’ll be releasing shortly. Then you can make up your own minds.

My files are divided into four sections:

unpublished drug-company studies that document maiming and death in an extraordinary number of children who were given vaccines in clinical trials;

company and FDA data analyzing intended and unintended toxic ingredients in several dozen vaccines;

unpublished government statistics on outbreaks and epidemics caused by vaccines;

drug-company memos documenting over 50 refusals to carry out studies comparing the health of vaccinated and unvaccinated children.

The holocaust is here. It has been here for some time.

Now, in June of 2036, the President has just announced he is calling on DHS to make sure mandatory vaccination is enforced to the fullest. This means you’ll be seeing agents in your cities and towns. In your schools.

In addition to that, a combined CDC/World Health Organization “crisis group” is moving into 30 major cities to monitor vaccination sites and guarantee they are adequately staffed.


The Matrix Revealed


Exit From the Matrix


There remain three questions. How did Joe die in the hospital? How did I obtain all these secret files? Who am I?

I came by the files through a government whistleblower you’ve never heard of. He was researching this subject for a book on his own. He gave up and passed his work to me. I took it because I wanted to learn the truth and the facts.

I have some medical training. I have a license as a physician’s assistant. I obtained a job at Serenity Hospital so I could investigate reports of extreme vaccine damage there. I belong to no group.

The Times articles were correct on one point. Joe’s body was cremated within two hours of his death. There can only be one reason for that. Hospital officials wanted to avoid a coroner’s investigation that would show the Hepatitis B vaccine killed him.

He was a healthy baby. I was in the room. I saw that.

Who are the real terrorists here?

As a child, I incurred damage as a result of vaccines and medical drugs. You probably did, too, because all Americans are forcibly enrolled in the national health insurance plan at birth.

This is a system that extends from cradle to grave. That’s the whole point. Imagine a long, long line of millions and millions of people trudging through life, receiving 40 or 50 diagnoses of diseases and disorders as they go. With each drug prescription, they develop new symptoms, and these symptoms are then called diseases, requiring more toxic treatments.

It’s controlled life in half-light, and it moves inexorably toward the cemetery.

Is a population like this even going to be able to think about the political condition in which they find themselves?

There was a turning point in the first decade of the 21st century. The Congress, under tremendous pressure, without considering that they were supposed to represent the people, passed into law the skeleton of the present government health insurance plan.

It was hailed as a humanitarian victory.

But people in power knew what it really was. And they didn’t care.

People above them in the food chain not only knew what it was, they insisted on it. They intended to use this heinous system as an instrument of control.

And now, in 2036, here we are.

Essentially, the country is on lockdown. We live in a medical police state.

It’s called good science. It’s called greatest good for the greatest number. It’s called enlightened democracy.

Perhaps you read about the recent death of the oldest serving US Senator, Nancy Reid. One of the architects of the original vote that brought national healthcare into being, she died at a California rest home, when she leaped from the balcony of her 19th floor suite.

For the last years of her life, she was living in a psychotic state, having been driven mad by a cocktail of psychiatric drugs that cause motor brain damage and several rounds of “preventive” chemotherapy, which did, in fact, prevent the cells of her body from reproducing.

One more casualty in the war that never ends.

The United States is party to an international treaty that forbids the use of chemical weapons. What I’m describing in this message…I wish I could go back into the past and alert the people of, say, 2013, who were watching their government debate a proposed attack on a country called Syria, based on a charge that the president of that country deployed chemical weapons on his people.

The debate took place at the time when the US medical system was killing, at minimum, 225,000 Americans every year, like clockwork, with its medicines.

What kind of ignorance and brainwashing did it take, then, to make the people of the United States overlook the fact that this was sustained chemical warfare at home, on themselves.

Legal, praised, heralded chemical warfare.

Delivered by needles, by pills.

Every hour of every day.

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

“What concerns all of us at this time”

“What concerns all of us at this time”

by Jon Rappoport

September 13, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Right now, of course, it’s the war on Syria. Last month, it was something else. And next month, it’ll be something else.

We’re looking at one op after another, one crime after another, one cover-up after another, one threat, one psyop after another. It never ends.

To a significant degree, all these operations are just that, planned moves. And they do concern all of us, because the scope of the operations is vast.

However, on another level, these ops are designed for the purpose of engaging all of us so that we’ll keep thinking in terms of the group (“all of us”)…and never think about anything else.

If you can tune up the population to keep thinking about the group, the collective, you’ve got them.

Hence, the title of this piece: “What concerns all of us at this time.”

But what about: what concerns NONE of us at this time.

What about that?

What about what doesn’t even exist at this time?

What about what has yet to be imagined and created?

Who handles that?

What department do you contact to find out about THAT?

Well, you can consult DARPA or any number of think-tanks or the CIA, but again, these blueprints of the future involve all of us.

I’m talking about something else:

That discredited and stepped-on and discounted faculty of the individual called imagination which, by the way, is not a container holding shielded secrets, but is instead a capability of invention.

Everything mind control ever was, is, or will be, is ultimately aimed at producing amnesia about that capability. Therefore, when you bring up the subject of imagination, most people just shake their heads and move on. They are clueless about their own astonishing power.

Being ignorant, they are easy marks. They can be cajoled into spending their whole lives thinking about “what concerns us most at this time.”


The Matrix Revealed


Exit From the Matrix


When I put together my two mega-collections, The Matrix Revealed and Exit From the Matrix, I was cognizant of this. But I also knew there were people out there who were looking for something else, something beyond group concerns that could trap them forever— concerns that build a wall between them and their own creative power.

Creative power—this “little selfish preoccupation,” as it’s been called—is the difference between night and day, civilization and chaos, desire fulfilled and victimhood, life-force and walking death, deception and insight, fierce joy and a sinkhole in which the same emotions go around and around and around.

The reason behind the reason I write about fraud and crime and conspiracy in public life is: I want to expose how reality is being built for us. How perverse designers are constructing a collective mural of existence.

Understanding that, one can begin to see how he can create other realities—without end.

It’s as if we’re living in a huge room with no ceiling and yet we’re behaving as if there is a ceiling 10 feet high. The “10- feet high” is the result of amnesia about our own imaginations.

The purpose of the collective is destruction of imagination.

But imagination can never be destroyed. All individuals can do is force themselves to stay asleep about it.

Or decide to wake up.

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 eternal sunshine of the mind-controlled classroom

by Jon Rappoport

September 10, 2013

(To join our email list, click here.)

Well,” Jimmy’s teacher said, “we’re trying to emphasize cooperation. But Jimmy has another agenda. He apparently wants to stay separate from the other children.”

Yes,” the principal said. “It’s matter of psychology. You see, separateness breeds conflict. On a larger scale, this is why nations have wars.”

Agreed,” said the school superintendent. “We want each child to see the reflection of himself in the other children. And we want him to see the reflection of everyone else in himself.”

You lost me there,” Jimmy’s father said. He was trying to remain calm.

A week ago, Jimmy, six years old, was sitting in class drawing. The teacher had taped a sketch of a face on the blackboard. She was taking the students through a step-by-step process aimed at getting them to reproduce the face in their notebooks.

She walked up and down the rows, and when she came to Jimmy, she saw he was drawing a very different face. It wasn’t bland. It was the face of a woman laughing. The face was floating among trees in a forest.

She stopped. The drawing looked very real.

Jimmy,” she said, “this isn’t the face we’re all working on.”

He looked up at her.

I know,” he said.

So why are you doing this other one?”

He shrugged.

She said, “When we’re done, we’re all going to put our drawings on the blackboard and see what they look like. But your face will be different.”

So?” he said.

She felt a wave of anger sweep through her. She controlled it.

The other children will be confused when they see your face,” she said.

Jimmy shrugged again.

I won’t put your face on the blackboard,” the teacher said.

Okay,” Jimmy said.

After class, the teacher went to the principal and they sat down and looked through Jimmy’s file. They noticed that Jimmy had once worn an unusual T-shirt to school. It had a photo of a crown on it.

Another child had asked the gym teacher what the crown was.

Now, sitting in the meeting with the teacher, the principal, and the superintendent, Jimmy’s father said, “Jimmy just likes crowns. I don’t know why.”

Well,” the teacher said, “a crown is a symbol of monarchy. One ruler over all the people.”

The principal said, “That other child felt confused when she saw the T-shirt. Confusion is an indicator that the communal spirit has been , well, interrupted.”

The superintendent said, “A crown can also have religious connotations.”

Look,” Jimmy’s father said, “we were at a garage sale. Jimmy saw the T-shirt and liked it. So I bought it for him.”

You let him wear a T-shirt from a garage sale?” the teacher said.

We washed it first,” Jimmy’s father said.

The point is,” the superintendent said, “we’re trying to foster a spirit of unity among the children. I’m sure you can see the value of that. Separateness is the problem. It means a child thinks he’s more important than the others. It’s a behavioral problem. The child can’t understand that we’re all One.”

What does that mean?” Jimmy’s father said.

It means the higher reality is Oneness.”

I still don’t understand,” Jimmy’s father said.

The superintendent frowned.

Jimmy drew a face that was very different. It wasn’t part of the lesson. Not only that, the face was disturbing.”

Why?” Jimmy’s father said.

Because it didn’t relate.”

Didn’t relate to what?” Jimmy’s father said.

To what children think about when they have a spirit of unity and when they share that spirit.”

That’s interesting,” Jimmy’s father said. “So there is this spirit of unity, and children can share it. And when they do, they stop thinking about certain other things.”

That’s one of way of putting it,” the superintendent said. “Do you teach Jimmy drawing at home?”

No,” Jimmy’s father said. “He draws by himself. He likes it.”

But,” the teacher said, “something must be going on at home.”

I’m not sure what you mean,” Jimmy’s father said.

You’re teaching him something at home.”

Not really. I read to him.”

What do you read?”

The Wizard of Oz. Alice in Wonderland.”

Ah,” said the principal, “I see.”

What do you see?” Jimmy’s father said.

The boy doesn’t understand the text. It’s too advanced. So he substitutes his own images and ideas while you’re reading to him. And this takes him…away.”

Away?”

Yes. Into his own thoughts.”

Actually, he does understand the books. I explain things when he has questions. But what’s wrong with his own thoughts?”

The principal said, “They’re…random. He fixates on those thoughts. And that takes him into a private world. When he comes to class, he’s still there. He can’t really perceive his classmates. He can’t see that he and they are One. He’s drifting. He’s isolated. It means he’s selfish. He doesn’t accept our curriculum. He doesn’t agree with it. He won’t develop a communal understanding.”

Jimmy’s father said, “I don’t think he’s selfish. And he can read. He can write, too. He has a notebook. He writes in it.”

That notebook,” the superintendent said, “could be revealing.”

What?” Jimmy’s father said.

Yes. It could show that he’s…”

Using his imagination?” Jimmy’s father said.

Imagination,” said the teacher, “is a general word. It covers a very large territory. You see, Jimmy is using his imagination to remove himself from the energy of the class. There is an energy, you know. It’s universal. It’s everywhere. We have a choice. We can connect with it, or we can reject it.”

An energy,” Jimmy’s father said. “What happens when we connect with it?”

The teacher smiled.

We move into higher consciousness. We all share in that consciousness. We suddenly understand how futile our separate lives are. Instead of believing we have separate minds, we see that we’re tapping into one greater mind.”

Jimmy’s father nodded.

And this is very important to you,” he said.

Yes,” the principal said. “There are many implications. For example, suppose a great leader arose in our midst. A leader who is the expression of that greater mind. And then suppose we were all living little separate lives. We wouldn’t recognize the leader. He would go unnoticed. That would be a tragedy.”

The teacher said, “It’s quite possible Jimmy has ADHD. A chemical brain imbalance. He should be referred to a psychiatrist for diagnosis.”

But above and beyond that,” the principal said, “this is about a principle of interaction. The merging of, how shall I put it, individualistic traits into a higher arc.”

Arc?” Jimmy’s father said.

That’s right. The arc of unity. All civilizations have sought it. We’re finally on the road to achieving it.”

Through education,” Jimmy’s father said.

The enlightenment of young minds,” the teacher said. “We adults can only talk about these things and try to implement them. We’ve been conditioned to accept individuality as an ideal. But through the children, we can imbue a whole line of generations with non-separation.”

Post-conflict awareness,” the superintendent said. “Society will finally grow up. For most of human history, our species has relied on a myth we told. We told it to ourselves. The myth of the individual. But now, because we have the technological means to make life supportable for everyone on the planet, we can dispense with that myth. It was necessary for a time. But now it’s outmoded.”

So,” Jimmy’s father said, “my son really isn’t an individual.”

Correct,” the teacher said. “He just thinks he is.”

And what happens if he keeps thinking he is?”

Well,” the principal said, “I’m afraid he’ll become greedy and selfish. He’ll become combative. He’ll put his own needs ahead of everyone else’s. His behavior will become ego-driven.”


Exit From the Matrix

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


Let me put it this way,” the superintendent said. “The shape of a society starts from a spiritual level. And on that level, a person can conceive of his life as distinct and unique, or he can realize that he is the manifestation of an energy that incorporates all of us. This energy is everywhere. It’s universal. Your son is a disconnected piece of energy that needs to reconnect.”

So…” Jimmy’s father said, “what do you want me to do?”

Well,” the superintendent said, “let’s have him see a psychiatrist for an interview. Let’s see what a professional can discover. Also, talk to your boy. Tell him that he needs to give us a chance to do what we do.”

All right,” Jimmy’s father said. “I think I understand. I want to thank you for taking the time to give me a picture of what’s going on. I appreciate it.”

Will you try to help us?” the teacher said.

Jimmy’s father said, “I’m going to take Jimmy out of the system and home school him.”

Everything stopped.

There was a long silence in the room.

The superintendent said, “Home schooling breeds terrorists.”


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.

Consciousness and a world asleep

Consciousness and a world asleep

by Jon Rappoport

September 6, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

When a human being is asleep, which is to say, in a trance, he continues to create subconsciously, because creation doesn’t stop.

The question is: what is the purpose of the trance?

It’s a state of mind aimed at excluding alternative realities. So a person can be walking around and carrying on with his life, and yet he is in that trance.

He sees reality around him and it rarely occurs to him that everything could be different. More importantly, it never occurs to him that he could create something quite different. Nor does he imagine that, if he expressed, in some way, what he really thinks, he would then be inventing another reality, which is, in fact, powerful.

Nor does it occur to him that what he could invent has no boundaries.

So I’m talking about a “reality trance.” It is ruled by What Is. It seeks to see and imitate What Already Is.

In this trance, a person has absolutely no idea about the difference between what he thinks and what he REALLY thinks. He would only find out the difference by starting to express what he thinks—that process would lead him out, eventually, into new territory. If he stayed with it long enough, if he played out the string on his conventional thoughts, he would find himself in a new land.

It’s all there, waiting. The thoughts, the unknown thoughts that would make a person’s existence transform into something far more powerful.

Which is exactly why this society places such a premium on NOT expressing what you really think. Society is a structure that wants to keep the lid on.

People are mainly children, in the sense that they believe they know everything worth knowing. They believe the book is closed. They believe they’ve got it all wrapped up.

They may be interested in discovering what lies behind propaganda fairy tales, but they don’t want to believe they’re working propaganda operations on themselves.

But they are. And these internal operations are all about NOT giving voice and word to new thoughts. And when I say “new,” I mean new to them. They opt for what they already know, whether it is conventional or strange or pedestrian or brilliant. They want to make their final stand on what they already know. So they cut themselves off at the knees.

And they fall into a reality trance.


Exit From the Matrix


Art, which is expression taken to the fullest, breaks the reality trance. A person is no longer hateful about waking up to something he doesn’t already know.

Venal little minds scream: I ALREADY KNOW EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW. And then they continue to drown in their own bile. Years later, they discover, much to their chagrin, that no one is stopping them from “knowing everything.” No one cares. And they just keep drowning.

In this life, we have two choices. We can create what already is, or we can create what isn’t and never was.

The second choice is the vast adventure, which, when embarked upon, lets a person know why he’s alive.

What is called mind control is everything a person does to himself to curtail and develop amnesia about the vast adventure.

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

What is the end-game in the Middle East?

What is the end-game in the Middle East?

by Jon Rappoport

September 3, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

The end game for the Middle East?

Why, of course. It’s Free Trade.

Let’s jump ahead four decades to see what that looks like.

Reuters/USIA—July 6, 2053. The birth of the first genetically-engineered baby in Cairo has sparked riots in the capital. As of late last night, UN-NATO peacekeepers had the protests under control.

Answar Campbell, the Harvard/Cambridge-educated PhD who just ascended to the three-man oligarchy that runs Egypt, declared false the rumors that an “Islam gene” had been removed from the child.

There is no Islam gene,” Campbell said. “People should focus on the economy, which is our biggest challenge. For example, the impending vote on whether to allow Burger King franchises in our country to compete against our erstwhile partner, McDonald’s, is far more important than this diversion.”

McDonald’s, in conjunction with Halliburton-Bechtel, has converted four million acres of inhospitable desert into resorts, industrial parks, and parking lots.

Along with the Monsanto-Dow project to grow GMO wheat varieties on land that receives less than three inches of rain per year, these recent free trade partnerships have elevated Egypt’s GNP to levels never seen before in the nation’s long history.

Pharaoh Land, the province surrounding the famed ancient pyramids and the Sphinx, has just obtained an injection of $2.5 billion from Disney to complete a feeder river-tour branching from the Nile.

Bayer-Farben Labs, an ambitious sprawl of 400 buildings south of Cairo, is introducing a new enterprise called Gene Drift, in which more than 50 insect genes are blown by desert winds into every irrigated crop in Egypt.

It’s the faster way to go,” stated Vilsak Michael Taylor, the US Ambassador to Egypt-Jordan-Syria. “In this fashion, we can strengthen all food crops at once, lowering the need for water, soil nutrients, and other old-fashioned necessities of agriculture that have been plaguing farmers for centuries.”

The three-man Egyptian oligarchy has just released figures showing 38% of all desert lands have been reclaimed for business and industry. United Pavers, an offshoot of the Carlyle Group, has already laid down 45 billion cubic feet of concrete and asphalt on the desert floor.

That’s how you start,” stated George Bush III, a Carlyle representative. “Pave, pave, pave, bury the sand, and then build upward and outward.”

The 32-mile-square Google Mall is an example of this strategy. Situated in the former Morsi-Brotherhood empty quarter, the Mall is producing massive income for its inhabitants on a 24/7/365 basis.

US, French, and British troops provide Mall security.

This is all coming from Arab Spring,” Campbell stated. “That’s where the revolution began. We can now understand its true purpose. It really had nothing to do with politics. It was an economic operation. A few thousands disaffected students sitting in cafes with mobile devices posting on Facebook? Please. Arab Spring was a carefully calculated, carefully prepared moment. Free Traders were behind it. Economic development was the objective. And look how it’s turned out. Only a few miles from the Capitol Building, next to the site of the largest mosque in the country, which is now a museum, the Glaxo-Merck-Pfizer Tower rises today. From its top-floor platform, aerosol vaccines and mood enhancers are pumped into the atmosphere, at once guaranteeing immunity from childhood diseases and relief from the stresses of daily life. It’s a true miracle.”

Campbell could also have pointed to the Nissan-Toyota-Ford plant in the shadow of the Pharma tower. Two thousand cars per day roll out of that factory, along with nine thousand pairs of Nissan-Nike shoes produced by Egyptian robots working along side human operators.


The Matrix Revealed


And three miles down the road, the NFL is building its first Middle East stadium, for the Babylon Tigers, a new League franchise, owned by the California State Employees Pension Fund, in partnership with the US Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD).

The stadium food and drink concession is currently up for bid, with two high-profile candidates contending: New Jersey Waste Management Inc., and Kissinger Associates.

The New York Times Cairo is reporting that assessment of all carbon taxes for Egypt is also on the auction block. Vying for the contract: Gore-Obama-Romney Ltd. and the Ken Lay Memorial Foundation.

The business of Egypt is business,” stated a virtual hologram of David Rockefeller on the occasion of his 142nd birthday. “Notwithstanding the relocation of 27 million disaffected Egyptians to education camps, the enthusiasm in the country is palpable. This is a new era, and our predictions are coming true. Once all barriers to trade and investment have been taken down, life flourishes.”

Chase-Morgan-Goldman are major Egyptian financiers. In the past six years, they have poured over two trillion dollars into the nation’s industrial development.

Some people have called our six-billion-dollar reparation to the Muslim Brotherhood a payoff,” said Goldman-Sachs-Zion-Jerusalem president Chelsea Clinton. “That’s just not true. It was calculated on the basis of the Lewinsky algorithm, a means of adding up ‘monetary damage to reputation.’ All parties agreed to the sum, and everyone went away happy.”

Clinton spoke from a dais in the press room at Brennan Air Force base, where 106,000 American soldiers are stationed on permanent duty, and the Egyptian national police participate in ongoing training courses, along with Isis-Spectrum information specialists, members of a corporate association connected to the US NSA.

After her statement, Ms. Clinton moved on to a meeting of the Egyptian Banking Association, where she witnessed a private ceremony renewing a Middle East pact to retain the US dollar as the reserve currency for all oil transactions.

This is just a formality,” she stated. “A recognition of a long-held agreement among Egypt, Libya, Syria, and Iraq.”


Exit From the Matrix


A few protestors outside the Banking Association building held signs pointing out that the US had launched ancient wars against these very countries.

Police arrested three protestors, who were making inflammatory comments supporting a long-planned (2013), but never completed Syrian pipeline, which would boost Iran’s heavily sanctioned economy through sales of that country’s natural gas across to Europe.

As Ms. Clinton was boarding her plane back to New York, a Cairo News reporter asked her whether Israel was playing any part in the recent repartitioning of warring ethnic Syrian provinces.

No,” she said. “Israel has no interest in the ruling Syrian Council’s plans, which are instituted through consultation with the Trilateral Commission. “Israel is not involved in Middle East politics. It only seeks to bolster its own security.”

The new Egypt is on the move. Apparently, nothing can stop it now.

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

Matrixology: fact vs. fiction

Matrixology: fact vs. fiction

by Jon Rappoport

September 2, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

I’ve made this point several times: fiction is often a better way than fact to gain insight into the Matrix. With some people, this notion turns over in the mind about as compellingly as the engine of a 1947 Buick in a junkyard.

They can’t grasp it. They believe Matrix is a thing that can be taken apart piece by piece and then reconstructed.

They’re defending themselves against, perhaps, well, the sort of invader I’m describing in this story:

I’m at Walter Reed, where a lot of bad shit happens. I came back from Zganb12 in a heap. I was a ship captain once, but that’s over.

They’ve got me on pure IV neurotransmitters, but the proportions are never right. I still feel the pink love bugs. PLB don’t live by our rules. For one thing, they always smile. At least, that’s how I imagine it.

What I’m not imagining is how they got into my bloodstream through a scratch. In the dark towering forest out there, we were searching for one of our crew, who was probably sucked into a nest and incorporated.

They laughed in my veins at first. It was more than pleasant. I saw perfect breasts and slender thighs and curving puddles of Hindu gods having cosmic sex in what I took to be an ultimate form. No form.

That was in the first three seconds.

After two days, I realized the PLB were relentless. They were after my soul. And I didn’t believe I had one up until then. They were determined to be in love with me forever. How does a person know that? I just did. I felt it. I felt them swarming around my heart. At night, lying in bed, I saw them circling my head. They were pink. They were small. They always showed up in groups. The smallest group I saw was three. One ate the other two, and then hundreds came to join him. Or her.

The docs at Walter Reed are treating me for cognitive disintegration. That’s their story. It isn’t mine. They have me classified as delusional because it’s easy. Just another Navy man who was out there on the edge of the Milky Way and went nuts.

So how can they can cure me? They can’t. In fact, with the neurotransmitter treatments, I’m registering enhanced perception of the PLB. I can hear them sometimes. They have a language. It’s something like Portuguese, no geometry, all liquid.

I also realize they’re multi-taskers. For example, they can function as building blocks. Last month, I watched them assemble themselves into a chair in the corner of my room. It was a recliner. Maroon. It stayed there for almost an hour. Then it faded out.

I sat in the chair for ten minutes or so. I felt connected to the Whole. I was here, there, and everywhere. I was looking through the eyes of strange nameless creatures. I was inside the mind of an entity I’m calling The Reality Builder.

She makes reality out of nothing. That’s her work. That’s all she does. She can’t do anything else. She builds time, space, energy. She’s a kind of machine. She’s benevolent, but not through choice.

She talks to me. “Don’t worry about the PLB,” she says. “They’re all show. They overwhelm you with love, and then they go away. It might take a year or two, but it’ll happen. They’re like an infection. The cure is time.”

The Realty Builder came to me while I was sitting in the chair, as if the PLB were handing her off to me as a gift.

This morning, she was standing by the window. She said, “Think of me as a prop woman in a theater company. Maybe the stage manager. The set designer. That’s it. I make the sets. The rest is up to you. I don’t know why people get so worked up about reality. It’s pretty simple. I do my job. I keep adding space, time, and energy to what’s already there.”

Then what’s the problem?” I said. I felt a sense of urgency.

Well,” she said, “for you the problem seems to be the doctors here can’t accept what you’re telling them. That’s all. If you’d come back with a different story, they would have released you. Put you back to work.”

She was probably right. What was I doing to myself? I’d made a heavy mistake. So now, if I pretended their treatment was bearing fruit, would they sign me out, let me go? I could tell them the PLB were gone, they’d never really been here, they were a persistent but ultimately temporary hallucination. I wouldn’t pilot a ship again, but I could find something else to do.

The Reality Builder asked me if she could hang around with me for a few years. She needed somebody to talk to. Naturally, nobody else would know she was present. We would chat by ourselves at night.

I was on the verge of saying yes when her form, which had been hazy up to this point, clarified. She looked like Ava Gardner. In her prime. She was wearing a white gown. Her hair was up. She was young and eager and new.

Are you a group manifestation of the PLB?” I said.

She looked at me silently.

Then she walked over and put her hand on my arm.

Does it matter?” she said.

Yes,” I said.

She nodded.

You were inside my mind,” she said. “You were sitting in the chair and you entered my mind. You saw that I make, what, reality? Just the basics. What’s wrong with that?”

But” I said, “I don’t want to fall for a mistake. I don’t want to give my trust to something that isn’t what it seems to be.”

Yes,” she said. “In order to trust me, you have to believe I’m just one thing. That’s your real sickness, Captain.”

She started to fade out, and I heard a soft explosion at the back of my head.

I multiplied.

I became people and creatures and even inanimate objects. They sprang out of me as if from a trap.

I felt myself being torn apart. A wheel inside me was suddenly running at high speed and it was snapping and throwing off pieces of itself.

Then I felt I was alone for a long time.

Days, weeks, months.

Or perhaps only for a few minutes.

I was all alone.

I was the singular.

And she. She was the many.

She was doing the work she was pleased to do. Bringing light into the cracks between dark places.

I was the immovable object and she was the irresistible force.

This was the stage play. This was the plot I had failed to notice.

In a forest on a distant planet or in the hospital room at Reed.

I won’t be bored with her,” I said out loud. “There’s that.”

The doctor walked in.

Bored with who?” he said.

A woman I just remembered. I used to go out with her.”

You’re thinking of contacting her?” he said.

Yes. I am.”

He smiled.

Good. That’s a good sign. In fact, you look better today.”

Feel better…Let me ask you something, Doc,” I said. “Have you ever caught yourself realizing that something deadly serious wasn’t serious at all?”

He stared down at his shoes.

What’s the matter?” I said.

He shook his head and looked back up at me.

No,” he said. “Not your fault. What you just described…well, I learned that from my wife. Every day. She died last year.”

The room darkened.

I’m sorry,” I said.

He smiled. “That was my journey out into the forest,” he said. “I had to decide whether there would always be something of her that would stay with me. Something…forever.”

Two weeks later, he signed my papers and I walked out of Walter Reed, a free man.


Exit From the Matrix


I trudged through the streets of Washington DC all day. I finally checked into a small hotel off the Park.

She was waiting in my room. She was wearing a dark blue dress. She was standing by the window.

You know,” she said. “Things aren’t exactly the way you think they are. I’ve been alone, too. I know what it’s like. If, now and then, it seems like I’m trying to put one over on you, that’s why. I remember a lot of empty space and no one around. I don’t want to go back there. I do things to stay here.”

I walked over to her and put my arms around her.

Let’s go out and have supper,” I said. “Then we’ll come back here. It’ll be a nice night.”

Will you kiss me or kid me?” she said.

Kiss you. Later, when we’re used to it, I’m sure we can kid each other about a lot of things.”

She smiled. “I can tell you this,” she said. “The PLB were never there. That was just the yearning. When we have that, we tell stories. But I’m here now.”

And she was.

It was a summer night. We had supper at an outdoor cafe near the river. I don’t remember what we ate, but I do remember she laughed.

Later, in our hotel room, she said, “Do you mind if I, well, become the night table and the chair and the bed and the carpet and the walls and the ceiling and the buildings in the city and the clouds?”

For how long?” I said.

I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe an hour.”

No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

Good,” she said. “Because I don’t mind you being the same you a thousand times over.”

That was how it started.

When the lights go out suddenly and you’re in the dark all alone, and your eyes are trying to adjust, don’t look. At that moment, just know, just feel your way along, and you’ll find something. Hold on to it and follow what happens. I guess that’s pretty much what I did.

Three years later, on a foggy night outside our cottage in Delaware, she finally said, “I like you, Captain, so I’m going to tell you the truth. I’m a representative of the universe, and my mission is to make you a cog in that machine, to connect you with everything everywhere. That’s what I do. I use any and all means to make it happen. You peeked through a window you weren’t supposed to notice at all. So I was sent in to plug the gap. To keep you in check. Okay? So do what you want to now. I’ve blown my own cover.”

I drove all night and reached New York at dawn. I checked into a hotel and…here I am. Considering my options. Whatever action I take, I’m not going to back down…

And if you think this means I’m rejecting love, you’re way off the mark.

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

Why do they try so hard to end freedom?

Why do they try so hard to end freedom?

By Jon Rappoport

August 26, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

I have several answers to that question.

The people who run the people who run things want to own everything.

To them, freedom is another thing to own. So they want it. And they want it all for themselves.

Second, they realize that people who have freedom will not want the kind of world being lowered on them, and with freedom, those rebels may just find a way to keep the planned future from happening. So…better to close all doors.

All the phony political talk about “we’re in this together” is a blatant attempt to promote the idea that freedom is a small thing that must be sacrificed. For the greater good.

The people who run things from the top believe that freedom can be owned, because they can’t think of anything that can’t be owned. That’s their view. That’s the way they see life and the world.

That puts them at a strategic advantage. They focus all their energies on buying and selling. The holdouts among us are those who have values that can’t be displayed like cars in a showroom. Values that can’t be argued for in commercial language. Values that are ultimately non-material.

Holding the value of freedom gives us one advantage. We’re not competing against similar products in the marketplace. We’re competing against one thing only: slavery.

In one way or another, I have been writing about mind control for 30 years. It’s the doorway into slavery. It’s an attempt to wipe out everything that freedom means—most of all, how much it means.

Whatever humans can accomplish, the platform for it is liberty.

To say that freedom carries too much potential for abuse is like arguing that oceans are too dangerous and should be outlawed.

The so-called philosophies that replace freedom try to paint their conclusions with inevitability, and they all fail. From Plato to Marx, they begin with statements of what is possible “if only people would recognize the truth.” Their utopias, when played out, produce tyranny over mind, body, and soul. The cost of perfection.

Behind every good thing you or I or anyone has accomplished, there was the space of freedom. It’s almost a truism, it’s so obvious. But because it’s so obvious, we tend to ignore it.

Now, strong advocates of freedom are looked upon, by the government, as potentially dangerous people. They are demeaned in every possible way. If that doesn’t give you a clue about where government is heading, try reading the piece of paper called the Constitution, and then compare the statements in that document with the present scope of government and come to a decision.

As an aside, try finding a serious college course that does exactly that comparison in great detail. Good luck.

Freedom is out; the collective is in.


Exit From the Matrix


Our petty leaders, the dupes and mules for the future over the hill, are humping the ultimate prize, freedom, which they will lay at the feet of their masters. They will do it gladly, because they can sell all the programs and systems and laws and regulations that add up to no-freedom. It’s easy. They believe it’s workable. And the less freedom that exists, they more power they, the dupes, have, and the bigger their principalities. They’re mercenaries.

Here’s a principle you won’t find in a college economics course: the free market can only exist when the participants have non-material values that conspire to produce good relations among people. In the absence of that, anything and everything can be bought and sold, including the right to be free.

This, of course, ties in with the elite philosophy of ownership.

If we give up our values, some distant future historian will write: “Those people believed in a myth of great men who had much money, much power. Demi-gods. The demi-gods appeared and approached the people with an offer. Sell us your freedom. What is your price? And the people named a price and the bargain was struck. The people were satisfied. They reasoned that what they were trading was a thing, an item, a kind of product, which, were it not for the demi-gods, could never be sold. In a way, the people were mesmerized by what they had been able to accomplish with that sale. Ironically, they were so deluded because they had allowed themselves to grow fat on freedom…”

Mind, body, soul, imagination, and love all exist on the basis that freedom is there—or if it isn’t, it must be fought for.

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

You can have consciousness made out of poetry or brain surgery

by Jon Rappoport

August 20, 2013

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—recounted as a dialogue—

Well, Jim, we found a few interesting things when we went into your brain.”

Really?”

Yes. A whole lot of poems, in fact.”

What?! Impossible. That has to be a mistake. I’m just an ordinary guy. I go to work, have a few beers, take the train home, eat dinner, read the paper, do a little note-writing on experiments at the lab, go to bed around midnight…”

Jim, I’m not asking for your biography—”

I know, Doc, but what you’re telling me is crazy. I like a limerick now and then, but the weird stuff…Shakespeare and Milton…that’s for the dome heads. I’m just…”

You’re a regular guy. Got that, Jim. However, I can show you X-rays. Scans. There’s poetry in your brain, and it’s threatening to take over your cerebral cortex unless we go in and do a second surgery.”

Take over? You’re joking.”

You have to face up to a few things, Jimbo. You’re actually posing as just another Joe, and it’s a good impression, I’m sure, but inside you there are poems waiting to come out. And if they do, it’s going to get ugly, believe me. For one thing, you’ll see more.”

See more what?”

More of what existence can be.”

THERE ISN’T ANYTHING MORE. There’s what I do every day. My work. My family. My salary. Beers with the boys. Football. I love football.”

Yes, we all love football, Jim. It’s mandatory. But you…let me read one of the poems we found in your brain.”

HELL NO.”

It won’t hurt that much.”

I don’t want to hear it.”

Now as I was young and easy, under the apple boughs, about the lilting house, and happy as the grass was green—”

STOP!”

Okay, Jim, take it easy, it’s in your head, don’t blame me. We’ve discovered that…how I can put this…on some level you’re always thinking in poetry. Your whole consciousness is involved, and if we were to take the poems away, you’d go into a deep sleep, a kind of amnesia, perhaps a coma, and you’d never wake up. So we can’t surgically remove the poems. At best we can bury them deeper.”

Do it. Bury them. Bury them all.”

Yes, Jim, but hear me out. If we do that, you’ll lose something.”

You mean I won’t like football anymore?”

No, Jim. You’ll still have football. But you might not have beer. Just kidding. Ha-ha. What you might lose is your interest in life.”

What do you mean?”

You may not feel alive in the same way. You could become very dull.”

How’s that possible, Doc. You’re just getting rid of poems. Who cares?”

Well, Jim, apparently you do. As much as you’d like to deny it, your existence, your feeling about what it means to be alive—even though you’re trying to emphasize how ordinary you are—is wrapped up in a certain poetic consciousness. I know, it’s strange. But again, don’t blame me.”

Look, Doc, you went into my skull to remove some kind of little blockage. And then you came up with these poems. And now you want to bury them. But you say if you do, I might turn into a zombie.”

In the surgery, Jim, there was a leakage. Poems started to come through. We put in a plug, but it’s just temporary. It’s a delicate situation. Going back in a second time, we either let out all the poems, or we build a thicker wall.”

Let me ask you a question, Doc. This thing, consciousness. What is it?”

It’s two things, Jim. It’s what makes you know you’re alive, and it’s also how you’re alive. That second part is tricky. You’re alive, Jim, through connecting with the rhythm and sound of certain thoughts, certain energies. And these energies would NEVER come through to you if it weren’t for language, and that language is poetic. It’s much greater than the reality we see around us. You dampen down that language, Jim, because you want to appear normal. It’s your goal in life, to pretend not to understand anything about this. Do you see? You want to come off like a regular guy, who’s smart and good at his job, and who knows what’s happening in the world. But you don’t want to admit you’re connected to…that thing you’re afraid of.”

But LOOK. I AM a regular guy. All right, so I read the newspaper and I can look behind the stories and I can see a lot of the con games the government is playing on people. I can see crimes and conspiracies. I know something about who’s running the show, who’s behind the curtain. I take pride in that. But this poetry thing. It’s crazy.”

Yes, I understand, Jim. But that’s not going to cut it in this case. We’re at a serious crossroad. We have to do something. You’re playing with fire, trying to deny your connection. On some level, you’re participating in a greater reality. You’re thinking on a different plane, and that thinking is what we call poetry. We could call it Budweiser, but it wouldn’t make any difference. It’s thought with higher force. It’s great and grand ideas. And they’re coming from you, from your mind. You want to say you’re living in a pond, but you’re living in the ocean. Let me put it this way. If you weren’t accessing oceanic consciousness, you couldn’t step it all down and appear to be a normal very smart guy. It wouldn’t work. You’d have nothing to dampen down.”

What would I be?”

A broccoli. A head of lettuce.”

You’re serious?”

As serious as an aneurism, Jim.”

Geez, Doc, this is bad. My whole reputation, my whole rep with MYSELF is riding on the fact that I’m a hardheaded realist. Do you get what’s at stake here?”

Of course I do. That’s why I’m being so forthcoming. I could have put you under without you knowing it and just cut into your skull again. But I wanted to explain the whole thing to you and give you a choice. You see, Jim, the truth is we’re all living in a charade. We’re all faking it. We’re pretending we don’t have these fantastic energies in us. We’re all stepping it down to average and normal and smart.

It just so happens that, by the luck of the draw, my assistant in the OR nicked a little piece of your brain and opened up a portal into what we’re all trying to avoid. We’re all hooked up to our own poetic centers. We all see life in much wider and deeper terms. I don’t mean little stupid rhymes. I mean great language that vaults us up into atmospheres and spaces that…well, I can’t really do it justice sitting here talking to you. But this is mind control here, Jim. The most profound kind. Self-induced. We do it to ourselves. We cut off access. We keep ourselves ignorant about the language we have…the genuine language that comes out of imagination. If I operate on you again, there’s a chance the wall we build will be too thick, and you’ll wake up with very little awareness. You’ll be regular and normal and average for real. And trust me, Jim, that’s a nightmare. I’ve seen it. The person is, to put it kindly, at an enormous disadvantage.”

What should I do, Doc?”

Take a chance, Jim. Let us clear away any scar tissue and just leave an open portal. Let the language and the energies come through. From one faker to another, go for it. Go for the great adventure. Who knows what’ll it be? One thing’s for sure. You won’t be sitting here whining to me. You’ll be you. Dealing with that won’t be easy, but with enough guts, you could make it through. You could show us what we don’t want to see.”

Doesn’t sound very appealing.”

That won’t be your problem, Jim. I guarantee it. The problem is, it’ll be too appealing.”

Sounds dangerous.”

I wouldn’t put it that way. Being who you are is what you’ve sacrificed your whole life. You’re going to retract that sacrifice. Think of it that way. You’re going to pull away the sacrifice like an old coat and burn it in the fire of a thousand new suns…”

Or else come back as a carrot.”

Pretty much. People around you will still think you’re Jim, but inside you won’t be anybody or anything. You’ll be a robot with no real consciousness.”

I hate poetry, Doc.”

Why do you think that is, Jim?”

I don’t know. I want things to be simple and clear. Like a story. Beginning, middle, end.”

Wrapped up like a nice neat package.”

That’s right.”

Like your life.”

Why not?”

You tell me.”

I hate poetry.”

We all do, Jim. It reminds us of something we’d rather forget.”

So help me forget it, Doc.”

You want to be a zombie.”

If that’s what it takes.”

Imagine a world full of zombies, Jim. Everybody cut off from their oceanic consciousness. No poetry ever again.”

Sounds good. Sounds like realism. No more conflict. No more demons.”

Demons? Is that what you think I’m talking about, Jim? Your greatest thoughts and energies expressed with their greatest force, with raw beauty and—”

They’re not RATIONAL, Doc. They’re meaningless. I don’t understand those thoughts. They don’t make any sense.”

If we build that wall in your brain, Jim, what’s left of you will be a machine. Do you get that?”

That’s what I want. I want to be a machine. I’ll be fine.”

Well…okay, kid. Your choice. Your destiny. We’ll prep you for surgery. We’ll make those trillion watts of energy shrink down to a ten-watt bulb.”

This thing you call poetic consciousness, Doc? It’s just a delusion. And I want to get rid of it.”

Okay, Jim, I’ll put the genie back in the bottle.”

Nice talking to you, Doc.”

I wish that were true, Jim. TYGER, TYGER, BURNING BRIGHT, IN THE FORESTS OF THE NIGHT, WHAT IMMORTAL HAND OR EYE COULD FRAME THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY?”

See, Doc. That’s just what I mean. What the hell kind of talk is that? I don’t understand it! Get rid of it!”

Sorry, kid, it just slipped out. I’ll go get ready. Relax. The nurse’ll be in in a minute. Piece of cake.”

Poetry. Ridiculous. It’s for idiots.”

Sure, kid.”

We don’t need poets.”


Exit From the Matrix

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


Of course not. One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is
myself,
And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or
ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can
wait.

My foothold is tenon’d and mortis’d in granite,
I laugh at what you call dissolution,
And I know the amplitude of time.

I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are
with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I
translate into a new tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

…I am he that walks with the tender and growing night,
I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.

Press close bare-bosom’d night — press close magnetic
nourishing night!
Night of south winds — night of the large few stars!
Still nodding night — mad naked summer night.

Smile O voluptuous cool-breath’d earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!
Earth of departed sunset — earth of the mountains misty-topt!
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!
Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbow’d earth — rich apple-blossom’d earth!
Smile, for your lover comes.

Prodigal, you have given me love — therefore I to you give
love!”

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 the poets who destroy the old order

It’s the poets who destroy the old order

by Jon Rappoport

August 19, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

[Poetry] should strike the Reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost as a Remembrance…” (John Keats)

And then your life, the life you are telling me about, becomes a short story that had force only because it was viewed from a particular slant, your slant, which you found within the one language you speak…” (The Magician Awakes)

The greatest sum is no sum at all. It isn’t the addition of facts or numbers. It’s the willingness, for a little while at first, to suspend judgment and consider there are mythic qualities in existence that come from us…myths greater than machines…and in order to give voice to the myths we need to go where poets go. We need to go there badly. For our own sake, we have to put that peculiar precision that splits a tiny particle into smaller and smaller pieces on the shelf for a little while…” (The Magician Awakes)

Call this an article of faith.

These days, people are rightly concerned about spying, snooping, tracking, hacking, profiling. The battle of privacy versus intrusion. The systems that look at other systems.

And at the same time, the people who are spying and tracking are trying to hide their own secrets. They’re doing double duty. Just off the top of your head, what would you think of a person who was doing everything he could to assemble the particulars of your life while he was concealing the details of his?

And suppose his wealth and access were, say, a few hundred billion times greater than yours?

What kind of language is involved in all this computer spying and counter-spying and protection? You don’t have to be an expert to see it’s the language of the machine. It’s certainly elegant in many respects, and it’s delineated in fine, very fine, and extra-fine shavings of detail. The Trojan Horse is now algorithmic.

The people who enter and work in that universe are committed to a meticulous process of move and counter-move. Programs above other programs. Look-ins which are processing the strategies of other look-ins.

I’m interested in all this because the past, present, and future of language is involved. A civilization, to a significant extent, rides on what happens to words—not as detached entities, but as the expression of what we invent ourselves to be.

It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once a poem.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

These aren’t minor matters. Imagine what victory in a war means when the survivors, on both sides, emerge with battered minds, bodies, and souls. The experience of war makes them see the future in different terms.

If freedom is placed in a modern context of privacy vs. no-privacy, the war is going to embroil us in a language of the machine. We’re going to touch that language, rub up against it in one way or another, use it, oppose some piece of it with another piece of it.

Children are going to grow up learning it and swimming in it and its effects.

In that way, the creeks and streams and rivers and oceans of machine interaction are going to power human thinking.

…it is difficult to get the news from poems yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there…” (William Carlos Williams)

Here’s a strange example. People will take a paragraph out of an author’s novel, extract every key word, and track down their possible references—and then try to reconstitute the paragraph as if it were lines of secret code. They’ll rebuild it by welding together those references.

Because mathematics consists of symbol-manipulation, and the symbols have very specific and tight meanings, there is a growing tendency to assume all language works this way.

But of course, it doesn’t.

Poetry doesn’t. So the poet, who was already on the far edge of credibility, is reintroduced as a symbol maker, a mathematician slipping a coded revolution into the matrix.

That might make an entertaining science fiction novel, but it has nothing to do with the energy or intent of a poem.

Poets may be unearthing hidden treasure, but the spoils of their war are everything mathematics isn’t. Every great poet destroys the old order. It’s for the reader to discover and see that, if he can.

The old order, which is always and forever fascism dressed up as “greatest good,” keeps resurfacing in the same pool of decay.

It’s the poets who know how to climb down into the muck and also fly above it, waking the dead parts of the psyche.

Whoever rules these dead, and how, with what tricks and subterfuge, the royal purpose remains constant: the rejection of poetic consciousness that can fully restore the human being to the life that is his.

Poetry does more than reorder reality. It reconstitutes it from the beginning, from the first line on the page of the future.

Society, as it has been shaped, is the sum of illusions that prevent the individual from hearing the first line, even as it echoes in his mind.

This repression is a cooperative exchange in the marketplace. The individual agrees to deafen himself, in order to placate inner forces he fears. Forces that ultimately don’t exist. The whole operation is a chimera.

It’s the poets who destroy the old order.

Time let me hail and climb, Golden in the heydays of his eyes. And honoured among wagons, I was prince of the apple towns, And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves Trail with daisies and barley Down the rivers of the windfall light.”

Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table…”

These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis…”

These aren’t instructions or code or habits to be performed, or political improvements. They’re grand intrusions on the commonplace labyrinth. They come in at an angle and explode.

As the consciousness of these things dwindles in the era of the machine and all its complications, as the matrix expands to include language-calculations designed to describe what the individual is and isn’t, a sea of geometry forms the illusion of progress.

Caught in nests of such symbolic relation, we wait, “till human voices wake us and we drown.”

The drowning comes because the voices are speaking and singing in a key that is one small mathematical preoccupation in the infinite spectrum of imagination.

To the extent the poet is merely taken to be crazy, doom is settling like a shroud around our shoulders.

…the willingness to give the response to the heroic…gets weaker and weaker in every democracy, as time goes on. Then men turn against the heroic appeal, with a sort of venom. They will only listen to the call of mediocrity wielding the insentient bullying power of mediocrity: which is evil.” (DH Lawrence)

But poets always come. They see doom and they use it as fuel for a new fire that ends one epoch and begins another. Who hears them? That is always the open question. We are already living in a new time, if we would recognize it.

Poetry is the mother tongue of the human race.” (Johann Georg Hamann)

[Poetry:] Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.” (Thomas Gray)

Imagine there were a million new and unknown languages waiting to be discovered. These tongues wouldn’t make things simpler. They wouldn’t make machines run more smoothly. They would wake us up to new sensations, feelings, exaltations. They would lead us into worlds that had remained in the shadows because we had no way to express our perception of them. They would light up whole geographies of our consciousness that had been dormant. Every compromise with reality would be exposed as a blatant enormous lie.

Every “thought-machine” would crumble. The absurdity of building bigger and bigger organizations as the grand solution to conflict would reveal itself so clearly, even android-humans would see it and wake up from their trance.

The dim apprehension of what is called “paranormal” would blow up and become part of every-day experience. But most of all, our aesthetic sense would expand in every direction, and we would be able to see how rock-bottom consensus reality is merely a fragment of material for making poetry.


Exit From the Matrix


Here’s an excerpt from my unfinished manuscript, The Magician Awakes:

You sit there and tell me about your life, but after a while it occurs to me you’re talking in a blind language. You’re moving above other words you don’t give voice to. There’s another language running in your head, a language you haven’t found yet. It’s there, but you don’t want to look at it.

You vaguely think, from time to time, it might be in Nature. You might find it there. But Nature is just one part of that expression. If the existence of Nature is so clear to you, consider that there are thousands of other Natures. And each one has a language that unlocks it and spreads it out in a different space and time.

Would you rather pull back in and settle on the words you use every day? Would you rather become an expert in those words, a king of those words, a ruler in that small place? Is that the beginning and end of what you want and where you’re going? Is that all the human race is capable of?

Because if it is, then we can end this discussion and all discussions. We can please ourselves with what we have. We can dodge and duck. We can inject ourselves with that ‘satisfaction drug’ and say there’s nothing else to do.

But suppose these thousands of unknown languages, which no people on earth speak, are sitting like gigantic clouds and then moving slowly through our minds. Suppose each one of those languages can wake us up to new KINDS of experience—experience we perhaps once had but lost.

And then your life, the life you are telling me about, becomes a short story that had force only because it was viewed from a particular slant, your slant, which you found within the one language you speak. Do you see?

You’re battling within that one language and you’re finding your story in it. You’ve achieved something. I’m not asking you to throw it away by the side of the road. I’m suggesting that this same life can be told from thousands of angles in other languages, and those tongues are much different, much wider, and through them you see a far bigger life…and you can’t then avoid it, you can’t go back, you don’t want to avoid it…”

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

Why must art imitate reality?

Why must art imitate reality?

By Jon Rappoport

August 17, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Well, of course, it doesn’t have to, but that’s what most people are looking for. An imitation of reality.

Surrealism, for example, is crazy by conventional standards. Which is its whole point: who set up the conventional standards?

Once you open up that question, all bets are off.

What happens if I write a short play in which Edward Snowden is a dictator in a police state, and the NSA are revolutionaries battling for freedom?

Is that stage play “illegal?” Could reversing roles actually indict the NSA to a greater degree and make its crimes more vivid?

No! You’re twisting everything! Stick to the facts! You’re soiling the reputation of Edward Snowden!”

Is that what I’m doing? Of course not. But “the reality people” are offended.

The notion that inversion or metaphor could be more powerful than fact is impossible for them to conceive.

Satire? Never heard of it.

The truth is, in every person there is a force of imagination waiting to make a prison break. That force feels great joy in overturning reality. But most people lock it up behind bars. And having locked it up, they don’t want to be reminded of it.

Art reminds them.

Art is a thorn.

Don’t bother me. I’m accepting reality. I’m a loyal foot-soldier in the army of What Is.”

Such a person is conning himself, but he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about it at all. But a child does. A child is ready to stage little improvisational plays at the drop of a hat. New roles, new stories. For him, reality is soft and elastic.

A child is prepared to torpedo any consensus in the service of inventing something spontaneous.

Eventually, he learns this a taboo. It isn’t part of the adult universe. If he’s going to use his imagination at all, it must be for the purpose of strengthening What Is.

His parents and teachers are there to help him with this effort.

But somewhere down deep, they all know this is collaborating with the enemy. It’s betraying the core of consciousness.


Exit From the Matrix


Awareness is only one part of consciousness. The greater part is imagination/creation. It needs no factual foundation. It needs no sanction.

Art makes realities, worlds, universes. In doing so, it jettisons rules. It makes up its own rules, or dispenses with rules altogether.

If more artists understood this, if more people became artists, society would undergo a remarkable transformation. It wouldn’t turn into a new consensus; it would evolve into millions of side-by-side original creations. What that would look like, how it would operate, is unknown. We’ve never seen a society like that on planet Earth.

But there would be no more need for war.

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