Category Archives: Exit From the Matrix

Designing the mind: a fable

Designing the mind: a fable

by Jon Rappoport

August 2, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Before I launch into the fable, I want to discuss briefly a related matter. The submerging of the individual into the collective, group-think, the consensus.

To many people, this submerging seems like a good idea. Why? Because they don’t perceive the actual creative potential of the individual. Therefore, they don’t see the submerging as a sacrifice.

“There isn’t a significant distinction between the individual and the group in the first place.”

And therein lies the problem and the tragedy.

“What’s the big deal? On one side you have the individual with his ideas and his agendas, and on the other side you have the group with its ideas and agendas. So what? It’s more pleasant and reassuring to dive into the group. So do it.”

THAT’S why it’s important to understand the individual and his imagination and power. That’s why it isn’t just a little choice between A and A plus .0001.

When the education system is rigged to delete all major references to the individual as an independent being and force and entity, and when, through electronic technology, the planet is drawing closer and closer together, and when more and more people consider freedom a vague slogan, it’s very, very easy to slide into some form of “group-ness” as the answer to all problems.

It’s easy to believe the mind is little more than a series of programs that can switched and replaced with no damage done.

Whereas the true image should look something like this: the individual is standing on top of a mountain with the open and endless sky of possibility above…and far, far below, barely visible, there is a murky and stagnant pond where the group lives, sharing impulses that meld and fizz their consciousness into a single clot of fairy tale.

I know this comparative image is shocking to some people. But they need to understand that the individual isn’t deserting other people. He’s deserting the clotted reality other people invent in order to drown themselves in endless compromise.

Okay. Here is the fable:

In their lab, Sam and Sally had just finished inscribing a huge amount of code on a two-dimensional sheet of plastic, in order to produce a hologram that would, when sprung, blossom into the continuum called The Physical Universe.

With glasses of good champagne in their hands, sitting on stools in the lab, they speculated on their next project.

“To me,” Sally said, “it’s obvious. People are going to live and proliferate in the Universe. So we have to design their minds to sync up with Universe. Otherwise, we’ll have a mess on our hands.”

“Chaos,” Sam said. “Not our objective here. But first we have to get a handle on what ‘people’ means.”

“Yes,” Sally said. “We do. We know they’re immortal souls. We know we don’t have anything to do with that mystery. It’s outside our control. But they will have bodies, physical forms. And minds. Inside the Universe.”

“And freedom,” Sam said.

“Right. But we can design a section of their minds to our liking. That section will sync up with Universe. It’ll mesh. It’ll accept the structure of the hologram.”

“Well,” Sam said, “let’s look at how we built Universe. Although it has action and energy and change, it also has a major amount of harmony, symmetry, balance, equilibrium, and repeating pattern. You know, the simple stuff. The stuff even a child can grasp. It’s not the most complicated universe we’ve ever made.”

“So,” Sally said, “suppose we design one segment of mind so it loves and attaches itself to symmetry and harmony and pattern. That’ll produce the sync-effect, won’t it?”

Sam said, “Yeah, but another part of the mind, the part we can’t design, will be free. And given that freedom, it can reject these childish qualities…”

“Solution,” Sally said. “Design a piece of every mind to hunger after and accept symbols of all kinds, especially mystical symbols that just lead them into mazes and labyrinths and dead-ends.”

“What good will that do?” Sam said.

“Well, it’ll make them think that the Universe we put together over breakfast is very strange and unfathomable and fascinating. Then they won’t be so quick to reject the symmetry and harmony and go out of sync with Universe…”

“Great idea!” Sam said. “In fact, if we tie together all those weird mystical symbols with the harmony and symmetry, we’ll really have something. The people will keep going around and around…”

“Yes,” Sally said, “and they’ll never explore their own consciousness where all the immortal stuff and the real mystery are.”

And that’s how Sally and Sam finished the job. They called this new second phase The Good Citizen Project.

Exit From the Matrix

Some time later, much later, they watched with amusement as “researchers” living in Universe pointed out that snail shells and certain flowers and spiral galaxies all expressed very similar configurations.

“Wow,” Sam said, “it worked. “They really go for Pattern, don’t they? They eat it up.”

“I know,” Sally said. “And they’re talking about simple configurations as if they’re symbols of something very ‘deep.’ They’ll be delving into this stuff for a million years. They’ve synced up to Universe beyond anything I thought possible.”

A few million years passed.

Sam and Sally got together, to peek in and see what was happening in Universe. They were surprised again.

“Do you see it?” Sally said.

“Of course I see it,” Sam said. “They’re sculpting their own THOUGHTS into simple shapes. They’re making their thoughts mimic the symmetry and the geometry and the balance. They must be in a trance.”

“Do you think we should issue a wake-up call?”

“No,” Sam said. “Who knows what that would do to them? They’d probably think the wake-up call was coming through one of their elite priest classes and, as a result, they’d dig themselves in even deeper. Leave them alone. They’ll have to wake themselves up…”

“When do you think that will happen?” Sally said.

“A good question,” Sam said. “I say we let a billion more years pass, and then we look in again.”

“I can’t remember how they entered Universe in the first place,” Sally said.

“That would be Department 4-AR’s job. Let me look it up.”

Sam typed a password on his computer and read the note.

“It was a vacation special,” he said. “Tickets went on sale and were scooped up. It was a big seller at the time.”

“Long vacation,” Sally said.

“That’s the way it’s turning out,” Sam said.

Sally said, “We have to remember what we did, for future reference. Design a universe with a significant amount of symmetry, balance, harmony, geometry, and repeating pattern. The puerile stuff. Then introduce a whole host of weird symbols that go nowhere. The inhabitants will connect those symbols to the childish symmetry and enter a trance, a long lasting trance…”

“It works,” Sam said. “Like a charm.”

“We need to make up a name for what we’ve done,” Sally said. “A label, a title. It’s a major accomplishment. It needs a name.”

Sam thought about it for a minute. “Let’s try something a little weird,” he said. “You know, with initials, so it sounds official.”

“Right,” Sally said. “Well…see how you like this. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it’s got a bit of comic-book flair.”

“Hit me with it,” Sam said.

“MKULTRA.”

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

Psychiatry as mystical symbolism

Psychiatry as mystical symbolism

by Jon Rappoport

July 31, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

If you’re a propagandist, you’ll always be on the lookout for symbols that seem to have very specific meaning…but fade into obscurity and dead-end in a nowhere land.

Such symbols can snare many people and drag them into slave-camps of the mind.

If you want people to become far more ignorant than they already are, as well, you need look no further than the field of psychiatry, which is rife with useful symbols, which are…

The names of so-called mental disorders. There are about 300 in the official psychiatric bible. They appear to designate actual mental states, but upon close inspection, they’re empty of scientific meaning.

Pretending to represent erudite research, they impart gibberish.

Perfect.

An acceptance of these mental-disorder symbols automatically short-circuits any investigation of the mind’s true potential or power.

False map, no authentic territory, no treasure.

As a psychiatrist who left his profession in disgust once wrote me, “I was playing a shell game with my patients. I could label a person with one disorder, prescribe a drug, then follow up with a new drug, eventually diagnose a new disorder, combine drugs, adjust the dosages, and go on this way for many appointments. But all the labels were shams…”

They’re symbols. They appear to stand for something solid, but they don’t.

As I’ve shown in several articles, all so-called mental disorders are based on no definitive diagnostic tests. No saliva, no blood, no genes, no brain scans, for any of the 300 labels.

So what we have in psychiatry is a secular organized religion, a Tower of Babble outfitted with thousands of entirely fictional symbols. Which the priests know how to use. They have that training.

People in the general population are asking for shorthand explanations, and the professional symbol-talkers fulfill that need. That’s the exchange. That’s the transaction. The psychiatrist announces a symbol, which is the label for a disorder, the patient asks what it means, and the doctor explains.

Without the symbol, however, nothing happens. Nothing is consummated.

Give a human a symbol and he’s all ears. He wants to know. He must know. A symbol functions like a scent to a dog. He has to track it down.

Heavily organized religions all operate in this way. The priest, who has superior arcane knowledge, mentions a few symbols that decorate a story. The prospective adherent is intensely curious. He wants to know what the signs point to.

They’re fictional, but of course that doesn’t stop the priest. He offers answers. Instructions. The student accepts the explanation because it is filling a void that has been created by the high priest in the first place.

Symbol=mystery. Explanation solves it.

This game was probably discovered about two minutes after human life first appeared on planet Earth.

It’s important to understand that the game reflects an earnest and authentic search. A person wants to understand his own life. Whether or not he admits it, he needs to seek out answers to basic and profound questions. They’re always percolating in his subconscious landscape.

But the high priests and propagandists step in with symbols to short-cut the search and derail it. They already have the answers. They’ve been given these pearls from a Higher Source. And they will dispense the pearls, for a price.

You serve up your consciousness and psyche on a platter, and you get the pearls.

The Matrix Revealed

Psychiatry is just the latest version of the operation. It utilizes the medium of the Age: science. Or rather, puerile fiction dressed up as science.

If psychiatrists could make it work, they’d wear purple robes embroidered with esoteric shapes and signs and a tall hat topped by a star. They’d gaze into a pond and stir the water with a stick and produce Insight. They’d channel an entity from Ursa Minor in a dark room with organ music.

Art has never been popular with the masses because it tends to lop off that layer of priesthood. Art abandons short-cut translations of symbols. It offers, instead, the invention of stand-alone worlds born out of imagination.

What art reflects is the creative immortality of the individual.

It doesn’t close off life, it opens it up endlessly.

It’s no accident that, fueled by cocaine-induced pretensions, Freud concocted a method that allowed him to psychoanalyze art, on the absurd basis that all creative endeavors were merely expressions of hidden mental disorders.

Psychiatry and its related branches required a static and unchanging picture of the mind. Having asserted such a picture, they then moved on to a dog-and-pony show. Each symbol they introduced represented part of a description of that picture.

That was their story, and they stuck to it. They cleared the decks for a made-up science of symbol-and-interpretation.

Freud’s nephew, Edward Bernays, the father of modern public relations, used his skills to promote his uncle’s work. Surely, Bernays saw, in Freud, a brilliant salesman, who had invented a whole new library of symbols that could be dumped on the masses, and then translated for public consumption.

A new church of the mind would be born.

Aware of the much freer core creative power of the individual, Freud and his allies considered it a nemesis, and they set out to bury it under their new iconography.

They were just the latest incarnation of high priests in the tower.

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 great open sky of imagination: for those who understand

The great open sky of imagination: for those who understand

by Jon Rappoport

July 29, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

By choice, I keep rolling the dice and shoving all my chips in. I know what the term “human potential,” used so foolishly and narrowly, actually means and implies, when you cut away the nonsense.

And I know how mind/matrix cooperates to block off that knowledge.

Maybe many people know this. Some days, I think they do. Some days, I don’t.

The mind/matrix has the capacity to back up any story a person wants to tell himself about his own life. Especially, ESPECIALLY when that story is self-limiting and small and ordinary.

A person wants to live a life of limited spaces? He needs a story to explain that choice. Mind/matrix will provide details, will back it up, will offer material for the tale. The fable. The myth.

You try to pry open that door and expose the limited nature of the story and you’d better have a dozen crowbars and some C-4, because it’s going to be a long day. And at the end of it, nothing will have changed, because we’re talking about DEDICATION here.

Dedication to story. Commitment to the content of the story.

This is how a circumscribed life happens. Through the story a person tells himself.

There is really only one universal solvent that will wash away that story: imagination.

Without it, a person is just rearranging deck chairs on his own personal Titanic.

Imagination doesn’t only have the capacity to change the story line; it can create many new stories. It can eradicate old content by opening up an unlimited sky of possibility.

But most people are afraid of that. They want a fable where all actions to be taken are clear and obvious. They want to live a limited life and they want to be proud of it. They want to hold on to anything that will deny the existence and power of imagination.

They want to tell themselves a story that will make ignorance into wisdom. They want what they claim is “realism.” They want everything to be “real.” What does that mean? It means they have a secret religion called WHAT ALREADY EXISTS.

The ultimate basis of all mind control is: whatever it takes to deny the true power of imagination.

The exact same thing can be said about the ultimate aim of political repression.

To understand, to get an idea about what imagination is capable of, you need to go to ART. That’s the very best place to go. But again, people are fearful. They need to say art is just a distraction, a foolish kind of playing in the face of far more serious matters. They’ll cover their eyes and block off their minds to avoid such a confrontation. They’ll drown in their own stagnant juices if they have to, to maintain their denial. They’ll run around in circles or drug themselves or turn upside own. Anything to avoid looking at what imagination can do.

They’ll sign up for an organized religion with all its symbols and priests, just so they can prostrate themselves before some fragment of frozen poetry that forms the basis of that religion. They’ll even deny themselves direct access to the God they believe in, and opt for a structure that demands loyalty to a hundred rules as the price to pay, to be connected to God.

They’ll find some way to put a ceiling on life and live under it.

Imagination has no ceiling. It is waiting to be called into action. It can wait a thousand years. It can wait forever.

It can outlast all passivity.

Exit From the Matrix

When imagination is put on hold, a civilization dies. It can look like many other causes are producing the decline and fall, but at bottom it’s the lack of imagination. That’s why societies go into the swamp. That’s why the individual decides his best choice is to be part of a group.

A group has no imagination.

A group can supply story-line to a seeking mind, but that’s all. It can never supply the faculty that makes stories.

This society provides millions of outlets that offer “better stories.” But it doesn’t offer the underlying power to create new stories.

A tree, a rock, a leaf, a vase, an ashtray. They each have a story. It may be beautiful, pedestrian, or ugly. But it is one story per object. A human has the capacity to invent an infinite number of stories, but because most humans can’t perceive the value of doing that, they, the only creatures on the planet who have this ability, toss it away like an old rag. They default. They shrug it off.

To understand life at a more expansive level, you have to go there.

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

Once upon a time, there was something called The Individual

Once upon a time, there was something called The Individual

by Jon Rappoport

July 27, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Once upon a time, there was something called The Individual. Of course, it turned out to be fiction. Our ancestors were quite mad, off their rockers. They spoke of “each human being” as distinct and unique.

It’s rather easy to see how it all started. At some point in the evolutionary history of the species, the mind decided it needed a construct. A myth. A device. A hope. Called The Individual.

And then, flashing forward, we knew the fairy tale was just a spiritual appendix. So we removed it.

We replaced it with the Glob.

The Glob is beautiful. It gives. It has one voice.

It’s all of us. A perfected union.

We don’t punish. We inhale and ingest. If one breath isn’t enough, we take two and suck dissent deeper into our unitary Substance.

Then we rebuild the dissent into Glob-essence.

Once we removed the delusion called The Individual, we installed the universal program. It connected us to the data banks of irreversible wisdom. The banks show us how Separate Striving is the name of the many faces of Crime.

The Individual as a subject surfaces every now and then, in conversation, like a bad penny.

Simply realize it is extinct. We are looking at a hallucinatory trace, a ghost, a throwback.

We are Species. Sections of us go defunct; others are born.

Time passing is of no concern. We are beyond time, having achieved the ultimate goal of consciousness. We are the premise and the conclusion.

Our ancestors were misguided and a bunch of fools, but we mustn’t criticize them too heavily. They did the best they could with what they had.

Fortunately, in their time, intelligence arose in the form of something called The New Age, which urged a movement toward Ultimate Collective Oneness of the Cosmic Cheese Melt. It was aided by a fragment called “The one political party with two heads,” which taught: “we are the drone and we are love and we watch you to help you.”

What a boon they were!

Another aspect, called megacorps, created worker hives—primitive forerunners of the Glob—and assisted in the transformation of consciousness. Then there was a mysterious phenomenon, the gateBuffetzuckerbergCIA, that taught endless giving and charity.

The ancestors fought wars and committed many crimes, but all this was solved when the Oneness Message permeated deeply enough into the cells of the great Daddy-Goo-Goo-Yup-Yup-Boom.

Of course, you all know the Daddy-Goo is a sub-category of the Rockefell-Roths-CFR-Trilat-Build-a-Burger-Globalis-Monsan aspect, which we celebrate when the leaves turn the color of polished aluminum.

At any rate, we are speaking to ourselves today because we have recently noticed an echo in the Field. Its origin is unclear, but a brief cryptic message has appeared: “Free Will.” What this terms means is not yet known.

We are not inhaling and ingesting it with our normal ease, and thus far all efforts to transmute it into basic Glob-essence have failed.

Unprompted drawings are appearing on our screens. They do not mirror and pay homage to Glob. This is curious and somewhat troubling. We have translated the writing under one drawing: “These are the times that try men’s souls.”

We do not understand its reference, but the statement is clearly criminal in its intent. It emits a foul odor. It must be purged.

We have a question for ourselves. Do we understand the word IN-dependence? It also has appeared in the Field. It transmits an unwelcome frequency.

There is one final term that has also come to our attention: FREEDOM.

What does that mean? It is obviously noxious. It reeks of morbid separatism. It seems to be accompanied by heinous music.

Exit From the Matrix

Wait! More is coming through now! A great deal more!

“There are some people who hear the word FREEDOM and wake up, as if a new flashing music has begun.

“This lone word makes them see something majestic and untamed and astonishing.

“They feel the sound of a Niagara approaching.

“They suddenly know why they are alive.

“Most people don’t want to travel to that grand arena because they have been trained like pets by some sector of this society to be good girls and boys.

“99% of the world has been conditioned like rats to adore systems. Give them a system and they’re ready to cuddle up inside it. And with every move they make, they put another blanket over the Fire Within.

“They sleepwalk through life and say yes to everything.

“Maybe you once saw something truly free that didn’t care about consequences, and it blew you into tomorrow and turned on your soul’s electricity for an hour.

“Maybe you’re sick and tired of bowing and scraping before a pedestal of nonsense.

“FREEDOM is a word that should be oceanic. It should shake and blow apart the pillars of the smug boredom of the soul.

“FREEDOM is about what the individual feels when he has thrown off the false front that is slowly strangling him.

“FREEDOM is about the end of mindless postponement. It’s about what happens when you burn up the pretty and petty little obsessions. It’s about emerging from the empty suit and empty machine of society that goes around and around and sucks away the vital bloodstream.

“Do you want to know where I found this? I hacked into some of the deepest cells of your Glob-essence and I discovered it hiding there. I found it buried down in your most securely guarded caves. I stole it and escaped. I took it and I’m showing it to you because its yours. It belongs to you. It’s supposed to be Never Seen Again. NSA.”

WHO IS SPEAKING! WE THE GLOB DEMAND TO KNOW! WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM! STOP IT! THE GLOB COMMANDS YOU TO STOP!

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 individual vs. the illusion of consensus reality

The individual vs. the illusion of consensus reality

by Jon Rappoport

July 26, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

This is such a supercharged subject, I could start from a dozen places.

But let’s begin here: the individual is unique, because he is he. He is unique because he has his own ideas, because he has his own desires, because he has his own power. That power belongs to no one else.

In particular, it doesn’t belong to the State. The State will try, will always try to suggest that it is granting power to the individual, but this is a lie. It’s an illusion broadcast with ill-intent.

While everyone else is trying to manufacture connections to the group, under the banner of a false sense of community, the individual is going in the opposite direction.

Philip K Dick: “Insanity—to have to construct a picture of one’s life, by making inquiries of others.”

Consensus reality is the reality of sacrifice. It is coagulating energy, form, content, substance that takes on amorphous shapes studded with slots into which people can fit themselves.

The independent individual thinks what he wants to think. Over time, he keeps graduating into new, more nearly unique levels of what he wants to think.

He rises above the group. He rises to his own thoughts.

There is no subject and no substance which is not infiltrated by consensus reality. Wherever you look, you will encounter it. The group is the basis of consensus reality, and the group pact extends everywhere. The group fears a sector where only individual thought can tread.

That would be dangerous to the illusion. “Well, we’ve got things well in hand in most places, but over there and over here we’re not in charge. A different kind of reality pervades.”

No, that doesn’t work for the group. The exceptions would blow a hole in the rule.

“Stay away from the corner of Lexington Avenue and 34th Street. Something too weird is going on there. We come in and try to inject consensus on that spot and it doesn’t work. Our “sharing” energy bounces off that corner. We may have to call in the troops to surround the place and cordon it off.”

Alert! Alert! Consensus reality is breaking down in Sector 328-A! Locate the problem! This is an emergency!

Bring in the news team to shore up the illusion! Turn on the hypnosis machines!

Group consensus is fraying and fragmenting in Area 768-B! Call the professors and pundits! Discredit the individual! Call him a monster! Do something fast!

Consensus reality is an illusion in the sense that you can see it and I can see it, but we didn’t sign up for it. That’s the catch. Take any area of life, and I mean any, and that’s the case. Wherever there is tight consensus, perception ensues. That’s the whole point.

“We, the group, aren’t fooling around. When we sign a pact among ourselves, we intend everybody to see what we decide is there to see.”

So you, the individual, can opt out. That doesn’t necessarily mean the consensus disappears; you can still see it, but you see it without accepting it. You can see the oasis in the desert, which is a mirage, but because you have your own bottle of water, you don’t have to run toward the mirage and fall down on your knees and try to drink from the pool.

Philip K. Dick: “Because today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups…increasingly, we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated electronic mechanisms…And this is an astounding power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind. I ought to know. I do the same thing.”

The strong and free individual evolves. He doesn’t stay the same. He doesn’t know everything worth knowing today. He knows enough, but not everything. He continues to emerge with new ideas, new energy, new invention. He becomes larger. He gains more power.

Exit From the Matrix

When the illusion of consensus reality attains a level beyond mere slogan, it enters the realm of systems. This is its most convincing format. A system appears to be watertight. Each one of its parts has relations with the whole.

This is interesting, because that mirrors what a group is. Each member is a part that connects to the whole.

Consensus as a system is like a game of chess that plays the same moves over and over. Game one is the same as game two, three, four…

That’s where its illusion of power comes from.

The individual, though, doesn’t proceed according to systems. He isn’t moving from one closed context to another. That’s the group. The individual may retain the same general principles over time, but what he does and thinks strikes out into new territories. Because he creates. There is no individual without creating.

Consensus is the coin of the realm. It is forced from the top, and it is signed up for at the bottom. One hand washes the other.

Societies may begin through consensus, but if they have any courage, they shift focus to the job of pulling away coercive restraints on the individual. Regardless, the individual asserts his freedom. It is his to begin with, not the group’s. No one gives it to him.

American society is moving rapidly to an inverse, an upside down structure, in which freedom is looked upon as a privilege grudgingly accorded in the absence of a reason to take it away. The prevalent official attitude is: consensus must be strengthened. It must dominate the landscape.

Through vast experience, the free individual knows that consensus has no theoretical limits. Group-perceptions about the way things are can give birth to the most universally “proven objective truths.”

In his explorations, the individual may even find that a demonstrated law of nature is nothing more than a consensus. And, therefore, an illusion.

The group has conception of Normal. Normal is like a message passed around, from hand to hand, and when you look at it closely, for content, it dissolves. There was really nothing there.

This is similar to what happens when physicists probe further and further into matter, looking for smaller and smaller particles, and come up with an enormous amount of empty space.

The group consensus is the illusion. Finally, there is mindless hive-action covering a vacuum.

This is also what occasionally happens to people who have hidebound political ideologies. The people on the Left move further and further to the Left, and the people on the Right move further and further to the Right. Finally, they are both so distant from government they meet and stare at each other in shock. At that point, they are just individuals.

From my unfinished manuscript, The Magician Awakes:

“You keep saying it doesn’t matter. Sometimes you say it out loud and sometimes it’s just a very strong thought that could cut through a melon. You repeat it over and over—‘it doesn’t matter.’ You’re sitting there with the most powerful thing in the universe, your imagination, and yet it doesn’t matter. New worlds are waiting for you. But you don’t pull the trigger.

“You go to meetings. What are these meetings? Who’s there? What do you talk about, the end of the world? Your problems? The conversations seem to be endless…

“But society runs on groups! It must have groups!”

And what? The individual must give in and join and belong? That’s the conclusion? I’m afraid not.

Consensus reality is a cartoon that is trying to become as real as steel. What deconstructs the steel and exposes the cartoon? There is only one thing that can do that. Nothing and no one else is going to do that.

The individual does 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

Using fake names on Facebook, Surveillance State, androids

Using fake names on Facebook, the Surveillance State, androids

By Jon Rappoport

July 23, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

File this one in the ever-burgeoning category of: how insane can legislators get?

Congress is now debating an update to the 1986 Computer Fraud and Abuse Act.

Turns out it’s already a misdemeanor to “exceed authorized use” of a computer, but the DOJ wants to make it a felony.

Of course, what does “exceeds authorized use” mean? Well, it means, for instance, an employee sending emails to pals while he’s at the office—because his employer has a rule against that.

In other words, the feds want to back up employers’ rules and turn them into felonies. Splendid.

“Yeah, you remember Jack, don’t you? Used to work here? One day he made an online reservation at the Wynn in Vegas, and now he’s in jail. Life is tough, keep your eyes straight ahead and don’t mess with the boss.”

“And Betty? She ordered three lipsticks on a slow Thursday and she’s now upstate. I hear the shrinks got hold of her. Dosing her with an anti-psychotic. Hope she has three live brain cells to rub together when she gets out.”

Then there’s the Facebook issue. The company, originally bankrolled by a CIA front, has a rule against users setting up accounts with fake names. Does the DOJ want to go after Facebook users who break the rules?

The Surveillance State, aided by Facebook, wants to know who you are at all times. They want you to be your name and no other name.

It’s a technical issue, see? It’s a lot easier to spy on you if you’re Mary Jones all the time when you’re online. As opposed to Mary Jones and Dragon Lady and HiHat and Ben Franklin and The Beast From 40 Fathoms…

The joke is, most people lead lives that are fictional already. The NSA and its allied partners spy on those lives.

Here’s the same thing from another angle. John Smith, citizen, follows the straight and narrow. He, like every other John Smith, is a target of the Surveillance State. He hasn’t committed any crimes. He isn’t a threat. But that doesn’t matter. He’s there. He’s a unit. Therefore, he’s on the radar.

But John Smith is a fiction. He’s a convenient, solid, average, normal persona/role in the stage play called Society cooked up by the Real John Smith, who is hiding. Inside himself. You rarely see him. Once in a blue moon, he pokes his head out and says something off-key. Then he retreats behind his facade.

There are millions and John Smiths, and the NSA is spying on all of them. The fake ones. The fictions.

What if every John Smith invented six or seven new personae?

“Sir, are you pretending to be somebody else?”

“Yes, and the pretending is now more intense. It’s ongoing.”

“But you see, sir, that introduces confusion, when we spy on you.”

“I used to believe I was a John Smith android forever. Wow, was I kidding myself. I used to go to one church service on Sunday. Now I go to three different churches. And I’m also an atheist.”

“Excuse me?”

“I campaigned for Democrats only. Now I campaign for Democrats, Republican, Libertarians, Communists, and Anarchists. Of course I don’t vote for anyone. I’m exploring monarchy as well. I think the divine right of kings could make a comeback.”

“But who do you actually worship?”

“The NSA, of course. And the CIA and DIA, Interpol, MI-5, the old GRU, and the Chinese Secret Service.”

“Sir, we have you on the record talking to about eight different wives.”

“Only eight? I must have misplaced a couple.”

The Matrix Revealed

Some people will assume I mean they should actually marry a dozen women. Those people are the literalists. They always go for the lowest-common-denominator reading. They think if they have a little fun, do a little acting, a little pretending, it might infect their minds. It might take them over. They’re the John Smiths. They live inside walls of fear.

Reality is one fiction among a limitless number of possible realities.

The basic problem with Reality is that’s it’s only one.

Any baby can teach you that. Play with the kid in just one way, over and over, and he’ll develop an itch he can’t scratch. He’ll cry and go off on you. Play with him a hundred different ways and he’ll gurgle and laugh and wriggle and decide coming into this life was a good idea after all.

Every kid needs an uncle and an aunt and a few cousins and a brother or sister. Parents tend to repeat themselves. Their repertoire wears thin. The kid needs a boost, a change, a different face, a new joke, a shift of rhythm.

People who can make you laugh take you out. They take you out of the one, forever, exhausting IS. Reality is the fiction of one and only one IS.

There are two types of laughs. One blows up reality. The other, which is the android laugh, comes across like a tranquilized mule with a hernia.

The NSA is super-serious about the one persona that is supposed to be the super-serious you. That’s what they’re spying on.

The internet thrives on anonymity. This causes a lot of nonsense and crap to surface. That’s the price we pay. But the Surveillance State doesn’t want anonymity. It wants “just the facts.”

It wants to scare people into being their android-selves and nothing more, nothing else. It wants The One Reality. If they can make that happen, they win. Afterward, it really doesn’t matter what people do.

I remember watching the very first episode of the original CSI. At the murder scene, the techs were going over an apartment, collecting evidence, bagging it. Then we were back in the lab. More analysis.

I thought, are they kidding? They believe people want to watch this stuff?

Well, people did. They wanted to watch the lab, the fine-tuning of hair, blood, DNA. The categorization, the tracking, the accessing of the data banks.

The first cousin to Surveillance.

You want to talk about operant conditioning? The whole CSI franchise is one giant psyop. For more than a decade. Getting people used to ubiquitous looking and spying and tracking, on behalf of justice.

That’s what NSA wants to be. That’s how NSA wants the public to view it.

Super-serious-android-NSA spying on super-serious-android-us. In the one and only Reality. That’s the op.

Exit From the Matrix

So…step back and calculate our chances if we continue to live in the one and only Reality and try to fight them from that position.

Of course, entering and inventing other realities takes imagination. That’s the catch. It always was.

Ever since the first elite priest class on Earth cooked up some crazy spiritual Ponzi scheme to suck in the rubes, imagination has been the nemesis of the State.

Paraphrasing Grouch Marx: “In the 1930s, you could make a movie in which a woman fell down a flight of stairs, and people would laugh. But eventually it couldn’t be a movie. It had to be a real woman falling down a real flight of stairs.”

People are trained like dogs to appreciate and accept only one IS. The “real” IS. They convince themselves this is a good idea. These people are unconscious allies of the Surveillance State.

What’s that? People are into all sorts of multiple virtual realities? Yes, for a while, but they keep coming back to believing in The One and Only Just-the-Facts Reality. If they actually wanted new realities, they’d be cooking them up themselves, they wouldn’t be dreaming inside somebody else’s.

In light of all of the above, the universe of propaganda becomes more vivid. Its aim is reduction. Reduction of the way we see ourselves. We’re given bound images of human beings as citizens living in a walled fortress, where our every thought and action needs to be boiled down and made transparent, so our leaders can make threat assessments.

This is the fiction we’re being fed. Over and over.

“It’s not asking too much, is it? It’s too hard to seek out and find terrorists. We need to collect everything on everybody, and then with suitable algorithms established, we can select out the dangerous ones.

“In fact, it’s better if we consider everybody dangerous and track and limit their movements. That works.”

Yes, the NSA is looking at you. They’re looking at you as if you’re an android. Well, naturally. They’re androids. Wherever they look, they see androids.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMIcTiOG4UU&w=560&h=315]

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

The Magician Awakes

by Jon Rappoport

July 15, 2013

(To join our email list, click here.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But nothing is exactly where something comes from, Jim.

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

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

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

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

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

You invent.

“Nothing new” equals slavery.

The fear of new ideas is the fear of inventing.

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

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

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

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.

What am I going to do with you?

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

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

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

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

What are you going to do with it?

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

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

Exit From the Matrix

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

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

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

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

Could you dream up a more ridiculous situation?

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

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

You wouldn’t do that with real freedom.

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

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

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

They were putting themselves together like androids.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’re betting on the fact that…

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

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

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

You have to start inventing, Jimmy.

That’s what freedom is for.

Not just thinking about it. Doing it.

Inventing new realities.

Are you up for that?

Are you?

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

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

Jon Rappoport

The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

Reframing reality: the shift

Reframing reality: the shift

by Jon Rappoport

July 12, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Imagination.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So where did you live as a child?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emotional programming would disintegrate.

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

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

This, we’re told, is life.

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

We haven’t employed imagination intensely enough.

When we do, new roads appear.

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

Exit From the Matrix

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m talking about that 60 trillion.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

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

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

by Jon Rappoport

July 11, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

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

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

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

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

Finally, the plane arrived.

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

Security personnel arrested them.

On suspicion of seeming suspicious.

Which was the point of the experiment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Repeat daily, until media pick up on the story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s all confess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get into it.

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

Go for the home-run ball.

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

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

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

CONFESS. REPORT.

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

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

Exit From the Matrix

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what the Surveillance State is meant to induce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See anything, say everything.

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

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

You’ll be right, every day.

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

They want the Matrix to report to the Matrix.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at www.nomorefakenews.com

The museum called Reality

The museum called Reality

by Jon Rappoport

July 9, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

You stroll through an art museum.

Many rooms, many paintings.

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

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

It’s lovely.

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

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

“Go ahead,” he says. “You can do it.”

Absurd. And yet…

You wonder.

“All it takes is conviction,” he says.

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

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

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

The door is ajar.

You enter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lays a key next to the coffee.

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

She walks out.

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

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

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

The doors close and you feel the elevator descend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What does he mean?

A vague memory becomes sharper.

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

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

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

He nods as if he understands perfectly.

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

“Excessive pride,” he says.

“Yes,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you doing this?” you say.

“Doing what?”

He shakes his head.

He slowly fades out.

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

You made him.

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

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

It can become a life, a holy crusade.

But it’s not your life or your crusade.

Exit From the Matrix

There is a soft explosion just behind your head.

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

And then…

You’re back in the museum.

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

You’re trembling with relief.

A museum guard steps over to you.

“Are you all right, sir?” he says.

“Yes,” you say. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He nods.

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

“How about you?” you say.

His face flushes.

“Have a nice day,” he says.

“You, too.”

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

You nod.

He walks away.

You continue to walk through the museum.

There are many paintings. Many entrances.

Jon Rappoport

The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at <span style="fo