Technology, consciousness, and how the universe is built

by Jon Rappoport

May 15, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

In the early 1990s, hypnotherapist Jack True was trying to show me how perception operated in hypnotized subjects.

As a joke, well it was a half-joke, he said the following: “If you’re doing a scientific experiment on gravity, and you start dropping various objects from the top of a building, you’re going to find out some interesting things about the way gravity operates in the universe.

“But if you don’t care about gravity and science, when you drop the objects from the roof, some will fall and others will float.”

What he meant was this: if you want to find out how to build things and run things and propel things and blow up things, you can look into the universe and eventually obtain that information.

The information will seem to be definitive about how the universe is built. It will seem to be the only model. It will seem to be the truth.

But that’s an illusion. Actually, competing models about the universe are available, and depending on your intent, you can discover and put together as many as you need.

They all work. They all look like mutually exclusive systems. But they aren’t.

The picture of tiny particles whirling through space and time is fine. It works. It enables the kind of technology we have now. It can be proved with mathematics. It can be verified until the cows come home. But it’s not the only choice.

Jack once had a patient who, three years earlier, had suddenly developed nearsightedness.

So Jack put him in a light trance and worked on it. Nothing.

Finally, after a number of sessions, Jack told him that perhaps his view or picture of the universe was standing in his way. Perhaps he needed to come up with another picture. Jack liked to try these radical approaches.

In ensuing sessions, Jack had his patient invent dozens of different models of how the universe was constructed. None of them were based on physics.

The patient was getting interested. He suddenly recalled that, as a very young boy, he’d thought the world was a kind of vacuum surrounded by extremely dense space, which was actually solid. He’d had dreams about this “reverse configuration.”

For no apparent reason, the patient now felt much better. He felt freer. His eyesight improved, nearly to its former level.

I had a chance to talk to the patient. “The most astonishing thing,” he told me, “is knowing that if I hadn’t invented these other models [of the universe], it’s likely I wouldn’t have regained my eyesight.”

Jack told me his experience with this patient was part of the reason he stopped doing hypnosis. He said that having one and only one model of the way things are is, in fact, the result of being in a core trance. He realized everyone is, to one degree or another, already in a hypnotic state. Therefore, his job should be to wake people up.

JACK TRUE, the most creative hypnotherapist on the face of the planet, is featured in THE MATRIX REVEALED. Jack’s anti-Matrix understanding of the mind and how to liberate it is unparalleled. His insights are unique, staggering. 43 interviews, 320 pages. That is just a faction of what THE MATRIX REVEALED has to offer.

I once had a consulting client who owned a small business. It had been successful, but it was now in an extreme condition of disrepair. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

His books were a mess. His records were a mess. Employees were coming and going, and they were all failing at their jobs. Sales were down, and he was in debt.

He presented me with a list of everything he’d tried, to get things back on track. The list was formidable. This was a smart man. But nothing was working.

I told him he had no choice but to re-imagine the whole business from scratch. He had to find a completely different way to build it.

At first, he had no idea what I was talking about.

Then slowly, painfully, he began to write down all sorts of scenarios by which he could reconstruct his company.

Eventually, the mists cleared, and he began to feel better. He tore down everything and started over. He came up with a radically new way of doing business. And it worked.

It was an example of the One versus the Many. The One is the way a person chronically views reality. It’s the central perception which seems to be obvious, irrefutable, and permanent. The Many is the envisioning of multiple and different views of reality. It shakes up the status quo in the psyche and shifts into new territory.

Whether the universe is made of particles or waves, was produced by the Big Bang or the translation of lines of code from a two-dimensional surface, or as a result of vibrating Strings, it can be said to be a projection, a demonstration.

It can be viewed as an absolute unity, just as a stage play strives for absolute credibility. But of course, the stage play is wise enough to end. And then the audience walks out. But the universe is a projection that wants to impart the illusion of permanence.

This illusion is brought about by a scheme of interconnectedness, in which each particle or thing appears to be related to every other thing, or, from a different point of view, reflects every other thing, in a series of mirrors.

This is the overarching meaning of the ancient symbol of the maze. You move through the paths and arrive back at the beginning. The journey is always self-contained.

From the perspective I’m presenting here, the horse that finishes last in the race is named Truth, when truth is sought and found inside the continuum of this particular universe.

It’s not merely, as some physicists venture, that there are universes parallel to this one. There are universes everywhere. They are infinite in number. And then there is a “greater” infinity—those universes that have not yet been created.

Taking this as a starting point, and inventing multiple scenarios, multiple worlds, universes, and futures, one gains back power. Power beyond what one thinks, at any given moment, is possible.

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 29^th 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 psychological crossroad of an unhappy life

May3

The psychological crossroad of an unhappy life

by Jon Rappoport

May 3, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

There is a point at which a life becomes unsatisfying. Regardless of the reasons, a person begins to place too much emphasis on:

what already exists;

and what he believes.

That may sound like a strange thing to say.

There is nothing automatically wrong with what exists or with what he believes, but the key term here is “too much emphasis.”

A person makes a castle and fortress out of what was once flowing, energetic, and alive.

This is one of those unfair facts of existence, because it would seem, on cursory examination, that to believe what is good, right, and true should be tethered down with the strongest possible ropes. It should be permanently imprinted in the mind, engraved deeply.

But then something happens. The beliefs lose their dynamism. They sit there. They turn into dead stars.

The person, from that point on, can speak and act from these beliefs, but his actions and words take on a mechanical hue. He becomes a one-trick pony. The people around him know how he is going to respond. They know what he’s going to say.

He himself knows what he’s going to say.

His life now resembles a machine.

To one degree or another, everyone can fall into this trap. The sap of life becomes sour.

“Whatever already exists,” rather than “what could possibly be” takes center stage.

And, another irony: what already exists could be the most cogent position in the world, yet it returns no psychological or spiritual dividends.

What happened? How did things come to this?

The classic case, because it is so visible, is the artist who winds up repeating the same themes again and again in his work, the force of them deadening as he grows more “mature.”

But we could be talking about anyone.

The person becomes bored with himself. And then, he thinks, he has nowhere to go. It’s time for old age.

That old age can come at 30, at 50, at 70. It doesn’t matter when. The door seems to close. The walls are permanently set.

Wisdom, intellectual prowess, success, insight, strength no longer seem to matter. Being correct and right about the most important things has worn out like old shoes.

A person can tout his own beliefs to the rooftops, but it has no effect, no salutary effect on himself.

The search for what is deeply true and what beliefs are most important has succeeded, but the result is ashes.

What I’m describing here is a central aspect of the Matrix, an aspect most people would rather not consider.

They would prefer to say, “Nothing’s wrong,” and simply turn up the decibel count on their all-too-familiar assertions, which by now have taken on the coloration of slogans.

And there are millions of so-called professionals who are ready to jump into the breach and analyze this existential situation as a collection of symptoms which refer to some pseudo-disorder.

Yet there is help. There has always been help. It waits on the sidelines, and if the call comes, everything transforms. The person mired in his own stagnant juices doesn’t have to consciously change a thing about his beliefs. He doesn’t have to try to manipulate his mind or reorganize its contents.

This help, which is waiting for the call to action, doesn’t function on the basis of what already exists. It never has. That’s why it has been rejected. It doesn’t seem to be practical. It doesn’t seem to be the drill that can bore a hole in the lock of the door and let the prisoner out of his cell.

This help isn’t “true” or “right” or “correct.” It isn’t “harmonious” or “perfect.”

It’s oceanic.

It is the imagination.

Imagination is the buried key that unlocks the door that exits from the Matrix. EXIT FROM THE MATRIX contains exercises and techniques aimed at expanding the power, range, and scope of the imagination—along with very simple instructions on how to use these exercises. This collection also contains a presentation of the vital philosophy that underpins the limitless power of the individual. This is more than theory. It’s a guide to exiting from the Matrix.

Consigned as a mere toy for children, a distraction, a useless appendage for adults, a minor preoccupation, it is actually the faculty that surpasses what already exists in any dimension.

It doesn’t rely on the past. It doesn’t operate as a system. It doesn’t make calculations in accounting books. It isn’t a pattern.

It’s free.

Imagination wakes up the psyche. It wakes up the cells of the body. It invents the space of an open future. It sweeps the deck clean of morbid boredom. It solves problems in unforeseen ways. It moves out ahead of problems and creates new avenues along which old conflicts dissolve.

Imagination can be deployed to express deep beliefs and make them impact the world. It brings those beliefs back to life. It develops ingenious strategies to forward plans that were dying on the vine.

Imagination changes what already exists for the better. It can leap ahead of reality and build futures that shatter moribund consensus.

Imagination awakens abilities beyond the five senses and beyond structured consciousness.

When a life turns sour, stolid, and old, imagination injects the fire of youth.

Imagination says, “It’s never too late.”

“Late” turns out to be a faulty proposition that was omitting the most powerful force in the individual.

Imagination resides in the individual, not the collective. A life and a world founded on the collective is actually a covert operation to induce amnesia about the imagination.

The individual can choose to move forward by embodying patterns of the past, or he can step on to an entirely different path.

The universe is waiting for imagination to revolutionize it down to its core.

Jon Rappoport

The worldwide Church of the Evening News

Apr28

The worldwide Church of the Evening News

by Jon Rappoport

April 27, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

The march of idiots is an interesting subject for investigation.

The collectivized mind is wired to other minds, and they exchange gibberish to feel whole.

People are addicted to crap. They like it.

That’s why they watch the news.

That’s why they believe the news.

It’s time for a worldwide Church of the News, with its own priests, its own symbols, and its own prophets. In other words, go to the extreme. Why fiddle around? Bring things out in the open.

Brian Williams would be a saint some day. The great ancestors, like Ed Murrow, Cronkite, and Chet Huntley would be celebrated figures in testaments.

Sunday services would feature many screens with simultaneous broadcasts. This would be the first Church that has such an extensive record of its own history. On television.

Think of it. Straight-out worship of the news.

“I had my conversion-experience one night while Diane Sawyer was in her cups, explaining the loss of life in a storm in Kansas. I suddenly realized I was receiving revelation…”

We already have the Church of Biological Mysticism, in which all human suffering is explained by the germ theory or genes. So we need the Church of the News.

If there’s a 36-car pile-up outside Chicago, in the fog, hundreds of millions of people see pictures of it within minutes. It’s automatically a Church document. No need to explain it. Let the anchors who are on-air explain it. Then everyone can suck it in, in the same way.

CBS, NBC, and ABC are wings of the great cathedral. Their anchors are angels right here, right now.

The Church leadership will be composed of the Great Ones, the men who run the corporations that own the networks. The power behind the throne.

Heretics, of course, are necessary. They’re the “conspiracy theorists,” those evil and demented people who challenge official scenarios touted by the news.

The Church is a herald of the New World Order: Globalism. Establishing one body to rule the planet is its mission. Therefore, worshipers are dedicated as well. Eliminate nations. Erase borders. Allow mega-corporations to roam free and wild and buy up land, resources, and labor anywhere and everywhere.

Bring it all out into the open.

But whether it’s a new UN treaty, a car crash, a murder in a motel, a breakthrough in lip gloss, it’s news, so its sacred.

The Church has a basic flat-earth policy. Every substantial story is presented with drastically shortened perspective, eliminating, for example, the people who are running a specific op from behind the scenes. “Behind the scenes” is a phrase rarely mentioned by the Church.

If we throw in CNN, FOX, and MSNBC, the Church has 24/7 services. That’s quite a reach. Disparate loons like Ted Turner and Rupert Murdoch are united in Church annals, as they should be. They’re both significant promulgators of the faith.

And who plays Satan? The Internet, of course. Tax it, control it, censor it, curse it. Cast it out.

Why let people merely bow and kneel down to the news in the privacy of their own minds? Build churches and monuments to externalize and celebrate the broadcasts that shape their reality. There’s no need to hide.

“This is what we know. This is what we see. This is all there is. The news.”

The narration of what exists.

New holidays. The Day of Celebrity Gossip, commemorating a year’s worth of salacious invasions into the lives of meaningless stars. Parishioners on bended knee are fed sugary confections at the altar.

The Day of Commercials, honoring those stalwart companies who support the Church with their ad buys and product placements.

Segue Tuesday, marking the great anchors who excel in blending one fatuous news item into another with seamless skill.

Government Source Saturday, extolling the anonymous persons who feed (dis)information to the press on a regular basis, never to be named “because the investigation is ongoing.”

And of course, a new Bible. “In the Beginning was the anchor’s Voice, and the Voice was inside the mind of the viewer,” fleshing out reality, collectivizing mass programming for All.

From The Children, one will rise to be the premier elite anchor of his generation. To him is given the nod of the Great Corporate Owners, to safeguard the ad buys, the ratings, and the dispensing of the story lines.

To him is awarded the mission of protecting the men behind the curtain. For there is certain knowledge that cannot be told, lest it endanger the constructed consensus and throw the world into chaos.

Centralize the mind. That is the mandate.

There is no history. The past is an illusion. There is only tonight’s broadcast. And then tomorrow’s.

In Church dispensations (broadcasts), there are no contradictions. When a paradox appears on the horizon, it is mitigated and resolved by the instant emergence of a new story that wipes away memory. Yesterday’s tyrant becomes today’s rescuer, according to secret formulas propagated by the Great Owners.

The Church capsulizes and distorts the people it covers on the news, plugging them into an overall cartoon-front. Individuals mustn’t stand out from the televised background. Too provocative, too dangerous. Too disruptive. By contrast, they might expose the whole charade.

From time to time, the news runs up against rebels who challenge the whole broadcast reality.

And once in a while, the rebel holds a few trump cards. This was the case with one of the earliest mass-media duelists, Salvador Dali.

THE STRANGE CASE OF DALI AND THE COSMIC PRISON BREAK

The critics would have declared Dali a hopeless lunatic if he hadn’t possessed such formidable classical painting skills.

He placed his repeating images (the notorious melting watch, the face and body of his wife, Gala, the ornate and fierce skeletal structures of unknown creatures) on the canvas as if they had as much right to be there as any familiar object.

This was quite troubling. If an immense jawbone that was also a rib or a forked femur could rival a perfectly rendered lamp or couch or book (on the same canvas), where were all the accoutrements and assurances of modern comfortable living?

Where was the pleasantly mesmerizing effect of a predictable existence?

Where was a protective class structure that depended on nothing more than money and cultural slogans?

To make it worse, Dali invented vast comedies on canvas. But the overall joke turned, as the viewer’s eye moved, into a nightmare, into an entrancing interlude of music, a memory of something that had never happened, a gang of genies coming out of corked bottles.

What was the man doing? Was he thumbing his nose at the audience? Was he simply showing off? Was he inventing waking dreams? Was he, God forbid, actually imagining something entirely new that resisted classification?

Words failed viewers and critics and colleagues and enemies.

But they didn’t fail Dali. He took every occasion to explain his work in press interviews. However, his explications were dealt out in a way that made it plain he was telling tall tales—interesting, hilarious, and preposterous tall tales.

Every interview and press conference he gave, gave birth to more attacks on him. Was he inviting scorn? Was he really above it all? Was he toying with the press like some perverse Olympian?

Media analysts flocked to make him persona non grata, but what was the persona they were exiling? They had no idea then, and they have no idea now.

It’s possible that every statement ever uttered in public by Dali was a lie. A fabrication. An invention dedicated to constructing a massive (and contradictory) persona.

Commentators who try to take on Dali’s life usually center on the early death of his young brother as the core explanation for Dali’s “basic confusion”—which resulted in his bizarre approach to his own fame.

However, these days, we might more correctly say that Dali was playing the media game on his own terms, after realizing that no reporter wanted the real Dali (whatever that might mean)—some fiction was being asked for, and the artist was merely being accommodating.

He was creating a self that matched his paintings.

It is generally acknowledged that no artist of the 20th century was superior to Dali in the ability to render realistic detail.

But of course Dali’s work was not about realism.

The most complex paintings—for example, Christopher Columbus, Discovering America and The Hallucinogenic Toreador—brilliantly orchestrated interpenetrating worlds.

At some point in his career, Dali saw (decided) there was no limit to what he could assemble on one canvas. A painting could become a science-fiction novel reaching into several pasts and futures. The protagonist (the viewer) could find himself in such a simultaneity.

Critics have attacked the paintings relentlessly. They are offended at Dali’s skill, which matches the best work of the meticulous Dutch Renaissance masters.

They hate the dissonance. They resent Dali’s wit and rankle at the idea that Dali could carry out monstrous jokes—in such fierce extended detail—on a given canvas.

But above all, the sheer imagination harpoons the critics. How dare a painter turn reality upside down so blatantly, while rubbing their faces in the exquisite detail.

The cherry on the cake was: for every attack the critics launched at Dali the man (they really had no idea who he was), Dali would come back at them with yet another elaborate piece of fiction about himself. It was unfair. The critics were “devoted to the truth.” The painter was free to invent himself over and over as many times as he fancied.

Dali was holding up a mirror. He was saying, “You people are like me. We’re all doing fiction. I’m much better at it. In the process, I get at a much deeper truth.”

The principles of organized society dictate that a person must be who he is, even if that is a cartoon of a cartoon. A person must be one recognizable caricature forever, must be IDed, must have one basic function. Must, as a civilization goes down the trail of decline, submit to being watched and taped and profiled.

When a person shows up who is many different things, who can invent himself at the drop of hat, who seems to stand in 14 different places at the same time, the Order trembles.

This is not acceptable.

(Fake) reality declares: what you said yesterday must synchronize absolutely with what you say today.

This rule (“being the only thing you are”) guarantees that human beings will resonate with the premise that we all live and think and work in one collective continuum of space and time. One. Only one. Forever.

The big lie.

Whatever he was, however despicable he may have been in certain respects, Dali broke that egg. Broke the cardinal rule.

He reveled in doing it. He made people wait for an answer about himself, and the answer never came. Instead, he gave them a hundred answers, improvised in the moment.

He threw people back on their own resources, and those resources proved to be severely limited.

That was too much.

But there the paintings are.

And the pressure has been building. The growing failure of major institutions (centralized hierarchical religion, psychology, education, government) to keep the cork in the bottle signals a prison break in progress.

More people understand that the veil is not really a veil of tears. It’s a curtain madly drawn across the creative force.

The pot is boiling. People want out. It remains to be seen whether people will admit that the veil was and is ultimately of their own making.

Somewhere along the line we have to give the green light to our own creative power. That is the first great day, the dawn of no coerced boundaries. Everything we’ve been taught tells us that a life lived entirely from creative force is impossible. We don’t have it within us. We should maintain silence and propriety in the face of greater official power and wisdom. We must abide by the rules. We must, at best, “surrender to the universe.”

But what if, when we come around the far turn, we see that the universe is us? Is simply one part of imagination? Is a twinkling rendition we installed to keep us titillated with dreams that would forever drift out of reach?

What if we are popping out of the fences of this culture and this continuum and this tired movie? What then?

Jon Rappoport

Brian Williams, Scott Pelley, and Diane Sawyer: the three stooges

Apr27

Brian Williams, Scott Pelley, and Diane Sawyer: the three stooges

by Jon Rappoport

April 26, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

I think, at the very least, YouTube should censor them. Well, wait a minute. Not censor, but put up a notice on all their videos:

“It’s come to our attention that these three characters are as annoying as a bad case of fleas. Caution: watch and listen at your own risk.”

The three stooges. Three schmucks in the fountain. Send in the clowns, don’t bother, they’re here.

If people are beginning to get the idea I’m waging a war against against elite media, they’re right.

At the same time, I’m fascinated. How do these anchors do it? How do they lie so consistently, and with such aplomb, day in and day out, without going up in a puff of smoke and vanishing?

The Big Three anchors are a miracle, in the sense that they need a whole construction company to build the walls that permanently separate them from the truth…so they can sit in a television studio in New York and believe they’re in the wheelhouse of Real News.

When you see the Big Three are discussing their own footage, but you find visual clues as big as the moon that their analysis is 180 degrees away from actual fact—as has been happening from Aurora to Sandy Hook to Boston—and the Stooges just sit there and drone on…well, that’s a CSI or a Law&Order you just can’t get if you pay the best scriptwriters in the world to come up with it.

“The bomb was a pressure cooker.”

Right, and the Twin Towers went down because two planes flew into them.

Because the Web has been alive and humming, media coverage of every major catastrophe since 9/11 has been rejected by extraordinary numbers of people.

The elite network anchors have been trying to hold the fort, but they’re failing.

Their long-running stage play is closing down.

Despite their traditional skills and technological backup, they’re coming across like cartoon hacks.

These days, it’s better to be a marginally believable doofus like Diane Sawyer, who chooses to affect a persona based on depression, than to be the eternal boy wonder, Brian Williams. Williams, the smoothest of the smooth, comes across like the biggest liar, because he’s the most dedicated of the lot when it comes to defending the indefensible.

And Scott Pelley is Scott Pelley, the hospital doctor you’d least like to show up at your bedside. He might tell you you need an amputation just because he’s having a bad day.

“Who do we need for the most important anchor’s job in the world?”

“How about Pelley? He’s utterly convinced the lies we feed into the propaganda machine are the last word.. He’s sold. He couldn’t look outside the box if we drilled holes in it and let him see a mountain of gold bars and 50,000 naked bureaucrats running down Broadway at high fucking noon.”

The Big Three strut their stuff on the evening news, executing well-oiled, high-priced transitions from one completely false/basically deceptive story to another completely false/basically deceptive story.

Recall the often-quoted George Burns pearl? “In acting, sincerity is everything. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.” But suppose the sincerity isn’t faked? Then, the schmuck becomes king.

My late friend and colleague, hypnotherapist Jack True, described the television-news audience: “Mind control is accepting what you know to be false. You do it because you think the only other alternative is a vacuum: you either buy the news or you’re left with nothing.”

Once in a while, you can see cracks. Scott Pelley, stewing in his juices, looks like he’s ready to pull his uncle’s old revolver out of his pocket and fire a few rounds at the teleprompter.

Diane Sawyer appears to be on the verge of sagging to her right and collapsing out of her chair, on her way to a fit of copious weeping.

Brian Williams wants to say, more than anything, “Live From New York, it’s Saturday night!” Then a few coiled springs pop out of the top of his head and he winds down and stops moving.

Subliminally, the three stooges are announcing: “We’re showing you the most important stories of our time, and each one has a television lifespan of ninety seconds, after which they no longer exist.”

Television news is really all segue all the time. That’s what it comes down to.

The word “segue,” pronounced “segway,” refers to a transition from one thing to another, a blend.

Ed McMahon once referred to Johnny Carson as the prince of blends, because Carson could tell a clunker of a joke, step on it three times, and still move to the next joke without losing his audience.

Television news is very serious business. A reporter who can’t handle segues is dead in the water. He’s a gross liability.

The good anchors can take two stories that have no connection whatsoever and create a sense of smooth transition.

Brian Williams can say, “The planes were recalled later in the afternoon. And a man was castrated in a horrific accident in Idaho today…” And no one says, WHAT? WAIT!

You take an elevator up to the 15^th floor in an office building. The door opens and you step into a medieval dungeon. That doesn’t compute in real life, but it does on the news.

The networks basically have, on a daily basis, fragmented stories, and they need an anchor who can do the blends, the segues, and get away with it, to promote the sense of one continuous flow.

So the audience doesn’t say, “This is just an odd collection of crap.”

The news is all segue all the time.

Not just nationally. On the local level, too. The pounding lead-in music at the top of the show is a segue, to prepare the audience. A) Music. B) “Tonight, our top story: a man ate a hot dog and died …”

The voice of the anchor is the non-stop blending machine that ties all news stories together. That’s why the elite network stars earn their paychecks.

Good segue people are stage magicians. They can move the viewer’s attention from item A to item B without a tremor or a doubt.

It’s often been said of certain actors, “He could read from the phone book and you’d listen.” Well, an elite anchor can hold the viewer’s mind as he reads a sentence from the phone book, another one from a car-repair manual, a third from a cookbook, and a fourth from a funeral-home brochure. Without stopping.

And afterward, the viewer would have no questions.

The news is surreal because the stories are mostly fool’s gold to begin with; and they’re unrelated. They’re rocks lying around on the floor. The anchor picks them up and invents the illusion of One Flowing Stream.

This is what the audience wants. It feels like a story. It feels like unity. It feels like a stage play or a movie. It feels, when all is said and done, good.

The anchor (as his title suggests) holds the fragments together in one place. For the audience, he’s the focus. He’s the maestro. The hypnotist.

You can’t pull anyone off the street and have him describe car crashes, murders, storms, threats of war, political squabbles, 300 cats living in a one-room apartment, a new piece of Medicare legislation, genitalia picture tweets, and the dedication of a library, while placing and keeping millions of people in a light trance.

Katie Couric couldn’t do it. People were waiting for her to break out into an attack of Perky and giggle and cross her legs. Diane Sawyer does it poorly. She seems to be affecting somber personal grief as her basic segue-thread. Scott Pelley is competent, but he sits like a surgeon ready to signal the anesthesiologist to clamp a mask on your face, before he cuts into your stomach.

Brian Williams is the current king of segue. He does smooth-serious-affable-employee-of-the-month-I-know-all-the-news-is-true.

None of these elite anchors can hold a candle to Cronkite or Chet Huntley, the past masters. Ed Murrow was the first star-practitioner of the television-news form. He was working a kind of sepulchral spin-off of Hemingway prose.

Murrow got his first break, right out of college, working for the Institute of International Education, a pathetic front for what they used to call “internationalists” (aka globalists). Elihu Root founded the organization. Root was also founding chairman of the Council on Foreign Relations and president of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. In other words, one world together actually meant: all you peons down there and we wise men on top…

Anyway, all anchors can do segue. They are dedicated to The Blend. They put their souls, such as they are, into transitions.

“What do you want to do when you grow up, Brian?”

“I want to take people from A to B.”

Whereas, a true version of the news would go something like this: “Today, in fact just now, I moved from a tornado in Kansas to the removal of restrictions on condom sales, and I’m blending into penguins in Antarctica. I’m doing Salvador Dali and you’re not noticing a thing.”

What does all this tell us? The news, if it were taken apart into its component pieces, would look quite surreal. And the anchor, by blending, manufactures a hypnotic illusion of interconnection.

The audience wants to be put in a trance. Even a several-day event, like the Boston bombing, with all its twists and turns, doesn’t mitigate that basic big sleep. Television news, with a good anchor, with the television screen itself, with the electromagnetic emissions and frequencies, can attain and hold the hypnotic state.

Therefore, the content of the news sinks in below the level of the rational mind.

But with each shift in story line, with each new breaking bit of revelation, with each disturbing image, the anchor must be there to execute the segues.

He is basically saying to the audience, “I’m a few feet inside your personal landscape, your mind, feeding you all the turns in the river, and I’ll always be here, so things are all right…”

Elite anchors invent and maintain certain tones of voice, certain rhythms, certain cadences, certain variations of musical pitch, throughout the stage play, in order to sustain the sense of continuity.

They’re mechanics of voice.

They use their skills to report the false facts handed down to conceal ops and staged events.

They need to believe in what they’re doing. They need to be that stupid. Talent search: 130 IQ, inherently stupid.

They can know they’re actors on television, but they have to believe they’re acting out the truth. Ends justify the means. Of course, “truth” often means to them: that which will bind us all together.

What is the role they’re cast in? It’s: Normal. It’s a heavy part in the play, because this joke of a society has a prime-cut value called Normal.

“Okay, look,” the Broadway director says to the veteran actor he’s interviewing for the lead, in a billion-dollar production. “This may sound strange, but you’re going to have to do Normal as it’s never been done before. That’s what the audience wants. You’ve got to come across as very, very smart and very, very Normal. Get it? I mean, you can emit a few rays of Elite here and there, but you have to do that Normal dance. The audience has to believe you somehow fit in with being a solid American, whatever the hell that is. You can be the news boy down the street, riding his bike, tossing papers on front porches (Brian Williams), wholesome as Wonder Bread, or you can be a socialite on the Upper East Side teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown (Diane Sawyer), or you can be a doctor moving briskly through his morning hospital rounds telling the interns trailing behind him what incompetent assholes they are (Scott Pelley)…but it has to be Normal at the same time. You’re the brain of every other brain. You’re the conscience of every other conscience. You’re just as walled off from the conspiracy to own every inch of America and grind down the people into dust-bowl hell as all Americans are walled off from knowing about it. You know as little as they do. You’re just as clueless as the great unwashed, but you put your stupidity on display with some measure of grace and style. Got it? You’re clean, sanitary, loyal as a dog, dumb as fog but very smart. You spew absolute nonsense every second of your time on stage, but it sounds plausible, and again, Normal. You constantly change subjects, and the subjects are in no way related to each other, but you make it all seem sensible. It’s a joke. But you’re serious. And you have to Believe, as if you’ve always believed, from the moment you emerged out of your mother’s body.

“And if you need a model for all this, just watch the news every night on the three major networks and focus on these geniuses.”

See the bomb exploding, the one that emits a puff of smoke straight up in the air? The one that was built in a pressure cooker? The bomb that didn’t tear the flags to pieces and didn’t shred the blue canopy right next to it? The bomb that didn’t cause the men in yellow jackets standing in front of it to even blink? That bomb vectored at a very low angle and took out people’s legs in the Boston street. That right, America. It did. I swear it did.

See the purple and pink pigs flying over the White House? They’re bringing food from Mars for all the bureaucrats who push paper in the city every day, the people who can’t be fired during the Sequester, while flights all over the country are delayed. That food from Mars keeps the paper pushers going. It does. It has special vitamins in it. See how fat the pigs in the sky are? How do you think they got that way? They ate the food. It’s so healthy. It’s mystical and magical. It’s just part of the largesse coming to you from your eternal government. Wait a little while longer. It’ll be here. There are lots more flying pigs. They’ll drop off little bags of Martian tasties on your street any week now. It’s the new Normal. Get used to it. We know what you want, and we’re going to give it to you.

We know what you want and we’re going to give it to you.

If you have any doubts and need more information and assurance, just watch Brian, Scott, and Diane every night. They’re narrating the Days of Our Lives. They’re from Mars. They’re the advance scouts for the pigs.

Brian’s the happy pig. Diane’s the sad pig. Scott’s the cold pig.

They’re America. The best of America.

This is why the Colonies fought a revolution against the British. So you could suck up stories, like a vacuum cleaner, from the three little pigs.

Jon Rappoport

Ministry of Truth makes Boston bombing suspect disappear

Apr25

Ministry of Truth makes Boston bombing suspect disappear

by Jon Rappoport

April 25, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

The boy. Abdul Rahman Alharbi. He was here, then he wasn’t.

He was featured in major stories, then he wasn’t.

The Ministry of Truth (controlled media) has no further concerns.

For a few hours, Alharbi was the prime suspect in the Boston bombing. Then he was a person of interest.

Then he was no longer a person of interest, he was severely burned and in the hospital.

Then Secretary of State John Kerry met with Saudi Foreign Minister Saud. Obama met with Saud, too, and with the Saudi ambassador.

Then Alharbi became a witness who wasn’t severely burned. He’d received minor injuries.

Then DHS took away his travel visa and prepared to deport him.

Then, poof.

Where is he? Was he deported?

No one seems to know.

Since 2009, though, and long before Michelle Obama visited him in a Boston hospital a few days ago, Alharbi had been to the White House seven times. On several occasions, those visits lasted several hours.

Ten members of the boy’s extended family are named on a Saudi terror list.

According to Glenn Beck, who produced a copy of a form from the US Customs and Border Protection National Targeting Center, Alharbi is designated a 212-3B. This classification translates to: “terrorist connections.” At the least.

The Ministry of Truth doesn’t seem to care what he was doing at the White House.

George Orwell, 1984: “…to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again…consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed.”

Janet Napolitano now says the boy was never really on a terrorist list, he was just on a no-fly list for a few hours, when the FBI thought he might be a person of interest in the Boston bombing.

Then when the FBI realized he was entirely innocent, they took him off the no-fly list.

But changing that 212-3B status of someone has nothing to do with no-fly. It’s more complicated and serious. A panel has to convene, and evidence has to be presented. Worse yet, it appears Alharbi was tagged with 212-3B because of a prior (unnamed) act that had nothing to do with the bombing in Boston.

But, you see, he’s old news, because the Ministry of Truth concurs that the Boston bombing case has been solved.

The following questions, therefore, don’t need to be asked by incurious reporters:

What was Alharbi doing at the White House? Who was he seeing? What did they talk about?

How and why does DHS allow a person with a 212-3B tag to enter the White House seven times?

How and why does DHS allow the president’s wife to meet with a 212-3B?

If DHS is making these designations and categories of threat re Alharbi, why are they reversing their own assessments?

Why did government officials decide to let Alharbi drop from the suspect list in the Boston bombings, only to say he needed to be deported on April 23rd?

Was he deported?

Is he still in the US?

The Glenn Beck aspect of this story is interesting. Major media can simply reject everything he says because he’s Glenn Beck. However, Beck was presenting a document on The Blaze. The cover page is posted there, and other reporters could, if they wanted to, substantiate it as genuine or fake, independent of Beck or anything he asserts.

They could find out if it lists Alharbi as a 212-3B, and if it describes him as “armed and dangerous.”

But they don’t. They stay away. They know better than to venture into deep waters without a green light from their editors and producers. Obviously, that green light is red.

“The relationship between America and Saudi Arabia is complex.”

Yes, yes, of course, so let’s forget the whole thing. Let’s drop it down the memory hole and go elsewhere:

The Red Sox are off to a good start.

Former Congressman Anthony Weiner says there may be more penis pictures out there.

CNN is reviving its old show, Crossfire, and Newt Gingrich may be one of the stars.

The polar icecaps are receding, or possibly expanding.

So in bars tonight, and for the next few days, reporters will chew the fat about the Saudi kid, about the interesting story that might have been. But they know they can’t go there.

It doesn’t bother them. They’ve been through this kind of thing many times. They cover what they can cover, and they talk about the rest. “One, two, three, oil…Saudi oil. It’s gotta be about oil, right? Everything is. We’re in the wrong business, boys. We should have gone into shoes or women’s wear.”

At the top of the broadcast ladder, where Brian Williams and Scott Pelley and Diane Sawyer live, the story is dead. Unless someone from upstairs comes down and tells them it’s alive again.

“I was just talking to John Kerry and he says the way DHS handled this kid was strange. He wants to know if we know anything.”

Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go!

“I just talked to the White House. They say it’s a non-starter. The kid was never a suspect. It was some kind of mix up.”

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!

And the White House, in turn, was just talking to three defense contractors who own half the Senate, and there was a discussion of new Saudi weapons orders:

“Unfortunate confusion with this Alharbi kid. Are the diplomatic channels all clear now?”

“Yes, we’ve ironed out the blip. It’s gone.”

Somewhere in America, there’s a reporter for a big paper who’s sitting at his desk in the middle of the night thinking about Alharbi. He knows there’s something there.

He’s wondering how he can cajole his editor into letting him off the leash. Trade one story for another? Promise to train the moron who covers film and can’t string two coherent sentences together?

No, it won’t work. There are red lights and Red Lights and this one burns bright.

Still, it would have been fun. Who knows what foul creatures would have emerged from the swamp?

The lone reporter also knows that all stories are interchangeable; they only last for a little while. A thing is hot, then it’s cold. It’s the way the business works.

Orwell/1984: “…it was not even forgery. It was merely the substitution of one piece of nonsense for another.”

So even if he could dig down past the Saudi kid and find the masses of rotting truth, there would be no traction. It would all slip and slide into the next big thing. And Glenn Beck? Even a blind hog finds an acorn once in a while, but that form he was waving around? Could it really be important? A few of Hillary’s people at the State Department might know something. See what they have to say. All that Saudi money invested in FOX. Maybe Beck’s just trying to get a little revenge on his former employer.

The reporter leans back in his chair. What’s the use? He’ll never make it past the gatekeepers.

Orwell: “Orthodoxy is unconsciousness…Everything faded into mist. The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became truth.”

There is another watch list few people talk about. It’s the list of reporters and commentators the elite media refuse to recognize as legitimate, under any circumstances. Glenn Beck is certainly on that list. You can fill in other names yourself.

It works this way. If X, who is on the list, comes up with a true blockbuster of a story, he is ignored, because were he believed and acknowledged, he would move up in official status…and then, other stories he breaks would have to be recognized as well.

And who knows what other stories he would come up with? Surely, some of them would challenge firm boundaries the elite media place on what they will cover and what they won’t cover.

Orwell: “We know that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means; it is an end.”

John King, one of CNN’s stars, may have inadvertently gotten himself mixed up in the Alharbi story. Prior to the FBI naming the Tsarnaev brothers as the Boston bombers, King announced the FBI had a suspect in custody and were ready to announce who it was.

Was that Alharbi?

For five minutes, before the FBI realized they were bumping into protected connections that flowed on a much higher level, had they decided the boy was the bomber?

King had two sources, people he trusted, who told him the FBI had an unnamed suspect in tow. So King went with the story on air.

Then, the FBI said there was no suspect. There never had been a suspect.

King bit the bullet and issued a public apology. He said he would be more careful in the future.

Of course, he was fuming. He could have struck out on his own, determined to prove he’d been jacked around. He could have tried to prove the FBI was lying—they really did have a suspect in custody but then somebody far higher on the food chain issued an order to release…Alharbi?

King knows how the game is played. You take your medicine and shut up. You don’t wander off the reservation. You pretend to believe the FBI. You have to. Otherwise, you’ll wind up looking like the Mad Hatter and your own network will dump you out on the street.

“Remember John King? He was a star. But then he tried to prove the FBI was lying. He lost it. He went nuts going after the Bureau, and it turned out he was wrong. There never was a suspect in custody. It was just bad information. CNN had to let him go. It’s a shame…”

King immediately becomes an object lesson for other reporters. You want to stay in the game? Stick your tail between your legs and waddle back to your job. Say you’re sorry, and then on top of that, say that apologizing is your duty to your audience, because the truth is at the heart of the news, blah-blah.

Orwell: “How easy it all was! Only surrender, and everything else followed.”

The elite media have discovered a marvelous thing. The human mind works just like television news. The mind can decide something is important, then decide it isn’t, forget it, and move on.

Unless the owner of that mind is awake.

Television cop shows mirror this situation. Inevitably, after the first suspect is arrested for the crime (at the 20-minute mark, too early for a wrap-up resolution), one detective points out there are still unanswered questions.

The missing gun, the witness who saw another man fleeing from the crime scene, the stained glove on the fire escape.

His partner, a goofball, says, “Hey, there are always unanswered questions in a case. Who cares? We have a confession (obtained under pressure). Call the DA.”

Then, later in the show, the smart cop proves he’s right. The witness and the stained glove are crucial. A different person committed the crime.

The lesson? Keep asking all the questions. Keeping digging.

But that’s only true on television.

To be more precise, what’s overtly labeled fiction on TV gives the viewer hope. Television news takes hope away.

You know, the old whipsaw effect.

There’s an app for anything you want. On TV. Inside the bubble.

Jon Rappoport

Consensus shredded; major media up against the wall

Apr25

Consensus shredded; major media up against the wall

by Jon Rappoport

April 24, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Television news is shriveling. And it’s under attack from a new breed. You can call them counter-programmers, video freaks, whatever.

But they’re winning.

Every dollar and inch of technology the networks employ move toward an irrefutable image on the screen. “Here it is. Look.”

And counter-programmers say, “Look again. See those guys in the yellow jackets standing right near the bomb when it goes off? They don’t move at all. They’re fine.”

There is something very powerful in that response, because people are addicted to images. When the image you’re watching blows up, because somebody forces you to see something new, you start to wake up and effect a cure, even if you don’t want to.

Image-addiction is sacred to people.

No one goes to the movies and comes out saying, “You know, images don’t really add up to anything. It’s a waste of time.”

No one walks into the Sistine Chapel, looks at Michelangelo’s ceiling, and says, “Why did they bother? They could have just written down a message to explain what the ceiling means.”

No one asks, “Why did they have the president sit there in the Oval Office and address the nation? He could have written a statement or talked on radio.”

Image.

Unbeatable.

So when major media cover a monster of the story, on television, they’re producing images by the ton, day after day, and the anchors are telling us what they add up to, and most viewers soak it all in and accept the force of it as irresistible truth.

If television presents Aurora, Sandy Hook, Boston, and if it pours thousands of impact images at us and tells us what they mean, what are the chances television will, upon learning new facts, reverse course?

What are the odds?

Virtually zero.

Of course, the networks are unwilling to admit mistakes or lies. But at another level, this is television’s unwillingness to injure the medium itself and what it does.

“We showed you all those images and we burned them into your brains, to program you, and now we’re going to say that was an illusion?”

Never happens.

The people who own and run television never turn around, on a huge story, and endanger their medium by admitting that the images were deceptions. Because they’re drug dealers, and their drug is Image.

If the Constitution were written today, people would want to watch it being done, in the room in Philadelphia. They’d want to watch the men at work. They’d want to make up their minds about the Constitution as they would any other television show.

“Well, today, amid long-winded arguments about the proposed Bill of Rights, audience share dropped eight points.”

Why does Obama take the Sandy Hook parents around with him, as he promotes his gun agenda? So audiences can hear them speak? So audiences can see them speak.

Why do the networks lay on those interminable news-talk programs, with hosts and guests? Why don’t they consign them to radio? Because people want to see the participants talk.

Image.

“Here, let’s sit down and watch these six people talk. Let’s see what they look like when they talk.”

“I love watching Chris Matthews talk.”

Now, when a person gets on (Internet) TV and blows up major media and exposes it and tears it from stem to stern, that’s different. That’s counter-programming. People start to come out of a dream-state and realize they’re finally watching something they’ve been longing for:

“Here’s a television image. See it? It’s a lie. It’s not what you think it is. Let’s do this in slow motion, one frame at a time. Look at the corner over there. Do you see the yellow glare suddenly appearing at the top of the screen? Just beyond the plume of smoke? At the top left? That yellow glare isn’t connected to the burning fertilizer factory in the center of the screen. It’s separate! It’s coming in from the left. And then, less than a second later, the whole building explodes! See it? So what was that glare at the top left? Think about it. Consider the possibilities. For example, the burning building wouldn’t have blown up all on its own…something came in from the left and blew it up…”

Taking an image apart.

It’s the beginning of the end of television.

And that’s exactly what’s happening now, 24/7, wherever videos are posted on the Net. The assault is well underway.

“Look at that gas mask on the ground behind the Aurora theater. Who does it belong to? Was a second shooter wearing it? And there on the pavement, is that a trail of blood leading into the theater?”

Don’t worry about the fact that some of these counter-programmers are making mistakes or unwarranted leaps of judgment. The overall force is taking down television.

Impaling it on its own sword: image.

Television desperately needs events like Aurora, Sandy Hook, and Boston. When the big tragedies hit, and the elite anchors go on the road and show up in the towns where the blood is spilling and the people are in a state of extreme shock, the television audience at home gets another deep injection of mass mind control, through image-insertion.

But now, within days, even hours, counter-programmers are striking back, by playing network broadcast footage and pointing out flaws and contradictions and mistakes and deceptions, and posting these findings.

“You thought image was the end-all and be-all. All right, look at this!”

Crash a picture, take it apart, re-explain it, and you make people think.

This is the formula that’s burying television.

It’s exactly what surrealists did a hundred years ago. Max Ernst, Andre Breton, Alfred Jarry, Dali. But today, it’s happening to the news, to television. Right now. Story by story. For all to see.

Among many other reasons, this is why we’re witnessing the effort to censor and control the Internet. The news networks want to assert a propriety of copyright on their footage and punish those who use it against them.

Backed by billions of dollars, Brian Williams and Scott Pelley and Diane Sawyer say this and show that, and one guy in Ohio says NO and I’LL PROVE IT TO YOU WITH YOUR OWN IMAGES.

The hounds are loose.

These hounds are sitting in rooms making the networks and the greatest law-enforcement agencies in the world look like cheap hawkers at carnivals.

Frame by frame.

Umberto Eco, in 1979, wrote: “A democratic civilization will save itself only if it makes the language of the image into a stimulus for critical reflection—not an invitation for hypnosis.”

No, Umberto, there was never any chance of that happening. Not as an official program of the culture. Instead, we have a new breed now. And they’re buzzsawing those images, splitting them open.

Big newspapers have so-called television critics who size up shows and comment on them. The Internet has television critics who magnify news footage and point to what nobody saw in it.

“Watch this Sandy Hook father who just lost his child come to the podium to speak. Watch. See him smiling and laughing? Watch it again. Here it is. What do you make of that? Keep looking. See him get into character all of a sudden? See him make himself grieve right there? Are you kidding? What’s really going on here?”

“See the puff of smoke from the first bomb in Boston? It goes straight up. Not out into the street. See those people near the explosion? Do they look bothered by it in any way? They’re just standing there.”

These counter-programmers are cracking people’s junk-image-addiction by showing them a “higher order” of those images.

Remember Wag the Dog, that splendid movie about inventing a fictitious war in order to get a president re-elected? The president had to have a war. He was sagging in the polls. So the war was put on television.

But there’s another layer to the story. Television needed the fake war, too. It always needs staged events. Without them it would shrivel and die.

Except the events have to look exactly like “real life.”

When counter-programmers get busy, they reveal the staging, and the whole business falls to pieces.

“Hooked? Do you feel like you’re going to die if you don’t turn on the TV set? Sign up for our ten-day cure. We’ll turn you into a counter-programmer. We’ll take you through our wake-up course in image analysis, and you’ll come out the other side as a meta-wizard, ready to take on the world of false news.”

To say this is corrosive to network television news is a vast understatement. It’s a Waterloo.

Against the citizen video-analysts, television would have only one solution: stop broadcasting footage.

Here is a fragment from a short story I wrote a few days after the Aurora theater massacre. It illustrates the potential effect of a counter-programmer:

I sat in my private cabin and watched wall screens displaying decks on the slow-moving airship; I understood there were seven levels.

On Deck Three, I saw Mr. R. Smith-Jones, a fifth-generation android, who was occupying two rows. He was propped up on a wheelchair-couch.

He was growling and snarling at a doughy flight attendant turned out in a jeans tuxedo and a sombrero made of balloons and artificial peacock feathers.

Smith-Jones’ infamous three-year case, tried in the Superior Court of Newfoundland New York, had ground to a halt, when Judge Sleepy Shigitz decided Smith-Jones had earned the right to multiple classifications of Life Disabled.

On the screen, Smith-Jones was waving two objects which, to me, looked like cataclysmic salt shakers. They were spewing crystals that emitted smoke when they hit the air. Passengers started coughing.

Then I realized Smith-Jones was holding patterning cylinders he’d pulled from his innards. These cylinders played a major role in what his Alamo designers called Repetitive Accommodation. I knew this because Smith-Jones had pulled the trick a number of times, on each occasion subsequently filing suit for environmental incursion. Once, as porters were pushing him up the Matterhorn in his wheel-chair couch, he’d yanked out the cylinders, asserting the thinning atmosphere was slowing down his speech-recognition faculty; he’d won a major settlement in a Swiss tribunal.

All in all, over the course of a hundred years, Smith-Jones’ lawsuits had earned him more than twenty billion dollars.

Now he was foaming at the mouth and spitting. He doubled over and a siren went off. It was amplified by a speaker in his skull. A security guard appeared with a riot baton and sent a blue fork of electricity into his genitals, quieting him somewhat.

Smith-Jones was the majority stockholder of NBCCBSABC Networks, Inc. As such, he had at his disposal the InZap technology.

He deployed it now.

At horrific high speed, he began broadcasting images of a flaming city and people dying and crackling in the heat. Then, black tanks appeared. Soldiers dressed in combat gear moved in and sprayed streets with chemical retardant from wide hoses.

The flames died. Other soldiers ran down and arrested two fleeing suspects, and the InZAP emitted waves of relief throughout Smith-Jones’ cabin. People wept in their seats.

Smith-Jones said, “Thus we are rescued.”

“Thank God,” one passenger said.

A scruffy boy stood up and aimed his cell at a white wall. Pictures appeared there. “As you can see,” he said, “ people actually fried and died, but over at the far right of the street, a soldier is setting the initial fire. See him? The two suspects they caught later were patsies.”

Everyone looked, and everyone froze.

Smith-Jones said, “You don’t understand. I can take all those images away, as if they’d never existed. I own them.”

“Right,” the boy said. “But then what are you going to put on television? Giraffes? Peaceful streets at night under a warm moon?”

Three days later, I would learn that: reclining in his suite at the Ritz Hotel in Beverly Hills, sketching out yet another cause-for-action, this time for improper Hotel tech support on his (merely decorative) breathing apparatus, Smith-Jones stopped functioning.

He entered a state of paralysis. He shut down. According to Hotel employees, he wore an unchanging expression of sadness.

On his night table, he’d left a note:

“My existence is zero. I seem to be employing an unending string of morons who can’t plan and execute a disaster without exposing themselves.

“It’s a bit ironic that the desecration of IQ I’ve fostered all these years, through the medium I own and control, has also been my undoing. Operatives are now unable to perform. I hire them; they fail me.

“The entire population has brains of oatmeal. Yet, when some nobody points out a fatal flaw in my news stream, they all begin to wake up. How is that possible?

“I could sue and sue and sue and gain all the money in the world, but it appears I’m incapable of placing humans in a trance whereby they forget I’m just a machine, a heartless bastard of a machine.

“And that’s all I ever wanted. To make people think of me as one of their own. But I never will. And now I am Not.”

Jon Rappoport

Boston bombing: citizen video-analysts creating major problems for controlled media

Apr23

Boston bombing: citizen video-analysts create major problems for controlled media

by Jon Rappoport

April 23, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

You’re a reporter for a TV news outlet.

You’ve become aware of a disturbing trend. Thousands of private citizens are now analyzing video and photographs of crime scenes and posting their findings.

They’re hounds, and they can’t be stopped. They’re looking at news footage, casual video, photos, and what they’re coming up with challenges the official story lines your network pushes.

Some of their analysis is ridiculous, but some of it isn’t.

For example, video footage of the first bomb in Boston doesn’t appear to show any shrapnel damage to the fencing near the explosion, or to the blue canopy just above the street. You, the reporter, wonder about that.

The now-famous 78-year-old runner who fell down in the street, just after the first explosion? Security personnel wearing yellow jackets were standing closer to the bomb, but they didn’t wobble or duck or waver. You, the reporter, wonder about that, too.

You, the reporter, see a photo of a storefront which was presumably right next to the first bomb. The windows are blown out. But all the glass is lying in the street, which would indicate the force of the explosion was coming from inside the store. How is that possible, you ask yourself.

Then there are the quickly circulating photos of the man in the wheelchair. He’s missing large parts of both legs. People are pushing the chair. His legs are bleeding. But other posted photos? Do they show he already was wearing prosthetics? Is it true he should already be dead from the massive blood loss? You, the reporter, are disturbed by this.

You also look at several photos of the pressure-cooker bomb. In the twisted metal remains, you see discoloration, but no signs the nails or ball bearings in the bomb penetrated the pressure cooker or pitted it or ended up embedded in it.

You look at photos of men standing near the Marathon finish line, the men in identical uniforms, who have variously been described as Navy Seals, Coast Guard, and Craft International security personnel.

What were they doing there? Running a drill? Watching suspects or patsies or bomb-planters? What was going on?

You look at a photo of the younger Tsarnaev brother leaving the scene after the bombs went off. He’s still…wearing his backpack? And another photo, the one of the ripped-apart backpack on the ground. Is that a white square on it? Because one of the Seal-Craft-Coast Guard guys had a white square on his intact backpack…and is that him, leaving the scene of the bombing without that backpack? Hmmm…

You, the reporter, now face several quandaries.

First, if you decide to look into all this, you’ll have to do actual work. Investigation. That isn’t part of your job description. You basically talk to official sources, obtain their statements, repeat them, and sound like you know what you’re talking about. Investigation? What’s that?

Second, if you undertake a serious inquiry, you’re going to have to verify that all these photos and all this video footage are pristine and haven’t been altered or cropped in order to mislead.

You’ll have to find experts to help you. More work. You’re already feeling exhausted, just thinking about it.

On the other hand, your network has shown faked and cropped photos and edited footage in the past, to slant stories. So maybe you can get by with less work.

However, there is a rule in your business. Reporters aren’t allowed to follow their noses. They aren’t allowed to do investigations on their own. They most definitely aren’t permitted to do technical analysis of evidence, like crime-scene photos or video. No, all technical interpretation has to come from government agencies.

If you go off the reservation, you’ll take heavy hits from your bosses.

But all this is meaningless. It’s just mental masturbation, because, finally, you know there is no possible way your producer will allow you to present evidence that the official Boston scenario has gaping holes in it.

Your own network has the explicit job of promoting that scenario.

You’d be torpedoing your own people. Professional suicide. Just walking into your producer’s office and pointing to issues raised by private-citizen analysis of video? It would put you on a watch list.

Your producer would think, “This guy’s gone soft in the head. He wants to pursue a story on his own. He must be some kind of grandstanding goof. He doesn’t have a firm grip on things. He doesn’t know what his job really is. And he wants to raise doubts about the Boston bombing? Wow…”

To the degree that you have any shred of conscience left, you’re in a bind. Maybe it’s the moment to offload that last bit of idealism and go completely corporate. It’s not as if you’ve been challenging your bosses; you’ve just been asking yourself questions privately. So what’s the problem? Just stop asking the questions.

Maybe you’re depressed. Maybe you should go in and see a shrink and get a script for Zoloft. Something to take the edge off. Of course, then you’d have to cut back on your drinking. Screw that. Just up the booze. Have a few more every night after work. Make the coffee stronger in the morning.

Wait. An idea is forming.

It’s coming.

Sit there. Let it formulate.

Mmmm….

Yes. Yes! Here it is. Some of these video hounds are saying no one at all was hurt or killed in Boston; the whole bombing thing was a hoax. Well, tell that to the doctors at the hospitals who were doing amputations.

Okay. Okay. Now you’re on to something. You can feel it. There’s an obvious way to destroy all this wildcat video evidence in one fell swoop and, at the same time, endear yourself to your bosses.

They’ll be grateful. You can rack up some brownie points. They’ll think of you as a company man. A tough defender of the realm, their realm.

Anyway, you’ve got a deadline to meet. You have to put something together. It may as well be this:

Take the most radical opinions these video hounds are promoting, package them all into one article, and imply that every hound is a complete freak. All their video analysis must be wrong, because they’re all crazy. It’s the old rejection by generality. And by ad hominem. By straw man. Didn’t you learn something about those logical fallacies in college? Time to put them to use.

Do the conspiracy-theorist thing. Say these weirdos have far too much time on their hands. And what else? They’re dangerous. Sure. Refer back to that FBI dude who’s in charge of the Boston investigation, DesLauriers, who said people should focus on helping the investigation by looking at certain photos and no others.

How did he put it? He said there were irrelevant photos out there, and if people tipped the FBI to them, they’d overload agents and delay the search for the bombers.

That’s it. These private video hounds are dangerous. They’re giving people too much information.

So they have crazy ideas, one. They’re saying nobody was hurt, there were no bombs, two. They’re claiming all the bleeding people at the Marathon were actors brought in from some outfit in Colorado, three. They’re saying these massacre ops are designed to shut down freedom in America, four. They’re dangerous, five.

Roll all that up into a ball and you’re good to go. Whatever they’ve actually got in terms of troubling and disturbing and truthful video and photo evidence will disappear in a sea of ridicule.

Perfect.

Imply there are two basic classes of people: the normals and the crazies. The crazies are threatening the rest of us. They’re multiplying like fruit flies. They’re swarming the Internet. They’re disrespecting the wounded and dead—don’t forget that one. How dare they come out with all this insanity as the families are grieving and in turmoil.

Yeah. There is only one true stream of information, and the public has to know it. It comes from the major networks. There has to be a central story line, because if there isn’t, the whole country will fall into chaos. Don’t actually say that, but realize you’re on the side of the angels here. You’re standing tall against the barbarians at the gates.

Right. You’re giving the audience a choice. Do they want to be nuts, or do they want to be normal. Normal is the wave of the future. Soon, that’s all there will be. The others will be wiped out. They have no cache. They have no right to challenge the order of things.

Isn’t that what Arthur Jensen said in the movie Network? There is one planetary, galactic order of things, and everybody has live under it.

Expand the piece. Take it all the way back to 9/11, and the loonies who claimed the towers couldn’t have been taken down by the planes. Yeah. They said there were bombs inside the buildings. They said Building 7 didn’t go down from a fire. Idiots.

Why not do history? Makes you sound smarter. JFK. “Oswald didn’t act alone.” That’s where it all started, that’s how the conspiracy germ spread. It was a disease.

That’s a great metaphor. The plague of conspiracy theories. It had a ground zero, in Dallas, on November 22^nd, 1963. From there, the virus moved through time. It’s all one epidemic.

Call a few shrinks. Get comments from them. A psychological pandemic. These guys always want face time. Give it to them. Let them speculate on why the plague is accelerating.

Geez. Maybe this could become a three-part series. “We investigate the trend of conspiracy thinking. Why is it happening? Who are these people? Where do they come from? What do they really want?”

Then…oh yeah. We find some guy who was a conspiracy nut but he woke up and realized he was about to go off the cliff, so he stepped back. He was addicted. It was an addiction. He had alienated his whole family and all his friends.

Then he had a revelation. He saw what had happened to him. Get a few juicy quotes. “I needed a way to rebel against society, so I chose this. It was a fad. I joined up. It was a kind of cult. I made new friends. But then I saw that these people weren’t like me. I was ruining my life. I was walking around paranoid all the time…I finally came to my senses…”

Nail down the place and time when he woke up. Maybe take a camera crew there. “This was the spot. I was walking along this stretch of beach one night, all alone, and it hit me. I was isolated. I had no ties left to my community…”

Yeah. Plays very well. Do you want to be in the cold, on the outside, or do you want to be near the hearth, where the tribe is safe?

With a series, a three-part “investigation,” you could establish yourself as the go-to guy whenever a new conspiracy theory pops up. They’d come to you. You, the expert. This could be a very good career move.

And why pretend? That’s what you’re in this for, isn’t it? A career? So stop fooling around with all the freakazoid photo and video evidence. Just go for it.

It’s a war. The independent journalists and bloggers and video loons are trying to steal food out of your kids’ mouths. You can lie down in the road or you can fight back. If you’re going to fight, take off the gloves. Screw that half-way stuff.

Who knows more about conspiracies than anyone else? The CIA, the FBI, the intelligence community. Hell, after a few years of attacking the weirdos and nutballs out there, you might graduate up into a more distinguished and rarefied atmosphere, where real conspiracies are planned and carried out for the sake of national security. The real stuff, the right stuff.

You could become a “our national intelligence correspondent.” Wouldn’t that be something. You’d have access to the big boys and some of their secrets. You’d prove you could be trusted.

You’d never have to look at another foot of video put together by losers who’ll never get within a thousand miles of real news.

You’ll never have to wonder whether you’re doing the right thing. You’ll live in a place that’s far from the madding crowd. You’ll drink single malt instead of rotgut. You’ll sit down with senators and lobbyists and bankers and diplomats.

You’ll turn into a controlled drunk who knows when to start and when to stop. You’ll find inner peace and all that crap, knowing you’re serving the best interests of your country and the people who own it and run it.

You’ll write a movie script about the Agency stopping a terrorist plot in New York. You’ll meet people from Hollywood.

One night, high above the city of angels, a beautiful actress will take you in her arms…

And some day, through your CIA connections, you’ll learn about a brain-bending scandal that’s brewing under the surface of Washington, and they’ll give you the green light to go out there and dig up the information you already have in your back pocket.

You’ll be Bob Woodward and the doors will open for you wherever you go.

You’ll be unstoppable.

You’ll be the man who finds out all the secrets.

Except the real ones.

Jon Rappoport

Media magic: not one angry person in Boston

Apr22

Media magic: not one angry person in Boston

by Jon Rappoport

April 22, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Shocked? Horrified? Grief-stricken? Determined? Yes, Boston residents who voiced those feelings passed through the media filters and were interviewed on camera.

But angry? Deeply angry at what happened at the Marathon and ready to give vent to it? The screeners took a pass.

I wrote about this subject after the Sandy Hook murders, and it applies to the Aurora massacre as well.

The sober sepulchral tones of media anchors, and their extreme deference to FBI, police, and politicians, form a hypnotic induction for viewers…and these leaders don’t want to break the spell, which is exactly what anger does.

Therefore, it’s a no-go.

Anger is a spark that fires up and spreads. So dampen it. Ignore it. Don’t show it on television news. Instead, say this: “Step back, everybody, huddle in your homes, let the pros do their job, they’ll catch the killers, look at the photos they want you to look at, remain calm, depend on designated officials.”

This is the new American dream.

If you don’t show anger on the television news, it doesn’t exist. Out of sight, out of mind.

Then, once in a while, media can point to an angry group they want to defame: “See, look at those people. They’re angry. They’re the only people who are. So there must be something wrong with them. They’re dangerous. What they stand for must be a threat to all the rest of us…because they’re angry.”

Suppose, right after the killings in Boston, the major networks interviewed 50 people who were in a rage. Viewers would start to wake up. That’s not permitted.

This engineered absence of anger dovetails perfectly with the “have a nice day” philosophy. It’s all about “thinking positive thoughts” and immediately lapsing into a passive invisible state.

A culture of “anger-is-destructive” has made enormous inroads on American life. We even have so-called experts issuing phony statements about the deleterious physical effects of “negative emotions.”

This is preposterous idiocy, at best. The key distinction here is between mindless outrage and anger directed at those who deserve to be exposed for their crimes. It’s also a distinction between bottling up, out of naked fear, such specifically directed outrage, and expressing it.

Unless you believe the American Revolution was fought by smiling troops who strolled into battle like glazed donuts sporting muskets.

Read Tom Paine’s Common Sense, the pamphlet that shook the Colonies and forced the Declaration of Independence. If you see no anger there, you’re dead.

In these modern massacre ops, the media formula works like this: “See, the perpetrators were brought to justice; it worked; the citizenry was kept in the background; nothing negative was expressed; and all’s well that ends well.”

Keeping citizen anger off the front pages and off the television-news screens is a purposeful pose. It’s really an emotional lockdown of the country.

The police not only act as an armed physical surrogate for the people, they also effect an emotional transfer. “You folks don’t have to get angry, give us your feelings, we’ll do the job, and we never hate. We’re efficient.”

This contributes mightily to the sense that we’re living in a land of androids.

Television is the universal teacher. Communities and cities learn how to react, should a crisis suddenly descend on them, from having watched how it worked in other places—as television showed it, as television selected it.

“This is how you’re supposed to feel, this is when you feel it, this is the sequence, these are the words you use.”

In this artificial ballet, the last people who are going to doubt the law-enforcement bosses are those who learn from television.

The rule of television coverage operates in another way as well. Suspects in these massacres, if they survive, rarely if ever speak before cameras to a national and world audience, before trial.

The police don’t permit it, and if they did, a defendant’s attorney wouldn’t allow it, on the grounds that prosecutors could use his client’s statements against him in the courtroom. So the accused are buffered off from the public, kept in a tight cocoon.

This contributes to an overall air of extreme caution. The wheels of the machine are grinding; no humans appear to be present. The only officials who speak before cameras are trained to emit bureaucratic blather.

The public accepts this. They buy the presentation—idiot pseudo-scientists using techno-speak to analyze some species of insect, while also throwing off gaseous generalities about the nation, the life of communities, and the coming together of good citizens.

From the earliest days of television, the vaunted anchors who shaped the role for later generations—Ed Murrow, Chet Huntley, David Brinkley, Walter Cronkite–—gods to the American audience—affected the air of a reformed drunk who was always walking close to the edge of doom and needed to enunciate his concerns carefully, lest he fall into a pit of actual human experience where he would drown.

This became the rhythm, sound, and tempo of truth.

Now, Brian Williams, and Scott Pelley, the keepers of that flame, are practicing in the same school of understatement, are doing their slow tap dance around the rim of the cliff, assuring viewers they are taking them as far as humans can go without encountering details too sordid for civilized exposure.

Among those omissions are the words and outraged feelings of citizens who demand justice and know there is a great con in progress, a charade.

The lesson was learned in 1963. After that piece of television coverage, the monarchs of media struck out on a different path. Americans actually saw Lee Harvey Oswald, after he was arrested. They saw his anger. They saw him say, “I’m just a patsy.” They saw his disgust and growing hour-by-hour understanding that he was going to his end. They saw he knew he was going to be swallowed up and disappeared. And finally they saw Jack Ruby shoot him in an underground garage.

Guilty or innocent, Oswald transmitted a disquiet that was corrosive to the public consciousness. That had to stop.

Television could not do this anymore. It was too strong, too real. No one individual could come across that way again.

The government and its media machine would have to build a castle and surround it with armed force in layers of protection. It would have to develop a new kind of language to pretend to a humanity that was on the way out.

That’s what they did, and it worked. It worked, at bottom, because it created a new audience that came to expect and demand three-dollar bills, one after another, standing in for the real thing.

In some humans, when you open their souls, you see fierce joy, oceanic energy and imagination. In others, you see dust, and a machinery that pretends to these things.

Knowing the difference makes all the difference in the world. The dust-and-machine people can voice the highest ideals and thoughts, but it’s all prerecorded.

Like media.

Especially when it’s live.

“I’m sick in my heart

But I’m not a fool anymore,

I know the charade is over.

The schemers and liars brought us to this house

In the middle of the night

And told us what the world was.

“I’m sick in my heart

But I’m not a fool anymore,

I know the charade is over.

The sellers and the buyers brought us to our knees,

But this is the end of the trance

That told us what the world was.

“Between the clouds, the moon comes,

Between the clouds, the moon races,

New boiling rivers rush down from the mountains again.”

Jon Rappoport

Reality is a psyop

Apr21

Reality is a psyop

by Jon Rappoport

April 21, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

Jack True was one of the most innovative hypnotherapists of our time. Largely unknown in academic circles, uninterested in publishing his work, Jack focused on his patients.

We met in 1987. We became friends and colleagues. Over the course of several years, I interviewed him many times.

Jack eventually gave up on straight hypnosis-and-suggestion as a way to do therapy. He said, “I’m finding that people who come to my office are already in a hypnotic state, so my job is to wake them up.”

Here is an excerpt from one of our interviews:

Q: What does “mind control” mean to you?

A: The total sun of all influences that put people in a reality trance.

Q: And what’s that?

A: A state in which people consider this the only space and the only possible time.

Q: And it isn’t?

A: Reality is a psychological operation. “Here we are, this is the only space and time, and we’re inside it.” Whereas, music, for example, invents its own time and even space, and you can see, from people’s reaction to it, how profound other deeper realities can be.

If we define ourselves as creatures only capable of living inside one space and time, then we adjust our behavior, our prospects, and we adjust the scope of our desires.

The space-time continuum is one reality. And at some level, a human being knows this. That’s the point. He knows this. And he doesn’t want to stay glued to one reality.

So if a person becomes all wound up in this continuum—which of course he does—then he loses sight of what? Desire. Because it seems then that reality defines what can be legitimately desired. Everything is backwards. Desire becomes diluted and blunted. And power drains away.

Imagine it this way. There’s a machine that keeps manufacturing reality. Space, time, reality. And people, however it happens, hook themselves up to it. They’re addicts.

Q: So who is really carrying out this psychological operation, as you call it?

A: The people who run the machine, and the people who, whether they realize it or not, choose to stay attached to what the machine produces. It’s a two-way street. But the trump cards are played by the addict. He can either cure himself or remain a slave.

Q: When you say there is more than one space and time, do you just mean there are alternative realities or possibilities?

A: I mean that, yes, but also more. Space and time are constructs. They can be manipulated. They can be invented by artists. They can be imposed. They can be, at a deep psychological or spiritual level, perceived for what they are: elements that spring out of our state of mind. In one state of mind, you’ll perceive one corresponding space-time. In another state mind that is quite different, you’ll perceive another space-time.

Q: And knowing that, what can be done?

A: Well, with patients, I have them invent different spaces and times.

Q: How?

A: Several ways. One way is by inventing dreams.

Q: What’s the effect of that?

A: They begin to receive new feedback.

Q: What kind of feedback?

A: Every space and every time has different emotions and feelings attached to it. These become chronically experienced feelings. By getting out of a central space and time, the patient feels new things. He is freer.

End of interview excerpt

Of course, for most people, the idea that we “are living in one space and time”, or that there is some way to escape it, is preposterous. It doesn’t register or make sense.

Which is precisely why, to take this discussion down to ground level, the FBI and the media can drive the whole Boston Marathon story like a Cadillac in a parade.

They make reality. They are trained to present one version to the public and sell it.

Consider a far more mundane example. People walk down the street and look at a large building, and it never occurs to them it was put there. It was conceived, designed, and built. To passersby, it’s just there. It’s a “there” object in their field of perception. Nothing to think about. Nothing to reflect on. It’s a piece of the one and only reality.

But a painter, if he’s being honest, will tell you that every time he steps up to a blank canvas, he’s inventing space and time.

Socio-political reality basically means some group has guns and access to fawning media. They can define what exists. They can say, “We know exactly what happened in Boston, and here it is.”

If, magically, overnight, you found yourself in possession of overwhelming force and a direct pipeline to elite media anchors, you could tell your story about what happened in Boston, and you would find millions of people believing you.

Your story, presumably, wouldn’t mirror what CBS, NBC, and ABC are reporting. But your reality, your space and time, would replace theirs.

There is more than one space and time.

What would happen if the three major networks, each with considerable power, had come up with three vastly different versions of the Boston massacre?

You would see a serious conflict of “spaces and times.” It would happen before your eyes.

It would put people into an existential warp. They wouldn’t know what to do. They’d feel as if their innards were separating, as if they were being drawn and quartered.

Consensus reality would begin to disintegrate.

A psyop depends on being able to engineer one story line.

Take five of the most prestigious medical-research centers in America. Imagine each one came up with, and stuck by, a different explanation for cancer. Genes; environment; mineral deficiency; fungus; oxygen deficit.

Imagine that these cancer centers wouldn’t budge, no matter what. You’d have five different realities, five different pictures, five different “space-times.” You’d have decentralization of power at a level no one had ever experienced.

A psyop depends on selling one centralized story.

Obviously, a very significant proportion of the public wants the centralized story; otherwise, we wouldn’t have it.

This fact is often covered over by the pretense that we’re talking about science. For example, the government’s version of what happened in New York on 9/11 operates on the basis that the towers fell because two planes crashed into them. And that’s “science.”

“See, we aren’t selling anything. We’re just reporting how physics worked in the towers. We have no vested interest.”

Nonsense.

Centralized story (psyop) explains how long-standing institutions can continue to thrive. Suppose, for instance, this item hit the network evening news:

“Today, investigators from a Congressional task force unveiled documents going back more than thirty years in the history of cancer research at the National Cancer Institute [NCI]. These documents reveal widespread collusion, involving more than 400 scientists and bureaucrats, to manufacture a false conclusion about the cause of cancer…”

In any sane society, that would be the end of NCI. But firing 16 scientists, sending one researcher to jail, and sacking the current director would sufficiently placate the public to make them forget the whole thing—because NCI is centralized reality. To destroy it would be perceived as leaving “a hole in space and time.”

Returning to the Boston massacre, imagine these firmly entrenched conclusions from the three major networks:

CBS: “FBI and local police killed one terrorist and captured the other in what observers are calling one of the bravest days in the history of law enforcement in America. The victims of the Marathon bombing remain indelibly etched in our hearts and minds as we move forward…”

NBC: “After a violent gun battle on the streets of a great American city, during which a suspect in the Boston massacre was killed, an FBI source stunningly revealed they had ended the life of a cooperating informant. He put it this way: ‘The Tsarnaev brothers were recruited by a secret Bureau unit to plant the bombs. The plan was to blame the bombing on so-called patriots, but that fell through, so the Bureau exercised their only option. They put their informants front and center and blamed the whole thing on them…”

ABC: “Today, the tragic loss of life and wounding of more than 180 persons at the Boston Marathon were partially redeemed, when Boston police traced three pipe bombs, found at the apartment of one of the Tsarnaev brothers, to a CIA storage locker in Maryland…”

In the midst of an uproar heard and echoed around the world, the networks stand by their contradictory versions of events. No one blinks. No one backs down.

A massive blow hits psyop-land. Centralized story? Poleaxed.

People don’t know what to do. They expect one story line and they get three, from the highest hypnotic and influential media giants.

In a literal, though unconscious, sense, familiar time and space begin to fall apart.

But actually, its far more surreal for the three major television networks to agree on the substance of every significant event than to come to radically different conclusions.

Unfortunately, people don’t see it that way. They don’t see that three behemoths dispensing the same information are key elements in thought-police fascism. They don’t see that the consensus is arranged.

They don’t see they are being subjected to one space and time.

In another interview, Jack True proposed the following:

“Here is a loopy scenario. A wild one. We have a young boy living in a tiny cottage with his parents at the southern tip of South America. One day, he writes, in perfect English, the precise words of a secret CIA memo stashed in a vault in Langley, Virginia. This becomes known and it’s acknowledged.

“Now we have a problem that goes a great deal farther than national security. This boy’s violating the rules of space and time. He’s operating in ‘some other dimension’ of experience.

“Two days later, the same thing happens in Mongolia. Another boy, another CIA memo. Then it happens in New Zealand. And Detroit. And Northern Alaska.

“These boys are penetrating or living in another space-time continuum. They’re reaching in and pulling out knowledge.

“It keeps happening. Every week, it’s a new child. And nobody knows what to do about it.

I said, “So what’s more troubling to the authorities? The exposure of these memos or the fact that the kids can read them from great distances?”

“Obviously, the latter,” Jack said. “Because if reality is turned on its head, you get tremors. The system is shaken. The powers that be can handle almost any amount of exposure, as long as the system itself stays in place. But when that goes…”

The system IS: one reality, one space and time, one centralized story.

I would add to that: one centralized story told by an organization or organizations that are accepted as authoritative. It doesn’t matter if CBS tells its story and then a “lesser source” contradicts it. CBS is sitting in the catbird’s seat.

You could have a nation, a small nation of 10 million people—and a few individuals do a fantastic job of exposing the government and a few major corporations, revealing all their crimes, but then what happens? You could get wholesale prosecutions and prison sentences for the criminals who were exposed, but if most of those 10 million people are now looking for a different and better centralized story, it will all go for naught.

The basic problem is the addiction to one centralized story, which is always going to be a psyop.

To convey the wild and wooly aspect of one space-time versus multiple space-times, fiction is probably a better vehicle. Here are two fragments from a piece I wrote several years ago:

HEY!

Bargain price! Five-minute money-back guarantee!

We’ll shave down your perceptual field so you can fit in with eight trillion-trillion androids.

You’ll never miss what you can’t see.

Hi, I’m Tom Smith, and I want to tell you it’s the most fun place you can imagine—especially when you can’t imagine any other universe!

Know what I mean?

On a scale from 1 to 10, your creative impulse will be coming in at about a 2. That’ll cement you right into the limited spectrum, where all the action is.

Now I know you’ve tried other universes, but this one has unique advantages. First of all, you’re a shareholder! That’s right! You’ll own .00000000000000000000009 of a point in the whole set up.

So you’ll feel the satisfaction of a genuine commitment.

Next, you’ll actually get down on your knees and obey this universe. I know, it sounds odd, but don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.

Jack Boardhead of Alpha Centuri writes in and says: “I never knew how great being a complete schmuck could feel. It’s a jolt unlike any other I’ve ever experienced.”

Thanks, Jack. My regards to the wife and kids. I understand Cindi starts college in the fall. Kudos!

Yes, folks, there really is a sense of family in this universe. People liking people. We’re all in this together. Since you’re a stakeholder, you’ll be in touch with us at the home office, and we’ll be using your testimonials to sign up new residents. There’s room for everybody! If there’s one thing we’ve got, it’s space!

So act now and take advantage of our limited-time offer. The blender, the set of cups and saucers, the booster narcosis vaccines, and the infinity pool. And since this is Tuesday, we have a special! Cemetery plots for the whole family, and storm windows! For the first five hundred callers, a special bonus. Automatic pre-diagnosis of Bipolar and free drugs for the first year!

Operators are standing by, so call now. Remember, life is better when you see what we want you to see! It takes the pressure off. Do you really care about what you think? Don’t you want to be fixed, so you can think what everybody else thinks? Now that’s a real program.

You’ll view reality in a whole new way! Once we lock you in and reshuffle your electromagnetic fields, you’ll emerge with our new Sameness-Plus system. You’ll see what your friends see with just a bit of difference, to make it interesting…

Here is fragment 2 from the same piece:

Several ads from an interdimensional newspaper that might prove informative:

UNIVERSE MANUFACTURING! Let us build it for you! Move-in ready. All appliances and energy sources. Consult our catalog. Easy entrance, no exit. Pre-hypnosis induced painlessly in our clean spacious facilities by licensed physicians!

CUSTOM BUILT UNIVERSES OUR SPECIALTY! Uni-language, gated planets, military emperors. Inspect our plans, work with a seasoned professional. Dignified cemeteries. CSI reruns.

A RETIREMENT UNIVERSE for the whole family! Do you want to pass on your genes to millions of future generations? Of course you do! Why else would you be alive? In our universe, we supply a religion that forbids gene waste, under penalty of incarceration in a state-run hospital. Appoint surrogates to wage an eternal war between matriarchal and patriarchal societies. Square dancing, ping-pong tournaments, celebrity-look-alike performers on weekends.

COLLECTIVE GOO UNIVERSE FOR ADDLED MINDS! Be part of the Doofus! Delete thinking! Experience the thrill of melting down in 24/7 love with the One All Thingo! At first you’ll feel icy winds whipping through your separated soul on the plains of cruel choice. But then, at the last moment, from the deepest well of reality, a radiant finale will clutch your sacred yearning, as you’re shot up on to on a cloud of honey and transported to a fortress where patented OmniJuice floods your being and you realize this is your home forever! Soft rock, lake of marshmallows, electro-massage units. One and two bedroom apts.

NATURE IS NATURE UNIVERSE! Hunt for 60,000 years, fit into the environment, hear the roots grow; climb trees, shepherd goats, bath in snow, chant in monotone, blow up evil machines in distant cities. Exclusive Gaia tweets. Become utterly convinced there is nothing else! Raise children as primates! “Secrets of the Urine Garden” for first five callers.

AT LAST! THE SOULMATE UNIVERSE! Let us design your agonizing quest for the other half of yourself. You met a stranger for 18 seconds in a hotel bar? He’s here! Receive your initiation rites in the Oprah Palace and journey out on to the landscape of despair. Lifetimes of just-misses…and then….but we can’t give away the glorious ending. You know you want it, so let us build this low to mid-range IQ universe with billions of extras and millions of planets. Herbal wraps, hot stones; vegan paramedics on call.

PROMISE OF PARADISE UNIVERSE, slightly used version, for sale at giveaway price. Commit untold numbers of righteous acts that would be considered capital crimes with special circumstances in other universes, along a severe path of loyalty. Some self-flagellation required. All races and religions invited. We have our own fake deity and he’s pissed off!

VICTIMS-PLUS UNIVERSE! Have you been inventing a story of oppression that’s somehow never been accorded its proper due? Well, this is your place! All the tables are turned. For once (and forever), you get what you deserve! Lavish benefits! Pre-training in the necromancy of bureaucratic interactions. Game the system as it’s never been gamed before! Choose from a catalog of disorders. Full insurance coverage extended to family members.

THE END OF IMAGINATION UNIVERSE! Have you finally reached the end of your tether? We have attractive life paths for trillions of serial incarnations. You’ll go with science, you’ll go with money, you’ll go with pills. We have it all. Our calibrated partial-narcosis treatments will saddle you with just enough doubt to make you wonder whether you’re doing the right thing…and yet, in the end, you’ll submit to a Greater Pattern. Geometric homilies, ideal forms, gradualism, “it’s all about family,” “I’m doing this for the children,” “you only live once,” endless distractions constructed on the basis of “realism,”–you’ll become facile with them all. We’ll keep you hopping! Try our new on-and-off paranoia option. Ask yourself if the End of Imagination Universe is right for you.

And a small classified ad: “Universe invention=You.” Details re imagination. Send $35 and self-addressed stamped envelope to PO Box 43920518-A, Altoona, Pennsylvania.

Jon Rappoport

Boston: locking down the city where the American Revolution was born

Apr20

Boston: Locking down the city where the American Revolution was born

by Jon Rappoport

April 20, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

No taxis. No buses. No trains. No flights. Stores shuttered. Empty streets. Doors locked. Massive police presence. Stay inside. Don’t move. Watch television. Get the latest reports.

If you need to muse on something, you might remember a few significant events that occurred on or around Patriot’s Day, the anniversary of the opening battles in the American Revolution:

Final attack on the Waco Branch Davidian compound: April 19, 1993.

Oklahoma City bombing: April 19^th, 1995.

Columbine school shooting: April 20, 1999.

Virginia Tech shooting: April 16, 2007.

Boston Marathon bombing: April 15, 2013

Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, though. Things happen. They’re meaningless.

But have faith.

That’s right. I forgot. We’re supposed to take it on trust.

The word from on high has come down… The two Chechen brothers planted bombs at the Boston Marathon.

The FBI claims they have video to prove this, but of course we haven’t seen it.

What we have seen is two men, white-cap black-cap, with backpacks, walking through the Marathon scene. That’s it.

The FBI also claims at least one of the bombs was put together inside a pressure cooker. Of course, we have not seen any FBI forensic data to back up that assertion. We never do in these cases.

But the FBI are the elite forensic professionals, aren’t they? They’re the best in the world. We have to trust them, don’t we?

Well, they fed us a story about an amateur ANFO (ammonium-nitrate-plus-fuel-oil) bomb in Oklahoma City, in 1995. That turned out to be a fraud. In fact, Fred Whitehurst, one of the FBI’s own scientists, blew the whistle on the vaunted FBI lab for faking proof that ANFO was the main explosive substance.

Actually, the forensic lab at the FBI has been under continuous fire since the 1990s.

Whitehurst went a lot further than blowing the cover on the FBI op in the OKC bombing case. He pointed to chronic lab problems resulting in the questionable convictions of up to 10,000 federal defendants, many of whom remain in prison to this day and have not obtained justice.

In 2012, Whitehurst redoubled his attacks, stating, “While I was reporting issues at the FBI crime lab, FBI Director Louis Freeh was doing everything he could to shut me down…”

In August of 2012, the Washington Post exposed the failure of the Dept. of Justice to remedy these horrendous FBI forensic injustices.

And we’re not simply talking about FBI breaches in the 1990s. In 2009, as CBS News reported, an FBI lab tech, Jacqueline Blake, was under the gun for allegedly misinterpreting DNA samples in 103 criminal cases, and FBI lab scientist, Kathleen Lundy, admitted she gave knowingly false testimony, under oath, about bullet analysis in a Kentucky murder trial.

So when the FBI says a pressure-cooker bomb killed and maimed people on Boston streets, you should accept, at face value, the veracity of that claim, in the same way you would accept the statement that the moon sets every night in a lake in New Jersey.

When the FBI tells us that two brothers planted bombs at the Boston Marathon, we should resist “hypothesis by hypnosis.”

The actual facts require an entirely separate and independent investigation.

Though all major media outlets are fully aware of the badly stained reputation of the FBI, these networks go along like worshipful little puppies, on each new occasion, when the Bureau commandeers a crime scene.

All of a sudden, the FBI are kings, and the past is wiped out.

The media anchors, and the federal agents, are One. Their forte is staging mutual charades. In this regard, they have few equals.

The anchors breathlessly await each new FBI announcement in the Marathon murders. They put out the red carpet, they extol the Bureau as if, in the firmament of the just, it has no flaws of any kind.

Major media are truly advance men for the Bureau. Well, they have to be in a major crisis like this one, because it takes two to tango. You can’t have a coherent story line for the public if the media are doubting and questioning the FBI at every turn. When was the last time we saw that?

The public wants a story about heroes and villains, with all separations clearly drawn. That’s the media bottom line, and it takes precedence over a search for the truth every time.

The incurious, passive, and FBI-directed media never stop to wonder why doctors at Boston hospitals are reporting so many lower-extremity injuries, some requiring amputations. This fact strongly suggests that exploding shrapnel was directed along a low height.

To accomplish that, professionals had to design the bombs. No amateur would have a clue. Do we have evidence either one of the Tsarnaev brothers was a pro? If so, where is it?

But not to worry. If Brian Williams, Scott Pelley, and Diane Sawyer open their arms wide to Richard DesLauriers, the FBI agent in charge of the Marathon case, if they characterize the Bureau as exquisite and virtuous servants of the people, as “part of our extended family,” as the best of the best, as moralists of the first order, then so should we. Without question. Automatically.

The younger Tsarnaev brother is now in custody. The older brother is dead.

The case is wrapped up. Everything is good.

Except, as a number of writers have pointed out, including Paul Watson, Tony Cartalucci, Kurt Nimmo, and James Corbett, the FBI has a history of involvement in terror events. The Bureau has encouraged and fomented pathetically obvious terrorist plots.

David Shipler, writing in the NY Times (April 28, 2012, “Terrorist Plots, Hatched by the FBI”) details a string of these ops. What he fails to point out is this: such events condition the American people to believe in the war on on terror. Without FBI agents initiating these self-fulfilling prophecies, the enormous infrastructure/industry dedicated to stopping terrorism would take on the bizarre appearance of a manned tank permanently parked outside a candy store.

So if the Tsarnaev brothers were involved in the Boston bombings, consider that they could have been drawn into a Bureau plan and supplied with the materials to execute that plan.

They could have been told it was a drill, an exercise, to “test the system.” They could have been told the bombs were inert. They could have been used as patsies.

Yes, it would be a better world if we could always rely on the authorities to make clean arrests for clear crimes, present accurate evidence at trial, and obtain honest convictions. But unfortunately, we are not living in that world.

Go back to the 1993 Trade Center bombing. The NY Times exposed the covert role of the FBI through the testimony of one of the Bureau’s dupes (informants), Emad Salem, who was told he would be given fake bombs for a fake event that would scoop up real terrorists. But Salem then stated the FBI decided to go ahead with real bombs at the last minute.

Salem was never permitted to take the stand at trial and testify. The Times article exposing this (October 28, 1993, “Tapes Depict Proposal to Thwart Bomb Used in Trade Center Blast”) was written by Ralph Blumenthal (twitter). Over the years, on two occasions, I’ve tried to talk to Blumenthal about his piece. The first time, some years ago, he blew up on the phone and told me I had the facts (of his article) all wrong. The second time, a few days ago, I emailed him, and so far I’ve received no response.

The elite media of this country are schizoid, intentionally. They like it that way. A scandal here, a scandal there, about our institutions? No problem. But then when the chips are down—which is to say, a big story looms up on the horizon, an irresistible monster of a story, like the Boston bombings—these fabricators of print and image adjust their ties and do their hair and go through their time-honored paces:

“Here are the pure and wonderful and guiltless good guys…and there are the bad guys…and we will watch the good triumph over evil…and you, the public, will follow along with rapt attention…”

In order to achieve this emotional arc, corners will be cut. Elements of the story line that don’t fit the mold will be omitted. They never happened.

The suspect in the Boston bombings the FBI had in custody, the one they were about to present in court the other day? The cancellation of that party, the suddenly closing down of the court owing to a “bomb threat?” Never happened. A misprint. A glitch. A dream.

The black ops men circulating at the Marathon? They all just happened to be wearing the same clothes, sporting the same insignia. No one was holding a radiation detector. That was a transistor radio or a cigar humidor.

The celebrations are on in Boston. The first city of any size to be locked down completely can open its doors.

The resolution has been achieved. Well, it had to be. The Bureau and the president couldn’t afford to let this go on for weeks and months, with no arrests and no take down.

That would be unthinkable.

Looking effective and looking presidential are priorities of a magnitude it’s hard to imagine. Inside the game, the players are excruciatingly aware of reputation and face and credibility. These are the psychological molecules that can drive a person up into the stratosphere or put him down in the alley with the garbage.

And it always helps to have hole cards. For example, foreknowledge that the op has a prefigured end. A designated perpetrator. So you can say, “Justice will be done, count on it.” And you’ll be right.

It helps, for example, to know you can deliver the goods on the names of the terrorists who hijacked the planes on 9/11, and you can make them known twelve seconds after the towers fell. You can pull out the names of men your people had been warning, about months before the event, the men you paid no attention to, until you needed their names.

Guilty? Innocent? Does it really matter? If you can decide what evidence is good evidence, you’re the king.

You can stage reality and then say, through hard work you found out what it was.

You can roll up the sky and roll it down again, and you can discover new planets and then delete them, and no one in the hypnotic trance induced by your fully owned media will remember.

But everyone will be safe. You proved that by locking down the city where the American Revolution was born, on the anniversary of the day its opening battles were fought. Then, in 1775, the message was freedom. Now, in 2013, it’s the same message, except the meaning has been turned upside down. Freedom is universal police presence and deserted streets, and people buy it like top-flight merchandise at a fire sale.

A symbolic gesture, purposely designed by evil men? You must be hallucinating. Take two Brian Williams and call me in the morning.

Jon Rappoport

Jon Rappoport's Blog

NoMoreFakeNews.com

Category Archives: Matrix Revealed

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The psychological crossroad of an unhappy life

The worldwide Church of the Evening News

Brian Williams, Scott Pelley, and Diane Sawyer: the three stooges

Ministry of Truth makes Boston bombing suspect disappear

Consensus shredded; major media up against the wall

Boston bombing: citizen video-analysts creating major problems for controlled media

Media magic: not one angry person in Boston

Reality is a psyop

Boston: locking down the city where the American Revolution was born