The tyranny of broadcast reality: a short story

The tyranny of broadcast reality: a short story

by Jon Rappoport

August 23, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

The year is 2034. You’re hacking into a classified syndicate broadcast.

First you see a thick grove of pine trees, then a watering hole where a pack of wolves gather. Behind them are simul rows of infantry wearing black masks studded with silver sensors.

This gives way to a page of deep blue sky and white stars. A voice emerges:

As I was saying before the riots interrupted us, we’re in good shape. The dopes are still buying reality. In fact, they’re more hungry for it than ever.

Our surveys show a growing subset of addicts who are absolutely devoted to the Church of the Polite. In one experiment, we gave them a placebo. They went away grinning like idiots.

Injections cause the full blossoming of a perceptual field filled with people, events, memory. Who knows what there was before? NOW is all that’s important. Take your shot and live a new life.

WAIT A MINUTE. I’m showing a disruption of the consensus field in Sector 4-A-12, Los Angeles. It’s fluctuating, blinking out. Search underway for a source. An alt.reality-construction is occurring. Command: Go live with primary blocking program. Alt.reality-construction expanding in downtown, north of Olympic Boulevard. Blocking program fizzled.

Crowds moving on to Olympic. They’re seeing the alt.reality! Drone strike called. Spraying aerosol vaccine to restore consensus field…no effect. Our agents are on the scene. We’re flying holographic banners: “THIS IS A LIE.” No effect so far.

The alt. reality is coming in stronger now. It’s based on emotional sensation. Effluence of FREEDOM. Drones releasing Roundup, Paraquat…”

You leave your cellar apartment on Hoover Street, fight your way through a flank of buzzing subliminals, and hit Wilshire. DHS troops are setting up a roadblock at Vermont Avenue.

The underlying principle of the whole op: DON’T LET THE PEOPLE BE AS CONSCIOUS AS THEY CAN BE, AND DON’T LET THEM LIVE AND ACT FROM THAT CONSCIOUSNESS.

You head north through Lafayette Park and a blast of alt.reality from downtown crumbles the consensus field in front of you. You’re not in the park anymore. You’re walking through your own mind. You’re moving along a corridor next to a bookstore.

You now see your mind as a series of apartments and corridors. Two floors are devoted to EMPTY NEUTRALITY. You break down an apartment door. A heavy sleep machine is pumping out perfumed air. You almost go under.

You take the stairs down to ground level and see an apartment with an open door. You walk in.

It’s a large hall filled with people. At the front, the President is making a speech. The people are laughing. With each new statement he makes, the laughter grows louder.

You go back into the corridor and walk swiftly toward the end, which is floor-to-ceiling open window.


Exit From the Matrix


Reaching it, you look down at a city spread out before you. It’s Los Angeles, but something is missing. You can identify streets, buildings, neighborhoods, but something that is always there isn’t there now.

You stand at the window for a long time. Finally, it dawns on you. There is no hatred in the city. It’s gone.

How is that possible?

A wave of fear sweeps through you. Has it been artificially removed?

No.

Somehow you know the people themselves have emerged out of a cocoon of synthetically and externally broadcast hatred.

In its place is a…quiet.

Islands of alt.realities, in the form of wide percolating streaks of energy, are sweeping through the streets.

The energies are emanating from…people. It’s theirs.

Each powerful and thrilling wave is a unique emotion, but not one you can name or label or describe. You recognize all of them, but as distant memories of a long-ago time.

A voice in your mind, your voice, says: Log in.

Jon Rappoport

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

The individual against the syndicate in 2044: a short story

The individual against the syndicate in 2044: a short story

by Jon Rappoport

August 22, 2013

www.nomorefakenews.com

You’re an unemployed artist.

The year is 2044. A series of bombings has rocked the Capitol in the Western White House District, which is located in the heart of Hollywood. The Eastern seaboard is now uninhabitable, owing to a mysterious Monsanto accident, which rendered all plant life in that region poisonous…

Reality is a nasty syndicate operation. The technical side is put together by high-IQ idiots. They like to fiddle. They like the con. They like to torpedo the mind.

The syndicate is the Reality Manufacturing Company.

You buy a ticket to Disneyland, which encompasses the area from San Francisco to Tijuana, go through the big gate, and soon find out there’s no exit. At least you’re relatively safe. You book a small hotel room in Aspartame Village.

A note is taped to the back of the toilet, where you’ve been told to look. It’s unsigned. You read it while you’re preparing supper: powdered eggs, water, and a squirt of SweetHeaven:

Greetings, GuestL28vi35. This to warn you the pillars of the community, the people who are supposed to be ‘doing good,’ are up to their necks in the operation. They’re hustling reality like porn.

At the upper levels, we’ve even got the STE Command, peddling the space-time-energy continuum everyone is so fond of. Only one tin can and we’re all in it, biological machines ‘doing our best to get along.’

Until recently, there was a sense that artists knew something about all this and were exposing the Company. But now, propaganda is eating into their psyches, or their work isn’t finding the light of day. Some have been conned into high-flying rhetoric about saving humanity and working together to build a better world inside the prevailing political framework. There is no better world inside the prevailing political framework.

It’s just another hustle. Cheap salesmen on the job. ‘Here, let me try this pair of shoes on you. I think you’ll like them a lot…they’re supposed to feel tight, otherwise, the design doesn’t work.’

The artist should be ripping away masks, exposing the Company employees. Adorning some fake religion promoted by the State, like the current MaR24tc, isn’t his job.

But he’s promoting peace these days as if it were a little magic stone you rub. Or a gold fairy worm inside a gourd you shake.

Overthrowing the reality-con is the work of the artist. He’s got to take to it like a duck to water. He has to like it. He has to use his weapons, all of them. He has to build bigger towers than the Company.

Lately, have you noticed people asking you, ‘Are you coming from a place of anger or love?’ First of all, ‘coming from a place of’ is psycho-op lingo. It’s fake wisdom for the kiddies (adults whose development has been arrested in the Oprah-phase). I personally am coming from a lot of different places, including San Diego. It’s a town populated by many androids. They’ve learned to affect a pose of happiness because frankly they don’t know what else to do.

I bring this up because it’s another Company op. Goes like this: find a place ‘to come from,’ and then make your existence an emotional bumper sticker. REDUCTION.

That’s exactly what the syndicate wants. It opposes proliferation because it can’t profile it. The Matrix is built on the need to reduce thought. Reduction inevitably leads to whining and complaining. Then props called spiritual leaders emerge out of the woodwork and offer to solve the complaints. But they never can (even if they wanted to), because the original problem remains. REDUCTION.

Our glorious New Age, so-called, is exactly that: THOUGHT REDUCTION. It fails, and the aftermath is ugly. People become contortionists and end up eating their own livers. They don’t even know how to season them. They take it straight.

You might be wondering who I am. I’m from the Movable Underground Museum. You’ve probably heard of it. The Company calls us dangerous because we’ve found a way to dismantle their product.

I can’t give you details in an open message. Keep your eyes open. We show up here and there. You’ll know. So far, we’ve laid out two new universes. They’re empty. Lots of room for adventurous souls.

Here’s something else to keep your eye on, too. The Company’s reality is breaking down. You may see seams in odd places where there shouldn’t be any. Don’t pick at them or point them out to other people. You’ll get busted for that. A seam is usually a long thin blue line. If it pops far enough, you’ll see a different kind of space behind it. Stay calm.

For the past two weeks, a big seam has been exposed at the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Vermont Avenue. Don’t try to go there. Crowds were gathering. The DHS came in and hosed them down with a version of Roundup. Upwards of six thousand people were arrested, and DHS has the area cordoned off with tanks.

If you can still pick up SubNetB8 on your mobile device, you can see pictures. The white light streaming through the gap in the seam? It’s been photoshopped in. It isn’t really there. Neither are the UFOs or the voices. That’s the Company. They’re staging a ‘virtual drill’ in the area. Lots of phony religious content. It’s a cover. They’ve built a temp church in Silver Lake to handle the overflow of new believers.

If somebody approaches you with an offer to travel to Mexico, then sneak back into the US and apply for benefits, don’t bite. Tomorrow morning, before nine, walk to the Mickey Pavilion, turn left and keep going for about a mile. On your right, you’ll see a small shed painted green. Behind the shed is a cheap water ride. Take out a boat and row to the Secret Tunnel.

Take it. When the little train has been in the tunnel for a minute, you’ll see a dim corridor on your left. Hop off the train and walk along the corridor. You’ll come to the back of the Clinton-Bush-Obama Mountain. At the base is a service door. It’s unlocked.

Go through and you’ll be standing on the corner of Ashbury Street and First Avenue. A day’s walk east will take you out into the desert. The fences are broken. Get out into the desert and head toward the Nevada Hills. You’ll see it. It’s a huge white hotel about five miles in.

A mile before the hotel, you’ll come to a wide crack in the desert floor. It’s not a crack. The Company’s Simul is breaking down there. It’s an exit. Use it if you have the courage.”


Exit From the Matrix


You burn the note, sit and eat your powdered eggs and watch the news. You think about what you’re going to do. Or not do.

A few sentences float in from somewhere. They were written by Philip K Dick, an ancient writer whose works have been outlawed:

Because today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups…So I ask, in my writing, What is real? Because unceasingly we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms…And it is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind. I ought to know. I do the same thing.”

Jon Rappoport

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

The blockbuster movie called Reality

by Jon Rappoport

June 29, 2013

(To join our email list, click here.)

There is always a certain amount of whining and remorse as one enters the theater, after buying the ticket.

Is this a good idea?

You can already feel a merging sensation. The electromagnetic fields humming in the theater, even before the movie starts, are drawing you into the space.

Your perception of x dimensions is narrowing down to three.

You take your seat. You look at the note you’ve written to yourself, and you read it again:

“Don’t forget where you came from. Don’t forget this is just a movie. Don’t fall asleep. The serial time in the movie is an artifact. The binding feeling of sentimental sympathy is an induction. It’s the glue that holds the movie fixed in your mind.

“The movie will induce nostalgia for a past that doesn’t exist. Don’t surrender to it.

“You’re here to find out why the movie has power.

“You want to undergo the experience without being trapped in it.

“The content of the movie will distract you from the fact that it is a construct.”

The lights dim.

On the big screen, against a gray background, the large blue word REALITY slowly forms.

Suddenly, you’re looking at a huge pasture filled with flowers. The sky is a shocking blue. You can feel a breeze on your arms and face.

You think, “This is a hypnotic trance weapon.”

Now, the pasture fades away and you’re standing on an empty city street at night. It’s drizzling. You hear sirens in the distance. A disheveled beggar approaches you and holds out his trembling hand.

He waits, then moves on.

You look at the wet shining pavement and snap your fingers, to change it into a lawn. Nothing happens.

You’re shocked.

You wave your hand at a building. It doesn’t disappear.

Incredible.

You reach into your pocket and feel a wallet. You walk over to a streetlight and open it. There’s your picture on a plastic ID card. Your name is under the picture, followed by a number code. On the reverse side of the card, below a plastic strip, is a thumbprint.

There are other cards in the wallet, and a small amount of paper money. You look at the ID card again. There’s an address.

Though it seems impossible, you remember the address. You see a small cottage at the edge of an industrial town. There’s a pickup parked in the driveway.

It’s your truck. You know it. But how can that be?

You walk toward larger buildings in the distance.

Three men in uniforms turn a corner and come up to you. Behind them emerges a short man in a business suit. He nods at you and holds out his hand.

You know what he wants. You pull out your wallet and give it to him. He looks at the ID card, at you, at the card again.

“You were reported missing,” he says.

“Missing from what?” you say.

“Your home. Your job. What are doing here? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you say. “I was…taking a short trip. I’m just out for some air.”

“In this part of the city? That’s not smart. We’ll take you home. Our car is right over there.”

One car sits on a side street. In large red letters printed on the trunk are the words CARE AND CONCERN.

You walk with the men to the car.

Waves you’ve never felt before are emanating from it.

Mentally, you try to back up from them. They’re targeting your body. You feel a haze settle over you.

In the haze dance little creatures. They’re speaking. You try to hear what they’re saying.

Now you do. “Reality, reality, reality.”

You look at the short man in the suit. He’s smiling at you.

Suddenly, his smile is transcendent. It’s so reassuring, tears fill your eyes.

But you’re thinking, “They built this so I would be lost, and then they found me. I’m supposed to be rescued. I’ve never experienced being rescued before. I never knew what it meant.”

You hear faint music.

It grows louder. As you near the car, you realize you’re listening to a chorus and an orchestra. The rising theme is Victory.

One of the uniformed men opens the car door.

You nod at him.

“My pleasure, sir,” he says.

The music fades away.

The scene shifts.

You’re standing next to the pickup in your driveway along side your cottage.

You’re home.

Think, you tell yourself. What’s going on?

You recognize your mind is now divided into two parts. The first part registers sensations from this reality. Feedback. These sensations are meant to be sorted, in order to answer the question: HOW AM I?

The second part of your mind is entirely devoted to perceiving problems and solving them. Everything at this level is organized to constitute problems.

You were never aware of these two sectors of your mind before.

Where did they come from?

Now, as you walk into your cottage and instantly remember the rooms and the objects in these rooms, an accompanying sensation of Familiarity, slightly out of phase, grows stronger.

You realize, without knowing how, that you’re supposed to feel tremendous relief. This is what’s expected of you.

It’s expected of everyone. They live with one another through the touchstone of the Familiar. They share it like bread.

They keep coming back to it. The Familiar is a sacrament.

It’s built in. It’s invented through…electromagnetically induced fields. It’s stamped on every object in this space…

To suggest you’ve been here before. To suggest you belong here.

As you look around the cottage, you apprehend a third sector of your mind. You struggle to identify it.

It’s the fount of a different kind of perception.

Yes.

You keep staring at the cottage and you see space.

You see space that…

Has been placed here. For you.

It, too, is threaded with the Familiar.

And at that moment, there is a small explosion behind your head.

And you’re sitting in the theater again.

The movie is playing on the screen. All around you, in the seats, people are sitting with their eyes closed.

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn. It’s an usher.

“Sir,” he says. “Please follow me.”

He leads you up the aisle into the lobby, which is empty.

An office door opens and a young woman steps out. She strides briskly over to you.

“You woke up and came back,” she says. She gives you a tight smile. “So we’re refunding your money. It’s our policy.”

She drops a check into your hand.

“What happened in there?” you say. “What happened?”

She shrugs.

“Only you would know that. You must have done something to interrupt the transmission.”

“And the rest of those people?”

She looks at her watch. “They’re probably into their fifth year by now. The fifth year is typically a time of conflict. They rebel. Well, some of them do. They rearrange systems. They replace leaders. They promote new ideals.”

“I had such a strong feeling I’d been there before.”

She smiles. “Apparently it wasn’t strong enough. You’re back here.”

“How do you do it?”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s proprietary information. Did you meet your family?”

“No,” you say. “But I was in a cottage. It was…home.”

She nods.

“If you hadn’t escaped, you would have been subjected to much stronger bioelectric bonding pulses. Do you have a family here?”

You start to answer and realize you don’t know.

She looks into your eyes.

“Go out to the street,” she says crisply. “Walk around. Take a nice long walk for an hour. You’ll reorient. It’ll come back to you.”

“Why do you do it?” you say.

“Do what?”

“Sell this trip.”

“Oh,” she says. “Why does a travel agent book a vacation for a client? We’re in that business.”

You turn toward the exit. The sun is shining outside. People are walking past the doors.

You take a deep breath and leave the theater.

The street is surging with crowds. The noise is thunderous.

You notice you’re carrying a rolled up sheet of paper in your hand.

You open it.

It’s a non-disclosure agreement.

“If you return from your movie experience, you agree to reveal or discuss, under penalty of law, nothing about its nature, substance, or duration…”

You look at the sheet of paper, make up your mind, and it bursts into flames.


Exit From the Matrix

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


Jon Rappoport

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

150 million Americans go to Mexico, swim back, become instant millionaires

by Jon Rappoport

May 31, 2013

(To join our email list, click here.)

FOX News: “Illegal immigrant mother of seven given food stamps, meds, housing, and Social Security—for 20 years.”

Bob and Sally Craft have written a book. Overnight, it’s leaped to the top of the New York Times best-seller list: The Key to Wealth: Swimming Lessons.

In 2012, Bob and Sally, who were living in Toledo, made a bold move. They hitchhiked to Texas, crossed the border into Mexico, swam back across the Rio Grande, and applied for federal benefits.

Little did we know how rich we’d become,” Sally said. “Our government counselor told us we were suddenly eligible for $700 a month and free housing. For the rest of our lives.”

But that was just the beginning of the story.

Bob, who was an out-of-work accountant, after serving two years in prison on a fraud charge, “ran some numbers.”

You see,” Bob said, “sitting there across from our federal-aid counselor, still dripping wet from our swim back into the US, I realized she was talking about giving Sally and me roughly five million dollars over the course of our lives.”

Bob proposed an alternative payout plan.

Francine Baggit, their counselor, was amazed as she listened. “Bob explained that if we paid them the whole sum at once, they could invest it. I personally wrote a letter to the president, and two weeks later I almost fell off my chair when he called me at home.”

The president, through Press Secretary Ray Blarney, released an historic statement yesterday. “We now can assure help to those who need it,” Blarney said. “Essentially, welfare can be moved over into a new system. Lifetime pay-outs in one lump sum. Investment accounts.”

This triggered a mass exodus, temporary to be sure, from the US into Mexico. At last count, the Department of Homeland Security, who is supervising what they’re calling ‘Operation Red Sea,’ estimates that 150 million Americans are making their way to the Mexican border in Texas, California, Arizona, and New Mexico.

We’re trying to keep this orderly,” stated Janet Neoconitan. “It’s turning into a full-time job. The swim and dash back into the US is fraught with logistical problems.”

According to CIA spokesman Frank Earnest, the unwritten agreement with the Mexican Sinaloa cartel “is being reworked on the fly.”

Earnest explained that 150 million Americans will certainly clog up the prescribed routes for importation of heroin and cocaine into the US.

Up until now,” Earnest said, “Sinaloa and the US government had neatly marked out crossing points for drugs, and then clean paths for eighteen-wheelers into Los Angeles and Chicago. But we’re in a chaotic situation all of a sudden.”

One solution? The mayors of those two cities are suggesting that “well-qualified exiting American citizens” can be given vehicles loaded with drugs and then drive them back into the US through Chula Vista.

It’s just a thought at this point,” stated Chicago Mayor Tom Godfather. “We’re being forced to improvise. We want to preserve our special relationship with Sinaloa, of course. After all, the kickbacks from drug profits help fund the whole federal welfare program. Minus the rake-off and the skim for politicians,” he added.

As the president watched drone coverage of the mass exodus in his office today, he remarked to several reporters from the Associated Press: “This is the kind of American initiative I’ve been talking about for five years. You boys give us plenty of play on this story and we’ll stop bugging some of your phones.”

One reporter replied, “Sir, I’ll be covering it in the trenches. My whole family is flying to Tijuana tonight. We’ll come back tomorrow and apply for federal aid.”

The president nodded. “I might be right there with you. I just wish I had more kids. The benefits apply across the board. No Ageism for this commander-in-chief.”

Meanwhile, Bob and Sally Craft are off on a book tour. These two millionaires are taking their new-found wealth in stride.

For us,” Sally told Brian Williams, “it’s about helping others help themselves.”

Bob said, “There are sunny days and rainy days, Brian. You’ve got to manage your assets over the long haul. That’s what we’re doing, and that’s what we want for all Americans. My father, who was abusive in so many ways when we were growing up, nevertheless worked all his life as a wheelchair-ramp repairman. He slaved for a minimum wage. When I was nine, I vowed to do something about raising that minimum, and now Sally and I have.”

Williams replied, “I’m going to say the lights here in the studio are a little too bright, but really, the mistiness in my eyes is a result of something else. I think this whole nation is on an emotional edge tonight. It’s seeing the realization of a dream we never thought possible in our lifetimes.”

Scott Pelley, in an interview with Gamey Lyman, the CEO of Soldman Cracks JP Gorgon Mace, the famed Wall Street investment bank, asked this question: “Gamey, how do you think this new and startling financial revolution will affecting trading markets?”

Lyman answered, “Scott, look at it this way. Every American who travels to Mexico and comes back will be given an account worth five million dollars. Do the math. It’s a drop in the bucket, when you have the ability to concoct endless money directly out of Ben Bernanke’s ass. And by the way, my colleagues and I don’t want to take a back seat to anybody. The amount of cash we’ve been able to siphon out of the system over the last ten years would make your head swim.”

As the ABC evening newscast began, Diane Sawyer appeared on camera weeping uncontrollably. She kept it up in an unbroken stream for the entire hour. Finally, she said, in a voice trembling with emotion, “This is joy you’re seeing here, not sadness. All the sadness is gone.”

Oprah has just inked a new contract to return to CBS. “I had to,” she said. “I want all America to watch and hear the stories of people who ‘crossed over and came back.’ I’ll be talking to these families for the next ten years, revealing their heart wrenching histories and their triumphs.”

The president of Mexico has just made a nationally televised statement. “This is a great day for our country,” he said. “In the next six months, I expect Mexico to empty out. Everybody will be going to the US. Then, the fifteen families who own Mexico will be able to look around and actually see what they have. We’ll feel new hope. The nightmare is over.”

RAND Corporation spokesman, Saul Depop, spoke with reporters in Santa Monica, California tonight. “I expect by next week,” he said, “to see the creation of a federally run investment house. It’s a natural consequence of the new policy. People can take their five million dollars and put it directly into an IRS hedge fund. It’ll vastly increase tax revenues, and at the same time the government can assume a more overt role in managing booms, bubbles, and busts.”

In a related story, Phil and Connie James, an Oregon couple who just returned from their Mexico City vacation, told a reporter for their local paper they wouldn’t be applying for federal benefits.

It sounds like a very nice package,” Mr. James said, “but we’re fine. We don’t need the money and we don’t make investments.”

Shortly after the paper ran their story, the James family was surrounded by a mob of angry residents who pelted them with eggs, stones, and marbles.

Mr. James and his two sons were transported to a local hospital. Mrs. James was unhurt. A doctor at the hospital emerged and made the following statement: “They’re okay after surgery. This is one of those situations, frankly, where you don’t want to give people care, but you have to. We take an oath to help, and we live up to it.”


Exit From the Matrix

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


Gregory Pinch, the president of the Disabled Persons of America United, a non-profit subsidiary of the World Disability League, held a press conference in a handicapped parking space in front of a Vons Supermarket in Los Angeles.

We’re happy tonight,” he said. “But no one should think our work is over. We’re not suddenly extinct. This is just the beginning. There’s a long way to go. We demand full limb and organ replacement for every American over fifty. That remains our goal, and we’re not backing down an inch from it.”

NASA has just received what it states is the first clear non-human communication from space. Coming through Reuters and AP, the message reads: “There is and has been, for many eons, life on Mars. We are the Martians. We are coming, with translators. Ready your applications for federal aid. We have needs, and they must be met. After careful studies, our relocation preferences are Bel-Air, and Scarsdale.”

Henry Kissinger, reached at his underground home in Mordor, Virginia, spoke slowly into television cameras: “Why don’t we simply erase the US-Mexico border? Extend full benefits to everyone on both sides. It reduces traffic, and when environmentally necessary depopulation swings into high gear, the whole question of welfare will become moot.”

At the open today, the stock price of the Home Shopping Network jumped from 57 to 134. Bill Gates and Warren Buffett are meeting with Wal-Mart executives. Talks involve the injection of 30 billion dollars of new capital into store expansion. Reports indicate Wal-Mart is about to break ground on a new superstore that will cover 9000 acres in Montana.

The acreage will adjoin a gigantic housing development to be built for immigrants from Somali, the North Pole, Tierra del Fuego, London, and Toronto.

Monsanto has just announced the introduction of a wireless detection system that can calculate the quantity of GMO food any human in America consumes over the course of his/her lifetime.

This is a cumulative and ongoing up-to-the-minute sum for each person,” a corporate press release indicated. “In conjunction with the federal government, for every kilo of GMO vegetable, grain, or flesh ingested, welfare benefits in the amount of eight thousand dollars will be added to that person’s investment account.”

General Morris Flathead Rigor, chairman of the joint chiefs, told Wolf Blitzer, “America is going to have an army of millionaires. I think it’s wonderful. We have to invade and destroy foreign populations. That’s our mandate. With very rich combat soldiers in the field, we’ll be much happier doing our work.”

Have a nice day.

We’re all in this together.

Jon Rappoport

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

Astronaut Debrief

by Jon Rappoport

June 22, 2011

(To join our email list, click here.)

Here is what he said in a closed room in Houston when he came back. Here is what he told the men at the table.

“You see it wasn’t just a planet, it was a portal. That was the thing it took me so long to figure out. But when I finally did, I walked through it. Easy as pie. And then I was somewhere else.

“Somewhere that made no sense at all. There were…things there, but I couldn’t identify them. I couldn’t put names to them. I’d never been in a situation like this before.

“I thought it might be a puzzle. A game. But what were the rules? There didn’t seem to be any. I was lost. So I just started walking. I don’t know how long I walked. You tell me I’ve been away for eleven months. All right. But it doesn’t feel like it. I can’t put any sort of time stamp on it.

“One thought came in on me, over and over again. I was in a different universe. I felt that very strongly. And if it was organized, I couldn’t find the pattern. I looked, believe me, but I couldn’t find a two and two that would make four.

“So for a very long time I rejected the whole place, the whole setup. I spent a lot of time rejecting it, saying no. I became dedicated to refusing to believe there was nothing I could identify or describe. Do you know what I mean? I couldn’t put words or ideas or feelings to that place—so I refused it. I negated the whole layout forcefully. That was my main experience. Because who would ever suspect he could be put in a landscape where things were so strange he couldn’t find a single word to convey them to anyone else?

“And then, finally, I remembered something. From my college days. A professor of mine took me to a theater, and there was a play being performed by these crazy actors. They spoke in a language no one had ever heard of. It went on for almost three hours. I felt myself getting very angry. A few minutes before the end, I was hit by lightning. I suddenly understood everything they were saying. I don’t know how. And I couldn’t translate it back into English. I just understood. It was a one-time experience. And that was what it was like, being in that universe on the other side of the portal.

“When I remembered this, I felt a shift. I knew where I was. I knew what was going on. I knew that universe. But I can’t sit here and tell you what it was. That seems impossible to you. But it’s true. I’m stymied. One thing I can say. Everything I once thought I knew about beauty…that’s gone out the window. I’ve realized there were certain rules in my mind. Not rules exactly. Maybe principles. Principles of harmony, symmetry, balance. Organization. I was living according to those rules or principles all my life, in all my choices, and now they’re gone. They don’t exist anymore. When they evaporated, I was able to understand what that universe was. All at once.

“On the trip home, I started to paint. You’ve seen my work. You’ve looked at it, and you wonder whether you can use it to decipher what happened to me. What I saw. But you can’t. I was just inventing out of a vacuum. A wonderful vacuum. It wasn’t about what happened on the other side of the portal. I was painting spontaneously.

“I was working from nothing, a void. It’s quiet there. You can improvise endlessly.

“I’m not asking you to understand it. I don’t feel you need to.

“I just know I stumbled across something. I never wanted it or looked for it. You’ve told me the paintings mean nothing to you. That’s fine by me. I didn’t do them for you.

“All the vast telemetry we have? The codes and symbols and shorthand, the measurements? The markers and the baselines and the scans? I’m not interested in them anymore. I don’t have the slightest bit of interest.”


power outside the matrix

(To read about Jon’s collection, Power Outside The Matrix, click here.)


There was silence in the room.

“Sounds like you got religion,” one man said.

“No,” the astronaut said. “I had religion before. Now I don’t need it.”

More silence.

“I feel,” the astronaut said, “like a tiger who just walked out of the zoo.”

Security men stepped into the room. They had their guns out.

But the ops chief held up his hand.

“It’s all right,” he said. “We’re fine. This man found something we should all hope for. Let him go. No one will understand him. We’re protected. We’re inside our world of protocol.”

Jon Rappoport

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

Karma shuffle

by Jon Rappoport

June 1, 2011

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Today, a Hindu god who has yet to be named returned to Earth.

Getting off the central escalator at the largest shopping center in Bombay, he said, “Karma? What’s that?”

A passenger carrying an armful of packages explained, and the god replied, “What are you, crazy?”

The god, now huddled with scholars from the Institute for Vedic Studies, is tweeting to KRV6.

“They couldn’t have screwed this thing up worse if they’d tried.”

“Karma basically started as a joke at a party.”

“Somebody I forget who said, ‘Suppose a snake ate a tiger.’”

“Indigestion for a long time.”

“Especially if the tiger doesn’t die right away.”

“Limiting future incarnations? Where did THAT come from?”

“Hinduism was originally a conversation among artists.”

“They were talking about their paintings.”

“They were making up creatures in the paintings.”

“I mean, come on.”

“Some of the creatures came alive.”

“That’s where I come from.”

“This is one crazy planet.”

“Look at a painting long enough, you think it’s a planet.”

“Religion is art gone berserk.”

“At any given moment, anything that moves is being worshiped as a god by someone.”

“No wonder prison is the fastest growing industry on Earth.”

“I like this painting, you like that painting, let’s bring up the tanks and start shooting. Yeah, makes a lot of sense.”

“A priest is a janitor for a painting.”

“Aren’t there any schools for un-brainwashing?”

“As far as I can tell, Hinduism is four pretty good paintings.”

“Crazy people parlayed that into a caste system.”

“Hinduism=four paintings.”

“And Jehovah was a painter who lived in Brooklyn.”


Exit From the Matrix

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


Jon Rappoport

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

Galactic Museum Shuts Down

by Jon Rappoport

May 25, 2011

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My friend Charlie recently sold a painting to the Gregorian Museum out on Galactic Park. It’s the best museum in the city.

They hang his painting in one of the upstairs rooms for a week, and then trouble starts. Charlie gets a phone call in the middle of the night from the director. Charlie can’t believe his ears. He rushes over to the museum and they let him in.

Upstairs, the director is in his pajamas pacing back and forth. Charlie goes up to his painting, looks at it for a few minutes and sees it.

People have walked into the painting and taken up residence there.

Holy crap.

They’re in there.

Law suits, the director says. Their families could take us to the cleaners.

Of course, Charlie feels it’s a compliment in a way. But when he calls out to the people, they don’t hear him. They don’t seem to be able to get out. At least no one’s trying.

What do you want me to do, Charlie says.

Get them the hell out of there, the director says. Pick up the picture and shake it if you have to. Turn it upside down. I don’t care.

Charlie doesn’t think this is a good idea. Somebody could get hurt.

So for the next few hours, he sits in front of his painting, drinks coffee, and tries to talk to the people inside.

No dice. Even when he yells. They don’t notice him.

By this time, the chairman of the museum board has shown up. He’s agitated. He’s yabbering about containing the situation.

Charlie asks him how he proposes to do that.

Blanket denial, the chairman says. Pretty soon, the cops are going to link these disappearances to the museum—but then we just throw up our hands and claim we know nothing about it.

A lot of good that’ll do, the director says. Even if we wiggle out of the law suits, our reputation will be damaged. People won’t want to come here. They’ll be afraid somebody will snatch them.

Okay, the chairman says, we’ll shut down for repairs. New construction. That’ll buy us a few weeks and we can figure out what the hell to do. We’ll say the building needs an earthquake retrofit. Not a big one. Just some shoring up.

…So that’s what happened. They closed the museum and hoped for the best.

Charlie was upset. If word got out, how could he ever sell another painting again? His agent told him he was nuts. He’d become the most famous person in the world, and people would be lining up trying to get inside them. You’ll be a phenomenon, he said.

Yeah, Charlie said, until some nut tries to take me out.

A week later, while Charlie and I were having breakfast at a little cafe over by the river, he told me the people inside his painting were building yurts. They were digging a well.

What are they eating, I asked him.

Beats me, he said. But they don’t seem worried. They look okay. Sometimes they smile. They move around withbounce in their step!

But they can’t get out, he said. At least they don’t want to. They’re settling down in there!

I asked him the obvious question about shrinkage.

I know, he said. They’re a hell of a lot smaller. But no one’s complaining, as far as I can tell.

They like your work, I said. I grinned.

He looked at me like he was going to kill me, so I let it drop.

Okay, I said. Here’s what you need to do. Go over there and add something to the painting.

He blinked.

What?

Paint on the painting. See what happens.

Sure, he said, and drive them into psychosis. Who knows what effect it would have?

Paint a nice little country road that leads them right out into the museum. They’ll see it, they’ll walk on it.

No, he said. Don’t you get it? They’ve already taken things a step further. They’re not really living inmy landscape. That was just the initial draw. They’re building their own stuff in there. They’re…poaching!

Silence.

Then there’s only one thing you can do, I said.

I leaned across the table and whispered in his ear. He listened, then jumped back.

No, I said. You have to. Don’t be a weak sister. Go for it.

The next day, I learned later, Charlie showed up and went upstairs in the museum and cleared everybody out. He unpacked the little suitcase he’d brought and set up a player and a speaker. He shoved in a disc and turned on the music. Some sort of chanting. A chorus.

He took out a change of clothes from the suitcase and donned a long robe and a crazy hat. He eventually showed it to me. It was from a costume party he’d had at his house. Tall red silk hat with tassels hanging from it.

He stood in front of the painting and said:

HELLO, INHABITANTS. I AM CHARLIE. I’M YOUR CREATOR. YOU’RE LIVING IN MY WORLD, THE WORLD I MADE.

They all looked toward the sound of his voice.

THAT’S RIGHT, he said. I’M RIGHT HERE. THIS IS A REVELATION. I DON’T DO MANY OF THESE SO LISTEN UP. I AM YOUR CREATOR, YOUR GOD. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

All 30 or so of them were now gathered together, outside one of the half-finished yurts.

They were nodding and saying yes.

GOOD. WE NEED TO GET A FEW THINGS STRAIGHT. YOU DIDN’T OBTAIN MY PERMISSION TO ENTER MY WORLD. SO YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO COME OUT SO WE CAN DISCUSS DETAILS. MY WORD IS LAW. UNDERSTAND? STOP THE BUILDING. STOP THE DIGGING. WALK TOWARD ME. WALK TOWARD THE SOUND OF MY VOICE.

They hesitated, looked at each other, and started to walk toward Charlie.

THAT’S RIGHT. KEEP GOING. YOU’RE DOING FINE. I’M GOING TO SHOW YOU WHERE I LIVE.

This was apparently quite a perk, so they walked faster. They broke into a trot.

Finally, they emerged from the painting and, Charlie said, they swelled back to normal size right away.

It was quite a thing to see, he said. Like balloons blowing up—and thenthere they were, all around me, in the museum. First thing, I took the painting off the wall and laid it on the floor, face down.Enough of that stuff.

Charlie told them who he was, the painter. It took a few hours of intense conversation before they understood and accepted the situation. All in all, they seemed sad.

But what were you going to do, he asked them. Live in there forever? Couldn’t you see how to get out?

We didn’t want to get out, one of the men said. We liked it in there.

And that was pretty much that, except for the signing of waivers and non-disclosure agreements with the museum. For which the people were granted lifetime platinum memberships and some vouchers and coupons for the museum store and restaurant.

Charlie went into a funk. He didn’t go into his studio for a few months.

One night, I dropped over to his house with a bottle of booze and we had a few drinks out on his porch.

You know, I said, you can start a church if you want to. I know a guy who writes fake scriptures and peddles them out on the rim of Y9-324. He’s good.

You really do want me to kill you, he said.

We drank in silence for a while.

Here’s the thing, I said. You can play god, or you get back to the thing you love to do. Which is paint. Everything else is nonsense. This may not sound like profound advice, but it’s the best advice you’ll get.

When I left, I told him: those people with their wells and yurts? Sooner or later, they’re going to hypnotize themselves and fall for another strange deal. Nobody’s going to stop them.

Charlie looked grim. That’s thething, he said. Theyliked living in my picture. It wasn’t a problem for them. And I took them out. I conned them.

Well, I said, if that’s the case, and there’s nothing wrong with them, they’ll find another painting. See? Some day, you’ll read about a bunch of people disappearing, and that’ll be what it is.

Yeah, he said, maybe.

A week later, he got back to work.

Universes. Some weird things happen in that area.

Like, for example, the whole business we’re having now with the landing party out at Sandy Port. Four couples, a bible and some cartons of mints. They come from one of those floating islands where the security is pretty tight. They say there’s lots of room and they’re looking for new settlers. Very persistent types. From what I gather, they believe we’re “lower-level illusions,” whereas they live in the only continuum that reallyis. How do you like that one? If we emigrate, they can teach us how to raise our status and evolve into becomingthem. Or their boss god can do it for us. He sounds like a tough character who, by the way,doesn’t exist. See what I mean? Weird. We usually spray these visitors with electronic amnesia juice and send them back where they came from.


Exit From the Matrix

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


Jon Rappoport

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