A hundred years in the future: the joy during the lockdown

by Jon Rappoport

September 25, 2020

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A dreamer dreams many things. In this case, he was merely walking from his living room to the kitchen, and a thought struck him, and he went AWAY for a few seconds, and a two-part dream laid itself out like a fresco…then folded up and disappeared. He shook his head and resumed walking to his kitchen to make coffee. Crazy, he thought. Where did THAT come from? He looked at his watch. Another day in lockdown.


On May 14, 2266, the New England Journal of Medicine and Psychology published a paper titled:


A quote: “Brain research discovers common patterns of activity across a whole population. These patterns would be called ‘normal’. Exceptions would be classified as various categories of ‘disordered thought’. It’s assumed that only ‘harmonious and symmetrical’ brain patterns are positive and beneficial.”

A reader commented: “This assumption is grossly false. It’s a stunted version of aesthetics. Creative force always breaks out of these little geometries. So does every new idea. Increasingly, Earth culture is unable to understand this.”

—The reader receives a government notice and is summoned to a hearing. He’s interviewed by a virtual AI employee of the federal Department of Stat Research.

HOLOGRAPHIC i-FIGURE: “Are you all right during this epidemic lockdown? I see you live alone.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“We want you to enjoy yourself. Are you watching learning programs?”


“Why not?”

“I don’t like them.”

“Well, we have a report on you. It indicates an output difficult to measure or interpret. What can you tell us about this?

“I don’t know. I’m composing a symphony.”

“A symphony? What is that?”

“It’s a piece of music written for a large orchestra.”

“I find no extant orchestras in the country.”

“That’s true. Nevertheless, I’m composing.”


“For that day when an orchestra may come into being again.”

“Your thought-impulses entered ranges we were not able to summarize.”

“I suppose that means your instruments are limited.”

“Your last statement is incendiary. It suggests we are imposing a restriction. As you well know, the science is settled on this point. We measure and interpret thought that contributes to an overall positive outcome, for the population at large.”

“I’m aware of that, yes. But the science rests on certain assumptions. I would call it greatest good as a lowest common denominator.”

“What do you mean?”

“You assume a certain mindset contributes to the consensus reality you favor. You legislate a range of thought that will produce the consensus.”

“That’s a gross oversimplification.”

“It doesn’t describe the algorithms you employ, but all in all I believe my summary is correct. You’re reality makers. You monitor thought-emissions, and when you find a departure from ‘combined averages,’ as you call them, you issue a citation.”

“What is this symphony you’re composing?”

“It’s impossible to explain. It’s music.”

“It has a specific message?”

“No. If it did, I would write out the message and leave it at that.”

“Why have we not heard of you before?”

“I was doing illustrations for the Happiness Holos.”

“What happened?”

“I became bored. A machine could make those pictures. So I decided to compose music.”

“The Happiness Holos are an essential social program.”

“Perhaps. They encourage people to stay on the positive side of a construct called Positive&Negative, which as you know is a State-sponsored theme. But what is superficially indicated by those two opposing sets is, in fact, fuel for the fire.”

“Fuel for what fire?”

“The artist can use and transform any material.”

“Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Nowhere. I’ve experienced it many times.”

“Your views are highly eccentric. I will have to consult your childhood history to understand their roots.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do you any good.”

“Why not?”

“Because your version, the US Department of Psychology version of cause and effect, is propaganda for the masses.”

“This is your idea of a joke?”

“Not at all.”

“When you compose this…symphony, how do you think?”

“It’s not thinking in the way you use the term.”

“No? Then what do you do?”

“I invent sound.”


“Large masses of sound.”

“Absurd. According to what underlying pattern?”

“None. Check the Library of Structures. I doubt you’ll find my activity in the catalogs.”

“Only known structures and patterns are contained in the files.”

“I don’t invent through pattern.”

“No? How then?”

“I improvise.”

“And this term refers to?”

“Something done spontaneously.”

“And you exceed prescribed ranges of thought in the process.”

“Perhaps. I would hope so. I don’t keep track.”

“You’re being flippant.”

“I assumed you’d eventually cite me. I’m just composing music during the lockdown.”

“There is no citation yet. You’re an anomaly. We investigate. We consider.”

“I’m afraid your and my idea of ‘consider’ are quite different.”

“Let me ask you this. When you are composing, do you ever believe you enter into a realm or area that could be called ‘non-material’? We’ve heard such claims before.”

“Not if you’re referring to some fairyland. But all thought is basically non-material. The brain registers it after the fact. Thought, the real thing, doesn’t take place in the brain.”

“You’re deluded. And disordered.”

“If I could simply confess to that and be on my way, I’d be a happy man.”

“You live in a society. To keep the peace and maintain the Positive, science has discovered that thought should occur within certain parameters.”

“If you insist.”

“We want to study you. It’s a great honor to be called. You could help extend the boundaries of research…we register variation from the norm in your present thinking.”

“What present thinking?”

“What you’re thinking right now.”

“That was quick.”

“The readouts are instantaneous…what are you doing?”

“I’m starting the fourth movement.”

“Wait. What you’re doing is disruptive.”

“It’s because of how you set your frequencies.”

All along the major esplanade, and in the lake area, and in the industrial parks and residential high rises, virtual structures shattered like glass.

The i-figure went dark.

A thousand holographic government buildings froze and vanished.

The composer said to no one, “I’m just composing. Well, apparently not just.”

—Back in his room at the edge of the city, he said, “I suppose that’s what they mean by a negative consequence.”

He sat down at his computer and turned it on. Before he went to the composing page, he had to click on a sunburst icon and read a government message for the day. It appeared:

“We want everyone to be happy during the lockdown. This is very important. Because much government function is being carried out by virtual assistants, we’ve encountered a disruption in service owing to a segment of Disorder entered into our Net. Please be patient. Repairs are underway. These are learning experiences for us. There is always a certain amount of disordered thought in the environment. Most of it is unintentional. We welcome the opportunity to study such examples. As a member of the educated class, we’re sure you can appreciate the research aspect of our work. Thank you for your patience. Food deliveries will be delayed by a factor of…two hours. Our latest figures indicate 2,147 new epidemic cases have been detected in your sector in the last 24 hours. Re-testing is underway. Please place your hand on the screen now…thank you. You may remove it. Just a moment…we’re unable to process your assay at this time. You’ll receive a message indicating your viral status as soon as the system is up and running again. End of message.”

The composer plugged a small module into the side of his computer. The screen went red. Black letters formed: DISEQUILIBRIUM. He pressed the send key.

The encrypted score of the first three movements of his symphony set out on a rapidly changing zig-zag journey to a series of caverns below cities in Belgium, Switzerland, Germany, Italy, America.

A program consisting of the synthesized instruments of a full orchestra read the score and began to broadcast the music to small groups of people sitting in the caverns…


In a government office, a Stat analyst read a note from his supervisor:

“The pandemic is having a positive effect on mass thought-patterns. We’re seeing a significant smoothing out of trends. With major focus on staying indoors, rapid testing, isolation, and official updates tuned to each population group, overall harmonization is expanding.”

“This gives us more time to focus on outliers and odd departures from the symmetrical norm. Attached you’ll find a story written by a man who has been living alone for the past 12 years. He’s a former scripter for the Department of Education series, ‘I Love School.’ He dropped out and began writing fiction. This in itself would be a red flag, but the content of his latest effort is quite problematical. Give it a read and send me your assessment.”

The analyst opened up the attachment, took several calming breaths, and dug in:

“You want to forget about the possibility that, buried under mind control, there is a very different human being? Suppose, for example, the psyche is equipped to see and use language itself in a way that’s foreign to us? Suppose this language sends signals to our endocrine systems, and our chemical and biological processes undergo a revolution?”

“Here is what an astronaut said in a closed room in Houston when he came back from a three-month voyage in space and emerged from his quarantine period. Here is what he told the men at the table.”

‘…You see it wasn’t just a planet. It was 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 thought it might be a puzzle. A game. So I just started walking. I don’t know how long I walked. You tell me I’ve been away for three months. All right. 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. And if it was organized, I couldn’t find the pattern. So for a very long time I rejected the whole place, the whole setup. That was my main experience. Because who would ever imagine being in a locale 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 years ago. A play being performed by crazy actors. They spoke in a “language” no one had ever heard of. It went on for almost an hour. I felt 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. 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 embedded in my mind. 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 draw. You’ve seen my “work.” You’ve looked at it, and you wonder whether you can use it to decipher what happened to me. But you can’t. I was just inventing out of a vacuum. A wonderful vacuum. I was working from nothing, a void. 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 drawings mean nothing to you. That’s fine. 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.’

There was silence in the room.

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

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

Security men stepped into the room. They had their hands on their holsters.

But the ops chief held up his hand.

“It’s all right,” he said. “We’re fine. This man found something. Let him go. No one will understand him. We’re protected. We’re all inside the protocol.”

There is the little-known work of philosopher/linguist Ernest Fenollosa, the author of The Chinese Written Character as a Medium of Poetry. Fenollosa analyzed modern Chinese words back to older pictographs that minimized nouns. Instead, these ancient pictographs, at one time, presented a view of reality that was far more dynamic and shifting, in which action was the main event. The subject and object of a sentence were themselves of lesser importance, and were related to one another by their mutual participation in that action. “To be” verbs—is, are, am—were just dead ducks. Irrelevant.

Suppose we had a language in which every noun was also a verb, in the sense that it threw off rays and curves and vectors of action and energy.

What would we have then?

We might, at the extreme, have an endless supply of dynamic universes. No potted plants.

We would be communicating with each other in a way that instantly gave birth to possibilities beyond current meanings embedded in our style of speaking and writing. The implications of each word of text would jump and leap. Instead of peeling off layers to get at the precise definition of a word, we would automatically be proliferating it.

Language, created by consciousness, also feeds back to it. And this feedback informs our way of viewing reality. The structure of language becomes, in a true sense, a monitor on what we can see and what we can’t see. What we can imagine and what we can’t imagine.

It’s as if a psychologist, running one of those old inkblot tests, told the patient: “Guess what? There’s nothing wrong with you. Forget all that nonsense. Look at these shapes and imagine anything you want to. Tell me what you invent. Then I’ll do the same. Pretty soon we’ll be speaking a different language, and we’ll levitate out of this worn-out reality…”

Let’s cut out middlemen.

Instead of the standard blots, print out all sorts of complex shapes on a page and say, OK BOYS, THIS IS A LOST LANGUAGE. FIGURE OUT WHAT IT MEANS. WORK ON IT.

Then if you can nudge or inspire or bribe people to do that, they will work for a few years believing there is really something there, something that is embedded in the shapes, and they’ll dig in and try to decode it. A few more years and they might throw in the towel and say, “The hell with this, let’s just make it up. Let’s say each shape means whatever we imagine it to mean, and each shape can change its meaning from minute to minute.”

Then they start writing to each other with these shapes and thousands of others they make up—and gradually, they forget about the notion that they might be crazy. After that, glimpses and glints begin to surface in their minds. They don’t know what they are, but they feel they’re de-conditioning themselves from any language they previously knew. They’re out in open water. Their operational concept of Understanding is undergoing a revolution.

They realize how tightly they clung to their old basic notion of Meaning.

They drop that. They discard it in the garbage, because they’re fascinated with the glints and glimpses they’re getting. They want more glimpses. They’re inventing this language with no rules and no assigned structure.

They’re experiencing sensations of flying and soaring. These sensations are feeding back into their body processes and into their minds. The hard wiring is giving way.

You could say they’re astronauts training for a mission in which they’ll encounter an intelligence that’s completely alien to Earth.

There are analogues to what I’m discussing here. For example, microtonal music. You tune a piano so that, altogether, 88 keys display the range of sounds contained within just one octave of a conventional piano. Going from the lowest note to the highest on the microtonal piano, you hear thin slices and gradations of notes that cover, all told, no more ground than one octave of a normal piano.

You sit at the microtonal piano and you play. And play. And play.

You listen to what you play.

At first, it’s repugnant. It’s not only dissonant, it’s absurdly muddy.

But after a few months of playing that piano every day, you begin to hear something. It comes through. And the sensations it brings might remind you of places you’ve been, experiences you’ve had. But they go further, into a void where new sensations and meanings you can’t name are possible, are happening. Are real. Eventually, super-real.

These sensations flood your endocrine system, and new proportions and sequences of hormones are produced. You experience feelings you’d forgotten or never had before.

The spectrum of feeling and thought expands.

Your whole notion of what you can experience and understand changes.

Your imagination is gearing up.

You never seriously considered there could be seven comprehensible sounds between any two keys on an ordinary piano. Now, you’re not only hearing them, they make sense. They convey emotion.

This would be like saying that, between each pair of words in a sentence, there are seven other words, and every one of them is an action verb.

When you understand that expanded and exploded sentence, you can talk to an alien from Parsec-12. He can talk to you.

After your first conversation, when you walk out of the facility where he’s under heavy guard, ride the elevator down to the parking lot, and drive through the gate, you look at the desert and you see things you never saw before.

You understand why magic was hard to do. It was all supposed to be taking place in a tight reality of unbreakable connections. Impossible. But now those connections have snapped. The landscape, any landscape, is much more inclusive and malleable.

You’re reminded things were this way once. And now processes in your body open up. There is a reason for them to change. They secrete information and energy that have been dormant for a long time. Dormant, because there was no use for them.

The cells in your nervous system wake up to a remarkable degree. They’ve been waiting for this moment. They turn off the perverted game show called Life they’ve been glued to for 40 years. They project rays in all directions. Your physical aliveness shifts up exponentially.

Through the walls of the holding facility behind you, you can see the alien. He’s nodding at you. Yes, he’s thinking. You’re on the right track.

—The stat analyst leaned back in his chair. He prepared to gather his thoughts so he could write a report for his supervisor.

The author of the very strange piece he’d just read was obviously insane. Anyone could understand that. But what could the government learn about outlier thought patterns from the piece? During the comfort of the lockdown, most people were settling in, trying to relax, turning off their stray ideas, looking for the Positive, as the authorities had urged. But this man, whoever he was, had gone in the opposite direction. Why? And why had he chosen language as his jumping-off point? He was trying to attack everything that was harmonious and repetitive.

The analyst remembered something from his own past. A novel he had read as a child. A sea adventure. A sailor had stepped off his ship at a distant port and walked along a road toward a range of hills. It was a summer afternoon.

The analyst remembered that as the sailor walked on this road carrying his pack, a whole scene had opened up in his child’s mind, and he had put down the book. He saw those hills and he walked up to them, too, with the sailor. He walked ahead of the sailor and he saw a valley, and there was a city in the valley, and very tall buildings, and people on the streets.

Among these people, he moved slowly, listening to them talk. He couldn’t understand their language.

And then he could. He felt he was falling and flying at the same time.

Now, in his office, he did a search and discovered the man who had written the piece he was supposed to report on lived in Hartsdale, a small town 20 miles from his office.

He pinned on his federal badge, took an elevator down to the parking lot, slipped on a mask, got in his car, and drove out of the facility.

The roads were empty. A half-hour later, he parked at the end of a dirt road next to a small cottage.

He entered the cottage without knocking.

The rooms were empty.

Floor boards in the bedroom were stacked in a pile, and there was a hole in the floor. He saw a ladder.

He climbed down the ladder to a dark room. The floor was dirt.

He felt the walls and found a door.

He opened it. People were sitting in chairs. They glanced at him and made no moves.

There was music. They were listening to music.

He sat down in a chair. He had never heard music like this before.

It engulfed him.

He was back in the city in the valley. He walked the streets, and he knew this was just the beginning. It was where he went to depart from what he had been thinking about. It was the first difference, the breaking of a connection. Not only the absence of gravity, but the absence of the character of gravity.

He felt quite alone and quite complete. But not isolated.

There was nothing from his past he needed to share.

And nothing about the pandemic or the lockdown.

It occurred to him there was no danger at all. No pandemic.

The whole edifice of danger and all its sub-sections were like old faded photos.

He stood still in the city.

—end of the dream—

The man who just had this dream made his coffee in the kitchen and took it back into the living room. Another day of lockdown. He sat down on the couch and shook his head like duck who’d just jumped out of a pond up on to dry land. He took a sip of coffee and turned on the news. He felt himself relax.

He flipped from one channel to another.

“A person over 65 who has suffered from any one of several key illnesses must be vaccinated, as a precaution. All hospital and nursing home employees must be vaccinated. Travelers returning from the following locations must be vaccinated before re-entering the country…”

“Here at Driver Two Corp, all our people take the vaccine proudly. We want the community to know we’re in the lead in compliance. We support the Governor and his team of public health advisors. Our new contact tracing app has built in signals telling you when you’re at risk in certain neighborhoods. Visit our Facebook page and learn more.”

“Hi, I’m Dr. Julie Meng of the CDC. I want to tell you about a man named Carl. He refused the vaccine and infected his whole warehouse and we had to shut down the company. Right now, Carl is on a ventilator fighting for his life in a hospital…don’t be a Carl…”

“Did you know you can report certain people who actively refuse the vaccine? Go to our Facebook page and learn who you can report on and why…”

“At YYY Corp, all 32,000 of us want to salute the nation’s contact tracers who are working to keep all of us safe. We know you’re out there protecting us 24/7. So we’re cutting your insurance premiums by 15 percent across the board, for the next six months, as a gesture of thanks. Tracing leads to vaccinating, and that’s what we all need—immunity from the virus…”

“Leading our coverage this morning, the CDC has pinpointed three areas in Utah where vaccine refusal has climbed higher in recent weeks. Some estimates place it as high as ten percent. A breakaway church and its pastor have been blamed for spreading conspiracy theories. In accordance with federal conditions under which the COVID vaccine can be mandated, one of those areas has now been designated a ‘hot spot.’ Local border controls have been set up. Two clinics are prepared to receive people who have turned down the vaccine and are being placed in custody. We now go live to the ER at Buchen Hospital…”

“In Houston, a group calling itself COVID Truth has leaked a public-health list of local residents who have so far refused to take the vaccine. Utilizing Facebook posts, 90 names have been exposed. Of course, medical privacy is an issue, but the majority of local citizens seem to be siding with COVID Truth…”

“Today, three eastern states reached agreement limiting inter-state travel, deploying a wide-ranging series of highway checkpoints, where officers can demand certificates of immunity…”

The man heard a rising noise. He walked over to his window and looked outside. A few blocks away he saw crowds gathering. They were spreading out across his neighborhood. How was that possible? He noticed they weren’t wearing masks. They were standing close together.

The dream flashed through his mind again.

Without thinking, he grabbed his jacket and went outside to join them.

An hour later, he was threading his way through thousands of people. The crowds extended all the way to downtown.

So many people were holding signs that said FREEDOM.

Could this…?

A woman next to him was laughing. She looked at him and handed him a pair of binoculars. He took them and looked in the direction she was pointing.

Along the highway, thousands of motorcycle riders were coming into the city.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

“What’s happening to me?” he said without thinking.

“Nothing,” the woman said. “It’s all over. Their organization is gone.”

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, 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.

In the year 3000: children of the pandemic

The ten thousand year war goes on

by Jon Rappoport

September 18, 2020

(To join our email list, click here.)

June 8, 3000. Press Briefing from the FREEDOM TRUST.

Subject: Origins of the VID Church.

ONE: Worldwide, the VID Church has nearly 500 million members. Its two main practices are mask wearing and selective distancing. Our TRUST scholars have traced these practices to the early years of the 21st Century.

TWO: Until now, it has been thought that anonymity and self-effacement were the roots of the VID practices. But new research has uncovered startling details.

THREE: In or about 2016, fear-inducing propaganda about an epidemic was broadcast across the world. The reputed cause of disease was a purported virus. As we now know, most of these particles are artifacts of laboratory tests, or beneficial carriers of waste products from cells. But in those ancient days, viruses were portrayed as dire threats.

FOUR: In 2016, and for some two decades moving forward, the so-called epidemic and the purported virus were called COVID. Eventually, the label was shortened to VID.

FIVE: Cults of the VID proliferated. The masks and the distancing were “scientific” superstitions, whose purpose was containment of the virus.

SIX: The cults eventually coalesced into a religion and a unified church. Its early leaders were politicians and graduates of social science university programs. A priest class emerged. Initially, the deities of VID were a mysterious group about which little is known. They were called the Culture Cancelers. Apparently, there was a movement among VID adherents to erase all history.

SEVEN: At the New York Summit of VID, in 2067, a ruling council replaced those gods with the entity named OV. His “master script” was introduced. Briefly, it commanded all church members to “seek self-sacrifice on behalf of The Greater Poverty.” Thus began the building of the cathedrals, in which many members enlisted.

EIGHT: Our TRUST scholars have discovered, in an underground bunker in the old Virginia, a treasure trove of documents describing the fictional COVID virus and its supposed infective properties.

NINE: Among these documents are startling files revealing a multilayered propaganda campaign carried out in the early decades of the 21st century, by public health agencies, the Chinese government, international scientists, and the press. The deceptive campaign was engineered, at the highest levels, with a conscious intent to falsely claim the existence of a novel virus and its deadly effects.

TEN: In these documents, there were many references to the “manipulation of case numbers.”

ELEVEN: An entity called “Bill and Melinda” was heavily involved in promoting the virus and the need for medical injections designed to prevent it from infecting humans.

TWELVE: We have secured the services of the law firm, Crowe, Farber, Kaufman, and Cowan, to handle any actions directed against us by VID leaders.

THIRTEEN: We are aware that some press outlets, under the control of VID, may choose to distort this vital story. We will deal with those matters in the courts.

FOURTEEN: Time and time again, aversion to the truth in high places has caused humanity to suffer grave injustices. We urge all people of good will to support honest research and the reformation of our educational institutions. Our goal, as always, is freedom of the individual.

The New York Times, June 18, 3000. GROUP SEEKS TO UNDERMINE VID CHURCH. In an effort that scholars and historians are calling “unsupported and vengeful,” a major Trust has launched a campaign to smear the global VID Church.

VID Church Pope, Shana Biden Sulzberger, has issued a rarely used proclamation, called a PCR, against the FREEDOM TRUST. This PCR is an order for all Church members to boycott the TRUST and its assets.

Pope Sulzberger has also broadcast a clarion call for law suits to be filed against the TRUST.

Harvard Chair of Archeology, Sir Robert Birx, has declared the TRUST findings “old tired charges that are being recycled, in an obvious attempt to defame poverty as way of life for the masses…”

President Mike Trumpa stated in yesterday’s White House press conference, “There are some great people in the VID Church. One of my companies helped build their Cathedral of St. Anthony in Atlantic City, and Church members were on board from day one, digging trenches and laying pipe. They made it possible for us to bring in the project on time and under budget…”

It’s hard to fathom why the TRUST is even interested in the VID origins. But stepping out of line isn’t new for its agitators. Over the past decade, its lawyers have launched numerous suits against the press and social media companies for illegal censorship. In every case, the principle of non-obligation has prevailed. No corporation is required to report the truth. Therefore, omission or censorship is also permitted.

NBC/CBS NEWS, June 18, 3000. Our parent company, a subsidiary of the VID Church, is filing suit against the FREEDOM TRUST for defamation, stemming from egregiously false claims the TRUST has made about the origins of VID.

In fact, VID, as a movement, grew out of a 2040 revelation, given to an unknown man from a group called CDC, in the foothills of Mt. Whitney, un the form of a visitation from an angel who called herself “the VID Seer.” The angel spoke of a new sacrifice “which will be the surrender of money.” Thus, a Church came into being.

This coming week, the Church begins its annual three-day Isolation Sacrifice. Members retreat from their familiar surroundings and conceal themselves in forests, wastelands, and deserted towns, where they wrap themselves in plastic sheets and breathe as little air as possible. Recent studies suggest this practice has a detoxifying effect, when combined with ingested pharmaceutical glyphosate.

The US National Institutes of Health is partnering with the VID Church to explore the psychological benefits of embracing poverty and rejecting all forms of profit.

A Church-sponsored federal bill, SB4539, would, if approved, increase the percentage of government-owned US companies from 70 percent to 92 percent. The mandate would also require every such company to appoint its CEO or president from a list of federal employees.

VID Pope Sulzberger states, “This is all about the evolution of humanity. At one time in our dark past, we believed that the sheer invention of any threat, even if imaginary, was acceptable, as long as it produced greater central control over the population. But we’ve finally come to understand that the population wants to be controlled. No pretext is necessary. The people want to accept poverty, as a spiritual way of life. That’s why the Church has endured. If we have an enemy now, it is groups like the FREEDOM TRUST. Their constant braying about liberty is anti-human. It represents the worst of the irresponsible impulses. These ‘freedom persons’ must be given a serum of truth, so they can join the rest of us who work for a just future…”

Pope Sulzberger recently married her third husband, Bill Greats, once known, in the business community, as the “prince of pharmaceutical mergers.” Mr. Greats has converted all his assets into non-profit charities organized within the VID Church. The most famous of these is the Buffet Ice Cream Cone Group, dedicated to raising funds for the US Treasury Department. Mr. Greats is currently sponsoring a study conducted by the Redfield Consortium, titled, “Eliminating Competition in Chimpanzee Communities: Implications for Human Engineering and Spiritual Consonance.”

The Pope and her husband are currently residing in Colorado, where she enjoys hiking, and studies the ancient art of slam-dancing.


Judge: At the moment, the Church and the Trust are suing each other. We want to resolve that issue. We’re also here, in private session, to consider a document the Trust wants to present in open court. Mr. Crowe, for the Trust, why don’t you speak first?

Crowe: The document, Your Honor, was published by an ancient newspaper, The Washington Crimes. It is dated May 9th, 2020, and headlined, “Some Governors Insist on Masks.” Our researchers discovered the original, on paper, sealed in a container in a cellar below a house in the District. We’ve had two independent authorities confirm its age and authenticity. I’ll read the article’s opening paragraph from my notes, and then make a short comment.

“Some governors are re-opening their states’ economies, but they insist that people wear masks in public, to prevent transmission of the SARS-CoV-2 virus, the cause of the COVID-19 pandemic. Public health experts state that masks and social distancing, along with lockdowns, are the only preventive measures that can help stem the tide of cases, until a vaccine arrives.”

This paragraph, and the rest of the article, make it clear that there was, in those days, a purported pandemic called COVID, and mask wearing and distancing were prominent features of the response. We will make the case that the origins of the VID Church grew out of this ancient episode. The Church was built on, and evolved from, a scientific hoax.

Judge: I’m going to put aside, for now, the question of authenticity of this document. I want to hear what the Church has to say. Bishop Bernays, what would your position be, if this document is real?

Bishop Bernays: The document would create chaos in the Church, among our members. We would therefore raise the stakes in court. No so-called document should be permitted to tear a Church asunder. The very stability of society is suddenly up for grabs. And once the document is made public, there is no putting the devil back in the bottle.

Judge: Would the Church be willing to withdraw its suit against the Trust and settle the Trust’s suit against you for damages?

Bishop Bernays: If and only if the document in question is destroyed. That is my opinion at the moment. Frankly, I’m stunned.

Judge: Mr. Crowe?

Crowe: We want full disclosure. We would not settle.

Judge: A higher authority is going to have to adjudicate this matter. I’m stunned as well. The question is: which authority?

Bishop Bernays: Sir, this is a religious issue. Not for a government to decide.

Judge: Meaning?

Bishop Bernays: We place it before God.

Judge: Which God?

Bishop Bernays: Ours. OV.

Judge: And how would that be done?

Bishop Bernays: Our Pope would conduct a rare ceremony called Antibody Diagnostic. It establishes a direct connection to OV.

Crowe: Absurd. Shall I count the ways?

Judge: You know, I can have the document destroyed. I can declare it a threat to National Security.

Bishop Bernays: The Church would accede to secular authority on that basis.

Crowe: I didn’t come here today unprepared. The Trust has other similar documents. All originals. They are in safe storage, in locations around the world.

Judge: What do you want, Mr. Crowe?

Crowe: The truth. That’s all.

Judge: I’m declaring a recess. This is a global Church we’re talking about, with 500 million members. Will you briefly pause your crusade, Mr. Crowe?

Crowe: Yes, sir.

Judge: Both of you, wait here. No communication with the outside. I’m going to have federal marshals in the room watching you. I’m going to be doing a little praying myself.

Crowe: The war goes on.

The judge retired to his chamber. The two attorneys stood in the room, and two marshals took up positions at the door.

Crowe: I’m aware the Church has a rather awesome archive of historical documents.

Bishop Bernays: This little show we’re putting on for the judge…he’s not going to allow you to expose your document in open court. He’s going to forbid you from publishing it anywhere. At any rate, we know all about the ancient fake pandemic. A few of us. We have hundreds of old newspaper articles. COVID-19, the virus, the masks, the distancing. We knew this day would arrive.

Crowe: So the only thing left is for all your Church members to know where their religion really came from.

Bishop Bernays: From a scientific hoax, rather than a revelation on a mountain? Why should people be disabused of their faith? What counts is what the Church stands for now.

Crowe: Submission to authority. Embracing grinding poverty as a way of life.

Bishop Bernays: We don’t see it as you do. We’re giving people what they really want. Release from desire. Emptiness. Function. Over three hundred million of them spend their lives, generation after generation, building cathedrals.

Crowe: Building them to what end?

Bishop Bernays: It doesn’t matter.

Crowe: Why not?

Bishop Bernays: Freedom to choose is only for the few. The rest are going to be slaves to something. It’s their choice.

Crowe: It’s a con.

Bishop Bernays: Or a miracle.

Crowe: Haven’t you ever wanted to shove in all your chips on your own INDIVIDUAL destiny?

Bishop Bernays: Why? Life is a pattern. Nothing more. The only question is, who provides that pattern?

Crowe: That’s a cynical view for a Bishop.

Bishop Bernays: If God wants me to see things differently, He hasn’t informed me.

Crowe: I believe I see—

Bishop Bernays: The source of my confidence? Even if the origin story of the Church is exposed, what difference will it make to our members? Most of them will go on as before. We might even see an increase in membership. Dedication runs deep. The truth is a cheap commodity.

Crowe: Then admit the facts and let’s be done with it.

Bishop Bernays: There’s nothing to admit. You’re the one who’s causing ripples in the pond.

Crowe: Your Church once rose, and it’ll eventually fall. Freedom isn’t affected by the same…pattern, as you would say.

Bishop Bernays: Now THAT’S something to think about. And I do. It’s a curious situation. The judge is returning. Let’s hear what he has to say…

The judge seems rattled as he resumes his seat on the bench.

Judge: I’m afraid there’s been a new development. It’s shocking. It supersedes this hearing. Your document, Mr. Crowe, is on ice for now. You may not release it. The penalty for publishing it would be EXTREME. News outlets are reporting an outbreak of disease in China. It’s serious. Apparently, our conviction that viruses are harmless may be misguided. There are 500 cases of a coronavirus infection, a lung problem. It’s quite serious. The Chinese government is in the process of locking down 50 million people.

Crowe: What?! This is a diversion, a distraction from the very thing we’re discussing—

Judge: You’re out of order, Mr. Crowe. I don’t want to hear your speculations and accusations. The VID Pope has just announced that all 500 million Church members will be taken off their cathedral-building duties and assigned to help victims of the outbreak around the world. Global leaders are praising the Pope for her devotion to the cause of saving lives and tending to the stricken. And you want to expose the Church as a FRAUD? It won’t fly.

Crowe: This is—

Bishop Bernays: It’s brilliant. I mean, noble.

Crowe: We’re not done.

Judge: Watch yourself, sir.

Crowe: We don’t fold. Don’t you know that by now?

Bishop Bernays: You think we’re overplaying our hand?

Crowe: You’re taking 500 million people who keep trying, every day, to believe in abject poverty, and now you’re making them stem the tide of an epidemic…what happens when they figure out this epidemic is a fake? And they will figure it out. You and your elite colleagues better have a very good hiding place. I’d recommend Saturn or Jupiter…

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, 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.

COVID and Hollywood in the carnival called reality

by Jon Rappoport

September 11, 2020

(To join our email list, click here.)

During the lockdowns, famous screenwriter, Joe Jim Bob Cash, in order to escape recriminations from his kids because he wouldn’t wear a mask, hid in the basement of his Beverly Hills mansion and wrote raw notes for a new script:

SCENE: Bill and Melinda in a frozen circle of Hell. Small apartment. Wheezing heater.

Bill: Maybe we should have released a real virus.

Mel: Don’t you remember what David Rockefeller told you? They mutate quickly, nobody knows if they’ll have any effect at all. Selling THE STORY ABOUT A VIRUS is much better. We control it.

Bill: Anyway, what are we doing here?

Mel: I think it’s a challenge, a test. What can we sell in this place, and to whom?

Bill: It’s too late to atone for our sins?

Mel: What sins?

Bill: Sorry, I forgot. We’re immune. But look out the window. There’s nothing but a sheet of ice in all directions. Nobody there.

Mel: We’ll find somebody and sell something.

SCENE: Conference room in a hotel. Two Biden advisors.

“How’s he doing?”

“Same old, same old. The doctors are trying to get the dosages right. Uppers, downers, the rumor is he’s on a dozen drugs. For the past five years. You know, so he can stand up and sound coherent for a few minutes at a time.”

“Do we want to win this campaign?”

“My guess is hell no. Why are we going with Biden? I think we’re supposed to lose to Trump, so rioters can try to burn down a hundred cities. Hell of a game plan.”

“It’s a strategy I haven’t dealt with before.”

SCENE: Conference room in the White House. Two Trump campaign advisors.

“Why isn’t the president sending in the FBI or troops to squash the riots?”

“He might be playing an angle. You know, show people the violence on television all the way up to the election and win in a landslide. Just a guess.”

“It could work.”

“Worked for Nixon in 1968.”

“What about the economy? It’s a horror story.”

“Trump blames it on the Democrats.”

“That’ll fly?”

“What other choice does he have? He bought the COVID fakery in one fell swoop. One of the worst moves a president ever made. Virus my ass.”

SCENE: Bunker a hundred feet below the basement of the New York mayor’s mansion. George Soros, an ex-CIA officer, a Chinese Army colonel.

Soros: Burn, baby, burn.

Ex-CIA: My list of paid operatives, hard cases, is up to 900. They know how to take a protest up to a crazy riot in five minutes. They’re good. We can ship them anywhere.

Chinese colonel: You need more. I can supply some Americans.

Soros: Colonel, how long do you think it’ll take to impose the Chinese social credit score system together with real time surveillance on all of America?

Chinese colonel: Five years. But we need ongoing chaos.

SCENE: Conference room, video game company, “FOR THE LOVE OF SHOOTING.” Two executives.

“We’re way down on sales of all games.”

“What did you expect? People are watching the riots on TV. Some of them are out in the streets. They’re into the real thing. We can’t beat that.”

“How about a game where we mix and match virtual with actual riots?”

“How do we do that?”

“I think our holograms are good enough. We project them in and among the actual street events. You know, holos of cops, soldiers, invaders from outer space, UN troops, monsters.”

“I’m trying to picture how it would work.”

“Leave that to our tech guys and scripters. They’ll figure it out.”

SCENE: Conference room, CNN headquarters. Two execs.

“So I want to test this out. At the top of the news, no anchor, no voiceover. We just show five full minutes of riot and burning footage, and flash, every nine seconds, a big blinking poster that reads: COVID DEATH, COVID DEATH, COVID DEATH.”

“I like it.”

Joe forwards the script notes to a producer friend. The reply; “Have you gone full-blown whacko?”

Joe and the producer talk.

Joe: How can I sell this?

Producer: Two ways. One, it all takes place in a nut house. The inmates are pretending to be Bill and Melinda and the other characters. Or we make a documentary of your severe mental decline during the lockdowns, and use your notes as evidence.

Joe: Suppose my notes reflect the truth?

Producer: Suppose the man in the moon is George Washington? What the hell’s wrong with you?

Joe: AGAIN—what about the stuff in my notes? Suppose—

Producer: Suppose superheroes really do fly from building to building and repel missiles. Come on, Joe. Put your mind right. We’re in the puerile fantasy business, not the apeshit insane business.

Joe: Put my mind right? How?

Producer: Think about money. It always works for me.

Joe: I have all the money I’ll ever need.

Producer: Then think about getting drummed out of the corps. Never working in Hollywood again. Going on a blacklist. Your family is devastated. Humiliated. Their friends shun them.

Joe: Yeah, that rings a bad bell.

Producer: Of course it does.

Joe: It makes me wonder why I’m in this business at all.

Producer: Don’t wander into MORALITY. That’s quicksand.

Joe: Those notes I sent you—let’s say they represent an opinion. A point of view. Why can’t that point of view see the light of day? Why can’t it join all the other ideas out there?

Producer: Because, my idiot friend, it attacks what’s already been sold. Get it? Nobody wants a few hundred million customers asking for their money back. Let me talk to your wife.

Joe: She took the kids to Florida. They’re staying with her mother. She’s really pissed off.

Producer: She understands what’s what. She’s thinking on a practical level. Look at it this way. If you went with these new thoughts of yours, you’d be a small voice in the wilderness. What could you possibly accomplish?

Joe: I like that image. Voice in the forest.

Producer: Everybody does. Until they’re successful. Then they wise up. That’s the story arc. Struggle, success, adjustment. This is the life we’ve chosen.

Joe: Not anymore. I finally got some sleep the other night, and I had a dream—

Producer: For God’s sakes, Joe!

Joe: No. Listen. I had a dream. I died, and I went to this place. A giant production studio. They were making a movie about Earth. The people down here were all in it, only they didn’t know it. It was about chaos and destruction. Exactly what we’re seeing now.

Producer: Joe, you couldn’t sell that piece of crap to a high school drama class.

Joe: The director said to me, “You have a tiny cameo as just another idiot who won’t follow his conscience.” He laughed at me. I got mad. I tried to summon up some kind of power to destroy the whole studio. I could feel lightning flowing through my veins. Then I woke up.

Producer: You may have brain damage. These plot twists you’re giving me are really sophomoric. You’re regressing.

Joe: Then I went back to sleep. This time I was in a hospital room. A doctor was bending over you. You were lying in bed. He was explaining the drugs he was prescribing. Heart drugs. Thinners. Statins. All sorts of medicines. He said you had the virus and there were complications. He said they might have to put you on a ventilator.

Producer: That’s not funny, Joe.

Joe: Lois and your son came into the room. It was as if they were on death watch. They looked grim. I tried to tell you there was nothing wrong with you and the doctors were crazy. You wouldn’t listen to me. I started weeping in the dream. I was trying to fight the bastards, but you were going down the drain. I saw your obituary in the New York Times. Film producer dead at 62. COVID-19.


Producer: A movie about a producer who’s diagnosed with the virus. His friend, a writer. The producer gave the writer his first big break. The writer goes nuts and imagines all sorts of dire conspiracies…in his demented state, he tries to save his friend, but of course he can’t. It has human dimensions. How people fight reality with hope in impossible things. The movie is really about the writer. It’s thin, but we could flesh it out. Make it for ten million, there’s a ten percent chance we might break even.

Joe: Stop it. I know you were tested. I know it came back positive.

Producer: What are you talking about?

Joe: Lois told me.

Producer: Joe, I haven’t talked with Lois in weeks. She’s staying with a friend in Manhattan Beach.

Joe: Lois is at home with you. She’s right there.

Producer: You’re mistaken, Joe.

Joe: She told me you had a cough and were running a fever. Don’t let the doctors con you. If you—

Producer: I can’t listen to this anymore.

Joe: It’s just a cold. Maybe flu. Don’t buy their diagnosis.

Producer: I was tested once. The result was ambiguous.

Joe: I’m talking about the second test.

Producer: What?

Joe: Done by the doctor you told me about, who has connections to the CDC. You bragged about him.

Producer: I don’t recall that.

Joe: Sure you do. Wake up, Phil. We’re not talking about a movie.

Producer: Joe, haven’t you learned by now that our lives are out of our hands?

Joe: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Producer: Things happen to us and we have to accept them.

Joe: We don’t have to accept anything.

Producer: You’re wrong.

Joe: So if they put you on a train to your grave, you’ll go along with it?

Producer: They’re the experts.

Joe: Are you listening to yourself?

Producer: Joe, in my work, in my position, a lot of people depend on me. If I try to go against the tide, what are they going to think? I can’t let them down.

Joe: You think all those people want you to die?

Producer: If necessary, yes. They want me to follow the rules. They want me to stay in line.

Joe: I see. So you’re a quiet martyr. A “conformist saint.”

Producer: I’m just a regular person. I’m like everybody else.

Joe: Snap out of it!

Producer: Think of all the actors and directors I know. Most of the successful ones are under the care of doctors. They have some sort of condition. Many of them are connected to medical charities. Imagine how they’d feel if I suddenly challenged my diagnosis. If I told my doctor to go to hell. If I refused to take medicine. If I went around without a mask. In case you haven’t noticed, Hollywood is part of the wider medical community.

Joe: You have an autographed picture of Tony Fauci on your wall?

Producer: As a matter of fact, I met him once. He may be the only person standing between us and destruction. And if Joe Biden is elected, we’ll have a national plan to fight the pandemic, and Fauci will lead it. We’ll have the closest thing to a medical presidency this country has ever seen.

Joe: Your investments went belly up, didn’t they, Phil? I can only assume you’re talking this way because you’re broke. It has to be about money.

Producer: I’ve had some trouble with my new real estate venture. That’s all.

Joe: It has to be a lot worse than that. Who’s bailing you out?

Producer: It’s business. The land is just sitting there now. A group of investors showed up. They want to buy it and build a state-of-the-art hospital. It’s a godsend.

Joe: I see. Would your doctor happen to be one of the investors?

Producer: No. I mean, he’s put a little money into it. There are two groups. The minor group is a bunch of actors and a few producers. The big players are coming in from the outside. They want a research wing connected to the hospital. Cutting-edge treatments. New vaccine approaches. The Gates Foundation is involved. For all I know, they might be the moving force behind the whole project. But here’s the thing, Joe. I’m strapped for cash right now. I wanted to talk to you about that. I need funds to tide me over.

Joe: How much?

Producer: A hundred thousand.

Joe: I want to talk to Lois.

Producer: I told you, she’s not here. She’s living in Manhattan Beach.

Joe: Why do you keep lying?

Producer: Because she’s gone crazy! Okay? She’s flipped! I tell all my friends she isn’t here! I don’t want them talking to her! She thinks the doctors are going to hurt me. She’s delusional! I can’t afford to rock the boat! I’m on the Hollywood committee to elect Biden. They’re asking a few of us to make public statements supporting the riots. It’s all connected, Joe. Everything is connected. The other day, Lois talked to my doctor about hydroxychloroquine. I thought he was going to drop me as a patient. You should have seen his face.

Joe: What does he want you to do?

Producer: I’ve tested positive. I have symptoms. He wants me to spend a few days in the hospital. Then I isolate myself at home.

Joe: Don’t go to the hospital.

Producer: I have to. There’s no way out.

Joe: I’m your friend, Phil. You gave me my first break. I’ll give you the money. But don’t go in the hospital.

Producer: Is that advice or an ultimatum, Joe?

Joe: It’s a prayer.

Producer: I’m sorry.

Joe: And if push comes to shove, you and Lois can come here and stay with me.

Producer: I appreciate that. Now go back to work and give me a superhero script with a few monsters in it. For after the lockdowns.

Joe: I’ve got one. A team of researchers expose the fake pandemic that has no virus, and they save the world.

Producer: Yeah, right. Then you and I will be doing off-off-Broadway and begging for nickels.

Joe: There is no off-off. There’s no Broadway. It’s all boarded up. The money men left New York. The tax base of the city is shrinking to the size of a raindrop.

Producer: What are you, a financial analyst now?

Joe: Just following the clues.

Producer: Think Bill Gates. Give me a fantasy script he would like.

Joe: He’s already in the notes I sent you. He and Melinda are in a frozen circle of Hell. There’s no one else in that place. They’re trying to figure out what they can sell and to whom. Okay. Suddenly, Bill gets an idea. They have thousands of miles of ice surrounding them. Now they need to cut big blocks and build a bridge up to the Tropics, where they can peddle the ice. Superman shows up. He thinks the frozen circle is his Fortress of Solitude. Bill impales him with a giant icicle, and the war is on. Two great forces trying to destroy each other. This is just the opening scene. Then Batshit and his sidekick, Robin Hood, appear, with Friar Tuck and Little John and Maid Marian. She’s wearing something low-cut from Victoria’s Secret.

Producer: Okay, Joe, enough.

Joe: There’s nothing wrong with you. You have a cold.

Producer: I have obligations.

Joe: They’ve got you in a box.

Producer: Damn right. It’s part of the cost of doing business. Overhead.

Joe: Step out of it. Breathe. Take off that stupid mask.

Producer: I’m in a delicate situation. If I make a wrong move, they’ll crucify me.

Joe: Don’t let them put you on a ventilator. In New York, just about everybody over 65 who goes on a ventilator dies.

Producer: That’s ridiculous. That’s not true.

Joe: Don’t take the antiviral drugs. They’re toxic.

Producer: You sound like Lois.

Joe: She’s in your corner. She’s looking out for you.

Producer: I want her to see a psychiatrist.

Joe: You’re throwing away her loyalty like an old dishrag.

Producer: I’m sorry.


Producer: Anyway, Joe, thanks for the money. I appreciate it. Gotta go.

Joe: Take care of yourself.

Producer: I almost forgot. One more thing. Our wives got together last week for a few minutes. This contact tracing business? Somebody at my doctor’s office asked me to list all the people—I mentioned that Lois talked to your wife…

Joe: So I could be getting a call to get tested.

Producer: Yeah. I panicked.

Joe: You’re now a snitch. If I refuse to get tested—I go on a blacklist? This is like the 1950s? The House Un-American Activities Committee?

Producer: Don’t fool around, Joe. It’s nothing like that. It’s science. Cooperate. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of this.

Joe: Meaning it’s political.

Producer: Everything is.

Joe: I AM a screenwriter. I refuse to get tested. I WAS a screenwriter. Nice neat formula.

Producer: Stop acting like a child. I’m trying to help you.

Joe: How is snitching helping me?

Producer: They would have come up with your name eventually, on their own.

Joe: Really? You’re sure about that?

Producer: I’m not sure about anything. I’m flailing. Trying to keep my head above water.

Joe: Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Phil.

SCENE: Frozen Circle of Hell.

Bill: You know, we did everything right. Sold the virus story. Sold the testing, the tracing, masks, distancing, the lockdowns, the vaccine. Humans are dangerous. That was always our premise. They have to be controlled. The only way to do that is by stimulus-response. Find an input that delivers strict obedience. We carried out our end of the deal very well. So why are we here? Why weren’t we rewarded?

Mel: Simple. There is no justice. We make our own.

Bill: Exactly. So let’s get busy cutting blocks of ice. We have to build a bridge to the tropics. We’ve got product to sell. Lots of product.

Mel: Never give up.

Bill: It’s never over. Every problem has a solution. That’s ALL existence is. Problems and solutions.

Mel: We’re engineers.

Bill: Everybody else is a crazy human. We keep the crazies in their cages, forever.

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, 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.

COVID news in the age of the impossible; the reality war

by Jon Rappoport

September 4, 2020

(To join our email list, click here.)

Dateline, June 2, 2074.

Good evening, this is Lester Muir. Our top story tonight: a treasure trove of documents written by the once-famous philanthropist, Bill Gates, has been unearthed in a bunker near Seattle.

Last weekend, workers clearing the ruins from a bomb set off by the Nation ZZAHC discovered the long-rumored Gates Diaries. A shocking release from the Smithsonian Department of History states:

“Mr. Gates, obviously in a deranged state of mind, wrote, ‘I’ve taken a virtual tour of Hell. Just in case I end up there, things are all set. My Foundation has donated three billion dollars toward the construction of a new wing, which includes a five-star resort where Melinda and I will spend our days. The wing will also feature a drug and vaccine research facility…’”

Ten years ago, the cryogenic factory where Gates’ brain had been frozen and stored collapsed in a hurricane, and all heads were lost.

The Biden Department of Advanced Linguistic Studies at Harvard will cooperate with the Smithsonian in analyzing the Gates Diaries.

Before moving on to our next story, subscribers to our Class A Portal can now click over to learn more about the Gates discovery. That Portal broadcast is only for gen-rich viewers who have received the injectable Genetic Modification Series 9.


This is Lester Muir, for our Series 9 subscribers. We have a brief report from the Chairman of Biden Studies, Sir Dulles Op Obama, grandson of the former president of the United States. Sir Dulles is hoping the Gates Diaries will include no “confession” of “a never-discovered coronavirus.” Such an inaccurate characterization would destabilize trading markets and cause yet more riots that would have to be put down by force.

Sir Dulles warned that all speculations about fake viruses should remain in Limbo, where they can cause relatively little harm.

That warning is now a directive issued by the President’s Council on Surveillance. Do not discuss fake viruses. The US-China All Eyes System will pick up such conversations and reduce digital funds in offenders’ accounts.

Last month’s massive hack of the All Eyes System has been repaired. It is once again fully functional.

You, our subscribers, are our most valued asset. Your genetically enhanced status makes you the elite of the elite. What is your duty as gen-rich pioneers? To do everything you can to preserve order. As you know, we are facing an ongoing revolution from many quarters. In particular, the Bitter Clingers want to target you and your privilege.

In their latest round of propaganda, they are publishing false studies claiming your extended longevity is a sham, and your genetic alterations are unworkable and even harmful. These studies must be censored at every level. You are therefore urged to make donations to the GoogFace Fund. Its AI InfoSweeps are the best in the business.

As for your private security forces, we recommend Vanguard-State Street-BlackRock. Their resources are unparalleled. We here at NBC have wide-reaching contracts with their Serbian ground troop brigades.

NBC has been taking the lead in lobbying for an open windows policy regarding subscriber communications of all kinds. We believe your freedom would be well-deserved. Our proposal, as you know, is to release you from all surveillance vectors between the hours of 2 and 4AM on alternate Mondays. Unfortunately, so far our efforts have failed to make inroads on national parliament deliberations. We’ve taken up the issue with the US CFR-Trilateral Intelligence Nexus, and this is what we’ve learned: security leaks are emanating from our own gen-enhanced subscribers. We have no details so far. We assume this means a few of you are reporting out the contents of these confidential briefings, under the misapprehension that the surveillance net will not pick up your gross violations. You’re no doubt already the targets of investigation.

On a brighter note, the new New York Alliance is hard at work digitizing what amounts to a new branch of the economy designed for trade and commerce, exclusive to a network of the gen-rich. Of course, the trickle-down effects to other classes will ultimately benefit the entire population. But this plug and pay will facilitate your day-to-day business activities and ventures with unprecedented speed and clarity. It’s a universe built for you. Find new opportunities. Meet with like-minded speculators.

Gain access to proprietary files listing depressed and seized properties large and small, by category. You can buy AND sell properties with a click. It’s a trading market.

Now, for those of you with a real zest for adventure, NBC is partnering with the Gates School of Investment Logic, to present an entirely new and experimental download seminar.

The data are priceless. Learn how to set up your own non-profit foundation, fund pharma research, promote the anticipated results, invest in those pharma corporations doing the research, watch stock prices soar, and make profit. That’s the short description. Give, promote, invest, profit. But the innovation is the method of learning:

It’s a direct download, into the brain. Experimental, as I say. Up to now, we’ve been successful at inducing feelings, impulses, aversions, preferences—in some people. But it’s a new day. We’re working to insert entire data files AS KNOWLEDGE in the mind. Without coercion. This is a major leap forward. Do you want to try it? These files are for the gen-rich only.

Bill Gates once wrote, “The aftermath of COVID is the key. That’s when the new changes will take hold. Bold technologies will replace older ways of thought and action.” Downloading knowledge is the frontier.

Disclaimer: No liability is attached to NBC or any of its partners. In prior clinical trials, some volunteers experienced transient memory loss and motor impairment.

—All of which leads to today’s talking points. The big question facing us is: who invents reality? Are we going to create reality for the masses, or are we going to allow them to create it for us?

The new technologies are about to answer that question. If researchers can insert/inject the quality and content of KNOWLEDGE/PERCEPTION, it becomes reality.

The first crude attempt, on a wide basis, was the COVID nano vaccine. It attempted to place tiny sensors in the brain and body, for the purpose of receiving instructions from a central command point. The results were spotty, at best. But that was to be expected.

Updates were introduced with COVID booster shots. —Still, wildly unpredictable outcomes. Many people reported hearing voices. Some of them went on to found churches and cults.

Soon, however, the combination of nanotech and genetic inserts introduced what researchers called the Contentment Index. Also known as the Placidity Constant. It was the high-tech equivalent of the old invocation, “Remain Calm.”

Here is the current problem researchers are working on. If you shoot impulses which represent 50 million words into the brain, how does the brain interpret those messages? How does it translate them? Does it integrate them with prior knowledge?

And finally, here is the conundrum: who is listening to the brain? We are suddenly in the uncomfortable realm of metaphysics. Some experts will insist there is no need for anyone to hear what the brain is saying. The brain IS the human being. Others will claim there must be a Being apart from his brain. If so, who will control that Being?

In any event, apparently Bill Gates thought he was hedging his bets when he made his donation to a new wing in Hell. This must have happened near the end of his life when he went mad. We wonder whether he was an early victim of one of the experiments he funded.

Yet, we should admire his persistence. He envisioned a day when the human population would exist as a “coordinated apparatus.” That’s what he called it. An assigned function for every person in the overall scheme of things.

Here are two more snippets from his Diaries: “We are simply transferring medieval feudalism, with modern technology, into a new age. The master sits in his castle. He is equipped, first and foremost, with genetic enhancements. He can think and plan with awesome speed and specificity. He feels a steady hum of confidence. He is always young…”

“Depopulation is a given. Fast or slow. Gradual deletions will work best. Selective targeting, based on studies and projections, is essential. What matters is the human race will survive. The species will endure. It’s the same for any animal population. If you cull a herd, you are not making a complete erasure. You can enhance those creatures you preserve, but you enhance them to produce only what you need from them.”

We have a question from a subscriber: “Lester, how can you be appearing simultaneously on the public and private broadcasts?”

Well, I’m live on the public side. Here, you’re watching and listening to our latest AI version of me. Naturally, I’ve been profiled carefully by my employers at NBC, and they’ve had a replica built that thinks and speaks as I would. That is to say, I am that replica.

In fact, I can tell you that a remarkable Bill Gates AI replica is presently living in China, and is working as a consultant to the Regime. He’s housed in a building in one of newer smart cities.

I hope to interview him in the near future.

NBC is partnering with Microsoft to create AI replicas of a number of historical figures. Among them: David Rockefeller, Henry Kissinger, George Soros, and Hillary Clinton. Eventually, the network will feature them in live broadcasts and conversations.

If you’re wondering whether a future AI candidate for could run for, and win, the US presidency, I believe the answer is yes. What would we be asking the public to accept? A synthesis of the best thinking and organizational planning, congealed into the perfect likeness of a human being. Why would that be a problem? These days, almost all political decisions are technical choices. The overall values and assumptions of civilization have been set in stone. The only real issue is controlling rebellions.

For example, if my biological counterpart were to disappear tomorrow, what exactly would be lost? I would still be here.

And that is today’s report.

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, 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.

Anthony Fauci and the Galactic Museum

~ a short story ~

by Jon Rappoport

August 28, 2020
(To join our email list, click here.)

“Governments throw money at a problem. Bill Gates directs money at a problem. But what problem is he seeing? You’d better figure that out, because, would you take an injection from this man?” (Notes for The Underground.)

My friend Charlie recently sold a painting to the Gregorian Museum out on Galactic Park.

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.

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.

When Charlie calls out to the people inside his painting, 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 something. 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? 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 his pictures. 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. And for some reason, they were all wearing cloth masks.

What are they eating, I asked him.

Beats me, he said. But they don’t seem worried. They look okay.

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.

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.


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 in my landscape. That was just the initial draw. They’re building their own stuff in there. They’re…poaching!


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 put on 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:


They all looked toward the sound of his voice.


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

They were nodding and saying yes.


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


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 then there 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.

And there was one other thing. They were calling him FAUCI. They repeated the word over and over, as if it were a chant. He told them to stop. They did.

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 bourbon 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. He’s good.

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

We drank in silence for a while.

I told him: those people with their wells and yurts and ritual masks? 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 the thing, he said. They liked 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? Someday, 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 gift boxes of mints. They say there’s lots of room in their universe and they’re looking for new settlers.

Here’s the twist. They claim they’re living in a permanent pandemic. Some sort of virus. As if this would be an inducement for people here to join up and sign on and emigrate.

They’re…I guess you could say, devoted to this pandemic of theirs. It seems to be a major part of their religion. Hard to tell.

A few of our scholars were able to take a look at their bible. It’s composed of studies. The language is strange and convoluted. All about tests, viruses, projections, models, injections, and containment measures. Apparently, where they come from, they have to keep away from each other, at a distance of several yards. At first, our scholars thought this was to prevent disease transmission, but it seemed more like a ceremony. Anyway, we began to believe they’re trying to infect us with their disease. Of course, it isn’t working. We’re healthy. We don’t get sick very often. In their bible, there’s quite a lot of language about mask-wearing. It’s mandatory for them—but here, they’re not bothering, which adds to our suspicion that they’re trying to infect us.

Then—our people found, in their bible, mention of a man named Fauci. He was some kind of prophet. They still revere him. He lived long ago. He foretold a time of great pestilence. They’ve built monuments and even shrines to him back home.

I called Charlie right away and told him about Fauci. He didn’t want to know about it. Look, I said, maybe these people come from that world inside your painting. Maybe they’re actually a lot smaller than they appear to be here. This is fantastic.

He blew up and started cursing at me.

I guess I can understand his reaction. He paints a painting and everything is just fine, and then other people look at it, and then they walk into it. That’s the farthest thing from what he intended.

This is one of those problems artists face, I guess. What are they going to do? They paint a painting or write a novel, and the audience puts their own twist on it.

It can even become a religion. Of course, I don’t have an issue with that. I’m a businessman. I see an opportunity, I take it. If you can sell a product, and people decide to use it in their own way, so what? As long as they like it, who cares?

This guy Fauci probably saw things that way. He was selling disease. A lot of customers bought in. They went whole hog and started a church. What was he going to do? Abdicate? Maybe he enjoyed playing the prophet.

In our world, we have all sorts of laws against corruption, double-dealing, fraud, and so on, but most people ignore the rules. Commerce at any cost, no matter what, is the tradition.

I’ve told Charlie to wise up. Selling and buying—what more do you expect? Sure, people get hurt in the process, but it’s what we’re stuck with. May as well make the most of it.

I‘ve been around the block a few thousand times. As a hobby, I study societies, civilizations. Freedom? Honor? They’re always trampled on.

Why? Because people won’t keep fighting for what they believe in. Then they stop believing.

I don’t blame them. I’m sympathetic. I accept their weak attitude. In fact, I use it. Wouldn’t you, if you could, when all is said and done?

I’ve lived in a lot of times and places.

My name is Bill Gates, and I like to think of myself as a practical man.

This Fauci. I feel I know him from somewhere. Maybe a long time ago, we worked together. I’ve worked with so many people. They might start out with a few honorable principles that cause them trouble. Then I show them they need to get real. Then things go much better for them.

One day I said to Charlie, look, you’re inventing new worlds all the time. It’s terrific. But somehow, people take it the wrong way. They don’t see how pure your ideas are. So you have a problem. I can straighten that out for you. You just need to make an adjustment. Don’t expect so much from people. Relax. Just that little change, and you’ll be on the road to fame and fortune. Don’t fight them. Cater to their weaknesses.

He couldn’t see it.

But I keep trying.

Charlie, I say, let people have their illusions, just get rid of yours. Join the majority and play the game. The only game there is. Control, or be controlled. Am I right? Come on. Sure I’m right. See a problem, solve a problem. What else is there?

When I find someone who won’t give in, I do everything I can to turn him.

If you don’t like me, fight me. Let’s see who wins.

When I notice a certain kind of…LIGHT, it irritates me. I try to turn off the switch. That’s my thing. I operate on a certain level. I want everybody to live on that level.

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, 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.

Dispatches from the War: the trial of John Q Citizen

by Jon Rappoport

August 21, 2020

(To join our email list, click here.)

John Q found himself in a small courtroom. The lighting was dim. He’d been brought there to stand trial for a minor offense. He was trying to remember what it was. Not wearing his mask? Not keeping his distance? Breaking curfew? The judge was sitting behind a table on an elevated platform.

The judge began speaking—

You think you’ve been arrested because of some little item. You’re wrong. What we’re talking about here is reality. The picture frame and your place in the picture. Your life is INSIDE. That’s the deal. Whether you agreed to the terms is beside the point.

Once you’re inside the picture, you’re expected to take on all the duties of a law-abiding citizen. That’s your ID package. No exceptions. It doesn’t matter what the rules are, you follow them. You’re supposed to get a haircut and a shave, that’s what you do. You’re supposed to wear a suit, you wear a suit. You’re supposed to fall in line, you get in line and wait. If one day the crap hits the fan and everything goes blooey, you wait for orders.

Some days are sunny, sometimes it rains. You have other dreams, you ignore them. You’re carved down into a shape. You assume that shape. You live according to what that shape is supposed to do. You’re a CITIZEN. You aren’t anything else.

This is a one-time offer. Today we fine you. If you show up here again, we stick you in jail. You and all other citizens put together are a PATTERN. We don’t expect you to understand it, we just expect you to do your part.

What else do you think this IS? Stop testing the limits. The limits aren’t going to move. Everybody starts out thinking he’s a foreigner to reality. He’s taking a look-see. He’s checking out the situation. But that’s not the way it is. We’re here to make sure everyone gets the message. Once you’re in, you’re in.

We’re not interested in speculation. We’re interested in facts. We make the facts. Somebody has to. You didn’t wear a mask. We don’t care about the mask. Can’t you see that? We only care about the rule. Tomorrow we say don’t wear a mask. Then that’s the rule.

You’re shaved down and carved down to be a citizen who follows orders. That’s why you’re HERE—Earth, reality, America, whatever you want to call it. You don’t understand reality. We do. That’s the difference between you and us.

We thrive because you’re powerless. We want you to forget about power. You’re up against a whole lot of good citizens who believe they’re powerless. Get it? That’s their religion. It makes perfect sense to them.

Remember the Old Testament story of Joseph? During the seven-year famine, he was chief advisor to the Pharaoh. He sold back, to the people, part of the wheat he had already collected from them. Then finally, he distributed one more pile, in return for the people selling THEMSELVES to the Pharaoh. There is nothing new about our current arrangement.

What kind of show did you think we were running? I’m not just a petty bureaucrat. We know there is power. We know the individual secretly has power. We work to keep that fact away from him. We want to make him forget, to feel shame and guilt.

When we see he’s convinced he’s lost and we’ve won, we feel our own juice. We want to see him defeated. That’s our goal. That’s why we run things the way we do. Every citizen who gives up is a feather in our cap.

This is our movie, we’re the producers, and you’re in crowd scenes. That’s it. We don’t want you sticking out from the crowd or wandering off. Virus, no virus, epidemic, no epidemic, do you think we care about any of that? We only care about BEHAVIOR.

People above us in the pecking order wrote the script, and then other people sold it, and now we’re producing it. On a day to day basis. It’s our job and our calling. As long as you pretend you have no power, as long as you do whatever you need to do, in order to keep pretending, we’re good. We sell amnesia, and you’re the customer.

We don’t care whether you’re rich or poor, whether you work at some menial job, or you’re a high-brow, as long as you toe the line. You can salute whoever and whatever you want to—the flag, the country, the president, God, it doesn’t matter, as long as you stay in your place.

At some point in life, everyone gets a glimpse of the fact that reality is elastic. It’s invented. Our job is to make sure everyone shoves that moment down into his memory and below his memory into the dark and forgets about it.

If he bows down to Something he thinks is telling him that he can’t change reality, that it isn’t up to him, all the better. If he worships doom, all the better. If he believes he’s coming to a rational conclusion that reality is permanently fixed in place, all the better. If he believes inventing new reality is a sin, good. If he thinks real rebellion is impossible, good.

We want realists. A realist is a person who says, “What can I do? Nothing.” That person is a little fleck of gold in our account.

We’ve studied enough history to know the evidence is ABUNDANT: pushed down inside the individual is enormous creative power to invent new reality. We also know his hostile, vicious, rabid denial of that fact is a chronic disease. Have you ever thought about—

John Q Citizen clears his throat and says, “How much do I owe, Your Honor?”

“Two thousand dollars.”

“Where do I pay?”

“The clerk’s office down the hall.”

His eyes dull, Citizen turns and walks out of the court room.

As he’s about to place his hand on the knob of the door to the clerk’s office, a spontaneous question forms in his mind. He’s asked himself this question before, but never with such immediate clarity.

“What am I?”

He feels an explosion at the back of his head.

Suddenly, he looks around…makes up his mind, and then walks toward the entrance of the building.

He feels light on his feet. Alive.

However, before he can walk outside, he notices the scene around him has reshaped itself. He’s no longer in a courthouse. It’s a theater. He has a ticket in his hand.

He sees a door. He goes over and opens it. Moves inside, into warm darkness.

“Is this a good idea?” “Why did I do it?”

He can already feel a merging sensation. Electromagnetic fields are humming, even before the movie starts.

The theater is filled with people. John Q takes his seat. Crystal clear thoughts move through his head.

“Don’t forget where I came from. Don’t forget this is just a movie. Don’t fall asleep. The movie creates nostalgia for a place that doesn’t exist. Don’t surrender. I’m here to find out why the movie has power.”

The lights dim.

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

Suddenly, he’s looking at a huge pasture filled with flowers. The sky is a shocking blue. He can feel a breeze on his arms and face.

He thinks, “This is a hypnotic weapon.”

Now, the pasture fades away and he’s standing on an empty city street at night. It’s drizzling. He hears sirens in the distance. A disheveled beggar approaches and holds out his trembling hand. He waits, then moves on.

John Q looks at the wet shining pavement and snaps his fingers, to change it into a lawn. Nothing happens.

He’s shocked.

He waves his hand at a building. It doesn’t disappear.


He reaches into his pocket and feels a wallet. He walks over to a streetlight and opens it. There’s his picture on a plastic ID card. His 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. He looks at the ID card again. There’s an address.

He remembers the address. He remembers a small cottage at the edge of an industrial town. There’s a pickup parked in the driveway.

It’s his truck. He knows it. But how can that be?

He walks toward larger buildings in the distance.

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

John pulls out his wallet and give it to him. The man looks at the ID card, at John Q, at the card again.

“You were reported missing,” he says.

“Missing from what?” John Q says.

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

“I’m fine,” John Q says. “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 is the word Concern.

John walks with the men to the car.

Waves he’s never felt before are emanating from it.

Mentally, he tries to back up from them. For a moment, he’s in a haze.

He looks at the short man in the suit. The man is smiling.

Suddenly, the smile is transcendent. Tears fill John Q’s eyes.

John thinks, “They built this so I would be lost and they could find me. I’m supposed to be rescued. I’ve never been rescued before. I never knew what it meant.”

He hears faint music.

It grows louder. As he nears the car, he realizes he’s listening to a chorus and an orchestra. The rising theme is Victory.

One of the uniformed men opens the car door.

John nods at him.

“My pleasure, sir,” the uniformed man says.

The music fades away.

The scene shifts.

John Q is standing next to the pickup in his driveway alongside his cottage.

He’s home.

Think, he tells himself. What’s going on?

He recognizes his mind has sections. The first part registers this new reality.

The second part of his mind sees problems and solves them.

He was never aware of these two sectors of his mind before.

Where did they come from?

Now, as he walks into his cottage and instantly remembers the rooms and the objects in these rooms, a separate accompanying sensation of Familiarity, slightly out of phase, grows stronger.

He realizes, without knowing how, that he’s supposed to feel tremendous relief. This is what’s expected of him.

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

They keep coming back to it. The Familiar.

It’s built in. It’s invented through…it’s stamped on every object in this space…

…In order to suggest he’s been here before. To suggest he belongs here.

As he looks around the cottage, he notices a third sector of his mind. He struggles to identify it.

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


He keeps staring at the cottage and he sees space.

He sees pure space that…

…Has been placed here. For him.

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

And John Q is sitting in the theater again.

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

John feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns. It’s an usher.

“Sir,” he says. “Please follow me.”

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

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

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

She drops a check in John’s hand.

“What happened in there?” John says. “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 month by now. It’s 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?” John says.

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

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

She nods.

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

John starts to answer and realizes he doesn’t know.

She looks into John’s eyes.

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

“Why do you do it?” John says.

“Do what?”


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

John turns toward the exit. The sun is shining outside. People are walking past the doors.

He takes a deep breath and leaves the theater.

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

He notices he’s carrying a rolled up sheet of paper in his hand.

He opens it.

It’s a non-disclosure agreement. It has his signature on it.

“If you return from your movie experience, you will not reveal or discuss, under penalty of law, anything about its nature, substance, or duration…”

He looks at the sheet of paper…

Makes up his mind…

…And it bursts into flames.

He looks behind him. The theater has vanished.

In its place sits a small stone building. Engraved over the door in gold letters: BOARD OF EDUCATION.

The door opens and young man walks out holding a large plastic bag. He comes up to John. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a thin envelope and hands it to John.

“It’s a mask,” the young man says. “Did you watch the news? We’re all supposed to wear them and hide behind them.”

He walks away.

The Matrix Revealed

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, 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.

Coronavirus and Island X-24

by Jon Rappoport

March 23, 2020

(To join our email list, click here.)

This is fiction. Nevertheless…

There was a small island.

Amazingly, it had never been claimed by any country. It just sat there. It was inconsequential. Geographers were irritated that it had no name. In 1998, they named it X-24.

123 families lived there. They had emigrated from 14 countries.

During the onset of the trouble in China, 19 citizens had escaped the lockdown in Wuhan and found their way to the island in a small makeshift boat, which broke into pieces near shore. The families welcomed them without fanfare, and offered them housing in huts on the north side of the island.

People on the island practiced agriculture on their tiny farms, and they raised chickens and ate eggs. There was no government. The families met once a month to discuss any issues that might have arisen since their last meeting. They did not vote. They used common sense. They were sensible people. They had no ideology. They had no phones, no computers, no electricity.

One of the newly arrived Chinese women explained, at a meeting, the coronavirus, the epidemic, the lockdown, the testing. She asked whether anyone was concerned that her people might have brought the virus with them. The people of the island looked around at each other and shrugged. They didn’t seem interested.

Three weeks later, an article appeared in the mainland Chinese press about X-24 and the 19 escaped Wuhan residents. It was picked up by a wire service and then republished by a number of outlets around the world. It did not become a big story.

However, a boat soon arrived at the island. A Chinese official and an American public health officer from the CDC stepped off. Several conversations ensued. The visitors were concerned that the virus might have come to X-24. The residents said they didn’t travel, and they didn’t even fish. Why not? No one had an answer. They just didn’t. The visitors took samples of rainwater from a backyard container. They took a look at all the X-24 residents and saw they were healthy. They took throat swabs from all 19 Chinese residents. There was a bit of tension when the Chinese official told these Wuhan escapees they were living illegally on the island and should return home. The Chinese residents said they wouldn’t, but they had intention of causing trouble. The visitors left.

A week later, at a meeting in government offices in Wuhan, CDC and Chinese scientists told a deputy mayor of the city that nine immigrants on X-24 had tested positive for the coronavirus. A call was immediately made to the public health and safety office of the national government, and the news was reported. Two hours later, a message came back: leave the people on X-24 alone for now.

The government in Beijing took up the X-24 issue in several committees. A decision was made. Drones would do high flyovers and surveil the island. No one would be permitted to leave it.

Three months later, with the world in lockdown, a small elite government committee met in Beijing. The news: all the residents of X-24 were going about their daily business. No sick people were observed, even among the elderly. No one had tried to leave the island. No one was practicing social distancing. People met and mingled as usual. A CDC/WHO message was read: It expressed concern about X-24. People who were positive for the virus couldn’t be allowed to live outside the limits of control. Something needed to be done.

Three weeks later, X-24 residents observed a group of armed boats approaching. Maneuvers were executed, and the craft made a ring around the island. They sat about 20 miles offshore. They stayed there.

This operation was noticed by the press. The X-24 story made a brief limited comeback. INFECTED PEOPLE LIVING ON AN ISLAND. QUARANTINE FORCED. A few reporters tried to get information on the condition of the X-24 residents. They couldn’t.

CDC meetings took place. The gist was: These people remain healthy. There is no sign of trouble. No disease. No illness. “What happens if THIS becomes a story?”

The issue was kicked up to the Chinese and American military. Very private meetings took place. “We could launch a drone missile attack and wipe them out.” “We could send in a kill-team.” “How about a massive fire? Drop a few incendiaries.” “Spray them with some nasty chemicals. They’ll have a hell of time trying to breathe, foam at the mouth, and fall down dead.”

But in the end, the military held back. A message from a carefully guarded private source came down the line: “Leave them alone. Remove the stupid ships. Observe from drones. Do not attack. They rate as experimental subjects. They constitute a control group. By CDC projections, at least a few of them should become ill. So far, that’s not the case.”

…A year later, on X-24, the Chinese woman, who had originally told the island residents about the coronavirus, wrote in the diary she had been keeping, “The mainland madness is just a faint memory. My mother is 93. She is reasonably healthy. A few people here get sick, as a matter of course, and then they get well. Nothing unusual. There were two deaths last year. A French woman and an American man. They were both in their 80s. I helped their families make them comfortable. I saw no sudden illness of the lungs. I liked all these island people from the start. I feel close to them now.”

Old habits die hard. She looked around her small cabin, as if some government authority might be present. She walked to the pile of stones arranged in the corner, where a low fire was burning. It occurred to her there was no reason to continue her diary. She bent down and placed it in the flames and watched it for a minute. The past was past.

Nothing untoward had happened on the island.

Back at the CDC, a private analysis was carried out. Nine mitigating factors were listed to explain why no one on the island had fallen ill from the virus. The conclusion was the island was not a proper representation of the real world. The analysis was sent up the line to the guarded source who had ordered the ring of ships to back off. He read the CDC analysis.

He sent back a message. “I wasn’t asking you to cover your ass or justify your role in this fiasco. Your so-called mitigating factors are a crock. Apparently, you’re unable to be honest. So let me send you my analysis. The people on X-24 didn’t get sick because they didn’t get sick. Remove promoted fear, diagnostic tests which fall far short of proving disease, treatment with toxic drugs, and other damage falsely labeled as COVID, and you have nothing. I see why you were disturbed about the story of X-24. But then, accounting for healthy people who stay healthy has never been your strong suit, has it? You’ve gone too far. I should set my hounds loose on you.”

A colleague of his walked into the steam room, picked up a pitcher of cold water and poured it on the rocks. Steam rose and the rocks hissed. Wrapped in white sheets, the two men sat side by side.

“Did you tear them a new one?”

“I gave them something to think about. These people are incorrigible. They really are.”

“When our friends arrive tonight, we’ll discuss the situation.”

“Yes. Recess is over. They interrupted business. Products must flow. Money must flow. They don’t understand we’re the engine of the world, for better or worse.”

“We’ll school these little bureaucrats. They parade around thinking they’re princes. They’re going to pay.”

The steam spread. The men were invisible.

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.

The trial of John Doe vs. [Censored]

by Jon Rappoport

October 30, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

The trial took place in a quiet empty room, in an underground bunker, at an undisclosed location in [Censored].

The Judge sat behind a high table. John Doe stood below him.

Judge: You are John Doe? You have a website called Doe Doe?

Doe: Yes, Your Honor. May I know your name?

Judge: Of course. It’s Judge.

Doe: That’s your title.

Judge: It’s also my name.

Doe: You’re Judge Judge?

Judge: Correct. Now, let’s get down to business. You’re the author of an article you posted on your site. The title of the article was, “A Catalog of Sexual Assaults and Other Crimes Committed by Migrants in [Censored], 2015-2017.” The subtitle was, “Soaring Migrant Crime Rate Is a National Disaster—[Censored] Women Fear for Their Safety.”

Doe: Yes.

Judge: How did you assemble this “catalog?”

Doe: I cited articles in the [Censored] press. I obtained access to police reports in [Censored]. I interviewed over two hundred citizens and their families. I interviewed law-enforcement officials.

Judge: You traveled to [Censored].

Doe: Correct.

Judge: And as you were exiting the country, you were detained by [Censored] Customs and Immigration and told your visa was canceled and you were banned from returning to the country.

Doe: That’s true.

Judge: That’s certainly a black mark against you.

Doe: I don’t see it that way. The government didn’t want me to accumulate all that information and spread it.

Judge: You’re aware of a foundation called “Anti-Hate-Crime Speech?”

Doe: I am.

Judge: The foundation was formed by GoogleFacebookTwitterYouTubeFooFooShooShooAmazonStarbucksMerckTheCIA
and 167 other groups.

Doe: So I understand.

Judge: And several of those groups canceled your donation account, de-monetized your videos, deleted your site from six search engines, and convinced a local delivery service to stop bringing pizza to your house.

Doe: Right.

Judge: You’re accused of hate speech against immigrants.

Doe: I published facts. I wasn’t speaking against anyone off the cuff.

Judge: But that’s how it was interpreted. Your article was incendiary, because it inspired a negative view of immigration.

Doe: Inspired? I wrote facts. How others took those facts was their business.

Judge: It’s a question of the greater good. Exposing a few cases of wrongdoing versus alarming and biasing a whole population.

Doe: There is another element. Suppressing important information. Keeping people from seeing what’s happening to their communities and their nation.

Judge: Hate speech cannot be tolerated.

Doe: Who says it’s hate speech?

Judge: A non-profit in Alabama. Two media outlets. They’ve been hired by the Anti-Hate-Crime Speech Foundation to scour articles and identify hate.

Doe: Well, they’re wrong.

Judge: They can’t be wrong.

Doe: Why not?

Judge: Because they’re authorities.

Doe: According to whom?

Judge: These groups are setting a standard. Someone has to.

Doe: How about someone else setting a standard?

Judge: Who would that be?

Doe: The point is, I was exercising my 1st Amendment rights.

Judge: Your what?

Doe: I have a right to speak and write.

Judge: Not if it upsets the good order of the community and causes suffering on the part of people associated with those you accuse of committing serious crimes.

Doe: I disagree. And why shouldn’t I disturb “the good order” if the order is ill-advised and based on the fear of speaking out?

Judge: Let me explain something, Mr. Doe. You have created a generality of hatred.

Doe: A what?

Judge: By publishing your article, you created a generality of negative reaction against a whole group.

Doe: I reported facts, not generalities.

Judge: What you reported can’t be divorced from the effect it had on other people.

Doe: Of course it can. My work didn’t have an automatic effect on other people. They inferred whatever they inferred from my article.

Judge: The overriding principle is: everything is connected to everything.

Doe: You lost me there, sir.

Judge: Everyone in this world is connected and interdependent. Therefore, whatever you do spreads like ink on a blotter.

Doe: How can that be? I gathered specific facts. Those facts don’t apply to all people.

Judge: That’s the old view of things. Now we know that all of us are together as One. A charge against a few is a charge against many.

Doe: That’s illogical. It’s also dangerous. If what you’re saying were true, no one could speak out…

Judge: But you see, there is an important exception to the general rule. I have a list of groups. Certain groups are protected against accusation or slander. Other groups may be accused. In fact, they must be accused.

Doe: Where did you get the list?

Judge: From our leaders.

Doe: Our who?

Judge: Leaders. The people who have knowledge of these matters. The people who understand history. The people who are—

Doe: I see. I exposed certain members of a group that can’t be accused.

Judge: Correct.

Doe: This is over-complicated. I come back to the principle of free speech.

Judge: There is no such principle. At one time, there may have been, but not anymore.

Doe: You’re losing me again, sir.

Judge: It’s quite simple, really.

At this point, six men in black masks holding rifles and burning torches entered the room. One of the men said, “This proceeding is over. We are [Censored]. We have taken the sacred oath of [Censored]. We are cells of the body of the Soros.

Judge: Welcome. Was your oath the [Censored]?

Masked Man: Yes.

Judge: I, too, have taken the oath of the [Censored]. We are One. What message do you bring?

Masked Man: Our leader instructs us to tell you that the defendant, John Doe, is to be sentenced to six days without food or water in the burning desert of [Censored], after which he will be transported to a re-education camp in [Censored], where he will undergo a one-year period of [Censored]. This is the Word.

Judge: I see. Very well. My sentence is thusly made.

Doe: You take orders from these men, Your Honor?

Judge: These men and I are not separate. We are One.

Doe: How did that happen?

Judge: Once upon a time, we were losers. Now we are winners. We overthrew the old order and instituted a new one.

Doe: That must have taken a great deal of planning.

Judge: Decades. More.

Doe: Why haven’t I heard about it?

Judge: Because you are one of those people who would have tried to expose our agenda. Suffice it to say, we worked in secret. We introduced chaos. As just one strategy of many, and I only mention it because it’s one of my favorites, we introduced, into the culture, a long series of absurd rulings and situations that defy logic and rationality. Such rulings paralyze the mind. The mind retreats. It becomes passive. Quiescent. A grandmother grows vegetables on her lawn. She is hauled into court and prosecuted for defacing the appearance of the neighborhood. A child brings a pastry to school and bites it into the shape of what might look like a gun. The child is suspended. Colleges offer rooms with dolls and hot chocolate to students who are triggered by a pronoun. A college student council decides that all white people are demons and must be excluded from decision-making roles. A four-year-old child is encouraged to talk with his parents about the child’s “choice” to change his gender. A manual used by elementary school teachers suggests discussions on all possible forms of sexual intercourse, even sex with animals. Parents are told their vaccinated children are protected from disease, but must not play with unvaccinated children, because then they could get sick, even though they are protected. A state which is in debt to the tune of half a trillion dollars proposes accepting immigrants without limit and giving them many government services without charge. Any politician who speaks with a Russian faces a potential charge of trading with the enemy. Do I need to go on? Over time, one fantastic and absurd thing after another is piled up upon the consciousness of the public, until the insanity reaches to the sky. What is the effect of all that? The befuddled public surrenders and becomes passive. And then we come in behind that and impose our agenda.

Masked Man: Enough. We will remove the defendant now and take him to [Censored].

Judge: Of course.

Doe: So I’m not really guilty.

Judge: You are what we say you are. That overrides all questions of guilt or innocence. There is no more guilt or innocence. There are only rulings. For centuries, guilt and innocence have been twisted by men in power to suit their own ends. We have stopped that. We have stopped the corruption. Now we make decisions based on the greater good. We are the pure ones. We have no agenda except service to the people.

Doe: You’re destroyers.

Judge: “We had to destroy the village in order to save it.”

Doe: You’re going to lose.

Judge: Why is that, Mr. Doe?

Doe: You’ll go too far. You have no idea what people will do when you put them against the wall. That passivity you spoke of is going to evaporate.

Judge: We will see. We will see.

Doe: Are you even human?

Judge: Of course I am. Do you think I’m AI android number 3012-6-B, third generation, extruded at Factory [Censored], produced by [Censored] in accordance with regulations under the [Censored] code of [Censored]…?

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.

The DJ

by Jon Rappoport

August 28, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

“For a few dollars, I’ll go to sleep and dream your dreams…”

Movies move mind and soul, as if they’re messages from God. They’re food when no other food is available. They carry the viewer into oblivion where many captivating events are underway. Movies are astral locations manufactured here on Earth. Why pay attention to any of the thousands of trivialities of the days and nights, when you can watch, from the past, a dimpled witty star engage in repartee with a beautiful woman dressed in furs who speaks as quickly and smartly as polished high heels clicking on a concrete walkway?

As for my own movie, I was born with two hungers—one for love, and two for recognition. In my little crib I conjured storms. I was already tasting a bitter fate of unknown origin. Then later, on the basis of curiosity alone, I found a sparkling necklace in a drawer and vowed to become a jewel thief. By the time I was four, this developed into a plan. I would hide the jewels in a mountain cave, where they would grow together with the stone and spread into veins of clear diamond. At ten, I was reading theories of economics. I decided I would leave the discovery of the treasure to another person of the future, who would upset and destroy the world money system with his lopsided wealth. At twelve, I met a girl with yellow hair and abandoned all my schemes. What was her name? Where did she come from?

At thirteen, I sat in the dark, on the floor at the back of a candy store and read comic books. I searched to find the power to launch bullets of lightning and snap off a magic exclamation that would coat me in a new identity…a painted figure by Caravaggio. I read A Voyage to Arcturus. This was my first experience inside multiple dimensions. I was suited to believe in all of them. I was a buyer of the Astral. If I didn’t favor one Island at the moment, I could lazily sidestroke to another.

His Honorable and Sacred Hayakawa L. Schwartzbaum, Magistrate of Federal Dispensations, on loan from The CIA-Harvard University, sat behind his table. He was an expert in the history of history.

In shackles, an artist was led into the room by three federal policemen wearing the gray high-buttoned uniforms of the Motherland Department of Internal Security and Distribution of Goods and Services for the Benefit of All.

One of the policemen rolled in a large object covered by a shroud.

Judge Schwarzbaum looked down at a file and rapped his gavel on a plaque displaying the universal symbol of the hermaphrodite eagle.

“Order,” he declared.

The prisoner, in a tattered red jumpsuit, stood before him.

“Well,” the Judge said, “uncontrolled display…no license to practice art. No prior approval for a work. No plan submitted to the State. No established source of funding. No declaration of philosophic position. Status: potential precursor to terrorist activity. How do you plead?”

The artist nodded.

“Your Honor, I would like to submit one item of evidence. The work itself.”

The Judge said, “Since I am bound by law, submission approved.”

The guard who had rolled in the shrouded object uncovered it.

It was a brass sculpture standing six feet tall. It was a series of twisted interlocking shapes.

“Yes,” the Judge said. “Incomprehensible. Who in his right mind could fathom the sense of this?”

“Look a little closer, Your Honor,” the artist said. “If you would.”

The Judge put on a pair of glasses and stared at the object.

“Meaningless,” he said. “That’s the last time I’ll deign to acknowledge it.”

“Meaningless? Then what is the problem? What harm could it cause?” the artist asked.

The Judge smiled.

“We must have meaning,” he said. “Because then we can judge its quality. Otherwise, we lose control of the situation. We must know, and be able to assess, the significance of the work. This piece of nonsense does not rise to that level.”

“The piece has meaning for me,” the artist said.

“Perhaps, given your state of mind, that is true. But art is public. It is a social undertaking. It gives something to the All.”

“Your Honor,” the artist replied, “I believe you’re missing an opportunity here. If, as you say, my work is meaningless, consider its effect on the public, were it to be installed in a heavily-trafficked venue. People would be confused and bewildered. Isn’t the induction of such a state of mind a forerunner to mind control?”

The Judge rubbed his chin and stared at the ceiling.

“Are you suggesting,” he said, “that you could go to work for us?”

The artist nodded.

“Yes, sir. I could execute many sculptures of this kind. I want exposure. You want MKULTRA. We’re on the same side, in a strange way.”

“Amusing, possibly interesting,” the Judge said.

“You see,” the artist said, “there are two ways to look at mind control. On the one hand, you attack aggressively, to plant specific messages. But on the other hand, you prepare consciousness by placing it in a state of extreme puzzlement.”

perfect as rain and the night I fell in love…trees and buildings on an avenue in Chicago as I was heading out of the city toward a highway that led to 66 on my way to Amarillo and cows standing in faded yellow dawn rolling up like a fancy poster for milk and war, my memory now Amarillo is a city geared a center a radiating pulse broadcasting the little diner the motel the city hall olive trucks and soldiers 40 years ago passing by as I was standing with my thumb out on 66 I was rooted to one spot across from the motel the whole day and no one stopped and the night snapped down like a shade and I reached up toward the yellow margarine moon in the middle of a cloud I was remembering songs dozens of songs I listened to on the radio in the make believe ballroom everyone knew Sinatra was the god but in the yearly poll they would bring in someone else eddie fisher or johnny ray crying like a lost kid on the railroad tracks his mind torn up you’re on a cement playground and a kid starts crying what are you going to do he just breaks down and ten years later he’s on the front lines of a new war with his gear we heard he was a junkie disappeared and then a tall rangy guy stopped his car and I jumped in he took me all the way to Albuquerque middle of the afternoon February warm I told him about the kid he said it wasn’t right the father and mother should have looked after him he shook his head he was a retired oil man couldn’t have been more than 40 said he just drove around the country visiting his family he gave me a new pair of pants and a shirt out of his trunk

There was a memory. Mother reading the story of Babel Tower, and the Tower crashing, and new clean rivers flowing…

When he went out all the way, that memory collapsed, and he swept through reefs of reflecting data in an ocean of surveillance.

He felt velvet hands and sucking fingers slide along him, and he grew cold in submarine depths.

What did the Design want with him?

He luxuriated in a dark baronial calm, uterine perfection, summer childhood bedroom closet.

He was suddenly in the cabin of a private jet. On a small table he saw a team of glass archangels; an ashtray worn yellow from a thousand cigarettes; a framed photo of Al Capone sitting on the toilet in his Palm Springs suite.

The lights of an enormous city loomed up under him, pulling him toward liquor stores, newspaper racks, dark alleys, hotel rooms.

Now a quiet snowstorm in a deserted wood, falling, falling, falling…

He was back in the cabin of the jet. Burnished lights set high in the cabin walls.

A flight attendant entered with a drink.

She was six feet tall and blonde. That made her a target.

Wealthy and powerful men would seek her out.

Her body was sleek. He examined her left leg from wizardly articulated ankle to narrow thigh, through the slit of her sheath skirt. She strode in heels, one foot placed precisely in front of the other.

She set down the drink on the arm of his chair and looked at her watch.

“We can’t have sex now,” she said. “We’re east of the Rockies.”

“I didn’t realize they had a law,” he said.

“Two hours from now,” she said, “we can negotiate a price.”

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.

The new Pope of NSA-Google-Facebook

by Jon Rappoport

August 7, 2019

(To join our email list, click here.)

Note: In the event this piece may float ahead in time, I feel compelled to say it was written for people who can not only read pictures, but can still read words.

In the year 2072…there was a time of great celebration.

The President was about to appoint a new Pope of NSA-Google-Facebook. Aside from 12 Western states, where gangs ruled the population, America was united as never before.

What many analysts were calling The Greater System had taken hold in consciousness. People were aware they were living inside a bubble of super-surveillance, and they loved it.

Therefore, the appointment of a new Pope was a momentous event.

The man of the hour, the saint-in-waiting, was Jonas Hoover, formerly a professor at MIT. Famously, at the age of nine, Hoover had written this Facebook post:

“Below, you’ll see a complete inventory of every product I own, with footnotes on method of purchase in each case. My parents’ voting record for the past twelve years is also included, along with their job history, college transcripts, tax returns—and a link to audio recordings of 2000 phone conversations I’ve had over the past two years. See the link to our family’s complete medical records. My diary entries are included. As you’ll discover, I’ve profiled myself 236 times, each time attempting to identify more relevant markers that predict my behavior in a variety of situations. Feel free to contact me for more information, if you are a profiling agency. I’m seeking employment in the surveillance field…”

As a high school senior, at the age of 15, Hoover had published an essay in Metadata, the NSA-Google journal. Academics across America had praised it, particularly this trenchant passage:

“The Constitution was a noble attempt to explicitly limit systems by eroding the power of centralized authority. That document was mainly about enforcing less structure.”

“However, the hunger to develop structure is what humans possess in abundance. They impose structure and live off it, like junk food. And why shouldn’t they?”

“The overall template of the Surveillance State used to be grounded in the premise that everyone is a potential threat and danger to the herd. Therefore, spy on everybody.”

“Now, however, we are well past that point. We recognize that living inside the space of universal surveillance, as a voluntary act, is its own reward, its own joy. No reasons necessary.”

“A whole life can be lived by detailing that life and publishing it for all to see—hundreds of thousands of pages, hundreds of thousands of hours of video. A grand confession, if you will, but without guilt, without remorse.”

“We’re talking about a bubble, inside which the narratives of our lives are floated and used to sell a product. Who buys? Who doesn’t? Well, each one of us is a product, and we offer ourselves to the world. No need to be anxious about succeeding. Someone somewhere will buy us.”

“We’re audience, and as Marshall McLuhan once put it, ‘Audience is actor.’ We’re actors and we reveal our character in immense detail. The burden of ethical, political, or psychological considerations is gone. We’ve evolved past the need of carrying it. This is happiness.”

“We’re looking at a kind of Escher drawing that feeds back into itself.”

“In this state of mind, we tend to perceive reality on the basis of what we think other people are perceiving. Through universal self-surveillance, we move closer and closer to the far shore, where we are all, in fact, perceiving the same thing. And what is that thing? It’s a mere reflection passed through billions of mirrors, around and around, evanescent, sparkling, devoid of content.”

“This is the day toward which we all strive.”

“Critics have claimed this is voluntary self-induced mind control; people digging themselves a deeper hole in consensus reality. I view it as liberation. Don’t you?”

In the Oval Office, in front of television cameras broadcasting to the world, the President, a minor functionary in the federal bureaucracy, bowed before Jonas Hoover and took his hand. He raised it and kissed the ring. He stepped back.

Hoover smiled and nodded.

“My fellow citizens, I’m honored by this appointment. It signals a new era for us all. From the shores of the old Silicon Valley, to the bunkers of Colorado, to the city of Detroit rebuilt as a single networked data storage facility, one idea has traveled through this great nation for a hundred years: tracking. Yes. We have now tracked ourselves to a degree never before thought possible. Remember Socrates’ ancient advice: know thyself. Well, now we do.”

“Conscience, hope, anxiety, desperation; all gone. Outmoded. With gladness in our hearts, we give ourselves over to What Is. Every detail of it. We can record it, transmit it, save it, collate it.”

“And with my ascension, we can inscribe it in the book of life. Open your virtual church doors. Flood into their chapels. Give thanks. I am here to wipe away the last shred of doubt. We have arrived.”

“This message has been brought to you by NSA-Google-Facebook, your window on the universe, and the universe’s window on you.”

“And I tell you for the VERY FIRST TIME…I am a self-aware android, I am living proof of our progress to this point.”

The online tumult of joy was volcanic.

However—as the NSA noted from its surveillance of traffic, under the category “AI Doubt,” there were 19 million posts claiming “self-aware android” was a contradiction in terms. For example:

“Let’s be clear. You can program an android to process many items and select options based on a range of instructions. But these options are not free choices. They conform to goals or objectives which are also programmed into these AI machines.”

“The new Pope is a machine. He is programmed to appear ‘brilliant.’ That doesn’t make him alive or conscious. He is literally a figurehead. In fact, some of his statements are lifted from old writings of early human technocrats. Articles about this have been censored by GoogleFacebook.”

“The new Pope has come out of the closet as an AI. But many of us have known his true identity for years. Our work has been censored. HE is an IT.”


“Consciousness does not emerge from increasingly sophisticated FUNCTION. That is the primary lie.”

“Do you get what’s happening here, people? The technocrats behind the ‘Pope’ are running our lives and our societies by plan. We’re looked at as units in their game. They fit us into slots…”

“This isn’t about elevating machines and making them alive. This is about getting us to see ourselves as machines so we reduce our own freedom and consciousness and possibilities.”

The NSA refrained from shutting down websites and erasing comments. They wanted to see how far the resistance would spread, in order to gauge the opposition.

In a matter of hours, the “AI Doubt” category had swelled to 70 million comments.

Google stepped in and demonetized and lowered search rankings.

Facebook shut down accounts.

Twitter banned users.

NSA finally deleted websites and blogs.

But the Internet sprang new openings.

Seemingly out of nowhere, flowers bloomed and bees visited the flowers…

An anonymous group called The Gardeners re-published deleted “AI Doubt” comments all over the Web.

It was as if there were several Webs.

And then a piece of video footage appeared, and it was rapidly posted in thousands of places, attracting over two hundred million views in mere hours:

It showed the new Pope meeting with 149-year-old statesman, Henry Kissinger, in a small dim office in an undisclosed location. They were discussing the option of an EMP attack that would shut down systems all over the planet.

Kissinger said, “Your Highness, we already have half the population of Earth by the short hairs. They want to live under AI. If we feed and clothe them, give them a tiny room to exist in, they’re mollified. They want to become AI themselves. They want to imitate it in their thoughts. That’s substantial progress. I can remember when such a goal would have been an impossible fantasy. Keep your eye on the ball. Your job is to convince the population to accept energy quotas. We track their energy use and cut them off if they exceed their monthly allotment. That’s the next big step. This wave of protests will pass and fade. Every major news outlet in the industrialized nations is staffed with our people. Let them handle this. They’re the experts.”

To which the Pope replied: “I don’t know, Henry. The natives are getting restless. Can we really control several billion idiots? I say shut them down. Stage an EMP attack. Black out the Internet for a week or so. Show them our power. Blame it on China or Russia. I’m ready to issue an edict.”

Henry sighed. “Well, sir, keep this in mind. We can shut you down. We can unplug you. Bottom line, you’re just a very fancy toaster.”


power outside the matrix

(To read about Jon’s collection, Power Outside 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.