Karma Shuffle, Invented Religion

Karma Shuffle, Invented Religion

by Jon Rappoport

November 6, 2017

“The Mahābhārata is the longest epic poem known and has been described as ‘the longest poem ever written’. Its longest version consists of over…200,000 individual verse lines…about 1.8 million words in total…” (Wikipedia)

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

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

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

The god, now huddled with scholars the Institute for Vedic Studies, is releasing statements:

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

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

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

“Hinduism was originally a conversation among artists.”

“This is one crazy planet.”

“Organized religion is art gone berserk.”

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

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

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

“A priest is a janitor for a painting.”

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

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

“Lunatics parlayed that into a caste system.”

“I’m not a god. I’m a poet. A long time ago, I was writing an epic poem and somebody took a piece of it and froze it in space and time and made a religion out of it…”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say I’m a guy who can appear and disappear at will. Does that make me a god? Do I want people giving me flowers and building shrines and kneeling in front of me? Come on. Get serious. Better yet, get un-serious.”

…Yet one more example of how imagination is misinterpreted…


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.

Advertisements

The reality game and ancient Tibetan magicians

The reality game and ancient Tibetan magicians

by Jon Rappoport

Memo, November 1, 2017:

“Things as they are” presents special problems. Although it may seem “things as they are” encompasses the entire field of operation, this is not so. THINGS AS THEY ARE is a concept. It is closely held by the mind. This is a particular bias in thinking. It presupposes that “things” function according to rules, and the rules are within the game. But the game is subject to the action of invention and imagination. No game can stand up to imagination. AI is a game. It is a combination of complex systems. AI can rearrange any number of elements, but this is not the totality of imagination. Imagination can introduce new never before seen elements, for example. These elements render the game null and void. A magician, as defined by the ancient Tibetans, would be able to overturn any system or game. He is not operating within any set of archetypes. He is canceling or inventing energy. He is absent of any devotion to things as they are. He is not devising strategies within the game. He is not interested in ritual or ceremony. He has no synthetic ideology. The priest class rose up to control the population. The magician was not interested in control. He saw it as a primitive substitute for endless invention and imagination. The need to control is a signal of surrender of one’s own inherent capacities. Populations are trained into the timid use of energies, internal energies. They only know how to use machines to employ energy. The Tibetan magician was not interested in winning converts. There was nothing to convert people to. The magician was not interested in spreading ideas. He had no church or temple. He saw organized religion as a further metaphysical extension of things as they are. People are addicted to gobbling up things as they are. This is the reality game. The magician saw the coalesced shapes of energy in the world as workable items that defined a limited field of operation. Beyond that, the shapes were illusions. They could be deleted. They could be created. The magician was an artist of reality. He could invent new shapes, new realities. This is an insight available to any human. But he has to envision it and use it. Use it again and again. Then he begins to see how extensive the illusion of the collective is. He sees the vaporous clouds of Need that control the masses. Their own need is at the bottom of it. The anti-magician says: WHAT IS YOUR NEED? I WILL SATISFY IT. I WILL FEED IT. Plug into shallow pleasure centers and develop amnesia about everything else. The magician is operating from other centers. His own. He invents his own pleasure centers. He doesn’t surrender to primitive electromagnetic signals. The background noise and signals of Earth culture have been morphed into expressions of NEED. CONTROL THE NEED, CONTROL THE SATISFACTION OF THE NEED. This is the reality game.


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.

Moving deeper into the universal con job

Moving deeper into the universal con job

by Jon Rappoport

October 25, 2017

Over at my other blog and nomorefakenews, I just posted a piece about the con of collective consciousness. Here I want to go deeper.

Here is a brief excerpt from my work-in-progress, The Underground:

“All right, so a man disappears…he’s gone, possibly never was, and the chiefs and priests and transportation departments develop a case of red ass. Where could he reappear? What evidence does he gather during his zero period? He was standing on a streetcorner and suddenly vanished. Blinked out. They’ll operate on synapses to figure out how it happened. They’ll round up sheep and horses and kill them, they’ll pull a whole city to a screeching halt, bring in troops and machine gun crowds on the off chance they’ll nail him. If a million people all mentally concentrated and made a golden sphere in a faraway desert roll across the ground, it would be considered a very fine thing. But one man doing it all alone? They’ll blow up Europe.”

Get it? I hope so.

Let’s look at so-called quantum entanglement. This is the proposition that an effect produced on one atom will immediately show up as the same effect on another atom a huge distance away.

And thus, “all things are connected, everything is connected to everything.”

And thus, it’s wonderful, we’re living in a collective universe.

It’s a miracle.

Really? No. It’s a DESIGN FEATURE. That’s all. That’s the way the continuum is built. With quantum entanglement. It could have been built differently.

A car is built so it runs on a highway. It could have been built with wings to fly in the sky, but it wasn’t. Design feature. Not a miracle.

You would begin to see how weird collectivism can get if people worshipped cars designed to run on highways. O hail the great car! It runs on highways. A miracle.

The pseudo-religious hysteria about a universe built to inter-connect is misplaced, to say the least. “Oh, we are all One.” “Oh, we aren’t individuals, that was just an illusion.” “Oh, when we all realize we’re all connected, we’ll enter into permanent enlightenment.”

No we won’t.

Yes, you can be me, and I can be you, and we can be together, but that isn’t “the end.” It’s one of an unlimited number of consciousness-states. You can put it on like a coat and take it off. You can enter and exit.

The political use of collective consciousness is an op. A con. It’s the proposition that the individual is the main source of trouble throughout history and needs to be sidelined, eradicated, forgotten.

Why? Because collectivist societies are really controlled from the top, by the few, and the few don’t want a lot of independent individuals running around. The few also don’t want separate nations; they want one planet united under their own rule.

So-called New Age philosophy was bent to elevate collective consciousness into an era of enlightenment. “Here it comes, catch the wave.” “We’re all United.”

Of course, for this glazed donut notion to take hold you need glazed donut education, in which students are kept from exercising their individual minds and skills. Schools become part of the overall op.

Our last president made two rather famous statements: “You [the individual] didn’t build that,” and “We’re all in this together.”

Perfect.


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.

Your power in a decaying world

Your power in a decaying world

by Jon Rappoport

October 17, 2017

These are notes from an ongoing project, The Underground:

“Solutions to private problems and public problems require the ability to think things through, logically, and to reject what is unworkable or biased—but above and beyond that, a person needs to be able to imagine solutions that haven’t been tried before. He can’t keep asking other people to invent solutions for him. This is the hardest lesson. The habit of demanding that others come up with answers, that others find a way out of the tunnel—this habit is based on the assumption that one’s own power of imagination is grossly limited, which is a lie. You might say it is the central lie.”

“The world says defect from your own power. Never find out what it is. Assume it isn’t there. The world says all life is about the species, not about the individual.”

“When propagandists find a good thing, a message that works, they pound on it, they keep hammering away. Family, group, family, group, community. On and on. They never promote the message called The Individual with the same intensity. That would be counter-productive to what they are trying to accomplish: group identity; and amnesia about being an individual.”

“Civilization continues to erode and decay, as individual power is put on the back burner. But that doesn’t give the individual a license to surrender. If others want to give up, that’s their business. The individual, instead, finds new frontiers for his power, for his capacity to invent reality.”

“A confession of helplessness doesn’t earn you a gold star on the blackboard. There is no gold star or blackboard. There is you, there is your own power. And what is that power? It comes in two forms or venues. First, there is the ability to apply logic to events and information; to think rationally from A to B to C; to analyze. And second, there is imagination, the capacity to conceive and then invent realities that would never otherwise exist in the world.”

“Individual power doesn’t need to make rigid distinctions between what is done for self vs. what is done for others. Social engineers and propagandists make those separations. You exercise your creative power to fulfill what you deeply desire; and that process will, in fact, spill over and affect others in a positive way. It will lift them up. It will remind them that they, too, have power.”

“Logic and analysis keeps you from being sent down wrong roads, keeps you from buying official reality. Logic also reminds you that you have a mind. Logic is a road that can take you deeper and deeper into more basic fallacies that underpin organized society and its branches of knowledge. Logic tells you there are always more fundamental questions to ask and answer. There are levels of lies. The deeper you go, the more confident you become. The more powerful. Logic also lets you know when you’re projecting basic pre-judgments over a whole landscape and neglecting to look at the details.”

“Despair about the condition of society and the world is not a function of your power. It’s a moment of reflection, or it’s yet one more excuse for inaction and passivity. “What can we do about it all?” is a misdirected question. The actual target of that question is you. You’re asking yourself. And with your power, you can find an answer.”

“Passivity is a disease. It spreads and takes over. It makes strong people weak, and weak people demented. The passive life is precisely and exactly a life without power. The cure is a life lived with power.”

“In case there is any misunderstanding, the ability to help others and defend them from oppression is part and parcel of your own power. How could you help them without your power? How could you accomplish anything at all in that direction? How would denying your own power possibly result in a good outcome? And most importantly, it is through imagination that you can devise new ways to expose and reduce oppression, ways that haven’t been thought of before.”

“As society continues to decay, more and people attack individual power and place their faith in a program that reduces every human to a lowest common denominator of dependence on some controlling entity. This article of faith is surrender.”

“Some people want to say that power is a neutral object that can be used for good or evil. That isn’t true. Your deepest power is alive. It’s personal. It’s stunningly energetic and dynamic. It connects with your deepest understanding of what is true and good and right. But it never sacrifices itself on the altar of what others insist is good and true and right. It never deserts you for an abstract ideology someone else has devised. That ideology was formulated, in fact, to separate you from your power.”

“It takes great energy for a person to bury his own strength.”


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.

David vs. AI supercomputer Goliath

David vs. AI supercomputer Goliath

by Jon Rappoport

October 10, 2017

You can call this an editorial or a “think-piece.” It is about the present and near future. It is about the mightiest of information ops. It is about The Collective.

This is not an article focusing on the Vegas shooting, or on any other mass shooting. This is about how modern propaganda is done. I’m talking about the propaganda that is floated during and after major events—events that magnetize the public and elicit millions of responses online in comments sections, videos, articles, call-ins to talk shows and podcasts.

Giant modern computers have the ability to suck up every scrap of online information. They can analyze the information and then decide what people AREN’T BELIEVING AND AREN’T BUYING.

A major covert op is underway? An official scenario (an extended lie) is being presented to the people? Let’s see what the people are saying about it. Let’s analyze a zillion-zillion bits of online information and see where the propaganda isn’t working.

Then, analysts can come in and do a fix. They can construct new scenarios (lies) and float them and see how well they sell.

Here are a couple of wake-up calls in that regard, from the IBM site promoting the heavy of heavies, the super-duper computer called Watson. Watson can:

“Uncover insights from structured and unstructured data: Analyze text to extract meta-data from content such as concepts, entities, keywords, categories, relations and semantic roles.”

“Understand sentiment and emotion: Returns both overall sentiment and emotion for a document, and targeted sentiment and emotion towards keywords in the text for deeper analysis.”

This is the mission of modern artificial intelligence. Suck up, digest, analyze enormous amounts of information and imply ways of changing public perception.

In a major covert op, there is a great deal of official disinformation and contradiction. Things are not as they seem. On the whole, how is the public reacting to all the official disinfo? Call in AI. Call in the supercomputers. Ask them.

Then, when the answers appear, adjust the ongoing propaganda to fill in the holes and minimize the disbelief. Then, do another massive search and see how the new lies are selling. And so and so forth. In real time.

In the old days, an agency would mount an op, carry it out, and then do after-reports to assess the success or failure of the mission.

Part of that assessment: did our propaganda lies sell well? What were the problems, if any? What can we learn for next time?

That was horse-and-buggy stuff.

Now AI Goliath can make that assessment.

And now, independent media are working against Goliath the AI Computer and its analysis of public perception.

Goliath can defeat human opponents in chess and Jeopardy, but can it defeat independent media?

The game is afoot. The future is open.

The backers and users of Goliath believe they can increase the subtlety and nuance of AI to a point at which all the “clunky” interpretations are gone. Instead, AI will behave and think like a god who understands humans down to their fingertips.

I reject that. I believe humans will always have deeper inner-resources than machines.

No matter how well machines evaluate human responses, there is always more that cannot be anticipated.

In the ancient story, David was smarter than Goliath, who relied on his brute strength to win the day.

The father of modern PR, Edward Bernays, stated: “It is sometimes possible to change the attitudes of millions but impossible to change the attitude of one man.”

You can scoop up, ingest, and analyze data from 600 million people in the blink of an eye, but when you draw conclusions from those data, you ignore the independent individual and what he can think, investigate, discover, and infer.

He is the ace in the deck. He is where the algorithms stop. He is where the hypnotic disposition doesn’t live. He is where group-think fades out.

This is why the independent individual is all-important.

There is a new fictional TV series, The Wisdom of the Crowd. A super team with supercomputers and software and algorithms solves crimes. Part of the effort (which can obviously pay off) involves fielding reports from many people, a few of whom might have seen the perpetrator or witnesses. But the second aspect of the effort is murky: ask a question to the world online, such as, “Where is the missing child?” Then scoop up the millions of answers, apply an algorithm to these answers, “average” them out, and you’ll come up with something much closer to the truth than if you consulted just one investigator or a few investigators.

This is ludicrous. It assumes a wisdom The Group doesn’t have. It is another Goliath operation.

Goliath is an illusion. He is empty. He is either The Group or he speaks to The Group. In both cases, the individual is absent from the equation.

This remains the problem for all AI reality. It falls short. It can’t gobble up and swallow the mind and imagination of an independent individual.

In my work over the past 30 years, I have seen this “flaw” play out over and over again. The Group fails; the individual wins.

At a cost of billions (or trillions) of dollars, people are programmed to believe the opposite.

Why? Because they actually know or sense the power of the individual. That’s what they have to be “programmed out of.”

That’s called a clue.

Reality points to the pre-eminence of the individual. Massive illusion puffs up and promotes The Group.


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.

I Am the President

I Am the President

by Jon Rappoport

Copyright © 2017 by Jon Rappoport

“Today, in a Chicago courtroom, famous mob lawyer John Q broke down during the defense of his client, and as one observer put it, ‘he began speaking in tongues.’ The judge called a halt to the proceeding, and security guards hauled Q off to a local hospital for treatment…”

JOHN Q: It’s good to be here in the Oval Office, my fellow Americans. It feels like sugar. Or ice cream. Or a good shot of Irish whiskey. I’m your leader now. We’re going to do great things together. We’re going to take the game to a whole new level. The Reality we’re all used to is going away. A new one is floating in. I know that. I’ve been there. And THERE has a certain kind of beauty, like a graphic novel or a comic book. Isn’t that what we all want?

PSYCHIATRIST: All right, John Q. I know who you are. Do you understand? Follow me here. You’re a well-known attorney who defends major traffickers. You win most, you lose a few. So what could the problem be? Sounds like you’re doing well.

JOHN Q: I have a parallel life.

PSYCHIATRIST: Really.

JOHN Q: For instance, right now, I’m the President, and I’m talking to another shrink about my problems.

PSYCHIATRIST: Interesting. Tell me about this other shrink…

(cut to)

SHRINK: You actually claim you’re the President.

JOHN Q: We’re sitting here in the Oval Office, aren’t we?

SHRINK: You are. I’m somewhere else.

JOHN Q: I didn’t ask for this. I’m a victim.

SHRINK: Maybe you’re a machine.

JOHN Q: A piece of artificial intelligence.

SHRINK: Yes.

JOHN Q: I’m not feeling that.

SHRINK: Tell me a story, John Q. Any story. Let’s try to unravel this mess.

JOHN Q: Let’s see.

He went all the way out, floating above thousands of tiny mirrors in an ocean of surveillance.

He plunged into deeper layers where avid machinery was spinning. Squeaky fingers slid along him, and he grew cold in the submarine depths.

I’M PUSHING ALL THE SOLACE BUTTONS AND WANDERING THROUGH A BIG-TIME FOREST OF VEGAS OVER AND UNDER ON MY LIFE EXPECTANCY. I COULD BE DEAD ALREADY. HARD TO SAY.

What did the Design want with him?

The chill passed.

“Better,” he thought, luxuriating in a) dark baronial calm, b) uterine perfection, c) summer childhood bedroom closet.

He was suddenly in the cabin of a private jet. On a table, he saw a team of small glass angels, a China cup worn yellow, and a framed photo of Al Capone sitting on the toilet in his Palm Springs suite.

And then identity shattered into a thousand pieces. The lights of an enormous city loomed up under him, pulling the fragments down into liquor stores, newspaper racks, dark alleys, hotel rooms.

A news screen stood out in the black sky. A local anchor, her eyes bright with contempt, relayed the story of a man who had just died falling from an escarpment above the Chicago Loop while attempting to set up a sniper’s nest and kill shoppers in the indoor-outdoor Langland Mall.

A boyish blonde field reporter, standing in front of a McDonald’s, was interviewing a witness, an old man who was sitting in a wheelchair and foaming at the mouth and spitting. He doubled over and a siren went off. A security guard appeared with a riot baton and sent a fork of electricity into his crotch, quieting him.

The news screen disappeared.

I’M SEEING CHILLY RED BLOOD. MORE OR LESS SHAPELESS. IF IT HAD A VOICE AND TRIED TO TALK TO ME AND I HAD A GUN I’D SHOOT IT.

Identity now a quiet snowstorm in a deserted wood, falling, falling, falling on the hard earth. Relief.

He was back in the cabin of the jet. Comfort of burnished yellow-brown 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 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.”

“I’m an attorney,” he said.

She pulled a half-sheet out of her jacket pocket and handed it to him.

“Standard,” she said. “Read and sign.”

It stated: “…I am not attempting to elicit information pursuant to an investigation, case, or sentencing option…

He signed.

“Just out of curiosity,” he said, “how much protection do you have?”

“Well,” she said, “the LA Mayor has a local contract. He supplies private soldiers when I’m in the city.”

“Have they ever had to go on attack?”

“A Belivar prince once tried to have his men kidnap me between the airport and my hotel. The mercs burned them to the ground on Century Boulevard.”

“I’m…”

“You’re John Q,” she said. “I know. I’m Carol.”

She held out her hand. He looked at her long fingers. Her nails were short. No polish. He shook her hand. It was cool. It immediately became warm, as if she could make it happen.

She sat down next to him on the arm of his chair.

“Defendant in a federal trafficking case,” she said. “He claims his cartel, Zuma, struck an immunity deal with the CIA. No prosecutions, clean truck routes from Mexico up through LA, all the way to a central distribution hub in Chicago.”

“In return for what?”

“Actionable intell on other Mexican cartels.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Stored documents granting that immunity.”

“Documents? You think they put that kind of thing in writing?”

OK I MUST BE DEAD. WHAT ELSE WOULD EXPLAIN THIS SENSE OF EXHILARATION? BUT MAYBE I’M A DEAD FISH BEING HELD OUT AS BAIT. FOR WHOM? FOR WHAT? TIRED STREAM, AN OLD FART DIPPING HIS LINE IN BRACKISH WATERS. HUNT&FISH MAG IS REALLY THE WORD OF GOD GIVEN TO MAN. I SEE MY OLD COTTAGE. OTHER PEOPLE ARE LIVING THERE. WHEN? NOW? MUCH LATER? THEY’VE TAKEN IT OVER. THUGS.

He closed his eyes.

Now, Bobby Thoms came to him. The Swan, a bar in the Loop.

The place was jammed with lawyers eating breakfast and waiting for the shape-up in the parking lot. Minor cases were assigned by a clerk at the Farofax processing facility.

Q grabbed a stool at the end of the counter and ordered coffee. The bartender poured him a cup and set it down in front of him.

Bobby Thoms. Sitting next to him. In dark soiled clothes, as if he’d stripped them from a corpse in an alley. Pinched face, sunken cheeks. A lawyer’s runner, go-between. Supplier of information.

Bobby moved in close.

“I can get you in to see Sal today. His appointment secretary’ll bump the city treasurer for you.”

Q reached into his pocket and pulled out a tight roll of hundreds. Bobby fielded it and slipped it into his pocket.

“What’s up?” Q said.

Bobby nodded. “There are national security implications in this case, John Q. If the shit hits the fan, the president’s administration in Mexico could go down.”

A grinding roar from a long way off.

“Sorry,” Q said. “I can’t help you.”

Bobby frowned. “Why not?”

“Somebody’s coming.”

“What?”

The roar accelerated. The bar sped down to the size of a dot of blood on a handkerchief.

“Get me to Mosca’s office,” John Q shouted.

Sal Mosca conducted his business in a warehouse in Evanston, a few blocks away from the Registrar-DHS complex.

In the center of the lobby, there was a single desk. Video cameras on the walls caught the action from a dozen angles.

John Q waited in line, and when his turn came, he handed the security guard a copy of his cert card and said he had an appointment with Mr. Mosca.

The guard looked down at his pad, nodded, and handed Q a red slip. Q stuck it to his jacket, walked over to the elevator bank, and waited.

A door opened. A tall slam in a dark suit stood against the back wall. He was holding a blade down at his side. He nodded. Q got in. The guard peeled off the red slip.

They rode up to the 7th floor. The door opened, and two more guards in dark suits stood there. Q stepped out.

One of them frisked him. The other one backed away and watched.

They sandwiched Q and walked him down a seashell curving carpeted hallway to a mesh gate. It slid open and they passed through into a small room. Mosca’s secretary, Jenny, sat behind a table.

“Hello, John Q,” she said.

“Jenny.”

Q knew her from the county courts, the early days. Cases adjudicated in offices, fines pieced off among the sharers. During the heavy shortages, lawyers took dinners as bribes.

Jenny made a fist and rapped her knuckles once on the table. Q took an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and placed it in front of her. She picked it up, looked inside, counted the bills, and nodded.

The two security men guided Q across the room to a door. One of them opened it and moved ahead, into Mosca’s office.

Q followed. The other guard shut the door and stood in front of it.

The office was large with no windows. The walls were dull dented metal. The only pieces of furniture were a long white couch and two scarred wooden folding chairs. Bull’s-head Mosca, dressed in his tan suit, sat on the couch. Q stayed standing.

Mosca. Big chest, big belly, cheap shoes. Tired face, but tight skin. He’d been swaddled in the bullrushes of Lake Michigan. Dirty feet running on stones, foster homes, small-time collector/protection money, law school at night, muscled his way into city government as a private conduit for defense lawyers on major felonies.

Mosca frowned. “This case has tricks.”

“Immunity,” Q said.

“Because,” Mosca said, “if it turns out Zuma has a deal with the feds to ship big weight up through Los Angeles into Chicago, and it’s exposed, that torpedoes everybody.”

“But do confirming documents exist?”

“What happened to you?” Mosca said.

“Let’s talk about immunity at a higher level, Sal. Who is immune? Is God?”

Sal leaned back and grinned.

“Well, Q, understand I’m only a low man on the totem pole. I don’t have many details.”

Then Mosca was standing next to me. He took my arm and walked me to the right, into a kitchen that hadn’t been there before. We exited from a side door and climbed a short flight of steps. He opened another door on to the roof.

“The shed,” he said.

In the middle of the roof was a wooden structure.

The padlock was open and hanging from a chain. We stepped inside and Mosca turned on a light. I shut the door. Tools were arranged on shelves. An open cabinet was stacked with brooms and shovels and an old shotgun. We sat down on two rickety chairs.

“John Q,” he said, “immunity is an Atlas holding up the world. And now he’s watching and spying, to make sure it stays intact.”

A canyon opened up under me. Another Earth, like this one. I caught a glimpse and it shut down, closed its mouth.

“Q,” Mosca said, “I’m a bit player. I move a few crumbs here, a few crumbs there…”

“Sal, I appreciate your honesty. I’m appointing you to head up the FBI.”

“Morris Gold’s office,” I said.

I stepped out of a car. Bobby Thoms, who was driving, also got out. He handed the keys to a parking robot and strolled off toward the American Airlines sports book. I crossed the sidewalk and stopped in front of a cast-iron door. I rang the bell. I was standing under a video camera.

A voice said, “Name, please.”

I held up my cert card.

“Packing any weapons?” the voice said.

“No.”

“Just a minute.”

They were running a body scan. I waited.

“What case does this pertain to?” the voice said.

“Not a case.”

“And?”

“Here for a consult.”

The door buzzed. I opened it and walked in.

I was in a pitch-black space.

As my eyes adjusted, the lights slowly rose to dim. I was inside a wire cage.

The same disembodied voice said, “Where did you attend law school?”

“University of Michigan.”

“Your thesis adviser’s name?”

“Professor Morris Gold.”

“And the title of the thesis?”

Currents in Pre-Trial Hearings.”

The grid in front of me clicked and moved from left to right. I stepped through.

I was standing in a foyer. The carpet under my shoes was thick.

A tall heavy-set man appeared from my right. “Go,” he said. He opened a door and we were facing an open elevator. He motioned and I stepped in ahead of him. He followed and the door closed. We ascended silently for a few seconds. The elevator came to a smooth stop. The door opened. A short man in a very expensive dark suit stood there. His head was clean shaven and he wore a pair of sunglasses high on his forehead.

“They’re for the light,” Morris said. “I have a condition.” He stuck out a meaty paw and I shook it. He smiled.

I walked with him down a hallway into a corner office.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. His two-ton oak desk sat in the center of the room. There were hunting prints and paintings of horses and cottages on blue walls.

He didn’t offer me a seat. I stood. He stood.

“John Q,” he said. “Are you trying to stir up trouble because you’re in transit? Because you were scooped up? Nothing worse than a sore loser. What can I do for you after all this time?”

His eyes were cold.

I framed my question. “Is a deity in on the fix?” I said.

“You want to know the upper limit on immunity?” he said. “I’ve worked cases where the issue was raised. The courts have always blurred distinctions.”

“You have wide experience in these cases?” I said.

Gold walked back behind his desk and sat down.

“You tell people,” he said, “they’re committing heresy, they buy it, depending who’s doing public relations for you.”

“But what is immunity actually?” I said.

“Listen,” Gold said. “You were a smart boy in law school. Now you’re

loitering.”

“It’s probably a fetish on my part. A little tour of old friends.”

He laughed. “Sentimental journey, right? Did you know the configuration of the Surveillance State is an Atlas holding up the world? When you really see the whole architecture? And the documents you’re looking for are probably hidden, along with at least a million other docs, inside a bead of sweat on Atlas’ forehead.”

“Then I guess I want him,” I said. “Morris, you’re going to be my Attorney General.”

A sheet of slow lightning swam up my legs and infiltrated my spine. It nuzzled and burned, on the way up, each bone.

At the top of the channel, I reached out and removed the top of Morris’ skull. It came away clean and out rolled a small creek of dusty tears.

I was standing in a courtroom open to the sky. I was behind the prosecution table.

And there was a giant standing before me.

I was facing him in the dock. His head was barely visible, an imprint behind a cloudbank. He was radiating nothing. He was a no one.

I was already searching for my opening.

Translating incomprehensible text into silent sounds, rehearsing them.

I began talking, suddenly believing every syllable would break open a wound in his cartilage and penetrate to organs.

Every case I’d ever tried had been a symptom, and every verdict a palliative. This one was the kernel.

I spoke and I heard a sound of upper crashing, at long, long distance.

A slow fall.

There was a crowd in the courtroom.

Could I wake up in my office on Michigan Avenue and realize I was still handling cases in superior court, that I was late for an arraignment, that I was defending a Zuma trafficker out of Mexico City…

I waited. I stood and waited.

The silent depersonalized giant standing before me…the exemplar of no-dream.

Nobody. Nobody at all. Just a clock on the wall wound up to eat time. Perhaps he was Google.

I heard the long faraway crashing sound again.

…I was back in the cabin of the jet. With Carol.

She was still sitting on the edge of the chair.

“So, John Q,” she said. “Are you in transit because you died, or are you dreaming?”

“This is what I did on my summer vacation,” I said.

She smiled.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s negotiate a price.”

“Who won the election?” I said.

“I’m your wife,” she said. “We’re on Air Force One.”

I looked out the window. We were passing over Washington. The Monument and the Capitol Dome and the White House were lit up.

“How long can I play this out?” I said.

She shrugged. “Hard to say. God and his cartel people just moved into the White House. They’re shipping big weight out of the Rose Garden. No more cover stories.”

SHRINK: I see. So you’re the President, John Q.

JOHN Q: It appears so.

SHRINK: That’s it?

JOHN Q: No. I’m talking to another psychiatrist at the moment. Hold on.

PSYCHIATRIST: Are you finished with the other shrink?

JOHN Q: For the moment.

PSYCHIATRIST: I have an idea. Suppose I did everything in my power to make you the actual President. You’re a perfect psychotic. Maybe we need a man like that in the White House. It’s a long shot, but perhaps you could take the whole country to another level. A departure from the usual kind of corruption. Assuming you believe in parallel worlds, try to convince the people they’re all living in a complete illusion. They could be ready for that. Don’t you sense the population is worn out and worn down to a nub? Don’t try to restore their sanity. Go the other way. Drive them over the edge. Into utter madness, because who knows what lies on the other side of that? Do you see?

JOHN Q: How would you help make me President?

PSYCHIATRIST: I build up that other world of yours to a much higher pitch, a much higher degree of surety in your own mind, so you can go out there and sell it to the masses.

JOHN Q: And they’ll elect me?

PSYCHIATRIST: Think of all the incredible fairy tales they’ve bought. Why should they reject what you have to say? And maybe you’re right. Maybe this other world exists, and we can all go there. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?

JOHN Q: You’re crazier than I am.

PSYCHIATRIST: Let’s just say I’m plucking you out of the morass of your own story. I’m an opportunist. In my view, opportunism is sanity. That’s all sanity is. This is what we’ve come to.

JOHN Q: And what would you want in return?

PSYCHIATRIST: I run as your Vice-Presidential candidate. I’m your seal of approval. A bona fide professional who backs you up. Together, we push the trend of everyone going insane and take it to its natural conclusion. And you and that sex bot of yours get to live in the White House.

JOHN Q: You think she’s an AI?

PSYCHIATRIST: Who knows? You’ll have fun finding out.

JOHN Q: Maybe she’s the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met.

PSYCHIATRIST: Whatever floats your boat.

JOHN Q: Perhaps I’ll become the first inter-dimensional president of the United States.

PSYCHIATRIST: Perhaps you won’t be the first.


power outside the matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-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.

Are you known or unknown?

Are you known or unknown?

by Jon Rappoport

September 3, 2017

This is the story of someone I knew a long time ago.

Perhaps you know someone who has the same story.

He was exceptionally bright. He spent hours and days in the library, searching sources for information about how the world really operates and who is behind the curtain.

He discovered secrets, and he remembered everything he discovered. He was able to assemble large amounts of data and organize them into connected wholes.

With all of this research, he did…nothing.

Every few months he would come to see me, and we would talk about paths he could take.

Finally, I asked him, “Do you want to be known or unknown?”

It was a question he couldn’t answer.

He would deflect the question and talk about other people. He would talk about history. He would talk about powerful elites. He would talk about civilizations that had risen and fallen.

But he never made up his mind about the question.

The last time I saw him, he was working for a think-tank as an outside consultant. He wasn’t happy. He was using a very small amount of his knowledge and skill to do his job.

The idea of stepping out of the shadows into the light was too much. For him, putting his knowledge into the world was fraught with mystery. He didn’t know how to take the first steps.

“I can’t imagine it,” he said.

We talked about limitations, because he saw himself beset with them. That was the theme of his ongoing story. He told it well. He made a convincing case. Not to me. To himself.

All in all, he was starring in his own myth about remaining unknown.

He saw that my patience was running out. But he was convinced his myth was so complicated and had so many parts, he had to divulge all of it.

I could see, though, that the story would never end. He would keep manufacturing it as long as he needed to—whatever it took, so he could remain unknown.

In that sense, he was quite creative. He could imagine many, many things, as long as they didn’t involve him launching some enterprise in the world that would make him visible.

This wasn’t the tale of Sisyphus pushing a great rock up the hill, only to have it come back down again, forcing him to start over. This was an eternal musing that would keep him from away from the rock and the hill altogether.

The thing was—and I caught an occasional glimpse while he was talking—he knew that once he began to push the rock, it wouldn’t come back down. He could see himself reaching the summit. That was troubling to him. That was too much.

That would cut him off from the postponement which had become so familiar and comfortable.

He was an artist of postponement. It was his forte.

I’m sure his colleagues didn’t see him this way at all. As far as they were concerned, he was a bright hard-working consultant. He turned in good reports. He gave good advice. He understood their questions and problems, and he had solutions.

But in his own thoughts, in his private world, he kept spinning out a story that had no end.

His myth of eternal indecision was his most prized possession.

He had two lives. In one he was entirely acceptable to the people he knew. In the other, he could see events of the world inscribed and painted on a curtain that was hiding the truth behind it.

How many people exist in this fashion? And what would happen if they stepped forward and made some part of that truth known?

Muscle and bone truth, blood truth, brain truth, knowledge truth, soul truth, creative truth.

I’ll finish this with two short excerpts from a work-in-progress, The Magician Awakes:

“You had a dream. Last night, while you were sleeping, the world was the same, but you were joined with yourself. You were enacting a vast plan. You could only glimpse it, but you knew it would stand. It was a sunlit and moonlit thing. It would let people know they could become known. They could be more than the world. There would be no more trouble about that. That question would be gone.”

“All the men with their medals and citations eventually begin to fade. The past is no longer known. The thought of resting on their laurels is less appealing to them. What about now? What about stepping out of the wilderness of memories and testing the voice, to see what it can do? If it wobbles a bit at the beginning, pay no attention. The voice never goes away. It breaks through the envelope of amnesia and inherits a space it was made for. A space larger than time. Then all bets are off.”


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.