CIA memories

CIA Memories

This short piece of fiction may grow into something larger…

by Jon Rappoport

April 26, 2017

“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” TS Eliot, Four Quartets

NOTE: A patient presently confined to the Sleight Center psychiatric facility believes he is the director of the CIA. He also believes he is living in the year 2053. He is writing CIA memos to “his own top people.”

Memo: July 5, 2053

Dear All:

As you know, eight years ago, some son of a bitch blocked us, and by –blocked– and –us– I mean he brought everybody of any importance to a standstill and stopped us from fighting the great war to liberate whatever has to be liberated and of course I’m also referring to our cherished freedoms and the people who hate us for our freedoms and I’m talking about total surveillance, without which our very existence treads a fine line above a chasm of despair and defeat and misery forever. Okay?

Well, we’ve made progress. We don’t know who the son of a bitch is yet, although we’ve eliminated 365,789,543 potential inter-dimensional agents. We do know this: the traitor issued a code command which connected every significant surveillance platform and system of every nation on Earth and made them One, and then, on top of that, disabled the whole network, and by disabled I mean stopped, slammed, crushed, defanged, derailed, curtailed, scrambled, upended, shattered. Every new effort made by every intelligence agency on the planet to repair or rebuild or create anew the kind of surveillance we so desperately need has likewise been obstructed, blown apart, dismantled, disintegrated.

That was and is the op.

People are going about their lives and no one is spying on them.

This is unheard of. It’s unthinkable. It’s worse than nuclear war.

And the overall effect of these horrors? The public seems happy. Satisfied.

How can that be?

My wife has run off with a cellist! My son has stopped taking drugs. My daughter, a poor student at best, is memorizing the Constitution! On her own!

Is somebody spraying a drug in the air?

Today, unbidden, I wrote this in my journal:

Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking
warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

Those are the words of an obscure 20th-century poet, Dylan Thomas.

How did they get into my head?

There are moments during the day when I can’t remember why we were spying on everybody. It’s just out of reach. I know it was right, I just don’t know why.

But an eerie thought is spreading. Well, two eerie thoughts. Maybe three. The first is, I’m really spying on myself. I’m trying to learn about myself. That seems too facile, so the second thought is, I’m trying to learn how to behave (because I never knew) by watching other people all the time. And the third is, I’m performing an entirely random act. I’m an atom looking at other atoms, and the other atoms are…waiting for something. I’m watching them wait. The universe is on pause. Perhaps it always has been. I’m watching and hoping to see a clue, a clue about how to set the atoms into significant action. I don’t know what that action would be. But I’ll know when I see it. Some person will do something entirely unpredictable, something no one could have considered before, and then I’ll wake up from a dream. In the meantime, I’m waiting and watching. We’re all looking for the same clue. We know it’s there, somewhere, and we’re alert.

We watch life to find out what it is. We may be inspired for a moment or two, and then we may want to create something, but we prefer to lapse back and watch. This is our default setting. We defend it. We are a painter who sits in front of his canvas and stares at the white space and waits for something to move him, so he can lay the brush on the surface.

At any rate, things are quiet around here these days, as I’m sure they are where you are, too. It’s given me time to think about many of our past ops. I realize that in some cases, we’ve ended up spying on ourselves, not on purpose, of course, but because we’ve lost track of agents and sub-scenarios. In one instance, our own Russian impersonator ended up defecting back here from Moscow and, failing to remember he was ours, we put him through the mill for six months, trying to figure out whether he was giving us good information. Obviously, he must have been in a state of utter identity-confusion himself. We were looking in the mirror, so to say. As I recall, we ended up believing we’d extracted some very good data from him, but it was probably material we’d seeded him with before we slipped him into the Kremlin.

Who knows what the Russian service thought of the whole business?

I’ve been developing a hypothesis about discovery and insight. As confusion increases, knowledge erodes. But then a threshold is reached, beyond which the confusion is so great that a sudden penetration occurs. The observer, the watcher comprehends a pattern he never noticed before. He escapes from part of the labyrinth.

I confided my ideas to my secretary, and she speculated it was all blowback. In other words, the sudden penetration is actually a case of remembering what we put in motion at an earlier time. We’re looking at our own thoughts.

A few years ago, we had an extreme situation here with one of our watchers. He reported that he’d been observing people saying and doing things he’d seen them do the week before. The exact things, down to the finest detail. We tried to disabuse him of this, but he wouldn’t relent. We sent him to the shrinks, and that didn’t help at all.

Let me go back to a very old operation. The JFK hit. Lee Oswald was one of ours, but he also wasn’t. He was doubling, he was tripling, he was an actor playing multiple roles, and we never could figure out who he was working for by the end. I would say we brought on the confusion ourselves. We were so clever, we had planted Oswald with so many layers of cover that we set him loose in a jungle of tigers, and those tigers could have co-opted him. Oswald could have lost track. He could have deceived himself. He knew he was a patsy, but he didn’t remember how or why. In a sense, he was the perfect agent, because if he had survived he would have stumped his interrogators. The man didn’t know. He had wrapped himself in a mystery. In the few seconds of his dying from a bullet wound, he could have thought he was working for the Russians or the Americans or the Cubans or the mafia or oil men in Texas or the man in the moon. Oswald was a false trail and a cover story and a dead end and a limited hangout, even to himself.

So yes, perhaps all this time we have been spying on ourselves. And perhaps that is the ultimate goal of all our surveillance. To see ourselves. To see what we do and think. For example, we create and fund a terrorist group, and then we tell everyone somebody else created that group, and then we forget we created it, and then we spy on the group and track its every move. We spy on our own creation. This would be the painter attending his own opening in a gallery—where he has installed a hundred cameras to follow the action, as if the place was flooded with subversives, as if his own paintings were somehow criminal in nature.

Unthinking atoms…how do we stimulate them and bring them awake? We spy on them until they feel it, and then they react. They take a new course of action. We force that. We put the whole universe under a microscope, and then it responds.

The CIA, therefore, has a metaphysical purpose, which overrides every other motive.

I’ve always suspected this.

We keep spying on “things as they are” until they aren’t.

However, as I say, we have been inventing/creating terrorist groups all over the world. We invent the enemy, lie about him, and then try to overthrow him. This, of course, goes far beyond mere observation.

We need agents who will spy on our people who are inventing enemies. This will preserve our metaphysical mandate. Do you see?

We must spy on everyone and everything, including ourselves.

Now do you understand why I am the Director of the Agency? I can grasp the big picture. I can see clearly. I understand our position in the cosmos.


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.

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3 comments on “CIA memories

  1. Joy says:

    “As confusion increases, knowledge erodes. But then a threshold is reached, beyond which the confusion is so great that a sudden penetration occurs. The observer, the watcher comprehends a pattern he never noticed before. He escapes from part of the labyrinth.”

    This is my favorite part as I am reading “today.” I experienced just such a moment of penetration and escape the other night, at the precise moment when I thought I was going into confusion overload from the day’s events. That is what I now term, “wavy-gravy-reality.”

  2. From Quebec says:

    Maybe this song has nothing to do with your story, Jon, but the first thing that came to my mind when I read it, was this song.

    Excerpt:

    I stumbled out of bed
    I got ready for the struggle
    I smoked a cigarette
    And I tightened up my gut
    I said this can’t be me
    Must be my double
    And I can’t forget, I can’t forget
    I can’t forget but I don’t remember what……………………….

    Leonard Cohen – I Can’t Forget

  3. fat elvis says:

    Hope you just forgot to pay a bill…

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