Matrixology: fact vs. fiction
by Jon Rappoport
September 2, 2013
I’ve made this point several times: fiction is often a better way than fact to gain insight into the Matrix. With some people, this notion turns over in the mind about as compellingly as the engine of a 1947 Buick in a junkyard.
They can’t grasp it. They believe Matrix is a thing that can be taken apart piece by piece and then reconstructed.
They’re defending themselves against, perhaps, well, the sort of invader I’m describing in this story:
I’m at Walter Reed, where a lot of bad shit happens. I came back from Zganb12 in a heap. I was a ship captain once, but that’s over.
They’ve got me on pure IV neurotransmitters, but the proportions are never right. I still feel the pink love bugs. PLB don’t live by our rules. For one thing, they always smile. At least, that’s how I imagine it.
What I’m not imagining is how they got into my bloodstream through a scratch. In the dark towering forest out there, we were searching for one of our crew, who was probably sucked into a nest and incorporated.
They laughed in my veins at first. It was more than pleasant. I saw perfect breasts and slender thighs and curving puddles of Hindu gods having cosmic sex in what I took to be an ultimate form. No form.
That was in the first three seconds.
After two days, I realized the PLB were relentless. They were after my soul. And I didn’t believe I had one up until then. They were determined to be in love with me forever. How does a person know that? I just did. I felt it. I felt them swarming around my heart. At night, lying in bed, I saw them circling my head. They were pink. They were small. They always showed up in groups. The smallest group I saw was three. One ate the other two, and then hundreds came to join him. Or her.
The docs at Walter Reed are treating me for cognitive disintegration. That’s their story. It isn’t mine. They have me classified as delusional because it’s easy. Just another Navy man who was out there on the edge of the Milky Way and went nuts.
So how can they can cure me? They can’t. In fact, with the neurotransmitter treatments, I’m registering enhanced perception of the PLB. I can hear them sometimes. They have a language. It’s something like Portuguese, no geometry, all liquid.
I also realize they’re multi-taskers. For example, they can function as building blocks. Last month, I watched them assemble themselves into a chair in the corner of my room. It was a recliner. Maroon. It stayed there for almost an hour. Then it faded out.
I sat in the chair for ten minutes or so. I felt connected to the Whole. I was here, there, and everywhere. I was looking through the eyes of strange nameless creatures. I was inside the mind of an entity I’m calling The Reality Builder.
She makes reality out of nothing. That’s her work. That’s all she does. She can’t do anything else. She builds time, space, energy. She’s a kind of machine. She’s benevolent, but not through choice.
She talks to me. “Don’t worry about the PLB,” she says. “They’re all show. They overwhelm you with love, and then they go away. It might take a year or two, but it’ll happen. They’re like an infection. The cure is time.”
The Realty Builder came to me while I was sitting in the chair, as if the PLB were handing her off to me as a gift.
This morning, she was standing by the window. She said, “Think of me as a prop woman in a theater company. Maybe the stage manager. The set designer. That’s it. I make the sets. The rest is up to you. I don’t know why people get so worked up about reality. It’s pretty simple. I do my job. I keep adding space, time, and energy to what’s already there.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I said. I felt a sense of urgency.
“Well,” she said, “for you the problem seems to be the doctors here can’t accept what you’re telling them. That’s all. If you’d come back with a different story, they would have released you. Put you back to work.”
She was probably right. What was I doing to myself? I’d made a heavy mistake. So now, if I pretended their treatment was bearing fruit, would they sign me out, let me go? I could tell them the PLB were gone, they’d never really been here, they were a persistent but ultimately temporary hallucination. I wouldn’t pilot a ship again, but I could find something else to do.
The Reality Builder asked me if she could hang around with me for a few years. She needed somebody to talk to. Naturally, nobody else would know she was present. We would chat by ourselves at night.
I was on the verge of saying yes when her form, which had been hazy up to this point, clarified. She looked like Ava Gardner. In her prime. She was wearing a white gown. Her hair was up. She was young and eager and new.
“Are you a group manifestation of the PLB?” I said.
She looked at me silently.
Then she walked over and put her hand on my arm.
“Does it matter?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“You were inside my mind,” she said. “You were sitting in the chair and you entered my mind. You saw that I make, what, reality? Just the basics. What’s wrong with that?”
“But” I said, “I don’t want to fall for a mistake. I don’t want to give my trust to something that isn’t what it seems to be.”
“Yes,” she said. “In order to trust me, you have to believe I’m just one thing. That’s your real sickness, Captain.”
She started to fade out, and I heard a soft explosion at the back of my head.
I became people and creatures and even inanimate objects. They sprang out of me as if from a trap.
I felt myself being torn apart. A wheel inside me was suddenly running at high speed and it was snapping and throwing off pieces of itself.
Then I felt I was alone for a long time.
Days, weeks, months.
Or perhaps only for a few minutes.
I was all alone.
I was the singular.
And she. She was the many.
She was doing the work she was pleased to do. Bringing light into the cracks between dark places.
I was the immovable object and she was the irresistible force.
This was the stage play. This was the plot I had failed to notice.
In a forest on a distant planet or in the hospital room at Reed.
“I won’t be bored with her,” I said out loud. “There’s that.”
The doctor walked in.
“Bored with who?” he said.
“A woman I just remembered. I used to go out with her.”
“You’re thinking of contacting her?” he said.
“Yes. I am.”
“Good. That’s a good sign. In fact, you look better today.”
“Feel better…Let me ask you something, Doc,” I said. “Have you ever caught yourself realizing that something deadly serious wasn’t serious at all?”
He stared down at his shoes.
“What’s the matter?” I said.
He shook his head and looked back up at me.
“No,” he said. “Not your fault. What you just described…well, I learned that from my wife. Every day. She died last year.”
The room darkened.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He smiled. “That was my journey out into the forest,” he said. “I had to decide whether there would always be something of her that would stay with me. Something…forever.”
Two weeks later, he signed my papers and I walked out of Walter Reed, a free man.
I trudged through the streets of Washington DC all day. I finally checked into a small hotel off the Park.
She was waiting in my room. She was wearing a dark blue dress. She was standing by the window.
“You know,” she said. “Things aren’t exactly the way you think they are. I’ve been alone, too. I know what it’s like. If, now and then, it seems like I’m trying to put one over on you, that’s why. I remember a lot of empty space and no one around. I don’t want to go back there. I do things to stay here.”
I walked over to her and put my arms around her.
“Let’s go out and have supper,” I said. “Then we’ll come back here. It’ll be a nice night.”
“Will you kiss me or kid me?” she said.
“Kiss you. Later, when we’re used to it, I’m sure we can kid each other about a lot of things.”
She smiled. “I can tell you this,” she said. “The PLB were never there. That was just the yearning. When we have that, we tell stories. But I’m here now.”
And she was.
It was a summer night. We had supper at an outdoor cafe near the river. I don’t remember what we ate, but I do remember she laughed.
Later, in our hotel room, she said, “Do you mind if I, well, become the night table and the chair and the bed and the carpet and the walls and the ceiling and the buildings in the city and the clouds?”
“For how long?” I said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe an hour.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t mind you being the same you a thousand times over.”
That was how it started.
When the lights go out suddenly and you’re in the dark all alone, and your eyes are trying to adjust, don’t look. At that moment, just know, just feel your way along, and you’ll find something. Hold on to it and follow what happens. I guess that’s pretty much what I did.
Three years later, on a foggy night outside our cottage in Delaware, she finally said, “I like you, Captain, so I’m going to tell you the truth. I’m a representative of the universe, and my mission is to make you a cog in that machine, to connect you with everything everywhere. That’s what I do. I use any and all means to make it happen. You peeked through a window you weren’t supposed to notice at all. So I was sent in to plug the gap. To keep you in check. Okay? So do what you want to now. I’ve blown my own cover.”
I drove all night and reached New York at dawn. I checked into a hotel and…here I am. Considering my options. Whatever action I take, I’m not going to back down…
And if you think this means I’m rejecting love, you’re way off the mark.
The author of two explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED and EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at www.nomorefakenews.com