The Individual on trial

The individual on trial

by Jon Rappoport

February 20, 2017

THE SCENE: COURTROOM OF THE FUTURE

A PROSECUTOR ADDRESSES THE JUDGE. THE DEFENDANT IS WAITING FOR THE VERDICT IN A JAIL CELL FAR FROM THE TRIAL.

PROSECUTOR: Your Honor, I have a document written by the defendant.

JUDGE: Why do you present it here?

PROSECUTOR: Because it reeks of ideals which the State does not support. It speaks of the individual.

JUDGE (choking on his coffee): The individual? That old tune? I thought we’d gotten rid of it. Read it to me now.

PROSECUTOR (reading): “As always, I return to the individual.

“Without him, there is no meaning to civilization or the future.

“It was once established that society and civilization existed to liberate him, to remove the shackles of the State from him, so he could pursue his own destiny. This victory was massively opposed by combines, monopolies, and cartels, who seek control over populations.

“It is now up to the individual to stake out his own territory, his own power, his own virtue.

“In doing so, he can settle on little ambitions or great ones. He can develop his mind as a seeking instrument of penetration, or he can absorb himself in shallow ideas. He can make his way along huge trails of adventure, or he can occupy himself with ordinary details of a huddled and mundane life.

“To say these choices are his is obvious. But he has to make them.

“He can imagine and envision tiny advances, or he can view great ascendance.

“He can go down with any number of small ships, or he can build a vessel for himself that will take him across an ocean of invention.

“He can discover what he already knows, or he can create new knowledge.

“He is building the reach of his own spirit, or he is living in a welfare state of mind.

“He is discovering the immortal impulses that reside beyond the language of the crowd, or he is trapping himself in the crowd.”

JUDGE: Treasonous, to say the least. The author is obviously psychotic. Where did he get such ideas?

PROSECUTOR: I do not know, sir.

JUDGE: It must have been the Russians.

PROSECUTOR: I hadn’t considered that. Yes, it must be so. Of course.

JUDGE: We’ve caught them at this before. They recruit dupes and being them under their control. They’re trying to undermine our way of life.

PROSECUTOR: I recommend a life sentence for the defendant.

JUDGE: A life of silence in an institution. It is so ordered.

PROSECUTOR: Perhaps we could turn him.

JUDGE: Make him into a double agent? I’ll leave that to the psychiatrists. If they believe they can achieve it, they could set him adrift in our cities and let him attract others to his cause. He could help us identify enemies.

PROSECUTOR: A brilliant idea, Your Honor.

JUDGE: Do you remember names like George Washington, Tom Paine, Thomas Jefferson?

PROSECUTOR: Vaguely.

JUDGE: They were Russian spies who tried to subvert the United States at the birth of the nation. They spread vile ideas and fake news to the people.

PROSECUTOR: Fake news? That’s a capital crime.

JUDGE: Indeed. It took our leaders many years to discover the plot.

PROSECUTOR: Thank goodness we now have a strong court system.

JUDGE: The loopholes have been eliminated. Next case!


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.

An open letter to Vladimir Putin

An open letter to Vladimir Putin

by Jon Rappoport

December 11, 2016

Dear Vladimir,

First of all, I want to thank you for the $50,000 check and the 2016 XJ Jaguar (550HPV8), as payment for helping you influence the US election and swing the victory to Donald Trump.

I was hoping for a classic bottle-green Jag, but it came in black.

I have several issues. I understand Chris Hedges received a Rolls Dawn, and (name unknown at this time) is now living in a villa in Nice. Several Breitbart employees are retiring to the Amalfi Coast.

If I had known bribes on this level were possible, I would have held out for a bigger pay day. Your people told me a car in the 80K range and a 50K transfer were top of the line. When I brought this up in our phone call the other day, you assured me you would add a bonus, but checking my bank account now, I see no new activity.

You know, I’ve always wanted to live in a permanent suite at the Essex House in New York. It’s right off the Park. Perhaps you could arrange that. Ignore my recent request for a van loaded with gold bars.

Last night, we opened our first container of Caspian Osetra Platinum Caviar. Frighteningly delicious. Not the Beluga, but close.

I hope you’re keeping a careful eye on the nascent rebellion among Electors at the College and are taking appropriate measures to derail them.

The files on Hillary you just sent me are quite interesting. So far, the prime headline appears to be: 27 NEW YORK TIMES REPORTERS MOONLIGHT AT THE CLINTON FOUNDATION, but I’m just on page three of the reports.

If all goes well, I’ll be in Moscow in the spring, and I look forward to sitting down and talking with you. Shall I book rooms at the Metropol?

Your friend,

Jon (CIA double agent-A-4-NC)


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 emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.

Washington Post: fake news is an intergalactic conspiracy; nailed it

Washington Post: fake news is an intergalactic conspiracy; nailed it

by Jon Rappoport

December 11, 2016

Cautionary Note: This is not an article. Nor is it fake news. It is something called fiction. Most people no longer understand that term. If they did, they would not be interested. How could fiction possibly reflect what is happening in the real world? Metaphor? Baloney! What does that stupid elite term even mean? Enrichment of the mind? Don’t be silly. We don’t have time for it. Kids get all that in college—and then they can’t find a job. Fiction died a long time ago. Who wrote fiction? Can’t remember. A few crazy Russians. A few British men. A guy named Hemingway, and then he killed himself. Serves him right. Now we deal in memes. Meme vs. meme. It’s a war. Twitter. 140 characters. Even 140 is too many. Puts a strain on the brain. What is a FICTION WRITER? He uses words to “make things different?” Who does he think he is? Just give us the bottom line. Sum up the piece in 25 words or less. Stop screwing around. Too many words make people nervous. There should be a federal limit on the number of words any person is allowed to write in a given day.

Note #2: I will say this, strange as it may seem. When I occasionally write and publish fiction at this blog, I probably have more readers than half the fiction writers in America. How is that possible? A clue: I’ve been writing at this site/blog for 15 years, almost every day. That’s how. And I’ve confirmed, through experience, that there are many people out there who still have minds and want to use them. This gradually dawned on me as a revelation. If you are one of those people, I salute you. If you aren’t, I don’t have to say anything, because you haven’t come far enough in this piece to read these words. Okay…here we go…


A document has been leaked. It’s a transcript of a phone call. Well, one side of a phone call. The man speaking is the editor at the Washington Post, Carl Von Garble Hogfogger III. Harvard grad. His uncle worked for the CIA. Carl, on the phone, is explaining, to an unknown personage of obvious importance, what the hell is happening at his newspaper in its new war against “fake news.” Carl is trying to make sense.

Excerpt One from phone call: “Look, we’re trying. We’re accusing everybody we can. We’re making a case for fake news as a virus that has spread, unchecked, through every independent alt site and blog. It started from Russia. Putin. That’s our first big headline. We don’t care anymore about the facts. This is a war, sir. And we have to win it, or we’ll all go down in flames. Fucking flames. I was talking to XXXX about it, and he agrees. Throw whatever we can at the wall and see what sticks. Now Hillary has stuck her nose in. We told her to stay in the background, but you know how she is. She wants to destroy the universe. She’s that Hindu goddess, shatterer of worlds. She’s in the same psych ward I’ll be in if we can’t…I understand, sir. Yes, but we’re all feeling unhinged. We’re up against half a million blogs and sites. Can’t we just spray them all with a drug and put them to sleep? Infect them with a super malware bug or whatever it’s called and freeze their asses? Can you believe that prick Zuckerberg said Facebook won’t cut off Trump’s account because he’s the president and everything he posts is automatically news? CIA-connected money launched Zuckerberg’s whole operation and now he’s got a conscience? What kind of crap is that? And Trump is posting YouTube videos! He’s bypassing us! He’s going straight to his audience. That shit has to stop immediately. This is the real danger, sir…yes, I know, but…okay…David Rockefeller said WHAT? Does he think we can just wave a wand and make everything go back to the way it was? We’re OUTED, sir. People know we’re the fakers. It’s an untenable position. That’s what I’m trying to tell you…”

Excerpt Two from phone call: “I was even thinking we could do a piece on UFOs and try to deflect attention from…yes, sir, I know. Podesta is interested in UFOs. Hell, I’d put him in some kind of weird costume and have him walk across the White House lawn. I’d turn our whole goddamn paper into a tabloid if I could, at this point. Brad and Angelina had a secret baby. Brad wrote Jen an apology letter. The mummies in Egyptian pyramids are still alive. Give us a distracting war, sir. Right now. A clash between US and Russian planes over Syria. Take down the Dow. Blame it on Trump. Tell Soros to have his people burn half a city. Get us out of this…”

Excerpt Three from phone call: “I want MSNBC gone! They’re making things worse. Their version of attacking fake news is even worse than ours. Get the NSA to shut them down, sir. I beg you. Brian Williams is attacking fake news? Jesus H Christ! The man has big balls, I’ll grant him that. He gets exiled for lying about being under fire in Iraq and now he’s the defender of honesty in journalism? Listen closely—I’m convinced somebody is shoveling money under the table to those MSNBC bastards. You know, to discredit OUR whole attack against fake news. It’s a clever inside-out op. Who’s that guy at Zero Hedge? He might have big-time connections on Wall Street. He’s getting millions and paying off MSNBC to look as ridiculous as they can. I spoke to XXX at the CIA and told him to look into this, and he told me I’m crazy. Can you believe it? I’m a CIA asset, and he tells me I’m nuts. Just between you and me, sir, I think it’s the alien Grays. They must be among us. They’ve signed some kind of treaty with the US and part of the deal is to take down the mainstream press. We create reality for the masses, sir, and the Grays want to destroy reality. They want chaos…what’s that, sir…only Xanax, and Zoloft, that’s all. My physician told me to stop the other drugs…”

Excerpt Four from phone call: “I’m serious, sir. If it isn’t the alien Grays, working in conjunction with Zero Hedge, it’s the alien Nordics. I met one the other night at The Monocle. She was blonde and tall and hot. I mean, I could feel the vibe coming off her. They use sex as a tool, just like the Russians. She let me buy her a drink, and then she started asking me about our policy on separating editorial from reporting. Not very subtle. She said she was coming off a bad divorce and needed company. Wow. Come on. I saw a glint in her eyes. Especially her left eye. It was metallic. They’re not real. They’re engineered. Androids, you know. Inter-galactic. They need androids to survive the enormous travel distances…of course I’m serious. This is a far-reaching plot. Inter-galactic fake news. The Russians are just a cut-out. They take orders from the Nordics. We build reality for masses, they tear it down.”

Excerpt Five from phone call: “…Update, sir. I’m looking at new info. Trump must be a Nordic, that’s exactly it. We’re ready to go with it. He only seems to eat Earth food. Actually, he has a special mix. They ship it here, through Nestle. We think the pickup point is a retirement home in Boca. All the residents are props. Nobody there is sick. How can that be? We have a note from an anonymous source about a huge tunnel under the kitchen. Apparently, the packs are made to look like baby food…This is why Trump is friendly with Putin. Putin is taking his orders from Trump. It’s not the other way around.”

Excerpt Six from phone call: “The alien Nordics have their chief representative here on Earth ready to move into the White House. It’s Trump. Then Trump talks to Putin. That’s the chain of command. Putin then communicates with Julian Assange, who has to be a ‘lower-order Nordic,’ and Assange leaks everything. On the side, Putin and his people directly release fake news to 250,000 blogs and sites. These sites and blogs are manned by agents of the Kremlin. They were recruited with sex, drugs, and cash. Could be they’re hooked on alien Nordic sex…”

Excerpt Seven from phone call: “If Earth is under attack from an alien force, sir, why shouldn’t I use every tool at my disposal? I want to defend my planet. Suppose Nordics exhale far more carbon dioxide than humans, and they’re really the prime cause of global warming? Can you see the news angle here, sir? All Nordics are blondes. This gives us a race-war slant for page one…”

These are the phone-call excerpts that have emerged so far. This is all breaking news. In response, Glenn Greenwald has penned a new piece attacking the Washington Post; and MSNBC and CNN have attacked Greenwald as “a courier of covert support for Donald Trump.”

Stay tuned.


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 emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.

Will Hillary’s body double be the next President? (fiction)

Will Hillary’s body double be the next President? (fiction)

by Jon Rappoport

October 23, 2016

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

Dear Mom,

I’m trying to be exactly like Hillary. I really am. That’s my job.

I hope this message gets through. The people around me are supposed to be “tight security,” but they aren’t all that attentive.

Some of them don’t like Hillary and Bill.

Anyway, can you believe I might become the next President of the United States?

When I was trying to win those little beauty contests back in Kansas, the most I was hoping for was a good-looking boyfriend. But you told me I was smart and I could shoot for something higher. It wasn’t until college that I realized I had a mind. And remember, I was always good at imitations. Well, mom, I’ve got an imitation going now!

In the house where I’m staying, Bill came to visit. I think he wanted to grope me, but I told him I wanted to stick to the script, meaning since he and Hillary have no sex life, then he and I shouldn’t have one, either. Besides, he looks very unhealthy, and I was afraid he might collapse if we…you get the picture.

I told my handlers I wanted to read all of Hillary’s speeches, but they told me it wasn’t necessary. They aren’t interested in my brain, only my ability to sound and look like Hillary. They say they’ll “take it from there.” I’m not sure what that means. Time will tell.

It’s not me at the debates. From what I hear, they have a whole team of doctors who give Hillary a protocol of drugs, supplements, and electronic zappers so she can go on stage. I saw her the other day for a minute. She looked exhausted. She doesn’t talk to me or look at me. She pretends I’m not there. I guess I would, too, if I were in her shoes. After the 9/11 memorial, outside Chelsea’s apartment, that was me. Hillary had collapsed getting into the van, and they kept her in the medical suite next to Chelsea’s. I went outside on the sidewalk with no security around me, to show I was fine and didn’t need help standing and walking. They told me to say, “It’s a beautiful day in New York,” and I did. It came out well, I thought.

So far, I’m being used in transition moments. Getting in and out of vehicles, appearing for moments in hallways and on planes. That sort of thing. I rarely speak. But I think my role is going to expand after the election. We’ll see. I’m ready. I want to be President of the United States. Even if I don’t fully understand policy, I know enough to make a plausible impression. Bill says I’m terrific.

I’ve rehearsed sentences like, “Sometimes, war is inevitable in order to win the peace,” “We must welcome all those who need a safe place to live within our borders,” “The national debt is not a pressing concern,” “This great nation must unite as one,” “I stand with working people,” “I reject the values of Wall Street,” “The whole world needs one political and economic system,” “America is kind and good.” I have to deliver these lines with a big smile.

I don’t know whether you can come to the White House after I become President, but I’m going to give it my best shot. I’d love it if you stayed in the Lincoln bedroom with Jimmy, or whoever your boyfriend is these days. I’ll make sure you get some nice clothes. I think you should put your hair back to brown. The white-blonde doesn’t look good.

Yesterday, I was arguing with the make-up and designer people about the truss and the harness around my middle and behind. They’re supposed to make me look more like Hillary. They’re heavy. I don’t like to walk with them. As usual, I lost the argument. I said, “Make them lighter.” They said they’d try. Remember when I was broke and I brought in some contraband across the border? That truss worked better. You know what, mom? I think video of me at the border that time was what alerted some of the Clinton people. They saw how much I looked like Hillary.

The other day, I had a little problem. They brought in George Soros. I was supposed to meet him and see if I could fool him. But after we started talking, I sort of lost it. There was just something about him. He was dark. Our old pastor in Wichita used to talk about that quality. Remember? Anyway, I just blurted out that he looked like a frog in a swamp. He got very angry. People came into the room and led me out. They told me if I ever did anything like that again, they’d hurt me. I was scared. But they need me. That’s my ace in the hole.

Last night, I overheard a few of the people around here talking. I don’t know who they were. Folks come and go. This group was talking about Haiti and the Clinton Foundation. They said they were trying to cover up where all the aid money really went. I was standing in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I was trying to figure out whether my nose really matched Hillary’s. There’s a little difference under my nose where it meets my upper lip. I pretended I didn’t hear them. They seemed nervous. See, I want to know about all these things, so if I have to respond in public, I’ll say the right thing. But my role is very defined at the moment. I’m trying to convince my bosses I can take on the serious stuff. I’m smart enough.

After the election, I think they’re going to need me more often. I really do. If they alternate Hillary and me enough times, people will get used to the fact that we don’t look exactly the same. People are easy to fool. A reporter will think I don’t look the same as Hillary did yesterday, but he’ll think I do look just like Hillary two days ago, because two days ago it was me. Do you get it, mom? I can do it. I’m chomping at the bit.

I’ve got some ideas of my own, too. For instance, why can’t I decide that Americans should get the first pick of good jobs, instead of immigrants? That’s pretty simple. And if I come out and say it in public, how can Hillary take it back? I know it could be dangerous, but I want to have an influence. I’m not just a dumb woman who happens to look a whole lot like Hillary. You kept telling me I was smart. I want to live up to your faith in me. I really do.

In a little while, they’re going to fit me for new shoes. My feet are too small, so they’ll insert pads in bigger shoes. I like that. I have a corn on my left pinky toe, and the pad gives me a soft place to rub against.

I’ve been thinking about terrorism lately. If we can’t screen people coming into the country from Syria, because we don’t know who they are, why should we just let them in? It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why Hillary and Trump are arguing about that. The answer seems so obvious. After the election, if the moment comes up, I might mention it to a reporter. I don’t want to feel like a doll. The other night, I got hold of a Bernie Sanders speech where he said 60,000 factories have closed down in America. The factories went overseas. That’s another one. All those lost jobs. Why can’t we tax the companies that left America, when they send their products back here for sale? That would help convince them to bring their factories back here where they belong. Wouldn’t it? Then the companies could hire back all the American workers they fired.

I’m seeing things more clearly now. It helps to be near the top, where the decisions are made. That’s when it gets serious. Remember when you were telling me about my nephew, Jeff, who can’t understand all the new education in his class? The Common Core? It sounded horrible, like they were trying to confuse him. Well, why can’t we get rid of that Common Core? It would be easy. I’d love to tell reporters a thing or two about it.

I wouldn’t scream and swear at people close to me, like Hillary does. I’d be nice to them. If they really want to help America, like they say they do, then maybe they have a few good ideas. I’d listen to them. I like working with other people. When I had the secretary job at WKZV, I would suggest stories to my boss. He liked a few, and he put them on the air. I felt like I was making a contribution.

Look at me now, mom. I’m right there next to Hillary. I’m in with big people. I could help.

Have you heard of a group called Public Citizen? I’ve been reading some of their reports when I’m alone in my room. I’m supposed to be listening to Hillary tapes all day, but I’m getting them played to me when I’m asleep at night, so I decided to ease off. Anyway, one of the Public Citizen reports says that a trade deal called NAFTA allowed the US to ship cheap corn to Mexico. It put 1.5 million Mexican corn farmers out of business. I suddenly thought that could explain why some of those Mexicans come up here through the border. Why can’t we get out of NAFTA or change it? Hillary would never do that. But maybe I could say something about it, in public.


Exit From the Matrix


See, I think I may have to take over from Hillary. She’s not in good shape. If she’s too sick to stay on as President, I’ll be next in line. I need to be prepared to say the right thing. At first, it would be a shock. I’d be saying things that are out of character for Hillary, but then people would get used to it, especially since it’s helping the country. For instance, there is already a term limit for Presidents. Why can’t we do the same for people in Congress? Obamacare isn’t working. The premiums keep getting higher, and Americans can’t choose their own doctors. We need a better plan. I think I should bring up these subjects in my press conferences. Another thing—this business about a “global economic system.” I don’t understand all the details, but why should we try to solve everyone else’s problems when we have so many of our own? Doesn’t it make more sense to focus on America? And if our democracy is so great, why do we have to use force to convince other countries to adopt it?

I’d better go now, mom, before they find out I’m in touch with you. Keep an eye on Hillary, because sometimes it’ll be me. Fix yourself up, cut back on the wine, and take your vitamins. Behave yourself. I really want you to see the White House and stay here, at least one night. If we’re lucky, I’ll be sitting in the Oval Office. Then we really won’t be in Kansas anymore.

Love,
Dorothy

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 emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.

I write a new ending for Orwell’s 1984

I write a new ending to Orwell’s 1984

O’Brien’s dream

by Jon Rappoport

October 14, 2016

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

“Money can buy you immortality, according to the Russian internet multi-millionaire who is ploughing a fortune into a project to create a human that never dies. Web entrepreneur Dmitry Itskov is behind the ‘2045 Initiative’, an ambitious experiment to bring about immortality within the next 30 years by creating a robot capable of storing human personalities. The group of neuroscientists, robot builders and consciousness researchers say they can create an android that is capable of uploading someone’s personality. Mr Itskov, who has made a reported £1bn from his Moscow-based news publishing company, is the project’s financial backer. ‘Different scientists call it uploading or they call it mind transfer. I prefer to call it personality transfer’ – Dmitry Itskov.” (The Telegraph, 3/13/16)

Winston Smith, the hero of Orwell’s 1984, has just been arrested for crimes against the State. Sitting in his cell, he watches as a familiar figure steps through the door. It’s O’Brien, the man he thought was his friend. But O’Brien is an undercover agent of the Party, and the Party rules all.

O’Brien: Don’t worry, Smith, I’m not here to wring a confession out of you or torture you. We’ve updated our methods. We have new technology. We can preserve the life and essence of every human now. This is our mission: to save, to improve, to transform.

Smith: What are you going to do?

O’Brien: We’re going to take your essence, your personality, which is your brain, and we’re going to transplant it into a new body, an artificial construct. Some people would call that a robot, but it’s really an advanced bio-machine. It’s programmed to operate correctly in the new society.

Smith: Operate correctly?

O’Brien: In other words, those choices your brain might make which are counter to the purposes of the Party…those choices will be nullified by the bio-machine.

Smith: So I’ll live on, but without freedom.

O’Brien: Exactly. You’ll be you, but you’ll be integrated with the collective. That’s our sales pitch.

Smith: Suppose my brain isn’t my essence or my personality?

O’Brien: Oh, we know you’re more than your brain. We know every human has dimensions of consciousness and power the brain can’t touch. We don’t publicize that fact. It’s a State secret. But we SAY your brain is you. We promote the idea.

Smith: But you can control my brain.

O’Brien: Correct. Your brain is a processing center, so to speak, and we can monitor what it does and stop it from acting in ways we consider harmful.

Smith: What makes you think I’ll be there at all after you take out my brain and put it in a bio-machine?

O’Brien: You won’t be there. We know you won’t be. But we say you will. It’s another aspect of our State propaganda. It eases people’s fears. We assure them they’ll live on. We tell them they and their brains are the same thing, if you follow my meaning.

Smith: And they buy that idea?

O’Brien: Of course. They’re not very thoughtful. If we said the individual and his consciousness were more than the brain, people would be confused. So we stick to the basics.

Smith: There are people who actually believe they will live on because you take their brains out of their bodies and install them in a bio-machine?

O’Brien: They do believe it, trust me. Getting them to believe it took many years and a great deal of scientific gibberish. Anyway, you’ll lie down on a table, we’ll anesthetize you, remove your brain, transfer it to a bio-machine that looks like you, and then activate the brain. A new version of Winston Smith will stand up and go about his life. Except now, instead of being a rebel, he’ll be a member of the Party, loyal and trustworthy. And you? You’ll be gone. Who knows where?

Smith: Suppose you transferred my brain but didn’t put a monitor and limiter on it? What would happen then?

O’Brien: The bio-machine would more or less act like you—the rebel. It wouldn’t be you, of course, but it would be a reasonable facsimile. An imitation, you might say. With far less imagination.

Smith: I’m me.

O’Brien: We know that. We know you’re beyond your brain, which is to say, you’re beyond any form of matter. But we don’t care. We only care about creating an imitation of you.

Smith: And that imitation would walk around and interact with other imitations you’ve created.

O’Brien: This is a long-range project. Eventually, we’ll transfer the brains of everyone—excluding high Party officials—into bio-machines.

Smith: And you’ll call this immortality.

O’Brien: That’s right. We’ll call it immortality, freedom, health, well-being, happiness. We’ll call it whatever we want to.

Smith: And the scientists who are working on this project?

O’Brien: They’re high-IQ idiots. They believe the individual is nothing more than a series of patterns. Patterns of thought and action. They believe freedom is a fiction. They believe consciousness independent of the brain is a fiction. Again, those of us in the Party who are in positions of influence—we know the truth. But we keep it to ourselves.

Smith: Why are you admitting this to me?

O’Brien: Because I like you. I consider you a friend. I could have ended up like you. But I saw which way the wind was blowing, and I joined the Party.

Smith: You’re a murderer.

O’Brien: Would you expect anything less?

Smith: I guess not.

O’Brien: Those of us in the core of the Party are the greatest secret society the world has ever known. Why? Because we understand that The Individual is not made out of matter at all—and yet we operate as though he is nothing more than a small amount of matter inside his skull. Do you see?

Smith: You make robots.

O’Brien: All right, if you want to put it that way.

Smith: I’ll never learn to love Big Brother and the State.

O’Brien: That’s what our algorithms tell us.

Smith: Whatever you do to me on the operating table, whatever you do to my brain, I’ll still exist afterwards, but I won’t be anywhere near my brain. I’ll be gone.

O’Brien: That is our assumption as well. But wherever you go, whatever you do, it won’t affect us. We’ll carry on. Our empire is the physical world.

Smith: I see a massive crack-up coming in your world. Robots going crazy. Machines fighting other machines. They’ll be unconscious, but they’ll leap outside your control.

O’Brien: What makes you say that?

Smith: Intuition. The robots will come after you. You won’t be able to stop them. You’ll be running Earth like a giant mental ward. Those operations always go haywire. They’ll destroy you…Then we’ll come back. We’ll pick up the pieces.

O’Brien: Maybe so. I won’t be here to see it.

Smith: You may not be here, but wherever you are, I have a feeling you’ll see it. And we’ll recognize you.

O’Brien: It’s all academic.

Smith: No. When we recognize you, you’ll experience the most real thing that’s ever happened to you.

O’Brien: So the war is never over?

Smith: It’s over when we win.


power outside the matrix


O’Brien woke up in a sweat. He was lying in the dark. He got up from his cot and searched for a light switch. He couldn’t find one. He felt the walls of the room. They were blocks of stone. High above his head, he saw a skylight. The glow beyond it was faint.

Where was he? What was the date?

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “What is this place? I’m just a neuroscientist working for the National Institutes of Health. I’m not O’Brien. This isn’t 1984. I want to achieve immortality for human beings. I just want to transfer their brains into artificial bodies, for their own good. What’s wrong with that? I’m a humanitarian. The government sponsors my research. I’m a doctor. I help people.”

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 emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.

I write a new ending for Orwell’s 1984

I write a new ending to Orwell’s 1984

by Jon Rappoport

June 21, 2016

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

“Money can buy you immortality, according to the Russian internet multi-millionaire who is ploughing a fortune into a project to create a human that never dies. Web entrepreneur Dmitry Itskov is behind the ‘2045 Initiative’, an ambitious experiment to bring about immortality within the next 30 years by creating a robot capable of storing human personalities. The group of neuroscientists, robot builders and consciousness researchers say they can create an android that is capable of uploading someone’s personality. Mr Itskov, who has made a reported £1bn from his Moscow-based news publishing company, is the project’s financial backer. ‘Different scientists call it uploading or they call it mind transfer. I prefer to call it personality transfer’ – Dmitry Itskov.” (The Telegraph, 3/13/16)

Winston Smith, the hero of Orwell’s 1984, has just been arrested for crimes against the State. Sitting in his cell, he watches as a familiar figure steps through the door. It’s O’Brien, the man he thought was his friend. But O’Brien is an undercover agent of the Party, and the Party rules all.

O’Brien: Don’t worry, Smith, I’m not here to wring a confession out of you or torture you. We’ve updated our methods. We have new technology. We can preserve the life and essence of every human now. This is our mission: to save, to improve, to transform.

Smith: What are you going to do?

O’Brien: We’re going to take your essence, your personality, which is your brain, and we’re going to transplant it into a new body, an artificial construct. Some people would call that construct a robot, but it’s really an advanced bio-machine. It’s programmed to operate correctly in the new society.

Smith: Operate correctly?

O’Brien: In other words, those choices your brain might make which are counter to the purposes of the Party…those choices will be nullified by the bio-machine.

Smith: So I’ll live on, but without freedom.

O’Brien: Exactly. You’ll be you, but you’ll be integrated with the collective. That’s our sales pitch.

Smith: Suppose my brain isn’t my essence or my personality?

O’Brien: Oh, we know you’re more than your brain. We know every human has dimensions of consciousness and power the brain can’t touch. We don’t publicize that fact. It’s a State secret. But we SAY your brain is you. We promote the idea.

Smith: But you can control my brain.

O’Brien: Correct. It’s a processing center, so to speak, and we can monitor what it does and stop it from acting in ways we consider harmful.

Smith: What makes you think I’ll be there at all after you take out my brain and put it in a bio-machine?

O’Brien: You won’t be there. We know you won’t be. But we say you will. It’s another aspect of our State propaganda. It eases people’s fears. We assure them they’ll live on. We tell them they and their brains are the same thing, if you follow my meaning.

Smith: And they buy that idea?

O’Brien: Of course. They’re not very thoughtful. If we said the individual and his consciousness were more than the brain, people would be confused. So we stick to the basics.

Smith: There are people who actually believe they will live on because you take their brains out of their bodies and install them in a bio-machine?

O’Brien: They do believe it, trust me. Getting them to believe it took many years and a great deal of scientific gibberish. Anyway, you’ll lie down on a table, we’ll anesthetize you, remove your brain, transfer it to a bio-machine that looks like you, and then activate the brain. A new version of Winston Smith will stand up and go about his life. Except now, instead of being a rebel, he’ll be a member of the Party, loyal and trustworthy. And you? You’ll be gone. Who knows where?

Smith: Suppose you transferred my brain but didn’t put a monitor and limiter on it? What would happen then?

O’Brien: The bio-machine would more or less act like you—the rebel. It wouldn’t be you, of course, but it would be a reasonable facsimile. An imitation, you might say. With far less imagination.

Smith: I’m me.

O’Brien: We know that. We know you’re beyond your brain, which is to say, you’re beyond any form of matter. But we don’t care. We only care about creating an imitation of you.

Smith: And that imitation would walk around and interact with other imitations you’ve created.

O’Brien: This is a long-range project. Eventually, we’ll transfer the brains of everyone—excluding high Party officials—into bio-machines.

Smith: And you’ll call this immortality.

O’Brien: That’s right. We’ll call it immortality, freedom, health, well-being, happiness. We’ll call it whatever we want to.

Smith: And the scientists who are working on this project?

O’Brien: They’re high-IQ idiots. They believe the individual is nothing more than a series of patterns. Patterns of thought and action. They believe freedom is a fiction. They believe consciousness independent of the brain is a fiction. Again, those of us in the Party who are in positions of influence—we know the truth. But we keep it to ourselves.

Smith: Why are you admitting this to me?

O’Brien: Because I like you. I consider you a friend. I could have ended up like you. But I saw which way the wind was blowing, and I joined the Party.

Smith: You’re a murderer.

O’Brien: Would you expect anything less?

Smith: I guess not.

O’Brien: Those of us in the core of the Party are the greatest secret society the world has ever known. Why? Because we understand that The Individual is not made out of matter at all—and yet we operate as though he is nothing more than a small amount of matter inside his skull. Do you see?

Smith: You make robots.

O’Brien: All right, if you want to put it that way.

Smith: I’ll never learn to love Big Brother and the State.

O’Brien: Yes, that’s what our algorithms tell us.

Smith: Whatever you do to me on the operating table, whatever you do to my brain, I’ll still exist afterwards, but I won’t be anywhere near my brain.

O’Brien: That is our assumption as well. But wherever you go, whatever you do, it won’t affect us. We’ll carry on. Our empire is the physical world.

Smith: I see a massive crack-up coming in your world. Robots going crazy. Machines fighting other machines. They’ll be unconscious, but they’ll leap outside your control.

O’Brien: What makes you say that?

Smith: Intuition. The robots will come after you. You won’t be able to stop them. You’ll be running Earth like a giant mental ward. Those operations always go haywire. They’ll destroy you…Then we’ll come back. We’ll pick up the pieces.

O’Brien: Maybe so. I won’t be here to see it.

Smith: You may not be here, but wherever you are, I have a feeling you’ll see it. And we’ll recognize you.

O’Brien: It’s all academic.

Smith: No. When we recognize you, you’ll experience the most real thing that’s ever happened to you.

O’Brien: So the war is never over?

Smith: It’s over when we win.

O’Brien woke up in a sweat. He was lying in the dark. He got up from his cot and searched for a light switch. He couldn’t find one. He felt the walls of the room. They were blocks of stone. High above his head, he saw a skylight. The glow beyond it was faint.

Where was he? What was the date?

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “What is this place? I’m just a neuroscientist working for the National Institutes of Health. I’m not O’Brien. This isn’t 1984. I want to achieve immortality for human beings. I just want to transfer their brains into artificial bodies, for their own good. What’s wrong with that? I’m a humanitarian. The government sponsors my research. I’m a doctor. I help people.”

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 smash-hit movie called Reality

The smash-hit movie called Reality

by Jon Rappoport

June 8, 2016

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

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

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

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

Your perception of x dimensions is narrowing down to three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lights dim.

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

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

You think, “This is a hypnotic weapon.”

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

He waits, then moves on.

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

You’re shocked.

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

Incredible.

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

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

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

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

You walk toward larger buildings in the distance.

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

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

“You were reported missing,” he says.

“Missing from what?” you say.

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

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

“In this part of the city?” he says. “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.”

You walk with the men to the car.

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

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

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

Now you do. “Real, real, real.”

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

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

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

You hear faint music.

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

One of the uniformed men opens the car door.

You nod at him.

“My pleasure, sir,” he says.

The music fades away.

The scene shifts.

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

You’re home.

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

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

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

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

Where did they come from?

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

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

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

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

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

…In order to suggest you’ve been here before. To suggest you belong here.

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

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

Yes.

You keep staring at the cottage and you see space.

You see pure space that…

Has been placed here. For you.

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

And you’re sitting in the theater again.

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

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

“Sir,” he says. “Please follow me.”

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

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

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

She drops a check in your hand.

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

She shrugs.

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

“And the rest of those people?”

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

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

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

“How do you do it?” you say.

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

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

She nods.

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

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


Exit From the Matrix


She looks into your eyes.

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

“Why do you do it?” you say.

“Do what?”

“Sell this trip.”

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

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

You take a deep breath and leave the theater.

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

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

You open it.

It’s a non-disclosure command.

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

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

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.