If a poem can loosen up molecular forces

by Jon Rappoport

September 7, 2016

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

I begin with a quote from The Magician Awakes:

“Nothing is engraved in stone. The old Tibetan magicians proved that. The forces that hold things together in this universe aren’t traditional in any sense of the word. They’re just another long con. I propose that, at one time, the bonds were a lot looser.”

Here are several untitled poems—

ONE

behind a fence, curbside service for ice cream, hot dogs, and a stand where a crone hawks pink angels

 

A thirteen-year-old girl walks up and down

 

 

The fruit orchards received new blood.

Flying citizens were seen above the city.

 

I crossed the street and walked into an OTB office and laid down a chunk on Narcosis in the third at Gulfstream

 

I took a cab to JFK and ran to the counter for the Virgin flight to Mars and got the last seat

 

Strapped in

I heard the flight attendant say

we wouldn’t be coming back

 

No problem

Things were getting too heavy on Earth

 

If I had to live inside a bubble on Mars for the rest of my life I could catch up on my reading

I wanted another shot at Proust

and Joyce wherein he “puts language to sleep”

 

I’d read Arjuna’s conversation with Krishna 48 times, and 24 times I’d come down on the side of Krishna and 24 times I’d been for Arjuna

so maybe now I could decide the issue once and for all

 

when we were out in space though

and had passed the pull of Earth’s gravity

 

 

I saw stitched seams in the sky

where it had obviously been put together

 

and that’s when the co-pilot came down the aisle

he was waving a big gun

 

 

TWO

…I saw her once before

 

She was bending over picking up a brown cat

 

 

She’d looked up at me and nodded

she had green eyes

she sized me up

 

 

and now all these years later here she is again

tending bar at a CIA costume party

 

 

THREE

These are the letters of my ancient fathers,

And these are the letters of the roses

Blowing across the rolling apparatus

That moves the sun,

Shining through old windows

On drowned men.

 

They shake off the rime

And stagger up from their trench,

Without a city.

 

 

FOUR

Summer nights I sat on the porch

 

rhododendrons were thrashed by slow comets of rain

 

 

FIVE

Physicists will soon say the universe is one giant atom

 

and they will say it with a straight face

 

they will march into a room and submit to the one atom

 

they will fall on their knees and ask for special dispensation

 

a papacy will be established at Los Alamos

 

and finally the environs will be granted status as an independent nation

 

diplomats with portfolio and immunity will populate embassies and vases of flowers will sit on many polished tables

 

 

the giant atom will reveal

 

five billion languages he has been hiding

 

 

SIX

astral locale

little island in a sea of blur

 

I was going from one apartment to another

and there were people talking and drinking

people I’d never met before

 

I wore a black cloak with a gold insignia on the shoulder

I had no idea what it was

 

I found myself alone in a room

with an important man who asked me questions

 

pretty soon I realized I was a spy

I had been somewhere else where I’d gathered information

 

I went to my car and drove to the ocean

on the way it started raining and when I got there

a cafe was on fire

it was sizzling and smoking

and fire trucks were pulled up all around it

 

 

the fire chief came up to me and said

 

 

I know you’re in this thing up to your neck

 

 

he strode away like a big shot and started giving orders to his men

 

 

they turned the hoses on him and drove him into the sea

---

---

SEVEN

…in my Broadway suit and short black winter coat with the belt

 

I’m walking up 6^th Avenue on a snowy December afternoon

 

 

nothing to do

 

 

I wander into

a massive granite building

art class

naked model

 

I tell the teacher I studied with Phil Guston and Phil suggested this class

thought it would be good for me to draw the figure

the teacher scrambles and brings me a pad and pencil and I sit there looking at the naked woman

she’s about 40

frozen on a wooden chair

gray eyes

 

After a while, the teacher comes back, looks over my shoulder, and timidly asks, “Would you like my comments?”

 

“Excuse me? What’s that? No, I don’t need any help, I know I’m drawing the model with a very small head and the body of a giantess but I’m looking at the chair and platform too and the street outside and I think it fits because the Great Wheel grinds us down but we always come back..”

 

 

“And,” I say, “suppose the model sitting on the platform knows all this…

 

“I like her leg sticking out over the East River, she’s dangling it above ships and garbage and then do you see how her right shoulder is obscuring New Jersey…

 

 

 

“Do you see how her shoulder is turned to the left of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine and the hip loosens the Chelsea District, and one foot, is it a third foot, is entering the 42^nd St. Library from the park, and her eyebrow is rattling the George Washington Bridge…”

 

He backs away

 

I take apart the model’s ribs. They’re open books in a shining arboretum.

 

I’m sitting on a bench. Next to me is a ghostly something.

 

“You’ve concealed yourself,” he says. “But you know we permit no visitors. There are penalties.”

 

I nod and look out at hills. Beyond them are immense decks of stone and clouds.

 

“I’m willing to risk it,” I say.

 

“Here, where we live, the paradoxes have all been resolved.”

 

The creature smiles.

 

We sit quietly for a few minutes. The sun sets, and it’s dark all around us.

 

“Go home, stranger,” he says. “This isn’t for you.”

 

“Look,” I say, “I smell a phony deal. You haven’t resolved anything. This is a top-down operation. I’ve seen a lot of them.”

 

I stand up.

 

Then I’m back in the old candy store on Post Road. I buy a Mounds bar, walk to the little space next to the magazine rack, sit on the floor, and count my change. I think about the new church on the hill, the big parking lot, the polished cars on Sunday mornings. The fathers who stand there, looking around, waiting for Marvin or one of his pals to come over and slip them an envelope. I wonder where the money comes from. Miraculously, here’s Marvin now, walking into the store. He sees me. I stare at his shoes. I look up into his eyes and I see an image of God. God is swimming in a sea of money. Heaven is a machine that prints the bills. The candy store is a small-time relay. A toilet flushes. The store owner comes out of his bathroom. He’s a little fat guy with a long face. The molecules of the store are loosening…

 

With a little push I could tip it over and it would fall into the school playground.

 

Marvin bends down and hands me a five-dollar bill. “This is for you, kid,” he says.

 

“My father’s the DA,” I say.

 

“I know.”

 

“It could be construed as a bribe.”

 

Marvin jerks back.

 

“God is printing money,” I say.

 

“You’ll never prove it, kid.”

 

But I could see the pipeline all the way up, and the massive tribes of adrenaline that were supporting the operation. The whole thing had a synthetic feel…

 

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 29^th 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.