by Jon Rappoport (Copyright 2021)
January 12, 2023
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a painted hand on a canvas disappears down into the mouth of a
a factory in Cinncinati plunges into the production of synthetic
the cage of the tiger is very clean
attendants come in once a day and
scoop up the feces and remove them
they hose down the floor
when they’re done the tiger is let back into the cage
and picks up his pacing
Huge sums in bank accounts disappear
Wearing a webbed helmet, you’re running across a lake in Liberia
with an M-16
an orange bird
to a small fountain pouring into the eye of an exploded
Disembodied skulls are talking to each other in a Times Square
what was the greatest war?
in whose name did we lay down our flesh
was the uranium really depleted
how many roadside bombs did you see before the last one
did we guarantee the oil
did we plant the poppies
freedom is standing in a bar on university place and ordering a beer
at six o’clock and listening to the voices
freedom is taking a shirt of infinite sadness and folding it up
freedom is sitting in a bus station in a small town and counting the
money in your pocket and watching the door as a wolf trots in and
stares at you
freedom is being as sad as the animals
freedom is falling down on your knees in the street
freedom is a beautiful drunken woman tearing off her clothes and
taking the elevator down to the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel in San
From cliffs domed with chimes.
The NY Times
Is a mosquito
On a plum.
In halls of marble
Heralds open the door
The gold-seated apparatus
Spits out souls,
Of the faded sea.
South of Los Angeles…dancers arrive early in a giant room above
In forest halls, dryads run like crystal.
CON FRER Tito Puente strides into the endless Balboa ballroom.
Timbales, rolling cymbals, chingachcook congas, brass section put
in harness from the ceiling. Tito is sitting in a blue mist. The slow
vibraphone turns over and over and Silver runners flash around
In the New York harbor
Turbines with numerical rivets
Are driven into light.
Shoreline hardworking men rest on the
Kneecap of a colossal Buddha
Coming into port
when I was a boy
a road among trees
magnolia, oak, maple…
squirrels with great healthy bushy tails ran up trunks
jumped on to roofs
sniffed smoke coming out of chimneys
and in the dark
there were horse chestnut trees dropping polished mahogany
along the little lanes leading off the road…
After the Cross of money burned and rotted
we walked to the shore
we walked into the ocean
we walked on the ocean floor
we discovered the oceanic mind
we swam on the towering waves
we came back to ourselves
we smelled towers of the city
we floated into the city
we rolled out on to the highways of America
we broke veins of golden paralysis in the clock of the galaxy
we rose with our swords and decapitated the Holy Worm
we planted gardens around the wreck of the Babel Tower and
invented new languages that would spread like morning glories
(Episode 32 of Rappoport Podcasts — “The Transgender and Transhumanist Agenda; I connect MANY dots in ways they’ve never been (but should be) connected” — is now posted on my substack. It’s a blockbuster. To listen, click here. To learn more about This Episode of Rappoport Podcasts, click here.)
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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 poem is like walking into a Salvador Dali painting. And
Copyright ©️ date 2021
Narrative date undated
In a Smashing ! Sorta way.
The way the Brits say it.
That is That is.
What is there ?
A Reader emailed me the following comment:
Ah. YES! The Fairmont Hotel. I remember it well! Shipped out of Alameda with USN & merchant marine ships. Have gone under the Golden Gate more than drove over it.