Six Cantos

by Jon Rappoport

March 22, 2019

I

Miles of unrecorded sand are

The skin of the dragon…

Haunch around the night

Preparing to shrug off hotels

II

This is the age of the actor

Who’s found that every other age

Was lying in its rooms,

In fumes and spice,

Weary of the pose in its own device.

This is the age of discovering

That every other age was dying,

Muted in a flame,

Born in presentiments of gold

In the pose of the honored name…

III

Lamps are lit

Along the Appian Way

Caesar steps out on the running board of his tent and waves to the surging crowd

This can only end in elevation to heaven

What else is left?

How many conquests until the gods tap him as one of their own?

Assassination? Impossible!

IV

I dreamt we fought a war to build Time from

A column rising out of the sea

And now, mystified by our own presence,

We aim to destroy it

V

“Burned flowers of the field

My noon is over, growing old,

Everything I love is finally sold.

Sewed designs for men with money

Thinking it was duty,

To watch them lead the world to war,

From my little field of beauty.”

VI

There is no army of artists of reality

There can never be such an army


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From 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.

Language and a New Life

by Jon Rappoport

March 16, 2019

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When life doles out enough pain, when birds of prey are gnawing at the liver and gall bladder and kidneys and other nameless etheric organs; when fabled shores of astral islands seem utterly out of reach—when doors are closing and winds of diabolical chance are hovering over home and hearth—when some aimless shambling character shows up with his own broadcasting operation to announce casually the futile end of any equitable resolution of existence—and we are all doomed to the real and true underworld, which is Life on Earth—the OTHER LANGUAGE, the language of the poets, comes back through some portal…“and I was prince of the apple towns and once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves trail with daises and barley down the rivers of the windfall light”—read it aloud, read it several times, and bend into it like a rower on the Styx executing the impossible feat of doubling back to a great love—and you have unique history, now on dusty shelves, Whitman and Hart Crane and Rimbaud and Yeats and Thomas, the OTHER HISTORY—the other language, worlds circulating above the sky and down in the hot core of the planetary grandmother—and you have a clue to your voice, always a potential transformer, rising above the electric detritus. and as you speak, as if for the first time, you and the nexus of feelings known as the soul merge and a force begins to take the coat of death away.

Whatever the world is, whatever all the worlds in all dimensions are, they are not enough. They already exist. This is the grand lesson—no matter how glorious or persuasive the cloak of reality wrapped around you, it is destined to be, in, say, a million years, less than your own. You find out what your own is by making it, on and on and on.


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From 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.

Around a bend on the road

by Jon Rappoport

March 16, 2019

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Around a bend in the road ahead

A horse is racing toward the sun

Its gigantic wings spread on the light air of a summer afternoon

A childhood masterpiece

I can feel myself on his back

Possessed of a navigating flying intelligence

He, the mythic, came out of my mind while I was asleep

Greater in power than I understand

Ready to be dreamed

Hinted at

Partially fathomed

Sculpture in another room half hidden by an open door

At a little table sit Leonardo and God drinking coffee and discussing Leo’s next project, a submarine that shoots rockets at the moon


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From 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.

A poem for somebody or nobody or anybody

by Jon Rappoport

March 6, 2019

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perfect as rain and the night I fell in love with trees and buildings on an avenue in Chicago as I was heading out of the city toward a highway that led to 66 on my way to Amarillo and cows standing in faded yellow dawn rolling up like a fancy poster for milk and war, my memory now Amarillo is a city geared a center a radiating pulse broadcasting an invasion the little diner the motel the city hall were there olive trucks and soldiers 40 years ago passing by as I was standing with my thumb out on 66 I was rooted to one spot across from the motel the whole day and no one stopped and the poster of night snapped down like a shade and I reached up toward the yellow margarine moon in the middle of a cloud I was remembering songs dozens of songs I listened to on the radio in the make believe ballroom everyone knew Sinatra was the god but in the yearly poll they would bring in someone else eddie fisher or johnny ray crying like a lost kid on the railroad tracks his mind torn up you’re on a cement playground and a kid starts crying what are you going to do he just breaks down and ten years later he’s on the front lines with his gear we heard he was a junkie heroin disappeared and then a tall rangy guy stopped his car and I jumped in he took me all the way to Albuquerque middle of the afternoon February warm I told him about the kid he said it wasn’t right the father and mother should have looked after him he shook his head he was a retired oil man couldn’t have been more than 40 said he just drove around the country visiting his family he gave me a new pair of pants and a shirt out of his trunk


Exit From the Matrix

(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From 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.

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

by Jon Rappoport

November 24, 2018

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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. 280 characters. 280 is too many. Should have left it at 140. 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’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…George Soros 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.


(You might like also this piece entitled “Jon Rappoport: advice to writers”)


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.

Jon Rappoport: advice to writers

by Jon Rappoport

(To join our email list, click here.)

This has nothing to do with getting published or formatting stories for editors.

It’s about the process of writing, about how you think and create. It applies to journalism and short stories and novels and plays. It’s about what happens when you don’t try to fit into a mold.

What happens is: you’re writing what you want to. You’re moving in a number of different directions, because you’re deploying imagination.

Even in journalism, this happens, because there are many ways to present the same set of facts.

The advice is this: don’t pull back. Don’t try to stick a peg that has 16 sides and spikes and ornaments and asymmetrical grooves into a round hole.

Finding a cogent way to communicate comes later. If you start there, you cut yourself off at the knees. You squash your own adventure. You lose.

If you start out on road A and suddenly realize you want to make a sharp turn into a bumpy field, do it. Cross the field. You’ll see a winding path into the mountains. Take it. Half-way up, you’ll come upon a pristine lake. Jump in. Underwater, you’ll find a portal into a lost tunnel. Enter it and follow it all the way to a buried city…

If you opt for simplified boiled-down form right from the beginning, you’ll never know there was a lake and a tunnel and a buried city.

Here’s a story of mine. I post it to show you what can happen when you go where you want to. It may not reflect where you want to go, but it should give you some idea about leaving conventional symmetry and tiresome plot line and typical narrative flow in the dust.

Robots love simplified symmetry, harmony, perfect balance. They love it over and over and over.

We’re not robots.

One major part of my third mega-collection, Power Outside The Matrix, is an eight-and-a-half hour audio presentation, The Writer’s Tutorial. This has been a long time coming. I’ve had many requests for it over the years.

It is a tutorial, in the sense that I give many specific advices to writers and people who want to be writers. But it goes a lot farther than that.

It’s about a core of imagination and power. That “inner place” is the wellspring from which a whole life can be lived. It’s language as energy.

The discovery of hidden energy, the invention of energy, worlds in the making—this is what the writer is involved with.

Many writer’s seminars urge students to “write about what they know.” That’s just one approach. Writing about what you don’t know is another avenue. What you don’t know, for a journalist, means research. For a novelist, poet, playwright, it means invention, it means knowing in a very different sense.

It means imagination. It means the desire to build new worlds.

I can mark great changes in my life by writers I’ve read. Writers give us confidence that our dreams and visions are real, more than real. Writers rescue us from the ordinary.

They even whisper in our ears, “You can do this, too.”

In my tutorial, I move from the large overarching theme of what being a writer is all about, to specific clues about how to write, how to make feelings and ideas operate on the page.

Whether you’re aiming for poetry, fiction, journalism, or simply reports at work, I’ve brought everything I can to the table.

I leave the matter of getting published to the professional magazines. In this tutorial, I speak to people who want more. More of a Voice that can move them and their readers to new heights.

Being a writer is, in part, about being a riverboat gambler—shoving in all your chips on your inner resources.

For a writer, or for anyone who wants to live a creative life, those resources turn out to be endless. Finally, we are talking about a capacity to imagine, a capacity that has no limit.

The overused word “spiritual” really does apply here, because it is through imagination and invention that a person eventually discovers answers to the great questions of life. Those answers are his own, not the second-hand myths broadcast by authority figures.

There is another payoff. Creating worlds of your own gives you intimate knowledge of how those-who-would-be-our-masters try to impose their world on us.

In 1978, Philip K Dick wrote:

“…today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups…So I ask, in my writing, What is real? Because unceasingly we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms…it is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind. I ought to know. I do the same thing.”

As a writer, as a person living a creative life, ideas and energies and language and images and visions are your own. What a wonderful thing. What a fantastic enterprise. What an adventure.


power outside the matrix


Here are the particulars of my collection, Power Outside The Matrix.

These are audio presentations. 55 total hours.

* Writer’s Tutorial (8.5-hours)

* Analyzing Information in the Age of Disinformation (11.5-hours)

* Power Outside The Matrix and The Invention of New Reality (6.5-hours)

Then you will receive the following audio presentations I have previously done:

* The Third Philosophy of Imagination (1-hour)

* The Infinite Imagination (3-hours)

* The Mass Projection of Events (1.5-hours)

* The Decentralization of Power (1.5-hours)

* Creating the Future (6-hours)

* Pictures of Reality (6-hours)

* The Real History of America (2-hours)

* Corporations: The New Gods (7.5-hours)

I have included an additional bonus section:

* The complete text (331 pages) of AIDS INC., the book that exposed a conspiracy of scientific fraud deep within the medical research establishment. The book has become a sought-after item, since its publication in 1988. It contains material about viruses, medical testing, and the invention of disease that is, now and in the future, vital to our understanding of phony epidemics arising in our midst (and how to analyze them). I assure you, the revelations in the book will surprise you; they cut much deeper and are more subtle than “virus made in a lab” scenarios.

* A 2-hour radio interview I did on AIDS in Dec 1987 with host Roy Tuckman on KPFK in Los Angeles, California.

* My book, The Secret Behind Secret Societies

(All the audio presentations are mp3 files and the books are pdf files. You download them upon purchase. You’ll receive an email with a link to the entire collection.)

This is about your power. Not as an abstract idea, but as a living core of your being. This is about accessing that power and using it to invent realities without end.

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 OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.

Illusion Breakdown

~a short story~

by Jon Rappoport

(To join our email list, click here.)

Is history a thing that repeats itself, a cell that reproduces? Can we break out?

—A local scribe wrote about the outcast, the outsider:

Just like his father, they said, when he went over the hill and down into the mine, but when he came back up, his face shining, his bare arms clean, unblistered, untouched by the heat and the pain, they shrank away from him as if he had been cursed, and shunned him in the tavern and the marketplace and the church, and his family cast him out and he took up residence in an old half-burned cabin at the edge of town.

He went back down into the mine every morning, and he was never affected. His fellows avoided him.

This was all a great mystery, and a few of the men went to the priest and asked him about it. An old man who only seemed to come alive on Sundays, when he lit the candles and intoned the ceremony of sacrifice, he shrugged and said it was the way of the Test, and could not be interpreted.

The Test was obscure, it never spelled itself out, it never intruded in any visible fashion, or with signs.

The young outcast, living apart in his cabin, went down into the mine and brought up his share of the universal vapor every day, riven out of the rocks, and took it in his sealed buckets, as all men did, to the representative of the absentee owner in the shipping station, where foreign agents oversaw its transport, by train, to the pleasant happy villages all over the countryside of the former Earth colony—for many centuries now, independent.

The outcast sat outside at night, on the barren ground, and laughed like a fool. He ran on the hills in the deep darkness, as if he might take off and fly above the cottages and the cattle pastures.

He never questioned who he was or why he was here. When he slept, time dissolved and then he awoke fresh and with new energy.

Finally, the men planned an attack, because it was, they earnestly believed, warranted. How could they live alongside the young man?

He knew it was coming. On an evening, he went to his family home and spoke to his father and mother and his sister. They were silent before him. He said he was going to make a stand and they should ignore what was going to happen. They should simply go on. Then he left.

At his cabin, he built a small fire and brought dry grass and set it in the flames. He made a path of grass to his front door. The fire spread and it caught on the wood of two posts and climbed them and moved to the walls. Within a short time, the whole cabin was engulfed.

He heard the men approaching in the dark. He felt their anger and their madness.

When they emerged into the aura of the burning cabin, he stepped into the flames and ignited.

They shouted and screamed. They ran toward him. They stopped and watched as the fire consumed him.

Eventually, there was only smoke.

And he stepped through it, whole. Untouched.

They wanted to flee, they wanted to die. They were riveted in place.

He said: “Every day you go down. You chop and hammer at the sanctified rocks. You release the vapor of suffering, because it is the law. You deliver it in your buckets to the agents, and they send it to the happy villages and pour it into the air, and the people slowly shrink into a state of misery and sickness, because that, too, is the law, the faith. You believe it is part of the Test. Nothing can shake your belief. But now I’m here. I deny. I refute. I’m as you were, before you drove yourselves mad. Once, this was a colony, and then we gained our freedom and knew what it was to live. But the owner came, he had his men dig the mines, you went down, and slowly the plague took over. Remember?”

Silence.

The men fell on the ground in front of him, and with the eyes of supplicants, mutely asked for forgiveness.

“No,” he said. “I’m not your priest or some phantom.”

He walked away from them in the night.

All these years later, he is still gone.

No one has heard of him.

Now, they light candles and go to the spot of his immolation every Sunday and pray and leave offerings.

The church has crumbled, and the priest has died. This is the only place of worship.

The men go down into the mines every day. And bring up the vapor.

A few try to remember what they were before the great suffering.

Before they participated in the great poisoning.

—The legendary elements in what you’ve just heard, ladies and gentlemen of the court, are pure nonsense, of course. The written account, penned by a local scribe, was discovered by our field operatives. It’s in my training manual for the mission.

The mines are quite real, but they produce a rare mineral growth factor that obviates the need for developing costly hybridized crop variants.

The growth factor enables major increases in food output.

I came in low over the company town, locked in the “immolation” memorial, and incinerated it. Those were my orders.

The prosecution asserts that I illegally destroyed a heritage site, without my employer’s knowledge. This is patently absurd. Why would I travel all that way for such a purpose?

I’m a registered employee of Religion Inc. Churches, which as you know, maintains an exclusive contract with the Earth Council, for Sectors One through Seven. No other religious organizations are permitted to conduct business in that area.

Doesn’t it stand to reason that my employer issued the destruct order and I merely carried it out in good faith, in a perfectly legal fashion?

Mission orders are held at corporate headquarters, as are training manuals, for security reasons. So I can’t lay before you proof that I was on the books for this operation.

My employer has deniability. Because my attack on the memorial has caused a local uproar and a strike of the mine workers, Religion Churches Inc. has thrown me to the dogs. They hope to avoid negative publicity.

I’m not here to plead for mercy. I’m here requesting justice.

—Sir, the court requires, in cases of this nature, that the defendant provide evidence of work status. You have failed that standard. Religion Inc. Churches shows no record of your employment during the period in question. Therefore, we are compelled to consider you an independent operator.

You admit to the mission. You carried it out. The penalty is clear. Your accounts and assets will be stripped. Those funds will be used to defray, in part, the expense of sending you to the place where the crime was committed, where the people of that jurisdiction will determine your sentence.

—After much debate, we the assembly of the town, in these proceedings, make a unanimous ruling that you will be sent down, among us, into the mines for the remainder of your life. Your labor will never repay us for your sin, but at least we will make use of you for a good purpose. In this, we show mercy. It is not our bent to seek vengeance.

We believe that our absent prophet would concur. We attempt to understand his heart in all rulings.

—I have been going down and coming up for two years now. I watch others grow ill and die, and I feel myself growing weak. They do not seem to understand what they are doing and what effect it has on them. They are consumed by a sense of obligation to their legendary prophet, although judging by their Myth, I can hardly imagine why he would want any of them going into the mines.

Apparently they believe he was revealing and demonstrating a supernatural immunity to harm. They say the mine vapors are emanating from a fire in the center of their asteroid, and fire is a symbol of his immolation. On that basis, the vapors are holy.

I have seen and experienced the truth. There are no rare minerals in the mines. This has nothing to do with improvements in agriculture technology. This is a mysterious program to spread poison.

Twice a year, they permit me to transmit messages to my former employer asking for intervention and a supreme reconsideration. I have received no replies.

—every night when he comes up from the mine, guards take him to an office at the shipping station and lock him in for the night. He looks haggard, but he is quite handsome. I want him for myself.

None of the other eligible men please me. He has a force about him. This is what I need. His legend is much lower than that of our prophet, but it appeals to me. Both he and the prophet, in their own ways, wrought destruction.

We women know, even if our men do not, that destruction is our destiny. But rather than endure it in small doses, I would have it all at once. If they catch me with him, they will exile us to the ice caps. I am willing to take the chance.

—I’ve met a woman. She and I have been together. I believe she is pregnant. The trouble from this could be fatal for both of us and our unborn child.

—Years ago, they exiled my mother and father to the ice caps. But they kept me among them.

The absentee owner maintains and spreads the story that the mines are a source of minerals for food crops. But of course, this is false. The vapors are poison. My people have been suffering from their religious fantasy for untold generations.

There is no understanding it. But I can perform a feat that will challenge them. I can risk everything. I can stand in the center of the strongest underground vapors, breathe them in, and if I survive, I will become a miraculous figure to them, a prophet. And then I can tell them the truth.

—Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I am an employee of Religion Inc. Churches, despite what you have heard. Recently, a boy sacrificed himself in the mines of a distant asteroid, and the people of a company town built a crude pasture memorial in his name. This, of course, by the terms of the Colonization Directive, is illegal. No other religions are permitted to practice in that Sector.

So I was ordered to make a flight and incinerate the site. I did this. I carried out the mission. In the aftermath of local riots and protests, my employer decided to avoid negative publicity by casting full blame on me. They have labeled me a rogue operative. This is patently absurd. Why would I commit this act on my own?

It is apparently not the first time an immolation has occurred on the asteroid, although the record is obscure. And there is a spotty history of the region that alludes to a prior mission, launched by my employer, to incinerate the site of another memorial on the very same asteroid.

If there is a pattern of corporate crime, it needs to be investigated before you pass judgment on me.

—I am now working in the mines. I was shipped here so a local verdict could be rendered, and this is the outcome. I go down every day, with the townspeople, and bring up the poison vapor.

A woman has approached me in secret. She wants to have a child. She is quite deluded. She claims this child will have magical qualities.

Does it matter what she thinks? We are all desperate, and if we can find a little pleasure in our suffering, so be it.

—Years ago, my parents were exiled to the ice caps. The people of the town kept me here. There is probably nothing new under the Dome, but I have an idea.

I am now working in the local office of the absentee owner. I have never met him, but I am quick and bright, and I believe I can be promoted from this outpost to his home headquarters, wherever they are. Once there, I can discover the details of his business and expose them. If I am lucky, the news will spread out to the wider Sector and cause an uproar.

The other day, I came across a file that presented a clue.

It seems the absentee owner’s company, which undoubtedly operates under many names and subsidiaries, is licensed on Earth as Religion Inc. Churches.

They appear to hold a monopoly on worship in Sectors One through Seven. So perhaps my father was, in fact, working for them when he flew over and incinerated the pasture memorial.

But if Religion Inc. is also in charge of our mines, they are directing the operation to spread the poison vapor.

A religious monopoly; destruction; sickness; plague.

Is this what faith has come to mean?


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.