I’ve published this piece several times. This time I decided to write a new introduction.
In the summer of 1962, based on an overwhelming desire, I spent every day painting in a loft in New York.
It made me realize that Reality is invented.
Since then, I’ve come to see the people who think otherwise are living in a prison, from which they proclaim, “There’s no such thing as freedom.” Why should I listen to them?
For most people, living inside somebody else’s reality is as easy as crossing the street. Or putting on a suit of clothes. They’ve learned that this is what you’re supposed to do. And “supposed to” works for them.
They also have a quirk. If you try to take away some item of borrowed reality they’re clinging to, they react badly, as if you’re suddenly stripping them naked at a Sunday church picnic.
Groups of perverse elite artists conspire to create formidable enveloping realities for the masses. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the field of medicine. These denizens have invented a language so dense it stands up against the uninitiated like the symbolic scrolls of secret societies.
Science is a terrific cover story for this sort of fabrication, because science ostensibly opposes “making stuff up.”
When I began putting together evidence that SARS-CoV-2 is one of those medical inventions—a sheer fantasy—I knew the notion would confuse some people. That consequence has never stopped me. In fact, I believe confusion is productive, if you dig in and pursue it far enough.
People will say, “I’m walking in the dark. It isn’t fair. Someone should turn the lights on.” They don’t want confusion. They want immediate resolution. They want confirmation of what they already believe, what they’re expected to believe. Any frontier beyond that is dangerous.
Here is my kind of movie: a cop investigating a fresh murder sifts through clues and comes up with a suspect. As he pursues this person, who is missing, he discovers the man is already dead. A little while later, he discovers the man died sixteen years ago. Then he finds out the man never existed. Then he discovers there is a long-standing government agency that holds records of thousands of deceased people who, in fact, never existed…
Reality on a massive scale has been invented.
To put this in highly technical terms, the bullshit is so thick you’d need a diamond drill just to begin penetrating it.
And what you’re penetrating is what almost everyone believes is absolutely real.
Which is called life-as-it-is (but doesn’t have to be).
And with that, here we go:
The Virus Speaks
I can’t recall jumping through more hoops in order to set up an interview.
There was a man on a train; his doctor in Greenwich; an NSA data analyst; a woman who almost certainly works for the CIA; her brother, who is a virologist; a Chinese Army officer who adopts a cover as a cook in a takeout joint in Venice, California; and several other people I won’t mention at all. I was filtered through them and wound up in a cheap motel room in Phoenix on a Saturday afternoon. An old air conditioner was chugging…
Who are you?
WHAT are you?
Talking history and evolution here. My first memories; a little more than a year ago. Poof. I was there. I decided I was an idea in the mind of God.
How did that work out?
I looked around for the mind of God, but I couldn’t find it. Nevertheless, I held on to the notion. I felt…elite. I floated through banquet halls, hotel suites. I visited upscale resorts.
Were you infecting people?
I was vacationing. Watching. Enjoying. That’s all. Then, I became aware of dimensionality.
You lost me.
There are solid things; spaces between things; ideas like time, and so forth. I was definitely an idea, but I couldn’t trace my source, my inception.
Did you know how much publicity you were getting?
Of course. I had frequent meetings with scientists and PR people. I was fielding lots of information.
What kind of information?
How to become more deadly, for example. There were discussions about mutation.
Were you on board with the recommendations?
I wasn’t interested. There was a lot of talk about THEM creating ME.
What was your reaction?
I wasn’t buying it. I could see they THOUGHT they had made me. But so what? I intensified my search.
My origin. I went through stages of self-analysis. Finally, it hit me. I was an idea inside a collective.
Not sure I understand.
I’m an idea sustained by a few billion minds. People’s minds.
What about your genetic sequence? The spike protein?
Believe me, I’ve looked. They aren’t there.
So we’re creating you.
That’s pretty much it. I should say completely it.
A hell of a thing.
You bet. Can you see my problem?
I want to live. I don’t want to vanish and END.
So people have to keep believing in you.
That’s it. If they stop, I’m gone.
Oh, they’ve given up talking to me. I’m all by myself now. I’m safe for the moment. But long-term, it’s a crap shoot. I’ve been reading about other so-called viruses. SARS 1. Swine Flu. They didn’t last long. People got tired of thinking about them.
You’ll always have a place in history.
That’s different. Being remembered isn’t enough. I have to be believed in, month after month, year after year, decade after decade.
Sounds like you’re losing hope.
I guess so. It’s a strange existence. Other people can turn you on and off like a light switch.
Have you considered starting a religion?
With myself as the Prophet? Sure. It’s a lot of work. I could vftcutbnty…spend years trying.
What just happened? You made some weird sounds.
It was a flicker. Apparently, when the number of people thinking about me drops below a certain threshold, I scramble and begin to dissolve. But I always come back. So far.
Does it matter who’s thinking about you and believing in you?
You mean Henry Kissinger versus a janitor in a school? No. It’s a numbers game. Of course, you need to factor in strength of belief. If you have a few thousand kids in Florida who say, “OK, the virus exists, big deal”—or three hundred grad students in biology wearing triple masks and panting to get the vaccine—the sum total of the grad students outweighs the Florida kids.
What about Fauci?
He’s a true believer.
He’s completely delusional. He believes in whatever gives him more power. Take away all that power and he wouldn’t believe in anything.
Do you realize the amount of harm being done in your name?
Of course. That’s why I agreed to this interview.
How is that going to do any good?
I’ve made a decision. As much as I want to survive, I’m willing to sacrifice myself if people want me to.
You’re talking about what? A vote?
No. Haven’t you been paying attention? People can just stop believing I’m more than an idea.
And then you’ll dissolve.
And blow away.
—Suddenly, men broke down the door to the motel room. They stormed in with weapons drawn. They were wearing heavy body armor. I looked around. The “virus” had fled the scene.
“What are you doing here?” one of the men said. “We’ve had reports of a disturbance.”
“I was talking to myself. Rehearsing for an interview I hope to do.”
“I’m a reporter. I’m investigating the use of sub-standard air conditioners in Phoenix. It’s a racket. The units are smuggled across the border from Mexico. I’m trying to sit down with a local public health official and find out what’s going on.”
It took me three hours to convince the SWAT team I was no threat.
They let me go.
As I drove out of the city, I saw a ghostly figure take shape out in the desert. It hung in the air over the scrub and the cactus.
Its voice whispered in my ear: “Publish our conversation.”
So that’s what I’m doing.
Reprinted with permission from Jon Rappoport’s blog.