The Last Performance

 

The Last Performance

by Jon Rappoport

(To read about Jon's mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, click here.)

You’re sitting in a theater. The actors on stage are engaging in some kind of dispute, but you can’t make head or tail of it. An invisible THING appears to be the issue, and it won’t go away. One actor wants to build a church to it. Another actor wants to run and hide. At moments you almost grasp the THING, but then it slips away. Perhaps it’s a lost relative. A wind blows across the stage. A pile of leaves stir. Autumn. The trees in the forest are going to enter mock-death. The two actors, against their better judgment, are weeping. They seem to be looking past the footlights at you for an answer. This is silly and sentimental. Why are you here? You could be walking the dog or cleaning out the cellar. Somewhere---was it an office---there was a clock on the wall and you were there watching it, waiting for a clerk to come out of the back room and hand you a folder. You were young and you were running on a playground for no reason. It was early in the morning. July. Now on the stage, a doctor appears in a surgical gown. The two actors giggle. They roll up their sleeves and he gives them an injection. They strut around, as if they’ve won a prize. Through a window at the rear of the stage, you can see a deserted city street. A policeman walks out of a bar, sits down at the curb, and taps his night stick on his leg. You can’t remember how you got into the theater. Did a friend give you a ticket? Did you receive a message ordering you to watch the play? You take out your cell phone. You check to make sure you clicked the lock on the drone in the garage. You scan the battle cruiser in the China Sea. All quiet on that front. There is a message from the President’s aide. Don’t forget the meeting tomorrow morning. Now you realize you’re having an episode. You stand up and move along the row, walk up the aisle and come out into the empty lobby. You call the White House doctor. He says, “You took the second shot this morning. You’re having an adverse reaction. Where’s your driver?” You walk outside. Your driver is standing next to the car. You wave at him. He takes out his phone. The doctor is telling him to take you to Walter Reed. You’re on a gurney. They’re wheeling you along a corridor. You hear a voice. “Mark it down as a COVID aneurysm.” They’re injecting you with Versed. They’re going to intubate you. In a moment of extreme clarity, you realize you’re not going to wake up. They’re not going to let you. They’re going to put you on a ventilator, and you’re going to stay under and check out of this life. Your 63 years seem very brief. You were on a stage arguing with someone, and that was that. What was the issue? Something about a germ, a virus. Ridiculous. You were supposed to be an expert on the subject. But there was nothing to be expert about. There was only a small fading idea. It’s all right. You’re immortal. But it seems quite mad to have been guiding the nation on its response to a vaporous notion. How did that happen? ~~~ (The link to this article posted on my blog is here.) (Follow me on Gab at @jonrappoport)

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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.