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In 1988, I warned that the medical cartel was, long term, the most dangerous cartel of all, because it flew under a neutral non-political banner. It professed to be about healing and nothing else. But its elite leaders were bent on destruction of human life.
In the middle of writing my book AIDS, Inc., I suddenly saw how the medical op was working in Africa.
The so-called virus, HIV, was being used to cover a multitude of ongoing crimes that corporations, governments, foundations, and elite financiers were committing.
Crimes that were weakening, debilitating, and killing large numbers of people in African countries.
The big medical lie was: a new EPIDEMIC was sweeping the continent, and ITS destructive force explained the suffering of millions of Africans.—So I was sitting at my desk starting the article above, when I heard the loud noise of a marching band outside my house. I looked out the window and saw no band.
But there was a white limo parked alongside the moat where I keep my fat sawtooth fish. A mountain of a man with a long white beard wearing Oxford tweeds stepped out and made his way up the stairs to my side door and walked into my office.
“Stop working on that piece, Rappoport,” he said.
“Who the hell are you?” I said.
“God.”
He had an edgy baritone voice.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Why would God take the time to show up here and censor this particular article? I’ve written about this subject many times before.”
“I know that,” he said.
“And?”
“If people haven’t gotten the point by now, they never will.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
“Trust me. It is.”
“So what should I do?”
“Try something different.”
“Like what?”
“Have you ever considered direct energy transmission?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You sit there and beam energy into people’s minds.”
“Why?”
“You give them straight shots of WHAT’S WHAT, into their brains. I’d suggest using blue, but the color would be up to you.”
“Telepathy?”
“I guess that’s what they call it, but the label doesn’t matter. Just beam the energy and see what happens.”
“And this is you, God, telling me this.”
“Right.”
“If I try it, what could happen? What are you anticipating?”
“Not sure. That’s why I want you to try it. Maybe riots will break out.”
“And you wouldn’t mind that?”
“I’ve seen a lot worse.”
“Are you sure you haven’t escaped from a loony bin?”
“I’ve been in a few. Met some interesting people. They had a better handle on events than most politicians. They just couldn’t keep it together. You’ve managed to hold on pretty well.”
“I’m OK. I just don’t know about you.”
“Some people believe in me, some don’t.”
—The upshot of the conversation was, I tried it. I can’t explain exactly how. But I sort of wrapped some energy around the simple idea, VIRUSES DON’T EXIST, and I beamed the message.
The whole transmission lasted about 3 minutes. When I looked up, the man with the beard was gone. His limo was gone.
I went about my business, folding laundry, opening mail, wiping old cigar ashes off my desk, and then I heard the band music again. I looked outside.
There was crowd of about 50 people sitting on the lawn. They were unpacking lunches.
I walked out to talk with them.
They were happily chattering about NO VIRUSES.
!!!!
“Why was I worried about that?”
“I feel like a stupid burden was lifted off me.”
“Let’s have a party.”
“I have to tell my neighbors. Viruses. Fairy tales.”
That kind of thing.
Who knew it was possible?
—Who was the bearded guy?
Later that afternoon, when all the people had left and I was back at my desk again, on a whim I went to the Substack page of a wokey doke writer who has a gigantic number of subscribers.
She had just posted a piece headlined: “I got out of bed and realized viruses were baloney.”
The next morning, a reader texted me: “Jon, I started reading one of your articles late last night. I don’t even remember which one it was. I think it was from 2021. All of a sudden, a bolt of lightning hit me. OF COURSE viruses don’t exist. I mean, it finally made sense…”
And then from another reader: “Today I was watching some pencil-neck geek of a Congressman. He had this glassy stare, and the way he talked made me think he was hypnotized. Like some mind control subject. For a second I thought I heard him say, ‘Viruses are fictions.’ I must have been dreaming…”
I walked out on my porch and saw two bottles of milk standing by my rocking chair. No one has delivered milk to my door in 70 years. Where did they come from? The thought of a man driving a small truck along streets delivering milk to people…I liked it.
Benny, my wolf, trotted up on the porch, sat, and looked at me.
“Do you know what’s happening?” I said...
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