by Jon Rappoport
“In acting, sincerity is everything. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.” — George Burns
Like it or not, accept it or not, there is a code you have to crack, in order to understand big elections.
They’re fixed. And in this piece, I’m not talking about rigged voting machines. On psychological, mental, and spiritual levels, the fix is in, because of one overriding factor:
The voters are oh so sincere.
And they shouldn’t be. It’s killing them.
Yes, that’s right.
The media presentation called The Election is a straight con from the get-go. Anyone who is sucked into it is a rube, a yokel, a hick.
So the question about whether Donald Trump is running to suck votes away from other Republican candidates or win the nomination himself, in order to deliver the presidency to Hillary? That’s a non-starter.
Who cares? What are we talking about here?
What’s the alternative if Trump isn’t running? Jeb vs. Hillary in November? The Bush crime family versus the Clinton crime family? That would be the “good” election?
How many more of these hideous campaigns do we have to endure before people wake up to the con? A hundred? A thousand?
“This fall, it looks like Lizardi Venom and Scorpion Ooze are the two parties’ choices. It promises to be a tightly contested race. Mr. Venom, of course, is for a utopian social-justice meter installed in the brain of every citizen, while his opponent, Ms. Ooze, promises to place four million dollars in a special account for every person who claims he or she has been ‘injured, defamed, or insulted by the system’. Both candidates agree that sincere voters who care about the future of this great nation must come out to the polls on Election Day and make their voices heard…”
“But wait. Some billionaire cowboy with a very spotty past has entered the lists. He’s reckless. He’s all over the place. He’s insulting the sacred media stars. He’s ruining The Show. He’s making a mockery out of it. He’s torpedoing everybody. He’s scamming the scammers. He’s upsetting The Sincere Voters who believe in the system like babies believe in Mommy and Daddy. And some claim that—wait for it—the cowboy is there to deliver the election to Ms. Ooze instead of Mr. Venom. This is shocking, I tell you. Shocking. And there’s more. This cowboy has been charged with making promises he doesn’t intend to keep. My God. Has any candidate in recent memory done that? A revered critic for the New York Times, Calder A Hogsniffer, takes it a step further. Higsniffer proposes that the cowboy is, in fact, raising several legitimate issues, but by lending his name to them he is degrading those issues and postponing the day when they’ll be taken seriously by the electorate. Certainly, no presidential candidate has ever tried that before. Heavens no. This cowboy is, well, crashing the party and spoiling it for everybody.”
Yes, he is. It was serious and sober and on-track and oh-so-sincere before he came through the wall with his hair and his shit-eating grin and his guns blazing.
Before he showed up, we could attack Hillary and Jeb and argue about whether Rand (who’ll never make it) really has the right ideas, and we could argue about the niceties of Bernie’s version of socialism…and we could watch the whole election, as usual, go right down the toilet.
Then we would have fulfilled our duty to The Process and we could sit back and nod wisely. Yes.
But this slug Trump gets on television (which is of course the holy medium through which we understand the sacred sincere election process); Trump gets on television and seems to be assaulting television itself. And that’s going too far. That’s out of bounds. That’s putting an unharmonious disruption in The Field.
I mean, who knows? If he ever made it to the religious hush of the final debates, he might turn around and start lobbing grenades at the moderators, the high priests—Scott (“I’m doing brain surgery on you without anesthetic because I really want to”) Pelley; Lester (“I’ve been in a state of deep hypnosis since the early days of MKULTRA”) Holt; Wolf (“I made my reputation during the first war in the Persian Gulf because my name meshes nicely with the US bombing runs”) Blitzer.
Voters’ sincerity in this whole election story is a plague.
The voters believe in the media show. They believe in the major candidates. They believe campaign statements and promises and policy positions. They believe that stage magic is real and three-card monte on a streetcorner is an honest game.
The solution, of course, if it could be engineered, would be: stay home on Election Day.
That’s the sane course.
If, by some miracle, only 19 percent of eligible voters showed up at the polls, that would constitute a national vote of no-confidence. That would say: we don’t believe in this media-election-cartoon. We woke up. We saw the con and the shuck and the jive.
Washington DC would experience a psychotic break. It would unhinge.
The television networks would undergo collective cardiac arrest. Their produced series, called Election, bombed. It was a ratings disaster.
The plague of misplaced, puerile, glazed-over, low-IQ, idiots-delight sincerity would begin to cure itself.
But the likelihood of 80% of the voters staying home is 100000000000000 to 1. It’s too real an answer. It’s too effective. And it requires a depth of perception that bypasses thousands of propaganda terminals.
Major media in general, and television in particular, are set up to substitute for the eyes and ears and brains and minds of the populace. To the degree that Donald Trump can turn the game around and run for president against the media, he’s providing a public service, and I don’t care how many blanks he’s shooting when he says he stands for this and that.
(Jon Rappoport is the author of three explosive collections, The Matrix Revealed, Exit From The Matrix, and Power Outside The Matrix).
