Farewell To A Friend, Ally, War Buddy, And Protector: Jon Rappoport

1938-2026

“What is laid down, ordered, factual is never enough to embrace the whole truth: life always spills over the rim of every cup.”

—Boris Pasternak

“And during those 20 years as a painter, I came to understand in my bones what the idea of creating, imagining, inventing meant. It meant basically, having a new lease on life every morning when you woke up.”

—Jon Rappoport

He was a painter, in New York City, self taught, for 20 years, before becoming a writer. Painting connected him to his central theme: He was interested in understanding the human imagination.

I remember so well what it felt like when his book AIDS Inc. came out, I want to say…1988? I actually thought we would all be saved. His book was a shield, and it has some kind of new, bright, unapologetic glow around it.

We courted him, immediately, at SPIN, and he wrote some pieces for our monthly AIDS enfant terrible column edited by me, Words From The Front.

Not long ago, I found in my boxes, pink message slips from the 1980s (remember those?) on which the SPIN receptionist had written: “John Rapoport called.” Nobody ever got his name spelled right.

He was there, by my side, not that we met—he lived in LA I think, then; But he was there with Cool Protective Uncle energy, at a time when I virtually had to enter the SPIN offices flattened against the walls of the corridors, to get to my desk. Unlike Jon, I didn’t learn to differentiate between morons and non-morons. I wanted them (the morons) to stop hating the column, and to understand that there was nothing “dangerous” about interfering with this death cult’s deadly messages.

One thing that always went under-emphasized was Jon’s subversive sense of humor.

We did alright, over the decades, Jon and I. By “alright” I mean that we traded only good energy, and mutual support—not generic, but specific. In that sense, it wasn’t “support,” it was writers taking note of specific chords struck. I wish I could have spoken to him about writing, about his writing, about the alchemy of writing in general. But Jon was always writing. Always. One respected his time, his discipline.

Never once was he concerned with cliques, or popularity contests. He was his own man, his own mind, effortlessly Olympian, and unique.

He generously supported my work, publicly, and was almost alone among so-called AIDS dissidents, or, as the enemy would have it, “deniers,” to value writing, as writing. Not merely straightening out “bad” science.

I loved his writing.

Where he and I shared “poetic space” was in that we both saw AIDS as psychological rape—not just garbage “science.”

This clip stands as one of the most brilliant, simple, and devastating deconstructions of the mind rape that was “HIV-AIDS.” It contains no scientific mumbo jumbo. That would be elevating the dark magicians behind it.

Jon was a writer. That’s what I wanted to be too. Just that.

Interestingly, Jon was not shot out of the sky, like most. first generation AIDS dissenters—nor was he part of the chain gang.

I can’t say they took no shots at him, but I recall no gore, no nightmare, tribunals, court cases, or paranormal events at the hands of the enemy. He just ascended higher and higher, like Cher Ami in the Meuse-Argonne offensive.

Tom Kudla, Jon’s co-pilot and executive producer, enacted Jon’s instructions as his death approached, and published his last recorded message to his readers, here.

Jon’s death was, like his life, noble. He died on his own terms, and chose not to make his death a spectacle, or imply a shared responsibility with others.

On a lighter note, who knew?

He eclipsed even Carl Sagan in the American Men Looking Great In Turtlenecks In The 70s contest.

(Feel free to enter other contenders for the award.)

Rest in eternal peace Jon Rappoport.

It was an honor to know you, and you will be greatly missed.

What I really mean to say is: I will miss you.

Help me teach a writing class, from heaven, Jon!

Tell us why it’s better to say: “I will miss you,” than to say, “You will be greatly missed.”

Or does it not even need to be said?