Showing posts with label Ray Kaliber. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ray Kaliber. Show all posts
Monday, November 12, 2012
Entry 87. The third time
“Oh! It’s you.”
If Fred Masterson had pulled the trigger at that moment, those would be remembered as my last words, and the historical conversation would be ablaze with speculation about what I meant. Did I know Fred before that moment? Was I aware that an assassin was afoot? Why didn’t I act more surprised? Conspiracy theorists would seize upon it as evidence I knew all about the plot and perhaps even faked my own death, choosing to live out my remaining days in peaceful obscurity.
But somehow, my lack of surprise and seeming acceptance of the moment made Fred Masterson pause, and those would not prove to be my final words.
If my calm kept me alive for a few seconds, I would strive to stay calm until we could get the barrel of the fun pointing somewhere other than the center of my chest.
“Here’s the thing, sir,” I said as cheerfully as I could – which was more cheery than I ever imagined I could be in those circumstances. “You can’t kill an idea. In fact, if you martyr a man who has an idea, you make the idea stronger. If you kill me here, the nonviolent revolution will continue. The commonwealth will go on.”
The assassin hesitated for only a moment. I saw his eyes glaze over with confusion, but they sharpened again almost at once.
“You may be right,” he said with conviction, “but they’ll have to go on without you.”
I had to admit, he had a point. I prepared to die.
Fortunately, John Hemlock and Buffalo Springsteen realized what his answer would be, and they had already sprung when he fired.
They barreled into his body together just as the weapon went off, knocking his aim aside so that instead of blasting a hole in my heart, he blasted a hole through my left shoulder. John Hemlock had saved my life for the third time, this time with the help of my beloved.
I had barely an instant to stare stupidly at the jumble of bodies in front of me, and then the pain receptors in my shoulder connected with my brain.
I have to say, I do not wish to be shot again. Ever.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Entry 83. And afterward
Editor's note: As with all of these posts, this is from the upcoming publication The Imaginary Revolution: Memoirs of Raymond Douglas Kaliber, Founder of the Commonwealth of Sirius 4. This excerpt was chosen in observance of Election Day 2012. The book is scheduled for release Dec. 15, 2012.
With the toppling of Badiah Sinclair and the reigning council, the question – seemingly inevitably – became: What sort of government will we have now?
I hoped my grin did not look too mischievous as I answered the question with my own question.
“Why do we need a government at all?”
With the toppling of Badiah Sinclair and the reigning council, the question – seemingly inevitably – became: What sort of government will we have now?
I hoped my grin did not look too mischievous as I answered the question with my own question.
“Why do we need a government at all?”
Monday, August 13, 2012
Entry 54. The assassin comes calling
Mahatma Gandhi, who freed his nation with nonviolent civil disobedience, died Jan. 30, 1948, shortly after being shot in the chest while walking onto the prayer grounds at his home in New Delhi.
A few days before his death, the 78-year-old Gandhi said, “Should I die by the bullet of a madman, I have to do so with a smile. There must be no anger in me. God must be in my heart and on my lips, and you must promise me one thing: Should such a thing happen, do not shed a tear. I have done my deeds for humanity not requested by any human and I cannot stop on request of anybody. I am like God wanted me and I do as he advises me to do. Let him do with me as he pleases. If he wants to, he may kill me. I believe that I do as he orders.”
Martin Luther King, who used Gandhi as a model in his efforts to free his people, died April 4, 1968, shortly after being shot as he stood on the balcony of a hotel in Memphis.
The night before he died, King concluded his last speech by saying, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”
Ramsey Sardonicus was shot by a sniper during the inaugural ball marking his second term as president of the free nation of Colorado; he was 41 years old. Jesus was crucified at age 33. Real life is not so gentle with those of us who seek to lead nonviolent revolution.
It gave me little comfort to know Henry David Thoreau died at home in bed, seeing as Thoreau first contracted tuberculosis when he was 18 years old in 1835 and spent the next 27 years suffering from it on and off before the damn bug finally killed him at age 44. I figured I had a four-out-of-five chance of dying a violent death and a four-out-of-five chance of dying before I hit 45.
And since Thoreau was not an especially public figure until years after he died, I figured the main reason old Henry David wasn’t shot was because he wasn’t famous enough to kill. It was only a matter of time, I figured, before some nutbag came calling at the door. I only hoped I had a chance to talk to the guy before he pulled the trigger.
So, yes, it’s true that when Frederick Miles Masterson stepped in front of me that day as John Hemlock and I strolled along my familiar beach on Lake Ptolemy, I raised my eyebrows and told the stranger with a smile and just the slightest gasp of recognition, “Oh! It’s you.”
Oh, dear, I think I’ve gotten ahead of myself again.
Entry 55
A few days before his death, the 78-year-old Gandhi said, “Should I die by the bullet of a madman, I have to do so with a smile. There must be no anger in me. God must be in my heart and on my lips, and you must promise me one thing: Should such a thing happen, do not shed a tear. I have done my deeds for humanity not requested by any human and I cannot stop on request of anybody. I am like God wanted me and I do as he advises me to do. Let him do with me as he pleases. If he wants to, he may kill me. I believe that I do as he orders.”
Martin Luther King, who used Gandhi as a model in his efforts to free his people, died April 4, 1968, shortly after being shot as he stood on the balcony of a hotel in Memphis.
The night before he died, King concluded his last speech by saying, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”
Ramsey Sardonicus was shot by a sniper during the inaugural ball marking his second term as president of the free nation of Colorado; he was 41 years old. Jesus was crucified at age 33. Real life is not so gentle with those of us who seek to lead nonviolent revolution.
It gave me little comfort to know Henry David Thoreau died at home in bed, seeing as Thoreau first contracted tuberculosis when he was 18 years old in 1835 and spent the next 27 years suffering from it on and off before the damn bug finally killed him at age 44. I figured I had a four-out-of-five chance of dying a violent death and a four-out-of-five chance of dying before I hit 45.
And since Thoreau was not an especially public figure until years after he died, I figured the main reason old Henry David wasn’t shot was because he wasn’t famous enough to kill. It was only a matter of time, I figured, before some nutbag came calling at the door. I only hoped I had a chance to talk to the guy before he pulled the trigger.
So, yes, it’s true that when Frederick Miles Masterson stepped in front of me that day as John Hemlock and I strolled along my familiar beach on Lake Ptolemy, I raised my eyebrows and told the stranger with a smile and just the slightest gasp of recognition, “Oh! It’s you.”
Oh, dear, I think I’ve gotten ahead of myself again.
Entry 55
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Entry 49. Like hell
Two years later, Jim Simmons’ terse response to the inspector became a planetary battle cry.
Earth sent troops to forcefully quell what until then had been a peaceful transition to independence. Lt. Joshua True announced that Earth was back in charge of Sirius 4.
“Like hell,” the people muttered, echoing the stiff-necked farmer from small-town Fillmore.
True closed the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass and reversed President Sinclair’s declaration that ImagCorp licenses need not be paid. Companies that use imaginary technology must reimburse the corporation that had created the technology two centuries earlier, plus the concomitant taxes that applied, True announced.
“Like hell,” the people said out loud.
The president of Sirius 4 was the president of the Earthian government, and Badiah Sinclair may perhaps be the leader of the Sirian Senate, but he was a senator, not a president, True declared.
“Like hell!” the people shouted.
I continued my call for passive-aggressive resistance. I said the employees of Imaginary Structures should simply show up for work as if True’s pronouncement had never been made. If troops ordered them to cease and desist from their daily tasks, they should carry on as if they didn’t hear the order. If the troops moved to arrest or remove them, they should keep working until literally dragged from their stations.
“With absolute noncooperation, their power is nil,” I argued. “What are they going to do, arrest all of us?”
In their anger, people had the same answer for me that they had for Lt. Rodney True.
Counter the attempt to halt Sirius 4’s march to independence by force with nonviolent civil disobedience?
“Like hell!” the people screamed.
One morning about a dozen troopers were driving along a quiet street in Ganges Pass, not far from the Imaginary Structures plant, when their vehicle drove over a homemade bomb. Three people were killed instantly; those who survived were dismembered by laser fire when they climbed out of the wreckage.
As the vehicle burned and the troopers died in the street, someone took the time to paint a brief message on the wall of a nearby building.
“LIKE HELL”
Entry 50
Earth sent troops to forcefully quell what until then had been a peaceful transition to independence. Lt. Joshua True announced that Earth was back in charge of Sirius 4.
“Like hell,” the people muttered, echoing the stiff-necked farmer from small-town Fillmore.
True closed the Imaginary Structures plant at Ganges Pass and reversed President Sinclair’s declaration that ImagCorp licenses need not be paid. Companies that use imaginary technology must reimburse the corporation that had created the technology two centuries earlier, plus the concomitant taxes that applied, True announced.
“Like hell,” the people said out loud.
The president of Sirius 4 was the president of the Earthian government, and Badiah Sinclair may perhaps be the leader of the Sirian Senate, but he was a senator, not a president, True declared.
“Like hell!” the people shouted.
I continued my call for passive-aggressive resistance. I said the employees of Imaginary Structures should simply show up for work as if True’s pronouncement had never been made. If troops ordered them to cease and desist from their daily tasks, they should carry on as if they didn’t hear the order. If the troops moved to arrest or remove them, they should keep working until literally dragged from their stations.
“With absolute noncooperation, their power is nil,” I argued. “What are they going to do, arrest all of us?”
In their anger, people had the same answer for me that they had for Lt. Rodney True.
Counter the attempt to halt Sirius 4’s march to independence by force with nonviolent civil disobedience?
“Like hell!” the people screamed.
One morning about a dozen troopers were driving along a quiet street in Ganges Pass, not far from the Imaginary Structures plant, when their vehicle drove over a homemade bomb. Three people were killed instantly; those who survived were dismembered by laser fire when they climbed out of the wreckage.
As the vehicle burned and the troopers died in the street, someone took the time to paint a brief message on the wall of a nearby building.
“LIKE HELL”
Entry 50
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Guest commentary
EDITORS' NOTE: We apologize for the lack of a new blog entry today. Even these years later, Ray Kaliber occasionally still suffers from some medical issues related to his wound, and as a result he was unable to prepare a blog entry for today. It is his hope to be well enough to continue his memoirs tomorrow. In the meantime here is an excerpt from a possible preface to the book that we have been preparing.
Hundreds of years ago American presidents named Garfield and McKinley were assassinated by violent men who called themselves anarchists and wanted to throw the government into chaos. Another of these violent men killed an arch-duke and started a World War. It’s a bit ironic that we’ve come to a point where an assassin aimed to kill a man who replaced chaos caused by government with a nonviolent state of what some people might call anarchy.
Let’s get one thing straight from the start: Despite everything that’s been written about him — and most of it is true — Raymond Douglas Kaliber was not a saint. He probably would be the first one to tell you that. But what he managed to show about the need for bosses probably qualified him for sainthood in half the religions in the galaxy, and the other half are the religions for people who are clueless to begin with, if you don’t mind my saying so.
Who am I to say so? That’s a great question. You should never take my word for it. Everything in this book is the truth as Ray and other people told me, but it’s filtered by their point of view and then filtered again by mine.
See, that’s just the beauty of what Ray had to show us. What I’m going to tell you about in this book is my educated opinion. And you’re not going to get the complete picture of Raymond Kaliber from one darn book, so go educate yourself fully about the man and draw your own conclusions.
“I think I’m onto something,” Kaliber would tell anyone willing to listen, “but never take one guy’s word for anything. Check it out yourself.” The good news for Sirius 4 is eventually, enough people listened to him and checked it out to make a difference in the long run.
Hundreds of years ago American presidents named Garfield and McKinley were assassinated by violent men who called themselves anarchists and wanted to throw the government into chaos. Another of these violent men killed an arch-duke and started a World War. It’s a bit ironic that we’ve come to a point where an assassin aimed to kill a man who replaced chaos caused by government with a nonviolent state of what some people might call anarchy.
Let’s get one thing straight from the start: Despite everything that’s been written about him — and most of it is true — Raymond Douglas Kaliber was not a saint. He probably would be the first one to tell you that. But what he managed to show about the need for bosses probably qualified him for sainthood in half the religions in the galaxy, and the other half are the religions for people who are clueless to begin with, if you don’t mind my saying so.
Who am I to say so? That’s a great question. You should never take my word for it. Everything in this book is the truth as Ray and other people told me, but it’s filtered by their point of view and then filtered again by mine.
See, that’s just the beauty of what Ray had to show us. What I’m going to tell you about in this book is my educated opinion. And you’re not going to get the complete picture of Raymond Kaliber from one darn book, so go educate yourself fully about the man and draw your own conclusions.
“I think I’m onto something,” Kaliber would tell anyone willing to listen, “but never take one guy’s word for anything. Check it out yourself.” The good news for Sirius 4 is eventually, enough people listened to him and checked it out to make a difference in the long run.
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