The Testimony of the Mad Liberal

Sunday, May 16, 2004  

It's been over a year since my last post.

There is a story there.

On May 3, 2003, I received a phone call from the computer tech I had originally taken my crashed drive to. He sounded agitated and was talking pretty fast. He told me that he had made a copy of the file he found on my disk, intending to try and restore it--more as a nerdie sort of puzzle than any real attempt to help me. He said he had figured out enough of it that it scared him. Scared him badly, and he wanted to ask me if this was some sort of joke, or a novel I was writing, or what. "This is just a gag, right?"

I told him, "Yeah, I just made it all up. I was writing a science-fiction novel."

He sounded relieved and hung up.

Two days later, I came home from a job interview and found my apartment broken into. My computer was gone, as was every scrap of paper in my office. The rest of the place was trashed, but nothing else was missing. I was standing there with my mouth open when three guys dressed in sweatshirts and jogging pants charged in started pushing me around. They said they were cops and that I had to go with them. They wouldn't show me badges or let me use the phone or even grab a jacket. I was hustled out into the street and shoved into a maroon mini-van.

I was hooded and cuffed.

I was taken somewhere a fair distance away, and held in a cement-walled cell. No one ever told me what was going on, or who was holding me, or why. At one point someone came to the cell and asked me some questions. Stuff like: "Why do you hate your country?" And "Are you Moslem?" And "Who else knows about this Necropolitique?" Bullshit.

They held me for eight months. I was questioned five times in all, but it was always kind of inane like that first one. Scared as I was, I managed to hold onto a consistent story: the same one I'd fed to the computer tech, that the Necropolitique was just a lame-assed attempt to write a novel. I don't think they bought it, but eventually someone must have decided I was a serious loser and they let me go.

After putting the hood on me again, they drove me to vacant lot in a city 200 miles from where I used to live. They dumped me out onto the sidewalk and drove off, without so much as a word.

I didn't dare go back to my old apartment, or even my former city. I didn't really have anybody close enough to worry about me, so I just melted into the oblivion of homelessness and alcohol.

Then one day about a month ago, I wandered into a public library to try and get warm and sat down at an internet terminal. I remembered this blog, and sure enough, it's still here. I guess the fact that only about twelve people have ever read it has keep it invisible to "them." Whoever "they" are.

The other thing they missed is that I have the original file version of Necropolitique stashed anonymously on several web servers around the world. It will a lot harder to do from random libraries and cyberbars, but I intend to start again with the translation. I think, more than ever, that this stuff needs to come out.

Next time a filthy bum comes up to you on the street and asks for a quarter for a cup of coffee, it just might be me.

posted by No One of Consequence | 7:29 PM

November 2002

December 2002

January 2003

February 2003

March 2003

May 2004

July 2008

Hey, I'm working here!