[Brindlekin Tales – Book 10: Chapter 2]
Subject: Two nice things occurred before his hissy fit two nights ago:
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 8, 2024 at 10:28 PM
First incident was three days back, the morning of the fifth. Deek stayed overnight behind my building, with just a thin blanket and a spare jacket to keep himself and the pups warm. Come morning I brought them food and water, and coffee for their master, then stepped back inside. Less than an hour later a light rain began to fall, and I already had brought down his large speaker, which now was getting wet unless he found some way to cover it up.
So I looked out the hallway window to see he had lain back down, with the speaker totally exposed! Thank glob the pups were back under the covers, snuggled together. I then rushed back to my room, grabbed another sleeping bag, several 39-gallon trash bags, one to cover the speaker, the rest to cover Deek and mutts, and a clean rag to dry off the speaker. But once I returned outside and turned the corner barely two minutes later, they were already protected by a makeshift tent, which Scampy had just set up. Deek’s boom box fit under it nicely. See pic…his spot is right in the foreground. She was still there, putting the final touches on it to be sure the large plastic sheet wouldn’t slide off.
“Thank you so much!” I addressed her, and she replied: “No problem,” then went on her way. Looked like she also brought them another blanket. Neither Deek nor quadrupeds stirred, thus I returned hovel, amazed at Scampy’s superb timing…who wasn’t anywhere in sight just moments before! Like she suddenly appeared outta the blue. A bodhisattva windfall, I’d say, to spare yours truly from donating yet a third sleeping bag in less than two weeks.
The rain subsided some time later, around 1 PM, and I stepped out to see how they were. Deek griped about Scampy setting up the makeshift tent, because he claimed it was wet underneath and soaked his clothing.
“You look pretty dry to me, Deek!” I observed, then added: “Thanks to her, your speaker did not get soaked in the rain.”
I offered to take the two brindlekin for a walk, so they could relieve themselves and I’d enjoy a few minutes atop the hill, hugging and scritching them in my lap…assuring them how much they are loved. Both pooches were in great spirits and went wild with glee to have my company, and be able to scamper around a bit.
Some twenty minutes later I returned with the pups and went back hovel. Deek remained under the semitransparent tarp the entire day, and into the night. It was pretty cold out, so I couldn’t blame him…and I knew the doggies had warmth and comfort.
Some time late the next morning Deek called up to my window, asked me to sit with the dogs while he cleaned up at the public loo on the corner of Market and Castro. So I stepped out a minute later, turned the corner to discover Wes had joined him, and they were chatting about whatever. Deek said he changed his mind, he’s foregoing his morning ablutions for now, but invited me to sit down awhile. The dogs vied for my affection, especially Jazz who scrambled all over me, attempting to chomp down on my hand, neck or face with sharp little nips, but I managed to thwart that by keeping my hands buried in my jacket’s sleeves so her bites wouldn’t get to the skin and draw blood.
After several minutes of our playtime, I handed her over to Deek, so I could then focus my attention on Flaco & Lucky, who politely sat nearby, waiting their turn. Around that time, Deek started to insult me, claimed I’m close-minded because I refuse to listen to Michael Savage, I’m just a dumb, old faggot with Alzheimer’s sitting up in my room all day, and a whole tirade of additional insults.
Wes cracked up at that, and I simply declared: “You love to press my buttons, Deek, you know better, but I’m not gonna get into an argument with you, I’m just here to give some love to the doggies.”
So I ignored him as he ranted on while the hounds got to enjoy a happy session of hugs and scritches by their favorite uncle. Wes departed some minutes later…but not till AFTER he suggested Deek stop smokin’ that ice and clean up his act. He said so in a clam manner, and with a smile. Impressive! To my surprise, Deek agreed, said “Yeah I know it’s bad and I’ll give it up some day, but not right now.”
I left shortly after Wes, as Deek continued flinging nasty taunts. I stood up and addressed him: “I’m going now, thanks for inviting me to sit with your dogs, God bless and have a lovely day.”
He still ranted on as I turned the corner and headed towards the front gate.
So those were the two nice incidents, Wattson: Scampy giving shelter to Deek and pooches, and Wes’s company the next day. I’ve noticed that both he and Filipino Kai visit Deek a lot more often these days. And discuss important matters with him, that is, about his world and how he can improve on it, head in a better direction. So my wish has finally come to manifest: that other vagrants offer him support and kind words, thus relieving (at least in part) THIS wearied pilgrim of Deek’s burden I’ve suffered for almost four years by now:
Shamans of the streets in action!
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: He returned a few hours ago, now camped at the corner. He still has one of the sleeping bags I gave him, but I brought out another (which he returned to me two nights back) because it’s so damned chilly outside, and I wanted the pups to not shiver. I just heard him scream, “LUCKY, LUCKY, GET BACK HERE! LUCKY!” It was skaeteboardrs whizzing by that disturbed the peace. Apparantly, Deek already lost the clip collar to keep both pups tethered…you’d think he’d just find some cord to correct that, now that I’ve shown him a better solution than knotting the leads by the handles. At any rate, I peered out the hallway window to see one skateboarder rushng back with Lucky, leash in hand. “I’m so sorry,” Deek said to him. The guy replied, “No, that’s okay, I love dogs myself.” As he handed over Lucky’s lead, Deek thanked him profusely. Welp, time for me to enjoy a late sup, then recline in my cot and drift off to sleep, bathed in the eerie light of spooky videos projecting from a display just inches above my feet.
Texting w/Wattson: 1/9/24
Subject: The Drizzle on the Cake (Deek Update)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 9, 2024 at 7:01 PM
Got up very early, around 5:50, to relieve myself. I seem to have caught a stomach bug shortly before Exmass, but it’s mild, so long as I get to the bathroom in a minute or two. No fever, no cramps, no real discomfort. Other than feeling somewhat rundown during the holiday season, was more bothered by the cold and damp than usual. But I attributed that to the stress of Deek’s demands, and too much doom scrolling…both adding to my seasonal affective disorder (which normally I don’t suffer).
Heck, just watching the news these days is a doom scroll bar none! But I take it to the next level, regardless. At any rate, I’m almost over this bug, no more rundown feeling, less squirt, more plop the last few days.
As I exited the loo, I realized it was raining. So I checked the hallway window to discover Deek and pups were no longer there, prolly moved to the front and hunkered down in the Super Duper side door, which is recessed. This proved to be the case, for I walked downstairs and opened the gate to espy his overladen shopping cart blocking the doorway. I can’t simply just peer out my window ’cause the restaurant’s awning obstructs the view.
I then returned to my cot, tucked myself back in and played another spooky tale from my second phone (the one with no cell service.) But some ten minutes later my stomach began to rumble once more, and no way could I just turn over and ignore it. So it was back to the restroom, with a roll of TP in hand of course, thanks to Gaetani’s negligence. I managed to gain an hour’s delicious rest before nature called for a third fukkin time. By then it was a quarter past seven, so I decided to get up and start my Sad Sack day.
[SIDEBAR: You should know, Wattson, I’m composing this missive on my Chromebook while waiting for the electricity to turn back on…which may be hours from now or (shudder) days. Had to purchase two double-A batteries to use my pocket radio. Though nothing in the local news yet, about a power outage anywhere in the city. But lookkee here (see pic) PG&E is already out there, across the street. So it’s not my building’s transformer, thank Glob. It’s now 1:05 PM, so power should be up shortly…keeping my fingers crossed.]
When 8:15 rolled around, I stepped out for Rosenberg’s elixir. Deek and pups were still sound asleep. Come 9:30 I went downstairs to check up on them. He was sitting up and, as I leaned over the wooden divider and asked if he’d like some coffee, Flaco and Jazz competed for pats from my hand as I reached out to greet them. The divider was locked shut, so I couldn’t open it to give them the hugs they deserve. Lucky, however, remained curled up at the far end of the sleeping bag, and who could blame him, for the air was still quite cold.
Upon returning with his grossly sugared-up crank, I reminded him it’s almost 10 o’clock and Super Duper would soon ask him to leave. It was still raining BTW, steady but light. I had three plastic trays in my hand, that he had left emptied on the corner: two for doggy vittles, one to hold water. Which I brought upstairs to wash and reuse. Deek was NOT in a bad mood at all, and he was ready to depart by the time I returned to his side a few minutes later.
Lucky and Jazz were still confined in the recess, while Flaco kept leaping in an attempt to return to her offspring, but I grabbed her in my arms so Deek could fish the doggies out himself. The divider was just too high by a couple of inches, for her to hop over. Deek then bent down to pick up Jazz, but Lucky resisted, sitting in a corner and shivering.
“C’mon, Lucky, get over here!” demanded his master. But the pooch wouldn’t budge, just didn’t wanna leave his comfy nest and step out into the rain. So Deek bent over the divider, stretching an arm to pull out first one sleeping bag, then the other. He then grabbed a hold of Lucky’s tether, pulled him forward then lifted him up, over and onto the sidewalk. I had offered to climb into the recess and do all that myself, but he’d have none of it:
“I don’t care to have anyone around me soon as I wake up, it makes me nervous!” he griped.
[SIDEBAR: Power restored! Switching to my Thinkpad to finish this piece, after transferring all of the above via Google Drive.]
He wandered off towards Castro Street with all three hounds prancing beside the cart and exposed to the icy drizzle. Thankfully, the sky cleared up some moments later, and the sun shone through. I returned upstairs with one of the sleeping bags, and hung it up to dry. It was barely damp anywhere, which told me Deek had kept them cozy and warm throughout the night. Around a half hour later I got that lovely message from Gaetani, and then the power went out just seconds later.
When the electricity was finally restored, Deek showed up in less than a minute to pick up speaker and smartphone. He had no idea I was without power for the duration of his absence, and I didn’t bother to tell him. Then again, he probably knew, because:
This is all a script, and he played his role to perfection…as did property management via that anonymous rep. with such a kind demeanor. Joke’s on me, Wattson!
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: I can tell he LOVES that puppy carrier I gave him for Jazz’s Exmass gift. I”m sure he’s gonna hold onto it long as he can. Maybe unto eternity. Just as I intend for that gorgeous dragon shirt, HIS gift to me! Eat your heart out, O. Henry.
Subject: Interesting twist re. building issues and upset residents!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 10, 2024 at 3:00 PM
This came down barely a half hour ago, as I stepped outside to purchase a small bottle of dish detergent from Rosenberg’s:
Boaz, the USPS fellow who lives on my floor, stopped me at the front gate, asked if I got a rent increase. I said yes, and it’s probably legal, based on retroactive increases under rent control rules. And the annual rent board fee is also legal. He’s really pissed at how badly Arikat Realty runs this place, and he’s found an attorney. Asked me if I saw the notice Poppy Leeds stuck on everyone’s door. That would be the transgender person I mentioned some months back. I’m sure it had to do with the so-called “tenants union,” and their complaints against the landlord and/or property management. So I told him:
“No I didn’t get any such notice. I offered to give Poppy the info on a lawsuit 13 tenants (including myself) won against Arikat, back in 2005, including the case number and relevant documents. But since I’m the eccentric type, some residents tend to shun me, foolishly I’d say. Mx. Leeds never got back to me, to exchange emails or phone numbers, so I could send them the information about that lawsuit. Perhaps Poppy is being selective as to which residents receive their letters.”
“Well I’d like to see it!” he exclaimed, “Would you care to share that with me?”
“Certainly,” I replied, and he’s perfectly fine with email. He then whipped out his phone, I gave him my addie, and he sent off a “thank you” message.
“I think it got through,” he said while looking down at his phone. “Does your name come with a picture of a dog?”
“Yes, that’s it,” I affirmed. “Let me go upstairs now and I’ll send you the info, including a link to the court case, and some documents I’ve saved on my Google Drive. Including the name and location of the attorney who handled that lawsuit!”
He thanked me profusely, rattled on a bit how dilapidated this building is, the windows are sagging, we have a mouse problem, crappy maintenance, etc.
“Arikat’s a cheapskate,” he added. “He comes here in his limousine once a week to drop off notices on people’s doors, like the rent increase, then leaves. Does nothing to care for this building, just hires an outside service to collect our rent.”
“Oh I agree,” I replied. “This could’ve been a lovely apartment building all along, but instead it’s run by a slumlord.”
He smiled, thanked me again, then said he’s on his way to see his lawyer right now, and hopped back into his mail truck. So that’s really great, eh, good doctor? But here’s the funny part to our conversation by the front gate:
Of course, that drunken, pesky woman we call “Zelda” suddenly appeared beside us and, instead of excusing herself to enter the lobby, she just stood there, WAY TOO CLOSE and listened to every word we said. When Boaz asked my name, so he could type in my email address, Zelda then chimed in: “And my name is Debbie.”
Wouldn’t you know it, Wattson, she REMAINED standing there in our little circle, with her drunken grin, until USPS Man took off. Against my wishes, I held the door open, that the souse may finally step inside. In order to avert any further intrusion on her part, I quickly rushed by her doddering form and up the stairs, not even giving her a chance to speak another word.
Should be interesting how things progress now re. occupants vs. landlord, now that I’m being integrated with the other residents, thanks to Boaz. Well, at least with those residents who are willing to take a stand. Or maybe it will gloriously backfire in my face. I’m fine with either.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: Flaco shivers, and my heart breaks!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 12, 2024 at 11:56 PM
When Deek called me downstairs around 8 PM to sit the dogs for a bit, I saw he didn’t see to it that Flaco remain beneath the blankets, where Lucky and Jazz were curled up in warmth. “She’s shivering!” I said to him as I sat down and summoned her onto my lap. But he ignored me and took off on his bike: “I won’t be gone long!” Whatever. I immediately grabbed a small, thin blanket off the ground that I gave him earlier, just so she WOULDN’T be cold, and swaddled it around the furry darlin’, and held her in my arms. Only her schnoz poked out, and she quickly warmed up. I also gave her a generous amount of jerky treats, which pleased her no end.
It was fukkin COLD last night, and the day not much better, yet their master didn’t bother to tuck any of the dogs back in, once they sat up or moved around, sometimes to lap water from the tray. He’s always been like that: sits or lies down RIGHT NEXT TO THEM, but ignores their need to remain protected from the icy, damp air. All he need do is extend his hand a bit and pull the blankets back over! But he never does. It’s worse when he’s sleeping, since once he rolls over, the pups are displaced, and lose their cozy little spot, forced to rest atop the blankets, instead of within. Except little Jazz, who scrambles up Deek’s torso and slips between his arms or ‘neath his jacket, near the collar.
The only time they get back into part of the comforter, is when I step out and take care of it myself. Which means whenever he’s crashed out by my building, I step out once or twice late at night, to tuck them back in. Flaco seems the most sensitive to the cold, as neither her brother nor Jazz appear to shiver when exposed. Be that as it may, they are STILL unhappy for lack of warmth, when it occurs. Wouldn’t YOU be, Wattson? Not that I’ve actually seen Jazz unhappy no matter what, she’s always overjoyed to be in my presence. And she doesn’t behave that way whenever any of Deek’s other friends drop by, as far as I can tell. I’m very blessed to have the love of these three, wee hounds. But SO saddened because denied their sweet company upstairs, knowing how happy they’d be for that.
Deek returned a half hour later, we talked a bit. Deek said when the nights are this cold he can’t sleep, stays up and walks around.
“I understand,” I replied. “So long as you keep the doggies warm and dry.”
“I always do,” he reassured me. But I was NOT appeased by that statement, as I know better. I then departed to fix my supper and peruse more Reddit posts.
Shortly after ten o’clock I stepped back outside to check up on them. Sure enough, both Flaco & Lucky were atop the bedding, since their master had turned on his other side. So I adjusted the blankets, gave them hugs and scritches, and proceeded homeward. But that’s when I realized Super Duper left their radiant heaters on: long, rectangular boxes that glowed orange inside and hung just below the awning, on short metal rods.
So I turned back ’round the corner where Deek was sound asleep, and woke him up, told him those heaters were on, not sure if he’d go for it, that he might be angered by my disturbance. But he did appreciate my informing him and, with Jazz snug in his arms, he ambled to the front and plunked himself down to enjoy the newfound comfort. Warm enough for the pups not to even NEED any blankets! He fell asleep almost immediately, from a seated position with head bowed. So I moved the two mutts, his cart, a sheet of cardboard and the blankets alongside him. Got the cardboard and sleeping bags nicely arranged and Lucky & Flaco gratefully curled up in happy repose. He also had a bicycle he acquired the day before, so I brought that around, too, and lay it down on the ground, close to the cart, though on the other end from where they rested. Anyone could up and steal it, but nothing I could do about that.
Needless to say, good physician, I was greatly relieved that he and the pups now had a warm spot to see them through a terribly chill night. I wonder if one of the workers left the heaters turned on, knowing Deek often camps out front after hours, and how frigid the weather. Tonight is a good eight degrees warmer, so not a worry. 51 degrees right now, will climb up to 57 tomorrow…though with scattered showers, sad to note.
Later last night, around 1:30 AM, Flaco suddenly exploded in barks and wouldn’t stop. It woke me up, but took a few seconds to realize I wasn’t dreaming, and that was her voice. So I rushed on outside to discover that Filipino Kai was seated several feet up from Deek, and another fellow with a bike and tow cart was chatting merrily away, and loudly. And THAT was what caused Flaco’s alarm to go off: she’s a mother protecting her pup. Lucky remained quietly a-snooze in his comfy, warm cave of fluff. Likewise Jazz, secure in her master’s embrace…who slept like a log, as he always does.
As I caressed Flaco to calm her down, I looked up at Kai and company, and said: “Please talk softly, the dogs need their rest, and so does Deek and so do I, and so does everyone else in this building.”
Kai’s guest immediately apologized, and that was that, thank Glob…the rest of the night was peaceful. But I noticed something strange before returning upstairs:
Deek’s bicycle had been moved from behind the cart, to around ten feet in the other direction, near Kai. Had he moved it, or had Deek? For I know he woke up for a little while, much earlier, to enjoy some snacks and another vagrant’s visit, sharing the bubble pipe no doubt. The bike was set down on its side, like before. I decided not to make a deal of it, wished them a good night, and disappeared from their world.
Around 8:20 AM I stepped out for my cup of golden-brown elixir, tried to avoid gaining the doggies’ attention by walking along the curb, but no luck. Jazz first spotted me, went “Yip, yip, yip!” then Flaco sat up and gazed upon me with silent yearning. We have such a sweet bond! So I approached them, upon which Lucky shook a corner of the blanket from his noggin, to look up at me, too. So I pat and scritched them all, while Jazz struggled to scramble over her master’s torso so I could pick her up. But her leash was too short for that, since part of it was stuck under Deek’s arm. Then HE woke up, too, asked if I could get him a large coffee.
“You still have a good hour before you need to get up,” I replied. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, and I’ll bring you some later?”
But he said no, he’d like it now, then handed me two dollars to cover the cost. I appreciated his awareness I’ve been buying him java the last few times, and thought to pay for it himself, again.
“Can I buy you one, too?” he queried, this time with a five-spot in hand.
“Oh okay, thanks!” I replied.
Upon returning with our beverages, he was already standing up and packing things away. “Looks like my bike got stolen again!” he remarked.
I didn’t utter a word in reply, though I immediately recalled the bike had been moved near Kai last night. Did he steal it? Thinking it wise to not mention this to him, I helped move the dogs, cardboard, bedding etc. around the corner, before Super Duper employees showed up. After all, what would be the point? Deek would’ve screamed at me: “Why didn’t you tell him it’s my bike, and move it back?” Yeah, like THAT’S gonna go down well, Wattson! An argument would break out, all THREE dogs would start barking like wild, and we might get into a fight. And all the while Deek would remain in profound hebetude. Besides which: someone’s ALWAYS stealing his bicycle. Now I ponder:
Has Kai been the only one swiping his wheels all along, knowing Deek’s habits and how soundly he sleeps? And what ELSE has he stolen from him…speakers? So maybe Kai’s praising me is a deceptive ploy. Oh well, I’m just gonna play dumb through it all. Deek ain’t no angel, either. And presuming they’re both my bodhisattva guardians, I’m being tested. So it’s best to keep cool and not jump to any negative conclusions.
A bit later I brought down food and water for the pooches, including a small container for Jazz. I take two tablespoons of chunky stew from each can and dump it in that container. Whereupon I chop it all down to tinier pieces with the sharp edge of a can’s lid…so her tiny jaw can handle it. I certainly can’t afford any more of those puppy-food packets, which Amazon decided to start charging a $10 delivery fee, because they switched that item to their Whole Foods department. Screw ’em.
I then brought down a fresh sheet of cardboard so the mutts wouldn’t be forced to sit upon the cold concrete. But Deek objected:
“Fuck this cardboard, I don’t want it!”
“But Deek, it insulates them from the chilly sidewalk,” I replied. By this time, three friendly indigents had shown up, no doubt to smoke some meth and shoot the bull.
“You’re not being kind to your dogs,” I continued, realizing I now had an audience. (Not that I expected them to chime in and admonish Deek along WITH yours truly, they just wanted the meth, but ya never know.) “That’s just cruel you let them suffer when you can easily remedy it. You got two sleeping bags in your cart, and three small blankets. Yet you’ve only put down one thin blanket, and the cold from the sidewalk goes right through it!”
Then I noticed Flaco shivering, because the coat Deek had thrown over her had slipped off, and he never bothered to drape it back over her. I ignored his objection, set down the cardboard flat, then procured a sleeping bag from his cart, and tossed it down. The pups immediately took to it.
“Howz about my taking Lucky & Flaco for a walk?” I queried. He agreed to that, said to just push the shopping cart a few inches forward so I can free their leashes.
It wasn’t that easy, however, since they were tied to a leg of the cart in a crazy knot difficult to undo. And Jazz’s thin lead was tethered to one of those leashes, in yet aNOTHER absurd knot. Took me almost ten minutes to unravel them both, especially since Jazz was climbing all over me in playful adoration. She rarely bites now, which is good, since my left hand is still healing from the scab being reopened several times in the past week, by her sharp little teeth.
“Well, get outta here!” Deek ordered. “I didn’t ask you to sit around!”
“Patience, Deek, patience,” I replied as I carefully focused on these mini-Gordian kinks. “You tie the most impossible knots I’ve ever seen! Takes forever to loosen them.”
I’ve tried many times, Wattson, to teach him how to tie a proper knot…one that is both secure and easy to unravel. But no, he refuses to learn, thus I am forced to deal with these excruciating results.
Finally, I freed all three leashes and escorted my two lovely brindlekin up Noe Street. They each took frighteningly HUGE poops, indicating they held it all in overnight. As we strolled up towards Morey’s corner shop, Flaco hopped upon one of those concrete stumps that serve as seats. That’s her way of requesting a jerky treat. I felt so bad because I didn’t think to bring any with me! So I bent down and hugged her warmly, kissed her on the nose, told her I’m sorry but that I love her very much. That’s when I realized she was till shivering!
So I sat down on the sidewalk against the stump and pulled her onto my lap, and embraced her. Telling her how much I care for her, and I held her in my arms like that for several minutes. Meanwhile, Lucky flopped on his back beside me, and wriggled for joy as I scritched his belly and he took playful bites on my hand.
(To be continued…)
Fwd: U.S. Treatment of Homeless/“Unhoused” People is One Step Away from Genocide/Extermination
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 15, 2024 at 9:28 AM
I sent the following post to MCN announcement and discussion lists. But what they don’t see is a comment I posted to that Reddit sub, which is at the end of this email. It’s all a quick read.
–begin:
I thought I"d share this discussion from Reddit's "Late Stage Capitalism" sub, including all but two of the 13 comments (so far):
Topic: U.S. Treatment of Homeless/“Unhoused” People is One Step Away from Genocide/Extermination
As an American who immigrated to another country in 2018, coming back to the U.S. 2-3 times a year, I have been able to witness massive shifts in this country, that probably go more or less unnoticed by citizens who remain trapped in this country’s fear matrix.
Since Covid especially, each visit back to my birth country has yielded increasingly batshit experiences that have been “normalized” by mainstream media. Most notably, our treatment and ignorance of people without housing. Coinciding with inflation, price gouging, subscription-based everything, medical, educational and credit card debt, rates of homelessness in this country have skyrocketed, and many people who become homeless end up in tent cities and other encampments, which are aggressively penalized by other citizens and the police state, and thereby forcing these people into further states of marginalization and de facto segregation.
I was pondering the 8 Stages of Genocide (1. Classification 2. Symbolization 3. Dehumanization 4. Organization 5. Polarization 6. Preparation 7. Extermination 8. Denial) last week, and reflected that the American government’s treatment of unhoused persons is one step away from extermination.
Please discuss.
=====
Reply 1:
I saw some videos and posts explaining how homeless people have gone "missing" on a massive scale across USA.
I think it's already happening
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Reply 2:
We also have to start including people that can't afford rent and have to live in their cars.
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Reply 3:
Of course every place is going to ban cars from parking overnight because every scrap of land must be privately owned or regulated to hell.
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Reply 4:
Homeless people dont contribute to the wealth of billionaires and corporations, so who needs em?
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Reply 5:
They are worth something if arrested and sent to a prison owned by a corporation which is increasingly the case. See instead of owning and running the country and all that goes with it the goal is to insert a middle man who extracts profit at every turn. The state pays these corporations a set amount per year per inmate. That’s not all though, there’s more! That inmate is now put to work while in the private prison doing the work of major corporations who have a contract with the prison. Suddenly that homeless person is transformed into an asset instead of a liability to capitalist society. I wish I were making this up but it’s true.
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Reply 6:
Sometimes it feels like we keep people unhoused as a “warning” to everyone else. Like this is what will happened if you fall out of line and stop working.
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Reply 8:
It's purely out of cruelty. We could easily house everyone.
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Reply 10:
in a capitalist system their value on a spreadsheet is $0
it’s gna start happening to the lower class, then the middle class except for those that serve the upper class.
we’re all serving the upper class in some way aren’t we?
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Reply 11:
I figure they will just distribute suicide kits and encourage people to use them. If you aren’t paying/toiling you aren’t of much use to them.
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Reply 12:
I'd argue that it is straight up genocide against anyone who either can't, or refuses to, participate in this psychopathic society.
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Reply 13:
It's called structural violence and it results in the deaths of millions every year.
#END
If you'd like to participate in this discussion, here's the link:
https://www.reddit.com/r/LateStageCapitalism/comments/1979who/us_treatment_of_homelessunhoused_people_is_one/
NOW, HERE'S MY OWN TWO CENTS ADDED TO THAT SUB (in response to reply #12):
This is very much who I am. Became homeless in 1972 after dropping out of college and hitchhiking to San Francisco. The Free Speech/Hippy Movement changed my world. I learned the ropes of using the system to my benefit: got on General Assistance and they gave me a nice room in the Haight, in a large SRO building. Later I found a psychiatrist who helped me get on SSI, Medicare & Medicaid. This was back in the day when Medi-Cal did not demand you take pscyhotropic drugs while seeing a shrink: talk therapy was okay by them. Rent was also very affordable back then, and I finally settled into another apartment building that also had eight SRO units, along with regular apartments (studio, 1-bedroom and 2-bedroom). That was in 1985, and I'm still living there...now the longest term resident.
I have essentially kept myself outside of the system, with the help of the system...which, in CA at least, was much more compassionate and sane back then. I've done tons of writing over the years, and am a self-made activist on behalf of our unhoused and poor LGBT family. My stories are being read over the airwaves, one each Friday, in this country's sole remaining local radio station. That's up north in Fort Bragg.
This is no easy life for me: social isolation for the most part, since the queer community has a powerful right-wing influence, just like all other minority groups these days. No personal physician all my life, can't see shrinks anymore (not since the mid-90s) since Medi-Cal made taking toxic psychotropic drugs a requirement for seeing one. My teeth are almost entirely gone, thanks to Prez Clintion's cutbacks on health care for the poor, which including Medi-Cal reduction of services, including dental. Which has only been restored under Gov. Newsom, but I am not interested in suffering through all the surgery and pain of getting my mouth fixed...which was caused in the first place by a brutal system. So you can imagine how humiliating it is for me, dwelling amongst the wealthy queers who are spoiled, and far from progressive. I feel like the last of the Mohicans, but I still stand my ground and strive forward as best I can, continuing my homeless outreach, and writing true tales about queer indigents.
I have recently had to deal with not one, but two, failed attempts to evict me...thanks to our building manager who is very old now, and has turned senile...and he's also gay. He has since been replaced by a property management company, that is known for its ruthlessness. So that's a NEW stress in my life. Our long-term maintenance man and his assistant were fired promptly. This building is, fortunately, under rent control...if it weren't I wouldn't be writing this now...I'd most likely have died on the streets years ago.
In my struggle to avoid eviction, I've met some incredible attorneys and their helpers along the way. They really give a fuk, and I'm sure they're not getting rich off their dedicated work. I've written about them, too, in my tales, but not with their real names.
I could go on, so much to tell, but I'll stop right here. At least know that not all of us "boomers" are the enemy.
–end
Subject: I Almost Acquired a Lovely Rocking Chair w/Plush Padding!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 15, 2024 at 8:01 PM
Stepping outside about an hour ago, I saw a discarded wooden rocking chair between the bus stall and the city trash bin. The kind that slides forward and back, rather than one that tilts on long, curved feet. In pristine condition with thick, white padding that covered the seat, back and arms. It was all of one piece and removable, secured with tough, silk ribbon of the same color.
So I sat down on it, and was transported to comfort heaven…so cushy! I then began debating with myself, whether or not to claim it and take it upstairs. But maybe it’s too heavy to bother (I thought), so I raised it a tad to discover it was lighter in weight than expected, and would be a cinch transporting it to my hovel, especially with a working elevator.
Then I decided, no, someone might see me drag it inside and freak out over my possibly bringing in bedbugs. Especially if it were the new building manager…or the former one, who’s still alive, much to my astonishment and chagrin! Though I had thoroughly checked it out, to discover no sign of the bugs anywhere. Besides which, it was most likely dumped here by another resident of this building, and Hotel California North has been free of the pests for some months now.
Just as I opened the front gate I had a second thought: yes, I SHOULD take the rocking chair, I deserve that luxury! So I released my hand from the gate, turned around and inspected the chair once again with both hands and eyes. But I still hesitated, while figuring it would need a small blanket tossed over it, to avoid marring the white, nubby fabric.
“Did you just put that chair out here?” queried an elderly gent who startled me as I was bent over the objet de mon désir.
I stood up then, and said, “No, I was just looking it over.”
“That’s a nice chair!” he said. “Are you planning to take it?”
“Uh, not really,” I half-lied. “I was just admiring the fine workmanship.” As if I know anything about the craft, good doctor…it probably came from China via the Temu pipeline. A lovely piece of furniture, nonetheless.
“Well, my sister had a stroke recently, and she could use a good chair like this!”
“Obviously it was meant for her,” I happily exclaimed. “And it’s lighter than it looks, you should have little trouble lugging it home.”
“May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the chair.
“Of course,” I replied, “sit down and see how you like it. I’m sure it’s perfect for your sister. Enjoy!”
He then set down his shopping bag, eased himself into the chair and began rocking away with delighted oohs and aahs, as I departed homeward.
Now get this, Wattson: right at the entrance now stood the new building manager pecking at his smartphone. He swung the gate open for me, I said thank-you and reached the elevator whereupon I pressed the “up” arrow. I noticed he then allowed someone ELSE inside, carrying a large box and I nervously thought:
“PLEASE don’t take the elevator, I don’t wanna breathe anyone else’s air, and it would be recklessly awkward if I stepped back out and told them to go ahead without me!”
Fortunately–and perhaps kindly–they climbed up the stairs instead. Whew! A few minutes later I looked out my hovel to see the fellow still there, rocking away while sipping on a Super Duper milkshake. I checked again a short while later, to discover he was gone…along with the rocking chair I almost adopted, but glad it found a more deserving home.
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: Again, eat your heart out, O. Henry…and Happy Day 127 of The Age of Miracles and/or Aquarius and/or Zeke’s World!
Re: I Almost Acquired a Lovely Rocking Chair w/Plush Padding!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 15, 2024 at 9:17 PM
> A perfect story…
I very much appreciate all the actors involved, to make it that way.
Subject: I Almost Acquired a Lovely Rocking Chair w/Plush Padding! [BONUS]
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 15, 2024 at 11:54 PM
It wasn’t till some moments AFTER the rocking chair scenario played itself through, that it suddenly struck me: “What a sweet little tale to tell, I gotta drop everything else immediately and put it to keyboard!”
But what you need to know, Wattson, is this “everything else” included my taking a break from Deek updates (and writing in general), due to their harshly emotional impact (temper tantrum wise, and the pups out there in the icy cold nights, of course). Such that I yearned to REST for several days before resuming my authorial duties, even though I’d have a lot of catching up to do. Yet I felt so COMPELLED to compose my rocking chair parable posthaste, I made it the exception.
For I came to REALIZE it was a gift from The Glorious Fates Themselves, and composing the story pronto would reward my spirit immensely. And so it did! You can’t imagine how pleased I feel right now, it is a soothing balm for my recent battles with the Morlocks. All defeated by yours truly…and this rocking chair vignette my medal of honor. And so I shall enjoy a most restful night, accompanied by thunder, lightning and rain gently playing in the background, gratis Youtube.
With a few creepy tales tossed into the mix, for good measure.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: My Conversation w/Filipino Kai This Morning
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 16, 2024 at 11:16 AM
After purchasing my Rosenberg java I sat on the steps of “Max Muscle”…stupid name, stupid store, I know, but it is what it is, a spot to seat oneself facing the intersection of Noe, 16th and Market. Not a spectacular view by anyone’s definition. It was a gloomy break of day, around 8:30 AM, but thank Glob no rain. To make things worse, a fire engine careened by, blasting its siren to kingdom come, thus disrupting the relative quiet I so much savor in the early hours.
Just when I was about to resume my homeward trek, Kai appeared on a bicycle and greeted me with good cheer. He premised our discussion around My Cajun Hellion: “Deek is looking for you!”
Shuddering at the idea of Deek arriving so early to disturb my morning reveries, I looked up at Kai and retorted: “No he isn’t, he always knows where I am.”
“Ha!” Kai chuckled. “That is so damn true! You do know, don’t you, that the guy really loves you! All the good things you do for him!”
“Well he has a bad way of showing it, half the time,” I exclaimed. “He treats the dogs like shit, and he should never have gotten Flaco pregnant. That was a CRUEL thing to do, and god only knows WHAT happened to the seven puppies he got rid of.”
“He said he found a good home for each of them, don’t you think he did?” Kai asked.
“I have no idea, but I doubt it, he doesn’t know that many people who’d adopt the pups. I’m afraid he’s lying, maybe he found a home for one or two, but I suspect he abandoned most of ’em by dropping them into a box and running off, with just one puppy, Jazz. He took those little creatures away from their mother when they were barely four weeks old. Deek’s a walking tragedy.”
We continued our conversation with my making it clear to him that I do NOT love Deek, the only reason I care about the fool is for the sake of Flaco & Lucky:
“He lets the dogs shiver in the cold and get sopping wet in the rain, when he’s quite capable of keeping them dry and warm. He lets them eat chicken bones they find on the ground…they could CHOKE to death from the splinters. He’s raising a puppy from birth, on the streets, and she may not survive such rough treatment. But of course he’ll blame ME if she gets sick and dies…he never takes responsibility for his own bad behavior, like he can’t do anything wrong, he’s Mr. Perfect. One thing you need to know about me, Kai, is that I have NO love for anyone who abuses dogs…in fact I despise them.”
I further described Deek as a sinful man who commits MANY evil deeds, and if it weren’t for my intervention, Flaco & Lucky would’ve been long dead by now:
“This has been going on for almost four years now, and I’m exhausted. One GOOD thing coming out of this is I’ve come closer to God, thanks to Deek’s abuse of the dogs. I really had no choice, it was either sink or swim, go insane or stand strong. I’ve never prayed so hard in my life, for such a long time, that things will turn out well.”
I also ranted on about costing me great expense by not finding his own blankets or used, clean coats and sweaters to keep the mutts warn overnight…which he is most capable of doing, he’s very resourceful. So I keep purchasing sleeping bags at $26 a pop, which really breaks my bank each month. But I just can’t BEAR to see the hounds suffer from the cold, and he knows that, knows I’ll break down and buy more sleeping bags:
“He usually just tosses ’em away when they get wet, instead of returning them to me so I can hang them up in my room to dry! He doesn’t care that he’s wasting what little money I have, thinks it’s a joke. And he lets everything in his cart get soaked in the rain, instead of covering it with a couple of large trash bags, which I always have handy. All he has to do is drop by to pick ’em up! I’ve told him that MANY times.”
And finally, I brought up the cardboard issue: “He screams at me more than half the time when I attempt to lay down a cardboard flat or two, to protect the dogs from the cold, dirty sidewalk, especially when it’s wet! I keep telling him cardboard insulates them from the cold when they lie down, but he sometimes rebels, grabs the cardboard and tosses it to the curb! Lately, though, he resists less often, but goddammit, it’s taken me YEARS to get to that point!”
This is the FIRST time Kai has allowed me free reigns to describe ALL the reasons why Deek is so frustrating and downright SCARY when it comes to my efforts to help him treat the pooches with kindness, for all the love they give him, in spite of his neglect. I spoke my words of complaint straightforward and in a calm manner, and he listened to it all. He assured me that things will work out, I’m doing a great job.
“Thank you for saying that,” I replied. “But I sure am exhausted at this point, every time I turn around I discover him doing something WRONG when it comes to these lovely canines!”
It is good he let me get this off my chest, for his knowing the real DEPTH of Deek’s crimes may inspire him to persuade Deek to make changes for the better. And he might also spread the word to other vagrants, who just MIGHT do the same. In which case, my burdens will be lifted considerably.
Though I am surprised he kept our discussion focused on Deek, rather than bring up other topics of concern or interest. As if, being one of my bodhisattva guardians, he intentionally showed up that I may release my angst over this abominable scenario re. My Beloved Brindlekin.
Before he took off on his bike, I thanked him for stopping by and wished him a good day. He did same, then zoomed away up Market Street, eastward, and I returned hovel to compose this missive.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: Lost all his stuff again, just has the dogs.
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 17, 2024 at 3:47 PM
At least, that’s his story, everything was “stolen,” cart and all its contents. Which means the sleeping bag, half-depleted dog food supply, the puppy carrier and Glob only knows what else. It all sounds fishy to me, since he’d’ve camped out with the sleeping bag on the ground, for the pups’ shelter. Along with the puppy carrier, which Flaco or Lucky likes to curl up in, when Jazz is tucked away under her master’s jacket. I think he just leaves everything on a whim, then tells me it was filched.
He’s now sitting outside, just below my window, as the snapshot shows. You can barely make out Jazz on his lap. I just fed the pooches, brought him a cup of cherry tea, and five dollars per his request. He said it rained all night. I told him no, it stopped just after 10 PM.
“If it rained all night, the streets would still be wet,” I pointed out. But thank Glob it’s a sunny day, just wish it were a bit warmer. I told him I have another sleeping bag, does he want it now or later?
“I’d have to carry it in my arms if I took it now,” he replied.
I said “Okay then, just pick it up this evening. The doggies need to be kept warm overnight.”
He’s waiting outside until his phone is fully charged, which should be two hours from now. Don’t know if he’s gonna leave then, or just move to the corner or behind my building. Poor doggies, forced to sit on the dirty, hard concrete. And it’s already cold outside, well before sunset.
[Pause.]
I brought down a sheet of cardboard and a sleeping bag…Deek didn’t object. But I noticed that Jazz peed in it a few moments after I got them settled in! She’s not housebroken in the least, so there’s another problem, trying to keep the mutts warm and dry. Deek doesn’t give a fuck. He also doesn’t give a fuck that Flaco’s shivering, and the sleeping bag’s not adequate to keep her covered. So I brought down a spare bath towel and tossed it over all three pups. Plus two doggy jackets I had left over from last year.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subjec: A Miserable End to Last Night’s Meetup!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 18, 2024 at 10:02 AM
Things were going along okay, as you can see from the first pic. Those are the doggy blankets I bought for Jazz, but today I used them to keep Flaco & Lucky warm. But about an hour later Deek had grabbed up the sleeping bag for himself, and left Lucky out in the cold, with Flaco & Jazz joining him under the cover…see pic 2. So I went back downstairs to place the puppy blanket atop him, along with a spare bath towel a few minutes later. Problem is: Lucky shuns Jazz half the time, because he doesn’t want to suffer her sharp little bites, albeit in play. So that may be why he’s not under the sleeping bag.
But chaos broke out an hour later, when a fire engine pulled up by the bus stop, where another vagrant lay on the sidewalk, rolling about, screaming and moaning holy hell. Earlier that day he was strutting back and forth beneath my window (of course), bellowing nonsense while twitching his arms and legs in a scary fashion. The brindlekin were not bothered by this in the least, to my surprise, and remained sound asleep.
I went back outside to see if this had disturbed the mutts, in which case I’d calm them down and settle them back in. Sure enough, Jazz was no longer asleep, and attempting to play-fight with Flaco, who sat as far away as she could, to avoid getting bit. Then Jazz climbed over her master and disrupted Lucky’s sleep, so he sat up in dismay. Deek then poked his head out:
“Are they comin’ for me?”
“No, Deek, you’re fine,” I replied. That’s someone else they’re checking up on.”
“Are you sure?” he persisted. “Some old geezer told me a little while ago he’s gonna call the fire department if I don’t leave.”
I doubt that really happened, good doctor, but I assured him again he’s okay.
He then pulled the sleeping bag up a bit more, and hid his head beneath it. During which time I attempted to slide Jazz back under the bag, and then Flaco. But Jazz kept running back out to play with me. I tried to embrace Flaco, but the puppy persisted in nipping her, and when I held Jazz back with one hand she began biting on it and drawing blood…then pounced over to Lucky, who really wanted to curl back up to rest.
“Hey, Deek,” I called to him while lifting up part of the sleeping bag. “Hold Jazz in your arms so I can get Lucky & Flaco settled down again!”
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” he hollered. “I’M FREEZING OUT HERE!”
“Well the dogs are freezing, too!” I retorted.
“I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE!”
“Well you should,” I admonished. “All I’m asking is you hold onto Jazz, so things will calm down.”
“LEAVE ME ALONE! GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY FACE!”
“I’m not in your face, Deek, you can’t even see me!”
“I’M STILL SICK, I FEEL LIKE SHIT AND I CAN’T EVEN GO TO THE HOSPITAL BECAUSE YOU WON’T WATCH THE DOGS FOR ME!”
“No you’re NOT sick,” I exclaimed, “you’re just a drama queen, is all!”
At any rate, I gave up and returned hovel, hoping things would simmer down in a while. And so they did, but I noticed through my window that Flaco & Lucky remained uncovered because they can’t pull the sleeping bag or puppy blanket over themselves…a thing no quadruped can do. And of course, their “loving” master didn’t bother to see to their comfort, but remained under the sleeping bag himself, which I had brought down in the first place specifically for the pooches.
Then I saw a young woman come up to him, who offered a home for Jazz, something to do with a friend of hers who works at Animal Control. I knew then I had better get back downstairs, before Deek exploded at her. He did not…however he took it out on yours truly, instead. No surprise here, Wattson!
While he was screeching at me, a skateboarder suddenly whizzed by, upon which Lucky erupted from his nest, barking like crazy and forcing the fellow to abruptly stop. He was very nice about it, spoke kindly to the hound, as I picked up the leash which had become untethered.
[SIDEBAR: Yesterday, all three leashes were tied together in a knot, and tightly snaked around each other. Which I fixed by unraveling them, and making a new, and simpler, knot, while Deek was asleep. So I guess the new knot, more loosely bound, unwound itself at some point. But since he didn’t have a hand gripping any one of leads, Lucky was already free to run onto the sidewalk and cause a commotion.]
“HOW’D LUCKY GET OFF HIS LEASH, WHAT’D YOU DO? YOU’RE ALWAYS FUCKING THINGS UP FOR ME, I COULD LOSE MY DOGS THANKS TO YOU!”
I ignored him while gently nudging Lucky back to his spot between Deek’s bent legs, and tossing the puppy blanket over him.
“I CAN’T SLEEP HERE, TOO MUCH IS GOING ON, BRING ME MY SPEAKER AND SMARTPHONE!”
“Okay, I will,” I replied. “Back in two minutes.” So I turned around and, as I approached the front gate, he repeated:
“BRING ME MY SPEAKER AND SMARTPHONE…NOW!”
I stopped then, faced him from twelve feet away and said: “I heard you the first time, and now the second!”
But he echoed that demand eight more times, and each time I said: “I heard you the first time, and now the […third, fourth, etc.]!” It wasn’t until he stopped parroting his demand that I finally punched the code to open the gate. I returned with the items requested, by which time he had simmered down.
“This is a busy sidewalk, Deek,” I spoke as he stood up and prepared to leave. “Never a good spot to try and get some sleep. Parking yourself on the corner or behind my building would’ve been better. Especially when the sunlight stopped reaching this side of the street…you shoulda moved then.”
I expected him to holler in response, but he remained silent.
“Okay then, I’m going back upstairs,” I said and returned hovel, but watched him through my window, wondering whether or not he’ll leave the sleeping bag behind. I had already collected the two puppy blankets and the bath towel, but when I asked if he wants to take the bag or have me hold onto it, he refused to answer.
Sure enough, he took the sleeping bag, wrapped it around and over the speaker’s extended, double-rod handle…like a big, fat turban on top. He also had a fresh supply of doggy vittles per his request, though six cans instead of eight, and one large baggie of kibble instead or two…seeing as I didn’t want to overburden him for lack of a cart. Though he left the jug of water behind, and the tray for the pups to drink from.
Once he started to cross the intersection I stepped back out to procure bottle and tray for another time, and tidy up what scant debris remained. It was then I saw that woman who offered to adopt Jazz, speaking with someone at the taqueria, two doors up. So I stepped inside to inform her of the situation, how Animal Control did nothing when Flaco was birthing eight pups ’cause their hands are tied by the law, and the violation has to be extreme (such as kicking of hitting the dogs) before they’ll do anything.
“There’s already someone ready to adopt all THREE hounds, if he ever cares to give ’em up,” I explained. “she’s a really nice person and in fact she works at that candy shop across the street, her name is Sarah!”
The woman looked towards where I was pointing: diagonally across the intersection where several small shops are located.
She kindly thanked me, and agreed: “I guess there’s nothing to do about it if he doesn’t want to give them up!”
“Well, there’s always the possibility he’ll die on the streets from an overdose…then I can rescue the dogs and bring ’em to Sarah,” I blurted and then departed.
I mused later on: maybe she’ll talk to Sarah? Maybe they’ll come up with a plot to abscond with the pooches and get away with it? Wishful thinking, I suppose.
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: He already returned this morning (with a shopping cart, thank Glob) so I could top off his speaker and smartphone. He also requested a razor and a cigarette, which I tossed down to him, sealed in a Chase envelope. I actually gave him TWO ciggies, for which he smiled up at me and said thanks. He was in a peaceful mood, though didn’t give me a chance to hug the wee hounds, even though they swarmed around my legs, begging my affection. They seemed to be in fine spirits and good health, as always. If his crude behavior last night was indeed scripted, to put me through my paces, that is exactly how I assumed he’d behave upon our next meetup: calm and amiable. This has been the pattern for some months now, and I look desperately forward to that benevolent breakthrough I have envisioned more than once.
Re: A Miserable End to Last Night’s Meetup!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 18, 2024 at 2:27 PM
> How utterly awful.
Indeed.
> Did you get contact info for the woman who offered Jazz a home?
It didn’t occur to me. I guess because since he’s not willing to give up the pups, I’m at an impasse…and also coz Sarah is already standing at the gate to intercede, should that day ever come.
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: Deek returned two hours later, to pick up his smartphone and speaker. Filipino Kai was there with him, gave me a bright smile and a warm hello. I’ve been seeing him a LOT more often than ever before. A good thing I’d say, as this means he’s watching over Deek and the pups. Perhaps. At least My Cajun POS is far less likely to explode at me when in the presence of a fellow indigent. I saw from my window, Jazz in Kai’s arms at the bus stop, while Deek went to the smoke shop a few doors down. Kai was very gentle and kind to the doggy. Sad to say, Flaco was standing around, shivering, and Deek did nothing about it. I gave her and Lucky a few sweet hugs, but Deek thwarted that by pointing out that Jazz, who was inside the cart, was going nuts for my affection. “Hurry up, she’s ready to jump out the cart!” he exclaimed. I hated separating myself from Flaco, to leave her shuddering from the cold and without my comfort. He still has the sleeping bag, though crumpled up into a ball beneath a pile of empty cans and bottles. No doubt getting soaked and sticky by the remaining contents trickling down.
Subject: 2 Dreams Last night:
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 18, 2024 at 5:32 PM
Dream #1:
This time I occupied a large, rambling apartment building that was modern, colorful and friendly. All three pups were living with me. So I took ’em all for a walk, but in a few minutes Jazz had run far ahead, more than a block’s length on a VERY long, skinny lead. I couldn’t even see her through the pedestrian bustle! I tried to catch up to her, with Lucky & Flaco running by my side. Then they were ALL gone, and I suddenly had one, different dog on a leash, maybe a wire-haired terrier. I was devastated:
“What am I gonna tell Deek?”
Dream #2:
There was some important kind of event I was invited to. I got “messages” from many directions, and it was necessary I show up, ’cause I was regarded as a VIP in the context of this gathering. When I arrived, I saw Larkin surrounded by his admirers and had to push my way through to greet him. I said “Hey, there, good to see you again!” Knowing at this point I was the guest of honor, and Larkin had arranged the event.
I playfully held up a shiny green apple and said: “I just wanted to say hi, not gonna intrude on your world, so I’m leaving now to munch on this apple!”
[SIDEBAR: Not that I could in real life, Wattson, I just don’t have the bite to do that anymore. And I stil wonder what the green apple may symbolize, for it really stood out in the dream. However, I’ve never liked eating whole apples much, especially not the green kind.]
He laughed and said, “Get back here, I don’t want you to disappear…this is all for you!”
I then found myself seated at the far end of a bar, near the door, just like the one at the old Hole in the Wall Saloon. And Larkin was the tender. Though I didn’t see any alcoholic beverages being served, so it was most likely just one spot to sit, and Larkin was the emcee or somethin’ like that. The place was crowded, but not overmuch, and it buzzed with a congenial vibe where I felt at home.
He beamed a loving smile down at me, and asked if I got that “thing” done, I don’t remember what it was, something to do with a comb…but it was maybe a joke or a sort of password question, like an FBI code between spies. At any rate, whatever it was, I answered correctly, to neither his surprise nor mine. So maybe it was actually sharing a happy memory from past adventures. Then I woke up.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: Quickest Meetups Ever Today
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 19, 2024 at 10:04 PM
I was crossing the intersection early morning, with java in hand, when I saw him across Market Street, on the far corner. He left cart and pups there and came running over to hand me his phone, and that was that. Surprised he didn’t ask for anything else, I continued my trek hovel.
He returned barely an hour ago, some time after a light rain that lasted about an hour. He just wanted his smartphone that he gave me this morning. He parked his cart by the corner, with Flaco and Jazz tethered to it, and waited for me by the front gate, with Lucky by his side. I opened the gate a skosh and handed him the phone and two cigarettes. He said thanks and took off. Lucky, however, remained by the entryway, gazing up at me with a gleeful aura.
“LUCKY, GET OVER HERE!” hollered Deek from where he stood by the bus stop. But the wee hound ignored his master, so I decided to step out to shower him with a little affection.
I thought he’d try to scoot inside, so I exited the gate while blocking the entry. But he didn’t try to rush into the lobby at all, he just wanted to say hello! He leapt with unbridled joy a few times, pushing those chunky paws against my thigh each time, before I crouched down to give him the dearest embrace ever. His belly felt wet and cold, though he was obviously in good spirits, regardless. The temp had warmed up this evening, compared to the last few days. A warm front, at last!
“LUCKY GET OVER HERE…NOW!” he called out once again.
I gave Lucky another hug, and some scritches on his back before patting him on the butt: “Hurry! Catch up with your master!” I told him. So he turned around and ran a few yards, then paused to look back as if to say:
“You sure? I’ll rather stay here with you, I love you so much!”
“Go, Lucky, go!” I waved at him with a dismissive, though friendly, hand. And so he dashed away to join his little family, and I climbed back upstairs.
I can’t be sure, but it looked like Deek has one or two dry blankets in his cart. I was prepared to bring him another sleeping bag, but I figured he could ask, if he really needed one. He did not. He didn’t ask for water, either, or to fix ’em a meal…and obviously doesn’t plan to spend the night by my building. I wonder what he’s up to, though I sense it’s good. Maybe assuming more responsibility caring for and feeding them, after I lectured him that rainy Saturday night? Leaning on me less?
Or perhaps just another bodhisattva test of my emotional IQ? ‘Cause I sure could easily break down and cry each time I see the pups and know I can’t give ’em hugs but for a moment before Deek summons them away, and I watch them disappear to parts unknown. However, I do NOT play the sobbing fool, but focus on the joyful parts.
This time around I only got to hug Lucky, but oh, how he went out of his way to show me his love! He was NOT gonna leave till he could.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: January 13th was the worst meetup in a long time!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: January 20, 2024 at 9:56 PM
This was last Saturday, it rained from noon into the night till around 10 PM. A heavy drizzle, nonstop. And FUKKIN COLD! He and the pups slept on the corner the previous night, and left pretty early. That night was ALSO icy cold, and I made sure the mutts were tucked in and warm, since their master doesn’t care about their comfort, only his. Flaco was curled up in the puppy carrier, which had mesh windows on three sides, exposing her to the chill air, and Deek didn’t bother to toss in anything to keep her warm. Though she wasn’t shivering, I knew she appreciated the large, fluffy sweater I extracted from his cart and swaddled above and around her, including her paws and limbs.
I also flung a large trash bag over the carrier, and weighed it down with a jacket, also found in his cart. He couldn’t object ’cause sound asleep. She stuck her schnoz out to say thank you…she gave me a lick and I kissed her back. Lucky was curled up beside Deek, atop some bedding, though without any cover. So I dug up aNOTHER cloth item from his cart (something velour, maybe a curtain), and covered him with that. Jazz was fine, tucked into her master’s jacket and dreaming her puppy dreams. So anyway, last Saturday’s horrific meetup:
Deek called up to me from the bus stall’s shelter, in a raucous bellow: “GET DOWN HERE, I’M READY TO HAVE A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN!”
He was wet, everything in his cart was soaked, the bedding he tossed down for the pups was sodden, and the dogs were drenched, as well. Though fortunately, their type of fur repels water, so only their bellies are exposed. Well, their little paws, too, ’cause he forces them to walk in the rain, puddles and all. Jazz (who I don’t see HOW she’s gonna survive Deek’s poor treatment, and not die of hypothermia or disease) was in his arms, but going wild for my hugs, she kept squirming in her attempt to leap over to me. Flaco & Lucky were already vying for my affection, and I saw his darling sister was shivering (again). Oblivious to the rain, I plopped myself down upon the soppy bedding and swept them up in my arms, and Deek placed Jazz on my lap. It was quite a hug fest. Then he started screaming his predictable litany of nasty accusations.
I didn’t see any point in defending myself, sticking my hand in THAT Cajun tar baby would be the mistake of the century. Besides which, I was totally focused on how to get the pups warm and dry. When I came up with a solution, I stood up and proceeded homeward.
“WAIT! WHERE YOU GOING?” Deek hollered. “TOO CHICKEN TO STAY OUT HERE WITH US?”
“No,” I called back, “I’m bringin’ down a box and a blanket for the dogs, be back in a minute!”
I first wiped down the pooches with a few clean rags, then set a cardboard flat down beside the bus stop seats, then a large, soft-plastic storage bin on its side, atop the cardboard. I next tossed a sleeping bag into the bin, and the mutts quickly got inside. Though not completely, for Flaco was half extended onto the cardboard, while Lucky was snuggled deep within. Jazz had already nuzzled herself into a corner of the sleeping bag right beside her mom, so I covered her with a puppy blanket I had also brought down. I then placed the bin’s lid as an overhang, and held it down with the (now soaking wet) puppy carrier from Deek’s cart. The final touch was inserting one edge of a trash bag between bin and lid, allowing the rest to drape over the opening, to complete the shelter. Thank Glob there was little wind to complicate matters.
Deek quieted down at this point, glad I suppose, for the doggies’ comfort I provided in one fell swoop. Told him I’m going back upstairs now, call me if he needs me for anything else. I held off describing that awful night, due to emotional exhaustion. I didn’t bother to give a blow by blow report of each foul thing he bellowed at me, since you’ve heard ’em all before. Suffice it to say he did an especially good job of fucking with my head this time, though I didn’t allow that to disrupt my enjoyment once back hovel. Trusting the Fates that all would be well with the hounds, in abidance with My Bodhisattva Premise, which is:
He’s putting me through another test of my emotional balance, teaching me further how to remain centered in peace and fidelity towards Glob’s good graces. He departed almost an hour later without telling me, and left the bin behind. Someone COULD have walked away with it, but I retrieved it soon enough. I was not so much disturbed by his hateful rants, as I was over the sweet quadruped’s well-being. Seeing them all so soaked was bad enough, but Flaco’s shudders from the cold ripped my soul apart.
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: Super Duper’s radiant outdoor heaters were only left on that one night, much to my dismay. So THAT was not an option to keep My Lovely Brindlekin warm and cozy through the rest of these bitter nights! What a heartless world. You’d think by now, at least SOME of the locals would be touched by these darlin’ hounds, and help out, one way or another. Some nasty stranger threatened to KICK Lucky this morning…and she was NOT homeless, or a drugged out meth freak. Possibly drunk. More about that in my next missive.
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