Look Out for Lookout!

April 21, 2014

From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My E-frenz
Date: Sun, 30 Mar 2014 14:31:19
Subject:
Too funny

Just last week I gifted my houseless friend, Vince, with a cheap android tablet that proved too frustrating for my use. Of course I erased all personal data (or so I thought), as well as set it up for maximum convenience. But just a moment ago sitting here at Howard’s, I got an email alert from the Lookout app (which app I forgot all about). It tracks my device w/GPS in case it’s lost or stolen.

Lookout informed me that the tablet has run low on battery, and gave me its location…which turns out to be the most notorious intersection where crackheads, speed freaks, junkies and the like congregate: 6th & Market. Cracked me up because (1) I didn’t realize the device was set up to report back to me now and then, and (2) Vince is, well, a meth addict. (Though to his credit, he’s got a great spirit, very feisty and a good friend…he’s a shorty little punk and full of mighty spunk. IOW: quite a character. And nuts over my tales of queer frivolity.)

So of all the locations possible for my first alert re. Vince’s android tablet, it had to be the most stereotypically predictable spot, ever. Hilarious…and Vince of course has no idea. (Though I don’t think I’ll inform Vince about this matter, seeing as paranoia is a side effect of crystal, and I don’t deserve such fallout. Plus, now that the dastardly deed has been done, I look forward to any further reports that come my way.)

Now I’m wondering just how many hands my humble tablet will pass through (registered in my name and all that) as it /is/ a bit of a money maker. And if the police will contact me sooner or later…and if they do I hope at least /one/ of ‘em is a doll and will court me like a Victorian satyromaniac.

Enjoy the Lookout alert forwarded to you, Dear E-frenz, that you may relish a chortle or two in your pathetically boring lives when compared to mine:


Another Sleeping Beauty

April 18, 2014

!!! WARNING. ADULT MATERIAL !!!

If you are underage, or in any way forbidden by your government or religious laws from viewing X-rated subject matter, please do not go there. If, however, you are not restricted by any laws in your geographical location, by all means click on the image above, to read my spicy tale. Otherwise, click here.


1 Billion Beautiful People

April 15, 2014

Regarding my Reptilian interpretation of reality, and how these lizard guardians manipulate false events of war and other tragedies to test the human potential without requiring any single real person to endure uber-extreme tribulation…that we homo sapiens may learn lessons of patience, compassion and neighborly goodwill through media-manipulated atrocities that have no real proof they ever occurred, or are occurring:

How on goddess’s green and blue earth do they pull this off? The answer is actually quite simple, yet elegant. There are roughly more than 6 billion Reptilians residing on this planet, and only approx’ly 1 billion genuine human beings. Or in other words: for every person you meet, you’ll encounter six or seven other folks who are actually Reptilians in disguise. Perhaps the old saying, “Be kind to every stranger you meet, for you never know if one’s an angel” should be upgraded to replace “angel” with “Reptilian.”

I have expounded on this matter in three recent pieces titled “J’accuse,” “They’re Reptilian!” and “Soaring Saurian Speculation.” This article is therefore but an expansion of the previous ones as my “Reptilian Awareness” evolves into “Reptilian Kok-Sucking of the Horniest Kind.” (I also refer you now to my seminal piece, “NeoPositivtiy: A Gay Religion,” in which I tell of a powerful vision that revealed to me for the first time, God’s benevolent dupe. Though the Reptilian aspect did not come to me until years later, barely a month ago in fact.) For I have since learned that each and every scale on their luscious bodies is a G-spot of sexual arousal. Just touching a scale or two for several minutes puts them into a state of orgasmic ecstasy that you wouldn’t believe!

These shape shifting Reptilians play our enemies as well as allies. But it is their role as enemy I find revelatory to such a degree it blows my mind (as I hope yours too, as I explain further). From the worst “people” on this planet (such as Nero, Hannibal, Olga the Terrible, Hitler, Ronald Reagan and Vladimir Putin) to the evil bottom dwellers that fuk up our lives in all possible ways (such as failed friendships, backstabbing coworkers, racists, homophobes, and so on): they are, or were, all Reptilian. And why is that (you might ask)?

Precisely because Our Creator is a Loving Creator…who therefore would never require any actual human being to play such evil roles that would result in karmic hell proportional to the sin. Thus, Reptilians step in to play our monsters, that our human family can learn harsh lessons without the consequent punishment of such wicked behavior. It is also obvious to me at this point, that all the worst terrors throughout history up to and including our present woes, are illusory. In other words:

World Wars I and II never really happened, nor did Nazi concentration camps exist. There was no war in Viet Nam, nor was/is there any dire conflict playing out in the Middle East. No woman has ever been raped. No gay person has ever been bashed. No African-American has ever been lynched. And so on. It only seems that way, since Reptilians have complete control over our perceptions, including the air waves, the Internet, newspapers, and any other aspect of our modern media, including books.

Not that we all don’t suffer…just not to such extremes that a loving God would never allow. The souls of those people we believe to have suffered (or are suffering) have been transported to a heavenly existence well before their tribulation ensued. Reptilian minds (via telepathy) enter the bodies of these souls to play out these tragedies, that humans may witness apparent catastrophes, so they may learn ultimate values such as compassion, long suffering, sacrifice and other noble virtues.

Bad enough that loved ones are taken away from us by death or other misfortune. But isn’t it good to realize that such outcomes are merely dupes for our own spiritual growth…and that our cherished friends will return to our side once all painful lessons have been learned? And that no one really dies, but is just made invisible for a time? (For example: know that a loved one suffering Alzheimer’s or fatal cancer is already liberated to Nirvana, and who you see now while still alive is actually a Reptilian occupying that shell of a body, and going through the remaining motions unto so-called “oblivion.”) Which concept leads me to another fantastic revelation:

All 1 billion-plus human beings are genuine sweethearts, not a mean bone in their bodies. They are not the least bit prejudiced against anyone, including homophobia. For it is only these Reptilians that act bigoted, ignorant, violent and stupid, in order for us real humans to grow in wisdom and understanding. You might think I’m terribly naive (a la Pollyanna or Anne Frank) in my perception, but let me clue you in:

If there is a God, and he (she or it) is truly loving: what an incredible strategy to evolve our souls into eternal joy through a kind of benevolent deception! 6 billion-plus Reptilians serving as guardian angels, beloved comrades whose only wish is that each and every one of us achieve eternal bliss. And they never fail in their mission, no matter which planet they serve!

So what if God’s original form is a dragon?


Beelzebugs From Hell

April 12, 2014

[ Stentorian Reader, here is a piece that took me much longer to compose than planned, and which has threatened to shove me into further isolation of my already difficult life when it comes to having friends. I don't think I'll post it online until I finally move to a new residence. 'Cause right now I can't afford to be evicted for lack of cooperation or any other reason. Nor will Larkin ever see this, since I'm sure he'd use this tale as a perfect excuse to never hug me again. Though his being telepathic I doubt I could ever keep this from his perceptive brainpan. But by the same token, his remarkable powers can prevent my dilemma from invading his realm altogether...or rid it in a flash if it came to that. Though I suspect he's the culprit who beset me with this challenge in the first place, that I may somehow overcome. Enjoy, if such wish seems appropriate. ]

Bedbugs. The unspoken blight of San Francisco and many other cities since the ban on DDT in 1972 (thank you Rachel Carson). My first battle with the Lilliputian vampires was in May 2006. Jonah down the hallway had just returned from vacation in Turkey. Now, he is not an attractive fellow by anyone’s definition: fat and homely. (Or as I like to say: “Jonah is the whale!”) So I presume his two-week Istanbul getaway was with the same goal in mind as many other sub-par queers who frequent that corner of the globe: gay sex industry. Most of the cheaper hotels are notorious havens for bedbugs. And tourists are only beginning to learn how to prevent infestation into their own homes and communities upon return from these exotic escapades. See:

How to Avoid Bedbugs when you Travel

Now, Jonah had a remarkably funny and sweet little papillon named “Skelli” (short for Skellington the Third) who’d scratch upon my door most every evening, to pay me a joyful visit. He always knew when I was under the weather and would show up to spark that smoldering ember of happiness still lingering in my bosom.

Well about three weeks after Jonah’s return, when Skelli visited me one night I noticed a particularly large bug running through his fur. And of course at first I thought it was a flea: a very juicy fat flea. Tried to catch it between my nails, but no cigar. Next day I stepped out into the hallway to notice Jonah feverishly vacuum the carpet area by the front door. Along with the pungent odor of tea tree oil. (It has been said on various bedbug web sites that such a volatile oil wards them away. Later experimentation on my part has shown this claim to be false.)

Still, I gave this no thought until a few days later: Skelli doesn’t have fleas, that was a bedbug! Upon this realization I immediately posted Jason an email (after several shots of Vodka that had me properly soused), which read:

Don’t even think for a moment you’re gonna pin this bedbug issue on me! You brought them back from Turkey. I will not blow the whistle on you to the manager, so long as you do not turn me into the scapegoat. But if you do, I will make your life so miserable you’ll wish you were never born, and move outta here post-haste.

Seems that Jonah respected my conditional threat, as he never brought the matter up, or made me the target of our manager’s wrath. He didn’t even acknowledge receipt of my email! Certainly a good sign that I achieved my desired impact.

In spite of applying my own tea tree oil and eucalyptus leaves all over the floor of my SRO, the bedbugs proliferated. They first showed up nesting in a black beanbag chair I found discarded in the basement. And I suffered many sleepless nights with their sucking my blood, creating super-itchy welts over my body, especially in the crotch and on my thighs. I silently lived out this 24/7 hell for almost two months…until our lesbian neighbor reported bedbugs to the manager, and was screaming bloody Hades about it to any resident who’d listen.

By that time I had replaced the beanbag settee with a twin-sized mattress given to me by Darcy who lived at the west end of my floor. It was immaculately clean with no sign of bugs anywhere. Took up a large chunk of my domicile’s real estate, but it was euphoric to sleep in a real bed after so many years on makeshift pallets. Minus the frame and box spring of course; so it was still technically floor-bound bedding.

But within two weeks of this slumberous windfall, it too had become infested with those hemipterous night crawlers. In order to keep the population down to a low roar, every eve I’d apply masking tape to all the creases, piping, etc., wherever I spotted them embedded on this mattress. I also used the tape on the walls or molding whenever I spotted a bug (or two or three or four or five or six…sometimes with the aid of my folding aluminum ladder), and applied food grade diatomaceous earth I purchased via Amazon.com along the room’s perimeter. It seemed to be working, gradually, as each night I trapped fewer. And each night my inner thighs became a bit less like two massive fields of pimples numbering in the hundreds that seared like poison oak, and more like a less dense field of the same torment.

Why didn’t I take responsibility to report this infestation to the manager, early on? Because I am a low-income renter at 2306 Market Street for many years, and realized that my living situation is precarious enough for the manager to use false witnesses in order to evict me. I would therefore be a fool to allow myself to be scapegoated and thus dumped onto the streets. So I waited until the bugs spread into another unit, that the onus would be directed elsewhere.

However, there’s a lot more to this story before the wee devils were eliminated. Let’s back up to a Saturday night, two days before the exterminator arrived. My lesbian neighbor (whose sole claim to fame was as an iridologist…a hokey career if I ever heard one, even more so than chiropractic) stood outside my door, arguing with the manager, Steven. Her name by the way, I’ve long since forgotten; so let’s call her “Iris.” She lived with her girlfriend (whom I shall name Corrine) who seemed to be the real bread winner of their household. A paralegal, I think.

Turns out she was trying to convince Steven to bring the exterminator over tomorrow, to check my SRO as well as her apartment and the unit on the other side from mine. Upon hearing that, these are the thoughts that raced through my cerebrum as I stood among them in my mini-hallway:

I must dispose of that mattress tonight, in the very wee hours when everyone’s asleep! Or the jig will be up and I’ll have to bear the wrath of both manager and neighbors alike…maybe even get evicted.

Then the following evasive maneuver came to my panicked brain, which I spoke aloud: “I’m working on an article for a magazine, and the deadline is tomorrow, midnight. Can it possibly wait till Monday? I really can’t afford any disturbance just this moment.”

Steven quickly replied while gazing upon Iris with a short fuse: “Look, no one will come out tomorrow on such brief notice, especially a Sunday. I’ll try to have someone out this Monday or Tuesday.”

Reason why he was getting angered with Iris, is that she acted far more frantic than need be. Her hyper behavior over the next two days finally struck me:

Why, she’s pushin’ for a lawsuit and wants to exaggerate her demise in that direction!

She tried to excite me into hostility against the manager, in order to create an ally for her scheme, but no cigar…I’d have none of it. Sometimes she’d suddenly pop into the hallway and holler to me or Jonah (when we were there, playing with his doggie):

“I found a bedbug in the wastebasket!” And she’d march to the hall’s end to gasp fresh air from the open window.

But after a bit of humoring, I found out she didn’t bother to trap it with sticky tape…since it’s a requirement to capture at least one bug to justify an exterminator. She just tossed the contents into the garbage chute out back…certainly a no-no when it comes to Cimex lectularius. I suddenly burst out in a short giggle further down the hallway, while Jonah stood near Iris by his apartment door. And her face turned florid as she addressed me:

“Do you think this is funny?”

I quickly covered my tracks: “No, of course not. But sometimes nervous laughter is a way of dealing with stress. Sorry if you thought otherwise.”

Iris then strode back to her own unit (a large studio with sliding doors to separate bedroom from kitchen and living area), and leered at me in passing…her bobbed brunette hair swaying a bit in arrogance. She smelled of baby powder and Old Spice.

So here I was stranded in a sea of bedbugs infesting my new mattress that I knew I had to get rid of that very night. Of course I decided to wait until 3-4 AM before accomplishing my secret disposal. But would some surprise resident pop out into the hallway at that late hour, at the very moment I’d be dragging the mattress down the corridor, to the back porch, then descending the narrow wooden stairs to the basement and, finally, up the concrete side alley and through the locked gate? Certainly, I prayed that kismet would be my ally.

Once the clock struck midnight I geared into emergency mode and spent the next half hour removing the latest invasion of bedbugs from the mattress with masking tape. Then sat at my computer watching the most recent two episodes of Criminal Minds. But kismet decided to throw a monkey wrench into the works: precisely at 1:30 AM my phone rang.

It was Marmaduke Quark, my current pot dealer who decided to pop over and get me smoked out…for free! While we got stoned out of our ever-lovin’ craniums and chatted on as the night passed into near dawn, I worried about him casually half-reclining on the mattress and shipping bedbugs off to his own SRO there in the Mission. (I also worried about getting that friggin’ bed outta there without being caught!)

“Look,” I finally announced around 4:15 AM, “I have an assignment from Larkin, my detective buddy, to observe suspicious activity on the streets. If I don’t get out there now, I’ll fail in my duties!”

Marmaduke was already acquainted with my accounts as a detective’s assistant, and how I perform various missions to facilitate Larkin’s case. Don’t think he believed me one whit, but what the hey…an excuse by any other name would still smell just as phony. I needed him out pronto. He was often an intrusive pest (so much so I eventually cut him outta my life, despite the gratis access to quality ganja once a week or so), and he couldn’t have picked a worst night to drop by.

To my relief he departed shortly, and I could finally get that mattress transported to the street…hopefully without anyone spotting my nefarious disposal. Checked the hallway first: all clear on the western front. Then raised the mattress on its side and, while gripping the uppermost corner between bent right arm and torso, began sliding it down the carpeted hall and through the back porch door that resisted my passage every inch of the way, due to a spring-powered hinge screwed atop. Took more than a minute to slide the bulky mattress through and onto the porch. No one was about; so far so good.

Then I maneuvered my burden down the rickety back stairs (with one loose step that could’ve killed me), which turned a sharp left angle halfway down before reaching the basement and its concrete landing. Then I dragged it quietly as I could, with a right turn up four steps and through the side alley that led to a locked, iron gate. At this point, I realized that one or two residents could possibly witness my scurrilous act through a window that opened onto this side passage. Neither light was on, thank Azazel.

Turning the gate’s exit lever with my left hand while keeping the mattress pinioned at my side, I maneuvered my way beyond the gate and onto the 16th Street sidewalk. At this point, I risked being spotted by anyone on the street (whether motorist or pedestrian), or residing nearby. Worst case scenario would be a cop or sanitation truck driving by. But all was dead as the planet Pluto while I lugged my mattress uphill a few doors beyond the gate, and dumped it by the curb of a hapless household. With a tremendous sigh of relief, I returned to my domicile and hit the sack. Which for the remainder of that night, was nothing more than the cold, hard floor cushioned with a couple of jackets and rolled towel for a pillow.

I had done a pretty good job of eradicating any evidence of bedbugs on the walls, in my clothing, or anywhere else external. When the exterminator arrived, all he found was evidence that they were in the walls…and he proceeded with appropriate fumigation. But it left me traumatized, in total fear of having anyone visit me thereafter. And is why I stated previously, that I suffered an event which caused me further isolation from my already-quite-lonely existence.

It was seven months of social solitude before I recommenced having anyone visit me off the streets or elsewhere. Each time I had a guest overnight, anxiety haunted me like a bitch. I even grew afraid to hug my street buddies. Larkin, too. What would he think of me, if my passion spread bedbugs into his already difficult life? What was I supposed to do…condemn myself to a friendless existence out of fear of the manager’s (and residents’) wrath? For I had no one for company except those righteous renegades I pick up off the streets. I haven’t known one single person with a roof over their head for the past 22 years, that would invite me over to their place. In other words: these bedbugs were a new element that threatened to exacerbate my solitary life into prolonged, even permanent, desolation.

Yet almost three years later, I was besieged once more by bedbugs. This time they’d infested my two, thin futons that lay one atop another for times I usually sleep alone. Again, I used masking tape to clear them off the bedding, and removed any I found on the walls or elsewhere. (They weren’t many, I might add.) But finally, my neighbor on the west side complained to the manager about their presence. It was a small infestation I had discovered: a nest of about 35 or so right beside the floorboard in the southwest corner of my room. Surely, I concluded, this is a minor invasion that can readily be removed. By this time I had acquired several anti-bedbug products, and applied them accordingly. With success.

Yet the exterminator declared to Steven (our manager) that my SRO was majorly infested with the nasty insects, and he had to treat the entire area, all four sides. I found this hard to believe, considering I did not find them anywhere else, not even in my clothing, desk drawers, cabinets, and so on. Had another week or two passed without a manager report, I’m sure I’d have totally killed the remaining pests. Nonetheless, Steven was quite hot-headed (not his usual demeanor), and advised:

“Zeke, I saw you bring someone over yesterday afternoon with a large backpack!”

Of course, the implication was that backpacks are bedbug carriers, and I am to blame. But I responded in a soft rage:

“Steve, that is unlikely. He is not homeless, he’s just touring the country. He’s an architect from New York, and only dropped by for a few hours. John’s a very fastidious person.”

I consider Steven’s accusation yet the latest stigma for caring about my homeless brothers. But a few months further down the line, he admitted that other bedbugs have sprung up on the third and fourth floors that clearly had nothing to do with me. So I told him:

“I haven’t had anyone over since that last infestation. Look, I ride public transit and go to the main library…and they are known sources for spreading bedbugs. What am I supposed to do, quarantine myself?”

He nodded in sympathy. Though I’ll admit right now, I lied about having visitors since the last attack. But I suspect there may remain (or remained) a surviving nest of bedbugs hidden in that wall, since the previous fumigation. They can exist for almost 1-1/2 years without feeding, and are growing ever more resistant to what limited arsenal we presently have to eradicate them. I also wonder if our exterminator, Ricardo, may have exaggerated my second infestation in order to boost his income. Can’t blame him if he did: these are hard times for the working stiff.

Plus, I don’t think Ricardo is too bright. Last time he treated my room, he attached sticky strips to my walls that are supposed to catch bedbugs, thus give some idea of their present population. But a month after their placement, not a single bedbug was caught. I even checked out the web site of the company that sold these strips…only to discover their bedbug page is not accessible (or “404″ in web parlance). Perhaps because they don’t work at all, and they’re trying to cover their tracks, avoid lawsuits.

When Ricardo discovered the failed results, he exclaimed: “I paid big bucks for those strips!”

My response: “Don’t you think if they actually worked, the company would be fabulously rich by now, since they’d be the very first to stumble upon an effective bedbug trap?”

Another indication of Ricardo’s tardy wit is when I told him that I visited the company’s site to discover their bedbug page was no longer online, and he replied: “Maybe your computer isn’t compatible with the Internet.”

I later informed the manager about Ricardo’s “shortcomings,” but added: “Not that he isn’t the best exterminator we can get under the circumstances. But bedbug infestations are a big profit for the pesticide business. If cities mandated a minimum 125 degrees for all laundry services, 80 per cent of the problem would be licked. Unfortunately, since the last drought in California, laundromats lowered their ‘hot’ level to below 120.”

In my discourse I was referring to my own homework on the subject of bedbugs here in these United States. Pesticide companies feed on the panic of those infested, and cause much hardship and loss of residency by low-income renters and homeowners, who have no recourse but expensive treatment…which often wipes them out, economically. There are ways to effectively eradicate the bugs without professional treatment. But paid exterminators don’t want us to discover this little secret.

[ Please note: it was during this second invasion of "beelzebugs" that I suffered two additional horrors. (1) Larkin had begun abusive behavior towards me, starting with that shove. And (2) a really bad case of shingles erupted across my legs, waist and torso, that almost required hospitalization. Thus began my year of 2013, a year riddled with so many wretched events I was glad when it came to an end. No one prays to the God of Misery! ]

Since then, I’ve had one more treatment simply because the manager wanted to take precaution before new tenants moved into the apartment beside my own room. I said: “Sure. Any time you want, I’m all for the preventive approach.”

Ricardo claimed to find two bedbugs way up in the molding just below the ceiling. He pointed them out with a pen light, but they looked to me like flecks of old debris. Nonetheless before I departed so he could begin partial fumigation, I declared: “Get those buggers!”

Since that time (five months and growing), I’ve encountered an occasional bedbug here and there…about one or two per month. But no sign of any further infestation. There is something about bedbugs that exterminators are not telling us. (For example: during the first infestation, Darcy down the hallway informed me that she and a visiting daughter woke up one morning with voraciously itchy bug bites. Yet there was no sign of bedbugs, her king-size mattress was totally clean, and Ricardo found no sign of them anywhere in her apartment. No more nasty welts ensued.)

They prefer to keep us in the dark, for monetary gain. And also since that time, I’ve resumed visitors on a frequent basis, enjoying their beloved company, no longer allowing these pests to spread panic and loneliness in my hardscrabble world. Nor has Marmaduke or anyone else who’s visited me, reported later that they now have bedbugs.


Copy Right or Copy Wrong?

April 9, 2014

This is a piece about using other artists’ images without their permission, in one’s blog entries, web site articles and other online posts. Been meaning to discuss this topic for years now, but only today have I finally gotten around to bringing the matter into public consideration. Copyright restrictions have become so repressive as to stifle many original works, ideas and challenges that could otherwise broaden and enlighten artistic endeavors in every society across the globe. Though I realize that contemporary ideology has come to diminish the vital role creative minds play in shaping a better future. I, for one, stand in opposition to this dogma that threatens to shut down the very source of new ideas that are the fountain of progress which only true, artistic genius can create. And without which genius cultural diversity collapses and dictatorship arises.

The matter of using others’ images on search engines has been determined legal, so long as those images are thumbnail or partial versions. But the use of such diminished images remains up in the air, when posted to any other web based medium. To be perfectly safe, the author must gain signed permission by the creator, or risk artists’ demands to remove them (at best), or sue the writers (at worst). But the Internet has inadvertently created an entirely new resource of the “found objects” genre that was never possible previous to its invention. Let me explain:

Take, for examples, blog entries or web-page articles and stories…which are enhanced by the inclusion of illustrations that vastly improve the readability and pleasure of online viewers. Without these images, only a sea of type prevails without any pictures whatsoever to make the reading far more digestible. Furthermore, most web authors cannot afford to hire an illustrator for every post they upload.

The discovery of images that cleverly match one’s articles is a form of “found object” that should be perfectly legal without permission, provided the author present his or her works gratis. A link back to the artist of each image could be embedded in the pic, or elsewhere (such as credits listed at the end)…that the creator may eventually gain recognition and even popularity. The reader can enjoy the clever matching of image to excerpt, that could never be duplicated by intentional design from a paid illustrator.

Please be aware that I do not consider fee-based articles or traditionally published works within this context of images as found objects. In other words, I am limiting my proposal to web postings that are free to read by the public at large. For example: I have recently published a novel that includes an original illustration for each chapter. For which I have hired an artist. Those chapters first appeared on my blog entries minus such illustrations, though embellished with “found object” images which give quite a kick to the viewers. Which images cause the reader to exclaim: “Wow! What a cunning use of discovered pictures by the author.”

Such found-object pics I’m talking about are either thumbnail versions of the originals, or a collage of two or more such images in a thumbnail reduction. While I do not yet provide links or credits to the artists, I am quite happy with requiring such as part of a legal precedent to allow “found object” images without permission. In fact, the five images scattered across this article are a perfect example of my application of search-engine art to delight my readers, and keep them intrigued enough to read my entire piece.

But there remains one more issue regarding the “permission” approach, which is in addition to the high cost of current legal requirements. Which is that certain genres may not appeal to artists, may even offend them…for which reason they may reject granting permission in spite of the author’s willingness to pay a fee. The most glaring example is the one in which I specialize: gay themed articles. For in this homophobic society known as “Amerika,” many artists will simply refuse to have their works associated with topics that they find abhorrent or even sinful. Thus, we have a deeply embedded prejudice against such writers that really comes of brainwashed bigotry, and should have no place in a free-spirited democracy.

I am not here to argue that Amerika is a democracy by name only, which is quite true (though tragic). But I am here to argue that while many folks claim this to be the case (that the USofA is a true democracy), religious dogma time and time again is allowed unquestioned censorship of many artistic expressions. (So much for separation of church and state, eh?)

I have personally suffered such rejection by going the “permission” route, when asking an artist (via email) some years back, for his approval to use one of his images in an article I wrote. His response was something like this: “I am a Christian, and cannot allow you to use any of my illustrations for your homosexual posts.”

It is therefore my dream that, once (or if) I become famous through my stories, I will challenge copyright law to permit web authors to freely include reduced or partial images discovered via search engines, in their writings without first getting permission by the artists. Regardless of whether or not any artist’s religious (or other) prejudice offends their narrow-minded sensibilities.

Another example about the absurdity of present restrictions is when I used a generic photo of a pepper spray canister in one of my tales. A notice was later received by my web host (from the company that sold a brand of pepper spray) that I had illegally posted one of their images. In spite of the fact that the pic was indistinguishable from any other brand. (Apparently an embedded code came with the photo that allowed them to track down the image.) The company even stated: “Your subscriber is possibly posting other pictures in an unlawful manner, and we demand he cease and desist.”

In one fell swoop they declared me a criminal, thus forcing my web site provider to take action and pass on the “offense” to my email box. In other words, this company didn’t even bother to first post me directly, and give me a chance to replace the image with my own photo. Instead, they cast me in a negative light to my provider, right off the bat. I don’t even want to rant here about their rabid and egotistical behavior over a generic photo, but just want to point out an example of our present and idiotic state of copyright bias.

Until such time that copyright law possibly changes to suit my reasonable proposal, I take the risk of including found-object images in my articles…for my readers derive great pleasure by such inclusion. I may eventually have my ass sued off as a result but, dammit, this is art too. FYI: my biggest copyright clash thus far (and which I won by default) was back in 1998: “Charles Schultz’s Attorneys After My Ass!


Still Use XP?

April 8, 2014

I’m sure there will soon pop up many web sites to support diehard users of Windoze XP…so don’t give up the ship! Meanwhile, the following free software will cover all bases in running a secure XP operating system, better than MicroSlut’s own products. Learn more about each application when you visit the site. I recommend you use them all, and disable MicroSlut’s own equivalent versions, if any:

Private Firewall

Avast antivirus

Malwarebytes Antimalware

PC Threatfire

Spyware Blaster

CCleaner

Smart Defrag


ADDENDUM (assuming you’ve installed all programs listed above):

  • !!! Turn off Windoze XP’s automatic updates !!!

  • Do not log onto the Internet with admin rights. Create a seperate user without admin rights. Employ a strong (and different) password for both user accounts. See “How to Create a New User Account in Windows XP“.
  • Please be careful to select the free version of each of the above applications. You do not need the bells and whistles.
  • Be careful when updating a freeware program, so as to not be tricked into clicking on an upgrade to the paid version.
  • Remove any other antivirus program once Avast is installed. (Avast may offer to do that automatically.)
  • Disable MicroSlut’s own firewall and defragmenter. (Free programs may offer to do that automatically.)
  • Malwarebytes Antimalware free version must be run manually; download latest update (and activate) weekly.
  • PC Threatfire is a must-have adjunct to any antivirus utility.
  • CCleaner frees your system from extraneous files no longer in use, and does same for the registry contents. Keep updated, run manually once a week.
  • Smart Defrag automatically defragments your hard drive while it’s not in use, and is superior to Window’s own defragmenter. No muss, no fuss.
  • There are many other excellent and free antivirus programs out there, besides Avast…click here to learn more.
  • The free utilities listed above make for a superb suite of security applications no matter which version of Windoze you own.

A Kurt Affair

April 6, 2014

!!! WARNING. ADULT MATERIAL !!!

If you are underage, or in any way forbidden by your government or religious laws from viewing X-rated subject matter, please do not go there. If, however, you are not restricted by any laws in your geographical location, by all means click on the winged warrior above, to read my spicy tale. Otherwise, click here.


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