[ Free Me From This Bond (sequel to the sequel): Chapter 7 ]
Date: Tue, 14 May 2013 11:48:32
Subject: Tools of My Trade
From: Zeke
To: My Jubilant Readers
I think it’s time well past due that we all take a break from this absurd rollercoaster ride that is My Life With Larkin. So permit me the indulgence of sharing with you, the tools of my trade. That is: how I process my visions and concepts into text, and then transform them into web log (“blog”) format. And the habits I’ve acquired in order to maximize the efficiency of my steps from raw concept to near-perfect manifestation. (Only the Glorious HypnoToad is perfect, FYI.)
First, you must know that I am quintessentially Internet-&-computer savvy. I’ve been mucking around with PCs since 1985. (IOW: I am definitely /not/ an Apple or Mac fan.) Also, I founded the Berkeley Unix User Group (buug.org) way back in 2000. So I am not your average computer appendage. In fact, I deride those who take pride in never having /touched/ a computer, as “anal ogs”. Get it?
Analog = anal og. Yuk yuk.
BTW, I originally coined that phrase in my queer cyberpunk tale, “Security Matters & Anti-Matters” (or “The Mighty Mouse Virus”)…which anyone can read online, here:
http://www.gay-bible.org/write/3_security.htm
–
Where do I begin? First I receive a vision or–at the very least–an astounding idea. Which revelation I believe often arises from Larkin’s own telepathy directed to my sponge-slurpy mind. Be that as it may, any story I create starts first in that annoying gray matter which passes for the brain’s outer wrapping. I have long since learned to write down (or voice-record via digital implement) whatever interesting ideas come to mind.
But I also continue to use at times, conventional pen and loose-leaf. Honestly, I don’t think I could ever manage my artistic meandering without /both/ mediums (the Old World and the New). Each serves its own purpose, and exercises a different part of the mind. (Thank you Eleanor, for this insight.) A win/win solution beyond compare…if you are the cerebral type that is, which I am.
Then it all flows through my fingertips and onto the keyboard. Something which I regard as a tremendous blessing, for I actually claim very little credit for such wondrous plots. In fact, I regard my own self as nothing more than a vessel for angelic destiny. The creative font that is my nurture, comes from a greater source that I barely comprehend. If I’m just here for the ride, I must admit: WHAT AN ADVENTURE!
To facilitate my literary badinage, I carry a digital camera and voice recorder slung upon my belt. Also in my possession are a loose-leaf book and a pen, that I may switch to handwriting whenever it seems advantageous. As for my computer, Internet and creative needs, here are the following programs and resources that I find most beneficial to my avocation:
HI-TECH DEVICES
- Netbook and laptop: the former I use for portability when I’m about town, the latter stays at home (usually).
- Laptop cooling pad: keeps my two systems from overheating in hot weather.
- Android Tablet: provides extreme portability. Unfortunately, tablets are too limited in their capability to facilitate all my online activities…to the point of soul-numbing frustration. Though since I hate cell phones (never owned one and never will), I still wanted to diddle around with the Android operating system. Been there done that. I love LInux (of which Android is a stepchild) but am forced to stick with Windoze if I really want to get my work done with relative expediency.
- Digital camera: for taking pictures and movies on the spot during my city meanderings. Also handy for interviews, as the camera also does video with sound. It is tiny and compact, like my wanger when it’s not hard. (Though bounteously ample when it is, ha ha.)
- Digital voice recorder: quick and painless way to take notes when I’m hiking about.
- Scanner: for copying greeting cards, handwritten notes and letters, envelopes, hardcopy art, found art (if it’s flat), news and magazine clippings and the like. I convert them into images for my tales and news reports.
- Printer: useful for presenting Larkin with my latest chapters about him (since he doesn’t do Internet or computers), and printing snail-mail letters and forms. I also relish viewing my latest pieces on paper. But I rarely do that anymore, as ink is expensive.
- External monitor: larger than my laptop’s 12-inch screen, plus provides an extended display that facilitates my work by providing two different screens. For example: I can view the web on one screen, while typing away in my text editor on the other. This second monitor is also a TV, so I can watch the news or a show while working on my laptop.
- External USB hard drive (500 GB): allows me to download TV shows and movies without hogging up my refurbished laptop’s 150 GB drive. This second hard drive also provides a handy backup for all my data.
- External USB keyboard: spares wear and tear of the laptop keyboard (which I prefer to keep covered with a folded bandana to prevent accumulation of dust and debris, as well as liquid spillage). My peripheral keyboards come equipped with either a touchpad or mouse. Keyboard also provides two extra USB ports…nice!
- Wireless illuminated keyboard: a great companion for my netbook when I’m in a dark space, such as the Eagle Tavern.
- Wireless mouse: allows me to keep my netbook’s keyboard covered, including the touchpad.
- External USB DVD/CD drive: necessary for the netbook which comes w/o such a drive built in. Handy for installing retail software.
- 32 GB HCSD memory card: quite useful for transferring new data between my laptop and netbook.
- PC hardware toolkit: for mucking around under the hood. Comes in a black faux-leather case with zipper closure. Contains a variety of screwdrivers, socket wrenches, pliers, soldering iron, chip extractors and inserters, along with a multi-calibrated wire stripper. Whee!
OLD-TECH DEVICES
- Loose-leaf binder and pen: sometimes I prefer writing down my ideas, especially when I’m seated somewhere cozy. Nice to still have a bit of the Luddite in me!
- Meeting/chatting with interesting folks.
- Thinking, meditating, daydreaming. Coffee helps big-time…along with marijuana, alcohol, tobacco and jerking off.
- Uber-hot homeless dudes: a working girl needs a break now and then, eh?
SOFTWARE (all free BTW)
- NoteTab Light text editor: the best text editor on the planet. I like to hand code my blog entries and web pages, in lieu of running an HTML editor (which quickly fills up your documents with garbage code instead of deleting it whenever you make a change).
- Abiword: excellent word processor that has built-in spellcheck and can save your files as *.rtf and *.doc: both formats are compatible with MS Word. Either format is required by most publishers, who are brainwashed to believe that Microsoft’s word processor is the only option. Definitely not true! Join the rebellion against Bill Gates and his minions. There are other free MS-friendly word processors out there such as Libre Office and SSuite Office.
- Irfanview image editor and viewer: actually, this nifty little application has a plethora of features that may spare you from ever having to pay an exorbitant price for (and run an aburdly topheavy program like) PhotoShop. Irfanview even lets you convert images to 300 DPI from lesser resolutions! Publishers require 300 DPI, in case you didn’t know.
- TreePad Lite: a nested text-based notepad. /Very/ handy for keeping seperate files for specific topics and projects, with subnotes in their own folders.
- Salamander file manager: the older versions remain available online, and cost nothing. I find Salamander to be a much more facile hard drive browser than Windoze Explorer, and many others that pride themselves in mimicking MicroSlut’s own manager. Goddess only knows why! I’ve been using Salamander since Windoze 95, with immense pleasure.
- Sticky Notes: for quick reminders of errands and projects. ‘Nuff said.
- Mozilla Firefox: my browser of choice for cruising the web. Only because it has so many excellent extensions (or plug-ins or add-ons, or whatever the heck they really are.) Here is my list of extensions I simply can /not/ live without (or I’ll destroy the Innernet): All-in-One Sidebar, Video Download Helper, Empty Cache Button, FireFTP, Ghostery, NoScript, Session Manager, Speed Dial, Stumble Upon, and Track Me Not. (News flash: Ghostery is not what you think; my Friendly Ghost Detective Agency does /not/ have a Firefox extension…yet. Boo!)
INTERNET SERVICES
- Online Policy Group: free web hosting, email and discussion lists for nonprofit LGBT organizations and independent (but poor) activists like myself.
- Remote backup: most offer 5 GB storage or sometimes more, entirely free of cost! Since I only require my personal data to be backed up (rather than space-hogging downloaded movies and TV shows) my total data comes to less than 8.5 GB. In order to keep my remote backup entirely free, I divvied up my files into three distinct folders…each containing well under 4 GB. So this enables me to back up /everything/ for free, broken up among three online storage facilities. “What,” you may ask, “will I do once my data increases beyond the gratis limit?” Here is my answer, Fulminant Reader: “Why, I’ll just sign up with a fourth service, and maybe much later, a fifth or even sixth.” I presently use SugarSync, MiMedia and Idrive.
- Gmail: obviously for my email communique. Not that I’m a fan of Google’s services, but I’m tired of hopping from one free email provider to another, seeing as most such services have a very short life. Sometimes because once they lure you in, one or two years later they eliminate their no-cost version and demand that you start payment. Go fuk ‘em!
- Youtube: this video service is where I store all my videos that are part of my blog or web site. I hold no great love for this company, but where else can I go?
- Wide variety of online news services: totally vital for activist bloggers like myself. Especially the LGBT outlets.
- Dictionary.com and thesaurus.com: fantastic resource for authors, for the obvious reason.
- Wikipedia.com: a quick way to learn about people, places, history and any other topic.
- Google or Bing image search: a real boon to finding the right illustrations to embellish my online tales. (Note: I’d prefer some image databases /other/ than those two, but they’ve all been gobbled up by the same two!)
- Tinyurl.com, Bit.ly and other URL-abbreviated providers: /most/ useful when referencing web links in paperback and hardcover books, where readers can’t simply click on the address, but must type it into their computer. Unless of course they’re brain-munching zombies.
- FTP client: for uploading tales and images to my gay-bible.org site. I prefer to use FireFTP, a Firefox plug-in. But sometimes (and most unfortunately) FireFTP is not compatible with the latest version of that innovative browser.
- WordPress: excellent blog service, which I use to facilitate the writing of my chapters. I place web images and digital snapshots throughout each entry, in order to break up a sea of type and increase the pleasure of my tales. I roughly gauge the number of images per chapter by placing them every three [Page Down]‘s…though sometimes a couple of images are closer together out of necessity (such as showing the front and back of a gift packet for Larkin). Occasional articles are based on numerous videos and/or pics. Such pieces can not be converted into traditional, paper-based format. For which reason I either refer the reader to a URL, or simply eliminate that chapter from my novel.
–
I’m sure I’ve left something out. Maybe the cat. Oh wait, I don’t /have/ a cat! So what /was/ it that just scurried out from beneath my work station and out the door? I shudder to imagine. But then again, I /always/ shudder to imagine…brrrr!
Date: Tue, 14 May 2013 14:27:11
Subject: Another Letter to My Brother
From: Zeke
To: Vince (via snail mail)
6 May 2013
Dear Vince,
Enclosed is the chapter dedicated to Mom, entitled “Please Don’t Eat the Daises”…which is the final chapter of Book 2 (“Free Me From This Bond – the sequel”). Also enclosed is a chapter I accidentally printed twice, so you benefit. It’s entitled “Emergency Triage,” which is chapter 2 of Book 3 (“Free Me From This Bond – sequel to the sequel”)
Wait, there’s more! A chapter also from Book 3 of which I’m especially proud, called “Spanglish Poesia,” so I thought I’d send you a copy of that, too. I will soon complete chapter 5 of Book 3. As well as 16 printouts of Sarah Rohan’s illustrations, one for each chapter. They are arranged according to chapter chronology.
Oh, and enclosed right on top of all the other printouts is my latest letter to Larkin, which will be enclosed with the first four printouts of Book 3. Most likely I’ll hand them to him at Pilsner Inn (a really nice gay bar with pool table and a patio). As you will discover, things are heating up between us. Quite a rollicking romance, wouldn’t you say?
In the event of my untimely death: as for locating the appropriate organization to take over my requests, I’d say that “The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence” is your best bet. They are very dedicated and honest, and will see to it the monies go to all the right organizations.
Best wishes as always to you and loved ones,
Zeke Krahlin
Date: Wed, 15 May 2013 12:18:39
Subject: Pilsner Pinheads
From: Zeke
To: My E-frenz
Just emailed the following letter to the Bay Area Reporter and the SF Bay Times (the 2 most widely circulated gay newspapers in San Francisco). As well as to Bryan Hoff, mgr. of Pilsner Inn; and of course a copy will go to Larkin:
–
Dear Editor,
I am writing this letter the day after a nasty drama-queen attack occurred on this innocent person (me). The incident occurred around 6:50 PM Tuesday, May 14. I had just finished enjoying a smoke on the patio, and returned to my spot at the bar’s far end, to resume my blogging via Pilsner’s excellent wifi.
The moment I opened my netbook and activated my bluetooth keyboard and mouse, a rather handsome and young fellow came up to me and exclaimed:
“Where’s the five dollars I just put on the counter? You took it, didn’t you?”
So I told him to fuk off or I’ll have him kicked out. Well, he just screamed that much louder, which got the attention of the bartenders. I tried to tell the employees that this man was threatening me, and causing much upset. Instead, one barkeep named Mike kicked us both out. In spite of my utter innocence, and being verbally assaulted by an obvious screwball.
Another bartender (whose name I think is Tommy) sided with Mike, and told me to get out. Just before that confrontation, Mike had already grabbed my half-finished drink and told me to leave. I accused him of scapegoating me, and not protecting the decent patrons. I even begged Tommy to reason with Mike, as this is a most vulgar treatment towards myself, who has always been a peaceful and respecting patron of Pilsner Inn, since I started hanging out there around two months ago.
Of course I had no choice but to leave, and when I exited I was confronted by that belligerent looney once more. He was even accompanied by a sidekick who joined the goofball in false accusations against me. Said goofball even grabbed my jacket as I attempted to cross Market Street in peace. I just turned back, planning to dash into a nearby restaurant or bookstore, as an act of self protection.
The fact that Pilsner barkeeps 86′d me through no fault of my own, put me in harm’s way. Had my attacker commited violence upon my person, rest assured I’d sue the hell out of PIlsner Inn.
Fortunately, the lunatic did not follow. But I must speak out against Pilsner Inn bartenders ganging up on me…for no apparent reason but that they’d rather not deal with an ugly situation in the proper manner. As a result, I was kicked out simply because I was a victim of assault at their bar.
These bartenders who scapegoated me certainly know me well enough, to realize I am a responsible patron who’d never scam anyone. I therefore demand a profuse apology from bartenders Mike and Tommy, as well as the manager and owner of Pilsner Inn. This is not the first time I’ve been victimized by crude gossip in a gay bar in the Castro (as well as South of Market).
I feel so disgusted by Pilsner employees’ vulgar mistreatment towards me, a really decent customer, that I will do everything possible to rectify these wrongs, even if it means getting some people who work there, fired. People who I once thought (until today) were good folks and an asset to our local LGBT Family.
Most sincerely,
Zeke Krahlin
Date: Wed, 15 May 2013 12:45:29
Subject: Re: Pilsner Pinheads
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor
Eleanor wrote:
{{ Oh, Zeke, that’s awful. I’m really sorry. Infuriating!!!! }}
This eventually happens at /every/ bar where Larkin and I get together. It is JEALOUSY. There /is/ a downside to possessing outstanding good looks, or to anyone who’s a lover of one who is. Or even just a best friend, for that matter.
Should be interesting to see how Bryan Hoff handles this; perhaps he’ll just ignore. Hopefully a security camera caught the incident, but I’m not holding my breath. For I’m suspicious that a camera /did/ record Larkin’s cigarette flick, and that Bryan lied.
FYI: neither paper printed my last letter to the editor.
Date: Wed, 15 May 2013 13:59:55
Subject: Re: Pilsner Pinheads
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor
Should fill you in a bit more on the story. Larkin of course was /not/ there (otherwise this incident would never have occurred). I really should /never/ visit a gay bar alone, for w/o a witness or friend who’d defend me, I eventually become a victim of gossip that gets me evicted.
First Tommy came running to the back where I was being harassed, and demanded these two fukups to leave immediately. He did /not/ at that time direct any anger towards yours truly. But then Mike joined the fracas and demanded that /I/ leave, too! I answered back:
“But I didn’t /do/ anything! These guys are scamming me. Why should I leave? You’re scapegoating me!” His retort:
“We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.” So I called his card:
“You are ABUSING your position as bartender!” But he had already turned away and returned to his station up front. So I then turned to the other barkeep:
“Talk to him, Tommy, This is /not/ right!” But he just shrugged and said:
“You gotta get out. NOW.”
“Oh, I’ll leave alright,” I declared while packing up my netbook and accessories. “Do you think I would /ever/ want to return to a bar called ‘Pilsner Inn,’ but should really be ‘Backstabber Central’?”
I would’ve spat on his shoes, but alas he was behind the counter. So I had to settle for spitting on the floor.
“That does it, now you /really/ can’t come back.” He snorted.
“Go fuk yourself, Tommy,” I said, then stormed off. But first I paused at Mike’s station and hollered:
“FUK YOU, MIKE! This is gonna be on my blog tonight! Have fun with that.” To which he cattily replied:
“No one reads your blog.”
I finally departed after giving them /both/ a piece of my cerebellum. The moment I stepped out, I was then harassed further by goofballs 1 and 2, when number 1 screamed and grabbed my jacket sleeve:
“So now we’re /both/ kicked out and you still haven’t given back my 5 dollars!”
I yanked my arm away from his grasp, turned and proceeded towards Aardvaark bookstore in order to protect myself. They did not follow, but walked on.
I /do/ regret not mentioning to Mike that I’ll also write a letter to the editor in this matter, as well as record the incident in Book 3. Alas, I /also/ neglected to inform him that his boss Bryan Hoff, will hear of the abuse against me (by both patrons /and/ employees)
Well, they’ve effectively wiped out the /only/ spot in Frisco where Larkin and I can socialize, and present him with my latest chapters, letters and gifts. But as Detective Kelsey’s Brave and Brazen Assistant, I’m sure I’ve unintentionally exposed two suspects. Whose reason for evicting me may have much more to do w/something more hideous than simple jealousy.
They sense I’m his eyes and ears while he’s not present…and they certainly don’t want /that/.
Guess I’ll have to seek out Larkin at Twin Peaks Tavern, where I’m /not/ allowed to enter, not even when My Wiley Wyvern is absent. I just taped an envelope to his latest packet (already sealed), containing my letter to the editor.
Dare /not/ use his updated mailing address, as I have yet to receive proof of its viability. Yet when I last met him (at Pilsner) last Saturday afternoon, we had a very warm but brief encounter. Came up to him, as I held his permission form in a raised hand:
“This is awfully nice of you, sweetheart.” He actually blushed and turned away, embarrassed.
“Wait, one more question!” I demanded, and he turned heel to face me once more. “What’s up with this new number on your address? Is it a high security mailbox service that assigns a number in place of a real name? And will it get to you, even though I put your /real/ name there too?” He gently responded:
“Yes, it will get to me.”
Not that I really trust his word any more, but we’ll just have to wait and see. Then before departing his awesome self, to order a drink and set up my netbook, I wished him an excellent evening.
“You too, Zeke. Have a great night.”
Which response kinda hurt, as he /knows/ very well I couldn’t have a great night without his company. Or a great day, or a great anything else for that matter.
Some moments later while tapping away at my brand new, illuminated bluetooth keyboard, a terribly handsome man stepped up to Tommy’s station where I sat close by, and waited to order a second draft. Soon as the barkeep turned to him, I said: “I’ll pay for that man’s beer, please!”
As it turned out, he’s a really gorgeous dude (including size-and-sculpture-wise). His name is John Wesley. He spent the last three nights with me, and on day two I treated him to drinks and food. Took him to Hole in the Wall as well as the Eagle.
John is a /very/ sweet man, /very/ sexy, 51 years old but doesn’t look a day over 28. I will soon post more about him, that you may vicariously enjoy. I /do/ suspect that Larkin brought him to me, so that I really /would/ have a wonderful evening. And I did.
John left early this morn on his way to Guerneville, and plans to return to SF (and my slobbering self) some time soon, say in 2-3 weeks. We really like each other! SO nice to sleep with, we’re a perfect fit. He is skinny and handsomely built…lotsa fun to lick his darling belly, nipples and armpits. He ain’t the least bit ticklish, praise the Horde!
Enjoy the attached moving picture of him, till then. He’s exceedingly thorough when he extinguishes a cigarette butt, as you’ll see. /Fabulous/ pair o’ gams, eh?
Click on image to play video.
I have 7 film clips of the eccentric and comely John M. That was clip #2. Here are the rest:
- Zeke
Date: Wed, 15 May 2013 14:13:09
Subject: Re: Pilsner Pinheads
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor
Eleanor wrote:
{{ I have an idea: go to ripoffreport.com and write up a report on the Pillsner. Seriously! That’ll get their attention! }}
Fantastic, will do that later today, from the Eagle. I’m typing now from the local liberry, as my wifi access from the gym across the street has been really flaky these past five days.
{{ Great little movie!!! He definitely has the “look.” }}
Oh, he’s a charmer all right. He feels to me very much like having Larkin. That is why I suspect it was a setup. A compassionate setup, that Larkin gave me as yet one more apology.
- Zeke
PS: John is an architect out of NYC, so is not truly homeless, just slumming around to take a break from all the workaday stress and responsibilities.
Date: Thu, 16 May 2013 17:14:28
Subject: I’m sucking your kok right now…
From: Zeke
To: Keith
…though you don’t know it. Gotta love that astral sex! Especially when ya get to shoot a big ol’ wad of protoplasmic sperm up in Keith’s…
Oops, ’nuff said. I gotta get home pronto and take an ice cold shower. Typing this to you from our Rinky-Dink-Local-Harvey-Milquetoast Library.
- Zeke
Date: Fri, 17 May 2013 10:52:33
Subject: The Perfect Storm
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor
The most amazing incident just happened to me only moments ago, El! Thursday, May 16 appox’ly 6:55 PM. We need to take it back to Pilsner’s evicting This Desperate Heart only two days hence. Remember I discussed various theories as to why this occurred? And that /one/ of them fits the scenario of a staged script, where some devoted zekeophiles play the enemy…that I may be a superhero in this play? Or IOW: they /all/ adore me, each and every one of those mischieovous cherubs! Or IOW still (quoting the Buddha):
“We have no enemies, only teachers.”
That eventful afternoon at Pilsner Inn (the day they booted me outta there), I already had on my possession yet one more gift for Larkin. Chapter 6 of Book 3 (“Signature Day”) along with a “shweet” collection of Scooby-Doo wall stickers I ordered from amazon.com. They’re really big, at least a foot square! (See “scooby-doo-1.jpg” attachment.)
Click on image for a larger view.
Also included were two strips of tiny Scooby-Doo stickers to place on letters, envelopes, packages and the like. (See “scooby-doo-2.jpg” attachment.)
Click on image for a larger view.
Or as that chilhood favorite among Great Danes (and most likely any /other/ breed) would declare:
“Rearry Rrrific!”
Two last-minute letters were inserted into seperate envelopes and sealed with Scotch tape onto the packet, one on each side. The first letter (added two eves ago) was my vitriolic condemnation against Pilsner Inn, for allowing me to be assaulted and kicking /me/ out, along with the perpetrators.
Second letter I added just moments before stepping out an hour or so ago, to deliver my packet. Which drop point turned out to be Pilsner Inncubus, much to my chagrin. It was yet one /more/ piece snail mailed to his bogus address (prior to the additional number he added, that I guess stands in place of a real name)…which had been returned to me as “insufficient address” and showed up today in my mailbox. Have no idea what that envelope contains, though I’m /positive/ it is the very last in my series of thwarted mail.
Since the event of my ignoble excommunication from The Most High Mosque of Pilsner Inn, I’ve been searching for Larkin in order to deliver my latest chapter. The various times I checked Twin Peaks and Pilsner, My Scaly Paramour was nowhere to be found. I assumed, of course, that he’d show up on public transit (like he did some days back) to /receive/ My Latest Holy Grail. Alas, that is /not/ how things came down. But it /did/ take less than three full days to finally present My Sacred Scroll #Whatever (par for the course compared to two and more years past.) Unfortunately, I had to invade Pilsner Gulag to achieve this goal.
–
First I mosey on over to Twin Peaks before swinging up Market Street to Church, and to Pilsner Sinn.
“OMFG,” I muse on my way there, “you’re /not/ gonna do this to me Larkin: force me to step into that horrid dive!” Yet somehow, in some transcendent way, I know for /sure/ he is there. Call it intuition if you like. /I/ call it “lover’s telepathy.” For not only are two hearts one (at least in /This/ Extraordinay Case of Beatific Alliance), but likewise two minds.
Next thing I know I’m standing in Pilsner’s open doorway, and espy Larkin at the far end playing pinball. His vocal bursts clearly affirm to me that it’s Larkin (in spite of the dark corner in which he leans against the pinball table’s outer frame of brushed aluminum, shaking his darling physique to influence the tiny steel orb):
“Aargh! Yeah baby! Thar she blows! Rack up the points father fukker! Aargh! Another big score for Zilla!”
Then I peer to my right to witness Gutstabber Mike at the bar’s helm.
“Okay,” I conclude, “guess I should cover my face from the barkeep’s view, in hopes I can reach Larkin.”
So I take a deep breath and march into the war zone, wielding my packet like a Thracian’s shield. A few broad steps into the bar, Mike spots me and hollers:
“You! Get outta here, right now!” A nasty expression on his comely Sicilian mug could have withered all the tulips in Holland. (Fortunately, the Dutch gov’t will shortly ban this toxic schmuck from their fair kingdom, once they read my complaint against Pilsner that shall appear on my WordPress blog in a day or two.)
My peripheral vision glimpses him moving towards the bar’s center where he can exit by lifting a panel, and drive me otta there. I voice back and wave a dismissive right hand:
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!”
A second later I stand within ten feet of My Scowling Dragon, who joins the bray against me:
“I don’t /want/ your package!” He waves me away in repulsion: “Don’t /ever/ come here again! Stay away from Pilsner!”
So I fling the packet across the billiard green (lengthwise) where it drops upon the pinball’s glass top in a perfect landing, and command:
“It’s important! Don’t let it out of your sight!”
Having accomplished my mission I swiftly turn round, exit and run for two blocks before pausing to look behind. No one has followed me.
“Whew!” I figure, “Larkin got the chapter and letters. Time to go hovel!”
–
Returning to my SRO at 2306 Market, I ponder the dramatic event:
–
What a perfect setup, El! I saw the entire scenario in my mind minutes before it ever took place. Both Larkin and the barkeep portrayed my enemy, that I may soon be celebrated as a /hero/ in this play: chasing surrealistic windmills of my mind, which eventually fall to the sweep of my Excalibur.
Larkin had to feign disgust in order to deflect suspicion. Mike played the antagonist, that the prophetic plot may be fulfilled. Neither actor missed a beat. I can see it now. In order to protect his guise as a dumb brunette, Larkin will firmly clutch my packet when Mike offers to take it from his hand, and claim:
“No! This is the evidence I need to get the punk arrested. I’ll turn it into the Mission SFPD soon as I look it over.” Mr. Kelsey then tucks it deep into his Ben Davis jacket where no one dare reach. I can hear it now. Mike frowns in query:
“But I seen you two guys talking on the patio. Friendly like.”
“Oh that,” Larkin flicks a peremptory wrist. “I need to know what he’s up to, so play the friend. Zeke is a scary dude, and smart as heck. You don’t just ignore the man when he’s got his hooks in you. Stay close to your friends, closer to your enemies, eh?”
They played it to perfection, that I may step into The Dragon’s Lair and display my brazen courage by not permitting demons to get the upper claw. And in so doing, I demonstrated my boundless courage as The World’s Greatest Soldier on Behalf of Gay Liberation.
–
[ Stolid Reader: please realize that I use the word "gay" as an umbrella label equal to the term "LGBTQ-QQQQQQQQQQQQQQQ-et-cetera Rights." ]
I can also see this, when I next encounter My Bounteous Basilisk:
–
“Hey Larkin!” I call to him from several yards behind as he meanders down 17th Street. “Are all you Pilsner Peabrains on Ritalin or what? Get a grip!”
He ignores me and keeps stepping forward, though a little faster paced. No problemo. I’m a professional pedestrian and can outwalk and outspeed even the tallest in their prime. I continue heckling:
“Thanks for the adventure, that was oodles of fun, I just can’t get enough!” Then I freeze, leaving Larkin to move on to wherever he’s destined. Most likely Pilsner Inn. But I call to him once more, in spite of the growing distance (I have a booming voice, and can be heard from almost a block away):
“Do you know anything about the time I was drugged and mugged in 2007, at Hole in the Wall?” He halts lopsidedly for a moment, as if he suffered a trick knee. Then moves on, to hear me add:
“Just asking, love!”
–
Thus I reign victorious once more in this, my latest adventure authored by one who exceeds my every expectation and concept of male beauty, courage, wisdom and humor: The Indubitably Magnanimous Larkin Kelsey (whose date of birth I have /yet/ to discover)! What an astounding detective adventure, eh, El? How terribly 40′s noir, with a gay twist!
But where the frig are my crumpled trenchcoat and Fedora? (And my slummy PI office in the Tenderloin, for that matter?)
I love you /so/ much, Larkin, for your brilliant staging specifically orchestrated to benefit yours truly, beyond any other hero that has ever existed, or /will/ exist.
I love you too, Mike. Same reason.
So now I hover once more before my HP EliteBook, typing you this missive. Eager to post it to you, My Mendocino Muse, ASAP. But alas I cannot, due to persistant wifi flakiness from Fitness SF right across the street. In spite of my $37 wifi booster. But I now ask you, El:
How is /your/ detective novel coming along? Any parallels in our streams of inspiration? (Or does that violate an unspoken rule between authors?)
May as well toss in this hilarious encounter just prior to my departure from Twin Peaks to Pilsner:
–
Click on image for a larger view.
Before my bustle east to Church Street I stop to light a Fortuna in the stairwell of a tattoo parlor right next door to TP Tavern. About to flick my Djeep, I notice a young dyke standing behind me and to my right: I’m blocking the entrance. So I step aside to wave her in:
“Go ahead. Sorry.”
But that’s not enough for the byatch. She declares (while pointing below my knees and a tad to my left):
“See the no smoking sign?”
Aha! She’s right! There /is/ a no smoking sign barely inches from my left shin! So I commend her as she passes and strolls down the gloomy hallway:
“Wow! I am /so/ impressed. You are an honor and a beacon to LGBTQ Rights! I can’t imagine how many tattoos you’ve acquired in dedication to homosexual freedom! Not to mention those glorious ear plugs, like a Zulu warrior princess!”
She pauses for a moment, about to turn around and confront. But thinks better of it and vanishes into the dark bowels of the Castro. One thing I know for certain:
The inked-up lesbo won’t be coming out of /that/ Stygian mire any time soon!
–
So there you have it, El: My Latest Misadventure of Queerest Proportion. Well, maybe one of my spectacular boyfriends will drop over tonight. It’s 10:10 PM now, and I’m ready to shut down the system and shag the nightlights outta one or two nubile dude-butts. For which hopeful opportunity I must bid you adieu for the nonce. Will email this tomorrow morn.
- Zeke
–
Friendly Ghost Detective Agency always gets its manpork!
PS: Just occurred to me that Larkin’s reluctance to give me his cell # is for my own protection. Should his phone get stolen or lost, no enemy would find a trace between us. I do not have caller ID, so I couldn’t get his number when he left his first and only message.
Date: Fri, 17 May 2013 12:29:27
Subject: Greetings from your new Account Manager
From: Erin M. (Friesen Press)
To: Zeke
Dear Zeke,
My name is Erin M. and I am your new Author Account Manager. I will be partnering with you to manage every detail of your book while it goes through our publishing process. I will be contacting you whenever we need additional information or book materials, answering any questions you may have in regards to the publishing process, and ensuring that the production of your book stays on track.
Erin M.
Author Account Manager
Date: Fri, 17 May 2013 13:14:07
Subject: Re: Greetings from your new Account Manager
From: Zeke
To: Erin M. (Friesen Press)
Well Erin, I just got assigned a new account manager two weeks ago, by name of Lisa F. So what’s going on here? Thanks.
Date: Fri, 17 May 2013 13:58:16
Subject: Poifect or Perfect?
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor
Which title do you like better for my next chapter:
The Perfect Storm
or
Da Poifect Storm
?
- Zeke
Date: Fri, 17 May 2013 13:58:16
Subject: Re: Poifect or Perfect?
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor
Eleanor wrote:
{{ Da second one is poifect, Doc. }}
Sometimes an author can get a little /too/ clever with her wordplay. Which of course was the bane of Shakespeare throughout his entire career…a textbook example par excellence, wouldn’t you agree? Talk about being “hoist with his own petard!”
Though one of his voluminous quotations stands out in my mind before any other, when I think about My Larkin Chronicles:
“The course of true love never did run smooth.”
I kinda /prefer/ “The Perfect Storm,” for the same reason I do “Please Don’t Eat the Daisies”: there’s something /neat/ about revisiting famous book titles and using them for chapter headings. Yet, with a totally different spin.
Wordplay on the title itself /may/ be a bit overdone, like a hen’s egg left in the boiling pot o’erlong.
But still, I love the noir-Brooklyn 40′s lingo…talk about hard boiled! Sohz I gotta tink abouddit.
Perhaps Damon Runyon will visit me in my uber-noir dreams this pearly eve, and slap me silly with the skinny. In such potboiling cases, I always ax meself:
What would Jessica Rabbit do?
- Zeke
Date: Fri, 17 May 2013 14:32:36
Subject: Farewell and good luck!
From: Lisa F. (Friesen Press)
To: Zeke
Dear lovely Author,
I’m sad to inform you that today is my last day at Friesen Press as I will be leaving to pursue a new opportunity in a different field. I’m sad that I am unable to finish your book with you, though I have informed and CC’d your new Author Account Manager, Erin, of all the details of your account. She will be in touch with you by the middle of next week.
I wish you all the best with the publication and promotion of your book! I look forward to seeing it on the FriesenPress bookstore website in the future.
Best regards,
Lisa F.
Author Account Manager
Date: Fri, 17 May 2013 15:07:50
Subject: Re: Farewell and good luck!
From: Zeke
To: Lisa F. (Friesen Press)
Lisa wrote:
{{ Dear lovely Author, }}
Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder.
I turn more rugged as the face grows older.
{{ I’m sad to inform you that today is my last day at Friesen Press as I will be leaving to pursue a new opportunity in a different field. }}
You replaced Ashley bare two weeks ago!
A mayfly would serve me just as well,
Considering you ne’er began the show.
How Erin works out only time will tell.
I can mere but swim with the fluminous flow,
And await till chimes my publishing bell.
- Zeke
Date: Sat, 18 May 2013 12:02:10
Subject: Not with enmity, but with gratitude…
From: Zeke
To: Bryan H. (mgr. Pilsner Inn)
…I post you this latest email. What follows is a portion of chapter 7 of Book 3, that explains my immense gratitude for Larkin and my Pilsner Inn adventure. This chapter will appear on my WordPress blog in a week or so. But before you read the passage, here is my suggestion as to how your excellent bar can make amends:
Bartenders must give me my first well drink for free. I will /not/ take advantage of this, for my visits there will not exceed more than two days per week. (Should I visit more often at times, I will /not/ accept a free drink beyond the 2-day agreement.) Also, instruct all employees to watch over me, that I may be protected from assault just as you do for all other decent patrons. One more request:
Place a sincere apology to me in either the Bay Area Reporter or the SF Bay Times. Here are their email addies, respectively:
news@ebar.com
editor@sfbaytimes.com
In a nutshell, the following piece entitled “The Perfect Storm” describes my conclusion that Larkin–in cahoots with a certain Pilsner barkeep or two–is playing out a fantasy of mine, that I become the hero of our LGBT community, by demonstrating my feisty bent, and standing up for all righteous gay causes. As well as acting out another fantasy of mine:
That Larkin is a private eye and myself, his devoted LIttle Pony Sidekick. IOW: a real-life gay detective tale that will first be told to the world via my blog, then my published books, and finally, as blockbuster Indie films.
Larkin, barkeeps Mike and Tommy (and the Great Dragon only knows who else) currently play my adversaries, so I can establish my authority and win over our community with prophetic passion. One more thing:
Last Saturday (May 11) I visited with Larkin at Pilsner Inn, but also sat by myself for a time, on the patio. I was quite upset to discover a stinky, ill behaved hobo with a drink in his hand, pacing back and forth on the bar floor. I know him to be a real nuisance and threat here in the Castro. He stalks me frequently, yells at me because I refuse to give him the time of day. He is a large dude, African American, raggedly clothed, and quite scary in manner.
Few minutes later (as I sit on a patio bench) the crazy vagrant enters the patio and seats himself right next to me! Then begins to wave his arms, wag his head and roll his eyes…and in other ways, acts quite out of place. No one wants to be near him, not just myself. A minute of this BS was all I could take, so I moved to an opposite bench.
I have /never/ before seen Pilsner welcome such a depraved soul into their premises! In the past, Larkin would /never/ let anyone like that get near me. In fact, he’d have them kicked out. But that’s beside the point, for why on Goddess’s green and blue orb would /any/ barkeep serve drinks to this unwholesome dufus? IT’S BAD FOR BUSINESS!!! Please, ask Larkin about this, as he was there, and (I’m sure) noticed.
So yes, Bryan, there are some things very /wrong/ with Pilsner Inn, of which I assume you are unaware. But I do take the high road, and assume this is part of my heroic saga, which certain gay denizens are manifesting on my behalf. I suspect that /you/, Bryan may be a participant as well. Now, on with the show (feel free to print out and share my latest missive with Mike and Tommy, if you so wish. Likewise, Larkin and whoever else pleases you):
[ Rapacious Reader: my letter to Bryan ends with a copy of the email you've already viewed above, called "The Perfect Storm." ]
Date: Sat, 18 May 2013 12:04:38
Subject: Mixing it up
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor
So I see Larkin earlier this eve (Friday, May 17), at a bar in the Castro called “The Mix.” I prefer to call it “The Pricks,” for reasons that will soon become apparent. I step into the Mix around 7 PM, never expecting to see Larkin there. But there he is, standing at the bartender station closest to the front door.
I stand right behind My Delinquent Dragon to order my drink. Hear him tell Sloan, a dyke barkeep, that he needs four quarters for a dollar, to play pool. Not one to deprive him of his simple pleasures, I draw six quarters from my coat pocket, and extend a coin-flushed hand from behind. He turns to me and acts startled:
“No, I don’t need your quarters. Thanks just the same.” He glares at me with hatred, thus coloring the barkeep’s opinion of me in a most negative fashion. Thanks for nothing, Larkin, I think.
And he steps back to the billiard table to play his next round. So I speak out to Sloan:
“Larkin’s my boyfriend. Didn’t expect to see him here tonight, but it’s always good to see him.” Sloan seems kinda upset, so I cut to the chase:
“I’d enjoy a vodka and tonic with lime, please.”
So she pours me up a glass and I pay the requisite fee ($4.50 I think). But then she opinionates:
“Listen. I’ve known Larkin for many years. And he doesn’t want you here.”
“What are you talking about?” I respond. “He just turned down my quarters, which he does whenever he’s got enough moolah for the night.”
“No. Leave him alone.” She demands. “He’s a nice guy, but sometimes kinda hair trigger. So don’t bother him any more.”
“You gotta be kidding,” I retort, “Larkin and I are very good friends. We’ve been lovers since 2006. My presence here will influence him to be a lot more mellow than without me.”
Sloan glares at me through feverish, puffy eyelids as she shovels some ice into a tumbler. Thus, I continue:
“I’m not bothering him in the least…he’s over there playing pool,” still facing Sloan, I point with my right arm extended backwards, where Larkin crouches over the table 15 feet distant from my scapegoated little self. He’s racking ‘em up for the next round.
“And I’m sitting at the bar speaking to /you/…I’m not even /looking/ at him!” I pause a brief moment before tossing her this tasty hor d’oeuvre:
“Quick to judge, slow to think, ain’tcha?”
[ Oh this is stupid-funny, Zippy Reader: I just loaded Bing Translator to see how it defines "hor d'oeuvre". Their clever result: "hor of work" *snicker*. ]
“Okay, that’s it. You gotta go.” She grabs the drink from my hand (what is it w/barkeeps grabbing hootch from my hand these days?), reimburses my fee, including the dollar tip. (Sloan actually /gave/ me $10 and didn’t ask for change back. One Desperate Dyke indeed!)
“Are you serious?” I command. “Thank you /so/ much for making me a hero. Nonetheless, I think I’ll write you up in a letter to the SF Bay Times about the asshole you truly are!”
Then I step out to discover Larkin chatting on his cell phone. I light up a cig and address him:
“That was hilarious three days ago at Pilsner Inn, how you and Mike ganged up on me!”
“Shut up Zeke,” he argues, “I’m talking on the phone here. Get away from me.”
“This is funny, Larkin,” I exclaim, “but the moment I told Sloan we’re friends, she grabbed my drink and told me to leave!”
I pull out my digital camera and ask: “How about letting me take a pic of you now, the lighting is excellent.”
“Go away, Zeke. I don’t want any more of your gifts or letters. I don’t want to see you again.” He rubs a palm in the air, as if to smear my face.
I stuff my Samsung ST76 back into a coat pocket and admonish: “It doesn’t work that way, Larkin. You can’t just dump a friend at a whim, after being so nice to me for so long.”
He tries to ignore me as he continues his cell phone conversation. But I talk over him, figuring:
What’s his point? He hardly ever gives me a chance to speak, why should I respect his desire to talk on the phone in peace?
Therefore I continue to accuse: “Look, Larkin, I think it’s fantastic that you and Mike play the role as my enemies, and got me 86′d from Pilsner. I think you’re both great guys. Thanks for the hilarious scenario!”
Larkin continues to frown while attempting to hold a conversation with the person on his cell: “Look, Zeke, don’t make me angry.”
“Angry?” I complain, though amused. “I’ve /never/ done anything to make you angry. I’m your best friend. If you’re angry at me, that’s /you’re/ problem, and you obviously have anger management issues.”
“Go away, Zeke, leave NOW!” he declares, and waves a distressed hand in my face. “Don’t /ever/ send me any more packages.”
“Oh, not to worry,” I respond. “For now on I’ll send the remaining chapters to the bartenders where you hang out. In fact, I just sent a thank-you letter to Mike and Tommy, as well as to Bryan Hoff, at Pilsner inn. For being such good sports.” Then affirm:
“This is /my/ turf, and you have /no/ authority over me. I will stand in the Castro wherever I damn well please. Your extreme PMS does not impress me. They have good OTC medication for that. Take a Midol.”
Larkin then pockets his phone and reenters the Mix, as I call:
“C’mon, at least let me take your photo. You /did/ just give me permission!”
But I am now alone once more, and decide to linger on the neighboring stairway until he steps out once more. Which takes no more than 7 minutes. Larkin appears with a drunk middle-age dyke, whom he is obviously escorting to her car. I raise my camera and start snapping. Larkin covers his face with an arm, that I may not get a decent pic. The gray-haired dyke snarls at me:
“Don’t take his fukkin picture!”
As they wander down the sidewalk, old dyke leaning on Larkin’s arm, I holler:
“That’s right Larkin, help the ol’ bitch to her car!”
I follow them from 10 or so yards behind, whereby Larkin glares back to demand: “Get outta here. Leave us alone!”
“I’m not here, Larkin. I’m invisible. Just pretend I’m somewhere else. I just happen to be walkin’ in the same direction for a block or so.”
They cross the street up Hartford, to the right (which is south), and I watch the two odd ducklings stroll towards an automobile about a half-block up. I decide to stand behind a telephone pole, which also provides me with a leafy tree’s shelter, that I will not be readily seen by Larkin should he look back.
But before they’ve halfway crossed, I exclaim in a booming voice loud enough to wake the deceased:
“What do you know about the time I was drugged and mugged at the Hole, back in 2007? You’re a suspect, dear. We need to talk!”
Some minutes pass before he returns with that same woman. I then step out behind the pole to snap photos. Once more, Larkin has a sleeve over his face. So I declare:
“No problem good buddy. This is /more/ than enough evidence to hand over to the police. Besides, we have plenty of time before Book 2 comes out, so I’m sure I’ll have some good pics of you by then.”
They rush back into the Mix, while I decide to stand outside in hopes of snatching a pic of Larkin whenever he steps out once more. But that doesn’t happen, and when I’m about to return hovel, Sloan exits the bar; her shift is over. I call to her:
“I’m sorry you hold such anger against me. I’d like to be on a good footing with you.” She looks back to reply:
“Oh I’m not mad at you. Go ahead and stalk me if you want.”
“Why would I do that?” I call back. She answers:
“Larkin told me you’re his stalker.” So I explain before she’s out of earshot:
“He’s a big role player. He likes to challenge me with difficult scenarios, and see how I deal with it.”
But she disappears around the corner, leaving me to reenter the bar to purchase a drink and enjoy Larkin’s pool table antics. Of course, I order my usual V&T. The barkeep on duty is a handsome Latino. So I kick back at the bar’s end closest to the door, and watch Larkin some yards away. Of course I hope he spots me, but he does not.
So I decide to meander past him as I walk to the patio for a smoke. He still doesn’t see me as I walk by as he exclaims “Aargh!” while racking up the balls. So as I wander by, I call back: “Aargh!” And that’s when he notices me, though speaks not a word.
Now I’m standing on the lower deck of the crowded patio, and ask another customer if I can smoke here, or must I step up to the next level. He says it’s okay, I can smoke right where I am. But to be sure, I turn to the patio barkeep (a delicious looking and young fellow), to verify:
“Can I smoke here, or do I have to step up to the back?” To my surprise he declares:
“Weren’t you here some moments ago, and called one of our people an asshole?”
“Certainly not,” I defend. “I just got here barely a minute ago, and ordered this drink.”
He scowls and passes through the bar partition to physically confront me:
“Get out now, we don’t want you back here!”
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I snort while sucking down the rest of my hootch before marching back out.
This really stinks, El. Larkin keeps setting me up for hatred. Can you say “defamation of character?”
So I finally reach “home” to ponder the evening’s disaster. My conclusion:
“I guess I /will/ send more letters to Larkin c/o Twin Peaks Tavern, Pilsner Inn and finally, the Mix. His crude behavior is way over the top, so at this point it’s all-out war.”
Therefore, tonight I will conjure up nine more letters, three to each bar, each batch sent one day apart. Larkin has done a fine job of getting me cast out of three Castro bars that are the best ones in the ‘hood. Through no fault of my own. In fact, I’ve been nothing but gracious, patient and loving towards My Rebellious Reptile. These letters BTW will contain nothing more than one simple sentence:
“Ha ha. Nothing to see here!” Maybe I’ll insert some Scooby-Doo stickers.
Time to break out the big guns.
- Zeke
PS: Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I already posted my snail mail to Tommy and Mike. And added to both, in handwritten words at the top of each letter:
“You can sell this letter on eBay for big bucks, once my first book becomes a bestseller. – Zeke”
The letters themselves both contained the same printout which you’ve already viewed, titled “The Perfect Storm.”
But at the end of Mike’s letter I added something not included with Tommy’s:
–
“Mike,
Here’s how you could make amends with me (though you might have other solutions):
Take me out for dinner once or twice. Burgermeister on Chuch near Duboce works for me!
And maybe become good friends, which I suggested some weeks back, and you gave me a /very/ warm handshake.
I /know/ you’re a righteous fellow (in spite of your recent ejection of my scapegoated self). You are also very HOT. Though sex need never enter the picture, I’d still /love/ to be a best friend. FYI: Larkin and I are /not/ monogamous.”
–
Then signed it by hand with my “zekeheart” logo. Dropped off both letters in the nearest mailbox on my way to the Mix. I will email a similar letter to Bryan Hoff next morn.
Their veggieburger is outstanding!
Date: Sat, 18 May 2013 12:06:29
Subject: Re Mix
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor
I meander by the Mix around 10:30 PM to see Larkin still there at the pool table. I stand on the sidewalk, waiting for his exit. Sure enough he steps out and I call:
“Having a nice evening without me, Larkin?”
He then steps up real close, just like the night he shoved me.
“Leave me alone!” he hollers to my face, “I don’t wanna see you any more. So I saved your life once, it’s over. Move on!”
I look up at his angry eyes to iterate: “Larkin, something’s /wrong/ with you. You used to be so nice to me, now you’re sweet one day, mean the next. Please see a doctor.”
“Are you going now?” he demands. But I say “No!” so he shoves me a bit, though extremely light. Told him I’d call the police if I have to.
“I’m standing between you and the devil, Larkin!” I declare. “You saved my life once, now I guess it’s time for me to save /yours/!”
“Well maybe I /want/ to stand with the devil,” snorts My Misguided Mesosaurus.
“That’s way obvious,” I respond. “I /pray/ that you will soon find a better direction.”
“Go ahead, call 911!” he yells as he walks away towards Pilsner Inn (I presume).
So I holler back: “This is only the beginning of our battle, Larkin. The war is ON. I will send letters to all the gay bars you frequent, until you’re outta there!” (After all, he’s been driving /me/ outta those places, and “all’s fair in love and war.”)
He continues to holler back at me, though I really don’t know what he’s saying. I just turn my back to him and walk in the opposite direction, flipping the bird with both hands. But before I turn the corner, I swerve around to see him looking at me from almost a block away.
And smile, while giving him a double-fisted finger once more. Then I head hovel.
I cry.
Just so you know, El: I may be facing my own death or serious injury, due to Larkin’s increasing belligerance. But you should also know:
I am not afraid. Just posted him my latest letter to his dubious address, containing my missive to the editor regarding the assault on my person at Pilsner Inn three days ago. On the envelope’s back, I handprinted:
“I will soon send letters to other addresses you frequent, unless you acknowledge.”
The bar letters are ready to go, in the event he does not.
- Zeke
Date: Sat, 18 May 2013 12:15:32
Subject: Letter to Sloan c/o the Mix
From: Zeke
To: Sloan (via snail mail)
My Dear Sloan,
I beg your patience in my telling you the extraordinary relationship between myself and Larkin. Enclosed is my business card that provides a link to my first book soon to be published, entitled “Free Me From This Bond.”
At bottom of this page is a link to Book 2. And at the bottom of Book 2′s page is a link to Book 3 (presently a work in progress). That’s right, it’s a trilogy. Book 1 should be out in bookstores in less than a month from now. But the online versions of all three novels will always be free to read, as my way of showing immense gratitude to the LGBT community, for putting me through my paces and not going easy on me.
And the trilogy is all about my fantastic friendship with Larkin. Yet, disturbingly, he has suddenly turned on me like I’m his worst enemy. Before this (almost 8 years in fact) Larkin has been the very /best/ friend in my entire life. I try to talk with him, that he see a doctor and get an MRI scan.
For I fear that his sudden personality change may be due to a brain tumor or something equally serious. Larkin has always been a great friend to me, until a little over four months ago. But I am in a most difficult space, as he now tells everyone who’ll listen, that I’m his stalker! Which is a terribly grievous state, that I cannot bear on my own. Therefore I appeal to various members of Our Community for support, no matter how minor. You may read about such appeals in Book 3.
Larkin is /wrong/ about my being his stalker. I am his very /best/ friend, who really does not want him to /ever/ vanish from my life. You know his reputation for occasional, erratic behavior. Yet you are more than willing to believe whatever lie he tells you (especially about me). He is slandering me via gossip, causing others to hate and exclude me…and may possibly lead to violence. I have /many/ witnesses, should the matter come to court (which I really want to avoid). Those who participate in spreading defamation of my character are also complicit.
The only reason I sometimes visit bars that he frequents, is to be in his company even if he doesn’t want to talk with me. Though many times he does, and we have a lovely time. He’s actually invited me to hang out at these places, until this recent and ugly turn in our fate. One day, he’s really kind to me, the next he’s arrogant and hateful. I only get to see him once or twice a week these days, because of his increasingly foul behavior. I am /not/ his stalker, but do my very best to stand by his side until this crisis passes. Since we don’t live together yet (though we do now live barely a block apart, since he moved to the Castro from SOMA), the only option I have is to hang out now and then, at one of his favorite bars. That would be: Pilsner Inn, Twin Peaks Tavern, and the Mix.
Larkin has never shoved me, tossed a lit cigarette at me, or yelled at me in all our 7-plus years. Until, as I said, these past several months. That is how I know beyond a doubt, that something is terribly /wrong/ with this otherwise very fine man. Prior to this, he has always been very gentle, protective and lots of good fun. Though I did confront him recently, to tell him he needs to /profusely/ apologize to all those he’s either offended or hurt, including certain bartenders. He’s been /my/ hero for almost eight years…I guess now it’s time to be /his/ hero.
So please, Sloan, keep this letter for a possible (and I think “probable”) time when the good man falls, and needs me more than anyone else. I can see the tragedy coming down the pike like a locomotive. I’ve been standing between him and the devil for over four months now, trying to deflect the inevitable. It is therefore my desperate hope that somehow, some way, it’s not too late to thwart such a horrid outcome. But it looks like he’s soon gonna fall…and fall hard.’
It is my hope that something occurs in your bar with Larkin, to make you realize that I am the one speaking truth, not him. So please, keep my card, as it contains my phone number as well as email. He has recently turned extremely hostile towards me, when all I want is to see him now and then, for it gives me peace and great joy. As has always been the case until recent months. For no reason that has anything to do with me, as I have always been patient and kind with him.
With only the utmost sincerity,
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
PS: As proof of our relationship, I’ve enclosed a copy of a form where he gives me signed permission to use his real name and photo in Book 2. But you can just read my books online, to understand the truth. Please, I beg of you, do not appease Larkin’s every whim. He is definitelty on the wrong track, and I can only pray. Especially when patrons and barkeeps alike hate me and believe I’m just some goofy loon, thanks to Larkin’s gossip. My heart has never been so broken. So if you could help in any way–even if it’s just a little way–I’ll be your friend for life.
Posted by ZekeBlog 
