Postcard Showdown

September 20, 2014

I just can’t stop with the postcards to Larkin! It all started when his patsy of a roommate, Zachary, informed me back in late May, that Larkin doesn’t even open my mail, let alone read it. (See “Letter to Zachary.”) While I believe his intent was to plant a seed of doubt in my cabeza, it still had an impact on This Scapegoated Little Soul. Even though I figure Zachary lied, just to fuk with me. Thus began what I call “my postcard flurry” that continues more or less to this day. I figured Larkin would be more likely to at least read a postcard before tossing it into the trash.

[ FYI, Grimaculous Reader: after recovering from the blow that Zachary so deftly delivered, I resumed sending letters to Larkin, along with these postcards. In good faith that My Bodacious Basilisk does indeed read everything I send. Though not necessarily right away, I'm sure he gets around to each and every one. ]


The original message taped on the front was an excoriating condemnation of Larkin’s mean behavior toward Yours Truly. And it said: “The sin you have committed upon me is unforgivable. You force me to take up arms, but you surely shall fall.” I never mailed it, but just let it linger in a cubbyhole, along with eight other angry postcards. All of which I have converted to loving missives and mailed off (though it sure wasn’t easy). I sent this one off September 10th.

In light of recent revelations regarding our incredible association of almost nine years at this point, I overlaid the diatribe with a poem of compassion. And taped it down several times over and at different angles, that Dragon Squarepants may never discover the original intent. Now, enjoy the reverse side:


Now here is the second postcard (front and back) mailed September 15th. Self explanatory.

[ Jambulorious Reader: please note that from hereon in, I must use generic tourist postcards since I've finally run out of my special "Free Me From This Bond" promotionals. I just loved blotting out Randoph Taylor's face with missives to My Larkin...as one kind gesture of devotion. ]


Now, three days ago (it is the evening of September 19th as I compose this section) Larkin pissed me off once more, so much so that I could no longer hold off what I should’ve done several months back. Pray, what did he do? you may ask. He totally ignored me as our paths crossed on Market Street near my building. I followed him up the sidewalk on the other side, on his way to The Cafe (I presume). Simply in my longing to gaze upon him before he disappeared up the stairs. But he looked back, saw me, so instead of a friendly greeting of any sort, he meandered quickly across the busy thoroughfare to slip into Tacos Club, a hole-in-the-wall eatery. (It is an insult and a heartbreak that he continues to treat me like a pestilence. Especially since he approached me some months back and declared that our friendship is an incredible godsend.) Will he actually read this letter? I can only hope.

September 16, 2014

Larkin,

Enclosed is a copy of the official police report I will file with the SFPD tomorrow. I’ve put off filing it, in hopes you’d make things up by now. But so much time has passed, and you clearly avoided me today, that I cannot take your bullshit any longer.

By the time you get this letter, the report will have already been filed. Processing takes 2-3 weeks, by which time I will have a docket number. Which number I will send you via snail-mail, when it comes in.

I am so sorry you’ve decided to play things out this way, for it will only result in your demise, and my victory. Yet such a victory will only cause me further grief.

Most sincerely,

Zeke

P.S.: When you exited Lookout, you crossed the street but switched back when you saw me approach. Then you slipped into the taqueria below my residence. You never came out. I presume then, that you exited via their back door which enters the basement of my apartment building. Then you exited the 16th Street side of 2306, marched up 16th, down Castro and crossed Market to enter the Cafe. NEWS FLASH: you illegally trespassed my building.

[ It is most frustrating to inform you, Jeladvective Reader, that the SFPD refused to accept this report, claiming that "Larkin's calling you his stalker is an opinion, not a fact," and "some of your claims are subjective and not grounded in actual events," and "you should just avoid him, this is a civil suit, maybe place a restraining order on him." I think their rejection is absurd and patently unprofessional. They also suggested I contact a mental health agency on the grounds that Larkin may be a danger to himself. How bad does this get for me, I thought I'd already hit bottom some months back? No matter which way I turn to gain even a smidgeon of justice, Larkin always seems to have the luck of the Irish on his side. Damn me for being a Scot! ]


Still PO’d like an alley cat with a bucket of ice water dumped on it, I took one further step, and sent four postcards to him the next day, care of the several bars I know he frequents. On the front I taped the same printout to each card. Then handwrote something different on the address side of each one. I chose the Alcatraz theme for extra impact.


These last two postcards were sent on the same day, September 18th, as an afterthought…an important afterthought:


The Breath of the Buddha

September 10, 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.


The Falcon Visits

September 4, 2014

MORE ON BRYAN HIGGINS

A continuation of Facebook messages (see addendum to blog post “A Cautionary Email“) between myself and a good friend of Bryan who was recently murdered in my neighborhood. These two exchanges occurred on August 26th and 27th.

Friend of Bryan:

I agree completely and again thank you for sharing. Bryan was so totally against any type of violence, even defending himself I believe would have been out of character. I had witnessed him diffuse numerous situations just by talking people down. I know that sounds silly, and I wish it had been easy enough for him to diffuse this confrontation. He probably wasn’t clear in his thinking at the time either. I’m reading these news articles that show the video clip of this suspect that they want to question and some mention that there were people that witnessed this attack. How does one do that? How does one stand and watch someone have the life beaten from them and not intervene in some way? Scream, yell, call 911, if there was more than 1 witness – step in and stop it. Did they enjoy this? Did they enjoy watching this? How twisted is society that people think it’s okay to let something like this happen? Just as guilty as the animal that threw the blows. Unfortunately, even if Bryan had fought back, my understanding is the aneurysm was inevitable. If it hadn’t happened as a result of the beating it was bound to happen soon after. If he bumped his head or eventually it would have just happened due to the weakened blood vessels in his brain. Not that it makes it any easier but this is what we’ve been told. I’m still trying to catch up on reading materials you’ve sent me . How did you fare with the earthquake? Did it affect your area significantly? They seem to just be reporting on Napa and the damage to the wineries.


Zeke:

When it comes to watching out for your neighbors, the Castro scores very low. Sometimes people stand around and laugh at someone being attacked.

It’s happened to me more than once. Some will even go so far as to blame /me/ for the violence, for example: a big dude starting shoving me and so I squirted him with pepper spray. When the cops arrived, a bystander ran up to ‘em and accused /me/ of attacking that “harmless” fellow. Yeah, he was 6-foot-2 and under 30…whereas I am 5-foot-7 and 64! But it was obvious to the bluecoats after taking one good look at the goon who tried to knock me down, that I was in the right. Society creates its own monsters, Rikki. Every crazy or dangerous person is a product of the surrounding mileau in which he’s born and raised. America’s cowboy capitalism /forces/ many to behave like psychopaths. Yet I do not believe this is anything more than what experiences humanity needs to go through, until finally that phase comes to an end. Nothing is anywhere near as bad as it may seem. But by the same token, such comprehension of how life operates can never be grasped even one iota…until a person has lived through the required number of trials it takes to get there. It’s sort of one of nature’s “great secrets.” And you kind of have to “earn” the privilege to see beyond the illusion. Yet I am certain that now that I’m writing about it and releasing my gift to the world, that the time is very, very close, for all humanity to grow out of chaos and disaster. Or I wouldn’t be able to broadcast my words across the globe, that is: something or other would block the process. As for the earthquake: I just posted a blog entry about it, and you should see it on your FB page. But just in case, here’s the URL: http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/08/27/tremble/ Isn’t it interesting that Bryan’s passage has put us in contact? Blessings on you always, and try not to get /too/ upset over what seem to be tragedies. For that’s only the first stage; all that comes forth after that will do much to turn this world into a far better planet than it now appears. <3 <3 <3

I was diagnosed years ago with borderline schizophrenia, borderline bipolar, borderline PTSD…borderline everything! It was not any chemical, but talk therapy and Carl Jung’s teachings that finally healed me. Jung spoke of archetypes and the collective unconscious. He introduced compassion into the world of psychotherapy. I use the same methods with those lost gay souls stranded on the streets. Not in any professional sense, but as a gift I’ve finely honed at this point in my life. And it works…though took years and years and years to finally witness my good works grow like bean sprouts. Now (and since the publication of my first novel in December 2013) things are moving /very/ fast, and I can hardly contain my excitement.

Like the great author, Herman Hesse, I am a disciple of Carl Jung, and all my writings use Jungian style symbolism throughout. In that manner, my words become a potent healing force to anyone who reads or listens.


POSTCARD UPDATE – 29 August


MORE STICKY NOTES TO NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR – 31 August


MY LATEST EMAIL TO ELEANOR

Date: Tue, 2 Sep 2014 15:02:21
Subject:
The Falcon Visits
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Ellie

Tuesday Sept. 2nd – 2:40 PM

Just moments ago I glimpsed Larkin at Duboce Park’s second water fountain, accompanied with the usual black and white doggie. He had on Bermuda shorts, sandals, light jacket and that red haversack which closely resembles my own. I had just disembarked from the N Judah from my little stroll of the Inner Sunset District, to enjoy the gray skies and chill ocean breeze.

I wondered whether or not to run up to him, or just stand there and holler across the grassy knoll. When I saw he was /not/ coming in my direction, but was about to disappear in the opposite, I chose the latter:

“Larkin!” my echo boomed across the green. He turned his head to his left, saw me waving back. Of course Larkin ignored me and moved on. I was about to scamper towards him, when in that instant a large bird swooped down on the grass just ten feet distant, causing me to halt. I’ve never seen that species in real life, except sometimes up in the Marin Headlands.

It was a peregrine falcon!

A glorious creature decked out in brown feathery shades with splashes of white. The wind fluffed him this way and that, and he looked upon me as if in greeting…or perhaps to warn me to stay put.

I remained frozen to the spot, so I could admire this falcon as long as possible. That lasted about five minutes: certainly long enough to prevent me from seeing My Wyvern a bit longer.

Was he /my/ guardian or Larkin’s…or both? I doubt the falcon’s sudden distraction was a warning, seeing as I don’t cotton to paranoid interpretations. But here is what I believe to be the purpose of his honorable visit:

If more than two weeks pass w/o my getting even a glimpse of Larkin, he is sure to make an appearance some time in the third week…even if from a distance, even if but for a moment. And that is what he did for me today, with the added blessing of the falcon’s salutation.

- Zeke


Date: Wed, 3 Sep 2014 14:47:40
Subject:
Re: The Falcon Visits
From: Zeke
To: Ellie

On Wed, Sep 3, 2014 at 12:01 PM, Eleanor wrote:

{{ Urban magik! }}

Been happening to me more and more these days.

Several days before /that/ avian epiphany (and also at Duboce Park), I was walking up the path to the other side when from about 60 feet distant, this lady’s sweet old doggie was gazing at me with love in her eyes. I /knew/ she wanted to greet me, so instead of veering to my right on the inside corner by that water fountain, I continued straight ahead. So the doggie could leave her master for a moment and give me a kiss (and I could pet her a bit)…then return to her spot in the cool shade.

The owner was pleasantly startled: “She never does that to anyone!”

“Oh, we noticed each other from across the park,” I smiled back. “It was love at first sight!”

That evening as I returned up Noe Street from 7/11, I saw a large raccoon amble across the street to my side…from about 20 feet away.

“Hey, Rocky, how ya doin’?” I queried as I neared the alleyway between two Edwardians. And there he was:

Clambering up the tall grating that reached well over 12 feet. Each bar was almost an inch thick, made of steel and square cornered. I was astounded how those little paws somehow managed to grip the slippery rods with ease, as he scooted to the top and over with great agility. I called out once more:

“Rocky! I mean no harm, just want to wish you a lovely night.”

Once he reached the ground on the opposite side (took all of ten seconds from start to finish, if not less), he paused as if to look at me, smile and say: “Thanks! You too, dawg.” Then scuttled off to the garbage bins hidden further back and cloaked in darkness. Where I’m sure he collected some tasty morsels to bring back to his pals…as he likely does each and every night.

- Zeke

PS: I’ve also been meeting more gorgeous dudes than ever! One hotter than the last, though I don’t see how that’s possible coz they’re /all/ 10-plus-plus-pluses! Definitely /My/ Kind Of Global Warming.


FINALLY: 1 MORE POSTCARD TO DRAGON SQUAREPANTS


Don’t Mess With My Buddy!

August 30, 2014

[ Spaciotemporal Reader: this little masterpiece of sci-fi parody is dedicated to Stanislaw Lem (1921-2006), whose exquisitely hyperbolic tales of futuristic intrigue eventually drove me insane. Click on his link to learn more about this incredible author out of Poland. I greatly recommend a movie just released based on the above-featured novel, called "Congress." Click here to discover a synopsis and reviews about this astounding film. While the tomatometer rates it 76%, I give it a 92. ]

It was somewhere in the Crab Nebula that I visited a particular planet as The Milky Way’s Ambassador, and planned to vacation there for approx’ly two months. It was the year 2076. You may be reading my report years before that time, because this dispatch has been teleported to key moments in the past, but no earlier than 2014. By which time I had simultaneously become president of Athenia, world’s first gay nation (formerly Northern California), and Earth’s Star Spokesperson thanks to the Reptilians of the Andromeda Galaxy who chose me for such a position because they consider moi the most compassionate sentient being of this world and its galaxy.

I co-presided as Athenia’s commander with My Ultimate Soulmate, Larkin Kelsey, who was too preoccupied with Dark Matter Intrigue to accompany me on my journeys through the Crab Nebula. Now, this may seem peculiar to you, as Larkin is highly telepathic and can also travel anywhere in time at the snap of a finger. Yet in spite of his remarkable abilities, he is compelled to obey the dictates of An Even Higher Force: a force which rules over, and contains, every aspect of this universe, and all the multiverses ad infinitum. For lack of a better term, let us call this force “Universal Mind.” And this force so deemed that I must embark upon my journey as sole missionary.

The moment I stepped out of The Enterprise v1.2, the first thing that struck me was the planet’s extraordinary sky: like a rippling zebra skin, black elongated clouds sailed seductively against a background of light-gray firmament. Or like the comforter on Leisure Suit Larry‘s water bed, if you switch your perspective from up to down.

The Grand Poobah of this world welcomed me with open tentacles, and escorted me to all their finest hotels, restaurants, theme parks, media outlets, prostitution clubs (from which I refrained the attainment of full orgasm out of respect for My One True Love), 5-D entertainment centers and the average homes of Nebularean Residents. I must say here, that my greatest delight was visiting these domiciles of average citizens, for their hospitality was beyond any Malibu Integral Massage Therapy I could ever imagine, as it came with the most splendiferous arse-rimming perks.

Some days later, the Grand Poobah approached me to offer phenomenal pleasures beyond what I have yet known. He proudly spoke the following declaration which mesmerized me into such fevered temptation, I lost all reason:

“Sensations many you have great in your world that to heights of ecstasy bring you unbelievable. Yet assure you myself, kind vertebrate, that Nebulareans we can titillate your soul in ways never known before you’ve. We expose you can to incredible levels such of ecstasy erotic that again never you will return to former enjoyment ways of seeking!”

Of course I was greatly seduced to dive right in (considering all the sensual amenities already provided me in barely a week since my arrival), but a tiny alarm bell dinged in my cranium:

“But there is one man I love so much, I couldn’t bear to discover any pleasure that would make our delight in each other fade from my heart!” Of course I meant Larkin whose joy in my friendship is the jealousy of 42 thousand galaxies and 574 dimensions. “So with all due respect, I will refrain from your magnanimous offer.”

The Grand Poobah immediately flushed a refulgent pink, but quickly recovered to a sour green. “Course of, perfectly comprehend me. Forgive please indiscretion this. Cultural some differences never be bridged can, and would I dream not broaching social barriers your own.”

The Poobah promptly vanished, and I found myself escorted to an egg-shaped room by His Doppelganger Guardians, where I awaited the descent of The Enterprise v1.82. Which starship beamed me up and returned me to Planet Earth in the wink of a Tralfamadorian‘s orbital socket.

War swiftly broke out between Planet Earth’s Intergalactic Federation and The Crab Nebula’s Union of Soviet Socialist Face Suckers. In less than one week after their initial salvo, the entire Crab Nebula and 18 surrounding galaxies (plus four energy-sponging black holes) were obliterated into subatomic dust. A piece of wisdom you should all bear in mind:

Larkin Kelsey commands the entire fleet of the Andromeda Galaxy, which Reptilians were the first civilization in the entire history of the universe, to leave their home planet and terraform all other worlds. Their technology and understanding of Universal Law far surpasses that of any other sentient life anywhere in the cosmos (or any other cosmos). So when you try to turn me against My Dragonly Heartsong, there will be hell to pay. Or IOW:

Don’t mess with My Buddy Larkin.


Tremble!

August 27, 2014

Dream about Larkin – 24 August

I am sweetly blessed by last night’s dream/vision of Larkin. I had managed to doze off with the help of Royal Gate, around 1:25 AM. Slept like a log, if you understand how light sleepers like me (living over one of the noisiest street corridors in the city) usually have a most difficult time of it. And for those who think sleep deprivation is a stupid joke upon the low-income (or at best a plot line for the latest heterocentered sitcom)…please know that a prolonged period of wakefulness causes disruption of sane faculties, and distancing of family, friends and all other loved ones. Or IOW:

This is no laughing matter, you evil dickwads!

Yet as a gay-focused shaman, clinical insomnia inspires visions that can only be acquired by such psychic starvation. Thus gave me this awesome, sweet dream last night:

I step into an obviously gay bar, though it’s barely more than a converted two-door L-shaped garage that is nicely carpeted, and decked out in astounding bric-a-bracs, paintings and other sorts of art (such as miniature Athenian statues, Spartan relics and Corinthian columns).

Comprising the foot of this “L” is a back room that allows four drinking customers on the long side, and two more on the short. Larkin is seated against the wall on the far end of the counter, with one vacant perch to his immediate left. Someone’s leather jacket is slung over the chair in disarray, yet I sense that I can freely claim the seat as my own.

Seeing as he does not gesture that it’s a bad moment to be seen with him, I occupy that vacant spot with tremendous pride. He neither hugs nor greets me (as I so strongly desire), yet his eyes sparkle with a welcoming joy beyond measure. I glance back at him in gratitude, awash with his subtle compassion. His fiery golden irises sparkle with joy at the mere presence of Yours Truly, and I almost dissolve in ecstasy. (No question he is not about to humiliate and drive me out by wicked slander…as were his previous interactions since early 2013.)

[ Among the myriad important lessons Larkin has taught me, Oh Drymarchon Reader, is this: to enjoy the company of one so beloved, it is not necessary to utter a single word. In fact, verbal exchange tends to water down the miracle of such bonding. ]

When the bartender (a handsome, spiky gray-haired fellow of approx’ly 62 years old but nonetheless “cute”) arrived, he began flinging little receipts like fortune-cookie strips though with more cardboard-like resilience, to each of his customers including myself. I wondered what-the-fuk is going on, so pick up one, then two, receipts:

“Next drink, $3 off!” (and the other) “Next drink, $2 off!”

So I order a vodka-tonic from the barkeep, after handing him a “$3 off” ticket. At the same moment I’m grasping for my wallet, only to discover that it’s not there, so I probably left it at hovel. I sigh and apologize to the mixology PhD:

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. But it looks like I forgot to take my wallet when I stepped out. So please cancel that order.”

He does, and as I depart for The Stygian Outlands, I pause just before the exit, and prod my pants once more…only to discover my billfold in an extended pocket towards the rump side of my khakis. Realizing that I could now enjoy one or two tonics alongside Larkin’s angelic presence, I turn about to regain my seat.

Yet the greater bar landscape just short of the entrance, is now obstructed by a curved, metallic fence like a tractor grill: no space to get around it, but for a narrow wedge clogged up by lingering patrons. Though strenuous, I manage to force my way back to the bar (after more than 5 minutes’ struggle)…wondering if it really is later than I thought, and last-call already happened. Finally return to my chair, with a stranger’s jacket still hung loosely over the backrest…though Larkin is nowhere to be seen. I’m more than elated, however, to occupy a space where he had only recently sat beside, and graced me with sweet attention.

The same bartender who flung out the bargain slips is no longer there, replaced by a shorter dude who turns out to be a butch dyke of slim stature and close-cropped hair. So I lean across the bar to make my appeal:

“Look, the barkeep before you was offering 2-and-3 dollar reductions on well drinks, and I was about to order only to discover I left my wallet at home…or so I thought. But before stepping out, I found the wallet in another pocket. So here I am a few minutes later, wondering if you can provide the same bargains. But if you can’t, no problem, I’m glad to purchase a coupla drinks at full price.

The friendly (and handsome) dyke kindly shrugs her shoulders to declare: “I can do that, no problem!”

That is when I woke up late at night (around 3:15 AM) beneath the glaring street lamps that infuse my windows. Two faux wax candles (one placed on the topmost shelf of Desk #2, the other on a colorfully decorated hexagonal cabinet just three feet tall and to my immediate left) flickered with a honey-yellow light powered by two double-A batteries in each base. And I thanked Our Creator for this lovely vision.

I stirred cozily in the bedding, wishing to resume the dream. But seconds later, my building began to rumble. And I realized: EARTHQUAKE! I trembled a bit, wondering if I should move or stay…knowing that if the windows shattered, I’d be a goner. Nowhere to escape to a safer spot, as I inhabit a humble SRO. But no sooner did this cross my mind, than it ended. Though it was quite a roller. (Later I learned there was a 6.1 temblor north of here, epicenter 60 miles away, near Napa, at 3:20 AM.)

Then, instead of panicking from the tectonic rumble (and getting up to have a smoke and turn on my laptop for distraction) I rolled over swaddled in the peaceful thought that Larkin manifested a quake solely to express his profound adoration of This Weary-But-Lovestruck Soul. It wasn’t till the next day, late in the afternoon, that I recalled something I said to Jonathan four days ago:

“My world always rocks whenever I see Larkin!”

I have never before described My Most Treasured Amigo in that way. Yet somehow he knows that, and sent me a direct message through the dream, quickly followed by an earthshaking event.

[ Gracilariidae Reader: some might claim that I'm compensating for the loss of a friend by cooking up a vision in my subconscious, that I may prolong a joy that truly once was there, but is no longer. However, I beg to differ. It is my firm belief that The Earthquake Dream is a genuine omen. And a good omen. That Larkin felt my heart-tugs to end these trials, and bring us together once more, in blissful bromance. So he, in His Own Dragonly Manner, manifested this dream and brought it to artistic perfection with a real-life earthquake. I am either greatly loved, or greatly cursed. ]


A Cautionary Email

August 23, 2014

From: A Friend of Bryan
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 13:28:30
Subject:
ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment

I’ve just read your ‘Another One Bites the Faery Dust‘ and hope that you take a little of your apparent precious time to read my note to you in response.

I apologize you never got the chance to know Bryan. I am truly sorry that you apparently haven’t been able to come to terms with your own apparent issues which after reading your blog you do in fact have. Otherwise people wouldn’t disregard you or invalidate you. I’m sorry that for some reason in your sad little life you feel you have the right to judge others merely by their appearance.

I would tell you about Bryan and could probably give you some insight into why you may have gotten some of the responses that you received or say you received from him. I can tell you that he was far from wealthy in a monetary sense. But he was apparently much wealthier than you’ll ever hope to be in the fact that he was loved and cared for by so many both in San Francisco as well as back home in Michigan.

Are you sure it wasn’t a reflection of yourself staring at you with soulless eyes because everytime I looked into his they were comforting and welcoming.

I believe you Zeke are just a hateful, narcissistic being and hope that nothing like this ever happens to you.

And if it does I’m certain that someone will be blogging ‘Good riddance’ to your existance and that they “Never gave a fuk” about you.

As for a Mama’s boy, I will give you that much. Yes he was, right up until she died 7 years ago while Bryan and I held her hand.

Don’t judge, get off your soapbox as you are no better than anyone else. You obviously know this and it just makes you feel better to insult others. I apologize that you’ll never know love because if you did you damn sure wouldn’t be the hateful son of a bitch that you are now.



Date: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 14:06:36
Subject:
Re: ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: A Friend of Bryan

That’s okay you are upset with me. I am attempting to dredge out certain reactions by community residents. As assistant to a detective, I play the decoy. There is a cult connected with this murder which my associate and I have been pursuing for almost nine years now. More than half were busted in 2007…but the remaining goons have migrated to the Castro.

Which is where I’ve been living since 1983. The detective has moved less than a block from me, for my protection. This cult intentionally spreads tragedy and mayhem through gay neighborhoods, many of whom are gay themselves.. I have to come off as a pathetic flake in order to protect myself, as well as catch some suspects off guard. They have already killed several of my friends since 2008, and have frightened other potential friends away from me. Thanks to this cult, I’ve been existing in virtual social isolation, except for my detective buddy.

AFAICT all remaining cult members will soon be rounded up and thrown into prison. They are the main reason the Castro presently suffers a dangerous uptick in violent crime.

Anyways, my apologies for getting you caught in a bit of crossfire.


From: Zeke Krahlin
To: A Friend of Bryan
Date: Tue, 19 Aug 2014 10:17:09
Subject:
Re: ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment

A Friend of Bryan wrote:

{{ My apologies for the many insults. As no one should know your position, neither did I. It’s still very much raw as I’m sure you’ve experienced and can imagine.

Good luck to you }}

No problem,I don’t blame you one bit. Bringing out anger in a group is one tactic that helps flush out suspects. My scathing remarks against Bryan will be removed in two weeks…that’s plenty long for my purpose. Then, I’ll repost that blog entry and give him honors.

I am very concerned about two of my homeless friends out there, considering the violence going on. They are both great guys and are moving ahead with their lives…and I’m very proud of them. Wouldn’t even know they’re homeless at this point, they’re so clean and considerate. Last thing I need is to lose them, too. In fact, I wrote about one of ‘em in that piece which includes Bryan. It’s at the very end section called “ThankDragon for Trace.”

It is not that you shouldn’t know about my activities, I am at the tail end of a long and crazy journey, and it is okay for me to reveal /some/ of what I do. IOW, I’m pretty much outta the woods now. FYI, my first book is out, and the reader learns how I stumbled onto this cult, and a wonderful man who I discover is a detective. All true, with my own flights of fancy interjected. You may read it for free online, at:

http://www.gay-bible.org/free

One purpose of that book (though there are many others) is to expose this cult and cease their misery.

Book 2 is also up there, so is Book 3 (a work in progress). I am actually greatly blessed and honored that kismet brought me such adventures, and a great love in this handsome detective, whose real name is Larkin Kelsey…though in Book 1, I use the pseudonym “Arwyn Miles”…and made him 6-foot-7 instead of his actual 6-foot-4. He gave me permission to use his real name starting with Book 2. It is my dream to use the profits off my publications to open a home for severely disabled LGBT veterans. And employ good people on the streets for whatever position suits them (cooks, companions, drivers, gardeners, accountants, etc.).

Those followers of my WordPress blog can keep up with my present adventures…most of which will be put into Book 3. But here are some tales there you might enjoy (in chronological order):

But It Won’t Make Me Happy
http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/02/18/but-it-wont-make-me-happy/

A Little Lizard’s Lament
http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/03/22/a-little-lizards-lament/

Letter to Zachary
http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/06/01/letter-to-zachary/

He Shoved Me Again!
http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/06/23/he-shoved-me-again/

I’m a Decoy for the SFPD!
http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/06/26/im-a-decoy-for-the-sfpd/

Four Times in One Day
http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/07/12/four-times-in-one-day/

The Misery & The Ecstasy
http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/08/02/the-misery-the-ecstary/

Some of my blog readers BTW, are members of the SFPD. For in my tales I often include details about the homeless, both the good and the bad. That their work may be eaiser to fulfill, in as compassionate a way as possible. Again, you have nothing to be sorry for, standing up for a good friend. My role is a most awkward (and often thankless) task…though the rewards will be immense, and will benefit not only myself, but gay folks at large.

Blessed be!

- Zeke Krahlin


From: A Friend of Bryan
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: Tue, 19 Aug 2014 16:23:58
Subject:
Re: ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment

I did in fact read just about everything on your page yesterday trying to in a sense figure you out. Bryan’s mother was my best friend and sadly her time was cut very short as well. I became very close to him in the time she was in the hospital and drew what strength I needed to get through that ordeal from him. She made me her POA which is not easy for anyone but given she was married, had 4 children, 2 brothers and a sister it made things a little more difficult given the remarks and the second guessing.

Knowing him the way I did and knowing the demons that he constantly fought I was obviously immediately livid when I read your blog. If you do in fact work with the detectives out there and are familiar with this case then I’m certain you’re aware of said demons as well. There were times he was a little rough around the edges but I never knew him to take those feelings out on anyone but himself so I hope you see where I’m coming from and I look forward to reading the reposted version. Thank you for the links, and for the insight. I really do appreciate it and I will check them out when I get home.

Have a beautiful evening Zeke.


From: Zeke Krahlin
To: A Friend of Bryan
Date: Tue, 19 Aug 2014 18:20:14
Subject:
Re: ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment

A Friend of Bryan wrote:

{{ I did in fact read just about everything on your page yesterday trying to in a sense figure you out. Your empathic nature is /most/ impressive…and I thank you for bearing with me. }}

I will soon compose a very sweet memorial to Bryan, though I hardly knew him. And I promise: I am /not/ deceiving you, it /will/ show up on that blog entry by Sept. 1, if not earlier. In fact, I’ll send you the redaction soon as I complete it, which I will be working on tonight and tomorrow.

Yes, I work with a detective, a private eye hired by the SFPD. They needed an outside gumshoe, because some members of this cult /are/ San Francisco cops. How I stumbled into this cult, and became a detective’s assistant is an amazing story in its own right. I do /not/ get any remuneration for my good works…but in the long run I will. Though what really matters is righting egregious wrongs, even if I wind up homeless.

What is strange (and remarkable) is that I found a “gray hoodie” near Duboce Park, the next day after the murder of Bryan. The suspect was described as wearing a gray hoodie. That next day (Monday, July 18) I was strolling through Duboce Park on the way back home. At Noe & 15th I found a discarded jacket. It was a thin-leather outer shell, with a gray-hoodie lining. And in such perfect, new condition, I couldn’t understand why anyone would discard it.

Now, with some hindsight after learning of Bryan’s demise, I /do/ comprehend. Though it may not be the same jacket that the criminal wore, I wonder if any witness just noticed the gray hood and not the black leather that covered the jacket itself…thus, described it as a “gray hoodie.” It was only yesterday that I considered this possibility, and a shiver went up my spine.

But before this realization, I passed on this jacket to a dear street friend, whom I shall call “Trace” in my tales. Now, I wonder if the street thug will spot his jacket on my buddy, and attack him, too. Life is quite bizarre, and this is not the first time I have been thrust into an extraordinary circumstance. Though I have faith that Trace shall not be victimized. In the sense that even the worst souls on this planet must be liberated and forgiven for their heinous deeds.Therefore I interpret this “jacket” episode as a sign of some sort of spiritual liberation for the perpetrator. But I will also tell you this:

From the recent wisdom I have gained about Life’s Workings, no one really suffers the horrid acts of violence and murder…in fact, no one actually /dies/, but is shunted to another sphere of heavenly peace before such an incident occurs. Whereby angels replace their souls and act out the remainder of their deathly throes…that we, as external observers, can learn compassion and long suffering without any person actually experiencing such horror.

Most folks get quite upset at the claims I just made to you in the above paragraphs. Understandable, ’cause it does get complicated. But I conclude that if God (or Goddess or the Great Spirit or Spaghetti Monster or what have you) is truly compassionate, he or she would /never/ allow any human being to go through such nasty outcomes. What I am saying implies thusly to Bryan:

Well before he was attacked and killed, his soul departed to a heavenly existence. And an angel’s spirit occupied his shell of a body during the time he was brutally destroyed. Thus, we (as observers) may suffer his loss and hopefully learn to be more loving towards others, not just our close friends, but strangers as well. For it is my belief at this point, that if Our Creator (or Universal Mind) is a truly loving God, this is how he teaches us to grow kinder and more concerned about /all/ people on this planet.

This philosophy of a benevolent creator I have expounded upon in my essay “NeoPositivity, a Gay Religion” which you may read here:

http://gay-bible.org/write/4_neopositivity.htm

This wisdom has made things so much easier to help bust a cult that I stumbled onto more than seven years ago. And realize that, while I might experience a close call now and then, I will always be perfectly fine. Take this as you will, I don’t expect every single person to understand where I’m coming from. In fact, most people /don’t/. But in these last several years of personal experiences, this ideology has proven itself to me, 100% of the time, to be the absolute truth.

While realization to the greater part of humanity will prove to be a godsend to many long-suffering and sweet-natured souls.

I will not tell Trace of my suspicion about where that jacket came from, as it will probably freak him out and cause him to get rid of it. There is great joy for me to part with something which I valued greatly. Due to his incredible achievements in overcoming the brutality of surviving the streets, to present him with such a lovely gift I know will do wonders for his ultimate success.

And that, perhaps, is the liberating aspect of one who has committed a grisly crime.

Yours truly,

Zeke


FACEBOOK MESSAGE TO BRASUS – August 19

IT HAS OCCURRED TO ME that one of your “friends” on Facebook may have discouraged you from my posting to my page. Because I noticed someone in your list who is /not/ a very nice man. He is part of a clique that has for years denigrated me, and chased any potential friend or lover away (by instilling fear in them against me). I know who it is, and can tell you in person. His name starts with a “W” (whether first or last I will not say in this message).

The fact that you still keep me off your FB page indicates that someone may have spoken bad about me. You made a rather suspicious excuse for not re-friending me: “Oh, you needed a few days off from getting back on” (I paraphrase). That doesn’t make any sense…because I didn’t. I know myself better than you or anyone else. (Except perhaps Larkin, for he /is/ my Guardian Dragon.)

Another excuse you recently made for distancing yourself from me, is that you had some ex-wife BS to deal with, and you “needed your own space” for a while. I also need to vent on something you said about what “friendship” means:

You stated that the employees at Bean There /are/ my friends. Nope. They are friendly ’cause that is good for business…and I’m sure they’re nice people outside of work. But the point I tried to make (though you stormed off and slammed the door before I could) is this:

FRIENDS DO THINGS TOGETHER, HANG OUT, ENJOY EACH OTHERS COMPANY.

These Bean There workers are not people I spend time with in any way, shape or form. Not a one has invited me to hang out with him (or her). Therefore:

THEY ARE NOT FRIENDS, THEY ARE FRIENDLY ACQUAINTANCES.

But I think you already know this, thus I am suspicious of your /real/ motives.

The people in this neighborhood and city are, for the most part, disgusting. They have compartmentalized me into social isolation…none speak well of me. In spite of my /many/ years’ devotion to LGBT rights. Though friendly enough to my face…they have never introduced me to their other friends as a veteran gay activist and author of many years. Nor do they /ever/ run up to greet me, or present themselves with a genuine smile. An indication they’d rather have nothing to do with me, and wish me to disappear.

Such social invisibility makes me quite vulnerable to thugs roaming the streets at night…as they choose those who appear vulnerable and friendless. IOW I am an easy mark for their homophobia.

So other long term residents such as Linda (laundromat manager), Guy (who sells flowers at Noe & 15th) and Les (who runs the liquor/grocery store just across the street from Guy)…are potential murderers. They isolate good people like me, that I may become more susceptible to violent attacks. Hoping of course to eliminate me w/o any mark of blood on their hands. And such deplorable behavior is how a neighborhood can be more readily manipulated by this cult I’ve described to you numerous times.

In fact, I’d say that such 2-faced neighbors are willful members of this cult. Know the saying: “God forgive them, for they know not what they do?” Well, what strikes me as particularly evil about these dirtbags, is they KNOW what they do!


FACEBOOK MESSAGE TO BRASUS – August 20

FURTHERMORE: The only thing you’ve said to me, the only thing you’ve posted back to me after my numerous FB messages is “I love you, Zeke.” Do you think that ameliorates every question I’ve put before you?

You deny me the respect of speaking my opinion after thrusting verbal kok down my throat, then slamming the door in my face, so I can’t speak up. Larkin has done the same to me, as have many others. Causing me tremendous frustration, anger and grief. So I’m left to do what…vent myself via FB messaging, never knowing whether or not you even read them? For all I know, you’ve blocked me; or if not, just delete them immediately. Same pattern as Larkin, whose roommate told me he doesn’t even read my letters, just tosses them into the garbage unopen. Very beautiful tales which he’s inspired, some of which you’ve already seen.

When I tried to speak truth to you, you rudely interjected: “That’s /your/ reality, not mine!” Which is simply and purely HOGWASH. For I was speaking about friendship, and your definition of this was way too broad a term to hold any validity. I was explaining UNIVERSAL HUMAN TRUTH that does not vary from one person’s reality to another. I pointed out that you already /have/ solid and true friends via family and other long term associations. I do not. Therefore, it is an easy thing for /you/ to claim many friends in the city after only being here several months.

You can /enjoy/ superficial friendships because you already have a base of /real/ friends to lean on. But in /my/ case, all I’ve ever known are friendly acquaintances who disappear almost as quickly as they appear. Therefore, not having any true friends in my life causes great suffering and isolation for me…when you add up all the /years/ it’s been that way for yours truly. San Francisco is a highly transient city, which exacerbates this lonely situation immensely, especially for low-income people like myself.

I find it curious that when I asked if you’ve read my messages, you made up some faux excuse about how the Facebook app seems to disrupt viewing my posts. While I suggested you switch to a more reliable FB app, “Tinfoil,” I really don’t believe you.


ONE LAST POSTCARD TO LARKIN (I THINK, BUT YOU KNOW HOW THAT GOES) – August 20


FACEBOOK MESSAGE TO BRASUS – August 20 (later same day)

I noticed your notes on the back porch…very impressive. There has been a lovely tradition in 2306 of leaving nice items on the back porch for others to enjoy. But the last few building managers have pretty much put the kibash on this tradition. You understand what’s going on. Your reprimanding residents for not separating their trash is also spot on. Just because they have money to toss around, does not give them carte blanche to not cooperate in an important ecological movement (which is nothing less than saving this planet).

It is my conclusion there are one or more residents performing acts that make the manager think I’m the culprit. So that he will turn his anger upon yours truly, and get me evicted. Which will, of course, backfire. I just want to say thank you.

YOU HAVE BIG BALLS, BRASUS (and maybe some day I’ll get to lick them all night long).


UPDATE AUGUST 22

So today I discover that Brasus has blocked me from his Facebook page, the only way he allowed me to communicate with him other than knocking (or leaving a message) on his door. Guess he can’t take the truth…which I believe I presented in as compassionate a way as possible. I therefore conclude he’s another one of your Castro Clone Losers. Fitting in for the acceptance of Upper Middle Class Queers who control the city, and exclude and spit on the remaining poor who are mostly homeless. With the exception of a few “gracious” benefactors who lavish the street urchins with the occasional jacket, socks, cigerettes, tina and what have you. Such as you, Brasus.

Obviously he has sold out to the many arrogant ciliques abounding the Gay Community here in Sf, and most likely in every liberal city of America if not the world. So now I’m stuck with a possibly aggressive enemy as my next door neighbor (206) right here in 2306 Market Street.

But I signed on with a new Facebook account via another gmail profile. Sure enough, his “page not available” that came up with my standard email, this time around presented the Full Monty. Ergo, the fukker’s shitting all over me. So much for having a kind ally for a neighbor. Silly me to ever expect such a nice thing to ever really occur. So I left him two sticky-notes on his apartment door:


 


ADDENDUM (FACEBOOK CHAT)

Zeke:

Revision completed, safe to put it up now. Redactions begin right after his photo. It’s not “glowing” praise, but a fairer rendering of Bryan, and the tragedy of our community’s elitism. Here’s an anchor link to take you right to the Bryan Higgins section: http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/08/17/youre-a-bad-boy-brasus/#faerydust.


Friend of Bryan:

Not “glowing” but IMO a bazillion times better than what I read that led me to you originally. I hope you don’t mind that I shared a portion of one of your emails on my Facebook page. It was and is extremely comforting to think he didn’t suffer per se. I was talking to his uncle and didn’t have the exact verbiage but sent him the portion I shared and he feels the same. To attempt to explain Bryan’s ‘dismissal’ when you asked his name Bryan was bi-polar and schizophrenic and quite often would go off his meds. You may have caught him during one of those many times. He for the most part handled himself quite well, when he felt he needed to or when he began to go into a manic state he would begin taking his meds again. Not the healthiest way to treat his illness or disorders or whatever you want to call them but he believed in more holistic remedies. So let me attempt to offer you an apology for my ‘adopted’ son. He really was a beautiful creature. Again, thank you so much for the updated blog. I know you didn’t know him, he really wasn’t one to judge, I do indeed like this version much more than the first. And thank you for the kind emails. Much love to you. <3


Zeke:

The outrage you posted to me, is exactly the kind of response I wanted at certain community meetings over Bryan’s murder. Then Detective Kelsey could observe /which/ faces did not emote anger towards my callous accusations…or which faces mimicked outrage in order to blend in. He now has a trail on four people who match the desired “lack” of rage. At least one of them may be a cult member, who can then possibly lead the PD to the proper suspect. For it is my belief (and that of Larkin and several other associates) that this attack was orchestrated by this cult (which I call for want of knowing their /real/ title: Disciples of the Zodiac Killer). They are quite clever and surreptitious, using gossip and emotionally disturbed people on the streets, like puppets totally unaware of their controllers. Thus, the cult gets away with many crimes. SPOILER ALERT: Book 1’s Chapter 13, “The Phone Call,” introduces the reader to the cult: http://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2012/04/27/the-phone-call/. And the reader also learns, for the first time, that Larkin is a detective.


Zeke:

And it may well be that since this cult clocks my every move once outside and strolling the Castro, they witnessed my several friendly conversations with Bryan. The cult drives away, injures or even kills anyone they perceive could become a friend in my life. Thus the possibility that I am an unintentional instrument of his death.


Friend of Bryan:

I would like to think what happened was ‘random’ and that it had nothing to do with anyone in particular except this evil animals cruel nature. Whatever his/their intention may have been. I do intend to respond further, things are chaotic to say the least. And I work 7 days a week. I would prefer to respond via computer rather than my phone. It’s a bit easier. So I will chat with you soon. <3


Zeke:

I don’t own a cell phone, I have an android tablet and a Windoze laptop. But I want to end this conversation on a truly positive note: If I am correct in my understanding of life’s machinations described earlier, which evolved out of meditating for years on the Buddha’s statement: “we have no enemies, only teachers”…then nothing more than an incredible tragicomedy is unfolding in my world, and that of the SF Gay Family. Some play the role of evil, some die after a short appearance, and some my protectors with Larkin at the helm. Therefore:

No one killed Bryan, who is simply one of these actors playing out his chosen role. The entire scenario is exquisitely orchestrated, and for whatever reason are making me the hero of This Gay Soap Opera. It’s been going on for almost a decade now…but it wasn’t till approx’ly 4 years ago that I began to figure out what’s going on. And now that I have, I blog about it, that others may enjoy and grow wise.

This also explains why I am not so grief-struck any more, whenever another tragedy hits our neighborhood like a meteorite. It’s all a game, a beautiful game, which outcome will be unbelievably joyful. Though it may not manifest until just before the last scene plays out and the curtain falls.


You’re a Bad Boy, Brasus!

August 17, 2014

So three nights ago Brasus shows up to share with me some really strong ganja in a peace pipe, and deliberate upon Bryan’s untimely death. For which I remarked:

“The gay community here is now up in arms that these killers remain unapprehended, and at large. But such crimes have gone on for more than 30 years. Nothing has changed. There will continue to be brutal violence against gays in their own neighborhoods, so long as we remain disunited. I spoke with Linda (laundromat lady) about this murder, stating that horrible thugs are hanging out at her laundromat after hours when she is no longer there.”

Her response was snippy and uncalled for: “Well, I can’t be here all the time.”

So I voiced loudly as she swiftly regressed to the back of the laundromat, in order to avoid me:

“Don’t talk to me like that! Why does everyone speak to me that way? I’m only informing you of the situation. I realize it is not your fault.”

Linda obviously chose to invalidate me, but I stood by the doorway and awaited her return from the back room. As she crossed my path and exited, I declared:

“Look, you watch out for yourself, things are getting dangerous.”

But she merely wandered across the street to tend to her own myinistrations. But what I wonder is this:

Why would she brush me off, unless she doesn’t really give a rat’s ass about gay people? In spite of my handing her now and then, a printout of my gay-themed tale or essay, and her complimenting me on my fine writing? I can only conlude that she is part of the problem…in that hetero folks with some affluence move into the Castro and live a comfortable life. Yet lift not a single finger when anti-gay tragedies occur. Tragedies which could be averted, were this district populated by enough concerned citizens. Which it is not.

She does have some gay friends, but they are all homo-owning conservatives, one of whom she allows to use her laundromat some evenings, so he can set up his sewing machine and ply away. This may be a good solution to discouraging homophobic thugs from entering the place during off hours, but Linda does not really seem to be concerned over the anti-gay threat that overruns any laundromat once a manager departs. And her laundromat seems to be the only one in the Castro that does not provide on-spot attendance at all business hours.

Now, I’ve lived here in the same SRO since 1983. I know of various long term residents throughout Eureka Valley: the black homeowner Guy, who sells flowers on the corner of Noe & Henry; Les just a block up and across, who runs a grocery/liquor shop, and so on. Yet not a one speaks well of me to others, nor introduces me to their friends. While they appear friendly to my face (of course, they’ll take my moolah), I am outraged at the soulless lot of ‘em! By their willfull exclusion of yours truly from our local society, they leave me far more vulnerable to attacks as I stroll my own sidewalks. They have compartmentalized me into oblivion. They are fiercely and pervertedly EVIL!

Even gay-identified residents don’t give a damn about homophobic violence on our streets. For they are mostly homo-owning wealthy shit-heads who enjoy reports of even their own gay poor and homeless being victimized by homophobic attacks. But when one of their own elitist kind gets murdered, it’s all “rah-rah” and “so sorry you were murdered, we valued you greatly”…and then, business as usual once more in a few weeks’ time. The Cult feeds on such deleterious sadism, using the wicked to promulgate the persecution and bashing of the few decent folks who remain (whether homeless or housed).


FIVE FACEBOOK MESSAGES TO BRASUS

[ Quadragesimal Reader: Brasus was a popular male name in ancient Thrace. Please read my tale about Sabazios and Brasus in my blog entry dated 23 July, if you want your eyes open. I prefer you read the entire piece; otherwise search that page for "Sabazios". ]

  1. August 13 (late evening):FORGET ABOUT MY FRIEND REQUEST…my unfriending you in an anxiety attack was, apparently, the right thing to do. So if you friend me now, I’ll just unfriend you right back. It is clear to me now, that you have no desire to speak well of me to any of the new people in the Castro you have met and associated with. Whether they are shop owners, local residents, hot guys you meet at the gym (which you so juvenially call “heaven”), or even those without a roof over their heads. It’s like you showed up to usurp all the good works I’ve done these past 30 years or so. I just wonder: what the fuk is wrong with you? You have willfully chosen to allow (and even encourage) folks who live here, including those who are homeless, to at best, not know who the hell I am…and at worst, to hate me and do me harm. No good will can come of this, and I pity the outcome of your life. For I have /never/ lost a battle yet, and never will. What you have done to me is DISGUSTING. I look forward to your sudden and unexpected depature from 2306 within a few weeks from now.
  2. August 13 (ten minutes later):I’ve also observed that you don’t spontaneously hug me. I have to beg you for a hug if it’s ever gonna happen. As if you’re doing me a pity favor. Go fuk that and the horse you rode in on. You good lookin’ guys are so full of yourselves it makes me wanna vomit just at the thought of your unforgivable arrogance. When we hugged for the first time, it is /you/ who kissed me smack on the lips. But out of modesty, I deflected and kissed you on the cheek. You SET ME UP to think you were physically attracted to me…just so you could fuk with my head in the long run. Trying to make me feel bad when I showered you with affection at Last Call. You are a freak, and a curse on the gay community. Welcome to the Castro Country Club.
  3. August 14 (just before breakfast):I introduced you to the baristas at Bean There as “my wonderful and new neighbor and friend.” FYI, I also spoke /very/ well about you to our building manager. Ditto for Linda at the laundromat. I never dreamed that bringing up the suggestion you return the favor, would cause such a negative reaction in you. Or /any/ negative reaction, for that matter. My friend Johnnie used to introduce me that way, to his friends…until his father suddenly died, and he turned on me in bitterness. I have had /others/ speak well of me before their friends, but they were only passing through. Such kindness is extremely rare in my life, but I have experienced it…and it’s taught me to use that as a reliable measure of true friendship. Superficial friends are a dime a dozen.
  4. August 14 (just after breakfast):I am going by the assumption you are also a member of this secret society that Larkin runs, thus you are testing me. Over what? That I can stand strong when I am attacked through my greatest weakness, my Achilles heel. Which is this: fate has put me in a highly desperate situation for YEARS now…where I really haven’t even one good friend in this world. Will such desperation cause me to sell out my values, my ethics…that is, my SOUL? Or will I stand my ground even when it means my isolation will remain? Well, now you have your answer. Give my best regards to Larkin, next time you see him.
  5. August 14 (just after supper and right before watching “Toy Story of Terror“):This will be my last message to you, then I’m outta your hair. You have never messaged me back, not even once. Is that a friend, ya think? And you’ve never given me your phone number, though I’ve given you mine (on my business card). Now, I perfectly understand if someone doesn’t give his number to another he hardly knows. But you /did/ give your number to a person who lives here, and who is basically a skunk. I know this because you told me he texted you, and demanded you not text back. You’re doing the same kinda thing to me, by never messaging back. Enjoy your fake friends, Brasus. You’ve made the wrong choice. Once again. (In your next life I wager you’ll be born a dusty dog w/o a home, wandering the streets of Philippi for table scraps.)

[ Dragonian Reader: Jason Parsley is a gay journalist (and editor of South Florida Gay News) I discovered in February of this year. We have a loose association via LinkedIn, nonetheless I admire his devotion to gay ideals, and courageous coverage of controversial issues that most LGBT reporters would shirk. After he perused my gay-bible web site, and learned of my many years as a dedicated gay street activist (as well as author of countless gay tales, essays, poems and articles), he offered to feature me in his newspaper. Unfortunately, his publisher turned down that request, and Jason could do nothing further. He's very cute, but just got married. Fuk me with a duck. ]

From: Zeke Krahlin

To: Jason Parsley

Date: Fri, 15 Aug 2014 12:03:43

Subject: Nice to see your name in a B.A.R. news article!Sitting on the toilet for my morning ablution,

While reading the Bay Area Reporter,

a journalistic institution,

Lo and behold I stumbled upon

Your name in an article called:

Gay prisoner shares story, his mistakes,

in newspaper column.

Your work is cut out for you,

You do a great job

Towards ending the stigma of el-be-gee-tees

Viewed by the mainstream as no more

than golems.

So hats off to you, my activist ally,

For forging ahead/carving out

Our own pro-gay map

not found in McNally.

Sinqueerly yours,

Zeke Krahlin


PRINTOUT ENCLOSED IN ENVELOPE AND TAPED TO BRASUS’S PORTCULLIS

[ Superannuated Reader: this letter fit easily on one side, but on the other, I printed out a lovely rendering of the blue rose. The image you see below (of the fingerpainted walls) is not, of course, part of the actual letter. Included just so you'll understand what I'm dealing with: a crazy loon who is also a darling man. Thus, I'm trying to find a way to ameliorate his deleterious (though sweet) aberrations, that our friendship will be cemented. ]

15 August 2014

YOU’RE A BAD BOY, BRASUS!

I tried using soapy hot water to wash off your “dust art” on the walls of my little corridor. But they won’t come off! So it would be nice if you find some way to remove it…perhaps a commercial product just for cleaning walls.

I have too many folks scapegoating me as it is, and having Bohemian squiggles in my hallway only serves to enforce their perception of me as the village idiot. And could likely cause anger by the building manager, against U-No-Hoo. I prefer to choose my own battles, not have them foisted upon me by naive victims of cult telepathy…victims because they haven’t the foggiest clue they’re being used by negative forces to cripple my good works, friendships, secure habitation, etc.

Of course I do realize these present difficulties serve a higher purpose, that is: my initiation into a secret society that has watched over me (as well as harassed me) for many, many years…decades, even. But now–just before all my lovers and dear friends from past lives come to surround me–those who are already here (such as yourself and Larkin, and I guess several others), choose to vilify me for a while longer. Apparently it remains their role for the sake of my betterment.

So I also realize this is the purpose you also serve, much to my chagrin. Thus your behavior, while kind on the surface, bubbles just underneath with all sorts of inconsiderate games. Not the least of which is running away from me, that you may always have the last word. I confronted you on important matters of our association, but instead of hearing me out, you slam the door in my face. YOU’RE A BAD BOY, BRASUS! And though I love you very much (and that might be a problem in your little world of privileged egotism), I will not put up with it by pretending that undercurrent isn’t going on, just because I am sorely lacking in true friendship. But please realize this:

While harassment upon This Desperate Little Dragon by those he loves (and who love him back) continues for Sabazios only knows how long (and I wish it would end soon), there will be one among them who will cease his attacks first, to become The Affectionate Comrade Of My Dreams. And he will boast to everyone he knows and meets, about what a Really Good Man is Zeke! But what’s also important to know, is this:

Whoever is first to stop battling against me, will have my company five times more often than anyone else (friends or lovers)…for all eternity. I’m assuming of course, that will be Larkin. But you never know until the cake is done, who’s gonna apply the frosting.

Zeke

P.S.: Peace and love, even if you don’t come through for me. The worst that will happen AFAIC, is we’ll just be neighbors living out our own lives apart. Just like I am forced to do with everyone else here at Hotel California North…and the Castro…and San Francisco…and California…and these Disunited States…and North America…and the western hemisphere/northern hemisphere…and this sorry little planet.



ANOTHER ONE BITES THE FAERY DUST

Yet another queer was recently murdered here in our “Gay Mecca For Wealthy Fags Only.” Typically, there was an outpouring of the usual neighborly regard, in order to cover up the true bestiality of all those so-called “nice” people who inhabit the Castro. While they, themselves, are the real reason why such atrocities continue, and increase. Let me explain:

Decent people like myself are often ignored and forced into an invisible existence, soley because we are low-income and left-wing. Such stigmatization (a la gossip) leads to abuse, harassment, violation, bashing and death…due to the local community’s enforced elitism against those who don’t own a home or business. Yet when a member of their clique gets killed, they mourn in public as if to prove to the world that they are, indeed, really good folks. Which is pure horse hockey.

The person lately dispatched to a much better world, Bryan Higgins, was an active member of the Radical Faeries. Years ago, I attempted to join their commune, but was rejected because I refused to participate in any circle-jerk gatherings. Now what does that tell you about such a group, if they excommunicate you only because you have no interest in perverted sexual behavor?

I only know Bryan from popping into Rosenburg’s Deli where he worked, in order to purchase a pack of ciggies or, perhaps, a pint of vodka. He was not a particularly friendly type, which IMO made him quite typical of elitist behavior so common in the Castro. In fact, I asked him once:

“So what is your name?” To which he replied:

“Oh, call me whatever you want.”

Now that, my friends, I consider an asinine reply. Since I was showing him respect in wanting to know a bit about him. SF gays are often rude to me, they don’t know me from Adam…and I guess that’s the crux of the matter. I am not known to them, not part of this or that clique, and I’m definitely not a cute young dude. Though I’ve been part of the community since long before 1983, and have accomplished much good work in the name of Gay Rights…I may as well have moved to San Francisco yesterday. I remain a stranger in my adopted home town.

There was a celebration at Duboce Park just one or two days ago, to honor Mr. Higgin’s memory. All well and good but for one thing: were I to be so bludgeoned to death by a cabal of violent homophobes, no one would honor my history of devotion and sacrifice on behalf of gay liberation. I’d just be a blip on the radar of the Castro’s GLBT records, and promptly forgotten. In spite of my incredible acheivements, which many have stolen and claimed for their own vainglory.

So rest in peace, Bryan Higgins, though please know that neither the Radical Faeries nor the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence have shown me any acceptance or respect, though I have accomplished much on behalf of Queer Freedom. Same goes for all of the other organizations under our coummunity umbrella. Even though I’ve made my presence known to them numerous times, including resumes of my gay street activism and LGBT-themed tales. Offering them many of my ideas gratis, so long as they acknowledge my contributions rather than claim credit for themselves.

Now that I’ve vented (and thank you for your patience), I must give you some honor, though not in the smug fashion of elitist sycophants who remember you with pomp and circumstance. (In part I presume, out of superstitious fear that if they don’t, the gods may look down on them with disfavor…but also because, while not rich yourself, you were well connected with a major gay organization.) No one deserves the brutality that you suffered and which led to your death. Yet there are many gay-identified souls here and elsewhere who, like me, are completely ignored (even vilified) by those blessed with a cozy life, and celebrated by their LGBT peers. Who, when bashed or murdered, get barely a few lines in the local papers, if that. And certainly: no public memorial.

A dear friend of yours back in Michigan has set up a Facebook memorial page in your honor:

Feather-Lynn Memorial

I am sure that, now that you’re on The Other Side Of Life, you completely grasp where I’m coming from. And proudly serve as guardian angel to all those in our Homophile Family, who suffer through no fault of their own, social isolation and scorn by their brothers. For if you’re as sweet and spiritual as claimed by those you left behind, that is exactly how you’re spending your time in Avalon.

[ Now get this, Yoghurty Reader: the suspect is identified as a white male 20-30 years old, wearing a gray hoodie. A gray hoodie? Everyone wears a gray hoodie, fer Zeus-sake! Thanks for nothin'. This really quells the fear of good citizens strolling the Castro (or Duboce Park) at night, yessirree-bob-a-loo-la. (And which person will never wear a gray hoodie for the rest of his life, care to make a wager?) Way to go, douche bags. Then again, I wonder: are there more than just a handful of good citizens left in the area? I really doubt it.

There is also the matter of defending oneself with an effective weapon of legal choice: if not a gun, then pepper spray. In most cases, a one-on-one confrontation can be summarily thwarted simply by wielding a canister of PS before the attacker even makes his first strike. It is my wager that Bryan was defenseless. Too many gays walk the streets w/o any protection whatsoever. Had Bryan wielded such a weapon, he may have averted a tragedy. Which not only serves to protect him and live a full life, but would spare the LGBT Family from needless grief and expense. ]


WHEN IT COMES TO LAPTOPS, I’M A BOTTOM

From: Zeke Krahlin

To: Sean

Date: Fri, 15 Aug 2014 15:56:35

Subject: Found a notebook in freebox!

Six years old, in great condition. Compaq Presario V6000, 1 G RAM, 67 G hard drive, etc. Vista Home Basic (boo). Large, crystal clear screen, plays videos beautifully.

Still trying to complete all updates…refused to load Service Pack 2. That would clear up the wifi flakiness. But it does well via public access. Linux doesn’t seem to take well to it, both video resolution wise, and wifi wise. My USB wifi chip is supposed to work perfectly in Linux, but I’ve tried five of the latest distros with no luck yet. Not even Puppy Linux, which always before recognized Linux compatible wifi like a charm.

Problem is the AT&T free wifi set up in the Castro…it’s not good at connecting half the time, so can’t always tell wherein the problem lies. Would like to get this Compaq connecting at home, for updates…cause it’s a heavy weight to lug around.

Anywayz, good to have a backup system, as well as one to watch videos and test new freeware that might have a malicious virus or two.

- Zeke


HOODIES STALK THE ‘HOOD

From: Zeke Krahlin

To: Several Gay Papers in San Francisco

Date: Sat, 16 Aug 2014 22:15:37

Subject: Violence in the Castro

Dear Editor,

In light of the increasing, mostly anti-gay, violence here in the Castro, I’d like to point out two especially dangerous hot spots: Jane Warner Plaza (JWP) and Noe & Market Laundromat. Anyone who visits the Castro on a frequent basis is surely aware of the nasty bums loitering about JWP at all hours. They do not belong here, but take advantage of our generosity, and the fact that all gay neighborhoods are a lot safer and friendlier than the straight ones. Yet it is this very friendliness they abuse, since these scumbags see LGBTs as “faggots” and a silly joke in their Christianized Pathology. Glad to take our dollars, though.

Please realize that most homeless use the services of churches for food, showers and shelter. And that, even here in “Gay Mecca,” the majority of pulpits preach war against homosexuals. What few gay-friendly churches exist here, I can count on less than ten fingers. These religious institutions preach hateful dogma against gays, in exchange for their so-called charitable outreach. Then send these disturbed souls to gay districts in order to spread violent doctrine in God’s name. This is Nazi-style propaganda: fomenting hatred against sexual minorities through populux religion and Aryan airwave brainwashing.

I cannot enjoy strolling my own neighborhood, thanks to these pinheaded scoundrels who take up every outdoor public venue (seating, plaza and park). JWP is one such space that is particularly occupied by fuckups. Plus: living over Market Street between Castro and Noe, I often hear vagrant lunatics traversing the block and screaming at the top of their lungs, wickedly anti-gay epithets and curses. Sometimes very late at night, thus interrupting my sleep. As if they are doing God’s righteous work. Moving on now to Noe & Market Laundromat, six doors down from the intersection with Market:

I think it’s the only laundry service in the district without a manager or attendant for the full time it’s open. So when the manager leaves for the day (around mid-afternoon), scary dirtbags haunt the place. One of them recently confronted me and demanded I hand over five dollars. When I said “No way, get the fuck outta my face,” he seemed about to fly into a rage. Thankfully, he did not…nonetheless, he strutted back and forth by the laundromat, causing me unwelcome stress. He is but one example of the numerous freaks who occupy that laundromat through late afternoon and night. Now I ask you:

Why should washing one’s clothes be akin to standing unarmed in a battlefield? I do not blame the laundromat’s present attendant…for responsibility lies with the owner. He certainly needs to assign a second person to cover the remaining hours when the first employee is off duty. That is: if he really cares enough to stop providing a haven for homophobes and creeps.

Sincerely,

Zeke Krahlin

Long term (and bedraggled) resident of the Castro


THANK DRAGON FOR TRACE!

From: Zeke Krahlin

To: My Mendocino Muse

Date: Sat, 16 Aug 2014 14:12:56

Subject: Amazing!

Ran into Trace late last night (around 3 AM), and he looks GREAT! No more shopping cart BS, very clean and neat looking…and soooo handsome (honey-brown hair tumbling to his shoulders, like a seraphim; green eyes, etc.). Told him how glad I was to see him again, and how proud I am of him for struggling to survive after Hurricane Katrina drove him from his home state to San Francisco. You remember him, sent you a photo of Trace asleep on my bedding…tattoo over the left calf muscle that spelled “Baton Rouge.”

Well, here’s that photo again (see attachment)…really cute dude, but so much hotter than the image reveals. A truly LOVELY man, and I’m a truly LUCKY man to have his company once more.

He had a nifty bicycle lit up here and there with blue-white LEDs. Took him home where the next thing I know, he’s lying down on the bedding with his pants lowered, and darling fat wanger sprung up like a…well, you get the drift. He didn’t even want a couple shots of vodka first, a cigarette, or even some pot to smoke.

“Are you sure you don’t want some vodka?” I queried, surprised at his unexpected and bold move…though absolutely delighted like a hound with a jumbo Milk-Bone.

So I took a quick sip of my drink that was left unfinished when I stepped out to stroll the Castro. (I do that sometimes, late at night, just to check out the street dragons, and maybe find a sweet one to hold in my arms and stuff like that.)

He admired this lovely new jacket I found in a free box last week: thin leather with an inner hoodie shell of gray flannel. Well, I love that jacket and wore it every day, even in the warm weather. Never thought I’d part with it willingly, but there ya go, El. Without a nanosecond of hesitation, I yanked it off and gladly presented it to Trace.

He only stayed long enough for a quickie, but he did pull off his sweater and topmost shirt to bring it down to one. His torso was exposed up to his chest, during which time I got up from my chair and slid my arms about that sexy, smooth bod. To my surprise, he did not resist, but continued to remove the shirt, then put the outermost one back on…then donned the jacket.

“I gotta go see my people,” he said while gripping the handlebars of his road bike. “Let me out, Zeke.”

As if I were trying to hold him back. Ha!

“Gimme a hug, SIR!” I commanded. So he did, head nuzzled upon my left shoulder. I kissed him on the ear and whispered:

“I’m your dawg now, buddy.”

He left behind a large, red-and-white striped shirt like a candy cane, and light gray sweater (see pic). Totally clean and they smell wonderful…the gritty streets, ocean breeze, and his own friendly werewolf scent…a most seductive mix! The next morning I found myself thanking Goddess many times over, as I prepared myself for another amazing day.

Got my usual whole-wheat-with-sesame-seed bagel with cream cheese and a small coffee. I was in bliss, and still am, as I compose this email.

So I finally return back home to discover my first check from Friesen Press! Only $28 but hey, still a great reason to celebrate!

And soon enough, Trace will be in my arms again. Figuratively speaking that is. Replace “Trace” with “his bodacious kok” and “arms” with “mouth,” and you have an accurate picture. Hardy har hardon!

- Zeke


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