Deeper Down the Well

September 12, 2016

Date: Sun, 11 Sep 2016 17:39:39
Subject: Going Deeper Down the Well
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Serpentine Guardians

The Well is one of the remaining BBS’s around, that somehow still thrives in spite of the Internet. Located here in San Francisco, it has many interesting participants in the world of authors, artists and other intriguing characters. I decided to join them…costs a bit each month, but I figure it’s a good investment for promoting my own talents. Anywayz, after participating in several threads of varied topic, I decided to post my first promo in the “writers” conference. Now, I share with you:


writers 2374: Looking for open mic recommendations to read my tales in SF

#0 of 0: Zeke Krahlin (zeke1k) Sun 11 Sep 2016 (05:32 PM)

Hello, Wellbots! I am a gay activist and author, though not yet published in the celebrity sense…only self published one novel so far, which anyone can read for free online (minus the lovely illustrations), here:

I’ve written /many/ tales, essays, what have you, over the years, and continue to do so on my blog:

https://zekeblog.wordpress.com

I decided to start reading at open mic venues here in San Francisco and Berkeley. And am wondering if anyone here can recommend the best places to go. I do /not/ own a car (never have) and live on a low income (social insecurity), so that is why I don’t seek to read my stuff in the Greater Bay Area and beyond.

My works are almost exclusively LGBT themed, though with universal appeal that all but homophobes would enjoy. (Actually, my written and spoken words are ingeniously contrived by forked-tongue alchemy to make such types crumble into friable bits of clay that can then be recycled to our local organic farms; but let’s keep that secret between thou and myself…what happens on The Well stays on The Well, okay?)

This includes my growing collection called “True Tales from the Castro (eat your heart out, armistead)”:

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

I write tons of hilarious stuff, most of which can be read aloud in 5 to 7 minutes. Such as:

https://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2014/08/30/dont-mess-with-my-buddy/

I also offer my talents for private, individual and group readings on a sliding scale…especially appropriate due to my conspiracy theory of /gay/ reptilians that will soon descend in their lavender star ships and “straight”en everything out. And, well, you know, they’re covered in glittery, greenish-yellow SCALES that /do/ slide somewhat. (Not one of my better puns, hope it didn’t get under your skin. Come to think of it, it /is/ a poor grade of punning, so scratch it.) My most recent such tale can be viewed here, though I strongly recommend you toke up on some primo bud before diving in:

https://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2016/08/06/learning-to-love-lizards/

At the end you will be graced by the light of my visual blurb as candidate for world’s first gay president of the United States and global dictator, on the ethereal plane…in both the reptilian and hominid dimensions.

Thank you for your undivided pineal attention. Here is my business card:


Keep your fingers crossed, Chthonic Dreamweavers!

– Zeke


ADDENDUM

writers 2374: Looking for open mic recommendations to read my tales in SF

#10 of 14: Peter Borke (petebork) Mon 12 Sep 2016 (06:00 PM)

You’re on the right side of history, Zeke. (you may not always be right, but time is on your side)

writers 2374: Looking for open mic recommendations to read my tales in SF

#11 of 14: I went full diva on their ass. (paulette) Mon 12 Sep 2016 (07:22 PM)

Wait, really? Allen was as delightfully gay as a birthday table cloth. Why would anyone pretend otherwise? The only time I ever saw him in real danger was when he approached a New Yorker writer asking him to sign a petition on behalf of some good cause or another (I forget what).

That New Yorker writer had lost a kid to bad dope, and held Ginsburg and the Beats personally responsible for it. It got very close to being physical.

writers 2374: Looking for open mic recommendations to read my tales in SF

#12 of 14: Zeke Krahlin (zeke1k) Mon 12 Sep 2016 (10:16 PM)

{petebork}: Thank you for reminding me of my awesome destiny that shall make the world my oyster. No matter I’m allergic to them and they make me vomit.

{paulette}: I did submit my novel to City Lights in December of 2013, but they never got back to me; and it’s, well, over two years later. You may read about that lovely adventure, here, wherein I confessed among other things: “It is my dream to have my own novel featured on the same shelf as ‘Howl and Other Poems.'”

https://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2013/12/26/my-letter-to-city-lights/

P.S.: One thing’s for sure: there are no angel-headed hipsters in IT!

writers 2374: Looking for open mic recommendations to read my tales in SF

#13 of 14: Ezekiel Krahlin (zeke1k) Mon 12 Sep 2016 (10:18 PM)

Oops, three years later. Flime ties.

writers 2374: Looking for open mic recommendations to read my tales in SF

#14 of 14: Zeke Krahlin (zeke1k) Mon 12 Sep 2016 (10:30 PM)

{paulette}: Homophobia’s gotten a lot worse, not better, since Allen’s time. Mainstream (read “hetero”) news still doesn’t cover much of LGBT issues. Anti-gay violence has been on a sharp increase for over a decade, now. Islam isn’t helping any, either.

https://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2016/05/27/killing-gays-the-republican-agenda/

Plus, if you’re gay and low income, PrEP (the anti-HIV pill) is not accessible, even though the transit posters and other ads make the public think it is. Since Medi-Cal now charges an exorbitant monthly share of cost that only the wealthy can afford. Even in spite of Obamacare’s extended Medicaid.

https://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2016/06/30/no-prep-for-the-poor/


A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)

August 27, 2016

Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2016 12:21:29
Subject:
A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

Part 1:

Nighttime, relaxing in the kitchen by myself. Or a back room like a study or old-fashioned screened porch (2nd or 3rd story). Don’t know if that’s where I live, or just a friend’s place…but I’m quite soothed as I sit there beside a cupboard or bookshelf.

Then from about 15 feet ahead I glimpse someone’s shadow, accompanied by the sound of a broom sweeping the floor. He vanishes as quickly as he appears, so I couldn’t figure out who that was. Though he seems of slight build and height, like myself. At least that’s what the silhouette suggested.

I move to a larger chair to recline, and look up to see wispy clouds drifting overhead, against an electric deep blue, moonless sky… obviously, there is no roof in that part of the flat. I feel refreshed, calm, happy. Moments later two or three people show up, discussing some matter or other around a plain, wooden table. What it is, I don’t know, nor am I curious. They all seem like old friends anyway, and perhaps this is /their/ home, in which I’m always welcome. They don’t pay me any mind, and I just stand up to stretch, and yawn.

Part 2:

Larkin got me on call for a voiceover audition in an upcoming animated film. We are sitting at some sort of freestanding bar or kitchen counter, as he tells me this. The overhead lighting is very subdued, and serene. Obviously, our friendship is renewed…and now he’s making up for the difficult challenges he gave me in the recent past. Using his connections here and there to open doors for me.

There are two other friends nearby, seated on stools and diagonally to my left. They are part of the conversation but, at the moment, only smile. I don’t know who they are in real life; their actual visages are muddy. But I sense they are good people: one man, one woman.

Then Zachary, Larkin’s real-life housemate, shows up in an unexpectedly well-disposed manner. Unexpected because, apart from this dream, the rare times our paths have crossed in the past year or so, he screamed at me like a harpy in passing. Apparently, he’s made his peace with me…or, more likely, his hostility was a dupe all along.

I introduce Zachary to these two other people, claiming that they and Larkin are my very best friends. Zachary smiles and shrugs, before turning away to get something from the fridge, or the closet, or whatever. As he does that, I deliberate on Zachary’s purpose in my world, and decide it’s the latter of the two possibilities I covered in the paragraph above. So as he returns to our company, I declare:

“You will be my fourth good friend, but not yet. Friendship takes time.”

Zachary gestures “okay” in gentle acknowledgment, then takes a swig from the unknown concoction swirling in a glaucous bottle stuck to his palm. Seeing as he displays not one iota of antagonism towards me, but just wanly grins, I decide to couch my statement differently:

“Okay, Zachary, I consider you my newest best friend right now, because of all the good things you’ve done for Larkin, including keeping a roof over his head.”

Then I wake up, and, feeling refreshed from that (rather simple) dream couplet, I perform my morning ablution, exit 2306 on my way to Muni Metro’s Castro Station and The Posh Bagel downtown. As I descend the Metro steps (Harvey Milk Plaza), I look up to see Larkin boarding the escalator right beside me. So close I could touch his hand gripping the back of that gliding black python. Appearing somewhat harried, like he was going to a job he didn’t like (or pretending my existence is Revulsion of the Highest Order).

I call to him in a singsongy fashion as our faces eclipse, then part:

“Larkin loves me!”

He does not react in any way, just keeps rising to the sidewalk like a floating vampire. So I summon once again, though with different words:

“Yes he does!”

Now I’m here, typing at the Posh Bagel, this report. Only realizing after my second sip of Riviera French java, the sweet synchronicity of our near collision this cool, foggy morn, with the dream I had only hours before.


ADDENDUM

Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2016 12:45:57
Subject:
Re: A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

On Fri, Aug 26, 2016 at 12:30 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Literary gold. }}

I’ll settle for platinum.

Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2016 13:28:03
Subject:
Re: A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

Another curious detail:

I have only seen Larkin two times since our scuffle last December; each time passing below my window. And in both instances, he made a point as he meandered down my side of the street, to bellow out whatever phrases or words occurred to him. Sometimes greeting others or just rattling to himself…but never calling up to me, or mentioning my name or any related subject.

He did this (being noisy instead of silent) I believe, to draw my attention so I’d poke my head out the window and cast some spicy retorts. But also to reassure me he’s still around, and cares about me, and doesn’t want me to continue living without his presence, even if I only glimpse him occasionally. Until this chapter closes and a new one begins, wherein we are no longer separated by Kismet’s Mandate.

Though the first time he passed beneath my room (about three weeks ago), I remained silent, observed him wander east towards (and beyond) Noe Street. The second time, however (one week later), I /did/ drown out his boisterous nonsense with the following insult:

“You’re walkin’ funny, Larkin…more hemorrhoid issues?”

To my surprise, he didn’t ignore me, but turned about, glared up at me and decried:

“I haven’t seen you in…in…months! You’re supposed to keep it that way!”

To which I countered:

“Then just stay outta the Castro or at least shut the fuk up when you walk near my apartment building! Is that too much to ask?”

But before I even completed the first sentence he swung forward to resume his gait, and cross the intersection. Though I’m sure he heard everything; I was formidably vocal. Then I saw him pause on Noe before he even reached the opposite curb, to talk to someone he knew. So I hollered one more time, my fierce words bounding up Market Street, the rumble of traffic muted by comparison:

“Get outta the Castro, dipwad!”

From that distance, he was diminutive as a toy soldier. But he heard, looked up, pointed a gangly arm in my direction, and hollered back:

“I’m not talking to you!”

Well, since then I wondered what line I could throw at him next time His Eminent Poobah decides to “inadvertently” swagger along my side of the street with pomp and circumstance, that my ears be polluted once more. I finally settled on (get this):

“Larkin loves me!”

With his inimitable trickster cleverness, Larkin gifted me just that opportunity this morning, though neither where, nor when, I expected. AND I ALMOST BLEW IT (but did not).

– Zeke


Stunning!

August 23, 2016

Date: Tue, 23 Aug 2016 22:43:46
Subject:
STUNNING!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My E-frenz

This brief exchange on Facebook just occurred earlier today, August 23rd, and marks, I believe, the opening salvo of my rapid rise to world recognition. Couldn’t come any sooner, eh? Composed of four screen shots to preserve its original format you may also read it on my wall, here:

http://www.facebook.com/robert.ryancorbell/posts/628743850619121?comment_id=629454500548056&notif_t=like&notif_id=1471994734263999

Though you might have to scroll up a bit, or just search for the phrase, “you’re one smart ” to get there.




Note: Click here for a larger view of the image above.


Letter to my Brother, 8/15/16

August 15, 2016

August 15, 2016

Dear Vince (& Darcy),

First off, I want to thank you for the gift money. Now I can get a decent pair of sandals and still have lucre left over for something else nice…like a yummy veggie burger w/aioli sauce or a couple of argyle sweaters from a district locals call Junkietown West. Payless has good prices. I’ve had bad luck these past two years finding a decent pair of sandals from dead (or almost dead) hobos. Hard enough to get the right size, but too often either the odor prohibits me from boarding the bus or commiserating in an LGBTIFRC (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex, furry, reptilian or curious) bar; or a strap breaks prematurely, due to the lifeless (or almost lifeless) vagrant’s gangrenous moisture soaked into the leather. Two-plus years being forced to wear Chinatown socks and free-box sneakers even in the warmest weather is more than this esoteric wanderer can handle!

Now that I’ve shocked you properly, please let me be clear: that was a joke.

Vince, after you left for Charleston and your first semester at The Citadel, I found a lovely book mom had packed away with your other stuff. A black and white cartoon collection called “Barnaby and Mr. O’Malley.” After a quick perusal, I had to have it, and so placed it in my room as one of my more cherished possessions. I never told you about that book; perhaps you don’t even remember owning it. The tales revolved around a little boy and his imaginary fairy godfather, Mr. O’Malley; and took place in a town somewhere in America during World War Two.

The stories are populated with various other delightful characters, both fictional and real, such as: Gus the Ghost, Launcelot McSnoyd the Invisible Leprechaun, Atlas the Mental Giant, his parents Mr. & Mrs. Baxter, Jane the girl who moved in down the block, and his faithful (talking) dog, Gorgon (and his father, Rover). As the years passed and I went off to college myself, that treasured novel escaped from my world somehow, and I rarely thought of it again. Till four years ago, when it suddenly popped out of my memory bank.

“Gee, I’d love to have that book again,” I thought, “maybe amazon dot com has it.”

Sure enough they did, but for a pretty penny due to its “collectible” status: $32.49. But I bought it, and once it arrived I reread every single ink-drawn page with immense pleasure. To this day I still have it, though currently packed away in one of my several storage boxes on the loft. It is almost time, though, to pore over it again with renewed delight. It certainly has staying power, and I’m glad you left it behind.

Since we first got in touch after many years–due to our parent’s departure and your role as executor of their will–I’ve thought now and then to tell you about this book. So here I am doing just that, in this letter. Enclosed are two separate printouts of illustrations from that sweet opus, that I got off the Internet…The Crockett Johnson Home Page. Enjoy! Maybe they will sweep you with childhood memories from the early years at 8 Shawnee Drive…or perhaps Monroe Street.

Love as always,

Eugene


[ Querulous Reader: click on either image below for a larger view. ]


[ On the back of the envelope, I taped this: ]


Medicaid = Megadeaths

August 10, 2016

While many folks are aware that 22 states have refused to expand Medicaid, at the cost of more than 4.3 million lives, they are not aware that many low income folks living in the (mostly blue) states, remain grievously shortchanged when it comes to affordable health care.

I live in the blue state of California, as a low income resident in San Francisco. Yet Obamacare’s expansion to Medi-Cal does nothing to make my health care anywhere near “affordable.” That is because California’s version of Medicaid has instituted a share of cost fee in 2007, based on 1989’s cost of living! The first question that comes to my mind, is: “How on earth did they get away with this?”

And California has never adjusted this cost of living ever since. Which means that Medi-Cal will not cover any medical fees until I pay $518 any given month…based on my social security income of $1,243. This is almost half my income, therefore I can not afford any sort of health care, including preventative or maintenance. This 1989 cost of living means that any monthly income beyond $600, is automatically stripped by Medi-Cal. Now, how can anyone survive on such an astronomical fee?

Some other states, such as Minnesota, New Mexico and Massachusetts, grant Medicaid recipients a much more reasonable cost. For example, Minnesota charges $0.00 (zero dollars) for anyone collecting $1,340 or less per month. Therefore, I conclude that California’s version of Medicaid (Medi-Cal) is ripping off the poor even to the point where their own lives are at stake. And if not their lives, causing them much misery because they cannot afford any of the care required to ease their suffering.

I can only assume that many other blue states are equally cruel, with little exception (those reasonable states like the three cited above). It is up to other enlightened folks to do the math, for I am barely treading water in struggling for my own freedom. Thus do not have either the time or energy to parse all inequities of this Medicaid debacle.

Perversely enough, this matter of blue state rip off is not even on the political radar, though red state issues around Medicaid are. As if every blue state has all its poor residents totally covered, with no reason whatsoever to complain. Here is a good example of how only the red (conservative) states are being blamed for outrageous out-of-pocket Medicaid fees:

Charging Medicaid Premiums Hurts Patients and State Budgets

In speaking out against this death sentence to the poor, I am usually slammed by my own progressive peers…accused of being a right-wing saboteur. (I am a Democrat, who voted for Obama FYI.) Very few have followed up on my claims, to see if I am correct regarding this matter. They are totally brainwashed.

And our government–along with the progressive media–are implicit in sweeping this horrid truth under the proverbial carpet. Meanwhile, time is ticking for this neglected soul, until the day comes when I suffer a major ailment, injury or emergency, which fees required by Medi-Cal will make me so poor, I can no longer feed myself, or keep a humble roof over my head. This is indeed a death sentence, for which I am greatly angered at our government, and wish it no good any more. For I need annual eye checkups to keep from going blind. Checkups which I can no longer afford. And who knows what other ailments I will suffer that are common to the elderly (for I am now 66 years old)? What about prostate cancer, arthritis, pneumonia, or going deaf? Many other medical issues occur to me, that I cannot afford to take care of, even if they are readily managed by our modern health care system…and for which I become ever more susceptible, due to my advanced age.

AMERIKA, GO FUK YOURSELF!

I am forced by a diabolical system to fight for my own life…as if I were the only one in this nation suffering such egregious abuse. For in my daily life–online as well as offline–I have yet to encounter anyone else with a similar gov’t boot stomping on his neck.

The only solution I can come up with, is to press for a class action lawsuit. Against both the state of California, and the White House! Which may land me in prison, or at best get me cut off from any social security and/or other government aid. For whistle blowers are not regarded kindly these days, in spite of a democratic president. I may likely perish in this fight to preserve my own life!

Thus I have arrived at a new faith in Our Creator: that He shall somehow grant me good health and fortitude through this battle that for whatever reason He has called me to wage. But do not think for a moment, that I have any faith in this nation, or any great love as some sort of hoodwinked patriot. For this Medi-Cal offense is more than an inconvenience: it is a willful threat towards my well being, and even existence, at the hands of Uncle Sam. So once more I say:

AMERIKA, GO FUK YOURSELF!

For proof of my claim about share of cost, see: California Share of Cost. Quote:

“For example, if an individual earns $1,100 a month, that person must incur $500 in medical costs each month before receiving any coverage from the Medi-Cal program. For consumers with a high share of cost, Medi-Cal provides little more than catastrophic coverage and does not enable them to access health care services.”

To my detriment, I do indeed have a “high SOC.” Talk about milking the poor unto their own death bed!


ADDENDUM

I tracked down four Youtube videos about Medicaid scam, that further verify my own assertion. Here we go:

1. What is the share of cost for Medi Cal?

To which I added my own comment:

“As if anyone poor enough to be eligible for Medicaid can even afford an estate planning attorney. Plus, the spouse is left with having to clean out his savings, until it is below Medicaid’s allowable assets, which is less than $3,000. Shoving the spouse into extreme poverty: way to go, Medi-Cal!”

2. The Medicaid bill that doesn’t go away when you die

My comment:

“As if that isn’t bad enough, monthly share of cost for Medi-Cal recipients is the remainder of their income OVER SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS! Example: if you receive $1,100 soc. sec. per month, your share of cost is $500! This is more of a death sentence than anything else. See:

Expanded Medicaid = Sick Joke

3. Medicaid is Ruining My Life

This man’s from Idaho, and his story is heartbreaking. But this video gives solid affirmation that even with expanded Medicaid, many states that have accepted it, are killing off the low-income disabled. He also stated that New Mexico has /no/ share of cost for its Medicaid recipients, and is therefore far more reasonable. In /my/ research, I discovered that Minnesota is likewise decent. BUT NOT CALIFORNIA! My comment:

“Randy: California is just the same as Idaho…very cruel. In my research, I discovered that Minnesota is like New Mexico: no share of cost. I’ve been trying to put the word out there, but I usually get accused of lying, and being a right-wing infiltrator…so it’s been a painful, uphill climb. I am so glad, however, that refinancing has proven a godsend for your situation…though millions of others still suffer, and will likely die before their time, and possibly be homeless first.

“I would really like to get a list of which states that accept expanded Medicaid charge a SOC, and which do not…to get a sense of how extensive the corruption. Many of these same people now suffering under Medicaid’s draconian rules voted for Obama, in faith he would improve their lot. Instead, he’s handed them a death sentence.

“I am now 66 years old; I do /not/ own a home, nor any other considerable asset, so I’m really screwed!

“You are welcome to view my three blog entries on this egregious cross dumped on the shoulders of the poorest, here in California. Do you think pursuing a class action lawsuit is feasible…both against each guilty state, and against the Federal Government? If so, I wonder why the ACLU hasn’t ever bothered to try to rectify this horrendous and deadly abuse by both state and Federal agencies. Here are those three Medi-Cal articles of mine, in chronological order:

Obamacare Defecates on the Poor

Expanded Medicaid = Sick Joke

No PrEP for the Poor

4. Understanding healthcare costs: Medicaid

No comment from this outraged client! They make everything look so generous and accommodating to the low income, I could puke.


And for the rest of you, who live the affluent lifestyle:


Learning to Love Lizards

August 6, 2016

Darshana posts on Facebook:

I am learning to love myself more and more everyday. I try to spend more time in nature to realize how much beauty, earth and life has to offer. I try to not wear much make up all the time, it helps seeing natural beauty we all have. The more you learn to love yourself the more you realize how much this life is so beautiful.
Think positive.
Believe positive.
Live positive.


Zeke responds:

Darshana: For you to reach out like this (to yourself and to others) is the mark of an enlightened soul. I have concluded that all these apparently “imminent” disasters and horror threats are orchestrated by higher forces. Some western belief systems call them “angels” or “fairies,” Buddhists call them “boddhisatvas,” and some UFO conspiracy theorists call them “reptilians” (as I do, though from a benevolent interpretation, as well as humorous). For if these beings are not humorous, then I don’t know what humor is.

Everything terrible is all gonna happen at once: global warming, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, nuclear catastrophes, carbon dioxide and methane air, Islamic jihads, Christian domestic terrorism, poisoned municipal water, Zika virus, super bugs, anti-gay holocaust, mass shooting of blacks, unaffordable health care for all, burgeoning homelessness, collapse of western society, return of Planet X (also called “Wormwood,” “Nibiru,” etc.), zombie apocalypse, and last but not least: Donald Trump for President.

GIMME A BREAK ALREADY!

All these bogeymen rising to the surface from our collective fears actually serve a most compassionate cause: to shake us to our very marrow in order to release our deepest desire to be of good will and do whatever we can to reach out to our neighbors across the globe, with an abundance of joy and good humor.

Remember how a dad or mom would play with their little kid in a tent made of blankets? The parent would stand outside while the child remains securely hidden within, and tickle one side of the tent:

“Boo! The bogeyman’s gonna getcha! Boo!”

The kid would peep out and laugh in ecstatic thrill, then return to hide, this time on the other side of the tent. The parent would then go to /that/ side, to repeat the playful threat…thus the game would continue until one or the other finally gives up for whatever reason.

In the same manner do these reptilians play with us, though on a much grander scale (i.e. “global”). For we are as children to them. Though not in any sort of condescending way. We are their BELOVED children, about to be introduced to The Greater Realm of Reality that is intergalactic in scope, and bursting with countless civilizations, all of whom are benevolent to the max. (With all these incredible star ships and space colonies just oozing with flora and fauna like some ginormous version of The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, or The Original Garden of Eden…but with the most advanced, super quantum technology you can never imagine thrown into the mix.)

And it looks like all this political instability brouhaha is finally getting through to a rapidly increasing number of humans. Those of us who are the First Wave ride the crest like Maui surfers, and see the Great Illusion behind us from an ever increasing distance, while the Great Awakening looms before us on The Shimmering Shores of Metaphysical Utopia.

And in being so privileged with this newly found awareness, we can have TONS OF FUN playing mischief on all those fools yet to wake up. Some of us who now hold positions of power in politics, science, broadcast media, religion, and Goddess only knows what else.

THE POTENTIAL FOR INTERCONTINENTAL MISCHIEF BOGGLES THE MIND!

Let us not lose this brief window of opportunity to fuk with the heads of all those who’ve been fukking with ours for our entire, distraught ridden lives.

ONE GOOD JOKE DESERVES ANOTHER!

I will /not/ offer any suggestions as to exactly /what/ kind of mischief we should dump upon their sorry souls. For that is a big part of the fun about to commence: leaving it to each one of us to come up with our own bad-ass conjury. (For one of the Rules of This Birth-of-Consciousness Game is that we each get only /one/ plot to unravel upon the world stage.) Nonetheless, I’m sure each will be a hoot, a really, really /big/ hoot.

No one religion or belief system can claim to own this, for it is simply nature doing its thing in the right place, at the right time. THIS IS EVOLUTION of the most wonderful sort. Yes, it /is/ awesome, but also something the Angel of Destiny planned all along…thus quite normal in The Universal Scheme of Things.

I don’t think I can top what I’ve just declared in the preceding paragraphs, any time for the rest of this fine day. So I think that, perhaps, I ought to withhold further comments or uploads to Facebook or other social media, simply to honor the scintillating insanity of my words herein.

Sinqueerly yours,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin
Jehovah’s /very/ Queer Witness

P.S.: Don’t forget to write me in come November 4th.


Letter to my Brother, 8/4/16

August 4, 2016

[ Flaboromous Reader: printed out and sent by snail mail, including the image at top. ]


August 4, 2016

Hey there, Vince and Darcy!

Well this is awkward, my brother, as regards your printout sent to me. I googled “obamacare after 76” only to call up a ton of sites claiming this is a hoax that has been running around the Internet since 2009. But I already thought it might be, since the statement “make 20 copies and send to others” set off a little alarm in the back of my head. For this is a common phrase (or one similar) used in chain mail. Be that as it may, there are plenty of justified grievances against Obamacare that I see no reason to make anything up. Bad enough my own struggle to expose expanded Medicaid’s exorbitant share of cost as a death sentence to millions…only to be accused of being a liar and even a right-wing saboteur, by many. But there are folks out there who hear me, and appreciate my courage and efforts to bring out the truth despite difficult odds. So I am making headway.

Regarding my “No PrEP for the Poor” letter in the Castro Courier: the remarkable thing about their publishing it, is that rarely does a newspaper print a letter to the editor that is longer than two paragraphs. But if they really like what you have to say, they usually either pare it down themselves, or contact the author and request he do that himself. This may be vain to declare, but I like to think that whatever I have to say is important to the world, and that I’ve already condensed my essay in as few words as possible to the point where any further subtraction would be detrimental.

So when I send a letter out to this or that publication, I just don’t give a fuk whether or not they think the piece is too long. And, more often than not, I have my way. Besides, all my letters to editors are also posted to my WordPress blog (embellished with eye-catching images, as you already know), my Facebook wall, my Twitter account, my LinkedIn update, my Gay Bible site, and my emailing list.

I certainly hope someone is listening, regarding the import of my letter, and that it will reach and influence the proper channels to right this tragic wrong. But I have long ago concluded that belief in yourself should never be allowed to wither on the vine, simply because the results you seek from any effort are not fulfilled. Or better said: “are not apparent.” No matter how much you busted your cojones. For it is an absurd notion to believe that God does not answer all worthy prayers. Of course He does, just not in your own time, but His. Which leads me into the topic of what I think is the best way to pray:

Prayer is only effective when backed with action. Such as when you, Vince, show your kindness to neighbors by plowing snow from their driveways. But it is also good to set aside some time every night in silent, traditional prayer. Though I think many folks get this wrong…for in their praying they obsess over someone’s worst case scenario every time they kneel down to plead for God’s intercession. Here is what I think is a better way:

The first time you pray for someone suffering tragedy, I guess it’s okay to fantasize “what if” horrid outcomes. But really, worry does no one any good, it only causes further stress and spreads anxiety to others, including perhaps the person for whom you pray. Besides, it only shows one’s lack of faith that God does, indeed, fulfill all compassionate wishes. So after that first prayer–and every prayer thereafter–one ought to thank God ahead of time for answering your prayer. And in so thanking, place an image in your mind of that person’s recovery, and a joyful outcome all around. The rest is in God’s hands, and I assure you: those hands are Grace personified.

Tip straight from Gabriel’s mouth: humor is always a great balm to one who is suffering, when done with kindness.

Please allow me to clarify, though, by saying that, if you sometimes fall back into a worst-case scenario fear while you pray, by no means will God fail you in your time of grief. Nor will your heartfelt plea be any less heard for that. To believe otherwise is, simply, superstition. For praying should never be seen as appeasing God; it is, actually, your soul’s willful desire to share the cross of another. Even if you don’t pray, God know’s the ache in your heart, and is already on it, with the commission of his merciful angels.

It is easy to get bitter, especially if your prayer is not answered in the time you think due. Or “does not seem to be answered,” I should say. For I have found that prayers are oftentimes answered in secret, even to the one who prays. And that is why I know I’ve done a good thing with my letter to the editor…with all my letters to the editor over the years. And why I thank God for answering every one of them, although I may not discern the outcome in this lifetime.

Yet I have been blessed from time to time, with a prayer here or a prayer there, being answered rather quickly, and which I witness with my own eyes. Most recently, regarding my adventures with Zach…but also with Larkin.

My sincerest prayers are with Darcy, that her arthritis clear up promptly. And that she find a long term solution towards easing its ravages, and the pain that goes with it. No matter the source, or how surprising.

In loving memory of Mom and Dad,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin


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