13 December 2011
My dear, handsome Witt:
Writing this letter today, to prove to you that I strongly sensed your wonderful return in my life was imminent. I’ve since printed it out, and kept it secure in a pocket, that I may hand it to you immediately upon our resurrected friendship, wherever and whenever that may be. Another way to say this is: “My angels told me to prepare for your return…and it will only be a few weeks at the most.” This makes me very happy.
Regardless of the ups and downs of our association, I have always admired and appreciated your friendship, as well as your survival skills living on four wheels, scavenging discarded furniture and other valuable detritus for resale at flea markets, and conjuring up delicious victuals out of dumpsters and trash cans. Those founders of the “Freegan Movement” have nothing on you! (In fact, I’m sure you could provide them with many useful tips! Glad you’ve finally found your own disciples, hey little grasshopper? You will be as God to them! You’ll have ’em eatin’ right outta your “Witt’s Outrageous 3 meats/3 Cheeses Mulligan Extra Special Gourmet Stew” hands! Surprise ’em with your utterly delectable vegan version. They’ll never know what hit their tongues, nor ever eat real flesh again.) I especially appreciate how difficult it is in your wanderlust existence–keeping afloat by cunning alone–to accommodate me (or anyone) as your guest, in a renovated bread truck that is your home.
I understand that many years back, you had asked a certain person on the street named Brian (about 6 feet tall, dishwater blonde straight hair, rather ordinary but wide bovine face), if I was still living at 2306 Market. He said to you, “No, he’s not.” Brian’s an idiot, not a real friend…he only knows me a bit from our occasional encounters in the Castro. I never liked him, and am sorry that he misled you. To his credit however, he did approach me about six years ago, and told me you asked about my whereabouts.
Brian said he told you that I was no longer living there (’cause he couldn’t really believe I was, after all those years). He apologized for the misinformation…for the truth is, yes, I still live in that rotten little room in which we shared some rather hellacious good times. As I said, Brian is an idiot. He is a pathetic pinhead who hails from Utah, and decided one day to leave Ogden and never look back (or he’d turn into a pillar of Salt Lake City. He’s still here in SF by the way, looking old and haggard; I wish he’d move back to Moron Land. Get it? “Moron, Mormon”. Ha-ha. How about Morton’s Salt Mines? Ha-ha to the “nth” power.Take my wife…please!) In other words, he’s just a stupid sheeple whom you really should never have relied on, for any information about myself.
Be that as it may, our time apart–though many years at this point (since 1989 I think)–has only made me appreciate you more, with time’s slow passage. We are friends, Witt, real friends. And I’m sorry if any of my own insecurities and neuroses made you hesitate to explore our friendship further, and caused you to be overly careful in continuing what to me, has always been a marvelous adventure.
I realize how difficult it is living out of a truck, and coming to SF to hang with me…considering how Fascist this city has become, and outright hostile to free spirits like yourself, who prefer not to be tied down to renting a unit and becoming frozen for years–perhaps the rest of your lifetime–in the same tiny habitat. I respect and admire your sense of adventure and freedom on the open road. Though I know such a lifestyle is not without hardship, considering how screwed up America has become, in regards to any citizen who chooses to live an alternative lifestyle. (Ironic, eh, considering the 60’s and all that.)
This letter is dragging out, please bear with me, as my angels guide me in how to tell you with what great import and joy i regard your friendship. I have missed you very much, and thought of you every few months or so, with great concern and wishes for your happiness, and hopefully even resuming our friendship where it becomes so much more fun and loving than it’s ever been. Several years back, I even rode my bike out by the Berkeley Marina,
stopping on the way by that roadside bistro where you once parked in the adjoining lot, to celebrate an evening under the stars, by the sand dunes…all three of us. But there was no Witt, no sand dunes any more, and no starry sky. (Yes, sometimes your spirit does call to me, and I know it’s real. And you’re calling to me once more, and thus, this letter.)
FYI, one of the really neat things about you, is you never mess with drugs or alcohol. (Sure wish you’d smoke some killer ganja with me now and then, though!) And your fantastic little dog Wiley…the dingo of bountiful joy and affection named after a Looney Tunes character. It must’ve been one of the worst days in your life, when you lost your quadrupedal buddie to K-9 Heaven. But I’m sure his ebullient little spirit is with you once more, in the vessel of another frisky pup.
Excuse me for being so forward, but I am now 61 years old, which affords me little time for shy innuendos. I love you (and always have; you’re quite the hot dude), and find you to be a most gorgeous and sexy man, with an incredible sense of adventure and “bromance”.
I would be terribly happy just to resume our friendship without anything “risque” going on. But just in case, I figured it would be wise at this point in our lives, to break the ice. I just wish my room were all fixed up real nice and cozy for your return. But alas, it’s still rather a mess since my breakup with another sweet friend, Johnny S., three years ago due to his heroine addiction and father’s sudden death. I don’t know, but I must be the King of Bromance, the list goes on and on and on!
I have spent many lonely years since you disappeared from my life. My old friend John H. moved to Philadelphia in 1996, and my on-and-off “friend” Michael Carl B. died last year in October. (And good riddance to that, I say; he was a nasty old man that hated the devil out of you, and interfered in my life constantly, in most hostile ways.) I do not deserve this, but I must accept that this is my particular path that our creator has chosen, to shape my soul into the best possible person I could be. Nonetheless, I’ve missed you terribly.
The fact of your return only gives me cause for celebration. For it could never have happened if the angels did not see fit to bring us back together. I certainly do not claim to understand the mysteries behind this, but I do have some comprehension of the ways of the Great Spirit.
Now, we are back together again after so many difficult and lonely years. I only ask that you put enough faith in our friendship, to never fear that I would ever want you out of my life. I am sorry that you had doubts about this. I am sorry that dipwad Brian misled you. I also realize that my remaining in the same building as your friend Maxie (and on the same floor, where we even shared a bathroom), may be difficult for you, considering he died from a heroine overdose way, way back in 1987 or so; I really can’t recall the exact year.
Unbelievable to realize that (since Mr. Betza’s most welcome death) I am now the longest-term resident of 2306 (I really don’t want to die here, and become yet one more ghost of Dolores Street Apartments…not when three of the most disgusting people I’ve ever met, also died here, and made my life miserable for a time!) But I am so happy to realize now that you are my hero and good friend, and will rescue me from such a sad demise.
I am more than ready to pack up my few belongings (that would be my netbook, extension cord and a backpack…whenever we pop into a wifi coffeehouse I’ll download some great movies and TV shows we can watch later while holed up in your van overnight), and join you on the Road to Great Adventures. Or, if you’d like, we can keep my room as a convenient rest stop between breaks from our silly highway escapades. Wash the dust off, kick back and enjoy the few good things this cheapskate, backwater, skanky little burg has to offer. (Okay, pardner? Another way to go with this, is to surrender my SRO, thereby freeing up an extra $310 that might be better spent, perhaps on truck maintenance, or doggie care.)
There number about eight fantastically gorgeous and wonderful men I have had the great honor to know over many years (starting in 1969 where I met my first true love Robert Matthew Childers in Columbia, Missouri), share some great times (and fall in love) with, and wished for something more permanent than a few years’ togetherness, then *poof* they’re gone forever, like it was all just a fantastic dream.
You are definitely one of these excellent men. I even wrote an Ice Age Bromance about us, called “Dream on: Encounter with a Neanderthal“. You are also the cop-centurion “DeWitt” in my testosterone inspired homo sci-fi tale, “The Mask of Horus“. Who knows? You might even be the “Pa” in my animated decal “Padonna & Child“. If so, it was subliminally inspired. But now that I think about it, Pa does look suspiciously like you, in that he likewise has your bulky, broad-shouldered stature (though you’re certainly not hairy or bald like this Pa, but I suspect you want to be incognito in the animated gif, perhaps to surprise me years later, such as this very moment).
I love you Witt, and am so incredibly happy to see you again. Let’s kick some ass and have a hell of a good time. You, me, and your little pup Wily III (or perhaps IV or even V by now).
Love, friendship, and sincerest regards,
Zeke a.k.a. Gene
PS: I legally changed my name to “Ezekiel Krahlin,” back in 1996…but please feel free to continue to call me “Gene Catalano.” if that is your pleasure. I did it only to spiritually divorce myself from my blood family; they don’t deserve me. I have never forgotten that cold, starry night when you pulled up across the street late in the wee dark hours, and hollered through a loudspeaker so robustly as to wake up the dead: “Catalano! You awake?” I nearly pooped my pajamas…people heard you more than two blocks away! God bless you, Witt. (John H., you were still living there 2 stories up in 404, you remember that night.)