His Name Is Love

March 31, 2013

[ Free Me From This Bond (the sequel): Chapter 5 ]

Date: Thu, 28 Mar 2013 09:59:02
Another vision…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…though in the dream state, I was still asleep. The previous two visions were in a totally conscious waking state. Here goes:

I am with a group of folks numbering around 18, and we’re on an outing in another town. Don’t know what the outing’s about: maybe to visit a museum, watch a play, attend a convention…something like that. The town itself seems kinda small, like everything rolls up after 9 PM. But it’s a pretty town, lots of trees and little houses.

It is early evening; the sun’s still out but soon to descend below the horizon. We’re gathered in a sort of lobby or entranceway: spacious with but a few chairs and tables, and some snack bars and magazine/book stands that are now all closed (seeing as it’s after 5). The lights inside are dimmed; the ambience is mellow.

Our group mills about, chatting and in good spirits. Though it seems as if there are no particular plans for the evening, or the event (or whatever it is) was cancelled, or our guide screwed up and took us to the wrong town. I therefore feel a bit lost, though the folks are all friendly, and I’m even hitting up on a buff little dude 2-3 inches shorter than myself (I’m 5-foot-7).

I’m exceedingly hungry at this point, but all the food courts are shut down for the night. Across the street is a diner, though I hesitate to break from the group, as I fear they might vanish and leave me behind. Next thing I know, we’re all gathered on the lawn out front, still split up in small groups of two or three, merrily chit-chatting. The sky is now growing dark as the evening sets in.

Then I notice a very tall guy (Larkin’s height: 6-foot-4) smiling at me, and talking in a soft voice about something that I can’t discern from five yards away. He’s African-American, nicely dressed in a long trench coat. Comely, though more average looking than handsome. At least, that’s how he appears until I approach him, stand just a few feet distant, and look up at his face. No, he’s not average looking at all:

He’s absurdly gorgeous! Facial features all tightly arranged and spaced apart just right, with sharp, clean lines and beautifully toned skin (like really strong coffee with lots of Half-&-Half mixed in). Flawless! The more I gaze at him, the better looking he becomes. I kiss him. In my mind’s eye, that is.

We decide to check out the diner, in hopes of quieting our grumbling stomachs…so depart from our group and cross the street. Upon entering, we discover the diner closing up. The two workers there–cashier and cook–ignore us completely, so we just stand inside awhile, drooling at the yummy cakes and pies we will never taste. And then we exit.

From two blocks away we spy a corner liquor/grocery store raised upon wide steps of granite…like maybe it was a courthouse back in the days of horse and buggy. We enjoy pleasant conversation on the way there.

Alas, that shop, too, is shutting down for the day. The lone clerk is wiping away smudges from the glass counter around the cash register. She is a matronly lady of middle age, skinny, and dour. Yet friendly enough…though obviously unwilling to make a sale after-hours, no matter how desperate our hunger.

Just a few feet away and down all three aisles sits a vast array of delectable snacks and condiments: wrapped in cellophane, boxed, canned, or resting in open stainless steel trays and pots with large serving spoons and ladles poking out. These trays/pots hold the delectable remains of today’s homemade vittles: macaroni and cheese, chicken barley soup, grandma’s lasagna, egg salad for stuffing sandwiches in crunchy French rolls, wedges of iceberg lettuce slathered in four kinds of dressing, and so on. IOW:

Enough to serve a small scout troop just back from hiking the trails outside this Bradbury-an little burg.

With a heavy sigh, my new companion and I exit through the door like two defeated warriors. A bell tinkles behind us as we drag ourselves back down those lovely pink and white granite steps.

But while descending, I pause to ask his name.

“My name is Love,” he gently replies; and again, adores me with a smile.

“Love?” I swirl an index finger in my right ear, thinking I misheard him. “Did you say your name is Love?”

He grabs my arm in kindness, that I won’t stumble. And speaks once more:

“Yes. You heard me correctly. My name is Love.”

I chuckle: “Oh, I can’t call you that. No way!”

And that’s when I wake up.

What intrigues me (after a few hours’ hindsight) is that I know this man called Love is Larkin. Since I believe he is an angel, he can change his appearance whenever it suits him…and visit me in dreams and visions. In this case he appeared to me as an African-American. The evening just before this dream, I had sent my 2nd letter to Larkin, c/o Twin Peaks Tavern. But get this:

The postage stamp I used this time did not depict the American flag; instead it was a lovely image of Rosa Parks…a black woman!

– Zeke

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 10:12:02

Subject: Re: Fukkin text editor!

From: Zeke

To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ I think you’ll like this:

http://redroom.com/member/eleanor-cooney/blog/she-walks-among-us }}

Like it? I deliriously, scintillatingly, madly LOVE it. It is a gem. It is a prayer. It is a treasure from the heart of Egypt, in backwater bumtown Sack O’ Tomatoes.

I feel I’ve just been washed by the sacred waters of Avalon.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. We’re gonna have so much FUN when we finally get together. Probably late this year or early next, when my book’s a raging bestseller and Larkin is my bodyguard. I wouldn’t dream of excluding your paramour, Mitch, in any of our revelries, unless he needs to deal with other matters more important.

I’ll have 11 other bodyguards, too. All hunky, all lovers, all day and all night. And also:

all armed.

Armed to the teeth: those gorgeous pearly whites that send radiant beams of brotherly love and torrid male orgasms that shower my soul with aqua vitae. Good thing I know how to swim…or at least, doggie paddle (being the sexy werewolf that I am).

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 28 Mar 2013 16:26:33

Subject: Just a reminder…

From: Zeke

To: S. Rohan

…that the absolute deadline for your illustrations is April 10. No ifs, ands or buts. I must have my finished manuscript delivered by April 12. That gives me two days to scan and adapt your images for my book.

It has been rather tortuous for moi that you’ve dragged out your work down to the very last minute. Yet I understand, as you’ve just been through two terrible crises (death of your father and favored aunt), for which I honorably share your burden. And for which I know has helped you through this most difficult passage, by putting some joy and dignity into your life.

But there comes a time when I absolutely must release my book (with or w/o your remarkable talent), for it has to do with saving many lives. And I can not delay any further!

Should you not complete the illustrations by said date, I will nonetheless accept your drawings whenever they are done. And, assuming my first novel becomes a bestseller (which I’m sure it will, as I know my destiny), I will later publish a “special edition” that includes your images, along with additional and smaller illustrations by Jesse Balmer (whose artwork is on display at Howard’s Cafe), scattered throughout the chapters.

I have no anger towards you, “S.”: nothing but great reverence for your work, and the difficult trials that have come upon you during this time.

Much love,


Thu, 28 Mar 2013 18:29:57

Subject: Yet another vision…

From: Zeke

To: Eleanor

…this time in the shower today, before I step out to dine at Howard’s Cafe.

Larkin has just moved into a room on my floor, that shares the same bathroom with me. I’m walking down the hallway about to take a shower, when he steps out, also ready to shower. I tell him: “Oh, you go first, I can wait.” Whence he replies:

“No, Zeke, you go first.”

“No, I insist: you go first.”

He demands: “No, Zeke, you go first.”

At which point we tussle to enter the bathroom door. Somehow, we squeeze through together, and we both disrobe to take a shower. Larkin declares:

“Maybe we should shower together. There’s a drought you know, and this will save water.”

I ignore him, draw the curtain aside, and prepare to lather up. Larkin joins me a short while after, and notices me gliding the 5-blade disposable razor across my head and chest.

“Wow! So you shave your body, eh?”

“Yes I do,” I explain. “Including my armpits once a week, and balls and butt crack each day.”

“Really?” he inquires. “Can I finish you off. That is: your balls and anus?”

“Well, okay,” I allow. “Just no funny stuff, alright?”

With that, he eagerly (but gently) shaves my balls, then tells me to lean against the wall and bend over, that he can groom my ass crack.

So I do just that, and in a moment I feel a hard, fleshy-fat knob attempting to penetrate my butt hole.

“Stop that!” I declare. “Just shave my rectum and be done with it!”

And so he does. For a few moments afterwards, we embrace and kiss, sliding boners in mutual delight as I massage his luxuriant hair with baby shampoo. Before stepping out, we cum in fountains beneath the hot pellets of water drops so kindly brought to us by the San Francisco Public Utilities Department.

After toweling off (each drying the other), and putting our bathrobes back on, he grabs my arm and compels me into his apartment just several yards down the hall, facing 16th Street. Whence he pulls me onto the bed, and embraces me in sweet affection. I weep upon his chest in cleansing tears of gratitude.

He kisses me all over, and I grow hard again. I cannot believe this is happening; my joy is beyond exquisite. And I kiss him on the lips, as his tears flow down and onto my tongue.

And that’s the end of my “shower vision.”

Barely one week ago, David (the person presently occupying that apt.) told me he found a lover, and is moving to Long Beach in less than three weeks.

In the past six years, every time Larkin has moved to another residence, he’s that much closer to my own building. Right now, he lives up 17th Street, barely a block away. So I guess the next step is to move into my building. And after that, we’ll find a nice apartment where we’ll live together. I surmise that will happen after my book is published, becomes a bestseller, and I can afford to provide for us both…with much more money to spare, that I can also manage quality health insurance for us two lovebirds.

Though I suspect that Larkin’s low income and couch hopping is merely a cover, that he can fulfill his duties as detective, and root out the scumbags that have caused much tragedy South of Market, including what they’ve done to me, which resulted in three years’ memory loss due to mild brain damage. I actually believe that Larkin is quite wealthy, due to his connections with certain affluent folks in our Gay Community. But also consider this: he is most likely one of God’s Great Angels, for whom money is not a concern. IOW: this is a grand play orchestrated by enlightened spirits, whose mission is to fulfill an incredible fantasy where I am the hero. And Larkin is the conductor.

Nonetheless, I’ve had many visions over the years, of Larkin moving into my building. This, I now realize, is not simply my own wishful thinking, but a prophetic vision that now appears to soon fulfill my incredible (and benevolent) destiny. Some years back–after his SOMA room above the old Hole in the Wall burned down (and I was kidnapped, dosed and left for dead), and he disappeared from my life under my fear that he became homeless (and for which I prayed and worried that he’d be okay)–he resurfaced right across 16th Street from my building, working as barback, to keep the place tidy and drive out anyone who presented difficulties.

How I discovered his return into my life, was because I’m in the habit of walking down the hallway to a window at the end, where I can check out the weather better than I can from my own windows.

That day when I looked out the hallway window, I saw Larkin standing on the deck of the Metro Bar (now long defunct), which was on the same level as my domicile: the second floor. To refresh your memory as to this discovery, I now refer you to this article, “A Larkin Reverie,” some years back:


But I also have this fear: that Larkin will move in and totally ignore me, like I’m just an awful pest in his life. He might shove me whenever our paths cross in the hallway, and invite all sorts of gorgeous dudes to his place, and make very loud sexual sounds that I can’t avoid but hear while using the bathroom (which is right next to the apartment that I believe he will soon occupy).

Which means further grief and tears shed on my part, at least several times per day. Egads! In such a case, hell for me will mean Larkin’s sadistic vengeance, because he rebels against my affectionate friendship. Probably because he’s been badly hurt in the past, by a lover who turned sour.

But if such be the case, I’ll slide letters under his door, declaring patience and friendship through it all. Until he softens his antagonism towards me, and realizes I’m his very best friend for all time. Though I must say:

If this is what comes down, I’m surely the most devoted friend any gay man could ever hope to have. Or I’m a big, fat fool.

With great respect and love,

– Zeke

PS: Do you think Twosome Press will censor my shower scene? Hopefully, my first published book will allow me to have free reigns over what I would like to publish next!

Date: Sun, 31 Mar 2013 11:05:46

Subject: Postcard to Larkin…

From: Zeke

To: Eleanor

…c/o Twin Peaks Tavern of course, since I have no other way to reach him (even person-to-person any more). Front and back attached to this missive. (Click on either image below, for a larger view.)

While blunt in my message to him, I did use a sense of humor up to a point. Just in case he was acting out a test (or initiation) per the GPMC’s strategy. (That’s what I call this mysterious group of enlightened gays South of Market: Gay Pagan Motorcycle Club…as revealed in Chapter 9 of my first book.) Which test is, in my surmisal:

To see if I have the guts to break up with one I most love, should he begin to display any sort of violence. I presume I passed w/frying crullers. 0_o Good grief, if so many great things hadn’t happened between us over the years, and if he had ever before acted abusive towards me in any way, shape or form; I would’ve dropped our friendship like a hot yam. If this be a test, they sure made it grievous to the max. Well, you helped me through by your kind patience and regard. Certainly, my angels have placed a gold star in The Book of Eleanor for that!

Glad that some good things have occurred for me, these last two days. For one: Matt approached me on 18th Street near Hartford, and apologized profusely for his foul behavior several months back. I believe I mentioned him in an earlier email: homeless dude who plays excellent keyboard and guitar. He’s now doing gigs on the street with a black dude named Derrick.

In fact, Matt was so sorry for walking around the Castro, hollering and calling me “pervert,” and trying to start a fight. I told him:

“Look, I’ll be honest. I do have sex with the homeless…but it’s rare, and only when the other person is mature and stable enough, and really wants to boink around.” I further explain:

“The queers w/roofs over their head reject me, ’cause I don’t have a car, nice apartment, or lots of cash to toss around. My only friends are those on the streets, so of course I fall in love with some of them, and we have sex.”

“I understand,” he said. “You’re actually a good guy, and again, I’m very sorry.”

This really cheered me up (in contrast to Larkin’s shoving me some days back, right around the corner). Gave him a hug, and said I’ll look for him again soon, and do a blog about his street music. Video, photos and all.

For two: I met this really neat Brit named Kevin, at Howard’s Cafe. Gave me his card; he’s a journalist for a radio station in Nottingham, England. Short in height, burly in a skinny sort of way, bald, around 38 years old and rather handsome. Of course, I talked about my upcoming novel and activist tales. Directed him to The Little Shamrock Irish pub just two blocks down from Howard’s. One of the waitrons here, Bobbie, also works at that pub…which I believe is the second oldest bar in San Francisco. Kevin mentioned visiting the gay bars here in the Castro.

“Oh,” I advised, “the gay bars South of Market are much more fun. Rough and tumble compared to the Castro, which bars are a lot more conservative and stuffed-shirt. In fact, the best gay bar on the planet is in SOMA: Hole in the Wall Saloon. All sorts of fun, you can lick a cute boy’s armpit for the price of a cheap drink.” Kevin chuckled at that. “That’s where I first met Larkn.” Then finished with:

“And the next best gay bar on the planet is also located in that same neighborhood: Eagle Tavern. It’s also the second main place where Larkin and I hanged out.”

Sadly (more for myself and SF than him), the day I met Kevin was his last day in San Francisco. He’s flying to Austin, Texas today. BTW, he also runs a blog at WordPress like myself, address:


You may read his writeup about yours truly there, in the “USA 2013″³ section (see link in rightside menu bar).

So it’s Easter Sunday. This time last year, I was totally convinced Larkin would surprise me with a marriage proposal, at Dolores Park. (See Chapter 8 of “Free Me From This Bond” to learn about that scenario.) The Sisters hold an Easter festival there each year. For these past few days I wondered “should I go to the park again?” I’ve decided NO, it would just wind up being another depressing outcome. And of course if he does soon propose, I’ll have to turn him down…in light of our recent confrontation.

Well, Howard’s is open today, so I’m gonna wrap up this letter, take a shower and truck on down there.

Of course, I’ll put my clothes on first. (This is Easter after all, not my birthday!)

Ahead of the Curve

March 27, 2013

[ Free Me From This Bond (the sequel): Chapter 4 ]

Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2013 00:49:26
“The Burgler Who Liked to Quote Kipling”
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

That’s the title of a book I found in a free box during my hike up and down these hills. Author is Lawrence Block, and the book’s subtitle: “A Bernie Rhodenbarr Mystery.” (Notice I’ve begun the new habit of placing periods/commas/etc. within quotes, seeing as my preferred style of punctuating is British, and thus considered errors by Twosome Press proofreaders. Odd when you consider they, too, use British punctuation, hailing as they do from Canada.) Anywayz:

The book is actually a galley of uncorrected proofs. (Did I use “galley” correctly, here?) I love finding books no one else has even heard of. At the old SF library (now the Asian Art Museum), I used to wander the stacks and search for books that no one has opened in 30 or more years. Whenever I found such a prize, I’d caress it, smell the ancient leaves and dust on the edges.

Then I’d tell the soul who created this book, that he (or she) is not yet forgotten. Leaf through it, check out any illustrations, and read a paragraph here and there.

But instead of checking it out, I’d place it back on the shelf and search for my next treasure.

– Zeke

Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2013 01:36:32
Do you know Isabel Allende?
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Just asking because of yet another intense vision I had yesterday. Like so:

You, Eleanor a.k.a. Morticia, post me an email where you type: “I’m going to put you in contact with a famous author.”

“Incredible! Who would that be?” I post back.

You: “It’s a surprise, so you’ll just have to wait. She’ll phone you in a day or two.”

Well, at least I now know the author is female. The next day I receive a phone call from a lady with a sweet, angelic voice and a hint of Spanish accent.

“Hello Mr. Krahlin,” she begins. “This is Isabel Allende. How are you today?”

I am so ecstatic that I forget to speak. Isabel Allende!

“Mr. Krahlin? Are you there?” she giggles.

“Oh, oh, I’m here alright. Had to pinch myself to make sure this isn’t a dream.”

Isabel continues: “Our mutual friend Eleanor Cooney has been in touch with me for some months about your superb tales on WordPress.”

“Oh fantastic,” I exclaim to catch my breath. “This is a tremendous honor, Ms. Allende!”

“Please call me Isabel. I’d like that.”

“Then you must call me Zeke. I’d like that very much, Isabel.”

“Alright Zeke. Now, I understand you are going to soon self-publish your first book called “˜Free Me From This Bond’?”

“Correct, and I’m so excited to hold it in my hand. I don’t think I’ll ever let go of it, once I do!”

Isabel laughs like wind chimes: “Zeke, I’ve read your book, the online version of course. You are an exquisitely talented author!”

I am delirious from her compliment, but somehow manage to unchoke my vocal chords to respond: “I think Larkin has something to do with that, so we both thank you with great joy.”

“Well, Mr. Krahlin…oops, Zeke…” her voice hovers about my right ear like a hummingbird. “I will make sure you get published, even if “˜Free Me From This Bond’ doesn’t make many sales. You are such a treasure, that I’m determined to get the ball rolling, if needed. The entire world needs to hear your message that comes through so lovely and honest from your pen.”

I take a deep gulp as my heart beats rapidly: “Oh Isabel, you’ve made my dreams come true! How can I ever thank you?”

“Oh that’s easy. Once I return from vacation to my home in Tiburon, let’s get together. We’ll have a British style tea party at my place, with a few other guests whose company I’m certain you’ll enjoy.”

“I’d love to meet you, Isabel. How soon can that happen?”

“I’ll return home in a week. So really soon. I’ll contact you again by that time, to set the date.”

“Thank you so much Isabel!”

“It is you who should be thanked, Zeke!” Isabel’s laughter is a balm to my ears. “One day soon the world will fall in love with you, Zeke. I already love you.”

Then we say our goodbyes, and I contact you via email to tell you all about my unforgettable conversation with Isabel Allende.

Am I ahead of the curve, or what?

– Zeke

Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2013 01:36:32
Do you know Isabel Allende?
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ If I did know Isabel Allende, I would certainly introduce you to her. }}

My visions are always quite potent, and never wrong or inaccurate. Though at times the characters or places or items in them are metaphorical. I therefore assume the latter, in your case. For you are a very kind person, the salt of the earth so to speak…as is Ms. Allende. Therefore, I surmise:

You, myself and Allende are connected in the spiritual sense. Interesting that her writing is described as “…written in the style of magic realism, which uses fantasy and myth to override time and place.” This from:


For I, too, use fantasy and myth to embellish my true tales. Her early life is filled with tragedy, as was mine. Another quote from same link:

“Several months after her uncle’s assassination and the overthrow of Chile’s coalition government in 1973, Allende left Chile and found refuge in Venezuela.”

She founded the “Isabel Allende Foundation” in 1996, which purpose is: “…guided by a vision of a world in which women have achieved social and economic justice. This vision includes empowerment of women and girls and protection of women and children.” See:


Her inspiration for starting this foundation is (quoting from that same URL): “…to pay homage to my daughter, Paula Frias. Paula’s untimely death in 1992 broke my heart. She was only twenty-eight years old when she died, a graceful and spiritual young woman, the light of our family.”

1996 also marks the year I changed my name. Seeing as a piece of my soul departed with Randolph Taylor’s disappearance from my life; possibly his death. So Gene Catalano left along with him, and Zeke Krahlin was born.

I would not be surprised if Isabel has read some of my writings, including one or more pieces in which your name is prominent, such as “Eleanor, My Muse”, located here:


In fact, Google “eleanor my muse,” and you’ll see the link appear second from the top! Though I prefer duckduckgo.com for my search engine, which shows my “muse” piece as numero uno on the results page.

Though at this point, many of my tales and essays include your name. Which makes it even more likely that Isabel discovered Eleanor Cooney…if indeed she’s perused my works online.

My gifted tales, essays and poems after all, have been out in cyberspace since 1997…both on my gay-bible.org site and Usenet; and later, on tblog.com and WordPress. Without my knowledge, I may very well have become (over these many years) a secretly celebrated author not just by the LGBT Community, but among various authors and literary circles around the planet.

{{ Does she live in Tiburon?? }}

I believe so, if I recall correctly, from a news article I read two or three years ago. She definitely lives in Marin County. Can’t find right now, any article affirming this. In fact, I just discovered her Marin County treatise on poverty in that region, which states she resides in San Rafael:


Though I’m certain I read she lives in Tiburon in that earlier article. Perhaps she moved a bit later?

Most curious my connection with the Allende family out of Chile. In 1972 I had won a fellowship as an anthropology major at the Univ. of Missouri (Columbia) to live among the native tribes in Tierra del Fuego, Chile…thanks to my anthropology advisor Dr. Richard Erhard Krause.

Dr. Krause was BTW, a most handsome and tall (6-foot-3) individual, half German and half Lakota. Wavy black hair, deliciously skinny frame, onyx eyes, and quite a rebellious spirit. IOW: a real boner enticement! We came very close to having a torrid affair that would’ve become the greatest scandal ever, on that campus. He was quite comely and offered me countless career opportunities, that I should’ve gotten the hint and opened my fly in gratitude. But I was still severely repressed, considering the homophobic society we live in. 0_o

Unfortunately, a short time later our gov’t had suspended all University collaboration with Chile, in retaliaton for then-Chilean-President, Salvadore Allende. For he reclaimed the rights to Chile’s copper mines that other nations, including the USA, had owned. Quote:

“According to the Popular Unity [ Unidad Popular – UP] coalition , Chile was being exploited by parasitic foreign and domestic capitalists. The government therefore moved quickly to socialize the economy, taking over the copper mines, other foreign firms, oligopolistic industries, banks, and large estates.”

See for yourself, at:


Isabel Allende is a niece of Chile’s former Pres. Allende. Who was assassinated in 1973…most likely by our own CIA operatives.

Guess I should inform you at this time, I had a double major: anthropology and Spanish (w/minors in journalism and geology). In fact, it was my Spanish advisor, Dr. Margaret Peden, who introduced me to her husband William, who headed the University’s English department.

Mainly because she was most impressed by my writing skills. Ms. Peden is renowned for being the top authority on Latin American short stories and theater…including translating many excellent works from Spanish into English. While her husband, William, published what is still considered the best biography ever, of Thomas Jefferson. He is also regarded as an expert on English and American short story authors. In addition, he published his own tales with great accolades.

They acknowledged my own gift in writing, and invited me out for dinner once or twice. But at that time I was too immersed in medical issues (facial deformation brought about by a mugging in NYC, stabbed in the face numerous times, which led to gross infections for more than six years).

While William Peden passed on a decade or more ago, I believe Margaret is still alive, though probably in her 90″²s. Wikipedia has some dope on her:


Guess this latest email missive begins Chapter 4 of “Free Me From This Bond- the sequel.”

Love ya always,

– Zeke

Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2013 20:32:05
Re: Do you know Isabel Allende?
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Fascinating!!!!!!!! }}

Thank you. Only today–after reviewing my past in this manner–did I come to appreciate how fascinating. I’m sure you’ll find the next two missives following the “Allende” post equally intriguing.

– Zeke

Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2013 19:58:37
Letter to Sal
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Grist for the creative mill, I guess. Sal is a very hot and gorgeous man. Sent this letter via snail mail:

27 March 2013

My Dear Sal,

I’m most sorry to inform you that my building mgr. does not care to “get involved” re. Carl Betza. Which I find most unusual and disappointing, as he’s always been very kind to me even while others have been antagonistic. Why he doesn’t care to give me basic information about Carl’s date of death, and where he’s buried (etc.) is something I don’t understand.

You should know that Carl’s last several years on this planet were marked by a sudden turn against me…after so many years being a good friend and confidant. He did everything possible, to scare new residents away from me by spreading awful gossip. This, I believe, is why you came off as a bit hostile towards me some years back, when I saw you in the building and/or let you in to visit Carl. (Too many years have passed to remember the particulars.)

But Carl didn’t stop there: he also spread hatred against me on the streets here in the Castro. Thus making it impossible to cultivate new friendships, and keep me in further isolation. He was the remaining antagonist among a group of 2306 residents, who did much damage towards my ability to make friends. They have all ended up with most unhappy lives, some now dead, including at least one who committed suicide.

But I take the Buddhist spin: “We have no enemies, only teachers.” Thus I hold no grudge against Carl or anyone else who’s sabotaged my life. I consider them my tough task masters, that I may grow in spirit and learn how to rise above such difficulty via the compassionate route.

For this reason, I am more than happy to look into Carl’s final days, his burial place, and so on…that you may eventually write a memorial to him, and expose our corrupt health system that allows the low-income elderly to perish years before their time. After all, I am one such.

Though hopefully, my upcoming novel will become a bestseller, and I can fulfill my dreams, as well as finally have decent health care. One of these dreams is to open a home for severely disabled lesbian and gay veterans, and employ my street buddies with a living wage, including complete health care (including dental), and five weeks’ vacation every year. They can be caretakers, companions, drivers, garden and building maintainers, cooks, bookkeepers, etc.. Whatever suits them.

I just have no idea how to go about it (discovering info re. Carl’s death), yet. But I promise: I will do my best to figure out how to dig up such vital information. If you have any suggestions how to accomplish this, I’d be most grateful. For Carl was a really good friend far more years than he was an enemy.

It is interesting that at this time and space, we’ve found a common ground. Though sadly, over the death of a mutual friend. Be that as it may, I understand that life sometimes throws us a ball out of left field, for which we must take it and run. (I’m not a sports fan, so not sure if this metaphor is apt.)

I dropped into your coffeehouse several times over the past week, to assure you I’m looking into matters…but that my building mgr. has made himself quite scarce for some days. It is but several minutes ago that I finally spoke with him, only to receive an uncooperative response.

You are more than welcome to contact me in this “Betza Mystery” most any time you’d like. I really want to assure you: I am more than glad to assist you with this project, in spite of a dark association with Carl during his remaining years. I have no enemies, only teachers. Please feel free to call me at the phone number above, or write me. Or even email me at:


Most sincerely,

Zeke Krahlin

Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2013 20:00:09
2nd letter to Larkin
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Well, I’ve had to think hard and long about this one, but out it went
via snail mail:

27 March 2013

My Dear Larkin,

I know I gave you my word that I would never send you another letter c/o Twin Peaks Tavern. But because you broke an unspoken trust by shoving me the other night, I take the old saying to heart:

All’s fair in love and war.

Because you’ve given me no other way to contact you, what else can I do? But I do assure you:

You shall never receive one more letter from me, to Twin Peaks or anywhere else; it’s over.

Nonetheless: I don’t care if this second letter screws up your social life at that bar. For you’ve screwed with me in a very bad way. And if that happens, and you are angered at me as a result:

I don’t even care if you injure or kill me. I have no protection from the crazies here in the Castro, as I’ve never had a single friend to defend me. In fact, the rare times I’ve been physically attacked in my own neighborhood, people just stand by and laugh…not a single one calls 911, let alone stands in my defense, or shows compassion in any other way. At 62 years old, and with no real friends for decades (forget any lovers), I’m ready to leave the planet.

None of this is worth it. I guess only God knows my real greatness, but my rewards are in the afterlife.

I’ve enjoyed the many pranks you’ve played on me. Yet, in no other prank until this latest one, have you ever been violent to me in any way, shape or form. Shoving me so hard as you did, crosses the line. I could’ve easily fallen and injured myself, including a broken arm or rib. You are a big man, far more powerful than myself. I could never beat you back, nor would I want to. I thought you were my protector and avenger. Foolish me. I fell in love with a bully.

For some days now, I’ve thought this over. A powerful vision came to me two days ago, where I entered the Eagle Tavern, and you proposed to me. Turns out that the Eagle held a surprise party for me, where you asked my hand in marriage. And I said yes. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence performed the marriage ceremony.

Of course, your sweet message on my answering machine tipped me off that you pranked me once again. Though in my distraught feelings over our latest encounter, I erased your message after hearing it twice. If I remember correctly, it was thus:

“Hello Zeke. You are a very nice man, and have always been good to me. Just don’t do it again.”

I could kick myself for not saving that message to my computer, so I could hear it whenever. Nonetheless, you did shove me. Not only was it humiliating, but quite a heartbreak. I never dreamed you’d get physical with me, in any way that could be threatening or violent. I realize that the phrase “Just don’t do it again” was a reference to the time you pranked me at the old Hole in the Wall. Yet, soon after you left that kind message, you shoved me, as if I were just some fukked up punk on the streets giving you a hard time.

For a couple of days, I was ecstatic because of this vision (and your sweet message). But it remains a trouble in my heart, that you shoved me. And you did so after leaving me your kind message. Which phrase comes to mind: “Yanking my chain.”

Don’t know how you could ever make this up to me. Though I pray you will find an answer to just that. But at this point–should you ask to marry me–I’ll have to say NO. For if I said “yes,” it would be a signal that it’s okay to be abusive, and I’ll just stand by you, regardless. You’ve certainly put me between a rock and a hard place. Should this surprise party manifest, and you propose marriage before everyone there, I will have to turn you down, and say that because you shoved me without cause or provocation, I must say “drop dead.”

It will take 2-4 months to wean myself offa you…after which time my love for you will be dead. I guess you’re more of an asshole than I ever imagined. I cannot bear the idea of walking by Twin Peaks and pausing to remember what could have been. I was only encouraging you to think about my disappearance from your life, when I said I’m moving to Portland. Until some moments ago, I thought I could never really vanish from your existence. For I thought such an outcome would grieve you terribly.

But as it turns out, I really don’t want to have the memory of another failed friendship haunting me as I stroll through the Castro. Nor even be tormented with the memory of your short visit in my humble room. Don’t know how I’ll ever move to Portland, as (though I could afford the rent), I have no friends or connections there. Perhaps I will camp out up there for a few months, until something comes through. And perhaps I will change my name again, that you will never find me.

You are not the first man I’ve loved dearly, only to have things fall apart some months or years later. It’s the story of my life. No way will I ever bother to love another again, but finish out my life alone, drowned in books and daydreaming.

There is no reason we couldn’t have become good friends, after so many years of my reaching out to you…and the extraordinary kindnesses you have shown me. Albeit sporadic, otherwise treating me like the worst nuisance ever. After so much caring about you, is this all it comes to: telling your friends I’m your stalker? And you now live barely a block away from me. Something is really wrong with you, buddy, and it’s not for me to be your latest victim! (Unless I’m a sucker for punishment, which I am not.)

The very real fact that you shoved me–and shoved me hard–puts a monkey wrench in the entire scenario. I can’t really believe how badly I’ve been treated for over 30 years here in San Francisco, in spite of my dedication and sacrifices. Mine has been a very lonely life, and apparently, is destined to remain so. Good riddance. There is no marriage taking place, as far as I’m concerned. Good luck with the rest of your seemingly happy life. I will not ever bother with you again. And I guess that’s what you really want, though I’m sure you’ve had oodles of fun playing cat and mouse with me. That, too, is over.

Most sincerely (and with much regret),

Zeke Krahlin

PS: I still have that second set of Scooby-Doo dominoes, if you want them. Otherwise, they’re going into the trash.

Letter To Joseph

March 25, 2013

[ Free Me From This Bond (the sequel): Chapter 3 ]

[ Benevolent Reader: don’t really know why all of a sudden I decided to toss this rather old letter into my latest novel. I guess perhaps, this is my desire to tell Joseph how much he means to me, in spite of his dumping me, then becoming one of the worst enemies I’ve ever known.

Joseph: if you ever read this chapter, please know that when I changed my name from Eugene Frank Catalano to Ezekiel Joseph Krahlin way back in 1996, (a form of witness protection that has nothing to do with you) I chose my middle name based on the sweet memory of our brief, but splendid, affair. Since then, the rare times we’ve bumped into each other, you’ve treated me like some sort of evil scum.

Thus, you never really gave me the chance to tell you how much I appreciate the good times we did have. Otherwise, I’d have never chosen your first name, to become the middle part of my new monicker.

Bless you, Joseph, wherever you may be right now. I’m so sorry things didn’t work out for us; but you must know that I sure tried to rectify our disagreements. Unfortunately, to no avail. ]

If the following image is not large enough to read easily, please use the “increase font size” command in your browser.

I’ll Push You Back!

March 24, 2013

[ Free Me From This Bond (the sequel): Chapter 2 ]

[ Heartfelt Reader: please realize that the name “Phillip” in the previous chapter, was a psuedonym for “Larkin.” This is due to a temporary bump in our relationship, and nothing more. Yet for the sake of posterity, I’ve kept the name “Phillip” in Chapter 1. ]

Date: Sat, 23 Mar 2013 17:21:33
Keith, why haven’t you invited me over?
From: Zeke
To: Keith

Just wondering. Last time you welcomed me, was because I put a bit of pressure on you, by expressing the difficult situation I was in. I really don’t care to see someone based on a guilt trip. This is not intended to coerce you to invite me over again, BTW…I have too much pride.

When you said I’m more than welcome to drop over (even w/a homeless friend) whenever I see the light on in back:

Well, I don’t often pass by that part of the “˜hood, so whether or not the light is on is irrelevant. Though some weeks back I did walk by that area and saw that light on. So I came to your gate and pressed the buzzer. Someone came down to answer, but he said both you and Gus were out at moment. So I said “sorry” and moved on.

If you love me so much, I kind of expected you to contact me once a month or so, to get together…whether at your place on Collingwood, or elsewhere. I realize my room is a shambles, and I don’t expect you or anyone else to visit me here, for that reason.

I have no doubt as to your affections towards me. And has nothing to do with what I just stated above. If it is your preference to just stay in contact via email–in spite of being barely one block away–okay, I’ll live with that.

BTW, you should know that my hero Larkin, also lives barely a block away. Yet he, too, never invites me over, nor even has given me his apartment number, that I can send him a letter now and then. He doesn’t bother w/computers or Internet, so emailing him is out of the question. Therefore, the only chances I get to see this beautiful man, is on the streets whenever our paths cross. That happens about once every two weeks.

What is most curious, is that Larkin lives now on 17th Street, almost directly across from you and Gus! How ironic that both yourself and Larkin have put me in a rather distant space. Psychologically speaking, in spite of our close geographical proximity.

I appreciate your many kindnesses, and certainly do not regard them in vain. So thank you so much for that. But if you invite me over soon, due to this latest missive, I will turn you down. I don’t understand at all, why every person I’ve ever loved or befriended, makes it so utterly difficult to have any face-to-face visits, except rarely. While so many others I see have friends and lovers close to them w/o any such strange distance. This has been going on with me for years.

I always wind up very much alone, while others who say they really care about me, have tons of parties and friends to afford them good times. As for myself, I remain pretty much relegated to isolation, and the only thing that gives me succor, is to write my tales.

– Zeke

Date: Sat, 23 Mar 2013 18:52:13
I’ll push you back!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Funny how I purchased that Scooby-Doo card for Larkin, earlier in the day before we met at Pilsner. I dropped it off in my room, never expecting to see him later in the evening. When I did, I needed to run over to Walgreens to withdraw $20 so I could buy my third drink (after buying him a drink, along with my first two).

That is when I saw that Scooby-Doo card at the other Walgreens. (There are two in the Castro: one on 18th & Castro, the other much closer to Pilsner Inn, on Market Street a block away.)

So when I skedaddle over to Walgreens close to Pilsner to get my $20, I check out the card section: lo and behold I see that very same Scooby-Doo card (made of felt w/a cardboard insert that served for an Easter greeting). So instead of paying $7 for that card, I wind up spending $14, in order to bring him that same card at Pilsner.

There is something so sweet about Larkin, I’m willing to pay twice the amount for any gift I give him. I am such a sucker for his friendship, there is no other way to explain it.

But as it turns out, next day after confronting him at Pilsner, I realize a photo of the envelope’s back (w/those Pegasus/dragon stickers) would look great as the cover illustration for my latest blog entry, “Ultimatum.” And that explains why I bought two Scooby-Doos: one to give Larkin, the other to take a pic of said card, and place it in that blog. Funny how Destiny takes matters in hand. But such synchronicity gives me great hope that we shall soon be together, minus the horse hockey.

Now, two days later and just a short moment ago, I pass by Twin Peaks Tavern on my way to Molly Stones to purchase my favorite frozen entree: “Michelangelo’s Manicotti and Sauce.” Larkin stands outside, smoking a cig. I walk right by him as if we never knew each other. Of course, I hope he’ll call to me, so we could stop and chat.

That never happens. But if it did, I’d not be able to look him directly in the eyes, for I am terribly ashamed of his crude behavior that other night. Yet I would pause to hear him out, though I was prepared to not offer him a word in return. I also resumed carrying a canister of pepper spray, just in case.

So I continue my stroll to Molly Stones, where I purchase four boxes of this yummy manicotti. On the way back, I mosey on by Twin Peaks once again, and pause a few doors down to light a Fortuna…not bothering to glance through the plate glass window, to see if Larkin is still there.

I’m standing just one door away from Orphan Andy’s (two doors down from Twin Peaks). My best friend Marvin used to work there until he died from AIDS back in 1992. So I tend to linger there every now and then, to honor his memory. IOW: my presence in that area is not exclusively all about Larkin.

Few minutes later, Larkin steps back out, sees me, and walks in my direction under the pretense of chatting with another who’s strolling in my direction and beyond. Which affords me the glorious opportunity to praise him, though it appears to anyone else passing by that I am either talking to myself or via bluetooth.

I call out: “That was a really nice message you left me on the answering machine. I truly appreciate that.”

He does not even spare a single nanosecond to acknowledge me, and walks right by as if I’m a ghost. Then loops around to resume his Twin Peaks boozing. But at the very moment he extends a gangly arm to open that door, I declare in a booming echo:

“That was fun what we did the other night; let’s do it again. Only this time I push you back.” (By “let’s do it again,” of course l’m referring to a couple nights ago when I confronted him, and he shoved me.)

Of course, he ignores me and returns to the bar. I finish my cancer stick and return home. The heartbreak I have for him is far less painful than two days ago, and more of a kind of pride. I look back just before entering 2306, in hopes he followed me. Alas, he did not.

So now that I’m snug once more in my humble SRO, decide to post you this letter. I am terribly sad and joyful at the same time. Sort of like those sweet-and-sour dishes served at Chinese restaurants.

– Zeke

Date: Sun, 24 Mar 2013 19:07:53
He’s punking me…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…again. Before I tell you how I arrived at this conclusion let me say: thank you so much for being such a supportive ally over the years. This recent flurry of emails to you is only because I am going through such an intense bombardment of realizations. But I want you to know that, while I figure you’re quite busy w/promoting your latest novel for a movie contract, and that you’re diligently composing your next book:

Please don’t feel any need to write back for the duration of your own projects. I appreciate using you as my sounding board, whereby I convert our emails into another book that is obviously the sequel to “Free Me From This Bond.” Nonetheless, feel free to continue your replies, if you so wish. In a very real way, we too are coauthors, but in a different fashion from your collaboration with Daniel Altieri. Allow me now to explain how I finally realized that Larkin is punking me once more. Of course, his message on my answering machine was a tip-off. Let me tell you now, of our latest encounter:

Yesterday, late afternoon–after finishing my power walk up and down 17th Street–I decide to stand a few doors down from Twin Peaks Tavern, once more. In a few moments Larkin steps outside Twin Peaks for a smoke. He just totally ignores me (though not really) and steps back into Twin Peaks. I return to my SRO and, though feeling much better now, still weep profusely over the very idea of losing his friendship for good. But next morning (which is today), I’m walloped by an incredible vision while digesting my bowl of rolled oats w/raisins and flower seeds:

I step into Eagle Tavern, to discover the place decked out in party decorations: confetti, streamers, balloons and a roaring barbecue (including some vegetarian entrees, which suit my olfactory nerves perfectly). “Oh! What’s the celebration?” I inquire of Tobias, a former bartender now manager. (I should add here that Tobias is a terribly kind man; for he knew I lived on a meager disability stipend. And thus he only charged me half price, that I could afford now and then to buy some bodacious dude a drink. That was some years ago, before I was driven out for a time by unfortunate and frightening circumstance.) He responds:

“Someone’s getting married today. Please help yourself to party favors and snacks. So good to see you again, Zeke!”

Many patrons are present (more than half the legal capacity), including some I regarded as enemies from the past, of three and four years ago. Though I now realize they simply played the role as antagonists, that I may become the hero in this real-life fairtytale. No harm, no foul. Some moments later, a Sister (of Perpetual Indulgence) steps up to the elevated deck in the back patio. And announces over the mic:

“Welcome to the most astounding gay wedding about to take place, ever!” She clears her throat to continue: “Zeke, I would like you to come up here with me now, that the miracle may begin.”

Well, I almost spit out the grilled sweet-and-sour tofu served by the hunkiest and handsomest black leather dude I’ve ever seen: I am that stunned! So I approach the stage, and stand beside Sister Beelzebum. She hugs me with great endearment, and kisses me on the left temple. Then announces:

“This fine man, Ezekiel Krahlin, will soon publish a book that will drastically elevate respect and appreciation of LGBTQ folks everywhere on the planet, by the heterosexual majority.” She then lowers her head draped in curly locks of platinum, as if in prayer, and continues:

“We owe Ezekiel many apologies and gratitude for sacrifices that have kept him isolated and persecuted for so many years…more than three decades.” Tears begin to spill over her lower eyelids as s/he continues:

“There is a very beautiful man in the wings who’d now like to approach Ezekiel, and ask his hand in marriage.”

“WTF?” (I muse to myself) “I really hope it’s not anyone else but Larkin.”

I gaze to my right, to see Larkin emerge from the second urinal for patio patrons. His tousled mop of dark auburn hair now planed down to a buzz cut with double chevrons on each side: impeccable! Lanky frame so tall (a startling 6-foot-4), he’s like a kid exiting a toy fort with bent-down head.

He leaps upon stage to embrace me with the sweetest hug I’ve ever known. Larkin’s darling breath anoints my bandana-bound cranium. Then settles upon one knee, pulls a ring from his pocket, and gazes up at me with the most dragonly orange-flame eyes I have ever beheld. And begs:

“Ezekiel! I am eternally sorry for putting you through my spiritual paces.” A tear drop emerges from his left eye, and slides down the cheek. He stifles a sob, and continues:

“You are the finest man on the planet. And it would make me infinitely happy to be your lover and spouse.” By now, many tears fill the house…not a dry peeper anywhere. Including myself, whose tears of joy shower my face like a personal waterfall.

“Please, Zeke, will you marry me?” So I instantly respond:

“Of course, you handsome father fukkuh you! I’d be insane to say no!”

Larkin then takes my hand, and gently slides a golden ring w/sapphire gems upon my marriage finger.

And then the vision ends.

So I finishes me oatmeal (feeling my oats in more ways than one). On my way crossing Noe Street to walk north and catch the N Judah at Duboce Park, I see Larkin crossing in the opposite direction, totally caught up in his cell phone w/lowered head. My knees wobble, and I beg for grace. What can I say at this moment, to my most beloved friend?

Well–even though I know for sure it’s him (who couldn’t when so few others are so tall and handsome?)–another pedestrian crosses my sight, blanking out Larkin for a split second. My yearning eyes have been riveted on Larkin before he disappears behind that pedestrian. Yet when he emerges, a totally diiferent dude takes his place: he is but 5-foot-9 with a wholely different type of face and hair! Yet I know beyond a shade of a doubt: That was my Larkin, I’m not hallucinating.

For I have come to realize some years back that Larkin is indeed an angel. Not in any figurative sense, but in solid reality. Or IOW: the Gay Community here in San Francisco harbors the greatest treasure this planet will ever know, or any other planet in the universe for that matter: one of God’s very own archangels, if not Jehovah Himself!

And he dwelled in the old Hole in Wall before being driven out and drawn to my own neighborhood, the Castro, whereby he now resides just less than a block away from yours truly! And there you have it, Morticia: the Resurrection of My Own Dreams beyond any possible nihilistic entity. Hoping to run into Larkin once more (and soon) to call to him:

“Larkin, you are so much fun! I realize now you’re pranking me, and why.”

To which Larkin will turn in response, and shower me with his perpetual compassion. Thus, I continue (after absorbing those benevolent rays of sweetness):

“You want to make me believe I’ve lost you forever, but within a short time from now you will propose marriage to me.” I almost collapse in revery, before I catch my breath:

“The Eagle will hold a surprise party for me. Which is where you’ll propose to me, and the Sisters will perform our wedding ceremony!”

Upon those words, Larkin will come right up to me, and breathe into my ear:

“You are so wonderful Zeke, I don’t even think you realize yet how enamored I am of you…which is light years beyond how much you love me.”

“You are the greatest joy of my life,” I confess, “and shall always be so!” But I’m not yet done:

“Larkin Kelsey, you are the most brilliant jokester I have ever met.” So I deliberate further:

“The idea of ever losing you is such a devastating thought, I can barely clothe and feed myself each day.” Thus I beg:

“Please cease these games, and allow me to just be your very best friend for all eternity.”

So there you have it El: the first part of Chapter 2 in “Free Me From This Bond (the sequel).”


– Zeke

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 00:42:33
Re: My latest blog entry…
From: Keith
To: Zeke

The building where the Diesel store (formerly Bank of America) used to be is going to be turned into the greatest and most hygienic public socially mixed gay bath and it will have your name on front. I’ve been having recurring dreams about it. – Sign across roof where it used to read “Bank of America” will be a solar lit sign soon that will say “Castro Bathing Club.”

– At street level a plaque with a dedication to you and your work that looks like the Harvey Milk plaque across plaza.

– It will welcome all social classes since entry will be free of charge and open to everyone.

– It will always be spotlessly clean.

– It will be safe.

– It will be extremely clean and safe because super rich folks will give away tiny amounts of their fortunes to maintain guaranteed funding for at least the next 88 years to pay a living wage to neighborhood residents to maintain this facility, and because everyone will love it and take care of it like a gay temple of health.

– It will also be safe because it will be first bath house with all glass windows facing the street (like Twin Peaks), and glass walls inside and brightly lit by the sun during the day, and solar powered lights at night.

– By bath house I don’t mean sex club, I just mean a building for the purpose of bathing.

– It will be open 24 hours.

– On entering everyone leaves their clothes (and can have them washed for free while you bathe) and must first go through a shower before entering the main pool, which takes up most of the main floor. You can see the pool through windows facing out into the Castro so it’s a visible landmark. Since it’s in the Castro and clothes won’t be allowed inside, that will discourage homophobic folks from coming around, but anyone who is polite and behaves will be welcome.

– It will be a shining, glowing glass landmark for the Castro, a place for homophobia free socializing, for anyone to come clean up, open anytime, a source of employment and recreation for neighborhood residents, a place where all classes meet like old Roman baths, and like Roman baths, supported and allowed to be made beautiful by the richest folks in The City who care about making this city richer for everyone.

– Famous authors will come speak there and sign books.

– People can sit around and socialize or be quiet without worrying about being pestered to buy anything.

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 01:26:17
Re: My latest blog entry…
From: Zeke
To: Keith

WOW WHAT A VISION!!! You are not only super gorgeous, Keith, but quite astounding as well.

There’s a typo in your description of your incredible vision. And I can’t figure it out. It’s: “rdnatjabje landmark.”

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 09:37:40
Re: My latest blog entry…
From: Keith
To: Zeke

Keith wrote:

I’m not exactly sure what I intended by that, but it might be the result of being a little confused in general about activity on that corner. I also saw that “Pottery Barn” will be going out of business and that space will also be reclaimed by the neighborhood for public use. Maybe aquatic and bathing center is there, instead of a plaque at street level, the chair in the clock tower will be replaced by your bronzed bust looking out over the crossing. That might be an easier building to turn into baths since it’s larger and newer, and we can use the Diesel Store as a public meeting center. I was probably premature in telling you about all this because I was attacked violently in my sleep last night by an unknown thing carrying around a colored ribbon and a pastel blanket, but fortunately my paralysis broke and I was able to yell out and wake up the other part before pissing all over my bed.

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 10:40:43
Re: My latest blog entry…
From: Zeke
To: Keith

{{ I’m not exactly sure what I intended by that, but it might be the result of being a little confused in general about activity on that corner. }}

I just changed it to “visible” landmark. No big dealie.

{{ I also saw that “Pottery Barn” will be going out of business }}

Good riddance. Before them, it was SF Firemen’s Fund, and before that were two incredibly lovely and large, Edwardian houses. BTW, where that condo now stands beside Harvey Milk Plaza, was once an absolutely gorgeous and rambling mansion, exquisite in architectural design and colors. AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE ANY PICTURE OF IT!!! It was terrible to see that fairytale domicile surrender to wrecking balls. It was every bit as wondrous as the mansion on the corner of Caselli and Douglass.

{{ and that space will also be reclaimed by the neighborhood for public use. }}

How interesting. I think very rapid changes will soon occur in the Castro, as spiritual manifestations accumulate until they burst into reality. It’s all good, Keith, so not to worry. :)

{{ Maybe the aquatic and bathing center is there, instead of a plaque at street level, the chair in the clock tower will be replaced by your bronzed bust looking out overthe crossing. }}

OMFG, that would be hilarious. Though my physical self will soon morph into a really good-looker…I think many who admire me would enjoy images of my former, bag-o-nerves-and-insecurities self.

{{ That might be an easier building to turn into baths since it’s larger and newer, and we can use the Diesel Store as a public meeting center. }}

Possibly. But since the underground at this famous intersection is already hollowed out: maybe both buildings will be the bathhouse, connected by a subterraneous walkway. Or perhaps a pedestrian bridge.

{{ I was probably premature in telling you about all this }}

No, not at all. Most potent visions are always those that are first told, before any further visions or interpretations unfold. I call them “raw” visions.

{{ because I was attacked violently in my sleep last night }}

You seem to suffer from sleep paralysis. Almost everyone who does, finds it a quite horrid experience. But for most people, it’s a very rare phenomenon. In your case however, you are highly gifted w/paranormal abilities. And thus are haunted by many chaotic and unpleasant visions…until they become sorted out properly once you stabilize.

The spirits you see are all harmless, though appear frightening. Remember: we truly have no enemies, only teachers. So what are they teaching you?

I think most likely, they are toughening your soul by putting you through a sort of spiritual boot camp. Those destined to become the best soldiers, go through the most rigorous training.

Though I see nothing wrong with attempting to reduce or at least “soften” these spells by any method that works…meditation, marijuana, exercise, music, booze, or letting me suck on your bodacious popsicle. Ha, ha.

Love ya bunches, Keith. As I said to my old pal Jack T. Ripper in a past life:

“Please don’t be a strangler!”

Of course as history shows, he didn’t heed my advice. Just goes to prove:

You can lead a hearse to water, but you can’t dump the body there!



Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 11:21:46
This will trip you out…
From: Zeke
To: Keith

…in a good way, Keith. An unfinished piece in which a complete architectural transition overwhelms the Castro. I may someday complete it, but isn’t it nice for a famed author to also have a collection of unfinished works…to some day publish in its incompleteness?

(a parable for 21st century)
(c) 1992 by Gene Catalano

It was year 2042 when Cordell abandoned his heterosexist family and NuAmsterdam to carve out a life for himself in NuAthens, capitol of NuGreece: FIRST NATION IN HISTORY BORN OF THE GLOBAL&GLORIOUS SAMESEX REVOLUTION OF 1999. Like his biogenic grandsire, he settled in the PinkHeart District (formerly “the Castro”)–quite different from his ForeSkinFather’s time, yet in many ways still the same. The Castro Theater still stood, though sheathed in transparent TectoLucite to protect it against natural, chemical, or homophobic erosion. Several more ErsatzEarlyFormerCentury-Style buildings were restored and preserved in this manner…while all (98.9%) remaining edifices were simply guised in HoloFacades. In rare moments when PG&E (“Pegasus Electric”) PinkHeart power grid overloaded and shut down, the true appearance of GayCapitol’s heartland was revealed…sometimes for as long as several minutes, but usually only for the blink of a CameloidEye.

Gone–in those SporadicBrief instances–were rows upon rows of quaint gingerbread structures HoloGraced with RainbowSpectrum neon hues (and all consecrated shades between). scattered handful of authentic, restored NeoVictoriEdwardianDecos (such as Castro theater) stood like Parthenon Gods&Goddesses among groveling barbarian 2&3Story crackerbox dwellings, all painted a uniform, flat shade of pink across the entire valley of Eureka and beyond. To our GayGlorious credit, however–and I speak for all proud citizens of NuAthens–they were SturdyBiltSpotlessKleen, with bonafide hologramNOT interiors of Victorian, Hellenic, WilyWestern, DeepThroatSouth, FukkinPrevertician, GumbyPokeyitic, DecoDiscoQueenish, UltraPseudoLeatherButch, DanteBoschApocalpytoGothic, LalaLiberalLiberace&LawrenceWelkian, HomoRomoDomo-Erotic, and or kaleidoscopically-metamorphosing multifarious decor. (FYI: all NuAthens tour guides MUST have a MasterBaiter’s degree in PostAnthropological NuLinguistics.)

It was a great lark for both resident and tourist alike, to place bets on when the next “PinkHeart Brownout” would occur. Most tourists left disheartened, with no impressive HoloSlides to show their equally-disappointed family, friends, and relatives…for there were NO legally-available postcards of “real” PinkHeart; and anyone caught selling through the black market was peremptorily exiled to NuAntarctica (on NuMoon III of Planet Hades). The few LUCKY visitors, however, proudly boasted of their splendiferous snapshots (like a Neanderthalensis dragging his PrizeCatchMastodonRump back to the home cave) to anyone who would stop to listen, even to aliens of abducting UFO’s who had no idea what on NuEarth they were talking about. The tariff on each PhorbiddenPhoto was steep (200 QueerBucks), and odds were always in favor of the NuAthens resident…thus many SuperRichDykes&-Faggots populate our fairy city.

NOTE: Homophobic gossips have recently spread the rumor that NuAthenians control the timing of bets and brownouts, on the claim that worldwide fiber optic integration and SolarWindWaveThermalPower have eliminated any shortage of electricity anywhere with no possible chance of short circuits, brownouts, spikes, or surges. When interviewed by MainstreamMedia, Pegasus stamped his hoof and snorted in anger:

“That is a lie! My company stands by its reputation of quality service.” Then he looked right into the camera lens and into every home, bar, SexClub and PoodleFactory of NuAthens and said with a wink:

“Don’t we, guys?”

This is straight from the Horse’s Mouth.


-NUCHURCH: STAINED GLASS OF GENIE’S ART, SACRED TEXT, PANELS DEPICTING HIS GREAT MOMENTS (villification of gay activist impostera, slaying of dragon quilt, St. Genie knocking over booths and stalls at Castro Street Fair, Randy w/Genie saying: “This dudette’s a sick puppy!”, etc. Exposing death cult.) INSTEAD OF COMMUNION WAFERS: “EAT MY JOCKSTRAP” GUMMY JOCKSTRAP CANDIES IN SACRED VENDING FONT (plays music)





STATUE OF SLAYED HOMOPHOBE (silver-curly hair, sky-blue eyes and walking stick). Street Patrol defended themselves and stabbed him with his own knife)



From UFO, plant gift of thorny rose bush in park…“ thorn in heart of joy, that St. Genie must always be taken seriously at deepest level”…Genie meditates on NuChurch rooftop garden, where angel GayBrie reveals death of his dog from thorn…hiking along Collingwood street becomes NuViaDolorosa.


St. Genie places his magic pen back in its special desk drawer, sits back and, with a grateful sigh, folds his completed tale of Thureewhyzemenn.

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 01:22:5
Re: He’s punking me…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanore wrote:

{{ It’s happening!!!! }}

I feel just like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. Or a teenage boy leaping into a deep pond replenished by a bubbling cataract. Or a brand new universe about to be born.

Thank you so much for your many years’ kindness, support, and sage advice. We’ve been on this ride together, for quite a few years now. And what a ride it is, eh? The Friendly Ghost Detective Agency never boinks on the job!

Unless, of course, the suspect is exceedingly handsome and well endowed.

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 16:38:42
Fukkin text editor!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

So I’m composing Chapter 2 of “Free Me From This Bond- the sequel,” when I suddenly discover that the character string “the” has been deleted across the entire, now-quite-lengthy chapter! This just doesn’t mean every definite article “the” is eliminated, but also every word containing “the” within its body. Such as “furr” (should read “further”), “toger” (should be “together”), and so on.

Worse yet: words like “them” show up as “m” and a phrase such as “the theater” shows up as “ater”.

I have no idea why this happened: certainly it is not my own intent to remove all of the “the” character strings across the board! So now I am condemned to read over the entire article–word by word–in order to catch and correct these typos.

If ever there was a hell, this is it.

OMFG I need a secretary…and he’d better be super hot with a really fine ass. So whenever he sits upon my lap I’ll find heaven. I’ve had enough with dogmatic “isms,” unless there is a “j” appended to the front!

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 17:31:36
Re: Fukkin text editor!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Jeeziz! What a colossal pain! At least it wasn’t an entire manuscript……. Back when Dan and I had handed in our final manuscript to William Morrow & Co., there were two typos we found at the very last minute. One was “crap-filled” lake instead of “carp-filled” lake, and the other was a “darling” barbarian from the north, rather than a “daring” barbarian from the north. Oy. }}

Hell is a typo that changes everything from the author’s intent. :(

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 17:31:36
Re: Fukkin text editor!
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

Our local paper ran a headline not long ago, in big black lettters: LONG-AWAITED PUBIC MEETING HELD. }}

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 19:45:23
Re: Fukkin text editor!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Aha! The old “pubic relations” joke but in a different guise.

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 20:01:04
RE: My latest blog entry…
From: Carlyle
To: Zeke

Ezekiel, Like the picture of the winged horses: reminds me of what I was saying about “Horseshoe in the Sky.”

In the prose part, I mentioned that I had seen some strange things in sky that inspired the poem: a contrail shaped like a horseshoe, and another one in the process of being made, only strangely growing horizontally in both directions at once: stretching and growing to the East, at the same time to the West.

My life is a novel, just not sure of the genre, whether “James Bond” (spies), “Close Encounters” (aliens/high intelligence), or “The Exorcist” (religious/supernatural).

To have one or more of those areas explaining the mysteries of my life that this point would be no more improbable than “coincidences.”

If the answer is “James Bond”, then I think that most likely the meteor over Massachusetts was not so much for the purpose of honoring me personally as it was to punctuate my earlier message, trying to raise an eyebrow, that maybe the “fantastic” claim being made was not just a flight of imagination. I.e, that the Massachusetts “meteor” wasn’t really a meteor any more than the Chelyabinsk one. It was the demonstration of a plasma device.

The U.S. would not risk WWIII by “testing” a military device over Russia. Russia would not risk testing a device over an area with nuclear facilities, and would have no one whom they were trying to impress.

*We* who fight for the same cause would have such motive and such boldness. I want to catch Vladimir Putin’s personal attention and make him realize that there is something there to be taken seriously.

Regards, Carlyle

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 20:02:04
RE: My latest blog entry…
From: Zeke
To: Carlyle

Carlyle wrote:

{{ Like the picture of the winged horses: reminds me of what I was saying about “Horseshoe in the Sky.” }}

Well, I’m very much in tune with the cosmos these days. Let’s just say I’m a horse of a different color!

{{ My life is a novel, just not sure of the genre }}

Me, too. Larkin is a detective, for whom I became a sidekick. Yet he’s also a wondrous angel, who may or may not have, arrived in a UFO. (Which is actually not significant to me, for no matter how he came here, I am totally ecstatic that he came here for me, above and beyond anyone else! That’s quite a compliment, when you think about it.)

{{ To have one or more of those areas explaining the mysteries of my life that this point would be no more improbable than “coincidences.” }}

OMFG, you’re so intellectual about such things, my brains are fried!

{{ If the answer is “James Bond” }}

Perhaps the real answer is: “all of the above.”

{{ “We” who fight for the same cause would have such motive and such boldness. I want to catch Vladimir Putin’s personal attention and make him realize that there is something there to be taken seriously. }}

There is indeed. And because of your extensive writing (over many years) on Usenet and perhaps other places in cyberspace: you may have indeed garnered the attention of various world leaders.

Such is the way of the Hidden World.

– Ezekiel

Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2013 23:00:48
Re: Fukkin text editor!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanore wrote:

{{ What was so hysterical about this was that it was a genuine typo. }}

They’re the worst, as opposed to DISingenuous typos!

Wishing I saw Larkin today, to tell him I’m onto his prank, and that I figured out why. But, no luck. Then I meet this darling man on the streets, w/o friends or family. But with a lovely demeanor, hot body and kok to die for (that loves to be played with). Says he prefers the ladies, but thinks I’m pretty damn nice anywayz.

He might show up again later tonight. Told him if after 11:30 PM I’m snoozin’ w/the telephone ringer and answering machine volume turned off. It’s now 10:54 PM, so he’s got a little time left. Maybe I’ll stay up till midnight, just because he’s such a yummy dude, and he’s very sweet to hold in my arms. Even tilted his head so I could lick his neck and bite down on it.

We vampires are grossly misunderstood. But since I’m also part werewolf, I can deal with nighttime romps, but only during a full moon.

Did I ever tell you the time at a gala last year, I almost morphed into a wolf before everyone’s startled eyes? Wasn’t a full moon, though. What triggered my transition was a blacklight image of a full moon across one corner of the ceiling. I quickly left the party and dog-trotted over to 7/11 for a box of Kibbles “˜n Bits and a pint of Mad Dog.

How many more bachelor parties can I have, before Larkin proposes? I’m countin’ the men (and boys…and pups)!

– Zeke


March 14, 2013

[ Free Me From This Bond (the sequel): Chapter 1 ]

{{ Kind Reader: the following letter was snail-mailed to Phillip McKay, c/o the Twin Peaks Tavern, where he hangs out several times per week. }}

March 14, 2013

My Dear Phillip:

I do not understand why you now tell me you don’t want to use your real name in my book…when you’ve had so many opportunities previous to this, to say so. There is one possibility that has occurred to me:

You said some weeks back that you don’t read. I could be wrong, but my hunch is that you can’t read or write very well. So perhaps you can’t even write your signature…though I find this strange, because most people who can’t write have at least learned to compose their signature.

But if my hunch is correct, I think you are afraid that I’ll discover this about you. And I understand perfectly the humiliation often experienced towards such good folks; thus they do their best to hide this from the world. But you should know:

Even if you can’t write or read (except with much difficulty), you are still my hero. For this shortcoming simply shows me that you’ve achieved great success in your life in spite of the many odds against you. And surely, being illiterate (or having dyslexia, which is also a possibility I consider) is a most painful challenge to overcome.

I loved another man who couldn’t read or write well, yet he carved out an excellent life living in his van with a little Dingo pup, and earned his living by reselling furniture and other items at flea markets. He’d spruce up these items to make them look almost new again. I also helped him sign any checks he received, so he could cash them. Unfortunately, in spite of my friendship and trust, he couldn’t handle my knowing this secret about him, and left me for good. Last time I saw his handsome face was way back in 1990.

I would hate to lose you over something like this. But I assure you: whether or not our friendship resumes, I will never blab this secret to anyone. You have my utter respect, and always will.

Do you realize that any kind of scrawl on paper by a dyslexic or illiterate person is the legal equivalent to a signature? Nonetheless, you could practice signing your own name until you get it right. It should take no more than a few days, 20 minutes practice each day. Otherwise, even an illegible scrawl is quite acceptable.

I could be wrong about this (writing/reading issues), in which case I apologize for jumping to conclusions. You are a great man to me, yet I am saddened by your suddenly avoiding me, as if you’re not glad to see me any more. After all, you’ve been so sweet for several months, starting some time in October straight through to late January.

Here’s why I believe it’s very important to use your real name:

You deserve full credit for over half the stories in my novel, seeing as it is you who created such marvelous adventures that I’ve been so inspired to write down. And I know full well, they could only happen from a lovely and compassionate friendship towards me. I’m simply your recording secretary. And I have every intention of giving you 51% of my profits from this book, assuming it becomes a bestseller. I will provide you with that money in any way that suits you. This I promise, whether or not you ever want to see me again.

But I think you already know this about me. Yet I find it disturbing that all of a sudden you give me a cold shoulder. I’ve certainly proven to you over these 6-plus years that I love you, trust you, and appreciate so much your many kindnesses. I’ve always been here for you, even for those three or so years you’ve avoided me, walked by me as if we were strangers, or I was some kind of pest. A treatment which I’m quite used to since coming to San Francisco in 1973.

God only knows why I have to go through the backstabbing and loneliness that has occurred for most of my life. But I have faith that it serves some kind of purpose that has to do with strengthening my soul. For you see, Phillip, that I too am a success against many odds. Yet I believe you already know all this, and am thus very sad and perplexed at your resuming avoidance of me.

If you really don’t want to use your real name, here is one I’ve chosen: “Arwyn Miles.” However, if you’d prefer some other name, just let me know. The only problem is:

Without permission to use your real name, I’d also have to change your description, the names of the bars and places to fictitious ones…and change anything else in my book that could even remotely reveal your true identity to any reader. As a result, my entire novel will unravel, and deny the bars and people I’ve written about any recognition or credit for their kind contribution my stories. The main purpose of my book is not to just benefit myself, but others as well, including Hole in the Wall Saloon, the Eagle Tavern, and so forth.

Turning the book from a true story into a work of fiction would also deny you any lucrative opportunities to earn good money. I think you’d be a fantastic professional party mixer for gay events. That’s just an idea I have, but with the success of my book (assuming I can use your real name), you will have many other options to pursue a vocation that is both rewarding and financially generous.

Perhaps you haven’t actually read any of these chapters. But if so (whether on your own or via a friend who read them aloud to you), then you already know: I speak well of you throughout, as I do everyone else. There is no bad thing I’ve said about anyone (even if perhaps they deserve it).

If you’ve read the chapter called “Angus Mac Og’s Bounty,” then you already know my hopes if the novel becomes successful. In case you didn’t, here’s the relevant passage:

Zeke will soon have this novel published and become wealthy beyond anyone’s comprehension (and of course, outrageously, impossibly, scintillatingly famous as well). Their teeth will be repaired by the best oral surgeons and dental technicians money can buy (or simply healed in a flash by Dragonly White Magic). And Gene will open his first home for severely disabled gay veterans, employing his buddies off the streets to be their companions, maintain the building and grounds, and handle the books.

I’m sorry this letter is so long, but you give me no other choice, seeing as you are now avoiding me. This is not the first time you’ve put me through a most difficult challenge. I hope that the reason for this, is you’ve intentionally tossed this challenge at my feet, to see how I handle it. And in so doing, gain greater strength and wisdom.

Yet, don’t you think you’ve required of me more than my fair share of sacrifices on your behalf? Isn’t it time after so many years, for you to cease such difficulties you put me through?

For I’ve done way more than my share to prove to you my friendship, including the fact that you can trust me beyond anyone else you’ve ever met. But if you deem fit to continue placing such obstacles before me, I’ll refuse to accept them as challenges to overcome. Which of course (and sadly) means I will have to say “goodbye” to you. Not that I’ll ever stop loving you but, good grief, enough is enough.

In case you prefer to never see me again, I will assume just that, and never talk or associate with you for the rest of my pathetic life. Assuming that’s the case (as I really am tired of running through one gauntlet after another, just to prove my great love and respect for you, after so many years):

This is goodbye, Phillip. Don’t know why you’ve done this to me, after so many times you’ve been so compassionate towards me (between those times you ignore and shun me), but:


I’ve already suffered way too many years over my Randolph, and other men I’ve befriended. If it must be, I will live out the rest of my life alone, probably move to Portland where the rent is affordable. I can get a really nice studio apartment for the price I now pay for my crummy room.

Goodbye, Phillip. I truly love you, but I can’t be treated like an unwanted nuisance any more by you. The ball’s entirely in your court. If you still want to see me, please cease the cold shoulder and reach out. I would be the happiest man in the world if you do that. But as you see: I’m not holding my breath.

All my love (though with reservation),

– Zeke

PS: I hate to think you’re just a mean muthuh fukkuh, after all; but there is now that consideration in my heart. I’m most sorry to tell you this.

Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2013 22:57:24
So I’ve decided…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…not to make a big deal over Phillip not wanting to use his real name. Next time I see the darlin’ man, I’ll ask him if he likes “Arwyn Miles” for a fictitious name. Tell him he has several weeks to decide on any name he wants, so long as it’s dignified.

I just want so much to tell the world what a magnificent man he is. But I guess my ego got in the way, and I have no right to use his real name, if he doesn’t want.

Of course, El, I realize that Phillip loves to present me with one challenge after another. Let’s just say (as my brother did in our latest phone call) he’s a “ball-buster.”

So be it. I’ve busted my balls over him for almost 8 years now. So what’s another ball-bust, but another challenge to move ahead and present to the world, one of the most amazing and true love stories ever told?

Then again, at the last moment he might decide after all, that I should use his real name. I am prepared for that.

Love ya,


Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2013 10:56:00
With a little hindsight now…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…this is all so fukkin funny. Phillip sure knows how to weave a story
in real life! I’m simply his recording secretary.

Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2013 11:17:13
Re: With a little hindsight now…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ That’s right! He’s adding a rich layer to your story! }}

Book 2.

Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2013 11:41:08
Ha ha, I came up w/a better name than “Cory Quinn”!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Belvedere Dewlap.

Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2013 12:02:01
Re: Ha ha, I came up w/a better name than “Cory Quinn”!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ I love the word “dewlap.” Conjures hummingbirds and St. Bernards at the same time. }}

That’s just the Prozac talking. 0_o

Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2013 12:14:31
Re: Ha ha, I came up w/a better name than “Cory Quinn”!
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

With forked tongue.

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 19:35:25
So I sent the letter…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…that you just read, to Phillip McKay, c/o Twin Peaks Tavern. Included in that envelope is a SASE to my agent at Twosome Press, along with the form that he can sign, giving me permission to use his real name. Since I don’t know his present address, this seems to me the best solution.

Come hell or high water. I will move to Portland in a month or two, assuming he rejects my request.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 19:36:16
And of course…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…assuming Phillip’s rejection, the book will not be published.

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 22:00:04
Re: And of course…
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

Truly, I think all you need to do is use a fictitious name for Phillip. You don’t have to change anything else. You call it a “novel,” which means fiction, no matter how true to life it is. Plenty of novels use
actual places and names of places.
Didn’t you ask him if he’d be okay with a changed name??

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 22:22:29
Re: And of course…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Zeke, you can’t not publish the book just because of Phillip. }}

The book’s about Phillip. Be that as it is, I am in emotional turmoil at the moment.

I hope to sort this all out, in a few days. Thanks much for your kind concern.

It will be a major headache to rewrite everything, and in so doing I will lose the heart of my message.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 22:27:46
Re: So I sent the letter…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Didn’t you ask him if he’d be okay with a changed name?? }}

He won’t give me that chance. He’s a muthuh fukkuh.

If I use a fictitious name, he can still sue me, because it will be very easy for readers here in SF to figure out who “Arwyn Miles” really is. Thus I need to change everything else. Which will defeat the entire purpose of my book.

Let’s just keep our fingers crossed, that Phillip will answer my heartfelt appeal.

Meanwhile, I live in hell. Not to be a drama queen, but this current situation is the most painful time I’ve ever known. I feel like saying “fuk you” to the entire world.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 22:35:18
Let’s just say…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…I am devastated. Phillip’s sudden cold shoulder is terribly mean. I
have no idea how to deal with this.

I can only trust Time’s healing of this wound.

But for the moment, I am utterly and profoundly lost. The book can not be published w/o his real name. Of that, I am certain.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 22:53:34
Re: So I sent the letter…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Truly, I think all you need to do is use a fictitious name for Phillip. }}

Most likely, Twosome Press will require more than that, if they are professional in their regard. For changing a real character’s name also requires that I alter whatever details that would allow the reader to figure out his real identity.

And doing so require that I also change the locales, etc., in order to protect me from any lawsuit.

So I doubt Twosome would go for a simple name change. In spite of my signing a contract that my publication frees them of any legal indemnity.

What a quandary. If only my first book were pure fiction. Oh, well.

Of course, I will send them my revised manuscript w/Phillip McKay’s name changed to “Arwyn Miles.” (I’ve decided that surname “Quinn” will evoke an Eskimo image in the reader’s mind.)

I’m now gonna drown my sorrows in Neil Young. Have a great night. Somehow, some way, I believe Phillip will pull through for me. Though right now, I’m swimming in a sea of feces.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 23:10:29
It is possible…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…that Phillip wants to see if I have the guts to tell him to fuk off. Whether or not that’s true, I certainly will!

I’m just extremely tired of all this testing, with no reward except a handful of dirt. This has got to stop.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 23:10:29
Re: It is possible…
From: Eleanor
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Zeke, I know you don’t believe me that a disclaimer and a name change are all you need, so let me consult some people I know in the professional publishing world. Okay? Really, you’re despairing too soon, and unnecessarily, I think. It’s true that Phillip is behaving like a donkey turd, but that shouldn’t scuttle the whole project, nor your hopes. Stand by. }}

My agent didn’t say anything about changing character description and locales…just names. But all that I’ve read about copyright issues, indicates I have to. Not that I don’t believe you. Thanks much for your help. I am eager for your report.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 23:54:43
And the bartender at Twin Peaks Tavern…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…will probably approach Phillip a few days from now, and say:

“Phillip! There’s a letter for you!’

He’ll accept it begrudgingly, for he’s already figured who’s it from:

Of course: Zeke! He’s sent me several letters once before, at the old
Hole in the Wall Saloon.

Then he’ll fold the letter twice w/o opening it, and tuck it in his left hip pocket.

Some days later we’ll cross paths, probably right by Twin Peaks–in front of which I’ll be crossing the street in hopes he’ll notice me–and he’ll come running out to stop me, and holler:


At which moment I’ll turn around and stare at him icily (behind my dollar-store sunglasses) and respond:

“Yeah, whaddya want now?” And he retorts:

“Zeke, don’t start sending me letters at a bar, again!” So I reply:

“Who are you? Do I know you? Do I look very much like a friend who’s long-gone, but you miss dearly?”

To which Phillip will respond according to script:

“Okay muthuh fukkuh, you got me figured out. I give up, I’ll be totally honest.”

And then he holds me in his arms, never to let go again.

With great love and hope,

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 14 Mar 2013 23:54:43
Re: And the bartender at Twin Peaks Tavern…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ You’re a fine fiction writer…. }}

I astound myself with such an incredible gift. Reading stuff I wrote years ago blows me away. I’ve always been a top notch author. And poet, if I do say so myself.

I think my email chapters are a contemporary form of belles lettres.

Luv ya,


Date: Fri, 15 Mar 2013 14:38:43
On the back of the envelope…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…addressed to Phillip c/o the Twin Peaks Tavern I put these two stickers: (see attachment).

I have also conjectured that Phillip’s reading problem may be due to bad eyes. I’ve seen him in the last year or so, pull out a pair of reading glasses now and then, to peruse a page or label.

Just so you know: I am pretty much recovered from my anxiety attacks over this latest conundrum. I feel pretty much at peace w/the situation. Phillip has for the most part, been such a kind friend.

Plus, there are many people now watching our backs. Who I’m sure will approach Phillip and convince him to give me permission to use his real name.

I think the whole purpose of his latest stunt is to add to the intrigue over getting the novel published. Blood, sweat and tears make for a great tale.

Nonetheless, I’ll make myself scarce from the Castro for considerable weeks if not months. It is time now for him to stop the testing and sacrifices. If he loves me (and of course he does), he’ll come through w/flying crullers. If not, well, Portland here I come! A new life, a new adventure.

It’s just that I feel in my heart that Phillip couldn’t bear even the thought of my disappearing from his life for good. Guess it’s time to turn the tables and put him on the spot.

I’m such a sucker for him. Even through the difficult cycles, he fills my spirit w/incredible hope and inspiration. LOVE CONQUERS ALL.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 15 Mar 2013 17:53:33
Re: On the back of the envelope…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Hmmm. If he has reading glasses, he probably reads….. }}

Phillip’s a man of many mysteries.

{{ Okay. Well. Let me see what I can find out. But if he doesn’t give you permission to use his real name, and you can use the pseudonym without fear of consequences, and I’ll try to find out if that’s so, then I urge you to go ahead with your book. You can’t let this foul things up!!!!!!! You’ve worked too hard, it’s too good!! This is one writer to another. }}

I will indeed upload my final manuscript to Twosome Press, in hopes they will accept a simple name change vs. changing all the other details. This will be in about a week.

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 12:11:27
Is this feasible?
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

You mentioned the disclaimer, stating something like: “All characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental.” And that Capote did just that. But didn’t he also change the descriptions as well as names, of these characters? Or did he describe them exactly as they really look?

I would think that if this were legal, there’d be a whole industry of exposé novels using that tactic…yet I’m not aware of that. Also:

There are some characters that gave me permission to use their real name, such as yourself, Susan Crummit and Gary Clayton (bartender at Hole in the Wall).

I was thinking of a disclaimer like so:

The tales told in this novel are all based on actual and extraordinary events, embellished with my own Gonzo-style flights of fancy. Therefore it is both fiction and nonfiction. Or as some would call it: a “pseudo-autobiography.” Some character names and descriptions are fictitious, others are not. Any resemblance to real people of these fictitious characters is strictly coincidental.

Though I don’t see how I could get away with that, as it would be quite easy in a court of law for Phillip to prove that he is the main character. That I did not change his description in the least. Furthermore: I seriously doubt that Twosome Press would go along.

Which of Capote’s novels is this? I’d like to see for myself how he went about it.

At any rate, guess I can change Phillip’s description as well as name…though his being so tall plays a vital function in the tale. Plus Hole in the Wall Saloon to something else, San Francisco to a fictitious town, etc. etc. But I’ll have to keep the dragon that hangs from the ceiling of the place…a real giveaway for any local denizen that frequents that bar. Or maybe change the dragon sculpture into a wall mural.

But my whole point for publishing this book is it’s a true story…all the tales are precisely how they came down, to the best of my recollection. In short, I’d rather trash the novel, than claim it’s fiction.

“Free Me From This Bond:” the title is far more appropriate than even I, the author, imagined!

And it’s still on the web in its complete form. Perhaps my destiny is to become celebrated as an underground author, and the mainstream audience can just go screw themselves.

I trust Phillip’s wisdom, as odd as this may sound, and as odd (yet wonderful) a man he is.

In my faith that Destiny shall weave an ultimately successful result through this book…I have the noble obligation of washing out any anger or sadness this amazing twist in fate has caused me in the immediate shock.

What a story, eh? And this one, too, is true!!!



Date: 18 Mar 2013 13:45:47
Re: Is this feasible?
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

It’s technically “fiction” if, as you say, you “embellished” the events with “Gonzo-style flights of fancy.” You shouldn’t worry too much about the classification. You call it a “novel,” which definitely implies fiction. Good fiction is always rooted in truth, and laced with truth. That’s what makes it great. So don’t worry so much. An editor at Harper Collins answered my question, and here’s what she said:

Hi, Eleanor, You’re right that a standard fiction disclaimer (he can find one in most novels out there, or check out a roman a clef such as “The Devil Wears Prada”) should be perfectly sufficient.

Capote’s novel that famously got him into trouble–but not legal trouble, he was merely shunned by his rich “friends”–was called “Answered Prayers.”

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 17:52:27
Re: Is this feasible?
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ It’s technically “fiction” if, as you say, you “embellished” the events with “Gonzo-style flights of fancy.” }}

Gotcha. So I could call it a work of fiction based on real events. And keep the real names of characters who gave me permission.

{{ You shouldn’t worry too much about the classification. You call it a “novel,” which definitely implies fiction. }}

“‘Scuse my ignorance. I call it a “novel” even though it’s a pseudo-autobiography…while not realizing that word “novel” implies a fictional work.

{{ Good fiction is always rooted in truth, and laced with truth. That’s what makes it great. So don’t worry so much. }}

Love is irrational. And that’s the way it should be, I suppose. I am irrationaly infatuated with the most wonderful, beautiful, sweet,
witty and brilliant man on the planet. And he’s such an ovary buster!

{{ An editor at Harper Collins answered my question, and here’s what she said: }}

I have no idea what “a roman a clef” is, thus don’t grasp her point. Sorry!

{{ Capote’s novel that famously got him into trouble–but not legal trouble, he was merely shunned by his rich “friends”–was called “Answered Prayers.” }}

Thanks! I’ll find a copy at the library or bookstore. My book does not expose any corruption…it speaks only well of all the characters. So I don’t think I’ll really have any problems w/lawsuits or even hatred. My main concern is over Twosome Press’s requirements re. fictitious names if my description of Phillip remains accurate enough so that he can be easily identified.

–How does this sound:

The tales told in this novel are all based on actual and extraordinary events, embellished with my own Gonzo-style flights of fancy. Therefore it is both fiction and nonfiction. Or as some would call it: a “pseudo-autobiography.” Some character names, descriptions and locales are fictitious, others are not. Any resemblance of fictitious characters to real people is strictly coincidental…likewise, locales.


Or would you recommend some other kind of declaration? This is quite an education for me. I guess I have Phillip to thank for this.

Thank you so much, I’m just a fluttering bag of lovesick nerves I’ve thrown up already twice. I don’t want to lose Phillip over this, or over anything else for that matter.

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 18:11:52
“Answered Prayers” was an unfinished novel…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…which led to Capote’s suicide! You didn’t mention that, El. Certainly, not a fate I envy. 0_o



Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 20:57:19
Re: “Answered Prayers” was an unfinished novel…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Capote was Capote. You’re Zeke. Point is, the pissed-off people couldn’t sue him, only shun him. }}


Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 21:19:28
I also told Phillip…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

….that it’s a difficult thing to trust another w/one’s real name, for a book that might become a bestseller. And I respect him for that,
no matter his decision.

This I said to him, while he tried to brush me away. He makes things so very difficult, yet I believe he provides a real–and righteous–challenge in the scheme of gay things.

In his own convoluted way, he has given me great hope and kindness for my attentions to him. Hmmm, I can’t wait till I receive his letter.

Meanwhile, I shall be sucking the kok of a gorgeous young man in a few moments from now. “If you can”t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.”

I take that saying to heart…or to crotch, if you so wish.

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 18:00:53
Roman a clef
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Okay, I found out what this means:

“A novel that depicts (usually famous) real people and events under the guise of fiction.”

Found the definition here:


– Zeke, the Wandering Fool

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 20:59:46
Re: Roman a clef
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Eggs-ackley. }}

My eggs are all in one basket: Phillip’s. Ha ha. Hopefully, that handsome boy Ely will show up tonight. It’s a few minutes past 9 PM. Of course, I’ll think of Phillip while I shag the bejebus outta him!

– Zeke

PS: Can’t believe how wildly in love I am w/Phillip. And: he’s just given me great hope for our continued friendship.

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 21:10:06
Re: Roman a clef
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ It’s definitely an improvement over recent treatment….. }}

Yes, he has pretty much returned his love in equal measure. Yet I don’t understand his brushing me off tongiht. Nonetheless, I am ecstatic.

– Zeke

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 21:22:55
Re: Roman a clef
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ That’s why I advise being cool. As in calm, un-needy. }}

Advice well heeded, I look very much forward to Phillip’s overture. But if his letter should be some sort of rejection, I’ll let him know: while my heart breaks tremedously, I’ll always be grateful for the friendship we had for awhile.

Then I’ll go drown my sorrows in vodka and cigarettes. And pot. Always the pot.

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 21:42:37
So I go to Hole in the Wall Saloon…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…tomorrow, on Tuesday, when Gary Clayton is the barkeep on shift. Yet last time I was there, someone who has always been nice to me (and myself, nice to him) suddenly decided to accuse me of the most horrific menace, which was:

“Zeke, you threatened to kill me, beat me up. I don’t want you to ever talk with me again.”

Gerard was there and heard everything; he was shocked. So I replied:

“That’s a very sick thing to say. I hope you don’t spread such gossip to others, as there are now many folks South of Market, who love me and would never put up with such slander.”

Then I left them to sit in the front part of the Eagle Tavern. A few moments later, Gerard came up to me and said:

“I’m so sorry Willow talked to you like that. But he is my friend.” (Please note I’m not sure of his real name. He’s a native Siberian, Mongol I think.) So I replied:

“That is why you haven’t seen me in either the Hole or the Eagle, for several years: too many idiots badmouthed me, and w/o any allies, I had no choice but to leave. You need to talk with your “˜friend’.”

Though I don’t trust Gerard to defend me. If opportunity provides, I will tell Phillip about this, for he is my protector and beloved ally.

I will return to Hole in the Wall tomorrow (Tuesday) and see whether or not I can continue to have a nice time there, or be kicked out once more, simply because one who slanders me has excess dollars to spend.

Should I lose this battle, I will be kicked out once more from both the Hole and the Eagle. Yet somehow I think that Phillip will avenge me, in one way or another.

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 20:58:40
Re: So I saw Phillip tonight…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…at the Pilsner Inn on Church Street. Bought a vodka tonic, and sat down.

So you know: I just purchased Truman’s “Answered Prayers” at Aardvark Bookstore, which is right next to Pilsner Inn. Something told me to go to Pilsner and order a drink. Lo and behold, there was Phillip a few moments later, two seats before me. I told him:

“Didn’t expect you to be here. Something just told me to step in, after buying a book next door. Can I buy you a Tall Boy?” (his
preferred brew these days. Ha ha, I just realized why it’s his drink of preference: he’s a pretty damned tall boy himself).

He said: “You’re too late. Next time.”

So I replied, “Okay, will do.”

Then he said: “I got your letter at Twin Peaks. I signed the form, and will compose a letter back to you.” I responded:

“Thank you so much. That is awfully nice of you.” To which he replied:

“Didn’t say I signed permission; I still gotta think about it.”

So I sat in the patio for some minutes, whereby Phillip came back and chatted w/someone else, and didn’t give me the time of day.

Later I moved up front and ordered a second drink, watched Phillip play pool. Eventually–since he didn’t come up and talk with me–I moved back to the patio.

He returned to the patio, yet again hanged w/some others w/o even acknowledging me.

I then realized I didn’t have enough money to buy a third drink for myself. So I walked out of the bar, where Phillip was playing pool with a new opponent. Declared to him:

“I’ll be back in 10 minutes,” and then marched to the local Walgreens a block away, to get $20 in cash. I also purchased an expensive ($7) Scooby-Doo Easter card. It was a felt rendering of Scooby-Doo, with a lovely Easter greeting plugged into the back slit.

Then I rushed back to sign the card: “I will always love you, Phillip, no matter what. Happy Easter. Zeke.”

I signed the card while Phillip was seated across from me, in the patio. Then approached him w/this card and dropped it on his lap, said:

“Take it! Happy Easter!” And returned to my bench across the patio. He took the card and stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket.

A while later, Phillip stepped to the front, to play another round of pool. I followed shortly after, in hopes he’d pause a while to talk to me. Yet, he never did. So I returned once more to the patio.

He came back a few minutes later, but hanged w/someone in another spot, as if I didn’t exist. This other person left a few moments later. So I came up to him and said:

“Phillip, I want you to know that I trust your wisdom, even if you decide you don’t want to use your real name. I made a mistake, by only putting one stamp of the SASE addressed to my agent. She lives in Canada, so you need to add two more stamps to the envelope.” He replied (with his long right arm extended, fingers splayed) :

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, leave me be. Return to your seat!” I retorted:

“No I won’t. If you don’t want to see me again, I will oblige, though it breaks my heart.” He replied:

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want to talk with you right now.” So I remarked:

“No, I won’t go away. It’s not right that I hardly get to talk with you about important things. I won’t send another letter to you c/o Twin Peaks. I just had no other choice, ’cause what I had to say was very important.” He replied:

“Please don’t do that again.” I answered:

“I promise I won’t. But why can’t I talk to you now?”

He gave no reply, but got up and left. I gulped down my third drink in hopes of tracking him down, and talk with him further. Yet as fast as I ran outside Pilsner’s door, I never found him.

I finally arrived home, expecting a very handsome young man (Ely) to soon come over after 8 PM. Yet, nothing on the answering machine indicated he’d dropped by. He may soon contact me. Yet I would sacrifice hot sex w/this gorgeous fellow, in exchange for just 15 minutes’ conversation w/Phillip, over a hot cup of tea, coffee or chocolate.

Oh well, guess I just gotta accept sperm release w/a darling and handsome fellow tonight, instead of the company of he who I love most in all the world.

Life sucks. But sometimes it sucks you in the right place.

All my love, and I am so happy,


Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 20:58:40
Re: So I saw Phillip tonight…
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

Hmmm. At least it was “Answered Prayers” and not “Gone with the Wind”…. Wonder what he meant when he said he “signed” it, but didn’t “give permission.”

My advice: Be cool next time you see him. Let him come to you.

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 21:01:22
Re: So I saw Phillip tonight…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ My advice: Be cool next time you see him. Let him come to you. }}

Agreed. Can’t wait to receive his letter…the first he’s ever sent me!

– Zeke

Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2013 06:16:18
Re: So I saw Phillip tonight…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Hmmm. At least it was “Answered Prayers” and not “Gone with the Wind”…. }}

Oh, I get it now. Certainly, that’s a most hopeful observation. It’s now 6:19 AM, woke up suddenly, though I normally sleep till 9 AM or so (get to bed quite late, usually). Here’s what I think is going on…and has been for years, since we first got together:

Phillip relies on others w/$$$ in the gay community, to keep a roof over his head, and to enjoy his life playing pool, bowling and softball. He’s the center of a lot of attention, no matter where he goes.

But these same “others” hate me. I suspect they told him they’ll drop any and all of their help if they ever see him with me again. Which also explains his sudden ceasing of his hugs and kind words after the holidays.

– Zeke

Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2013 10:07:57
Re: So I saw Phillip tonight…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ You’re right. He’s looking out for his livelihood. He’s compromised. But then, most of us are, one way or another, so your compassion is not misplaced. }}

Well, all he has to do is explain this. Don’t know if he’s really gonna send me a letter like he said last night. Once, he said he’ll call me…weeks went by, then months w/o a single call. Other clues as to his being “kept” in order to survive:

– Only at Hole in the Wall did we have fun together. At least, for almost a year before it all stopped, and he no longer spoke w/me. But he’d always protect me there, should anyone give me a hard time. In fact, he’d chase “˜em out.

– Then came 3+ years of our paths crossing now and then…he’d rush to the other side of a street, or duck into a shop.

– During those three months leading up to Xmas, he resumed his hugs and sweet kindnesses. His “keepers” were probably away on vacation.

– Whenever our paths cross in the day time, he’ll ignore me. But once the sun falls, he’s friendly once more. In the night, less prying eyes can see us.

– His schedule (what bars he visits, and his pool/softball/bowling interludes) are all strictly planned out. He never walks away from this beaten path. Were I truly a stalker, I could easily figure out his pattern.

Anywayz, this is why I’ve always been here for him, with such persistence and faith. Because I figured it out over 4 years ago. And
I’m sure he knows all this, and has no reason to hide this situation from me. In fact, if he actually read “The Phillip Chronicles,” I described the likelihood of his being kept, and explained why I thought this.

Whether I see him or not, our “affair” is becoming more and more the main topic of gossip here in the Castro. Just like the old days in SOMA. There is some sort of energy around us that is also beyond us, that is hatching this scheme.

Many people who played my enemy back then, are now very kind to me. So the resolution is well under way. All I really need do is try to relax and bide my time. I strongly doubt Phillip will want to be w/o me for long. I mean:

He shows up at Pilsner last night, just a minute after I arrive. One moment he’s not there, the next he appears as if out of thin air. I tell you, El, this dude can read my mind. It’s like he knows wherever I am, whenever!

As far as I knew, he only goes to Pilsner on Thurs. eves. After purchasing Capote’s novel I decided to have a drink at the bar, ’cause it’s right next door. With NO expectation of seeing Phillip.

Though I think his being kept is more out of kindness and protection, than anything sinister. And I don’t think his wealthy keepers hate me at all. What does seem to be the case, is they are very protective of him (and I’m most glad they are)…and I’m sorta being put through test after test to prove to them beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am truly a good friend to him. Then what happens?

They welcome me into this secret society that I’ve stumbled upon, and they’re a big part of “Free Me From This Bond”…especially Chapter 9.”

It is a most sweet thing I had walked into Pilsner with a book titled “Answered Prayers.” I wouldv’e missed that factoid had you not made the observation in your last email. Certainly, I never planned it that way.

And that’s just the kind of inspiration and magic that always plays around us. And why I think this man is an angel. Not metaphorically, but literally.

Yet most people do not care to grasp what I’m trying to tell them. They just think I’m deluding myself ’cause love is blind. Apparently, this sort of “magic” is not meant for all but a few enlightened eyes to witness.

Yet it’s growing ever more radiant and powerful, till it’s soon gonna wrap up the entire Castro–then the city, then the world–and I guess in time, the whole cosmos!

Good thing he’s the most beautiful creature in the universe. I would never settle for anyone less.

– Zeke

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2013 23:32:36
I also asked him…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…if the letter he plans to send me, is a nice letter, or not-so-nice. He didn’t say.

Love sucks.

– Zeke

Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2013 15:37:27
Re: I also asked him…
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

I’d take it further: Love is an opportunistic infection.

Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2013 17:00:19
Re: I also asked him…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Actually, it’s worse than that. It’s a plague.

Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2013 09:11:55
Re: I also asked him…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Highly contagious, 100% fatal, and antibiotic-resistant. }}

Egads, I’m a lost cause. Well, he also said “God bless you Zeke,” several times that night. Obviously, something’s up and I doubt any unhappy result.

Had an excellent time at the Hole in the Wall, and the Eagle. Talked w/numerous folks…the idiot who slandered me was not at either place.

Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2013
Re: I also asked him…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Also: he did read the letter, wasn’t the least bit upset. Told me he’ll write a letter back…which perhaps is his way of showing me he can write? (“˜Cause he said so rather emphatically: “I WILL WRITE YOU A LETTER!” And even with a sense of humor.)

That’s how he is, El: he loves to do and show rather than speak. He plays the game of life better than anyone I’ve met before.

He also made it very clear he does not want me out of his life. So, weighing all the pros and cons of our recent adventure, I’ll put up w/the occasional cold shoulder and try not to let my lovesickness wipe me out w/emotional tidal waves.

And of course through the tales in my novel, you know how much he loves to prank me.

What do you think his letter will say? It’s fun to conjecture. Oh, I guess our latest email exchanges are the start of Book 2.

Sinqueerly yours,


PS: Remember how we first met…or perhaps I should say “e-met”? Sweet memories.

Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2013 11:49:30
Re: I also asked him…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Dying to know what’s in the letter! }}

Oh don’t do that, it’s just a letter…

or is it?

Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2013 15:51:24
More Phillip Reveries
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Were I so incredibly good looking, guess I’d put my potential mate through certain tests before putting total trust in him. Being super handsome is a lot like being super rich: almost impossible to know who your true friends are; or to even find a true friend. It would therefore seem to me, that Phillip wanted to see how I’d react if he said “no” w/o any explanation, regarding my request for his signature.

Would I be angry, spiteful, act like a snotty brat? Or would I choose the compassionate route no matter the pain caused. Of course I chose the latter, as I always do (especially for his sake). I am sure that he’s been through more than one failed lover, who likely behaved possessive, jealous and vindictive, etc. Also, I understand through a reliable source, that some years ago when he was in his late 20″²s/early 30″²s, he had a great lover in an older man (mid-50″²s or so). But his lover came down with a virulent form of cancer. Phillip stayed with him till the very end. This was in San Diego. After his true love passed on, he came up here to SF homeless, and eventually hooked up with some decent members of the gay community, with wealth.

Over the years, Phillip has presented me with many difficult challenges, as well as many incredible and awe-inspiring adventures. I don’t think I’d ever know happiness again, w/o him in my silly life.

But if that should happen (Goddess forbid), I’ll never stop thinking about him or cease praise for such a remarkable human being. And I shall always compare him to any other potential lover, who I’m certain will never pass muster. Though I’m sure I’d find another wonderful soul who’d love me dearly. Yet in the dark of night as we cling to each other, I’ll always pretend I’m with Phillip.

Though of course he’d never know. That just wouldn’t be fair.

I feel so relieved to have finally passed through the worst of this recent (and most painful) challenge. The good fortune that has brought us together in the first place, will no doubt continue to weave a most remarkable love story that shall continue, novel after novel.

Your lovestruck amigo,


PS: In remembering how we first “e-met,” I’ll never forget how you said my piece, “Gay Marriage by any Other Name,” impressed you so much, that you’d love to marry me. That is such a sweet kindness, you deserve my renewed gratitude. You are truly my muse, as even our email exhanges keep leading to great tales and inspiration.

Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 17:26:07
My Disclaimer
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Okay, El, let me know if you think this is a good compromise:

The tales told in this novel are all based on actual and extraordinary events, embellished with my own Gonzo-style flights of
fancy. Therefore it is both fiction and nonfiction. Or as some would call it: a “pseudo-autobiography.”
DISCLAIMER: Some characters and locales appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance of fictitious characters/locales to real persons/places, living or dead/existing or now defunct, is purely coincidental.

Now, what you haven’t yet told me, is in Capote’s “Answered Prayers,” whether or not the author maintained accurate descriptions of the characters’ appearance, while using fictitious names.

Unfortunately, the version of this book I purchased, does not include his disclaimer. So I’m still somewhat in the dark.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 18:48:20
Re: My disclaimer
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ The disclaimer looks good to me–but natch, it’ll have to sound good to Twosome. }}

For sure. Even when self publishing, certain restrictions remain. Unless, of course, one sets up one’s own publishing company. Which I understand, some authors have done. But this is way beyond my own meager stipend.

{{ Apparently the characters were all highly recognizable in Capote’s book. Maybe he didn’t use a disclaimer at all–but still, they’d have had a hard time suing him, because it was published as fiction. That’s what counted. }}

Seeing as Capote was already established as a superb author, and he probably was quite rich…it seems to me he had far more leeway than any unknown author, such as myself.

{{ Interesting that his breakout book, “In Cold Blood,” was published as nonfiction, but turned out to be laced with major doses of fiction….. }}

I didn’t know that. Simple-minded me.

{{ Harper Lee, his good friend, who accompanied him to Kansas when he started work on ICB, would know the real story behind all of that. And she’s alive and well! }}

Wow! Are you suggesting I contact her?

Seems I’m suddenly entering a much bigger world than I’ve ever known. I think my renown may precede my first publication. Maybe next time I masturbate, instead of fantasizing cumming all over some hot dude, I should imagine my semen spurting all over the planet, and coating it in my super-fine sperm!

Which is that paint company that shows white paint coating the globe? Whoever they are, they have nothing over me!

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 19:24:38
Re: My disclaimer
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

Zeke wrote:

{{ Seeing as Capote was already established as a superb author, and he probably was quite rich…it seems to me he had far more leeway than any unknown author, such as myself. }}

He was pretty broke, apparently…enough so that when his rich pals cut him off, it hurt.

{{ {{ Interesting that his breakout book, “In Cold Blood,” was published as nonfiction, but turned out to be laced with major doses of fiction….. }} }}

{{ I didn’t know that. Simple-minded me. }}

{{ {{ Harper Lee, his good friend, who accompanied him to Kansas when he started work on ICB, would know the real story behind all of that. And she’s alive and well! }} }}

{{ Wow! Are you suggesting I contact her? }}

Why not try?

{{ Which is that paint company that shows white paint coating the globe? Whoever they are, they have nothing over me! }}


Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 19:49:22
Re: My disclaimer
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ He was pretty broke, apparently…enough so that when his rich pals cut him off, it hurt. }}

Oh, I didn’t realize. Yet, like Brian Epstein, I think it was a foolish move to commit suicide. Capote had great clout, and could have risen above the ashes, like a Phoenix. What is it about gay people that believe they must take their life, because certain people that matter to them, turn against them? Am I being too simplistic?

{{ {{ Wow! Are you suggesting I contact her? }} }}

{{ Why not try? }}

I will do just that. Give me some time to compose my letter to her. Amazing!

{{ {{ Which is that paint company that shows white paint coating the globe? }} }}

{{ Spermwin-Williams! }}

Ha ha ha.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 20:04:22
It’s over, El.
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Just saw Phillip as he entered Twin Peaks Tavern. As he opened the door to enter, he asked: “Are you feeling better today?” So I retorted:

“No. The question should be: “˜Are you feeling better?'”

Then he entered, shutting the door behind him. So I waited outside, and a few minutes later he stepped out. So I confronted him:

“Why are you treating me so bad? You were so nice to me for some months, than all of a sudden you treat me like a nobody. You need to talk with me. I’m your friend Phillip. I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”

So he said “Get outta my face!” And I replied:

“No, I won’t. You were so nice to me for a few months, then suddenly you ignore me. Are you just yanking my chain? Being really sweet for awhile, then dumping me? I’m your friend, Phillip. Are you really gonna send me a letter?” He said:

“No, I changed my mind.” So I replied:

“I never really believed you’d send me a letter. Just like you said you’d call me, but never did.” He replied:

“I never said I’d call you.” So I countered:

“Yes you did. You either forgot, or you’re lying to me. You can be as much of an asshole as you want, but I’ll always love you.” And he said:

“Quit yelling at me. Why are you yelling at me?” I responded:

“I’m not yelling at you, that’s a false accusation. You did so many nice things for me, I am grateful beyond measure. Yet recently, you’re treating me like shit. Please talk to me.” He replied:

“Get outta my face, you’re stalking me!” To which I countermanded:

“Again, a false accusation. I’ve never stalked you, nor ever will. Telling your friends I’m your stalker is unkind, and could put me in harm’s way.” He retorted:

“Well, what are you doing now?” And I replied:

“I’m trying to be your friend. Your were nasty to me recently, after months of being nice. Please tell me what’s going on.”

Then he shoved me hard, and I almost fell over. So I said:

“That does it, Phillip. You will never see me again. That you showed violence against me ends it. I feel very sorry for you.”

“Good,” he said, “You’re outta my life.”

“I needed to know if I should ever bother with you again,” I told him as he walked before me, to reenter Twin Peaks. And I continued, hollering from 10 yards away before he shut the door behind him:

“I made a mistake. Wasted 7 years of my life reaching out to you. I will always love you. but this puts an end to it. Goodbye, Phillip. You will never see me again.”

So I returned to my SRO, not looking back. Don’t know what he hollered at me, I was too disturbed and broken hearted.

Thus, it ends. And he shall become a fictitious character in my book. I must change his real appearance, so he’ll have no way to sue me.

I really have no idea how I shall go on with my life, but can only have faith that the gods will show me mercy.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 19:24:38
Re: It’s over, El.
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

God, Zeke, that’s awful. I’m really sorry. Like trap door opening in the floor beneath you. So painful! As for the book: Change his name, change his physical appearance just a little–eye color, hair color, but retain his /essence/. You’re a skillful writer, you can do it. When my mother’s first novel was published, she changed the eye color of her ex-husband from blue to black–not because she was worried about being sued, but because it was an efficient way to darken his character. You now know more about Phillip than you did when you wrote the book. So change him accordingly. You, the author, are in control. And you know what? I think you’ll end up with an even better story!!!

Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 20:34:23
Re: It’s over, El.
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ God, Zeke, that’s awful. I’m really sorry. Like trap door opening in the floor beneath you. So painful! }}

No kidding.

{{ So change him accordingly. You, the author, are in control. And you know what? I think you’ll end up with an even better story!!! }}

I know, I can do a great job or of revising what needs to be changed. But to have my soul crushed over this, is awful. My book shall be published, though washed in tears.

And I am sure those gays in SF will know exactly who I am talking about. He will be reviled for the rest of his life. And I certainly never wanted this to happen. Phillip has shown me so many kindnesses over the years, none of this makes sense.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 21:49:14
Phillip McKay is now Arwyn Miles
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Seeing as I told Phillip that his fictitious name will be “Cory Quinn,” I’ve decided to change him from an Irish to a Welsh man, named “Arwyn Miles.”

Only because obviously, I am in the middle of a war that has suddenly erupted in my face.

I do not wish for Phillip to go through any more hell, for I know his life hasn’t been easy (to say the least)…but because of his recent crude behavior towards me, I have no choice but to step aside and let the Angel of Justice meter her sentence.

There may come a time, perhaps, when Phillip will weep on my shoulder, and ask forgiveness. I will be here for him. I just do not relish the sorrow that is mine to bear for a while longer…after bearing so much already, not the least of which is Randolph Louis Taylor, the brave and suffering Nam Vet.

And to think that Phillip would heal my balms over Randolph, only to rip open that wound, and make it deeper than before, and rub in a shitload of salt.

I have no idea how long it will take for me to ever consider anyone else in my life a friend. Moving to Portland and keeping to myself forever, sounds like bliss at this point.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 21 Mar 2013 22:50:15
Re: Phillip McKay is now Arwyn Miles
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ The move would probably be good. Do you know anyone up there? }}

Not sure what you mean by “anyone up there”. Sorry.

{{ But you must do the book……. }}

Yes, the book will be done…and most likely will become a bestseller. I just rebel against the likelihood, that the price of publication will come with many years of copious tears.

It’s just not right. I want so much for Phillip to right his wrongs, but I will nonetheless not have any wish to be with him again. This is most painful.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 22 Mar 2013 00:57:54
Re: Phillip McKay is now Arwyn Miles
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ The move would probably be good. Do you know anyone up there? }}

No, not a soul. As I said before, I am pretty much alone in this world. The gay “community” here has been extremely vicious towards me. And my book was a heartfelt attempt to forgive them.

Unfortunately, that fell through. I will take the money, but doubt I will ever speak well of gay people again.

Should I move to Portland, there will be no attempt on my part, to meet any other “gay” people. My good works, including my street activism, are over for good.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 22 Mar 2013 10:07:03
Re: Phillip McKay is now Arwyn Miles
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke

{{ Not sure what you mean by “anyone up there”. Sorry. }}

I meant: Do you know anyone in Portland?

{{ {{ But you must do the book……. }} }}

{{ Yes, the book will be done…and most likely will become a bestseller. }}

The book will totally change your life.

Date: Fri, 22 Mar 2013 10:24:26
Re: Phillip McKay is now Arwyn Miles
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ I meant: Do you know anyone in Portland? }}

I finally realized that and posted you back.

{{ The book will totally change your life. }}

Indeed! As I hope it will for many others.

I feel so much better since confronting My Hero. I realize now how important it was to tell him what I did yesterday (including how nice these people are who help him keep a roof over his head). But the only way I could do it is by forcing his hand. I am pretty sure his lack of reading/writing skills is our very own Berlin Wall.

Only wish I were sharp and quick-witted enough when he flipped me the bird before reentering Twin Peaks, to retort:

“That finger should be shoved up my tight anus, not flapping about in the breeze like a dumb goose flying north for winter!”

(Ah, such regret.)

So I put him through big changes, but did it all with kindness. And I take pride in that. I really doubt he’ll want to do w/o me, but we’ll see. I have no real option but to avoid him at this point. He has at least one friend who really likes me. And he’s living with him. Ha ha.

Can’t wait till my illustrator completes all her work. The book will be fabulous!

Meanwhile, two elderly gay lovers from the Tenderloin admire my writing, and have invited me out for coffee next week. Actually, we got together yesterday afternoon, and they asked me to read a chapter from the novel. They were enthralled.

Strangely, the very handsome employee at the coffeehouse asked if I’m Zeke. I said yeah, how do you know?

Turns out he was a long term friend of Carl Betza, who lived in my building and died in Oct. 2010. He used to be my friend too, but for the last several years when he turned nasty and made my life a living hell at 2306.

Employee’s name is Sal. He asked me to find out which day Carl passed on, where he’s buried, etc., etc.. He wants to print an article about him, including his premature death due to his being poor, and thus denied the decent health care that would have enabled him to happily live for a bunch more years.

Said I’ll contact the building mgr. and “dig up” what I can. He was very grateful.

And I’m quite horny, so maybe I’ll get to boink him atop the grave. 0_o

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 22 Mar 2013 00:57:54
Well, it’s a new day…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…and it was actually rather easy to change Phillip’s appearance as well as his name. He now has copper-penny hair instead of brown, and a large dragon tattoo whose head appears on the left side of the neck, and wraps around to cover the shoulder blade on that same side.

Phillip has never behaved this way before, nor have I ever seen him treat anyone else like that. He’s always watched my back, even when he didn’t want to talk. Wouldn’t let anyone threaten or hurt me. But I guess I sensed something troubling was up with him. And started when I asked for his signature. My hunch:

I think he is very upset he can’t read or write well, and I’m quite the opposite. He is intimidated by my talent, in spite of the fact he’s actually way more talented than myself, and probably a lot smarter. His shove was very controlled, so that I wouldn’t fall. Yet that is no way to treat a friend, and I was forced to assert myself.

No excuse for his recent and unkind behavior…which led to this confrontation. There is nothing for me to do now, except love him from a distance, and move on with my life. If we ever resume friendly association, it would first require a damned sincere apology, and put an end to playing me like a nuisance. There is one other possibility I consider re. this turn for the worst:

He was in on my being dosed and mugged back in 2007 (at the Hole in the Wall)…or knew exactly who the culprits were. (I believe one or more bartenders use this homeless dude to dose and rob his victims, then shares the booty w/them.) Yet offered me no kindness or help in having justice served. Yet I realize it is my destiny to get to the bottom of this. If this be the case, I can surely understand why he’s so upset at this time. Guess he never dreamt how persistant this little pitbull can be!

For in pursuing him for friendship, I also pursue the truth. And realized all along he might be complicit.

How bizarre the timing of all this: my book in which he’s the hero is soon to be released, he’s moved barely a block away from me, and the 2nd bar around which our early adventures took place has reopened against all odds.

So I’m back at the Hole, and back at the Eagle once again…this time w/o Phillip. Though it is quite likely he’ll start showing up at the Eagle. His contacts there already know I plan to drop in every Tuesday afternoon. And there is also this to consider:

Phillip may be acting stupid so as to protect me from further harm. If certain skunks don’t want us together, or they’ll injure me, our public show of mutual distaste will appease their ghoulish desire. I just really don’t want to live through any sort of replay as in 2007. I JUST WANT A NICE FRIENDSHIP FER CHRISSAKE!

Funny thing, El, I feel really good all of a sudden. Obviously my honest challenge to him has been a catharsis for my restless little
butterfly soul. So at least one prayer has been answered: “Dear Goddess end my grief and anxiety attacks that have been going on constantly now for almost three months.” And She did.

I look very much forward to when the curtain raises on the next act of my life, back at SOMA.

Let the play begin!

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 22 Mar 2013 10:36:56
Re: Well it’s a new day…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Whew! Good! }}

I’ll say. Enough is enough. It’s very chaotic and sometimes painful to have such a sensitive people-barometer. Randolph was a real doozy! But that’s to be expected, Nam Vet and all.

I placed the mention of a tattoo in the chapter “Cheerz, Muthuh Fukkuh“:

I want so badly to enfold him in my arms, bless him with infinite
kisses. And lick that gorgeous dragon tattoo wrapped about his neck
and shoulder blades. The dragon’s flame sears his left collarbone.

In case my answer to you about Portland did not arrive in your mailbox: no, I don’t know a blessed soul there. While I can afford the rent, I don’t know how I’ll be able to avoid becoming homeless when I first arrive. Camp out? Maybe.

I really do not plan to move there…talking about it was an escape valve.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 22 Mar 2013 16:08:16
Answering Machine
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Forgot to mention that:

While in the midst of confrontation when I accuse him of not calling me like he said he would–Phillip draws out his cell and begins to dial. I speak:

“Oh, calling 911 are we?”

“Yep,” he stifles a chuckle.

“Wasting the PD’s valuable time does not make you look very good in their world. Besides,” I muse, “you just dialed too many numbers for 911.” He then stares right into my eyes with those smoky-orange orbs that I love to fall into:

“I’m calling you right now, to leave a message.” Then with a wry grin while diddling those lanky fingers across a tiny keyboard, inquires: “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I cross my arms in defiant exasperation. “Right. I’m standing here right before you now, and it is then you decide to call me.” And a quick afterthought: “So I can’t be home to pick up. Wow, I am so not impressed.”

Didn’t hear what he spoke to me over the phone, I was that flustered.

Upon returning hovel, I press the playback button to hear: “Hello Zeke! You’re a really nice man and have always been good to me. Just don’t do it again.”

This “just don’t do it again” blurb is a reference to the time he punked me years ago (Book 1, Chapter 4: Cheerz, Muthuh Fukkuh).

Stupid me, in my anger I quickly erase the message: his very first phone call to me, ever. Not until the next day do I realize I shoulda recorded his voice to computer, to place it in a blog.

I’ve been kicking myself ever since.

End of Chapter 1: “Ultimatum” (the sequel to FMFTB).

– Zeke

A Quaternity of Poems

March 12, 2013

[ Free Me From This Bond: Chapter 15 ]

[ I thought it would be nice to include four poems among many I’ve composed, dedicated to My Randolph. They were all written in the late 1980’s. The first one is quite long, unlike the remaining three.]


thinking of you this labor day
happy LOVE’S labor day
browsing in walgreens aisle of greeting cards
(mini via dolorosa):

In friendship…
Hang in there…
Something about you just makes my little heart
skip a beat…
I like you for what you are…
Every day something reminds me of you…
If wishing wells work, if crossed fingers count,
if theres any magic in the world…
A poem for you my love…
Top 10 reasons to smile…
When i think about us i wonder how i got so lucky
and then i remember…
Woke up with a wonderful thought today…
Its just me sending a little card to give you a
little smile a little lift…
For my guy…
When im with you i do things i really shouldnt do…


a moose? (broad brown antlers, huge honker,
head poked through open window
of your home, joyful licks)

puppy dogs
flowers, stars, crescent moons, hearts
a snake? (crooked stovepipe hat tipped in
friendly greeting, red bowtie)

pretending wishing
these cards
even one for gods sake

were sent from washington d c
return address randy taylor

oh why drown myself in grief?
why think of you anymore?


writing letters in the donut shop
to your adored one (jose)
Dearest Little Squirrel
i walked in
for the first time
our eyes met could not pull away

your feet on the stairs of 689 castro
as i stood at your door about to knock
walking in the rain
beside you under your umbrella
i wanted to beg you not to leave
but i said nothing

january 16 1985 11 o clock news your face on the

“randolph louis taylor vietnam veteran antiwar
and gay rights activist
gave speeches with ron kovic
(author of born on the 4th of july)
fasted 40 days in 84 for representation of
vietnam veterans at the s f democratic convention
shot himself early this morning at the vietnam
veterans memorial in washington d c”

i turned off the t v wept thought it was all over
but next day discovered it wasnt you were still alive!
desperately sought your whereabouts then wrote to you
letter after letter day after day until

those incredible love letters before i flew to d c
your desperate appeal:
“please help me stop the dying”
your promise (never fulfilled) to be
“as good a friend to you
as you have been to me”

your old mans snore (open mouth) as i gazed upon you
from the door of your hospital room in d c

marching out of the canteen in childish arrogance
because i scolded you
(walkman headphones over your ears)

wearing the hsing-hsing/ling-ling panda t shirt i bought you
your chest puffed with pride
boastful strides through VAMC corridors
new haircut
such lovely waves of silver hair!

shirt pulled up for me to touch the lump
bullet lodged beside your shoulder blade
strong broad marines back! sensuous smooth!
agent orange skin cancer operation scars!
brave soldier proud veteran of armageddon!
top gun my hero my little chipmunk!
my beloved comrade in arms!

your moist cool kiss on my neck like a playful vampire
beside the statue of saint francis
i threw my arms around your shoulders
raised myself off the grass
(youre so tall!)
to return the love bite

my lonely visit to “the wall”
“the wailing wall of amerika”
where you shot yourself in the heart
but missed
vietnam veterans memorial
black slabs of polished stone
pressed into the side of a grassy mound
inscribed with the names of the dead
the deluded homophobic dead
except for the few true believers
in brotherly love
(who? we may never know)
bronze statue of five soldiers raising
the american flag WWII
behind me & to my left
i shiver
while you play bingo back at the hospital

the agony of my departure after 3 weeks
alone on the jet (peoples express)
looking down from the sky
the white house the obelisk lincoln memorial
the veterans administration memorial center
where you were
knowing that by now you received my parting
bouquet of roses delivered to your door
tag attached: “semper fidelis. genie.”

dupont circle georgetown foggy bottom
the potomac river chesapeake bay
sudden burst of tears in my sleeve
oh how cruel you were to me
almost every time we were together
“gene, i never asked you to come here”

even after 15+ years i cannot believe that i am not
your hero guardian angel best buddy
that you turned your love to hate

but i still write to you
compose verses in your honor

thinking of you this labor day


If wishing wells work, if crossed fingers count,
if theres any magic in the world…


Please God don’t let Christmas come
Without my Randolph Taylor.
My quest is still a painful one:
Adrift at sea, a lonesome sailor.

I can’t believe that he is dead,
His soul bound to the quilt.
(Oh can’t this be another man,
Same name in glitter gilt?)

How many years I’ve walked this path
Of love’s devotion on the cross,
Only to echo The Devil’s laugh:
“You lost, you lost, you lost!”

I pray, I guess, for miracles,
Each breath a sacred wish:
My heart a candle in the dark,
Or in the deep blue ocean, a single
golden fish!

“Please help me stop the dying,” was
Randolph’s tender plea,
Scrolled across a letter: the first
he sent to me.
But now my sadness falls like rain,
And drowns my joy like a broken toy.
I cannot bear this pain.

I cannot bear not knowing
How you, dear Randolph, are.
(My heart forever glowing, whether
near or far
For a man who gave me everything
And set my course to a star!)

Without you, my dear Randolph,
I have no way to steer.
The waves are crashing ‘gainst the prow;
The clouds are tumbling near!

I yearn for you my chipmunk,
My little piece of Heaven.
If my soul were a loaf of bread,
Your kiss would be the leaven.


My heart is over-tired, so I must sing this song:
Bring my soldier home to me, he’s been gone too long!

Oh bring my soldier home to me, with a smile on his face,
And a tear or two for me and you, as we march in place.

Oh bring my soldier home to me, his home is in my heart!
Armageddon is The Wedding; know your part.

Oh bring my Daddy home to me; I am His Only One!
Uncleave my heart, unsheathe my tongue!
Plowshares to swords, faggots to Huns!
Butter to bullets, bread to guns!
Gay Revolution has begun!

Oh bring my lover home to me; the Starving Vet of
I nursed him back in Wash., D.C.; that’s why he’s still

Oh bring My Father home to me; the light is drawing near!
Yea, though I dally in Eureka Valley, I shall have no fear!

Oh bring my Randolph home to me; the coffee’s on the stove!
His tears that fell for all Nam Vets have made His Wish


i expect you to suddenly
like a friendly ghost
into my arms
neon kisses
gentle embrace
hands sweetly touching
at any moment
sitting waiting for me
over an avocado omelette

how very california

i enter and stumble all over you
i am so hungry
metal utensils pushed by happy elbows
clatter to the floor
a-harmonic chimes
merry wedding bells
joyful tears caresses
thank god thank god thank god
i taste your sweet saliva
illuminating a forkful of omelette
radioactive love!
that you press upon my tongue

i sigh over a plate
of french fries
the coffee
like my heart
my room
the building in which i live
like my heart
the streets
the people

the city
like my heart

oh brother of the lion heart
i wanted to
be your androcles
remove the bitter thorn

of viet nam

Angus Mac Og’s Bounty

March 12, 2013

[ Free Me From This Bond: Chapter 14 ]

Once upon a time, there was a Brave Little Dragon named Zeke or Gene (he couldn’t really make up his mind) who cared so much about his homeless and otherwise disenfranchised gay brothers, that he didn’t know when (or even how) to back off when danger came his way, or when he walked into shit flying full force in a gale.

It was Year 2005 when his tender spirit broke in Great Sorrow from his dear buddy Johnnie. Who had gone back to shooting up heroin after 29 days on a detox program. Johnnie turned on Gene with vile words and false accusations, after almost an entire year of a remarkably sweet friendship. (In fact, it was Zeke’s affections that encouraged Johnnie to get off smack in the first place.) Johnnie would even give Gene a hug each and every morn before departing for the day, topped off with a tender kiss on the forehead.

Not for many moons did Zeke know why this wicked turn in their friendship; he only thought it was an effect of chasing the dragon. As it turns out, it was more than that…for Gene finally discovered the true source of Johnnie’s bitterness. His father had died. His dad was only 55, same age as Zeke.

Just two weeks before this tragic downfall, Johnnie had told Gene: “My father is the very best friend in my life, Zeke. There is no one that even comes close to him in my heart, except for one person. And that’s you.”

Gene was so touched by Johnnie’s loving words, his heart sang every single day, and every night as he dreamt. Until…(as you just learned) the Demons of Despair came swiftly to sever this Golden Cord of Brotherly Regard. With great and unjustified hostility, Johnnie exited from Zeke’s life, forever (or so it seemed). Now, Zeke was also bitter; so he began spitting all over the floor and in other ways allowed his once-elegant SRO to become an absolute dump.

[ Do not despair, Kind Reader, for in so suffering, Gene shared Johnnie’s bitterness which, in due time, shall bring them back together w/Johnnie clean of drugs, and their friendship elevated to a Heavenly State of Affairs. ]

He sought some kind of refuge, where he might start licking his Wounds of Defeat. Heard that a gay bar called “Hole in the Wall Saloon” was a great place to kick back and listen to really good, and LOUD, rock ‘n’ roll. (Hole in the Wall never plays disco crap.) So there he went, and sat in the darkest corner, and kept to himself.

And of course, that is also where Zeke and Arwyn were brought together for the first time, in what will eventually turn out to be a most astounding gay bromance. But it didn’t start out that way.

For (unbeknownst to Gene at the time) Arwyn was an undercover detective embedded at The Hole in order to bust a group of Hell’s Angels running drugs through all the gay bars South of Market, plus two bars here in the Castro. (One of these two, “The Detour,” has since shut down.)

But Zeke had already fallen head over tail for Arwyn, so refused to leave the saloon when Arwyn had confronted his new-found buddy:

“Gene, it is very dangerous for you to hang out here, especially when you’re a friend to me.” He lowered his noble orange-haired head and looked at Zeke directly in the eyes: “So, will you please go now?”

With that, Arwyn returned to his billiards, leaving Gene in a gloomy space, and never spoke to him again…at least, not for five sad years (actually, three, but memory loss made it seem longer). Zeke refused to leave the Hole; he loved Arwyn that much, and at least was rather delighted to watch from afar, Arwyn’s antics around the pool table, and listen to rock ‘n’ roll pounding through hyper-amped speakers, and let thoughts of His Johnnie sink into the Moors of Forgetfulness.

Though be assured that, should anyone ever threaten Gene at The Hole (or later, the Eagle), Arwyn would abruptly drive them out with great anger. Which eventually cost him dearly, as he was instructed (by South-of-Market drug lords) to never defend Zeke, or there’d be Hades to pay. And so he did: his room was burnt down, and Gene was dosed with intent to drive him insane.

In a little more time, without either speaking a word to the other (as Arwyn would not allow), Zeke figured out the situation (that Arwyn is an undercover sleuth), and cleverly became Arwyn’s sidekick. He played the lure, the fall guy, and decoy. Which made the Orange County Detective’s work far easier, by bringing these drug-dealing murderous skanks out of the woodwork. Eventually, though, Gene was driven out of The Hole for good, by a violent threat of a sharp blade to his gut, should he ever show up there again. Of course, Arwyn was not present at the time, and the bartender on duty chose to look the other way; thus Zeke had no choice but to leave the Hole for good.

So Gene started hanging out at the Eagle Tavern a few blocks away (12th & Harrison), for he knew that Arwyn enjoyed frequenting that space, too. Sometimes, when he could afford it (a rare occasion), he’d buy Arwyn a drink. Though only via the barkeep’s hand, as Zeke still could not speak to Arwyn, or even get within ten feet of him. About a year later, Gene discovered Arwyn working at a taqueria right next door to his now-verboten hangout, the Hole in the Wall.

So every Wednesday, Zeke would order a small meal and enjoy watching Arwyn at work: a 6-foot-4 handsome giant who towered above the several diminutive Mexican workers. An absolutely sweet and sometimes hilarious scenario…of which Arwyn was quite aware, and made the most of. Still, Gene was not allowed to speak to him, except to place an order. But Zeke did find endearing ways to compliment him from time to time, without exposing their sweet relationship. Such as (after placing his order which was always chile rellenos) remarking: “Not only is the food here quite good, but the view is outstanding.” By “the view” of course, he meant Arwyn’s Glorious Mug, for there was nothing impressive to see out the picture window: just a busy intersection surrounded by drab buildings and the occasional wino and bums with shopping carts rattling on by.

Gene sought additional (non-vocal) ways to express his love for this Orange County Gumshoe, by writing one blog every two or three weeks, about Arwyn and how simply being in his presence makes Zeke so ridiculously happy. He’d slip a printout of each episode (secured in a decorated plastic folder), beneath an old newspaper. Since Arwyn also cleared tables, he’d be the first to find it. This lasted almost a year, before Gene decided to cease his weekly visits, in order to make clear he was no stalker. Two months later, the restaurant closed. Those blog entries BTW, now compose his online novel called “The Arwyn Chronicles”…29 chapters in all!

When the Taqueria Phase ended, Arwyn made sure Zeke could see him within every two or three weeks, by showing up nearby. Say, walking in opposite direction along the sidewalk, and passing by as if neither knew the other. Or some months later, showing up out of the blue, now employed at a local bar (“The Metro,” which has since shut down) right across the street from Gene’s apartment building.

[ Darling Reader: may I remind you that Arwyn’s keen telepathy certainly helped the process along. ]

Zeke could now look right out the hallway window and see Arwyn at work, or smoking a ciggie on the wraparound deck; the bar was on the second floor, as was Gene’s SRO. So he’d sometimes visit, buy a drink and enjoy Arwyn’s presence once more, from a respectful distance.

Some days, Zeke would even stand kitty corner across the street, and hold his hat to his heart while looking up at Arwyn who took frequent cigarette breaks on the sundeck. This way, Gene could send his love from a very safe distance, with no one the wiser. (It was a large, busy 5-corner intersection at Market, 16th, and Noe.) Arwyn would just puff on a Marlboro with vigor while looking directly at his Beloved Sidekick, for as long as he could before returning to work. An element of humor in these little scenarios was not lost on Zeke; surely Arwyn’s playful spirit was a great balm.

Around this time (of “The Metro”) the funding for this assignment from Orange County dried up, and busting the Hell’s Angels drug runners became a cold case. Arwyn was therefore required to return to Southern California, or lose his career. In a heartbeat, he chose the latter. No way was he going to leave his Beloved Amigo vulnerable to these cult fanatics, for Gene would likely be severely crippled (or even murdered) as a result.

So in losing his noble job, he also lost his health benefits, and thus began the rotting and loss of his gorgeous pearly whites. Small sacrifice to pay in his mind, in order to protect the soul of one so dear.

Arwyn turned to hustling men in their 70’s mostly, at select gay bars in The Castro…not for sex of course, but for nightly companionship. Fully clothed or in pajamas, he’d hold these lonely (though affluent) elder gentlemen in his gangly arms, and make them feel very much loved and appreciated. Mornings, Arwyn would usually fix them coffee and breakfast in his underwear, and tell many cheerful jokes and compliments.

If there’s one thing Arwyn excels at, it’s bringing joy to the hearts of aging (or severely disabled) men who otherwise would have no purpose in their lonely lives, or any reason to get out of bed each day. Some suffered major health issues, such as cancer, AIDS and even dementia. Arwyn loved ’em all, to the point where they found life exceedingly wonderful again (or perhaps even for the first time). He graced them with his beauty, friendship and humor…and in exchange received $100 to $500 a nightly pop.

He could’ve gotten so much more because of his startling good looks and talent…but he intentionally sought more needful clientele. For Arwyn is truly a lover to his brothers in great need…he uses his Dragon-Given Beauty for all the right reasons. And this is why Gene harbors such golden affection for this Most Courageous and Compassionate Detective: the first man ever to make him forget his other great love, Randolph Louis Taylor.

So now we are caught up to the present time, and the completion of this episode (Chapter 13). Arwyn is so close to busting these scoundrels, he can taste it like stale tobacco from an overnight tryst. And Zeke will soon have this novel published and become wealthy beyond anyone’s comprehension (and of course, outrageously, impossibly, scintillatingly famous as well). Their teeth will be repaired by the best oral surgeons and dental technicians money can buy (or simply healed in a flash by Dragonly White Magic). And Gene will open his first home for severely disabled gay veterans, employing his buddies off the streets to be their companions, maintain the building and grounds, and handle the books.

Truly, a Happily Ever After Gay Real Life Fairytale!


Arwyn and I have to live apart a while longer, until Arwyn’s calling is complete; that is: the bust and arrest of these Disciples of the Zodiac Killer a.k.a. “Hell’s Angels drug runners”. For it is still too dangerous for us two Love Dragons to be seen together; but this will soon end in a few weeks, or a few months (but no more). Then, we’ll rush off to the Outer Hebrides for our belated honeymoon.

(But not before I am first honored at the Gay Pride Festival, and declare secession of Northern California from these Disunited States, and establish the Queerest Nation on the Planet.)

[ FYI: I am also the Chief Leader of the Seven Celtic Nations…which shall soon secede from the European Union and declare its own nationhood. So you see, Astute Reader, the motive to celebrate my marriage somewhere in Scotland, is not without ulterior intent! ]

Be assured that both Arwyn and myself will do everything possible to bring these criminals to justice; but we won’t stop there. Under the inspiration of the Buddha’s tenet that “we have no enemies, only teachers” (or Jesus’s command to “love thine enemy”), we’ll fight to redeem their lost souls, and direct them towards a much better and ethical life. I’d like to employ at least some of them as companions for the home I soon plan to open, for severely disabled lesbian and gay veterans.

BTW, if you likewise take to heart the perspective that we have no enemies, only teachers: you will have a much easier go of it when dealing with your own life crises, no matter how insurmountable they presently seem. It will turn all your difficulties into a beautiful game, and eventually, all your trials into blessings. For further details into this matter, please read the following essay I wrote back in Y2K:

NeoPositivity: a gay religion

[ Kind Reader: I want Hell’s Angels busted not because of the hard drugs per se, but because they are all heterosexual. The Gay Community has its own criminal underbelly, and deserves to run the show. After all, didn’t we already go through Hetero Overlords controlling our bars via the Mafia, back in the day? Furthermore: why it was necessary to send a detective all the way south from Orange County (more than 600 miles), in order to bust a local drug ring, is still a mystery to me. But I’m sure glad it came down that way! ]

Why is Arwyn far more telepathic than myself? Because he is my Guardian Dragon, sent from Avalon to guide and protect this wretched little soul. He has to be more psychic in order to perform his Goddess-given duties to free me from this earthly bond. (No, doesn’t mean I’m gonna die; just means I’ll have a New Life in this present world that will soon transform into a garden paradise.)

“Chasing the dragon”: a term used metaphorically to mean inhaling heroin fumes. However, in my tale of Arwyn’s love and courage as a dragon from Avalon, I transform the term into something rarified and divine. Such is the noble goal of alchemy. Speaking of which:

In the Hebrew mystical teachings of the Kabala, it is said that, should a person search for truth with all his heart and all his courage, he will eventually find it, and be as much regarded and loved by the angels as Our Creator Herself. With this Golden Apple that I have won through such dedication towards Queer Equality, I get to play “Queen for a Day” so to speak. Though this “day” will last for months, perhaps years. Even Jesus Himself will step aside, that I may be the world’s savior for a time. This is truly a remarkable blessing beyond anything I could ever conceive. Believe me, dear reader, when I say I often fall to the ground in awestruck wonder!

[ Well, Seraphic Reader, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But I do sometimes suffer anxiety attacks, wobble at the knees and suffer body shakes whenever I’m aware of Such A Great Blessing that has come to this shattered soul. ]

Of course, being a spiritual guardian to me, also means Arwyn is a tough task master. Whatever he knows I need to go through, no matter how seemingly harsh, he won’t hesitate to begin the process…for the sooner it starts, the sooner it will end. His cold shoulder, the silence of not speaking with me (or acknowledging my very existance) was not just a necessary form of protection from violent criminals, but served this other purpose:

In so treating me this way, it sharpened my telepathic abilities as well as my writing skills. For in such powerful desire to communicate to him my love, and my struggles for us both, I had no outlet but to write it all down, then print it out and deliver my tales to him. (Arwyn doesn’t mess around with computers or the Internet, so I couldn’t just hope he’d go online every week or so, to be updated.) It was quite a Herculean Challenge to say the least, but I trust his Wise Affections to never lead me astray, no matter how impossible may seem the obstacle he places before me.

In short: I’m a VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY lucky man! (And you are too, once you learn to listen to your own Guardian Dragon.)

PS: I was bored this morning, so I googled the word “draco” to find this incredible article dated January 2011:

DRACO Drug Could Cure Almost Any Virus

Good riddance AIDS et al (and hello Age of Aquarius)…blessings on us all!

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