Destiny’s Tongue

[ Free Me From This Bond (the sequel): Chapter 11 ]

Date: Tue, 16 Apr 2013 08:19:01
MY name is Love, too!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

El, I attempted to enter Twin Peaks Tavern this afternoon (around 5:20 PM), to present Chapters 6-9 to my beloved Larkin. Which also included the following letter that is now embedded in Chapter 10:

15 April 2013

To My Beloved but Misguided Dragon:

Larkin, within a day or two I will present you with a turquoise portfolio containing chapters 6-9 of Book 2.

Turquoise has always been my favorite color since I played with my first Barbie doll. I was simply mesmerized by her gown’s deep shade of aqua-blue. My father was quite upset when he saw me playing with dolls instead of little green plastic soldiers. Not that he confronted /me/ per se, but I heard him arguing with my Mom (in the kitchen while I played w/Barbie on the front stoop). She nipped the matter in the bud with a pert statement in my defense:

“Oh leave him be.”

But I also enjoy certain color combinations such as Howard Johnson’s bold contrast of turquoise roof and bright orange facade. My parents used to take me there now and then, when I was still kneehigh to a ladybug. My favorite repast was their HoJo Burger slathered in a “secret sauce” that tasted a tad spicy with thousand-island undertones. Along with a tall fountain glass of vanilla soda (double squirt on the syrup) and a fat dollop of buttercrunch ice cream.

Howard Johnson’s has long since modernized their appearance by changing the facade from orange to soft white. And I turned vegetarian.

So here is a near-future vision of our next encounter:

“These are the latest chapters of “˜Free Me From This Bond (the sequel).’ I only started writing the novel three weeks ago, so things are moving really fast,” I declare. “You do know what that means, don’t you?”

“Hmm,” You raise a musing hand to your chin. “That I better start moving fast too?” I nod in agreement:

“If you really want this book to have the happiest ending possible.” Then append: “Otherwise I’ll just have to commence Book 3.”

You place a kind hand on my shoulder: “Zeke, I’m racked with guilt for shoving you.”

“Well /that’s/ a hopeful sign,” I quip.

Larkin, you need to sincerely apologize to anyone you’ve hurt in the past. Including David. Who so much loved running back and forth through the old Hole in the Wall Saloon. One day when he saw me growing close to you, he warned:

“Look Zeke. Larkin gave me a titty-twister that I thought at first was just a friendly tweak.” He sighed before confessing the final truth. “But he went beyond that, and didn’t stop till after he caused me great pain.” So I assured him:

“I will confront him when the time is right.” I guess now is finally that time, in this chapter that you will eventually read. But if David is exaggerating (due to jealousy of our friendship or something else), you have my heartfelt apology.

Larkin: you must profusely make amends to those you have caused grief (including certain bartenders). And that is how you can give me back my dignity and complete trust in your friendship. I won’t even demand that you prove such apologies…for I put absolute faith in your respect towards my fervent appeal. You don’t even need to apologize for shoving me, if you do that noble deed.

For when two people love each other so much, as we do: it is required at some point that the one who insists on being the final word, give up his perceived supremacy, and allow his partner to take over. At least, for a time. For this is the balance that measures all future outcomes, and is an utterly necessary mandate if both (or just one) seek a rewarding and eternal bond.

Whether the love is platonic or involves the physical, it’s still the same: it’s love, it’s true friendship. Thus, the same rules apply in both circumstances.

I’m not going to lecture you on how to make things up. You humiliated me, but I will not humiliate you. Also, you should know your powerful thrust on my body has aggravated lower back pain. It is minor, and will clear up in two or three weeks. I thank Goddess it’s not any worse. Though please let me emphasize: shoving someone upon a hard surface such as concrete, could inadvertently cause far more harm than intended.

My back problems BTW, originated by another man I loved, who turned violent. His name is Derrick, or on the streets, “DJ.” He kicked me swiftly (and twice) with his powerful soccer legs as I walked by him in order to pour a glass of milk. Bad enough, but a few moments later while I was talking on the phone, he poked a lit cigarette on my thigh (I had no pants on, just a pair of boxer shorts). Fortunately–because God protects me from real harm–I felt not a smidgeon of pain, nor did the cinders leave a mark.

Though I did admonish: “You’re a bad boy. A very bad boy. If you ever try something like that again, you will lose my friendship forever. Understand?”

After that incident, he came to love me with the greatest affection, and was protective towards me in all ways possible. And we loved each other with a great and wonderful passion. Sadly, I could not handle having him sleep over more than three weeks (or I’d be evicted). So he moved on to Sacramento, and has never contacted me since…even though I told him to, and that I loved him like nobody’s business. Last time I saw him was more than five months ago.

What do I need to do to be your good friend (and perhaps lover): get a black belt in Ju Jitsu? I love you terribly. But maybe I love you more than you do me. Though I doubt this. Can you verbalize at this time, that you love me too? AFAICT, you’ve given me every sign that kicking you in the guts or balls would give you the real respect I merit. But I could never do that, as I cherish you too much. You need to admit with all sincerity:

“Yes, Zeke. You are the best friend in the whole world. Again, I am so very sorry.”

If you do that (or in different, though equivalent words) I will respond while weeping upon your jacket:

“Well, My Gracious Dragon, I kinda knew that all along. Seven long years of caring so much about you has made this moment the most sacred in my entire life. I need you so badly, Larkin.”

Your jacket will become drenched in my sorrow and joy. There is no one so beautiful, so sweet and so very sincere as my lover Larkin. Barkeep Danny visits our table with two free drinks, gratis.

Larkin, you seem to have so much fun with friends and acquaintances…schmoozing and playing pool, softball and bowling. Yet I remain relegated to social isolation. Gossip in gay bars does much damage to my ability to form relationships…especially when there is nobody there to defend me, and show me a nice time. When a patron remains isolated, and people gossip about him, the whole crowd winds up rejecting him and driving him out. Through no fault of his own.

And it grieves me terribly that you seem to have acquiesced to herd mentality, in order to maintain your own favored status. You have sold out. All at my expense, though something I sincerely do not deserve.

Guess it’s time for me to move on. Portland here I come!

Instead of closing this letter with my name or signature, I use my little “zekeheart.jpg” logo (see attachment). Anyways, he eagerly accepts my latest chapters, but glares down at me and demands:

“Zeke, please leave, I’m begging you.”

So I oppose: “Why don’t you want me here?” I consider addressing the bartender to ask him if Larkin has any authority to decide who should and should not enter this bar. But I think better of it, and just stand before My Giant Hero.

“You can’t be here, Zeke,” he declares, and adds: “Thank you for respecting my request.”

Considering that he already accepted my chapters w/o any hesitation whatsoever, I realize that, once more, I’m between a kok and a hard face. If I continue to resist him (I think) he just might shove my latest gift packet back into my empty hands. So I leave (considering the import of what I declared to him in those pages: far more crucial than whether or not I can hang in Twin Peaks.)

Before exiting, he calls to me (while the eight or so patrons in the bar suddenly turn silent, in order to witness what might turn out to be the greatest melodrama on record):

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

So I turn my face back at him with hand on the doorknob: “You’re not welcome.”

Upon arriving hovel, I dwell on our latest tragic encounter, and decide to compose the following letter:

1. Why were you so sweet to me for almost three months, then suddenly don’t want to talk to me?

2. Are you going to ban me from Twin Peaks whenever you’re there? What about Pilsner Inn?

3. Are you taking meth? Are you a drug dealer? Are you a detective?
4. Did my postcard to your mailbox upset you?

5. Do you want me out of your life for good?

6. Can you find some way to see me once per week, even if it’s only 10 minutes?

In case you refuse to talk to me outside Twin Peaks on this issue, I printed this page, that you might write down your answers and present or send them to me.

Just so you know: if you are taking speed, or are a hard drug dealer, I’ll still love you and do my best to be a very good friend to you. I am totally against this phony “War On Drugs.” I’ll even cover your ass, if necessary. I have several good friends who use meth, and they are always mellow and good company, whether or not they’re on speed at the moment, or jonesing. Not all speed freaks fit the stereotype.

If you are a detective, and am only protecting my skin by driving me away, it would be much better to tell me so, that I won’t interpret your repulsion as just a fukked up attitude.

I feel very strongly that you love me, every bit as much as I do you. If you are taking speed, that would explain your sudden antagonism against me, after being so sweet (and a very good friend) for 2+ months.

But if such is the case, you really need to know that your indulging in addictive substances does not change anything in my love for you.

Blessed be,


PS: Otherwise, I don’t know what the fuk is going on. I just dread the idea of losing you from my world. I break down and cry several times a day, since you shoved me.

Tears flow onto my hands as I fold this letter into an envelope and march on back to Twin Peaks Tavern. Not knowing of course, if Larkin is still there, or has already departed for Pilsner Inn or elsewhere.

Upon opening the door (they really need to fix it, as it slams you in the butt upon entering or exiting: how rude!) I see Larkin gesturing me to stay out. So I back up, and summon him with my left hand to come out and talk…at least for a few seconds. He does just that, and as I hand him the auxiliary letter, declare:

…to be continued

– Zeke

Date: Tue, 16 Apr 2013 08:22:11
Two days later…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…at Pilsner Inn:

I step up to the front of the bar, to address handsome Enrico: after downing more than 80% of the boosted vodka and tonic that I requested, and was willing to pay whatever price was righteous ($10 to be exact, in spite of the other barkeep, Gaddy, who only charged me five dollars for the same thing. Though I’m not really sure, as Enrico’s libation was quite powerful, and perhaps worth more than he charged. Besides, I’m more than delighted to support our long-suffering gay bars so long as I can afford it. Thanks to Enrico, I was really feeling my oats).

“I’ll be leaving in a minute, but I want to tell you something.” He says:

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Let me take your hand before I tell you.” And so we do, at which point I state:

“You are a very good man. Thank you so much for looking over my illustrations.” With which he withdraws his hand and replies:

“Oh, no problem.” And turns to another customer desiring to quench his thirst with your ever-ubiquitous firewater.

“Wait a minute,” I declare like a wounded Arapaho about to be slayed by a Confederate soldier:

“I have a bit more to tell you. Please, let me hold your kind hand a while longer.”

So he does just that, and our warm hands link in comradely affection. I tighten my grip further, and confess:

“Larkin has given me great confidence and love. So I tell you this: I would love to be your friend outside of this bar.” Enrico seems to understand completely, and tightens our grip with sweet affection. Thus, I continue:

“Enrico, Larkin’s sweet friendship is the only reason why I reach out to your darling self.” Our hands still tightly grasped, I affirm:

“I would very much like to be your friend outside of this bar. But if that does not appeal to you, no problem. I’ll still be terribly happy to see you as a bartender at Pilsner.”

Let me tell you, El: Enrico is a deliriously handsome and buff dude, 5-foot-nine, with quite a ripped abdomen and chest, that you can easily view beneath his snug T-shirt. Not to mention a fairly tight pair of jeans that make you drool for days over his very fine ass.

I think his eyes are bright brown or hazel…can’t really tell in the dim, moody light. His nose is kind of large, sort of aquiline with a bit of curve to it. Full, luscious lips and a shaved cranium so perfect, you want to display it in a Museum Of Magnanimous Male Skulls!

IOW: I cum all over the place, just looking at or thinking of him. He told me his full name two nights ago, which I forget, though it struck me as a noble name…he was very proud of his monicker. So this early eve when I asked him to tell me his last name again, he quipped:

“My name is Mike tonight,” with a mischievous grin.

“Okay Mike,” I smile with a bit of sorrow, and say, “so nice to see you again.”

Some minutes later he steps out to the patio, to procure whatever (such as napkins, swizzle sticks and coasters from the storage room preceding the back porch. I am sitting at the mini-deck that composes the front part of this patio, working on my latest chapter w/great frustration, on my Gateway netbook), when he steps back there, to gather the requisite paraphernalia required to run an efficient tavern.

I set down my drink and quit the computer, to approach him as he exits the storage area. And say:

“So, Mike.” (He then smiles at me.) “If you change your name every time I see you, please accept my apology if I can’t keep up with all your frequent name changes.’

He laughs and replies: “Oh that’s okay!” Looks like I cornered him to be a victim of my retort:

“So Mike, I just want to know: will you ever get around to calling yourself Shirley?” To which he retorts with the greatest humor:

“Oh, no!”

I chuckle heartily and return to my netbook, where I compose my latest (and angelic) letter to Larkin.

But this is a repartee that happens before my appeal to him, that we become good friends (as described earlier in this passage). After my heartfelt request for friendship, I finally depart to my hovel two blocks west of Pilsner Inn. Still feeling overjoyed at my magical encounter with Larkin earlier in the day.

So as I compose my latest tale based on a true encounter, I am suddenly struck with another wave of grief, which is:

Though I have established a great and profound love with Larkin, he may nevertheless disappear from my life and move back to San Diego or elsewhere. His sweet love may have nothing to do with our being platonic sweethearts in the long run. In fact, his mission may be to set me up with two, three or four darling men who love me with all their heart (such as Ernesto, possibly)…before he vanishes from my desperate world.

Not that he doesn’t love me with an incredible passion…but that he is convinced that leaving me with such a passionate and fulfilling legacy is his /own/ fulfillment. After which he shall move along without me, for his next mission.

Which for me would result in an eternal shower of tears, despite the several men who give me only the sweetest affection and super-hot sex. For in spite of it all, I will only be thinking of Larkin while boinking the daylights out of these majestic fellows! And they will love me with an incredible passion, precisely because Larkin has disappeared from my life.

IOW: Larkin’s legacy will be to provide me with true friendship before he departs for places unknown.

My life is hell, no matter what.

– Zeke

Date: Tue, 16 Apr 2013 20:45:37
I figured it out, El…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…what that zip code address is all about. It’s a San Diego P.O. or mailbox number. Which really makes no sense, as why should I send him anything that would be routed to southern California, then back up here to San Francisco, where he lives just one block away? Especially when you consider that I can easily deliver my gifts to him by hand, at either Twin Peaks Tavern or Pillsner Inn. Then it hit me:

He plans to move back to San Diego soon!

I could be wrong…and I hope so. This man is nothing but one big heartbreak after another. An eternal path of sacrifices. I really don’t know anyone else who is constantly dragged over the coals just for friendship. Most people look at me weird when I tell them my story. But that’s because they have it very /easy/ (with finding friends and lovers) compared to the hell I go through.

– Zeke

Date: Wed, 17 Apr 2013 11:15:19
Re: I figured it out, El…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ You know where he lives, right? So it’s not a matter of him hiding his real address from you, right? }}

He lives in a large apartment building barely a block west from mine. But I do /not/ know his apartment number. His name is not anywhere on the mailbox.

But not to worry, El. What’s /really/ going on was just revealed to me last night by a ghostly vision of my deceased mother. Soon as I’ve finished composing that piece, I’ll send it off to you.

Things are moving /so/ fast for me now, my head is spinning! Just spoke w/my brother, and he said both he and I will soon receive some sort of check from an oil company stock that our parents bequeathed to us.

Even Vince didn’t know about this…came as quite a surprise from outta left field. I’m thinkin’ Beverley Hillbillies here. But bro doesn’t think it’s gonna be much.

– Zeke

PS: If the father fukkuh disappears for San Diego, you /bet/ I’ll follow him down there!

Date: Wed, 17 Apr 2013 12:09:02
Re: I figured it out, El…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ I hope there’s enough $$ in that check for you to get your teeth fixed! }}

Doubt it. I’ll need major oral surgery to repair the damage below the gum lines and maybe even into the jaws. We’re talkin’ tens of thousands, maybe even more.


I am so disgusted with the failure of our medical system to provide the best care even for those who can’t afford. So my feelings are this:

I will /never/ see a dentist or doctor again. But I’m sure my mouth (and anything else that ails me) will be healed in a flash by Dragonly White Magic.


Isn’t schizophrenia fun…especially those incredibly manic highs?

Which obviously, I’m going through right now. Wheeeeee!

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 18 Apr 2013 16:23:21
Re: Before i leave Pilsner Inn…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ That was brave of you! And he rewarded you for your bravery! }}

He’s quite the noble man, El! Just the way he comports his buff physique says it all. But the great pride with which he speaks his name clinches it.

I am a happy man. Boy, my life is one big rollercoaster ride of mood swings! Book 2 is a real tearjerker, all the way to the final chapter. Which chapter as you know, seals the happy ending to it.

And it was up to Larkin whether or not the novel ends on a joyful note. At the very final nanosecond he came a-bustin’ in like a champ and straightened it all out. He is truly my hero…and my One True Paramour.

Or perhaps I should call him “my one /chief/ paramour,” seeing as I will soon have /many/ super-handsome dudes in my life. And that is /exactly/ what Darling Larkin wants for me.

With his fabulously unique and breathtaking style, his pranks deliver me unto Nirvana. Oh, here’s a joke for ya, El:

So I meet this really /hot/ dude from South of the Border, right? Take him to a gay bar in the Mission, buy him a drink. Sipping his pina colada, he takes my hand and declares:

“I’ll have sexo with you if you buy me a dulce.” (That’s Spanish for “candy.”)

So we zip over to Walgreens and I purchase a packet of Skittles. Just goes to show:

A spoonful of sugar makes the Mexican go down!

Well, I’ll soon be off to Pilsner Inn again, for a delightful two hours. Hoping of course that Larkin shows up. But no matter: drop-alive gorgeous Enrico will be there to satisfy my every wet dream.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 18 Apr 2013 16:33:02
Re: Before i leave Pilsner Inn…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor


Date: Fri, 19 Apr 2013 01:14:48
Please Don’t Eat the Daisies
From: Zeke
To: S. Rohan

That’s the title of Chapter 12, the final chapter of “Free Me From This Bond (the sequel).” I know you’re quite busy, but I just want you to see how I used a tiny version of one of your illustrations, because it fits my theme perfectly.

Image is the last one in that chapter. If you don’t have the time to read the entire piece, just read the last email there, right above your mini-illustration. (The vehicle for writing every single chapter and all segments therein is email.)

Took me less than a month to complete Book 2. (Actually, I’m still working on Chapter 11, then I’m really done.) Events detailed in that book are all true, and cover the same time span as the writing itself.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 19 Apr 2013 15:09:34
OMG El, someone just moved into 210…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…the recently vacated apartment that I suspected would be Larkin’s new residence. Boxes were piled up by that door this morning when I went to shower. The racks over the tub and astride the toilet were suddenly filled with tubes and bottles of shampoo, liquid soap, scent-free Off! repellant, a Q-tip box, and (get this) a special hair treatment called:

“John Frieda Brilliant Brunette Multi-Tone Revealing Moisturizing Conditioner”

Most interesting because: LARKIN’S A BRUNETTE!

Boxes were all gone by the time I exited the WC and returned to my cluttered little dump.

Do you think thus begins Book 3? I suspect so. But I assert:

No way does My Father Fukkuh /dare/ put off our wedding until Book 4 or (worse yet) even later (such as 5, 6 or 7)!

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 19 Apr 2013 16:45:14
By real name…
From: Zeke
To: S. Rohan

…I mean “S. Rohan,” or for when I address you in these emails by your first name only: “S.”

Seeing as in the foreward to Book 1, you are already identified as “S. Rohan.” And since your emails to me were not revealing of any super-personal stuff (such as the crabs you’ve never been able to successfully remove from your crotch, or the secret tattoo on your left butt cheek that shows a heart wrapped in a banner entitled “Ronald Reagan”…just two humorous examples):

I would think that you’ll have no problem giving me signed permission. I will soon send you the permission form, and an SASE envelope whereby you can return it, signed.

– Zeke

Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2013 12:17:14
My new neighbor is not Larkin…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…but he’s just as handsome. Juicy cut pecs and abs that I could lick from here to Clingon Cum. (He had just stepped out of the shower, wrapped towel held up by a pert and fully ample buttox.) First met him an hour ago, really a neat guy.

I must write up my next piece that will be inserted into Chapter 11…about my latest encounter w/Larkin. Suffice it to say for now: My Brave Dragon wasn’t very nice. Looks like we’re gonna go to war against each other. A foolish thing for him to declare, as I always win.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I think he’s ruined his life with methamphetamine. It’s the only explanation that makes sense of his recent (and ugly) behavior.

And if he wants to hang out in the Castro–as well as avoid being booted out of every bar in the “˜hood–he’s gonna have to ship up or shape out. Starting with being the good friend he used to be.

Or he’s outta here. I’ve had quite enough.

– Zeke

Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2013 16:41:47
Re: My new neighbor is not Larkin…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Maybe the new neighbor is piece of the moving puzzle…. }}

Well, he’s certainly a very nice piece either way you look at it. 0_o

Our building manager Scotty really knows how to pick the beauties! (Hmm, I wonder if his selection of tasty tarts has anything to do with pleasing me. Seeing as I am /very/ well known and respected by our Queer Family. And it is soon time to give me all the kudos I so well deserve.)

I’m trying now to picture a moving jigsaw puzzle…kicks the difficulty in
putting it together up a notch. o_0

Actually, I have not the minutest uncertainty that he’s (my new neighbor, David) one of my Dragonly Guardians, maybe even a member of the GPMC.

So I’ve come up with two /other/ possible reasons why Larkin is so mean these days…other than possibly becoming a meth head:

1) He’s moving to San Diego, so wants to distance himself. And by making me hate him, it will be easier for me when he finally disappears.

2) The GPMC (Gay Pagan Motorcyle Club…that group of enlightened gays South of Market that I mentioned in my first book) is about to celebrate and honor my many achievements for the LGBT Family. Just prior to this, I go through a sort of initiation, where they act mean to me. Or that is: the person who I love most acts mean. This is of course Larkin. Who I believe also /heads/ this secret society.

As for #1: So what if he’s moving far away. I will soon be fantabulously rich, and be able to readily migrate to just about any spot on the globe. Larkin is the smartest man or woman I’ve ever met: thus, I don’t really think this explains it.

Therefore the answer is /most likely/ #2. Thank Dragon I finally came up with reasons that are not drug related! Though I must admit: there’s a meth to my madness. Yuk yuk.

I had a vision of ancient Thrace many years back: a highly homosexualized culture. Courtship among male warriors was quite rough (to say the least). When one soldier fell in love with another, they then went through a ritual where each tried to murder the other. For after all–if marriage were truly in the cards–it would be absolutely /impossible/ for either one to die, or even become injured in any serious way. Otherwise, one or both would perish. Everything’s permitted in battle and bed!

The GPMC seems to carry on this warrior legacy, though considerably toned down from the original tradition. Ergo, what Larkin has just done to me last night (by his nasty attitude) is force me into doing everything I can to kick him out of all the gay bars here in the Castro…and even try to make him lose all his friends, and become homeless. And in turn, he shall attempt to do the same against yours truly.

But I’ve already won! For you see, El, many folks in the SF Queer Community now read my latest blog entries. Especially bartenders. So they already /know/ that Larkin shoved me hard, and brought grief to my heart in various /other/ ways. They are /all/ on my side. So I really don’t think Larkin’s chance of beating me is any more likely than a snowman thriving in hell. In fact–once they get to the “shove” part, which is how Book 2 begins–they just might 86 him rather soon. And to his own surprise.

Yet, being so highly telepathic as has been proven to me time and time again, I wonder how he could not figure this out! Perhaps the Benevolent Mind of the Universe blocks him from certain kinds of knowledge.

I know it sure does me! But then again I’m nothing but a stale communion wafer dissolving on Destiny’s tongue.

– Zeke

Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2013 17:15:28
How Book 2 ends…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…in a fictitious letter to the editor dated 2023 (what with starships from the Andromeda galaxy and such):

Somewhat reminiscent of Ursula K. Le Guin’s “The Lathe of Heaven.”

– Zeke

Date: Sat, 21 Apr 2013 07:44:15
Letter to Enrico of Pilsner Inn
From: Zeke
To: My Most Esteemed Readers

19 April 2013

Hello Mike (or Enrico or whatever you call yourself at the moment),

You are now in my second book called “Free Me From This Bond (the sequel).” As part of my recent adventures w/Larkin at Pilsner Inn. I’ve given great credit to various gay bars in the city, for the remarkable tales that have occurred there. This includes Book #1 (“Free Me From This Bond”).

If you are the least bit uncomfortable about my using your true name and description, I will update it with a fictitious name and description, such that no one will be able to figure out who the heck I’m writing about.

But if you enjoy what I say about you, and do not mind my using your real name/description, I will need your signed permission. And for that, I need to know your real name in full. And once I get that, I can print out a form for you to sign.

Here is the relevant passage in Chapter 11, which I have yet to complete (my apologies for any strange glitches in the printout, as my printer is behaving weirdly of late):

[ Gregarious Reader: you’ve already viewed the passage in a previous email, entitled “Two days later…” ]

So there you have it, Mike or Enrico or whoever!

With utmost sincerity and appreciation,

Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2013 22:51:15
MY name is Love, too! (cont’d)
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

So let’s see…outside of Twin Peaks Tavern I hand Larkin my auxiliary letter and declare:

“Please include this in the package I just gave you.” Tears flow down my cheeks from beneath the dark sunglasses. Front of the envelope is scrawled in jittery ink, these two words: VERY IMPORTANT.

Then I double over in sorrow and speak through my sobs with much difficulty:

“I break down and cry two or three times a day since you shoved me!”

Larkin just stands there and gazes upon me (with patience, I guess). But why doesn’t the fukkuh give me a hug? My tears continue to flow with abundance as I look up at him (I want so much to weep on his chest) and ask:

“Are you a detective?” He does not respond.

“You were so kind to me some months back,” I lament, “then you suddenly start acting cruel.”

Larkin remains deadpan. So I forge ahead:

“Did you get my postcard yet?” (I am referring here to the “Junkie” noir motif sent to “Larkin Kelsey, 92142-2453,” upon which I printed: “Testing. 1-2-3.”)

He finally utters some words: “Did you use the address I gave you?”

“Yes I did,” I affirm, “but you can’t just tell me what it says, because you’re telepathic. You need to /show/ me the card.” I then take a deep breath and add:

“I’m sure you have some excellent reason for treating me so bad, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out.” I attempt to stifle my copious sobs, but to no avail.

“Larkin! This hurts so much, I don’t know what to do.” He then speaks:

“Well, love, I gotta get back inside. And you need to go now.”

I double over once more, as if struck by an angel’s wing:

“Oh thank you, Larkin, for calling me “˜love.’ That really helps. A lot.”

And so I cross the street once the light turns green, still sobbing w/o much control. As I reach the opposite sidewalk I lean into a lamppost, pressing my face into it. And my tears flow down the cast iron pole like a waterfall.

Somehow I manage to reenter my building and my hovel without collapsing in despair.

– Zeke

Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2013 22:54:18
Re: My new neighbor is not Larkin…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Zeke wrote:

{{ {{ Or he’s outta here. I’ve had quite enough. }} }}

Eleanor wrote:

{{ I’m glad to hear you say it. }}

Well, it’s good to know my infatuation with him does not hold ultimate control over my sense of self preservation.

However, I do believe that Larkin has an ulterior motive that is compassionate and not hateful.

– Zeke

Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2013 22:56:28
Re: How Book 2 ends…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Warp speed! }}

Oh please don’t use that word “speed” around me: I am /so/ burnt out from my many years’ street activism. Ha ha, just kidding.

Funny how that final email which ends Book 2 came spilling out of my fingertips. Truly, I surprise myself.

– Zeke

Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2013 23:58:54
So I just show up at Pilsner Inn…
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

…a few moments ago. After the frustration of my printer going on the fritz while attempting to print out my letter to Enrico (whose name I just learn from barkeep Tommy, is actually a quite ordinary handle: “Mike”) Which letter is simply a duplicate of what I recently reported to you, about my wish to be good friends. With the additional request that he give permission to use his real name in Book 2.

I just cut and paste our encounter into this letter, that he may see exactly what I reveal about him. Of course, such a letter is also a romantic overture, should he find this tempting. So when I show up at Pilsner and order a strong drink from Tommy, I glimpse Larkin from my visual periphery: he brings empty glasses from the back porch to the bar up front. I do not speak to him, since he does not acknowledge me one whit.

But he grabs my drink and piles it atop the empty glasses he’s already gathered. So I grab my procured glass, with command:

“Whoa buster, that’s /my/ drink, and I’m not done with it!” (Considering I just paid $7.50 to Tommy, for an extra-strong libation.) Larkin hands it back w/o a word and moves on.

Some minutes later I depart the back porch and seat myself at the bar beside Larkin. He’s talking with barkeep Tommy:

“Can you do me a favor,” I hear him ask, “This guy Zeke keeps following me around and is being a pest. Would you please kick him out?” I hear Tommy reply:

“I won’t do that. Zeke’s a really nice guy.” So I quip:

“Nice try but no cigar. The bartenders are all on my side now.” Then add:

“Do you wanna hear a dinosaur joke? Everyone loves a good dinosaur joke!” To which he admonishes:

“I don’t like telling jokes,” upon which he departs for the pool table. I holler back at him:

“Fuk you, buddy! Fuk you, fuk you!”

In spite of the loud volume of the amplifiers playing pop songs, I’m surprised that the barkeep or anyone else doesn’t reprimand me, let alone kick me out. But I seem to have the upper hand.

Later that night, my turn comes up for a round of pool. Ironically, my opponent is Larkin. As usual, he whips my sorry ass.

He might have won this battle, but not the war.

Date: Sun, 21 Apr 2013 00:58:29
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

In another fantasy about Larkin, I imagine him showing up at Howard’s Cafe and sitting beside me. He orders a cheese omelet with ham, while I pick away at my fruit salad with yogurt.

“You eat like a bird!” he exclaims. I answer back:

“Which one: a bird of paradise, or a bird of prey?”

3 Responses to Destiny’s Tongue

  1. johnofphilly says:

    One old HoJo near Beaver College now has another name. The only one still turquoise and orange.

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