Devils in the Details

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

Date:
Subject:
Arwyn, I don’t really care anymore…
From: Zeke
To: All Archdragons on Immediate Alert

23 May 2013

…whether or not you really love me. Shoving me in the way you did, suddenly placed me in the enemy camp. You have /not/ apologized in any way, to make up for this. Instead, you rubbed salt into my wound, by tossing a lit cigarette into my lap. And then, later, spreading gossip to Castro bartenders, that I am your stalker.

I hate to tell you this, good buddy, but I /always/ win such battles, as I am well seasoned in the Way of Gay Love. The sooner you surrender, the sooner you shall finally know true friendship.

Your suddenly yelling at me tonight, from Castro & Market, does /nothing/ to assert your desire to rule the Castro. I guess you need to know:

It is I, Zeke Krahlin, who rules the ‘hood, not you. Would that we were allies, we’d move ahead a lot faster to establish the Castro as once more, the Jewel in the Crown of LBGT liberation. But you don’t seem to care about that. All you seem to care about, is your own self-glory based upon your extraordinary good looks, and what limited wit you possess.

But I don’t care anymore. I am desperate for male compassion, even if it means getting fukked up the ass w/o a condom, or vice versa. So far, good luck, as I don’t seem to have contracted any form of STD, except perhaps herpes and shingles. But you /should/ know that your sexual and friendship teases have made me crave more than ever before, lovely men with enormous, gorgeous koks.

And it seems to be coming true…though with my lengthy history as unwilling celibate, I am not eager to rush into what may turn out to be nothing more than a sadistic joke by yourself (Arwyn) more than by anyone else. But you must know:

I will fuk and get fukked by as many gorgeous dudes as I can. If I contract AIDS or any other severe form of STD, I will know who caused my demise: YOU! When’s the last time you’ve ever had anything shoved up your ass besides a poodle’s tongue?

You must think me to be an utter /fool/ by still loving you after you shoved me. I can’t imagine then, what you think of me by still being here for you, after you flicked a lit cigarette in my lap!

You will not have to worry about my unwelcome appearances much longer. For I will soon move to Portland and be done with you and the LGBT community, for once and for all.

I hope you have a wonderful life without me (though I don’t see how you can, you scumsucking retard),

– Zeke


Fri, 24 May 2013 11:22:54
Subject:
Re: Greetings from your new Account Manager
From: Zeke
To: Zelda T. (Twosome Press)

Zelda wrote:

{{ Gertrude Y. took an external position to further her career path, I have taken over a number of her files. Not to worry, I wont be going anywhere and I will see you through the rest of your publishing process. }}

Oh, that’s what they all say. Just kiddin’. It’s an honor to e-meet you, Zelda! Do you have any idea when the illustrator for my cover will be ready for first draft? Thanks.

– Zeke


Date: Mon, 27 May 2013 15:35:38
Subject:
Re: Greetings from your new Account Manager
From: Zelda (Twosome Press)
To: Zeke

Hi Zeke,

I should have your first illustration proofs back to you this week.


Date: Wed, 29 May 2013 14:29:45
Subject:
Re: Greetings from your new Account Manager
From: Zeke
To: Zelda T. (Twosome Press)

Zelda wrote:

{{ Hi Zeke,

Here are your first illustration proofs to consider. You are entitled to one round of minor changes free of charge, after that changes can still be made but they are subject to additional charges.

Thank you

Zelda
Author Account Manager }}

I am very pleased with the color illustration “FMFTB.pdf”. So let’s go with that, no revision necessary. Kudos to the artist.

– Zeke


Click on image for a larger view,
or just buy the damn book.


Date: Wed, 29 May 2013 14:35:29
Subject:
Cover Illustration is done!
From: Zeke
To: My Andromedan E-frenz

Enjoy! I’m quite happy w/the first draft…so I’m gonna go with that. (See attachment.) A bit heavy on the military theme, but I think it’s fun to lure in unsuspecting readers who don’t care for gay-activist tales.

– Zeke


Date: Wed, 29 May 2013 16:03:48
Subject:
Re: Cover Illustration is done!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Stunning! I’m glad you’re using the photo after all! }}

Oh, yes, /most/ important to get Randolph’s handsome visage on the cover. Twosome made all this brouhaha about avoiding copyright infringement over the news photo. Yet the artist’s rendering is really quite identical. He captured those sky-blue eyes perfectly!

FMFTB is far more than just a book, as I’m sure you’ve realized for some time.

Impetus is my master. Causatum, the slave.

You were spot on when you said that publishing this book will change my world. However, I don’t think you also meant “change” would include this sudden flurry of difficult and almost-miraculous events that have ensued since I began my contract w/Twosome Press.

Arwyn’s a yo-yo. Now that I got his permission to take his pic, he refuses to let me do just that! And now, he doesn’t even wanna see my face anywhere in the Castro. Way over the top, and I told him so. And that /he/ should now get outta /my/ face. (This was out front by Twin Peaks Tavern.)

And for the first time in our almost-eight years of friendship, I said something very mean:

“I’m glad your parents died.” (They were killed in a car accident when he was just a boy.)

His shoulders drooped in resignation, his face turned an ugly shade of liver…and he quickly turned tail to reenter the tavern. I spoke those cold words once more–loud and clear–before the door shut and obliterated our mutual space.

It was a very sad encounter, but I feel strongly at this point, that he needs a walloping dose of his own poison.

– Zeke

PS: Though I now have Arwyn’s permission to use his real name in Book 2, I’ve decided to keep him fictitious (as Arwyn Miles). That way, he will never be able to charge me with anything I wrote about him, that he may find offensive. Or that he may /feign/ offense, just to be a bastard.

I never in my life dreamed that honoring this great fellow by publishing a book about him, would backfire…let alone in such a disgusting manner. Well, I’ve just started chapter 9 (which includes this e-missive almost at top).

No happy ending yet, anywhere in sight between My Own Sorry Self and the eternal horizon.

– Zeke


Date: Sat, 1 Jun 2013 13:24:36
Subject:
If this is all true…
From: Zeke
To:Eleanor

…which by “true” I mean that Arwyn is setting me up to conquer him, as well as become notoriously celebrated. I also consider this possibility:

That Arwyn’s calling to bring Randolph Taylor back into my life is about to happen. And he wants me to focus all my love on Randolph, instead of upon My Devious Dragon. So he’s already triggered in me, hatred towards him (and consequent breakup of our once-beatific friendship). Or at least, that is what he /believes/ he’s accomplishing by acting uncorrigibly nasty towards yours truly. But it just won’t work, AFAIC.

Since I’ll only love him that much more, for his selfless dedication towards my own happiness. Let’s just say that going through the motions of seperation is an honorable sacrifice, even though he knows full well that my boundless affections for him only increase day by day, regardless of his behavior. Simply put:

I could /never/ be truly happy with Randolph, if Arwyn should disappear from my world. In fact–should such a sad outcome occur–I’ll coerce Randolph to prove his love for me by tracking down Arwyn, to bring him back into my arms. (Or at that point, I should say “our” arms.)

Few moments ago I stepped out to purchase another quart of vodka from K&D liquors. Which is across Castro Street and on the opposite side of Twin Peaks Tavern. So as I crossed Castro to the liquor store, I suddenly find Arwyn crossing my path barely 10 feet from me, on his way up the hill to collect those two miniature poodles (so I presumed). He turned his head slightly towards the right, to glance at me.

So I raised my own head to look back, with a righteous smirk on my face, though neither of us spoke a word. Surprised he didn’t start screaming “stalker” at me, as he did the last two times we passed by (like two tethered-but-enemy ships in the night). There is /some/ comfort in that, at least. But more than anything else, I really wanted to drop at his feet and weep abundant tears for loss of his friendship…or /dread/ of such loss.

But I’m sure he already feels my spirit, and thus does not require me to surrender my soul in some dramatic overture. Or perhaps he remained silent out of fear I might holler once more:

“I’m glad your parents are dead.”

Well, that’s good I guess. Be that as it may, Arwyn disappeared behind a Coors Beer truck pulling into the corner gas station. And when I entered K&D’S to purchase my vodka, I realized that I forgot to bring my wallet. So I turned tail and marched on home to rectify the situation.

Upon my return to K&D’s I noticed Arwyn across Market Street, talking to and hugging a couple of friends standing outside of Twin Peaks. So once I get a little drunk back hovel (I figured), I’ll step back out to stand around Twin Peaks, that Arwyn may notice my presence. I guess it is /very/ important at this time, to assert my visibility here in the Castro, and be a thorn in his side.

We’ll just have to see what comes of this latest challenge. Which obviously involves my efforts to assist a successful conquest of anger management on Arwyn’s part. It’s just that I /abhor/ placing myself in harm’s way, in order to achieve such a positive result.

We’ll just have to see, as I’m back hovel right now, sipping my hootch and composing this e-missive. Gotta go now to perform this latest deed of heartfelt outreach. Will report back to you, soon.

– Zeke (Friday, May 31 around 4 PM)

PS: Another aspect to my “If this is true…” statement, is: “if this is true…that Arwyn is a detective, and myself his faithful sidekick,” then our public display of mutual distaste will deflect the cult from targeting me. But until I know for certain, I /must/ deal with our present crisis on at least /two/ levels of reality. But one thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt: I am most certainly /not/ a stalker. In fact, I am his very best friend of all time and space. And do /not/ appreciate his crude mind-fuks that started some time in mid January. My life sucks right now, like quickmud to a flamingo.

The only thing I regret, El, is not speaking out when Arwyn and I crossed paths this time. Oh well, maybe next time I’ll have my chance to speak my mind. Which is:

“Hey, you fukkin piece of shit. Your parents are DEAD. Dead, dead, dead! Yay! You are a murderer!” (Referring here to his vicious gossip that I’m his stalker, thus eventually reaching the ears of a homeless nut job who’ll terrorize and bash me due to society’s persistant vulgarity against gay folks. No blood on /his/ hands, so what the hey! He gets to rule the Castro roost, once I’m obliterated. Nice guy, eh?)

Arwyn is no longer any sort of hero in my eyes. He /must/ be Arwyn Miles throughout the entire trilogy. Nor do I /really/ have any more good words for My Randolph. This trilogy therefore, shall /not/ have a happy ending…much to my disapponitment and surprise.

I /have/ no friends in the Castro. Or anywhere else. It has always been thus. Gay people do /not/ have it easy, no matter where we live. Constant terrorism is the lot of our life, whether or not we find some way to repress this ugly reality in order to live out our lives, and perhaps carve out a somewhat fulfilling outcome.

Personally, I don’t think it’s all worth the trouble, when heteros already have their lives blessed with zillions of extra points the moment they pop outta the womb. Talk about lousy odds in the first place! (If you are a hetero now reading this, I say: “Go crap on your own sinful nest and stop blaming gays for your pornographic sins! You are worse than Nazis! I got you figured out even if no one else has. And you self-proclaimed bisexuals are no better.”)

The hetero world shall soon be cursed for their vulgar and willful ignorance.

This SF gay “community” is nothing more than a clique of wealthy queers who spit upon their own gay brothers and sisters, simply because they lack the money required for finding some sort of camaradery in their lives. It’s still “fuk you” for those whose finances cannot meet the demands of San Francisco’s elite privileges. I therefore conclude:

Curse the City and all its arrogant leaders, including our so-called “official” gay activists and celebrities. Whose only /real/ accomplishments have been to appease our heterosexual overlords. Anybody got a puke bucket handy?


Many are called but few are chosen,
So step right up for your lederhosen.

* end rant *


Date: Wed, 5 Jun 2013 13:58:49
Subject:
Does Arwyn Really Give a Damn?
From: Zeke
To:My Andromedan Therapist

Didn’t realize till today after looking over my pic of Arwyn at Twin Peaks Tavern. While you can see his back and a bit of his face, you can /also/ see his full portrait in the reflection of the shade-drawn window just to his right. That is /his/ head, the one with crewcut hair. While rather blurry, you can still get some idea of how good looking /is/ this fellow. In case you’ve deleted that image in a previous attachment, you can also view it online:

http://tinyurl.com/ArwynTPT

While the back of his T-shirt exclaims “I give a damn,” I must conclude that such a passionate regard does not include /me/ in the least. Can you say “hypocrite?”

While he presently breaks my heart over and over again these days, he seems to be placing his face in positions where I can get a full image of his ejaculatory mug (while I’m hanging at Jane Warner Plaza), w/o him knowing (thank goddess for these digital palm-size cameras). None of this would be possible, BTW, were Twin Peaks /not/ completely exposed by plate-glass windows on both sides, looking directly onto Market and Castro…where any passerby and his lackey can gaze within and view every single patron to the minutest detail.

But even when My Fey Wyvern steps outside for a smoke, he keeps his face in a camera-friendly position relative to my location ten or more yards away. Dare I raise my Samsung ST76 to eye level and begin shooting? Is this what Arwyn wants: to play a game of cloak and dagger, where I get this thrill from daring to snap a photo or two, not knowing how he’ll react?

I do not think that Arwyn really considers me his lurker in the least. But that he feels such guilt over his recent abuses towards This Maligned Witness, it racks his soul to be reminded of his offenses by my visible presence. Albeit outside: either on the sidewalk, or the asphalt that now comprises the sacred ground upon which dwells the gracious memory of Officer Jane.

I missed a great chance two days ago, to snap a hot photo of Arwyn’s face while he was chewing the blubber with another Twin Peaks customer having a smoke outside. I was poised almost directly across (and 15 feet from) My Beloved Basilisk, seated as I was on the concrete divider seperating the plaza from foot traffic.

So you can expect a really /righteous/ photo of the man in a short while from now. And by “short” I mean one or two weeks from today, at the latest.

Or get strangled in the attempt.

– Zeke


Date: Wed, 5 Jun 2013 14:31:32
Subject:
Re: Does Arwyn Really Give a Damn?
From: Zeke
To: My Andromedan Therapist

MAT wrote:

{{ I would definitely like to see the mug that launched a thousand quips! }}

Oh, that is shooting just below the hips!

– Zeke


Date: Mon, 3 Jun 2013 14:42:59
Subject:
Re: Here’s the cover illustration…
From: Sammy D.
To:Zeke

Sammy wrote:

{{ Your book looks excellent, Zeke! Congratulations! }}

Thanks, Sammy. I am /very/ pleased with the cover. Can’t wait till my first pub’d novel is released to an unsuspecting world. :)

{{ I’m happy to hear Chuck is doing better although I am also sorry to hear that he continues to be a douchebag. }}

A major douchebag, indeed! Chuck is typical of closet cases: asserts his machismo now and then to make others believe he /must/ be a hetero. So when a blatantly homosexual activist appears in their world, such as myself…they tend to go overboard with asserting their alpha superiority.

Several days back, I approached him to say hi and maybe shoot the oxen. Instead, he blasted insults at me and made a bunch of false accusations. His way of asserting that my poop could never smell as fresh and sweet as his. Anywayz, you get the picture.

So I told him to chill out immediately, get a grip, take a deep breath. He continued to scream, so I just walked away. Saw him next day, and he accused /me/ of being an asshole, ’cause I chose to walk on by instead of engage in further conversation.

{{ I did speak to him a few weeks ago and he said he is living in some sort of garage }}

I didn’t know about that…just that some church folks have reached out to him, and are making his world a lot more stable. Fortunately, they seem the progressive types, that is: not at all fanatic about their belief.

{{ he said that he saw the copy of the new Sandie’s Quest in hardcover that you had…..hey, that was actually on the NY Times bestseller list for one week a few months ago!! }}

That is such wonderful news, Sammy! I hope some day soon I’ll be right up there with ya! Funny how a book can linger in the shadows for years, then suddenly the whole world discovers it, as if out of the blue.

{{ We have gotten a lot of press on it that can be seen by doing a google search on the title. }}

Yes! Excellent review by Slate. I will check out more on this bittersweet renaissance of Sandie’s Quest, when I next have time. (I recently lost my wifi access from home. So I have to use public access to get on the ‘net any more. A real hassle, as it has wiped out my fast-flowing inspiration while “plugged in.”)

{{ If I talk to him I will yell at him for giving you a hard time, since you have been so helpful to me to know how he is! }}

Ha, that would be hilarious. I’m sure he’ll deny it, ask you to tell him the incident, etc. etc. But he certainly has earned the anger of many. And it greatly perturbs me when closet cases gather in the Castro and get pushy, rude and threatening with their desire to be perceived as heterosexual…mainly because such behavior deteriorates the safety of our neighborhood, and encourages even more homophobic violence.

Oddly enough, Chuck was screaming at me about my lover, who is a detective and now embedded in the gay bar right by the same corner where your bro and other houseless hang out (Jane Warner Plaza). I was excited to point my Arwyn out to him and some others, to show I didn’t make up the tales about him and myself, which comprises the major part of my trilogy.

Not that Arwyn steps out to talk to Rom et al, but he is there to watch over me, until said time the bust occurs. It will be simultaneously performed in three bars in the Castro. But Arwyn is very protective of me, and if he gets wind of Rom’s nastiness towards me, he will drive him outta there. As he does to anyone else that gossips against me.

So go ahead if you want, rake ‘im over the cinders. Or not. Either approach is just dandy with me.

Again, congrats on the latest reviews and popularity of a most seminal work. I am /so/ happy for you and your soulmate, Dolores.

– Zeke


Date: Mon, 3 Jun 2013 14:42:59
Subject:
Re: Here’s the cover illustration…
From: Zelda T. (Twosome Press)
To:Zeke

Hi Zeke,

Here is your cover proof with the revisions you requested. Please go in to your Account Centre and complete the Illustration Sign off form.

Zelda T.
Author Account Manager


Date: Tue, 4 Jun 2013 19:38:43
Subject:
Re: Here’s the cover illustration…
From: Zeke
To:Zelda T. (Twosome Press)

Just tried to download the image, but it’s /really/ slow, then finally gives up. I’ll attempt a few more times. Right now, my browser says download time is approx’ly 26 hours (for just 16 MB)! My hunch is a server problem. No problem at this end, downloading from other services.


Date: Wed, 05 Jun 2013 08:19:29
Subject:
Re: Here’s the cover illustration…
From: Zelda T. (Twosome Press)
To: Zeke

Zeke wrote:

{{ I was finally able to view it on Google Drive…it’s the downloading that’s a problem. I’m gonna approve the cover illustration right away. I am totally delighted. }}

Hi Zeke,

Thank you for completing that form. I have now sent your manuscript to be prepped for our design layout team. And we should have your project in the design queue in a week.

Thank you for all of your hard work,

Zelda T.
Author Account Manager


Date: Wed, 5 Jun 2013 15:01:22
Subject:
Alexander Hamilton Post 448
From: Zeke
To: My E-frenz

1983 here in SF, gay activists Paul Hardman and Bob Basker co-founded the first–and still at this late date, the /only/–LGBT post of the American Legion, named after founding father Alexander Hamilton. Both have since passed on (1996 and 2001, respectively). You can learn more about them by googling “Paul Hardman [or “Bob Basker”] Alexander Hamilton Post.” Their history and dedication to the struggle for gay equality are both impressive and lengthy.

“But what on earth do they have to do with this chapter, this book?” you may well ask. So here’s my reply, that the world may finally know of their excellent assistance towards Randolph Taylor and myself, as a result of his suicide attempt in 1985, and my own outreach towards this excellent Marine:

When Randolph shot himself in 1985 (and survived) at the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C., I anticipated a glowing article about his history and achievements, in at least /one/ of our local gay papers. But neither the Bay Area Reporter (B.A.R.) nor the Sentinel (now long defunct) nor any /other/ LGBT media covered this tragic event. Randolph was not just a Nam Vet and anti-war activist here in SF, but also a gay activist and outspoken SFPD cop who did not hide his sexual proclivity. He was also the very /first/ “Mr. Castro,” way back in 1980. You may read that article here:

http://tinyurl.com/mister-castro

So I contacted various queer media sources in the SF Bay Area, including the B.A.R., begging them to cover his latest newsworthy event (albeit tragic), considering he’s our very own LGBT war hero of great achievement. So the B.A.R. finally came out with the following article:

Gay Vet Taylor Recovering in D.C.
Bullet Remains in Chest After Shooting at Viet Memorial

http://tinyurl.com/1985-randolph

Which includes mention of yours truly, under my birth name of “Gene Catalano.” FYI, I changed my legal name to Zeke Krahlin in 1996.

Sean H.: you certainly remember that momentous year, seeing as you still resided in 2306, and we often hanged out in your room two floors directly above me, or during our occasional strolls throughout The City (often to the Inner Sunset for pizza).

During my desperate appeals for our Gay Family to send letters, cards and flowers of kind regards to My Randolph, the Alexander H. Post 448 of the American Legion got in touch with me, and offered their most generous efforts to provide Randolph with tremendous support. Including getting him back here to San Francisco with an affordable apartment, friendship, PTSD therapy, and other compassionate acts.

Any gay or lesbian (or transexual, transgender or bisexual) veteran who seeks camaraderie, genuine support and ultimate respect for their sacrifices: I heartily recommend they get in touch with the Alexander Hamilton Post. Their contact information is as follows:

Alexander Hamilton Post 448
P.O. Box 14939
San Francisco, CA 94114-0939.
Phone: 415-431-1413
Email: info@post448.org

I have only the greatest regard for our LGBT veterans, thanks to My Beloved Randolph Louis Taylor.

– Zeke


Date: Thu, 6 Jun 2013 19:27:11
Subject:
Re: Gay Veterans Unite!
From: Zeke
To: Carlyle Lambourne

Carlyle wrote:

{{ Ezekiel,

I’ve been reading some very revealing articles in “The Progressive” about things that went on in Vietnam – atrocities committed by U.S. troops, such as making a game of running over Vietnamese children with trucks–even had a name for it–some kind of “hockey” I think.

For young men who had a conscience, like Randolph, that must have been part of the disillusionment and emotional difficulty. I am curious if he had made any any statement prior to the suicide attempt.

Regards, Carlyle }}

Yes, I think that Vietnam marked a new escalation in brainwashing and manipulation of US citizens. As for Randolph’s insight into this matter:

I think he was too damaged to expose the truth. As a result he finally saw me as the enemy, and spit in my face. I am now dealing with a similar situation with Arwyn. Simply because I stand for the truth.

Randolph refused to speak out against the persecution of homosexual soldiers, including their death through so-called “friendly fire.” I /did/ challenge him on this, but his lips remained sealed. I can only imagine what other horrors crushed his soul.

– Zeke


Date: Thu, 6 Jun 2013 16:46:00
Subject:
What’s with your hacking alert?
From: Zeke
To: Sean H.

Hey Sean, just so you know: I haven’t received any email from you other than your genuine posts. IOW: nothing received that suggests a hacker’s usurpation.

I’m also quite curious as to who this hacker is…one of your PC service people?

Anywayz, you’ve received my email about Paul Hardman (Alexander Hamilton Post). After sending it, I then remembered your unpleasant experience with him. Once Chapter 9 is on my blog (which includes mention of Hardman), please feel free to expose his dark side. I will keep it up in the comments section.

After all, fair is fair. And the truth must be told.

– Zeke


Date: Thu, 6 Jun 2013 19:34:12
Subject:
How goes the stitching of the new gay flag?
From: Zeke
To: Keith

Saw Gus a couple hours ago in front of Twin Peaks Tavern as he waited to cross the street. Pointed Arwyn out to him, who was seated at the bar with a poodle in his lap. (He does dog walking for money, among other chores, such as hustling older men for companionship.)

Gus simply countered: “I should take Levi for a walk now.” But I was too preoccupied with other demands to have the good sense to give
him a hug before we parted.

So, dear Keith, how is your sewing coming along, regarding my design for a new gay flag?

Please know that I am back on the Internet from my hovel, though with some technical difficulty.

– Zeke


Date: Fri, 07 Jun 2013 05:01:17
Subject:
Re: What’s with your hacking alert?
From: Sean H.
To: Zeke

Donald V., 67, retired computer consultant, e-mailed me that he had received a link to a French porno site with my return address on it. He knew I wouldn’t send such a thing, and suggested that a recent addition to my e-mail contact list is probably the culprit. Sure enough (and I rarely add anyone to my contact list) the night prior I had received an e-mail from a screwy character I know in one of my circles, and added his e-mail to my contact list. So Don suggested that I change my password to that e-mail, which I did. My screwy associate sent me a message about a Bobby Rydell booking at a local casino near my house, via his stupid cell phone.


Date: Fri, 7 Jun 2013 09:25:10
Subject:
Re: What’s with your hacking alert?
From: Zeke
To: Sean H.

Okay, here’s what you need to do to prevent this from ever happening again:

Use BCC (blind carbon copy) instead of CC, when you post to a group of netizens. That way, no one can see the email address of anyone else.

AAMOF, you really should /never/ use CC unless you get explicit permission from that person, to show his address. It is a violation of netiquette to freely use CC in mailing lists…and in so doing, you’ve compromised not just your own system and privacy, but everyone else’s on the list.

I have advised many folks to stop using CC, and even though I explain why, they continue to use it. When the Internet took off, many more people participated w/o any knowledge of this rule, and other rules of netiquette. Much to the chagrin of older geeks like myself.

And this is why I coined the term “anal og” for such types.

For a mailing list, use your own address in “To:”, then everyone else’s address in the “BCC:” slot. You’ll of course get a copy of your own email…a small price to pay to keep it secure.

– Zeke

PS: Haven’t you noticed yet that my own “E-frenz” mailing list never shows the addresses? Also, you were /not/ hacked: he simply posted back to you via “Reply All.” Therefore, you did not really need to change your mailbox password. I don’t even think it was intentionally malicious. Seems to be a case of two “anal ogs” not knowing the difference between CC and BCC, or “Reply” and “Reply All.”


Date: Fri, 7 Jun 2013 11:35:01
Subject:
Re: How goes the stitching of the new gay flag?
From: Keith
To: Zeke

A friend borrowed my sewing machine on the same day (if I remember correctly) that I gathered the first fabrics and asked you permission to use your flag design. She’s still using it, but that’s fine since I also still need to find a few more colors (2 or 3, depending on what I end up using to make the snake – it might be hard to find it randomly in a thrift shop, so I have an idea for a material I can create by fusing a couple different things together, but I need to find out how to make it durable enough to sew into the rest of the flag without being too heavy for the 99 cent bin silk blouses I got for the color bands).

I did begin work on a new lantern in honor of the approaching comet, in the meantime. Here’s a video of what it looks like today but I still have a month (maybe a bit more but probably not less than that) to work on it, I think. It’s made from scrap wood, tape, scraps of plastic I got from a friend, hot glue, leftover paint, and led lights i got back when I was (LOL) employed. I think that’s why my zodiac sign is a goat. It is eating up all the trash and cannibalizing itself.

– Keith


Click on image to view the video.


Date: Fri, 7 Jun 2013 15:13:44
Subject:
Re: How goes the stitching of the new gay flag?
From: Zeke
To: Keith

Keith wrote:

{{ A friend borrowed my sewing machine on the same day (if I remember correctly) that I gathered the first fabrics and asked you permission to use your flag design. }}

No problemo, I’m /very/ excited that you are honoring me this way (along w/the many other ways thus far). Of course, feel free to embellish and/or make the design much classier than my own clumsy result.

Funny story: I had that design (and another) copyrighted by the Library of Congress, back in 1990. Copyright numbers are six digits w/hyphen in the middle. Imagine my surprise when the only snake design I ever created, was given this number:

187-666

Now, the “666” is amazing enough (what are the odds, eh?). But did you know that the number 187 is police code for “homicide”?

{{ without being too heavy for the 99 cent bin silk blouses I got for the color bands). }}

Ribbon perhaps?

{{ I did begin work on a new lantern in honor of the approaching comet }}

Oh, I wasn’t aware of this comet. What is it’s name, and when is it due?

The lantern is /lovely/…looks just like medieval stained glass. And the colors are /remarkable/.

{{ I think that’s why my zodiac sign is a goat. It is eating up all the trash and cannibalizing itself. }}

Oh, please. You are wonderful /and/ funny!

<3, Zeke


Date: Fri, 7 Jun 2013 16:42:36
Subject:
Proof of Copyright Number
From: Zeke
To: Keith

http://tinyurl.com/zeke-proof

Click on “go back one page” link at top, to read a /poem/ about my design. I’m sure you’ll love it. Almost as much as you love me.

– Zeke, who misses your sweet company so /very/ much. Gus, too.


Date: Fri, 7 Jun 2013 17:23:10
Subject:
RE: Gay Veterans Unite!
From: Zeke
To: Carlyle Lambourne

Carlyle wrote:

{{ Ezekiel,

I had known some gay Vietnam soldiers when Sonny and I lived in Washington, D.C. }}

That must’ve been quite an eye opener!

{{ They did have “damage” as psychological quirks and things that they didn’t want to talk about. I doubt that very many escaped, unscathed. }}

I am here to liberate such tortured souls. At least, the gay ones.

– Zeke


Date: Fri, 7 Jun 2013 18:12:00
Subject:
AsIan Lady Hopping to the Pop
From: Zeke
To: My Exhausted Readers

Now, I’m sure you need another break from my Arwyn reveries and activist drama just as much as I do. So here’s a brief video of a very typical scene so often encountered in the eccentric city of Baghdad by the Bay. Dancing to some Chinese pop music from a boombox, this lady goes for the gusto on the north side of San Francisco’s main public library. You rock, Asian lady!


Click on image to view the video.


Date: Fri, 7 Jun 2013 18:59:20
Subject:
Remember John Wesley…
From: Zeke
To: My E-frenz

…from chapter 7 (“Da Poifek Storm”) of Book 3: Free Me From This Bond (sequel to the sequel)? He kindly sent me a postcard from Vermont, before jetting off to Europe. Check this out (click on either image below for a larger view):

Seeing as his handwriting leaves something to be desired, here is my best effort to display his message in clear text:

June 2, 2013

Zeke: so thanks again for the interesting essay material and your wonderful hosting skills. It was great to meet and discuss life in San Francisco the way we did. Nice to know there are a few Kerouac cases still out there. Trying to get overseas on a Swiss Intelligence Visa. All this with no cell phone or personal Internet is a strenuous challenge. Good luck, see you next time. John Langley.”

Notice his last name appears more like “Langley” than “Wesley”…but his difficult handprinting may be the cause for this mistranslation. Or not. I probably misconstrued two or three other words as well.

[ Helpful Reader: if you can decipher certain words that I can’t resolve, please post me your solution. I will forever be grateful. ]

Suffice it to conclude:

John is such a sweet and handsome dude, I miss him so much already. His thick, cut kok was a dream to lick and blow. Not to mention his divinely sculpted body (OMG, those shapely legs! He’s 51 yet feels and looks 28), handsome face, angelic affections and darling friendship. So kind of him to post me this card. I have never before experienced such thoughtful regard by anyone with whom I’ve bedded down and loved. It’s like my life has only just begun, at 62 years of youth. I sincerely hope my brief affair with John will be more than just a delightful memory.

Oh John, thank you for thinking of me!

– Zeke


Date: 8 Jun 2013 20:46:49
Subject:
Deliverance Seems Imminent
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

So yesterday morning (June 8th) around 11 AM, I encounter My Wily Wyvern once more, outside Twin Peaks Tavern where I sit at the far end of Jane Warner Plaza to soak up the sun and read Hermann Hesse’s book “The Journey to the East.” (Which book BTW, was presented to me as a gift four days ago by an elderly gentleman named Ron at Howard’s Cafe, and with serious medical conditions.)

I had just dined on a breakfast of a whole wheat (seeded) bagel w/cream cheese down the block, before showing up at the plaza, cup of coffee in hand. No sooner had I read the words “One of the characteristics of the Journey to the East was that although the League aimed at quite definite, very lofty goals…”

…than Arwyn marches from the Twin Peaks entrance, in my direction. Of course I’m totally aware of his imminent approach, and thus my soul bursts with joy. But I feign focus on the book, as if I’m not even aware of his presence, whether inside or outside TP Tavern. Next thing I know, Arwyn hovers above me seated in a red metal chair of great weight, that scumbags may be discouraged from stealing them from Officer Jane’s Holy Remembrance.

Instead of exploding into tears of joy, I maintain a grim face upon Arwyn’s appeal that showers blessings upon me:

“Look, Zeke, I don’t want enmity between us. I propose a truce. All I ask is that you leave me alone.” So I rebel (though still gazing into my book):

“Arwyn! I’ve never felt /any/ hatred towards you. I’m only giving you a taste of your own medicine,” thank goddess for this opportunity to speak my mind, albeit terribly brief. Thus I continue:

“I’ve /never/ stalked you, Arwyn! How do you explain all our hugs and sweet conversation from October to January? Then shortly after, you begin to treat me so mean. For more than 5 months now!” I then inhale to complete my diatribe:

“The reason I confronted you…”

Arwyn interrupts with a deep sigh, turns around and walks back toward Twin Peaks Tavern. I mock:

“Not much of a /truce/ if you insist on doing all the speaking, and I must shut up throughout! You’re a /bad/ dragon, a /bad/ little dragon!”

With that–and before he’s less than ten feet from the Twin Peaks entrance–Arwyn clutches his firm, reptilian buttocks with both paws, and jiggles his gluteus maximus in subjugation. I retort in a voice loud enough to be heard a half block down:

“You /bet/ I own your ass! I could tap that bumper all night long!” He ignores me, so I rant on: “You’re a /bad/ little dragon. A very /bad/ little dragon!” And just before he closes the door behind him, he hears my final blessing (for that day):

“You have a /wonderful/ day, Arwyn!”

There is something so belove-ed about This Fine Dragon, I can’t help but fight to the death (if need be) for our unique and most sweet affections. Arwyn is that beautiful to me. (If you believe I am deluded and helplessly infatuated, then all I can say is: “Go fuk yourself, arsewipe!”)


Date: Sun, 9 Jun 2013 13:32:09
Subject:
Detective Fantasy #2
From: Zeke
To: My E-frenz

Following on the gumshoe heels of my first fantasy–where Arwyn and associates bust a murderous cult out of the SOMA gay bars–is /this/ dark tale of criminal intrigue here in the Castro.

So Arwyn spreads gossip among these bars in my own ‘hood, only because it’s the best strategy to keep me away from the Castro booze joints which have become too risky to protect me from violent attacks and further enmity. He slanders me as his stalker to all the barkeeps, guaranteeing I won’t slip up and enter a bar with total nonchalance, believing I’m quite safe only because I can’t perceive the web of danger that has descended upon this gay-historic precinct.

The remainder of this cult which I call “The Disciples of the Zodiac Killer” has recently migrated from SOMA (thanks to our diligent cooperation with the SFPD) into the Castro. Seeing as I’ve made myself their main target in order to facilitate Arwyn’s roundup of these culprits who’ve now infiltrated my own neighborhood. I am a sitting duck to My Dragon’s avenging retaliation.

Looks to me there will be a simultaneous bust across these bars, by more than 130 plainclothes under My Brave Dragon’s leadership. Don’t know exactly /which/ day (or time of day) this cleansing will occur: suffice it to say “soon.” Maybe within a day or two, but certainly not more than two weeks from now.

Arwyn and associates will handcuff more than 40 suspects, and escort them to the county jail cells at 850 Bryant. Which will result in a resurgence of Castro gay bars as both friendly and safe…after so many years being plagued by heterocentric ripoffs and gay bashing. Numbering those who shall be arrested will be City Hall politicians and others who are celebrated among San Francisco’s most elite and privileged.

And shortly after that Arwyn will phone me, to invite me over to his apartment (less than one block from my own residence) for dinner et cetera. It is this “et cetera” I look most forward to!


Date: Sun, 9 Jun 2013 19:59:59
Subject:
RE: Gay Veterans Unite!
From: Carlyle Lambourne
To: Zeke

Ezekiel,

I’ve totally lost touch with those acquaintances from Washington area- I recall one named Marv Miles, another named Ken Parris, a fair number whose names I cannot even recall, anymore. Most were promiscuous in the bar scene (these were the last, innocent pre-AIDS days) so I hope that they matured and avoided HIV.

One Viet veteran (Terence Martin) that we knew in MA and was part Navaho later moved to Illinois, and haven’t seen him in years. He was one who described to me how the American soldiers sometimes shot Vietnamese farmers for “target practice.” Not like this was some rare, unusual thing, either. More like *of course* they did. He’s now in a stable, long-term relationship.

I think that what the military does to the psyches of naive young men is worse than the pedophiles in the Catholic Church.

Rgards, Carlyle


Date: Sun, 9 Jun 2013 23:47:11
Subject:
Yet one more letter snail-mailed to Arwyn
From: Zeke
To: My Angels of Justice

Enjoy my latest salvo against one who pretended to be my gracious ally for many years:

WHAT TRUCE?

How dare you fukkin insult me by treating me like someone who now disgusts you, after us being so friendly for so long? After my giving you such nice gifts, including tales about our adventures, which you so happily accepted over more than six years?

How dare you shove me when you’re twice my size, and wind up forcing me to suffer a slipped disk?

How dare you toss a lit cigarette into my lap, then expect me the next day to show you sympathy for the tragic loss of your parents?

How dare you slander me by gossiping at bars and to anyone else who’ll listen, by calling me your stalker?

How dare you propose a truce after all the enmity created was perpetrated solely by your own pathetic self?

How dare you try to scare or coerce me into hiding my presence from you in my own neighborhood, when it is you who is the sole spreader of misery, lies, and endangerment of my own person?

FYI: any of your so-called friends who approach me with a distorted and false hatred against me (thanks to your vulgar gossip): I will show them a copy of your signed permission to use your real name and photo for my book…just so they’ll realize something else is going on, other than your deceptive hatred against me. I’ll make enough copies, that they may even have this form to show you.

Also FYI: did you yet see my letter to Sloan (barkeep at the Mix), explaining your phony accusations, enclosed with a copy of your permission form, so she can realize my side of the story? The fact you gave permission for such, indicates a friendly association…as anyone who officially allows an author to write about them, shows great trust and suggestion of a longterm friendship.

Have you also seen the letters I sent to Tommy and Mike (and Bryan) of Pilsner Inn, revealing your spiteful attacks against me, in your self-instigated war to drive me out of Castro bars and even my own neighborhood? You flicked a lit cigarette at me in that bar. Something which if you witnessed another doing, you would have them promptly kicked out.

How dare you instill so much hatred by so many against me, simply because you are a sociopathic, peabrained idiot?

How’d you like me to place a restraining order on you, that you stay at least 60 feet away from me, and I start hanging out at Twin Peaks Tavern (and other local bars)?

How’d you like to be arrested for persistent and grievous slander against me, that arouses threats and violence against my person?

How dare you propose a “truce” when you have been the lone perpetrator in defaming me, and causing many to view me with mockery, disgust and hatred?

How dare you propose a “truce” where I “leave you alone” when that actually means that I make myself invisible to you in my own neighborhood, and that you never want anything to do with me again?

How dare you give me so many kind hugs and conversations, only to suddenly turn on me like a rabid wolverine…then blame me for your disgusting behavior and belittlement towards a good friend (as I am…or “was”).

Try showing this to a lawyer and see where it gets you. Ha ha.

– Zeke

PS: I guess you didn’t think your devious plan through (to destroy me) very well, did you? Welcome to my world. FYI: I always win these battles where scumbags try to wipe me out. I just never dreamed you’d become my latest enemy. So be it.


Date: Tue, 11 Jun 2013 21:05:05
Subject:
The Screaming Machete
From: Zeke
To: All Saki Fans Everywhere

Okay, as I promised, here is the /second/ true horror story even scarier than “Skin in the Box,” which also involves Don Walz as the hapless messenger of evil tidings. Some time in 1998 or 1999:

It is well after sunset that Don buzzes my unit to bring me a “gift,” and thought would make for a hilarious conversation piece. Why on earth he thought of /me/ among all his many friends to be the recipient of such a diabolical curio is beyond /my/ comprehension. And must remain one of those secrets buried with him, now that he has passed on. Personally, I believe he was paranormally /seduced/ into delivering it unto my unsuspecting hands. For which reason will be clear as this tale progresses.

So I pick up the phone: “Yeah?”

“It’s me! Got something for ya!”

Why on earth do my friends refuse to identify themselves, and assume I’ll recognize their voice over this tinny intercom, after I’ve told them time and time again to state their name? It’s not like I don’t have enemies who often force me to screen my calls. I ponder before replying:

“Well who is it?”

“Don! Let me in.” He responds while chuckling like a demented crackhead (which he is not, though he does have his idiotic moments).

So I press 9 on the dialpad, that he may open the gate and enter. Then I step into the hallway and await his ascent up the cheaply carpeted stairway. Illuminated by dim, 20-watt light bulbs that glare naked from brass chains which dangle from the 14-foot ceiling. (My apartment building, 2306 Market–also called “Dolores Apartments”–was built in 1904, and is very much the haunted lair. Rumor has it that Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan, once lived there, in the turret.) He appears holding some sort of machete sheathed in leather, with a handle that also appears to be leather, but is carved or shaped into some sort of face w/o any color other than dessicated cowhide.

Upon closer inspection the face appears to be a Mexican devil with a twisted grin. Its eyes seem to roll. I shudder. Once in my SRO, I withdraw the long, curved knife from its sheath to discover a slightly rusted (but still sharp) machete with several splashes of dried blood on it. At least I think it’s blood, due to its dark maroon shade. Could be something else though, but the overall impact is chilling. So I quickly place it back in the scabbard.

I set it on Desk #2: “This is hideous, Don. Where did you find it?”

“In a dumpster by Dolores Park!” he gloats.

“Well, it’s a scary object, and I don’t think I could live with this thing in the same room.”

“Oh. But, why don’t you keep it overnight?” he suggests. “If you don’t really want it, just pass it on to someone who does,” insists Don, who then says he gotta split to pick up Babe from a friend’s place.

So I’m suddenly left alone in my dumpy hovel, with a machete that grins evilly at me, no matter where in the room I stand. I find it most unnerving, and can’t concentrate very well on my computer’s BBS activities, or television. Before hitting the sack, I decide to pull the ladder out from beside the fridge, climb it and place the offending object on the loft. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so I believe.

But once tucked cozily in my bedding I drift into a most unsettling slumber. Dreams of a talking machete haunt my sleep. It jumps out of the sheath and lands on Desk #3, to chide me:

Your enemies created me, to slay you. Anyone who grabs my hilt will be suddenly compelled to slash you into many pieces!

Then this devil-hilt grins even wider, and screetches an ultra-high pitch that can only be heard by my disturbed imagination. My eardrums feel as if punctured by sewing needles, and a chill sweat drenches the two comforters meant to keep me warm on icy nights. I awake many times through the damp wee hours, looking up at the loft in fear that the machete will suddenly leap upon my bed and slit my throat.

Morning arrives at last, and I fix a quick breakfast of rolled oats and raisins, then depart for Muddy Waters Coffeehouse on Church Street, with this strange knife sheathed and secured in my backpack. After ordering a mocha latte and lemon bar, I notice Topaz seated four tables away. He’s a recent acquaintance I first met some weeks back at this venue: has an anteater nose, thick framed glasses, and long, straggly hair that falls well below the shoulders. No muscle tone whatsoever, just a flabby geek between the age of 24 and 32.

So I decide to show him the machete, rise from my chair and approach him.

“Hello ‘Paz, may I sit down?”

“Sure,” he invites. “What’s up, Zeke?”

I then tell him of the extraordinary item I received last night from a street buddy, and would he like to check it out?

“Only please, don’t remove the blade from its sheath,” I instruct, then withdraw the curious item from my pack and place it on the table.

But no sooner do I set it down, than he ignores my plea and slides it out of the scabbard. I am afraid now that he’ll suddenly swipe it across my neck…plus, it is a crime to expose a large knife in public, for which I could be charged with a felony. I grow most pissed, and wish to punch him out for this arrogant disrespect. I sit there in trembling repose as he holds the knife in his feeble hands, and closely examines the blade and hilt.

I’m ready to scream: PUT THE DAMN MACHETE BACK IN ITS SHEATH. WHAT THE FUK DID I JUST TELL YOU? It’s all I can do to restrain outrage.

“Hmm,” he muses while turning the blade several times beneath his glare. “This /is/ a strange thing. Don’t know what to make of it.”

Topaz finally replaces the machete into its sleeve and returns it to my hands, desperate to bury it once more in my backpack. I then excuse myself, wishing never again to associate with this wingnut dufus.

I have to get rid of this pronto, I later conclude on my way back hovel, where I stash the blade on the loft once more, and figure out how to dispose of it. All the while hearing the demon’s shrill laughter in the back of my troubled mind:

You will /never/ get rid of me for long! Someone /else/ will find me, and hand it to /another/ who brings it to /another/, who is compelled w/o having a clue to bring it back unto your presence, mocks the Sonoran Imp. Remember: he who wields the hilt will slice you to bits and not even know why, or remember!

Rivulets of icy sweat run down my temples and cheeks as I attempt to figure out how to defeat this monster. Dusk falls and I sit in my room, alone with the machete and still undecided how to dispose of it…or perhaps “him.” Then, around 8 PM, someone buzzes my hovel. It is Roman. A burly dude straight out of the Michigan woods and 6-foot-2. Scary dude, no doubt. Arrived in San Francisco about four years ago: a tentative friend at best. Definitely heterosexual, like many infiltrators of the Castro who feign gay friendly.

So I tell him to wait by the bus stop, I have something to show him. I run down the stairway with machete in hand, and open the gate to speak with him on the sidewalk.

“What do you think of this, Roman? Don presented this to me last night, but I think I should get rid of it ASAP.”

Roman examines the hilt and scabbard, then removes the blade from its sheath for closer examination. He then looks up at me with trepidation:

“Yes! Get rid of it right away. It’s a sacrificial knife that has killed many people!”

“Well, could you please get rid of it for me? Break it up into pieces first, and dispose of it in seperate trash bins!” I request.

So Roman departs with the Satanic weapon, which fortunately I never see again. Though I really have no idea whether he really shattered the knife and trashed it in various garbage receptacles. As far as I know, he might’ve sold it for a tidy profit. In which case the machete will find its way back to me, on some dark day.

Several weeks later I cross paths with Roman and ask him about that machete. All he says is “I got rid of it,” but does not elucidate as to exactly /how/.

I still see Roman from time to time after all these years…usually to purchase some high grade ganja. And I wonder: Should I ask him about the devil’s knife one more time? Or should I just keep my mouth shut?”

I still have occasional nightmares about pieces of a fragmented machete being drawn back together through some sort of dark bruja magic, to reform themselves into a whole, and hunt me down through the hands of naive mensajeros.

– Zeke

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