It’s All About Larkin

January 31, 2014

Date: Mon, 20 Jan 2014 10:30:07
Subject:
Maybe Braden’s in on it…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…seeing as someone who knows about Larkin should /also/ be a regular customer at Howard’s Cafe! And he goes bowling the same nights as my Handsome Nemesis…who substituted for him on a recent outing. I SMELL A SETUP!

If such be true (and I strongly suspect it is), Larkin may turn the tables on my “fun w/Braden” scheme, and show him that letter. This would mean at this point, Braden would have some fun at /my/ expense next few times we meet at Howard’s.

But I’m ready for this double-agent petard! I guess.

Assuming Larkin will just stride right by me again like last time (maybe emit a few friendly words) I’ll holler back at him as he moves on down the street:

“You’ve given me so much love already, I can’t believe it!”

Then run home for a tall glass of Hawaiian self-punch.

– Zeke


Date: Wed, 22 Jan 2014 20:47:11
Subject:
Re: It’s all about Larkin! (addendum)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On 1/22/14, Eleanor wrote:

{{ your sharp observant cynical eye, juxtaposed with your tender yearning love struck heart, is the combo that’ll push your writing over the top! }}

And I owe it all to Larkin. He /created/ a major heartbreak scenario, that I may compose one of the finest love stories ever. This will so consume the hearts of zillions of readers worldwide, that it will tremendously /elevate/ respect and admiration for gay people everywhere.

You just can’t conjure up a truly /great/ romance without gobs of heartbreak flooding a sea of chapters. This /must/ be a brilliant man, who can orchestrate such a scenario…knowing full well my love for him can never be broken, and that I will eventually figure it all out. And be much /stronger/ and /wiser/ for the experience.

Of course, most would say I’m a foolish sucker, glutton for punishment, blah blah blah. But the man has scattered numerous /clues/ for me to hang in there, over these many years. Starting with that scene in Chapter 1 of “Free Me From This Bond” where he finds my amethyst crystal at the last moment…not via flashlight, but via his heel unexpectedly tromping upon it. So after he delivers it to my hand and turns away, he suddenly spins back and declares:

“Do you get it?”

Of course I do, I am swept in a shower of mercy and respond with the perfect reply:

“Yes! YOU are the light!”

Many other clues since then, as if he can read–or travel through–the future (and back again), to set up this incredible Odyssey of gay bromance, intrigue and hilarity.

This is a most intelligent, wise, and compassionate dragon I am dealing with, El. He’s given me /more/ than enough clues for me to finally realize my conclusions in this matter are /not/ simply wishful thinking of a desperate old faggot, but a /gift/ that’s come to me straight from the cosmos and through his benevolent soul.

So it /is/ all about Larkin, and that makes me one happy dudester. I can’t imagine a more difficult affair like the one /he/ created, that would be the /perfect/ chemistry to transform me into an uber-hero, with a most fantastic tale to share with our bedraggled planet. And if I’m correct (and I’m /sure/ I am) you bet he’ll make things up to me a quadrillion times over.

Impossible for me to comprehend that he loves /me/ even more than I do him. But as the /father/ of my spirit, he gave birth to My Ultimate Destiny. And how could a loving parent /not/ love his son more than the child loves him?

This of course brings up the question: “just who the fuck /is/ this Larkin, anywayz, that has such ability to shape reality in the way he so chooses?”

As far as I know, only angels (or whatever you wanna call ’em) can construct reality according to their intent. Though most believe such wonders are merely mythological, or IOW “imaginary.” Yet here it is: a very likely manifestation of the miraculous, something intrinsically IMPOSSIBLE, yet making itself known in the mundane. Which also implies living proof of the wondrous, and my playing a central role in such an unbelievable outcome. FOR ALL THE WORLD TO WITNESS in the long run.

Oh, well, gotta get back to my Twitter meanderings. Hope you enjoyed my latest burst of manic schizophrenia.

Love,

Zeke


Date: Thu, 23 Jan 2014 21:01:33
Subject:
He gave me face
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

Just laughing at my own infatuation, here goes:

Once completed my trek home from Howard’s Cafe, I always stroll by Twin Peaks Cavern to see if The Devil I Know is there. Crossing the intersection, I swerve right to the smoke shop, allowing me a wide scope of the Glass Coffin that grants me view of /every/ patron there. Sure enough, there’s ol’ Dragon Butt at the end stool near the sunken restroom (where if you’re soused enough you’ll miss a step and smash your head into the door, as the permanent dent so loudly declares).

Of course he sees me, and of course he doesn’t acknowledge. And of course, nor do I. This is the script that has been handed me, and as a two-bit actor I have no grounds to complain. Though playing this role for more than twelve months now, puts me in great danger of being typecast. Wondering if he’ll jump outside to follow me into the shop, I obtain my next pack of lung scrapers and step out to see:

Larkin mowing down the walk in my direction! But suddenly pauses to address a drunken old black man in a ratty pea coat with his back leaned against Twin Peak’s plate window, legs askew on the concrete.

“Hey young man, you need to pull your legs back so people can walk!” He gestures to the sot, who mumbles god-only-knows-what, but barely moves.

I look at him, he looks at me. Briefly. My expression: a twisted, tight-lipped grin of both distaste and joy. I swiftly pass, content in my heart with the knowledge that Larkin gave me face. Before turning the corner towards my station at the fireplug, I turn ’round a moment to see My Golden Reptile slinking back towards me and into the tavern.

So yes, he /did/ step out to greet me in his inimitable style of “you really don’t exist.” I am thrilled all the way down from my heart to my crotch and back up again. While posing by the hydrant as if I couldn’t care less about who is in the tavern, I notice Larkin step out twice: once for a cigarette, then some minutes later to share a doobie a few doors down 17th, in the recess of a closed shop, and accompanied by his usual TPT accomplice, “skinny Jake” (what I call the spiritless cadaver).

As he approached the recess, he did project a rather attentive gaze in my direction. Though giving him no recognition whatsoever (and only viewing him peripherally), I appreciated the gesture.

He returns to the gay booze dungeon for another 20 minutes, during which time I hang out across the way, shivering a bit in the ocean breeze, wishing this parody of a friendship would come to an end, and we could go camping up north in Point Reyes to sleep under the stars and listen to the seagulls howl.

Then he steps out once more for a smoke, sometimes glancing back at me. Feeling not the least bit nervous about our camaraderie, I shoulder my pack and depart while he’s still outdoors. Knowing full well he watches me leave. Of course, as I wait for the little man to light up, I hope all the while he’ll dash up to grab me in those wiry arms and rain-pelt me with Celtic kisses.

This does not happen (as you well surmised), but is certainly not a deal breaker. Since I know in every chamber of my bleating little heart, his love is always beside me like a Siamese twin before the surgery. And though I never glance back on my way hovel, feel his “Geist” calling out to wish me a beautiful, peaceful night. And that in a short time from today, I will know:

the taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the caress of his palms, the shiver of his skin, and the prodding of his wanger against my own. From that honeymoon day onward.

– Zeke


Date: Thu, 23 Jan 2014 23:55:44
Subject:
Re: He gave me face
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Thu, Jan 23, 2014 at 11:20 PM, Eleanor wrote:

{{ “Gay booze dungeon.” That’s great. }}

Well it’s above ground though referencing to back in the day when /all/ gay bars were underground.

{{ “Like a Siamese twin before the surgery.” Great again!! }}

Yes, I seem to be very fertile lately with original imagery. I think because my friendship w/Larkin is finally resuming. Just a bare hint of this gets my creative juices flowing! I do really resent being so captive to his allure, because I seem to have no choice in the matter.

But OTOH, it is a blessing to be so wrapped up in his world, I really don’t want to live in another. I know for certain: no other guy would ever make me happy at this point. For a time, yes, but I shall always dream of Larkin each and every day and night of my life. Should he disappear from my world, I don’t think I could ever write any humor again. It will be all dark High Gothic German from then on. Nietzsche move over, there’s a new boy on the block.

{{ “The shiver of his skin.” Here’s hoping!!!!!!!! }}

He has–numerous times over the years–literally /shivered/ in my arms, like a puppy over-eager to be loved. What a great compliment. After him, there is only the Grim Reaper AFAIC. Not literally of course, but a death of all good dreams and hope while still alive.

I guess that is the threshold one must consider, the risk that inevitably comes with giving up your heart entirely to another. Is it worth the gamble? Yes, of course…but then again I really have no other choice.

My phrase “The Devil I Know” is of course a reference to your upcoming novel “The Devil You Know”…I thought you’d enjoy that! Which novel I’m sure will become celebrated as one of the finest mystery tales ever writ.

– Zeke


Date: Fri, 24 Jan 2014 00:06:13
Subject:
I am hoping…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…that you still have a certain email or emails I recently sent you that include mention of how Larkin created this tragic and heartbreaking reality, that I may compose one of the finest love stories ever writ.

For I am at a loss to find it either in gmailbox or on the hard drive. I /know/ I saved it to disk and backed it up to peripheral media…for I am very careful is such matters. Yet, it’s gone!

If you do find an email with that description, please forward it back to me, with any other emails that you received from me two days before, and two days hence. I sent it to you within the past week.

But if you no longer have it (or them), that’s fine. I do not have any lack of faith in my wonderful gift of prose, to regret any loss of certain passages. I’ve been through this once before, as you know. It’s all a part, AFAIC, of this excruciating and grief-filled Odyssey that is My Very Own Larkin Chronicles.

Thanks much, Ellie!

– Zeke


Date: Fri, 24 Jan 2014 23:29:24
Subject:
Re: I am hoping…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 24, 2014 at 10:49 PM, Eleanor wrote:

{{ Dja get the right one?? }}

Yes! “It’s all about Larkin (addendum)” and “Maybe Braden’s in on it”. Thanks /so/ much! I remember specifically saving them to a file, but goddess only knows how it disappeared.


Just What The Castro Needs…

January 28, 2014

…another yahoo street musician playing the banjo (or harmonica, or the kazoo).

For decades now our gay ‘hood has been infiltrated with redneck types who find it “easy pickins.” They don’t give a flying fuk about gay people, their rights or their wish to enjoy life outside the gulag of heterosexist dogma. Some will pretend to be gay or bisexual just to meld in and receive free money, drugs, food, etc. from generous and naive LGBT residents. They actually take great pride in remaining ignorant about queer politics. Never pick up a gay rag now and then, talk to an activist (or any out-of-closet person) for the sake of respecting the neighborhood and learning the relevant issues. To these hillbilly squatters it’s not a matter of “when in Rome do as the Romans do,” but more like: “when in Rome shove the skinny-ass horn dogs!”

They are exceedingly amused by wandering this homosexual enclave, as perhaps Hitler was amused when strolling through his death camps.

Don’t think for a moment, when they land in Gay Mecca that they automatically drop their religious dogma they grew up with. Nor believe that more than one or two churches they visit for meals or rest do not preach against gay marriage and LGBT rights in general. For they do, and with great glee, perceiving themselves as God’s angels in a righteous Armageddon. And they send their homeless mercenaries back into our gay streets, knowing precisely what they do: a vulgar form of social engineering that degrades and terrorizes the homosexual.

They’ll call you “koksukker” behind your back should you forego handing them a free ticket to the good life, in the form of greenbacks or what have you. They will curse our streets with blatantly hetero themed songs, usually of the redneck and country-western type. And see me as a joke, a typical silly fag, when I suggest they change their lyrics to honor gay folk. Such as “He‘s my pride and joy” instead of “She.” For they are indeed amused that anyone should see the Jehovah-mandated hetero norm as anything less than vastly superior to same-sex bonding.

I would think that gay-themed musicians in the Castro would serve two beneficial purposes. It would (1) be a great tourist attraction, and (2) make our streets that much safer from homophobic outbursts (which remain quite frequent and unchallenged by both cop and resident, much to my disgust).

I’m sure San Francisco is not unique to this outrage; that similar breeder invasions occur in every Amerikan city that houses a large LGBT populace. I have addressed this problem numerous times over the years, including online in Usenet forums and social media. I’ve even written a parody about it, in 2003, called “Welcome to Hoboville,” which you may read here:

http://www.gay-bible.org/truetales/6_hoboville.htm

And more recently in 2012, this blog entry where I tried to garner media attention for a homophile street musician who wrote and sang original gay-themed songs, called “Rockin’ at the Plaza”:

https://zekeblog.wordpress.com/2012/07/19/rockin-at-the-plaza/

Sadly, not one single local television, newspaper or radio venue came to document this glorious event that occurred right here at Harvey Milk Plaza for two weeks or so. Eventually the young homeless musician and his handsome lover departed for Los Angeles: a great loss for Queer Baghdad by the Bay. Moving right along now:

That same afternoon an activist cloth mural was displayed just several feet from the banjo player:

It was a women’s rights declaration, “Defeat the War on Women: no place on the planet is safe to be a woman.” All well and good as far as I’m concerned, and a very important cause. But still, so many other political agendas are foisted upon the Castro that seem to drown out the major issue here: homophobia. And I’ll tell you this, quite unabashedly:

As bad as things remain for the fairer sex worldwide, gay bashing is far more prevalent than even abuse towards women. Statistics of violence reveal that bloody mutilation upon gay men far exceeds even that of females likewise attacked. Furthermore, most of these courageous Islamic ladies who speak out for women’s rights (at risk of imprisonment, torture and death) nonetheless will instantly side with any man who condemns homosexuality.

So that was my eventful afternoon of Monday, January 20. As My Loyal Readers know by now, I station myself at Jane Warner Plaza most every day in order to give Larkin opportunity to speak with me amid his busy detective affairs. Today, though, he didn’t seem to be at Twin Peaks Tavern. And I despise hangin’ at that location thanks to the many scum bags congregating about the metal chairs and concrete abutments. Stand there more than ten minutes and inevitably, one of ’em will glom onto your lone self to see if he can score a cigarette, a dollar or perhaps a joint.

Some are downright Looney-Tunes what with their scraggly old beards like Snuffy Smith and (I would assume) quite homophobic just beneath their unkempt veneer. But I keep my vigil for Larkin’s sake. Though realizing he may avoid me when a hobo stands nearby, and just walk on. And that is exactly what just happened today:

Two street quackers sailed up to me. One, a strung-out meth queen halfway through his/her gender change, and a few moments later an alcoholic, middle-age black dude whose scratchy boisterous speech could silence a fire alarm and blow out your eardrums at the same time. And that was precisely when I suddenly glimpsed Larkin crossing the plaza. I looked up at him from 15 feet distant, and waved a subtle hand in his direction. He turned his ruddy head, saw me and nodded back in a kind-but-surreptitious manner. Then vanished quickly beyond the tall shrubbery.

Damn these fukkers, I thought, They’re worse than Bible-thumping bitches who always get in between two men! Such rare opportunities to be with Larkin, brief ones at that…and these street-tards have to infect even those spare moments.

So I quickly departed across Market Street opposite Larkin’s side. Saw him strolling leisurely towards Noe, then suddenly turn about to stroll back down to…where is My Little Runt going, Subway Sandwiches? But no, he entered the door to The Cafe, right beside Subway. This is a gay-bar-turned-club, a most noisy and sometimes dangerous place to loiter. A young gay male was shot in front there, 2-3 years past.

But why does Larkin go there? I pondered. Does he frequent that dive, or is this his first time? Did he see me from across, and decide to play with my head?” I continued to question:

Or perhaps this is one more place he makes connections in the bar circuit, mingles with the wealthy old queens, and so forth?

Enough conjecturing! I admonished. And snapped a pic of the Cafe before proceeding hovel.


The Tweetest Man in the World

January 25, 2014

[ Pleiadian Reader: a little confusion here, as the first two parts of this 5-segment opus should have been placed in an earlier article. I forgot about ’em, so inserted them here. The third section is a followup to another piece that came after the first two, chronologically. I’m sure you will use your acute cognitive talent to shuffle them all back into the proper sequence. ]


31 December 2013

Beloved Arwyn,

Enclosed is a copy of the permission form you signed some months back. I can see how you could easily have thought it was for Book 1. But notice the words in parentheses, at end of each paragraph: “(the sequel)”. Nonetheless, by the time you received that form it was already too late to use your real name in Book 1.

You’ve been behaving very erratic towards me since last January…unlike all our previous associations. Before then, at worst you’d either ignore me, walk away, or spit on the ground. But most other times you’ve been very nice, especially from October through December 2012. You even went out of your way to greet me, ask how I am, and pleasantly chat.

Little did I realize that once you arrived in the Castro, you started telling everyone I’m your stalker. But I know you don’t think that’s true at all. For one, when you arrived home with my Christmas gift (the one w/the little stuffed dragon), you told your housemate: “My stalker gave me this package. I’m afraid to open it.” But since I’ve never given you anything but lovely gifts, you had absolutely no reason to fear. And that, My Sweet Dragon, is proof of your lie.

None of your friends I’ve spoken with really believe I’m your stalker. In fact, they all agree that you’re fuckin’ with my head. I am very concerned that your sudden change of behavior indicates a serious malady, such as a brain tumor (or something equally serious). That night you shoved me, you were not feeling well (according to your half-apology the next day). I suspect it was a splitting headache.

I am not fuckin back at you, by bringing this up. I really don’t want to lose you…I don’t want the world to lose you. I would be tremendously relieved to learn you do not have any debilitating condition. Even if you still want nothing more to do with me. I am seriously thinking about talking to these friends, to convince you to get a checkup.

I have suffered similar tragedies with four other men I loved. Of course, there’s Randolph whose PTSD created an impossible wall between us. Even worse: when he was brought to the veteran’s hospital here in SF (from Wash. D.C.), I visited him by surprise. (A contact had informed me he was back in SF, though Randolph hadn’t.) Well guess what happened?

When I showed up, the corridors were aflurry with nurses and medics. I asked an aide what’s going on. He replied: “A patient just shot himself.” Of course, I feared it was My Randy. But it wasn’t. It was his roommate who took his life! Thus the incident further blocked my friendship with Randolph, quite understandable but much to my grief. That was way back in 1990, the last time I laid eyes on his darling face.

Another gorgeous dude, Mark Forte, whom I fell in love with and took off the streets, had to leave after staying with me for three weeks, or I’d be evicted. We really liked each other, so ending his visits was a terrible heartbreak. He decided to return to his family in Nebraska. They kicked him out because he was gay, and he eventually froze to death in the snow.

Another time, a handsome young fellow named Bruce moved into our building. He had AIDS, but seemed in good health, robust and such. We formed a very dear friendship which lasted almost two years. But then dementia kicked in, causing him to see me as enemy. He hollered at me, threatened me, broke my window, kicked my door…even attacked me once, and was arrested. This ordeal I had to suffer for several months before his family got him to return home, where he finally perished.

The fourth close friend…well, I’ll skip all that, I’ve given you enough examples.

I could never bear going through such tragedy again…with you or anyone else. But it has been my difficult fate that God has asked me to endure such tragic friendships. In many other cases, I was asked to sacrifice a friendship in order to give them a better life. Usually this happened from misunderstandings that were created by jealous outsiders. Gossip for example.

So you see my concern about our own relationship. Is God now asking me to sacrifice the finest friendship I’ve known, that he may be healed of a serious malady? That is: my suggesting you have a brain will anger you further. Anyway, I do know that the sooner you get checked out, the sooner you’ll know whether or not you need emergency treatment, and get that thing removed.

If such be the case, I’m certain you’ll heal 100% and have a better life than ever. With or without me. Though I sure wish it would be with.

Okay, Arwyn? God bless. I miss you a whole lot. Especially the smiles and hugs.

– Zeke

P.S.: I realize I left out the word “tumor” in the paragraph above that begins with “So you see.” I decided not to correct that error, because I figure you’d get a good laugh outta that. And humor is the best medicine after all, eh?


Date: Sun, 12 Jan 2014 09:11:55
Subject:
Speakin of all’s fair in love and war…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…I got all bases covered. Including if he’s sociopathic (to some significant degree). I did not plan things this way, fate just dropped it into my lap. Here goes:

Arwyn did not return those forms, signed, giving me permission to use his real name or tell anyone that he is Arwyn Miles. Presumably because he does /not/ want to be regarded as my enemy in the public’s eye. So I will keep the pseudonym in all three books. Assuming this trilogy comes to a happy end, then I’ll be home free as I’m sure he’ll want to be known. This will gain him fame and affluence, that he may pursue his life’s goals unfettered.

Thus, he has a vested interest in sincerely making things up to me–to /create/ this joyful outcome–else he’ll lose out on this aurelian opportunity. But even more: he now has a vested interest in preserving my health, protecting me from injury or death. Otherwise, my readers will eventually turn their blame on him. For even now, books 2 and 3 are available on the web, for all eyes to read…they /don’t/ need to be published in the conventional sense for the truth to be known. They will learn of our tragic conflict, thus conclude that Arwyn is the most likely suspect (in the event of my bodily harm or demise, even if committed by a person /other/ than Arwyn, even if he had nothing to /do/ with it).

As a possible sociopath, he is only interested in those who can provide him with amenities, especially money and fame. The potential for my becoming wealthy is now established, and he knows it. But it also places him in a scenario where he is /mandated/ to maintain a solid relationship of respect and love, seeing as he’ll also be a highly celebrated figure with all sights on My Dramatic Dragon-Queen.

Of course once he becomes sufficiently flush with moolah, he might leave me for other pastures. A possibility which I accept. Meanwhile, he is now highly motivated to undo the stalker accusation, and to promote my novel along /with/ me. Regaining access to the gay bars is an important step towards this goal, as is Arwyn’s popularity in the booze circuit. His participation will therefore greatly /increase/ the odds of my book becoming a bestseller, thus increasing the odds for his own financial success and celebrityhood.

He cannot do this without me…in fact, he cannot do this without making me one uber-happy dude. For the happier I am, the more potent the force of my mission. And vice-versa for Arwyn.

Whether he truly loves me or not is irrelevant. So long as the /act/ is convincing. For even if his cycles of kindness have all been a charade, he /has/ been the best friend I’ve ever known, regardless. He is obviously not a total sociopath, since he has shown a /very/ endearing side that I’ve never experienced with anyone else in my entire, agonizing and precarious little life.

So all bases are covered: sociopath, brain tumor, tragic childhood and/or my guardian dragon that commands a secret society and is putting me through my paces. In conclusion:

I must be a sociopath in major ways, also…to confront My Rugged Reptile with matching force.

And everyone’s a bit daft ‘cept for thee and me.


Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2014 19:38:06
Subject:
So now we know the happy ending…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…to Book 3, which also completes this amazing trilogy. Not only do we know how it ends in a general way (Larkin and myself back together), but many of the specifics. Such as:

  • Larkin promotes my book like nobody’s business throughout all the gay bars, clubs and special events. Thanks to his myriad connections with queers of influence including bar owners and tenders, and the wealthy elite. Of course he will abolish any rumors about my being his stalker. Though I actually believe he’s never /done/ that in the first place; just made me /think/ so. Some of his allies participated in this dupe, called me “stalker” just to make for a convincing scenario.
  • Unexpected twist in the plot: I rapidly become famous on Twitter, thanks to all the original jokes and puns I tweet daily. This leads to a contract to publish a collection of my humorous sayings on social media. IOW: my /book/ will not take off until well after my Twitter fame becomes full-blown and I am flush with capital. What a beautiful irony, eh, Ellie?
  • You will be celebrated as the “other” hero in my trilogy, the “hero behind the curtain” so to speak. This will, of course, not only dramatically boost your sales of The Iron Empress…but increase your fame exponentially in many other directions.
  • Somehow, in a way I still cannot fathom, Randolph will return to me. Thanks to My Darling Reptile’s loving hand. But I will make it utterly clear to him before this happens that I simply can /not/ love Randolph without him, too, remaining in my life on a major basis. “You dare not leave me, Larkin,” I will declare, “or the world will become one big sack of misery for me.”
  • I will become the most celebrated gay activist in history, dwarfing even Harvey Milquetoast by a long shot. At that point I will be able to freely travel, go wherever I want to go, without so much as an ID card or passport, or a single penny to my name. And there will always be good folks to provide for my necessities as well as companionship and joy.
  • All media channels will become my playground, to disseminate whatever pro-gay entertainment and info This Little Queer Demon chooses. Larkin will be my chief protector, along with many other studly gay dudes whom he chooses and organizes around me.

So, El, do you find this exciting or no? Believable or no? Wackadoodle insane (in a good way) or no? I will post this letter to my blog so that viewers may witness absolute proof of my gay prophecy. That my guiding visions over many years have been accurate all along! Larkin update:

Our paths crossed once more, this eve about 45 minutes ago from this writing. Just before that encounter, I was standing outside Twin Peaks at my fireplug station. Larkin was commiserating as usual with patrons and bartenders. Stepped outside for ten minutes, where he saw me but pretended otherwise. Shortly after he reentered the tavern, I decided to march on down Castro to purchase some items at Walgreens and withdraw $20.

Upon my return up The Gayest Sidewalk in the Universe (same side as Twin Peaks), I paused to glance through their window to see if My Special Demon were still there. Alas, he was not. So I shrugged my shoulders and moved on. But no sooner had I taken several steps he showed up barreling towards me, smiles and states:

“I got all your letters, Zeke, and your card, and god only knows what else!”

I stood before him, looked up to declare:

“Larkin, I really don’t want to talk with you unless you first give me a hug.”

He suddenly grimaced, ignored my command and sauntered on down the path I had just carved. So I turned in his direction to beg:

“C’mon, Larkin!”

He then turned right around to declare (with some waving of those spindly arms):

“I got all your letters, Zeke, and the card!”

He smiled, and I did too. Then he spun around to continue his march away from This Bedraggled Son of His Heart.

“C’mon, Larkin! Stop it!” I pleaded. He did not respond, so I reached his ear with the most important words I could say:

“I love you!”

Now, Ellie, I think about this latest Clash of the Titans and realize: he is obviously /not/ put out by my “7 Rules of Zeke”. In fact, he understands precisely why I made such demands. Which are a matter of self pride. And which I believe he intentionally pulled out of me thanks to his setting up a scenario that led to just this moment.

Why didn’t he hug me? (I wonder.) Do I really need to go through /further/ exasperation before the bubble is popped? That is one question I cannot answer at this point. But I’m okay with that.

Because I trust implicitly Larkin’s methodology which is /obviously/ geared to my own fulfillment…not just with his endearing friendship, but with whatever else involves This Destiny That Heals All Wounds.

– Zeke

P.S.: I guess it’s time to restore Arwyn Miles’ real name, which is Larkin Kelsey.


18 January 2014

Okay, Sweet Dragon of My Heart, let’s have some fun:

[ Shoot! The idea to write this piece hit me only after I sealed the package containing my latest tales. Thus, this separate letter. Here goes. ]

There is an elderly gay gentleman I’ve befriended at Howard’s Cafe some time late in 2012. His name is Braden, and he’s 64 or so. Very nice guy, totally supports my activism and writing. But get this:

HE KNOWS YOU! Only as an occasional acquaintance, I mean…through those gay bowling tournaments you’re nuts about. Though he’s in a different league. Braden’s spoken briefly to you from time to time, since the day I first described you and revealed your wonderful moniker:

“Larkin? I know someone called Larkin! Does he bowl?”

Maybe this was last February or March when the connection first sparked. Since then, I’ve shared our adventures a bit with him…the stalker stuff, the shoving, etc. And finally, how I’ve come to realize this is all a setup for my benefit, and only comes from compassion. (Of course, Braden thinks my “setup/compassion” theory is just a coping mechanism under cruel duress.)

I did not tell him (yet) that I also conclude this “stalker” scenario was strategically set up by yourself and a group of allies. In other words: to make it more believable, several folks joined in on the ruse…including certain bartenders.

Side note: to my hilarity, I discovered you recently stood-in for Braden on his bowling league while he was vacationing. Anywayz:

I’m sure that while Braden admires me, he also thinks I’m somewhat daft (story of my life). I affirmed I would never mention him to you, as he thinks you’re a stinker for what you’ve done to me, and prefers to not be in the middle of all this melodrama. So here’s how we can have some fun with this:

Approach Braden next time you see him, with a rather disturbed expression and say something like:

“So you know Zeke the Stalker, eh?”

Follow that up with whatever remarks strike your fancy; you’re a super-witty fellow, so I know your performance will earn you stand-up ovation by the angels all about. Of course, make it perfectly clear that I never mentioned Braden to you, that you are telepathic and can read my mind at will. (Which is exactly what I told Braden various times, and why I’m sure you know all about my friendship with him at Howard’s, and have for a long while. So you can understand why Braden thinks I’m a tad off my rocker, ha!)

So have fun with this My Beloved Basilisk, I look forward to Braden’s reaction some day soon, at Howard’s Cafe!

Love and hugs always,

Zeke

P.S.: I changed a sentence in my piece “My FINAL Final Final Pitch” but am too late to replace it, due to the sealed packet. It would be on page 3, paragraph 4 I think. Original sentence starting with “But this is the first time I know of that I see Arwyn” is now changed to:

But this is the first time I know of that I see Arwyn occupying TPT at such a mesonoxian hour!

“Mesonoxian” means “having to do with midnight,” a word I just discovered and fell in love with last night. So I really wanted to use it right away!


Date: Sat, 18 Jan 2014 18:09:32
Subject:
Re: Discovered a new word today: “mesonoxian”…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

Eleanor wrote:

{{ It’s a Brobdingnagianly fine word! }}

No Lilliputian brain here! Sent off my “Fun w/Braden” letter today. The back of the envelope addressed to Larkin has taped to it the following tweet printout:


My Neville Persona

January 22, 2014

I have created various Twitter personas, one of them being “gay bachelor raconteur Neville Snidermannington III.” For your delectation, I’ve posted these comments as my first round of “Neville,” totalling 34 bon mots in all. In some cases, the context is not clear without also including the tweet that inspired my pun. Enjoy these satirical repartees that have brightened up the Empire of Twits beyond any previous tweets ever twold.


Richard Dawkins’ Mistake

January 19, 2014

The error in Dawkin’s declaration (and that of Einstein)–and it’s a glaring one IMHO–is that they assume the only reason God-believers do good is fear of punishment. But this is dogma arising solely from fundamentalist churches (or “low churches” as they call them in England). And is true only among certain churches that profess hell’s existence. While other churches do /not/ believe in hell, there are many alternative religions and God-beliefs that do not either.

Such as my view that doing good is a great /joy/; but wicked behavior will /not/ condemn a person to hell except perhaps as a judgment of conscience which will last for a period of time, not eternity. As the Buddha says: “Heaven and hell are a state of mind.” I believe in a creator as “universal mind” in a very gay-shamanistic sort of way. Belief in God, Mr. Dawkins, does not automatically mean you also believe in an eternal hell, or punishment by a harsh deity.

I can think of myriad reasons for atheists to /not/ believe in God, that are far more intelligently reasoned out than the quote shown above. I am–to put it mildly–astonished at such a poorly thought out rationale for your atheism. Much to my disappointment, I might add, as such a poorly rendered justification gives those homophobic fundamentalist preachers the perfect rebuttal. For additional information on my perspective on creation, see:

“NeoPositivity, a Gay Religion”
http://gay-bible.org/write/4_neopositivity.htm

What say you, Dedicated Reader…care to add your own three cents?


My FINAL Final Final Pitch

January 16, 2014

Date: Thu, 10 Jan 2014 09:26:01
Subject:
My FINAL Final Final Pitch
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

So, Eleanor, I just sent off my latest letter to Arwyn. I’m sure he’ll get such a kick out of it, he’ll spread it round his circle of friends…and they’ll get a kick out of it too. Sure, everyone in the Castro laughs at my expense! And leave me in the lurch, stealing my boyfriends, my friends, my acquaintances all away from me, that I linger on for years and years and years in social isolation.

Yeah, I can take a joke. If that’s what it took to get me here, to mold me into the very /finest/ activist the world has ever seen: so be it. Thank you, everyone, from the bottom of my little ladybug heart.

Anywayz, Morticia, have a good chuckle And don’t forget to leave a lit black candle out for the next four nights, that my spirit be with you. I’m already cracking up about My Letter Of 7 Commandments myself…knowing that it’s now in the mail so he’ll receive it in 2, 3, 4, 5, whatever days. Have /no/ idea when he goes downtown to check his mailbox.

So I’d say I’m safe for a little while longer. Daddy can sometimes be an angry Daddy!

9 January 2014

Dearest Dragon Breath,

I tried mailing you this postcard /twice/, but it kept bouncing back to me! Turns out (according to a clerk at the USPS) that I need to place the address /horizontally/ for the automated process to recognize and send it off. God forbid an actual /human/ should intervene.

Only realized several days ago, there will be /five/ books total, not three, to complete the saga of “Free Me From This Bond.” Two sequels and two prequels plus this first book that just got published in the middle. Prequel 1 will be “The Arwyn Chronicles” (or “The Prickwick Papers”) and prequel 2 will be “Friendly Ghost Detective Agency.”

Obviously, I’d like your gorgeous mug to grace Prequel 1. I’m sure that long before /that/ book comes out, our bumpy relationship will be sailing smooth. In fact, I’m /certain/ that well before my very next novel (Sequel 1, which chapter starts with your shoving me) is ready to be released, our friendship will be on an even keel.

You have set up many difficult and painful rules for me to follow, yet you freely change them at will to suit your own desires. So that my particular arrangement is “damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” That, My Lizardy Friend, is about to change. Now /I/ make some rules:

RULE 1: Don’t bother coming up or talking to me without /first/ giving me a friendly bear hug. Any time you do not oblige, I’ll simply keep my mouth sealed and/or walk away. Believe: I’ll know whether your hug is genuine or not.

RULE 2: Do not ever shove me again or perform any other act of violence upon this person. For I would then be forced to sic the cops on you and press charges. I absolutely /dread/ such a possibility, but that won’t stop me from taking immediate and direct action against you, if it comes to that (and god forbid it should).

RULE 3: If I do not witness clear evidence you are resolving to my satisfaction, your accusation to bartenders and patrons alike that I’m a stalker, within whatever time I feel appropriate…I will proceed with turning the tables and getting you driven out from all gay venues here in the Castro. Easy enough for me to find out, just by stepping into the Mix, Pilsner Inn etc. to discover whether or not they welcome me. I choose not to tell you which date is the deadline, as you don’t deserve to know.

RULE 4: Should I become a `celebrity as a result of my novel, please realize that slander against me thereby becomes a major offense (according to law). And if by then you haven’t resolved my demands under Rule 3, I /will/ press charges against you. Plenty of willing and ready witnesses!

RULE 5: If you haven’t resolved the issues under Rule 3 by the time I become a celebrity, I will seriously consider using your /real/ name in the sequel. Seeing as technically, I already have your signed permission and you cannot sue me. But if you /do/ clear your offenses described in Rule 3 (before the deadline and to my satisfaction), I will keep the pseudonym “Arwyn MIles” in /all/ my five novels.

RULE 6: Assuming Book 3 (sequel to the sequel) has a happy ending (which of course means our friendship is renewed better than ever), I will gladly reveal to the world who the real Arwyn Miles is. If, and only if, you give me permission to do that.

RULE 7: Should you refuse to abide by Rule 3 in the long run, once I become a celebrity and have acquired riches, I will hire the absolute /best/ detective to find out everything about you to my satisfaction. Seeing as you’ve violated my trust in a most egregious manner, I feel no qualms in prying into the most personal aspects of your life. Really, it’s for my own protection, and you’ve forced my hand.

Assuming you don’t behave like a smug little brat (who should win the 2013 Award for Castro Clone Uber Bitch) and gladly follow the above rules, I will gladly promote you for a unique position as a professional party mixer at gay events…and see to it you will be handsomely remunerated. But if such a career does not appeal to you, I will zealously assist you towards whatever goal you desire, that will make you financially independent beyond your wildest dreams. (I just think you’d make the /best/ party mixer on the planet.)

Assuming I have the cash, I’d also like to provide you with the very best health insurance, housing, and so forth. I would also like to make you incredibly happy in all ways possible…so much so, that the cross you bear over the tragedy of your parents’ timely death will be lifted for once and for all. (I do think they brought us together, that you may have a friend who devotes his life to your fulfillment. And I am terribly /proud/ to be such an ally.)

I believe you have run me through the entire gauntlet of what I perceive is an initiation orchestrated by you, and this secret gay organization I’ve described in my writings. (Perhaps I’m deluded, but so many clues have been dropped on my feet that I can’t ignore the possibility.) And that since this test seems to have run its course, I have the obligation to step forward and attempt to force a new direction.

One that will see justice done on my behalf; but also one that provides a win/win outcome for us both. For I do not believe in any form of vengeance that just spreads hatred further only to cause extended grief. But by the same token, you have caused me tremendous grief over many months, during which time I twice came close to taking my life.

A lesser person would be ragingly, insanely angry at you by this point. But I am not like that. For one: you’ve shown great kindness to me for a considerable time (on and off over seven years), and that counts for much! So much in fact, I feel pressed to be very patient with you during this wicked cycle which you, and you alone, have instigated. For two: I practice compassion under all circumstances; and boy have I been tested like a mutthuh!

But now I must declare ENOUGH. And proceed with whatever actions are best suited to deal with the unresolved matters at hand. Should you remain uncooperative as regards Rule 3, it would grieve me to pursue retaliation. In fact, it would plunge me into even more grief than I’ve already experienced by your hand. Nonetheless, I have my own dignity and reputation to protect, which comes first over anything and anyone else…no matter how much I love another.

And I don’t think you’d expect anything /less/ from a good friend. For I believe you set me up to go down this path, to test my mettle and discover if I’m a good enough friend to speak out when I see you headed down a dangerous road. (Or cower in silent fear of losing you, should I confront your demon…under which circumstance I wouldn’t deserve your affections.)

By the way, Arwyn, I’m home every evening, and accept visitors between 8 and 11 PM. Rarely does anyone drop over, so don’t think you’d be intruding, ever. You can call by cell, or buzz two numbers, 07 (zero seven) at the front gate. On the intercom you’ll see those two numbers right by my name.

The intercom is connected to my phone. I screen all calls, so please announce yourself (such as “hey this is Arwyn”) once the answering machine kicks in. If I’m home, I will then pick up the phone. If I don’t pick up, I’m either down the hall in the bathroom, or strolling the Castro for 20 minutes or so.

The way I feel about you, I’ll drop everything and come to your side if need be. Without a moment’s hesitation. Even if I was boinking the hottest man on the planet, I’d kick him out just to enjoy your extraordinary company. (Though since you /are/ the hottest man on the planet, I don’t see how this scenario would arise…unless you have an identical twin I don’t know about!)

All my love and joy for realz,

Zeke

P.S.: I’m glad if you’re still walking with the Devil. For he’s my Great Lover who I know will protect you under his enormous bat-like wings, and see to it that you will never stray too far down a perilous path. And bring you back home into my arms, safe, happy and whole.


Date: Tue, 14 Jan 2014 01:35:10
Subject:
I’m right…it’s gonna be okay!
From: Zeke
To: Eleanor

Standing catty-corner from Twin Peaks just after the sun set (returned from Howard’s Cafe as usual), I see Arwyn sitting inside. Few minutes later, he steps out and I hope he sees me. But instead of pausing for a smoke, he heads directly for Harvey Milk Plaza, then across Market on his way home (I guess).

So maybe he didn’t see me at all. I am compelled to parallel his stride, from the other side and cross Market, gazing in his direction to see if he notices. He does, but it is too dark for me to be sure. So I swerve right and proceed home, hoping he’s following behind. (Because I saw that he crossed to the other side as if to turn in my direction, rather than step west towards his own home a half-block distant.)

Finally I reach the front gate to my apartment building and look back. He is nowhere to be seen. (Oh Goddess, he plays this game flawlessly.) So I climb up to my hovel and decide to get drunk. Half-cup of Royal Gate with an equal measure of A&W Diet Root Beer.

Two-three-four hours pass. Even more. Midnight I grow restless, a spirit of what-I-don’t-know pulls me outside and I wander back to Twin Peaks Tavern. To my surprise as I pass the glass front I spy Arwyn sitting at the bar, schmoozing it up with a bartender. So I spin around and settle on my perch 40 feet north by the Creme Brulee truck (now closed thank god, as the engine’s rumble gives me a headache). From this position I remain within his line of sight.

I reflect upon how lonely I am, cast out from all the venues of Castro Street and surrounding bars, thanks to his terrible gossip. Yet, still, wish so much to be in his company. I glance back at TPT to see his lank shadow moving about, picking up glasses and chatting with this or that evening patron.

I wait an agonizing 20 minutes or so, begging for his attention in silent torment. No one else draws my interest but I’ll tell you this: I was horny as heck and sure wanted to get laid. If some cute dude came up to me at that moment, I’d hump him in the switch of a rat’s tail…well, once we got to my place (which would only take two minutes of eager prelude up the sidewalk, my denim pants slipping down awkwardly once or twice; I’ve managed to become deliciously skinny again).

IOW: Arwyn comes second. But in my vigil reveries, I realize it is Arwyn himself who called me outdoors at such a late hour.

But this is the first time I know of that I see Arwyn occupying TPT at such a mesonoxian hour! Surely, he wanted me to show up. Some 10 minutes later he steps out (To go home and not look back and see my desperate person, or to cross my view and walk up Market to Church?) Soon enough, I discover he’s going to stroll past me, but not necessarily addressing my presence.

So just before he crosses beyond our line of sight behind the tall shrubs and the automated Decaux toilet, I call to him:

“Ignore me, that’s right! Walk right on by and ignore me!”

To my delight he turns his visage in my direction and nods. I await to enjoy his glorious profile reappear on the far side of the shrubs, but it never does.

“WTF is going on?” I wonder. “Is he waiting to cross to the other side instead, out of view?”

So I release my butt from the fireplug to walk up to the corner. Where I see him crossing to my residential side of the street under the green traffic light.

“Okay,” I conclude, “He’s not gonna get away from me /that/ easily!”

And I proceed to run up Market to Noe, look back twice to see him stride along the other side, gradually falling behind my rapid trot. The cigarette I planned to light under the hopeful assumption he was gonna come up to me, now swings between my fingers as I run up Market trying to catch my breath. I look back once more to assure myself I’d be way ahead of him once i crossed to my home side.

Regaining a normal heartbeat while leaning upon the lamppost front of my building, I await Arwyn’s passage. Takes longer than i planned (surely Arwyn knew that and decided to play with my expectation), so I peer round the bus stop cubicle to see if he’s approaching. But it is too dark and I can’t see very far. Then he appears like a vision of Celtic Grace.

As Arwyn emerges from the gloom, he makes the sign of the cross in my direction while gazing upon my trembling soul. (This gesture goes back to the first year of our friendship at Hole in the Wall Saloon, when I leaned into his ear and said “We should sleep together!”) I then address with strident voice:

“I’m /still/ you’re friend, Arwyn, and I love you!”

He pauses from a diagonal position about fifteen feet upwind, his fluffy hair tousled:

“What?”

So I declare with great pride (though do not gaze upon him directly, as I am shy with honest embarrassment):

“I’m still your friend, Arwyn. You’ve put me through great difficulty…and grievous.” Then I glance at him for a moment and look away once more: “But I understand. I’m still your friend.”

He then proceeds towards Noe and crosses. As he does I grow suddenly upset that he did not run up to me and bless me with a hug. So I holler with such brass I’m sure my voice reaches him across the starburst intersection:

“One more thing! Fuck you! Fuck you all the way to hell and back again!”

Arwyn turns ’round, takes a few steps in my direction, then halts. As if he wants to see whether or not I’m truly angry or just playful, and if the former, to return and embrace this shivering maverick. Assured of the latter, he pauses mid-intersection, turns his back to me and bends over to grab those ample butt cheeks. And responds in echo:

“I like you too, Zeke!”

Maybe he said “I love you,” but I’m not sure. (Or perhaps even “Fuck you,” but if so ’twas with great panache.)

He moves along now, ever smaller. Though still within earshot to hear my next declaration that echos boldly across the chill canyon of Eureka Valley:

“I /own/ your ass, buddy. I own it big time, and you know it! I OWN YOUR ASS!”

Arwyn grows even tinier. I beg the spirit of Saint Valentine while he is still visible:

“Please, Arwyn, please come swiftly to my side to heal my shattered soul! Please come back!”

But he does not, and vanishes as I stand on the corner about to weep from joy and sorrow and exhaustion and gratitude and regret that I must once more return to my SRO without his sweet companionship.

So now I sit by my Gateway netbook and peripheral LCD screen, typing this missive to you, Kind Eleanor, trying to hold back my tears. For in spite of my desire to be in Darling Wyvern’s loving embrace /right now/, I know I /will/ be in a time very soon.

Love,

Zeke


Twitter Homophobe Alert

January 11, 2014

TO ANY & ALL PRO-GAY ALLIES OUT THERE IN TWITTERSPACE

My name is Zeke Krahlin. I’m a devoted gay activist of many years. My web site at [ http://www.gay-bible.org ] gives evidence of my record and achievements.

Since 1997 my activism has increased ever more in cyberspace, where I’ve grown accustomed to regular threats and attacks by homophobes, in order to shut me down…no matter which service I use. The latest is Twitter, and the tweets above show the first salvo against me, by two pinheads.

I’ve gotten suspended seven times in just the past two weeks. And the Twitlords never tell me why, but do let me back on within a day, or even within two or three hours. But I’m required to notify them first by filling out a standard form and sending it off.

However, I now conclude that my Twitter access is likely being sabotaged by anti-gay horses asses. And Twitter is not taking proper action by searching out hateful threats against LGBTs. Seems easy enough to do, by running a subroutine to find words like “fag” and “faggot”…then checking them out to be sure if they are threatening or (rarely) not.

There has of course also come to my mind, that Twitter may likewise harbor a homophobe or two within their ranks…and could be part of my current dilemma. No surprise from this queer renegade, seeing as anti-gay dogma remains the most rampant and violent bigotry of them all. And it’s worldwide.

Can anyone(s) on Twitter help put an end to this, else the attacks will increase to the point where I’m no longer a frequent denizen of Twitterville? Or even worse: this hatred grows and spills over into meatspace, to cause me even worse threats and even bodily harm.

And legal support? Hacker assistance? Thanks for your considerate attention…I know there are many excellent and brilliant souls wandering Tweetdom. Who far outnumber these perverted troglodytes.

Sinqueerly yours,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

PS: I live on a disability stipend only, so cannot possibly afford to pay attorney fees or whatever other aid I might need (should it come to that). I just self-published my first novel, but it will take quite some time to actually generate any profit, if ever. You can check out my novel by clicking on the book cover image below (chapter 1 always free to read), or this link: [ http://www.gay-bible.org/free ].


UPDATE January 12 2014

This past week, I’ve been banned from Twitter five times, and got back on in less than a day, sometimes just two-three hours, and last time only five minutes after emailing Twitter my outrage. But I finally discovered the truth about why I’m being bounced around. After startpage‘ing the absurd accusation of “multiple unsolicited replies”, I found this page:

What exactly is meant by “unsolicited replies or mention”?
https://dev.twitter.com/discussions/22072

Turns out many left-wing tweeters are blocked by spiteful
“conservative” types. This then alerts the Twitter overlords who see
fit to instantly comply, rather than look into matters. This indicates
a strong bias by Twitter against progressive and for right
wingers.

This of course does not bode well for leftie queer activists like
yours truly. Though I do find Twitter an excellent medium for
promoting my gay activism, including my book. So I’d rather fight
than surrender. Maybe I’ll wind up suing the fuk outta Twitter and
walk away with millions. Now:

Read the three excerpts below that I culled from that site, which
answers the question as to why I keep getting excommunicated:

@mahilena:

It has been my experience twice, when all of a sudden I am attacked by a conservative gang of tweeps and they start bullying me…if I defend or counter attack, they report me as me harassing them…and sending them unsolicited reply or mentions….its a trick based on the culture war but tweeter does not take enough time to properly investigate and trace the dialogue to see who is harassing who.

@ERN_Malleyscrub:

It seems twitter is controlled by nervous conservative types who would rather suspend people from communicating than check the facts. Considering the parameters of rules, the arbitrary nature of suspension means it’s chaos.

@lynnerlou72:

Me too! Twitter suspended my account and I had to agree to abide by their rules before being reinstated. Ummm… except I didn’t do what they accused me of? They’re basically accusing me of spamming…or mass tweeting. Ummm… but if you actually look at my account, you’ll see that I retweeted articles but they aren’t addressed (@ or #) to anyone. So what am I doing wrong again? What fascist didn’t like my comments today?

Meanwhile, I’ve found two Twitter channels dedicated to calling out homophobia whenever it occurs. Hopefully, this will help. I am considering a project to make Twitter, Inc. cease with ignoring anti-gay tweets, as well as getting them to drop their #fag and #cunt hashtags.

After all, there is no #nigger or #breederscum hashtag (for examples). I therefore accuse the Tweetmasters of willfully spreading homophobia and misogyny across Twitspace.


UPDATE January 13 2014

Just got this second email from a Twitter employee, and it’s BS. Read paragraph 3, and you’ll understand; I highlighted it in bold (and my questionnaire replies in dark red):

———- Forwarded message ———-
From: adrianacarter
Date: Mon, Jan 13, 2014 at 3:55 AM
Subject: #15876431 Twitter Support: update on “Receiving violent threats –
CodySpacely”
To: EZ_Krahlin

##- Please type your reply above this line -##

——————————

*adrianacarter, Jan 13 03:55 AM:*

Hello,

If you feel you’re in physical danger based on the Tweets or the behavior of the account, we strongly encourage you to follow up on the issue outside of Twitter. Take the time to contact law enforcement or other trusted individuals to determine if the threat is valid. To do this, you should consider taking the following steps:

  • document the interactions with print-outs or screenshots
  • provide specific detail on your issue (What other Tweets or users are involved?
  • How many times has this happened?
  • What was said?
  • Determine if this is someone you know offline or if this is happening on other websites, so that you can assess the scope of the problem and take appropriate action.

We’ve investigated the account and reported Tweets for violent threats and abusive behavior, and have found that it’s currently not violating the Twitter Rules.

Though you may feel differently about the outcome of the decision, you should still seek help if you truly feel you’re in danger. If you choose to reach out to law enforcement, we can work with them and provide the necessary information for their investigation of your issue. You can direct local law enforcement to this page for more information: https://support.twitter.com/articles/41949

Thanks,

@adrianacarter
Twitter Trust & Safety

——————————

*EZ_Krahlin, Jan 11 01:40 PM:*

What username is causing the issue?: @CodySpacely

Tweet I am reporting:
https://twitter.com/CodySpacely/status/422073720476536832
Please provide the specific time mentioned: 10:33 AM
Please provide the specific date mentioned: 11 Jan 14
Please provide the name of the person mentioned: EZ_Krahlin

Blocked user(s): Yes
How many times has this happened?: Three
Further description of problem: He is making homophobic remarks to me, I am a gay activist. He threatens to hurt me.
Your full name: Ezekiel Krahlin

I understand that Twitter may provide third parties, for example the reported user, with details of this report, such as the reported Tweet. Your contact information, like your email address, will not be disclosed.

Twitter username: @EZ_Krahlin


UPDATE January 23 2014

Seems that Twitter is no stranger to looking the other way when it comes to homophobia and other bigotries (now that I’ve done my homework):

Homophobia Doubles on Twitter

Homophobic Tweets (Huffington Post)

Twitter Slammed Over Racist, Homophobic and Anti Semitic Abuse

Tom Daley Endures Homophobic Abuse on Twitter After Coming Out

Homophobia Tracker Finds ‘Faggot’ On Twitter Nearly 1 Million Times Per Month


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