Just What The Castro Needs…

…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:


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”:


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.


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