Sochi Anti-Gay Olympics

February 27, 2014

Their knowing full well Russia’s recent and ongoing pogrom upon homosexuals: I see no reason why those who attend or watch the Sochi Winter Olympics should be given carte blanche to enjoy this international fiasco. They had a golden opportunity to save many lives by boycotting the event. But no, their breeder dogma couldn’t see any value in being heroes to those they consider inferior. So on went the games. Here are examples of my contribution via Twitter, to dampen the enjoyment of at least some spectators (50 tweets total, though I posted many more):

Due to image width limitation for this particular WordPress layout, all tweets are truncated at the right margin, so just left-click for a full version. Or [ click here ] to view them all at once without the hassle!

Third & Final

February 24, 2014

From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor
Date: Tue, 4 Feb 2014 00:50:00
Third & Final Valentine’s Day Card

Sent Larkin two cards already, but this one won’t be mailed till February 10th. Attached are two photos: the front and the open view inside. Front says (on a mini sticky note):

Zeke loves Larkin very much.

The open view contains 14 sitcky notes in various colors. Starting from leftmost down, (four per columns 1 & 2, three per columns 3 & 4), they read:

You’re a hard
drug dealer.
You drove me
out of the bars
& distanced us.

So I wouldn’t
get too close
& figure things

Read all my
letters. They
set up the
battle plan.

I shall win
but I gave you
extra points

If you are a
dealer, I want
you to stop.
Don’t want to lose
you to prison.

What if a cus-
tomer OD’s on
your product?
Can you live
with that?

Were you a
true friend
You would’ve
made things up

Your charisma
is not absolute.
Get out of
the Castro NOW.

All the bar
owners shall
know. I have
a phone.

You give me
reason to sus-
pect you deal
hard drugs.

If it were just
pot I’d have
no problems.
I love you.

I do not trust
you one bit,
though love you
very much.

You play this
game, I play
back. Not
afraid to die.

I was drugged
in 2007, you
showed no
mercy. Hole in the Wall.

This is how I play /his/ hero this time around, El! Hopefully, it is all just a feigned drama with yours truly in the starring role. No harm, no foul. But if there /is/ truth in my suspicions, still: no harm, no foul. A win/win solution no matter what. Let’s see how he’ll react. I certainly hope he does /not/ disappear from my life. But if so, it certainly won’t be the /first/ time Fate has required me to sacrifice a noble friendship for the sake of another’s soul.

I am /so/ tired of always being dumped into uncompromising circumstances that leave me out in the cold. But I /must/ answer to the ethics of Brotherly Love above and beyond even my own happiness. I will be sending the card enclosed in a very large bubble envelope (18×12 inches), which will also contain my latest blog entries (“It’s All About Larkin,” “Larkin’s Deadline,” and “Another Downturn”) along with my “Free Me From This Bond” T-shirt.

Which T-shirt I showed him several months back on the one-and-only time he visited me at my hovel. He did not smile, so I remarked:

“I thought you’d get a kick out of this!” His response:

“I do /not/ get a kick out of that.”

The folder BTW that contains those blog printouts, says on the front side:

More reading, Larkin.
You have not graduated
from the University of
Zeke, quite /yet/.

– Zeke


February 21, 2014

Eleanor Cooney, you are accused of being a secret member of Andromedans who plan to assign me absolute authority over planet earth! You dropped a hint in your last message, indicating it’s time for me to declare such an absurdly wonderful conclusion. Which was:

It’s as if you’re channeling a parallel dream-world, which is striving to become the real world! The more detailed your vision, the more you create a portal for that dream world to find its way into this world and become as real as the rocks and trees.

This transcends even Vonnegut’s concept of a “kerass,” though it was a nice try, Ellie! (I wonder though: why the word “ass” in this label…I dare not dwell on the implication; rhymes with “her ass.”) This vision I had two days ago of Larkin commanding a massive fleet of star ships from the Andromeda galaxy led to astounding revelations that imply a utopian destiny not just for myself, but for everyone else who inhabits this puny little (but most beatific) globe:

Obviously, I am an agent for these Andromedans, probably born of a Petri dish with Larkin as my one-and-only sire. Even though in this life I am 12 years older than My Wily Wyvern…inconsequential in the ultimate scheme of things. And many agents from Andromeda watch over me, that I may grow into this role as Moon Child Provocateur a la “Space Odyssey: 2001.” As a star child, I will protect and guide this sweet orb…but I will also project my ego self onto the earth (a.k.a. “Zeke”), that I may enjoy the bounty and delight along with all other human beings.

You, My Dear Eleanor, are one such guardian from this neighboring galaxy. Who imposed her presence in my life way back when you complimented me so kindly over my essay “Gay Marriage by Any Other Name” on What year was that, I can hardly recall: 2006?

This Great Destiny for planet earth is the same for all other planets whose civilization has evolved to the point of scientific advancements that will soon lead to interstellar travel. Some revered thinkers, such as Carl Malden…wait, I mean “Carl Sagan”…have defined our human condition as a profoundly lonely one, relative to the vast ocean of stars. How dare he (and his ilk) portray our home orb as but a tiny speck of dust in an infinite void w/o any hope of salvation and a glorious eternity for all its inhabitants?

I guess it’s important to consider atheist and hostile interpretations of universal outcomes, for the sake of expanding one’s awareness…but gimme a break! Such nihilistic viewpoints do /not/ serve the purpose of Divine Revelation in the long run! What a horrible way to perceive our lives as existing in a hostile universe with no real hope of expanding beyond this, into an eternal promise of Goddess’s love to every sentient being?

While it seems obvious that no civilization can embark beyond its home planet w/o first becoming totally homosexualized (that uncontrolled and rampant breeding would never overrun and destroy the galaxies)…it is a gross disservice toward young minds to portray a heartless void, a universe that has absolutely /no/ regard for every single life that is born into this cosmos. Utter hogwash!

The Andromedan Angels have been guiding and protecting this planet for eons. Not one single civilization will ever end up destroying its planet into nonexistence. Instead, each will reach a point of extreme potential self-extermination, at which moment the Andromedans will reveal themselves and step in to right all these many wrongs. Some wrongs of which may seem impossible to surmount…though the Andromedans have our happy survival under complete administration, and /will/ save every single sorry soul on our pathetic little third rock from the sun.

Fear and grief and superstition are but a temporary condition, that humans may learn from such harsh lessons, and finally grow into immortal realization. Period. No exception to this rule, on any planet occupied by sentients or otherwise destined for Goddess’s benevolence.

I know what you are, Eleanor, just as I know what Larkin is too. You are both diplomats from the most amazing intergalactic civilization of all: Andromedans. Earth is so very blessed to have such wonderful souls like yourself, to ensure that not one single living entity shall wind up in hell. But in fact, your gracious ilk shall see to it that we each evolve into heavenly eternity.

You Andromedans are great teachers, guides, lovers and players of Cosmic Posterity. No one can see through your veil until /you/ allow it. And in your case, it is the hint you gave me in your previous email, and quoted at the beginning of this message. I am therefore /certain/ you’ve been in contact with Larkin over many years, even before we first met in 2005 (or so). You can object all you want, but at this point I know better.

So just let me say THANK YOU for your tremendous wisdom and compassion, for guiding this poor soul into a direction of such joy I can’t even begin to describe. You, and Larkin, and so many others.

– Zeke

But It Won’t Make Me Happy

February 18, 2014

Larkin: “I’m moving back to San Diego in a few days.”

Me: “No, Larkin, I don’t believe you. You would never abandon me. You just like to see me cry.”

I move two feet forward to embrace him, and he does not resist. Yet his arms remain at his side.

Larkin: “I am leaving you, Zeke. I have to.”

Me (weeping into his dark gray nylon windbreaker): “I can’t take this Larkin. You’ve put me through so much! I will never meet another man who makes me so happy as you have.”

Larkin (pushing me away a bit to look into my blurry eyes): “Yes you will, Zeke. He will come along soon after I depart.”

Me: “Perhaps he will. But while he might make me feel loved, no way will I know the joy I have with you. Please tell me you’re just testing me.”

Larkin (with a sigh that belies his deep affection): “I have given you the keys to true friendship. Please regard me as Your Kind Teacher who has opened your soul to a brave new reality.”

Me (looking up at him with great yearning, and a tug on his sleeve): “That is not right, My Beloved Dragon. Again I tell you: no one shall ever touch my heart so nobly as yourself. I cannot live without you. I may not die from heartbreak, though I probably will. But I will surely be so miserable that all joy shall leave my world, once you are gone.”

Larkin: “Please, Zeke. I don’t have the depth of love you seem to hold for me. And for this, I am most sorry.”

Me (gazing up at My Beauty through a wash of tears): “I could never hate you for tossing me to the wolves. But loneliness seems to be my lot in life. I’m 63 now, Larkin, and I could never put so much devotion to another, only to have him dump me in a year or two…or three, or four, or…”

Then I break down and fall onto His Own Darling Self, and he embraces me with a sweetness beyond what anyone else in the universe will ever know. He bursts out in tears that flow down my head and onto my face. What was a light drizzle upon our present encounter has turned into a downpour. I am drenched and shivering but do not care…for under any circumstance no matter how unpleasant the clime, I prefer above all else to be here in his arms. Forever.

Larkin pulls back in obvious grief, wiping his wet face as he speaks: “Look, the plane departs in three hours, I must go! I’m sorry Zeke, but I beg you: please keep the faith, another will soon come along to ease your heart.”

I look up at him, his glorious visage that I may never lay eyes upon again. Drink from the well of his friendship, then abruptly turn away to march home. Halfway down the block I turn ’round to see his cherished form diminish into the sunset. I go home now, to write this in nonstop weeping.

The days come and go, but each afternoon I maintain my vigil outside Twin Peaks Tavern…not believing for a moment he’s really disappeared from my world. But his Wonderful Lizard Self does not appear to delight my heart and give such blessings upon this trembling soul with a smile, a nod, a wave of the hand, or even a single “Aargh!

“He is gone, Zeke!” speaks a small voice in my mind. Which I refuse to accept. So more weeks pass into months, yet my beleaguered spirit remains steadfast in its devotional watch over TPT each and every afternoon. In spite of the know-nothing bums that populate Jane Warner Plaza, and the cold-hearted queers who wouldn’t give me the time of day even if I asked.

I do not long for another handsome and kind fellow to sweeten my difficult life. Though of course I am not opposed to this, and wish it would occur to give me some sort of brotherly solace…but as usual, it never manifests. Though I have sent four letters so far to My Ultimate Heartbreak, he has never writ back…and I am afraid the day will come soon that my latest letter will be returned with no forwarding address. Just like what finally happened with My Randolph.

I see Larkin’s ghost each day, imagining us still together. It’s all I can do every time, to keep from collapsing in heartache right there in the public arena. Returning to my room gives little solace, except to further imagine being in my buddy’s embrace while enjoying a Scooby-Doo cartoon.

Oh my dear Larkin,” I weep most every night in my hovel’s simple bedding, “I miss you like Romeo misses Juliet…only a gay version thereof!

My tears are the only comfort I know any more: my appetite is gone, I eat a plain fare of oatmeal for breakfast, something cheap at Howard’s Cafe, and a simple dish of brown rice and sauteed veggies for dinner. And always no matter what, I expect to hear Larkin’s voice all of a sudden, over the phone or calling me from across the street or down my block

I cannot believe his glorious mug no longer graces TPT, nor that our sporadic badinage that lights my heart like a Bunsen burner, is no longer. He is the most brilliant ghost to ever haunt my waking world…and sometimes my world of sleep, too. An occasional dream gives me hope: we embrace and he tells me what a good friend I am, and will soon return to be with me always. He says I’m the finest human being in the universe, and is so very blessed to have me for a lover.

So one afternoon, after almost five months since our tragic departure, I repeat my vigil at TPT as I’ve always done every single day. The playful image of a dragon crosses my mind, in memory of the magic of our friendship. It walks by me from across 17th street and winks at me before entering TPT. I then espy Larkin through the plate glass, chatting up and hugging the elderly patrons there, delighting as usual in his most unique kind of camaraderie.

I’m imagining this,” I speak aloud to myself, and rub my eyes to make the mirage disappear. But it does not.

Larkin glances at me, smiles and waves a friendly hand. I collapse to the concrete in tears of joy, and bury my head in my arms, thanking Goddess over and over again. He is suddenly crouched over me, showering me with many kisses and sugary hugs.

I’m really sorry, Zeke, to have put you through such an ordeal,” he explains with copious tears.

But before he continues, I stop him, look up into that magnificent Celtic face and declare: “Larkin! I understand. Just shut up and hold me!

And he does exactly that. Some minutes later he pulls me up off the sidewalk to escort me into the tavern. And introduces me to all his friends, and the bartenders:

This is my great love and soul mate, Zeke!” All suddenly becomes pin-drop silent in the bar as he continues: “No finer man exists on this planet, or on any other. He is the greatest happiness of my life. I’m the luckiest man in the universe.

Thus ends book 3, and begins a new and eternal life of love…for me, for him, for you, and for everyone else that exists, ever has existed, and ever will exist.


From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor
Date: Mon, 10 Feb 2014 18:25:14<br.
Re: Well, this suddenly blurted out from my fingertips…

On 2/10/14, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Inspired!

It’s as if you’re channeling a parallel dream-world, which is striving to become the real world! The more detailed your vision, the more you create a portal for that dream world to find its way into this world and become as real as the rocks and trees! }}

This is how Larkin’s kindness (and tough love, obviously) affects me. Though I think there is already far more truth in it, than my creative power. After all, /he/ is the one who created many of the scenarios in my trilogy “Free Me From This Bond.” But get this:

Now I’m having visions that he is a commander for a fleet of star ships from the Andromeda galaxy. Oy vey!

So my final book in this trilogy will end with a chapter or two, that is a continuation of these Andromedan saviors which are first mentioned in the final chapter of book 2 (“Please Don’t Eat the Daisies“).

I feel very much like the main character in Ursula K. Le Guin’s “The Lathe of Heaven.” Only with a gay spin. :P

So, instead of these star ships arriving 10 years from now, they’re already here! Double oy vey!

Upon reviewing this piece for any typos or minor improvements in the dialogue, I noticed that at first Larkin says he’s moving to San Diego a few days from now. But further down he says that his plane will depart in three hours.

So initially I figured I need to correct this discrepancy…but then an invisible hand halted me, said: “No! That is but one hint Larkin is pranking you, that he really will /never/ leave your side!”

It also reflects the zaniness of our friendship, that we are both sort of scatter brains. It made me consider any /other/ clues that he really has no plan to disappear:

He wept profusely in the telling…indicating he /does/ love me at least as deeply as I do him. There is also a chapter in book 2 where he plays out a similar scenario that he is departing for San Diego. But as it turns out he comes back to me a few moments later, tells me to pack my bags, we only have a short time before the jet leaves, and I’m coming with him.

But why /did/ he put me through this ordeal, where I suffered many months for lack of his presence? Here is the answer AFAICT:

This difficult experience was part and parcel of my necessary spiritual growth into perfection. Larkin was simply following orders from The Woman Upstairs.

I love the schmaltzy melodrama of the tale, nonetheless elevated to a plateau of divine friendship.

Of course, soon as the redaction was complete, I printed it out and snail-mailed it off to Larkin. One diem before I sent my Valentine’s Day package prepared two days prior.

My life is blessed with a Great Love, and I am but the witness.

– Zeke

From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor
Date: Wed, 12 Feb 2014 14:35:14
So I’m hiking 5 blocks up Noe Street…

…about to cross Duboce when guess who’s marching up the same byway in my direction? Larkin! I stand gazing upon his dragonly visage as he approaches.

“Hey, Larkin!”

He looks up, kinda smiles but not quite, puffing on a Winston (well, prolly /not/ that brand, I can’t see that close…anywayz, varying a character’s brand of cigarette keeps the plot moving, reader be damned). And he comes close to me then passes.

I address: “What should I call you, Detective Kelsey or Commander Kelsey?”

His back now to me as he moves beyond my little world: “Either one’s okay.”

I retort: “You command a vast /fleet/ of star ships from the Andromeda galaxy; I got you figured out!”

Still, he does not turn his face to bless me with a mischievous grin, rolling eyes, or even a dismissive wave. Then he crosses, never looks back. I want a hug so bad! I am fervently put out, ready to pounce on him…no one on this fukkin planet needs a hug at this moment, more than yours truly! But I remain anchored to that corner and watch him diminish. The moment he steps onto the opposite sidewalk I call out:

“I love ya!”

I then cross Duboce and walk a bit west, in order to continue watching him grow distant towards Market Street. Not once does he turn ’round, and then the N Judah arrives. So now I sit at the horseshoe counter of Howard’s Cafe, typing you my latest missive. (“Missive,” ha! That”s my Elizabeth Anna Horsington peeking through.)

“That was another setup,” I concluded to myself while boarding the light rail transit. “He knew I hadn’t seen him in four days, and I was feeling pretty down after watching those gay-bashing videos out of Russia. I also felt bad because he seemed to lend /no/ support for my tobacco shop face-off.”

A trio of double seats emptied soon as the N Judah stopped at the exit end of the tunnel…Carl & Cole streets. I mused further:

“No, don’t think that, Zeke. Larkin has his reasons for not defending you sometimes. May be that he knew I could handle it on my own. And I did: got that letter to the editor published. (Also received a hateful email.) Or perhaps he checked out my story by visiting the establishment himself, and settled the score. Whatever.” I continue:

“Since he’s a mind reader he /felt/ my anxieties, decided it’s time once more to cheer me up with his presence, albeit brief (and “brief” seems to define the essence of our encounters over 7 years). But I’ll be damned if that wasn’t a setup! Like he was waiting in the wings as I approached Duboce Street, then popped out stage-right to surprise.”

And that is /exactly/ what it was, El, I’m sure of it. Maybe I should’ve hollered a few more bon mots as he vanished down the sidewalk, like:

Hey, my fly’s open. I’m brandishing my bodacious wanger just for you, buddy!


Look darlin’, I just ripped out my heart for love of your sweet friendship. My hands are bloody! I need instant surgery, and you’re the doctor!

or even

What, still no hug? I’m gonna have an aneurysm! If you keep this up much longer I’ll have to be rushed to the ER and be resuscitated from chronic hug deprivation. And not just /any/ chronic hug deprivation, but chronic /Larkin/ hug deprivation!

Well, ya gotta be quick on the rebound to parry with Uber Dude Larkin…what else can I say? Okay now, back to my carrot cake and coffee, and some Twitter hell raising.

– Zeke

Another Downturn

February 15, 2014

Date: Sat, 1 Feb 2014 20:52:46
Another Downturn
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

After our hearty badinage two nights ago, I figured that Larkin and I were on the upswing. Boy was I wrong. Here’s the skinny:

Today around 5:30 PM I stroll by Twin Peaks Tavern and spot him chatting at the bar, dressed in a military camouflage jacket. So I plan to hang outside after a purchase of ciggies. Walk into the store to see the usual friendly clerk, but this time with an amigo who sits on a stool in the back, wearing a medical face mask. This perturbs me.

After making the purchase I ask the clerk: “So what’s your friend over there wearing a mask for: flu season?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he replies.

So I turn to the masked Latino to challenge: “Are you wearing that mask because you’re in a gay neighborhood?”

Shrugs his shoulders, says: “Yeah, something like that.”

I immediately go ballistic: “Fuk you then, I know how you heteros are! Take our money but don’t give a damn!”

“That’s not very nice of you,” reponds the clerk.

“Not very nice?” I declare, and point to his associate. “So you think what /he/ said was nice?”

I turn once more to the sidekick, ready for a fight. “Fuk you, idiot.”

Then face the clerk again before I depart with my hand on the doorknob: “You just lost a customer. Eat shit.”

(FYI, Eleanor, I vividly recall the height of the AIDS crisis in the late 80’s when the occasional homeless str8 dude would wander the Castro wearing such a mask. A direct affront towards gay folk. They’d /still/ beg for money, yet couldn’t resist their masked bigotry.)

So I finally exit (with a solid *slam*) and seat myself upon the low concrete abutment immediately opposite TPT. Which spot is much closer than my usual station. I’m really pissed, and wish Larkin would step out for a friendly boost. But he does not.

I cross the street then and lean against the green trashcan. An (obviously) homeless dude with ratty blond hair and beard approaches me, so I say “Hi, what’s your name?”

“E,” he replies.

“E?” I say. “Just the letter E?”

“Yeah,” he affirms with an unlit butt dangling from his lips. So I offer him my lighter, which he flicks a couple times, then returns. I like the fact he doesn’t ask me for a cigarette.

“Well, my name is longer but not by much. It’s Zeke, though it has a lot of Z in it.”

Then I tell him what just ensued at NY Times tobacco shop. Upon hearing my tale of outrage, he abruptly departs. Clearly, he is not gay friendly. Then my friend Darin shows up out of the blue some feet away, so I call him over. And tell /him/ about the incident.

Yet he likewise does not respond and drifts away. Few minutes later I find him seated with E, schmoozing like they’re old comrades. (I must add here that while I call Darin “friend” in this email, he’s proven less than that lately.) So I depart towards TPT, see Larkin still there, then proceed across Castro to pause for some minutes at Harvey Milk Plaza. Once I see Larkin step out for a smoke, I cross back and approach him.

“Hey Larkin,” I call. He says “Hey” back, “how ya doin’?”

“Not that well” I admit, then tell /him/ about my confrontation at the tobacco joint, and that I’ll never place a foot in there again. He is unresponsive, as if I had said nothing. So then I query:

“After all the pain you put me through, how come you still don’t hug me?”

Again he stands deadpan, like I’m not there. So I proclaim while pointing at him like an executioner:

“Your meanness is gonna bite you in the butt!” Then I spit at his feet…twice. As I turn to head home he retorts:

“Go and have another bottle!”

What a mean thing to say, so I return to oppose him:

“I doesn’t matter, Larkin! What you say doesn’t matter any more.” (Yes, I did have a couple shots of Vodka to soothe my nerves before stepping out, but it’s a far cry from drunken foolishness.) And he replies:

“Well God bless you.” To which I exclaim:

“That’s a nice thing to say, but coming from you it means nothing. You make no sense.”

Though he hollers something else as I depart (I guess ’cause he must have the last word), I don’t hear what he spoke and swiftly march homeward.

But then from a half-block away, I turn tail to resume my post about 20 feet from Larkin as he chats with his regular sidekick (“Skinny Jake” I call him) and an elderly queer patron with fluffy, semi-long white hair that blows a bit in the breeze. Larkin embraces him fondly (presumably because he knows I’m watching) and says to him:

“You’ve still got a lotta good guy left in you.”

I light a cig and move to the other side near Orphan Andy’s, to get a better view of Larkin (seeing as he adjusted his position where I couldn’t view him behind the lamppost from my previous spot), and continue to observe. I am, to put it mildly, outraged.

Ironically, at this moment E walks up to me and requests a smoke. To which I abruptly say “No!” and he departs (thank god).

Larkin et al soon return to occupy TPT, and I cross JW Plaza. Thinking on this, I don’t see how being totally sober would’ve caused me to be any less outraged by such unkind treatment. I’m sure I’d have been just as nauseated all the way around, regardless.

At this point, I intend to stand /closer/ to TPT (as I did before he shoved me last year in January) and watch Larkin with a direct eye. I will neither flinch from his glance, nor move from my spot. If Skinny Jake or another of his lackeys approaches me, I’ll simply keep my mouth closed and ignore. Or advise them: “Best you stay outta this.”

He can try all he might to drive me away, but it won’t work. He’d have to start shoving me or act violent in some other fashion…but that won’t work, either. I’d have the cops all over his ass in short shrift. Don’t know why he acted that way this eve, after our amicable meeting just two nights ago.

Nor do I believe he holds me in any less regard because of the confrontation. I just don’t appreciate being dumped back into this morass of nastiness after having been through so much difficulty since January. Which I thought had finally come to an end, only to be shafted once more.

This is war. And I hate playing the game. Obviously, Larkin wants to take things this far: open battle. Of course I will win, but it will be a Pyrrhic victory and I have no desire to participate. Now I must expend my energies figuring out how to get him 86’d from all the local bars. Jeez!

– Zeke

[ Lugubrious Reader: I just sent the following letter to 7 local newspapers (4 gay and 3 mainstream): ]

Subject: Please Boycott the NY Times Smoke Shop

February 1, 2014

Dear Editor,

Earlier today I stepped into The New York Times tobacco shop, as I frequently do…because they are convenient and have the best prices for cigarettes anywhere in the Castro. However, this time the clerk had a friend with him, sitting in the back and wearing a surgical mask.

I recall how during the AIDS crisis in the late 1980’s some people visiting Eureka Valley wore these masks so as not to “catch the gay disease.” I even encountered several homeless men wearing the mask while at the same time panhandling. So I found it highly offensive to see this mask worn once again after so many years, here in a shop that profits from the queer dollar.

Once making my purchase I asked the clerk, “Why is your friend wearing a mask, flu season?”

And he replied, “Yeah, something like that.”

Then I turned to that person seated in back and queried: “Are you wearing that mask because you’re in a gay neighborhood?”

He shrugged his shoulders and answered: “Yeah, something like that.”

So I told him what a piece of shit he is, to which the clerk commented: “That isn’t very nice.”

“Not very nice?” I demanded. “You think what your friend said is nice? You just lost a customer!” And out I went with a slam of the door.

In short: I implore all gay residents, visitors and their allies to boycott the NY Times tobacco shop. It is located at 409 Castro Street, just around the corner from Twin Peaks Tavern.


Zeke Krahlin
Long term gay activist and resident of the Castro

Date: Sun, 2 Feb 2014 20:13:35
Re: Another Downturn
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On 2/2/14, Eleanor wrote:

{{ Good for you re.: the tobacco shop buttwipe. }}

And of course I expected Larkin to say the same thing as you. What a maroon.

{{ Just last night, I saw “Dallas Buyer’s Club,” with a take on the same phenomenon from a different angle. Set in the mid-80s when it was all coming down. How well I recall those dark days.}}

Just saw that movie last week…really well done. But I am so disgusted w/Hollywood refusing to do any gay films that are not either tragic in the outcome, or centered around AIDS AIDS and more AIDS. It’s a stereotype!

Dark, stupid days. AIDS became viewed as a mostly gay issue, and the disease sucked up anything else gay relevant, such as the homeless and very poor LGBT’s, and /other/ deadly ailments that have nothing to do with AIDS.

Turned our community into rejecting anyone else who was not an AIDS victim, did not worship Harvey Milquetoast like God Himself, or did not abide by AA’s 12-step dogma.

Where’s the movie about a gay detective couple…with a positive ending? Seems that most straights can’t love gays unless they’re loving ’em in the deathbed. Or that can’t accept any outcome of gay lovers but tragedy…such as Brokeback Mountain. A hetero author laughing all the way to the bank.

Guess it’s gonna be /my/ novel to make this breakthrough.

{{ Did you ever read AND THE BAND PLAYED ON? }}

Nope. But I understand through the grapevine, it exposes the hypocrisy of gays and how they spread AIDS. Is that correct?

{{ Your frustration over the incident, and then the subsequent indifference of everyone you tried to tell, including Larkin, threw you off your game, I think, so your encounter with him was baffling and unsatisfactory. }}

Most frustrating…’cause no one wants to hear my point of view. They walk away in anger or pity, or /they/ have the last word, and know /all/ about gay issues (especially the heteros). Nonetheless, I’m sending to you an update re. Larkin in my next email. You’ll love it, probably.

– Zeke

Date: Sun, 2 Feb 2014 20:21:30
The Game Plan
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

This morn I thought through the difficult encounters I suffered with the smoke shop and Larkin’s unkind reactions, both which occurred yesterday. Misery vanished in a short while, replaced with yet one more happy revelation:

1) The masked visitor at the NY Times tobacco venue was a setup by the LGBT community itself. They enjoy seeing my hackles raised in the presence of perceived homophobia. Why? Because such events are a necessary process of my initiation into leadership and kudos.

2) While my outrage at Larkin’s lack of hugs after all he’s put me through is well earned, it seems his intent to foment a healthy rage in me as I make my climb to the top. Though personally I don’t think it’s at all necessary, I have to admit what a superb guardian he is…as if he knows me better than myself. Which of course /must/ be true if the man is indeed My Guardian Dragon. He was with me in the womb and ever since.

Larkin is challenging me to go all the way and do battle against his gossip that drove me out of all the local gay bars. He wants me to play this game as a form of honing my activist skills. I therefore presume that he will nip such an escalation in the bud before the plot unfolds where now /he’s/ the one driven out. At which point I will be welcome back into the bars with accolades.

I /don’t/ care to take up arms and deny him those things in life that give him camaraderie and respite. But he did that to yours truly, so tit for tat. I’ve already laid out the battle plan from my side of the chess board, along with how he can end our duel amicably. Which was described in my recent blog entry, “Larkin’s Deadline” (scheduled to post Feb. 9) :

Victory for my side is already assured, I feel it in my marrow. So I decided to let him know my strategy, that he may start this conflict with extra points in his favor above and beyond the tremendous odds he already owns. Yet I am David to his Goliath…and you know how /that/ turned out! In fact, I am /more/ than certain he /intends/ me to win. But not without expending much energy and time on my part.

So this is what I truly resent: that I must continue to be without his dear embraces, and be required instead to act out such a Castro-centric melodrama! Here is a particular strategy I intend, using /gossip/ to turn the tables in my favor (fighting fire with fire):

Should one of his lackeys approach me while standing my post outside Twin Peaks Tavern, this likely conversation will ensue. Let us assume the lackey is a dreary queer soul I nicknamed “Skinny Jake, ” who frequently accompanies Larkin at TPT:

Skinny Jake: “Why are you stalking my friend Larkin?”

Me: “I’m not stalking him. We have been very good friends for seven years. Then when he moved into the Castro he’s driven me out of the bars by calling me his stalker. But do you really believe that?”

Skinny Jake: “Maybe not. I know that Larkin acts fukked up now and then. And I /am/ concerned.”

Me: “Concerned, eh? How long have you known him, really?”

Skinny Jake: “Almost three years.”

Me: “Less than twice as long as we’ve been friends. Larkin and I are lovers BTW, and that will never change.” (Pause.) “Platonic lovers I should explain, though very deep and sincere. I’ve never had such a good friend before him, in my entire 63 years. No way am I going to fail him by fading from his world.”

Skinny Jake: “I find that hard to believe. He says you’ve been nothing but a nuisance all that time, and he’s sick of your pestering him.”

Me: “His modus operandi is to drive me out of his life for good. It wasn’t till last year around March that I learned the truth. He’s a drug dealer, and I don’t mean marijuana. I was getting too close to him, so he figured a way to distance me.”

Skinny Jake: “C’mon Zeke, Larkin hasn’t given the slightest sign he’s a dealer. And he’s very good to everyone he meets.”

Me: “Right. He has tremendous charisma and is incredibly smart. So don’t assume you have him figured out. In fact, once he moves to another neighborhood, he’ll dump all the friends he’s made in the Castro and never look back. I am the /only/ true friend he has. We first met South of Market, that was back in 2006. And he’s dumped all his friends from /that/ cycle, too. Including me, but I refuse to comply.”

Skinny Jake: “So he doesn’t wanna see you any more. Can’t you just accept that and move on?”

Me (after clearing my throat of nicotine sputum): “Ahem. When I say I love him, it also means I /must/ do whatever I can to get him to /stop/ dealing hard drugs. I do /not/ want to lose him to prison. Or suffer the agonized conscience that comes with a customer OD’d from his product. I am therefore out here to provide as many chances possible for us to speak, and inspire him to walk a better direction.”

Skinny Jake: “If any of this is true, Zeke, I’d say you’re a very good friend to Larkin. But I really don’t believe a word you say.”

Me: “So Larkin’s charisma has you totally bamboozled. You are simply his lackey here in the Castro, and he will dump you soon as he moves on.”

Skinny Jake: “Okay, assuming this is true, aren’t you afraid he’ll injure you in a fury?”

Me: “No. He loves me too much. I have the upper hand and will win him over. Don’t think for a moment, though, I enjoy my situation. He’s caused me much grief since the day he shoved me.”

Skinny Jake: “He shoved you? When?”

Me: “Back in January, last year. In fact, you were there but left before the confrontation occurred. When I was trying to speak with him, you showed up on that corner, gave him a cigarette, gleaned the situation and addressed me. You said, ‘Larkin’s an asshole sometimes.’ To which I replied: ‘Everyone is now and then.’ You soon departed, and shortly after that he almost shoved me to the ground. But I stood up to him even so…and he ran back into Twin Peaks while flipping me the bird.”

Skinny Jake: “I was there when Larkin stepped back into the Tavern. He told me you threatened him.”

Me: “No, I love him too much to do that. I said how much I appreciate his friendship, but something is wrong with him, and we need to talk. That’s when he cut things off and split.”

Skinny Jake (pulls out a Camel 100 and lights it): “So you’re /not/ gonna leave him alone? You’re gonna remain out here indefinitely?”

Me: “Yes, you bet I am. And I advise you to /not/ tell him what we’ve just discussed. ‘Cause if you do, he’ll dump you like a hot potato.” (Pause.) “Which may actually be a good thing. For it just might scare him outta the bar altogether.”

Skinny Jake: “I’ll take that into consideration. But I tell you, Zeke, all the time I’ve been with Larkin, he’s shown no sign of dealing drugs out of Twin Peaks or any other bar.”

Me (chuckling): “You just don’t grasp how smart the man is. Of course he doesn’t deal drugs in Twin Peaks. It is his social hangout. But he /does/ cruise older men to provide companionship in exchange for money, that he may pay the rent.”

Skinny Jake: “Hmm. He does act overly attentive to them, with plenty of hugs that border on the lewd. It does make me wonder. But can you blame him, if that’s how he survives?”

Me: “No, of course not. I wish him well and completely support his difficult situation. To let him know he /is/ loved, and never need fear losing me. It is the hard drugs that give me concern.”

Skinny Jake (snuffing out his ciggie on the concrete): “Okay, Zeke, I will not tell Larkin about our talk. I don’t really believe anything you’ve said, but I /do/ sense something troubling about him.”

With that, Jake turns heel to reenter the tavern. And there you have the setup, El. Knowing your typical Castro queer all too well, he won’t be able to resist gossiping my tale to others. Which gossip will then spread throughout all the bars in the Castro and lead to his expulsion from each and every one.

But I do not fear Larkin’s revenge, for I realize that he /wants/ me to take up arms and do all I can to drive him out. I also therefore conclude that at a certain point before this occurs, he will rectify his attacks against me, and smooth my return into the bars. With the added bonus of promoting “Free Me From This Bond” to every single patron he knows and meets…including bartenders, owners and managers.

Besides, I am aware that Skinny Jake may be fully cognizant of his role as gossiper: and therefore be one more member of the GPMC (Gay Pagan Motorcycle Club) that invents these scenarios under the command of My Rebellious Reptile Himself. Which secret society I first discussed in chapter 9 of book 1:

So about an hour ago I stepped out to see if Larkin were at TPT. He was, staring up at the TV screen and hooting along with the rest, over today’s Superbowl.

I parked myself out front, leaning against the concrete divider and puffing on a Fortuna 100. Before I finished my smoke, I meandered across the intersection by the trash can, still in view of his sight. About 10 minutes later I crossed back to 17th Street, this time by a bicycle arc almost in front of Orphan Andy’s. Where Larkin couldn’t see me unless he stepped out.

And sure enough he did, with a slightly-above-average-looking dishwater blond dude about 5-foot-8. They passed right by me on the same sidewalk, so I emitted a “Grrr!” just before Larkin neared. He immediately responded with his wonderful “Arrgh!” as he progressed further down the street to smoke a joint with his consort two doors from me, in the nook of a shop now closed for the night.

Satisfied with our amicable exchange, I once more returned to the trash can to see Larkin pause outside of TPT and talk on his cell phone. Just in case he wanted to come up and parley. He did not, but returned inside. So I then returned hovel to write this piece.

– Zeke

Date: Sun, 2 Feb 2014 21:52:07
So this makes sense…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…that Larkin may be a distributor of toxic drugs like crack, speed and junk. Not just that he put distance between us, but that other bartenders and patrons schemed to drive me out. And why would they do that? ‘Cause they didn’t want to lose a most excellent, secure source of their recreational poison!

Explains /perfectly/ the setup last year at Pilsner Inn, where two young men accused me of taking a 5-dollar bill from the counter. And how bartender #1 ordered them to leave, seeing clearly I was being harassed. But barkeep #2 intervened and ordered /me/ to leave, too. Why the diff between them? Because the first was not involved in substance abuse, and the second /was/…whether it has to do with profit or addiction (or both) I have no idea. To refresh your memory, see:

Also explains perfectly why a lesbian barkeep out of the Mix ordered me to leave. She’s in on it, too! And Larkin’s gossip about my being his stalker is a splendid way to keep me out of /any/ bars and, perhaps, blowing his underground career.

Let’s take this all the way back to the Hole in the Wall Saloon, where Larkin and I first met. Then that tragedy occurred, my being dosed with date rape chemicals, with theft of valuable items from my room, and $300 withdrawal from the ATM. Which was revealed in chapter 12 of book 1:

Larkin was in on it! Not necessarily directly (though perhaps). He’s part of this druggie circle that doses and mugs vulnerable older queers. This certainly explains why he showed me /no/ kindness once I informed him about the incident. And why he avoided me so much over many years whenever our paths crossed.

His being a really good friend for some months in late 2012 was, perhaps, a way of defusing possible suspicion on my part. Or delaying it until his next setup, which was to behave in such ways as to make him totally undesirable in my eyes. But it didn’t work, and now he’s getting enmeshed in his own corrupt web.

I envision myself (as Larkin passes by next few times) suddenly coughing “Hack, hack, gurgle/drug dealer/hack hack hack!” We’ll see if this gets his attention, eh?

Otherwise, it’s just an incredible drama played by the local community, that I may be the star. Which /has/ to be the case if I truly believe the Buddha’s words: “We have no enemies, only teachers.”

Destiny once brought to me a most handsome, brave, and troubled man in one bodacious package entitled “Randolph Louis Taylor.” Now I am gifted with my next true love, equally troubled but, this time around, totally redeemable.

What a blessing this is, El. For I do /not/ desire your ordinary schmuck whose depths of heart and courage do not match mine. Larkin /is/ the one.

Or I’m wombat-poo insane, so what the fuk.

– Zeke


The Bay Area Reporter, most widely circulated gay newspaper in history and the world, published my letter suggesting the boycott of a local shop in the Castro.

I posted this letter to three other local LGBT papers, will find out soon enough if they likewise printed it. Though I suspect the incident may have been a prank played on me by some members within our family. Since Larkin hangs out right around the corner from the scurrilous merchant, I do think he’s the progenitor of the antic.

Which also explains his poker-face stance when I approached him several minutes after the script played out.

Twitter Mischief w/Gay Jebus

February 12, 2014

Actually, I have four variations on this theme: “Gay Jebus,” “Jehovah’s Queer Witness,” “4 (or 5) Star General Gay Jesus,” and (my favorite) “Gay Zombie Jesus.” Notice that in some cases, inclusion of the tweet immediately prior my own is necessary for the sake of context. 35 silly sacrilegious Twitter pranks in all:

Due to image width limitation for this particular WordPress layout, most tweets are truncated at the right margin, so just click for a full version. Sorry for the inconvenience…but I think I’m so witty it’s worth the hassle. Besides, you need to slow down and relax. Dr. Zeke’s orders.

[ Or you can simply click here to view them all at once without the hassle! ]

Larkin’s Deadline

February 9, 2014

[ Free Me From This Bond (sequel to the sequel): Chapter 14 ]

Date: Sat, 25 Jan 2014 22:45:28
Deadline is a week after Valentine’s Day
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

Ellie, by “deadline” I mean the one I’ve set for Larkin, which date he
does not know…unless of course his telepathy reveals it. Should he
not display sincere apologies and restoration of his ugly deeds
(including getting me back into the bars), I will send him these two
following letters. At which point, I presume, a real battle will begin
and which may lead to a courtroom settlement:

21 January 2014


Time is drawing close that I must seek justice. For more than three decades my gay brothers here in San Francisco have cock-teased me, spit on me, spread gossip against me that causes enmity by many, beat me up, tried to make me homeless, get me unemployed, destroyed whatever friendships/lovers I could have or have had (even sent some to prison or outright killed them or turned them insane), etc. In a nutshell: they’ve treated me like a joke, and used me for their sadistic and vile entertainment…just like the very same homophobic heteros do to all gays.

While I realize that such torments are God’s way of strengthening my spirit, and that I have no enemies, only teachers…I also realize that God sometimes requires that I fight against my so-called enemies, regardless. And without emotional regard for those I truly love or who otherwise have been good allies for a long time in the past. If, indeed, they have turned against me and do everything they can to screw me over.

This of course, includes you, My Savage Serpent. For you have only tossed me the occasional crumb in this transition from the unexpected and undeserved grief you’ve caused me, into my own deliverance by my very own hand. I must therefore regard you as but one more pathetic ENEMY.

For you have done NOTHING thus far to end your gossip in the Castro about my being your stalker (which is a DELIBERATE and WICKED lie). You have also shoved me (last year in January) where I almost hit the concrete, yet have done nothing to apologize in a sincere manner. FYI: I don’t let ANYONE push me around; and will see justice done on my behalf in the long run. You’re such a big guy and so full of yourself, I guess you can’t imagine anyone knocking you off your sanctimonious perch!

You also refuse to give me hugs like you did in the past, which now extends over more than a year’s time.

I showed you much patience, understanding and forgiveness over many months. Yet the most kindness you’ve shown during that time, is an occasional brief conversation. You didn’t even tell me how much you like the novel I wrote in your honor…not even shown any gratitude for that lovely Scooby-Doo illustration. In fact, your only remark regarding that book was:

“I got your book. A friend of mine is reading it, and he’s intrigued. I just wish you had used my real name.”

Well, you know very well that you denied permission to use your name all along. I guess you think you’re such a clever smart-ass, eh? Looks to me that the only reason you care about your actual moniker appearing in that book is so you can gain glory (and much money by the potential celebritihood as a result). In other words: you’d just leave me behind in the dust, for your own arrogant and selfish reasons. Fuck me and all that, I’m just a pinheaded fool, huh?

NEWS FLASH: you are the fool, not me! As the saying goes:

“A fool is happy until his mischief is turned against him. And a good man may suffer until his goodness blossoms.”

Well guess what, loser pervert: YOU are the fool, and I am the good man!

I gave you the benefit of the doubt for a long, long time. Yet the only respite you give me, is a quick friendly remark as you stroll swiftly by. No stopping to chat for a time, no hug, no appreciation of my enduring friendship. In other words: crumbs to keep my hope barely alive and nothing more.

You really should get outta the Castro ASAP, if you value your fun times at any gay bar. You spend tons of times at bars in MY neighborhood, yet pretend you can’t even spend a brief 20 minutes with me even just once per week. It’s like maybe you’re a HARD-DRUG DEALER who sees my presence as a threat to your little empire you’ve established here in the Castro. I certainly hope not, but your behavior causes me GREAT SUSPICION. Were you only dealing in marijuana, you certainly wouldn’t behave this way.

What I find so fucked up is that you seem to gain much joy at the expense of my misery. You are like a psychic vampire who sucks the happiness from others, as some sort of fuel for your own empowerment. But if such be the case, please realize you can’t win in the long run…especially against yours truly, who is the ULTIMATE VAMPIRE SLAYER.

There is also the matter of my being heavily drugged at Hole in the Wall, back in 2007. No one showed me any compassion for my downfall…INCLUDING YOU! I remember that day clearly, when I approached you to hear of this tragedy. You were sporting that hideous haircut where half your skull was shaved. You looked ridiculous and disgusting: a style which I thought did not become your natural beauty in the least, but which I now conclude was EXACTLY what you deserve. For you ARE the fool, and I AM the hero after all.

I am composing this letter to VENT all the pent-up feelings that I’ve suppressed over many years. And if you are the truly good spirit I hope you are, you will understand and regard these words with compassion. Otherwise: WE HAVE A WAR ON OUR HANDS, AND I SHALL WIN, YOU BASTARD!

You should know that I DO NOT FEAR YOU in any way whatsoever, even if it comes to bashing me to a bloody pulp or killing me outright. For I hold myself to ETERNAL VALUES, not the temporal. My soul is already saved, no matter what I choose to do at this point, or what happens to me.

Every bad thing you’ve done to me (as well as every good thing) is documented on my web page for all the world to read. Even though I’ve replaced your real name with “Arwyn Miles,” eventually all my readers will point their fingers in your direction should any harm come to me, including my death. EVEN if you had nothing to do with it.

And as I become famous, ever more readers will accumulate. And they shall know who the real Arwyn MIles is, thanks to your telling your “friends” that the book is about you. For you DO realize they just can’t resist gossiping to THEIR friends about this book. So word will spread like wildfire across all the bars here in ‘Frisco. In other words: you’ll have no place to hide.

So if you turn out to be a really good guy in the long run…or if you turn out to be quite OPPOSITE from that…THEY WILL KNOW.

Think about this, and have a pleasant dream or two.

Your worst nightmare (and best friend of all time),


26 January 2014

Most beloved Larkin,

Since the moment you shoved me almost to the concrete over a year ago, every day for me has been a world of grief. Though I have struggled so much to give joy to many, to spread humor that others may smile in spite of my own tragedies…which you have witnessed through the printouts I’ve mailed. I would think that long before this point, you’d be totally proud of my victories in the face of much evil (and that face, sadly, is yours).

I cannot fathom how you seem to continue to have so much enjoyment: bowling, softball, schmoozing for hours at gay bars while I stand outside in the cold without a friend…knowing what you’ve done. As if you couldn’t even spare 20 minutes per week to sit down with me over a cup of coffee. Yes, you are so busy full of hours wasted over a bottle of Budweiser or a shot of whiskey at this or that dreary tavern populated by living cadavers whose only asset is money.

You have no true friend, but me. Yet for whatever reason beyond my comprehension, you choose to drain any joy I have left in life, and mock, humiliate and endanger me through gossip and absence. As if this is some sort of contest that you must win at any price. I’ve given you every benefit of the doubt above and beyond what anyone else (beyond God Himself) would do.

I will not become another martyr, another Marty, who you’ve drained of life to become yet another puppet under your absolute control…at the expense of his own happiness. Using your beauty in this manner is a grave offense against all that is righteous and moral.

I realize by now, befriending/trusting you was the worst mistake of my life, and is my downfall. For it is in my nature, my calling, to love you no matter what. Even if it send me to the grave…which I now realize is exactly the final outcome. I do not hate you, nor could I ever hate you. But I do hate this diabolical cross that God has placed upon my weary shoulders.

With greater sadness than I have ever known, I tell you, Larkin:

I am more of a man than you will ever be. Yet I shall die, and you shall live. You can have it, buddy. You can have it all.

I am surrounded by insane and shallow ghouls that call themselves “human” and “gay.” I hear them screech their hollow words every night below my window, acting out an idiot’s play that serves no purpose but to feed on the lofty goals and aspirations of kind (but naive) brothers. They are what I call “psychic vampires.” And you, my wicked friend, are one of them.

For I have sought justice over what has been done to me way back in 2007, when I was drugged and robbed from a patron at Hole in the Wall Saloon. Yet neither you, nor anyone else there, granted me the least bit solace. Instead, they spread further gossip to drive me out in a tidal wave of enmity. So at this point you should realize:

Not just for love of friendship have I reached out to you over the years. But to get to the bottom of this tragedy, and right all wrongs. My conclusion is that you are in some way connected to this cult, and that you do not want me to get too close to you to discover the truth.

Which is that you had something to do with my tragedy, even if just by association. After the incident, you suddenly glommed onto bartender Gary and (daily patron) Gypsy…parading your sterling association with them in front of me whenever I was around. You’ve also hugged so-called “friends” in a very lewd fashion if I was nearby, as if to cause me envy. Yet that is not your real motive: instead, it is your intent to make them think I have a jealous and possessive nature…that they may come to hate me (and, hopefully, cause me harm). I only feel great shame towards you for such behavior.

Personally, I’d be happy for you to hug as many people as you can, so long as it is not done in the gross manner you do. For I realize you don’t really give a flying fuck about them…it is all an act to drive me away or mad.

I hear that you no longer have anything to do with Gypsy or other nasty types out of SOMA. Since I am no longer there to be a victim of your pointless vengeance. Nowadays, you focus on simple minds in the Castro, to do your bidding against my very existence and even sanity.

With great love though misery be the last chapter,


P.S.: Don’t take the accusations I’ve said in this letter with anything but a hefty grain of salt. I think the whole matter is utterly hilarious, which is why I’ve composed this mail in comic book font. And I only celebrate the victory of my soul over abject evil. Have a great life without me. Your vulgar games only bring shame to your own pathetic self, and not to me. A bitter lesson learned on my part. But though I love you dearly, and always shall, this time I say goodbye for good. You will no longer see me outside Twin Peaks Tavern or (I hope to God) anywhere else.

P.P.S.: You’ve never even said if you liked my book, or the illustrations…in particular, the Scooby-Doo parody which I created just to put a smile on your face. You are like a black hole that sucks up every gift without ever acknowledging gratitude. All you care about is whether or not your real name is in it, that you may walk off with glory and leave me in the dust.

Date: Sun, 26 Jan 2014 00:33:46
Never mind, I sent the 2 letters…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…just a moment ago, right after midnight. Enclosed them in a second
Valentine’s Day card that was meant for little girls. Contains a
removable felt barrette designed like a smiling, happy Mr. Sun. I
wrote in the card: “You are absolutely un-frikken-believable. Take
this any way you want.”

If he kills me soon, thanks for the fish. The bastard wants war, he’s got it.

– Zeke

Date: Sun, 27 Jan 2014 21:51:15
I feel greatly relieved…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…for having snail-mailed My Devil Lizard those two scalding letters.
But not at first. Woke up the next morning with angst-filled regret:

“OMFG, I blew it like I blow every relationship with a hot man. In a
drunken stupor, I foolishly scoured his soul like a jealous banshee!”

But in a few more moments I came to my senses:

“No. It was good to vent, and Larkin loves me like the dearest
brother. He understands. In fact,” I continued, “he realizes that he
pushed the Zeke-velope to the point of flushing out the PTSD I’ve
built up over many years’ sacrifice on behalf of my gay brothers.”

I love My Dragon Dude so much, Ellie! He’s been pressing my buttons
for over a year now, that I clear up what remains of failed
relationships and activist endeavors. The Father Fukkuh knew what he
was doing all along…the man is BRILLIANT. And I’m sure his heart
went out to me with every single torment that struck my chord.

His initial shove triggered a domino effect that rippled all the way back to My Randolph. Who himself suffered such PTSD from Vietnam, you can’t imagine…and which rubbed off on this poor ravaged soul’s already-tormented life. “Free Me From This Bond” indeed! Larkin pulled the poison outta me, and did not cease rubbing salt into my wounds until all was healed. And I came to realize something else:

Only dawned on me yesterday why he ordered that drunken black man to pull his legs in from blocking the sidewalk. For I had just stepped back out from the tobacco shop, and he wanted to perform a gesture of kindness…that is: to clear my path back up towards Jane Warner Plaza.

He was crouched in address of the wino while looking up at me with those fiery orange irises that only a True Dragon possesses. And he knew that I wouldn’t understand until a day or two later! As I’ve said many times before (though in different words): My Celtic Seraphim is wise beyond my comprehension!

Thus I have no fear in our next encounter after he’s read my latest mail. Only gratitude. For he knows he’s put me through Hades (and for my own good), and that directing my hatred towards the source is the most appropriate reaction. Considering that I did /not/ understand his true motivation until some passage of time.

This catharsis has put an absolute /end/ to any fears of his leaving me in the lurch…that he might move on without me to other parts, such as elsewhere in the city, or even San Diego. He is here for me, and me alone. And he knows now that I know (for he is telepathic as all good guardian angels are)! And Larkin is damned BEAUTIFUL in every possible way, that even my dreams of the perfect lover don’t suffice.

I have no idea how our next encounter will manifest, except in general. Probably with no more antagonism, but sweet friendship to rule the day. Though knowing his ribald sense of humor, he might approach me like a punishing father who wants to whip my ass like the naughty boy I am. How incredible in spite of my being 12 years older than him, I always feel like a trembling son in contrast.

Well, there’s this hot fellow who’s been blowing me once or twice per week with no remunerative expectation whatsoever. Certainly helps relieve the tension of Larkin’s Trial by Flames. And he’s due to arrive any minute now. So I gotta wash my balls and wanger with a splash of vanilla extract in preparation.

Ha ha ha ha ha, El! I am such a piece of work.

Love ya,

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 19:22:26
See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

Just saw My Beloved Basilisk this eve, only moments ago. It’s now 6:22 PM, January 30. Decided to step out once more to see if Larkin was at Twin Peaks Tavern. And yes, he was! I wave at him in friendly gesture as I walk by, pretending I’m on my way three doors down to the tobacco shop.

He sees me and moves as if to emerge from the Glass Coffin (what we long-term queers of the Castro call TPT, since it’s a gathering hole for gay men on their last legs…and a great place to cruise the elderly for nightly companionship at the bargain rate of $50-100 a pop; which is how Larkin survives since he gave up his detective job several years back).

Well, standing some 30 feet down I watch the door swing with a loud “creak,” but My Angel does not step out. Though some seconds later he does, comes up to me and speaks:

“I just want you to know I got your letters and packages, five in all. I just haven’t had time to read them yet.”

“But Larkin,” I plead, “You hardly give me a chance to speak with you, so I’m compelled to write things down. They’re very important, and funny, and will do you much good!”

Larkin iterates with a strident tone: “You have my permission to use my real name in your books!”

“I know that,” I assure him. “Your verbal permission is good enough for me. But I need it in writing for the publisher.”

Larkin then leans his 6-foot-4 frame downward to query: “Can’t you just use my first name?”

Okay, at this point in our roller-coaster affair I’m well aware how he /loves/ to trip me up, thus do not emote one iota of frustration when I anwser:

“But you’re the only man on the /planet/ with the first name of Larkin!” He nods in sage agreement. I emphasize:

“I wanted to be clear that in book 2 you play the enemy. And one of the letters I sent you includes permission to use your real name in that sequel, and that you do /not/ come off in a good light.”

Larkin shrugs: “That’s life my friend, I’m okay with that.”

“Me too,” I heartily respond. “You orchestrated this entire affair. You pressed all my buttons, which I greatly appreciate. Especially since I now realize my trilogy will have a happy ending! You’re a /brilliant/ man, Larkin!”

Then he extends an arm to offer me a fist bump. I refuse and state:

“If I can’t get a real hug, fuggedaboudit. What is it with this ‘no homo bro’ fist bump?”

“Okay then, clasp arms instead,” he declares and waits for me to grip him back, all the way to the elbow.

“Nope,” I admonish, “that is /still/ not a hug.”

“Okay then Zeke, how about this?” He stretches his gangly arms in a vast reach to the stars.

“An /air/ hug?” I mock. “You gotta be kidding! Give me a /physical/ hug or nothing.”

Instead of fulfilling my passionate dream to be in his octopoid arms after more than a year without, he just flops them to his side. And looks upon me with a smile that would melt even Genghis Khan. (I do realize, El, that I’m playing my role impeccably, and this encounter is but a plot development he’s creating for chapter 15, book 3…the beginning of the happy ending)

“Here, move away from the door,” he declares. And so I do, to continue this silly badinage that provides me with the perfect opportunity to pelt him with loving bon mots.

I look up at My Marvelous Maverick to announce: “You think you’re such a tough guy, don’t you?”

To which he immediately responds: “Nothing less. You can take /that/ to the bank.”

So I retort with equal aplomb: “No! I love tough dudes. And I’m a tough guy too! So you’ve met your match.”

He thinks about this a moment, then says: “Move on now, I’m done talking,” and makes a peremptory gesture to brush me away.

I resist and stand firm. “I’m /always/ moving on, Larkin.” (Though I did not add, but wish I did: “I refuse to move forward any more without you.” The implication though, was not lost on My Delirious Demon.)

I stand firm and signal towards the door:”/You/ go back into the Glass Coffin now, with all your little friends!”

Instead, he walks several feet over to the other side of the dark green newsstand, expectorates on the concrete and expounds: “I’m spitting you out of my system!”

Wasn’t sure he said quite that so asked him to repeat, as I follow right behind and to the far end of the rack just two feet from My Benevolent Guardian.

“I’m spitting you out of my system!” he repeats. So I retort:

“Like this?” And spew out a wad of gum by his feet, along with a spritz of saliva. He seems to relish the entire scenario, as do I.

“You’re quite the psycho, aren’t you?” he challenges.

“Why yes I am, my brother!” I agree. “But you’re every bit the psycho I am, perhaps a lot more!” And add, for the sake of a great chapter:

“I’ve filled you with so much poison you’ll never rid of it! I’m in your system forever. Just as I’m filled with the poison of /you/!” I declare with immense force. “But that should be something to /celebrate/, not regret.”

He smiles broadly, showing off his remaining teeth filled with rot (like mine). And I love him dearly for that sacrifice. For he /could/ have returned to San Diego where he’d retain his career as detective, and his health insurance including dental. But he did not. He remains here in San Francisco to protect me.

There are funny things I thought of in the last two days to say to him, next time we meet. And now is the moment:

“Have I been giving you blow jobs without even knowing it?” I quip. He stifles a guffaw, which can’t be concealed by the irrepressible grin that crosses his handsome mug. So I continue:

“I know you’re a shape shifter, and can appear to me as anyone you want.” Now for the punch line:

“I’ve grown suspicious lately, especially with the last guy I blew.” I then make The Proposal:

“Marry me, Larkin. I /know/ you love me, and I’m tired of blowing strange cock!” He grins so broadly that my heart bursts with epiphany.

“Wait a minute,” I admit like a Catholic schoolboy at confession, “That’s a lie. I /love/ sucking strange cock and I don’t think I’ll /ever/ get enough!”

Larkin interrupts: “Well you have my permission. Go home now.” Then he dashes back into the Glass Coffin, leaving me stranded though well loved. (But just before the door slammed on his back, I hollered the most important words of all: “I love you Larkin!”)

Abandoned now, I saunter across the street to linger by the trash can, not knowing whether or not he’s seated in a position to view me. I enjoy a Fortuna while musing on the repartees that just occurred. Thanking him from the bottom of my gizzard for this opportunity to blast him in a golden shower of amity.

Then it’s off I go to report back to you, Eleanor, with my latest Larkin update.

With great sincerity and profound joy,

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 20:22:55
Oh yes, he also asked…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

…when I said I love to suck strange cock:

“Don’t your ragged teeth get in the way?”

To which I replied: “Oh, I’ve learned to manipulate my way around that, thank you very much.”

I can’t believe this, El, the fun is about to take off! Finally.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 22:25:15
Re: Oh yes, he also asked…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Thu, Jan 30, 2014 at 10:03 PM, Eleanor wrote:

{{ That was just plain cruel of him to say that. I don’t like that at all. }}

Really? I thought it was hilarious. That was just an addendum coz I left it out of the main body. Did you find /that/ of any worth? Seems to me if he was the least bit not interested, he wouldn’t have provided me with the platform to exchange such fun badinage, like: “Larkin, marry me, I’m tired of sucking strange cock.”

And he said it was /okay/ to portray him as the bad guy in books 2 and 3, he’s not perturbed at all.

Well, I guess I can’t expect many people to grasp my perspective here.

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2014 23:19:22
Re: Oh yes, he also asked…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Thu, Jan 30, 2014 at 10:52 PM, Eleanor wrote:

{{ I’m reading the earlier missive in the AM when I’m fresh and alert. It’s been a helluva day… }}

I hate those kind of days. Hope tomorrow is the opposite.

{{ Believe me, though, it was intentionally cruel and cutting of him to mention your “ragged decayed teeth.” }}

Out of context, I can see that. But you haven’t read the main body, in which he was incredibly kind, And when you consider his own teeth are deteriorated as bad as mine, I think he has some leeway in cracking such a remark. Almost like he was asking me for a /tip/ on how to give a good BJ under such a condition.

I also left out one more remark he made, after I told him I’m a tough man too, and he’s met his match:

“You’re lookin’ for a spank fest, aintcha?”

“Well yes,” I retorted, “sounds like fun to me!”

Anywayz, I think you’ll be rather amazed once you’ve read the first post. Rest well, Ellie!

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 13:03:23
Re: See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 12:25 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Yes, well, this puts the remark about your teeth in a different perspective, for sure. I somehow pictured him as having a mouthful of gleaming white gorgeous intact teeth….. }}

He used to have the most glorious ivories, you’d cream in your panties! First thing I’ll do with my windfall offa the book, is get that darling man’s teeth restored.

{{ Looks to me as if you have a great new chunk of dialogue all ready to go, with only a few minor adjustments! }}

Yep, been working on the polish all day. And ’tis done. Now typing to you from Howard’s.

{{ As for blow jobs and teeth, I think it’s instinctive (at least it is for me, and I have good teeth) to fold the lips around the teeth to protect the tender cockskin, administering occasional gentle and controlled tooth-rakes with care and discretion. One of my best sex scenes in IRON EMPRESS has Wu doing exactly that to the poor doomed Emperor…..driving him mad with desire! }}

Oh for cripes sake…sure glad I finished my grilled cheese and fries before reading this!

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 13:59:19
Re: See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 1:54 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Oh, right. Like you’re such a Victorian lady….. }}

Edwardian, actually.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 16:40:51
Re: See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 3:51 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Dickensian, I’d venture. }}

Yes, some day I will compose a parody tale based on Dickens’ unique characters. With a gay spin to it of course…goes w/o saying.

I had this funny dream some years back: I was a young lady from Loch Lomond, Scotland who moved to Brooklyn with my newlywed husband in 1907. My maiden name was Elizabeth Anna Horsington, and I secretly penned lesbian romance novels while my darling managed the office of a whiskey distribution plant.

Before I even had a chance to be published, a tragedy ended my life. An electric curling iron exploded in flames and burnt me to a crisp.

But somewhere in a Brooklyn attic remains eighteen precious manuscripts that will eventually be discovered by a distant cousin of Alan Ginsberg…not THE Alan Ginsberg, but another by the same name. They will fall into the hands of the Advocate, and make a great splash in certain queer literary circles.

Somehow, in some uncanny twist of fate, I will become recognized as the /true/ author. I guess because by that time, we’ll have such a sophisticated DNA technology, that I will be recognized (through the impeccable marvels of science), as the sole reincarnation of Elizabeth Anna Horsington.

Which will make me fabulously rich and famous…even though it has always been my dream that “Free Me From This Bond” would accomplish same long before then. Which it does not, nor ever will. Though it /does/ win me Larkin’s noble heart and undying conjugal ecstasy. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 17:49:49
Re: See? I told you he loves me!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

On Fri, Jan 31, 2014 at 5:35 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ You have the outline of a new novel right there. }}

Oh please, Eleanor, I can’t even keep up with what My Most Beloved Salamander tosses at me.

But you’re right: “Elizabeth Anna Horsington’s Secret Life of Romance & Aspirations of Edwardian Brooklyn.”

Or something like that. Well, I gotta step out now, in hopes that Larkin will approach me for further dragonly imbroglio. Or I shall return home in grievous disappointment.

My life sucks big time. But I /love/ so much that Larkin’s presence these past eight years has blessed me with a saving grace beyond my Walter-Mittiest fantasies.

– Zeke

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