6 Jumbo Wishes

Monday, June 9th: my jumbo postcards just came in! A collection of the US post office’s super hero designs back when 1-ounce stamps cost just 39 cents. (What year was that? You tell me.) I originally wanted these so I could print more content on them, than I could on a standard postcard. Intended for Larkin of course, until I realized I could just tape a printout on the image side of each smaller card, thus allowing me twice the space than on the address side. You can see the results in my previous blog post. Well, I still felt driven to purchase the jumbos, even after that realization. I still didn’t know why I succumbed to this additional purchase, until two days after ordering them:

Why of course! I’ll print out my entire appeal to the bar managers, and tape it to the front. Better than a regular letter in a sealed envelope. Since this way, exposure to my fundraising plea could reach more curious eyes before the manager gets a hold of it.

Certainly, in my struggles to get our local community to repair Larkin’s teeth and promote him as a professional party mixer, I need to maximize the odds of reaching the right person or people. I think the demand to be as clever as possible arises from the challenge to celebrate (and thus restore) a friendship, in which the battle is uphill all the way. Add to that a blustery wind of hostile opposition…including My Own Celtic Demon! So here’s the box it came in:

And the back:

Just opened:

This is how my printout looks, when attached to the jumbo card. Click on image to read the actual letter:

And these last two pictures show the postcard collection itself (minus “The Flash” shown above). Click on either image for a larger view:

So that Monday afternoon returning from “Bean There” coffeehouse, I slapped together My Six Jumbo Wishes, then hustled on over to the local post office on 18th Street:

The clerk observed Larkin’s address on the envelope that contained a Father’s Day card. He frowned a moment, then clacked away at the keyboard.

“Oh, that’s 101 Hyde Street!”

I suddendly lit up: “Finally! My lover’s a detective, and he likes to toss me all kinds of challenges. I could never find out the street address, but my mail still gets through. Nothing on the web, even when I search for the full 9-digit code. And the Inner Sunset PO, I asked them to look up the zip code, but they still couldn’t find the street.”

With a sigh of gratitude, I thanked him. He handed me 7 postage stamps (one for the weighty Father’s Day card that also contained a DVD copy of the film “The Congress,” and six for those jumbo postards). One stamp depicted a lily, the rest were of Harvey Milk.

So now I gotta go check out the location of 101 Hyde…maybe hang out nearby and surprise Larkin. Perhaps there’s a little cafe across the street, where I can watch, Maybe snap a photo of Larkin entering the building…print it out and paste the pic on a jumbo postcard and send it off. And this time, with the street name in the address.

Friendly Ghost Detective Agency always gets his man! (Whether in the jail or in the sack, I got his number and he’s got my back.)

Well dontcha know, on my way back home strolling up Noe Street: here came Larkin meandering down my way. Of course, I was most curious to see whether or not he’d speak, or gesture something. As we grew near, he lowered his head in passing. I guess he’s not gonna talk to me. I decided this time around to remain silent, like strangers. Half-a-block later, I turned round to see him grow distant in his approaching 18th Street (probably on his way to Moby Dick). He turned his head back to see if I followed (or possibly just to acknowledge me). I waved a hand and smiled. Where I’ve been standing in the same spot all along, gazing wistfully at my objet d’amour. Another 20 yards before he turned the corner and vanished, he peered at me yet once more, to see me standing at that same spot. Then he was gone.

As I continued hovelward, I surmised that Zachary had by now read my letter to him, as well as my fundraising idea to the newspapers. Both were enclosed in that ziplock baggie I handed him at Moby Dick, three days ago. (BTW Larkin, thanks for not himiliating me as usual, when I stepped into that bar…very big of you. I guess because you actually summoned me there, to give my gift to Zachary.) Probably, then, Larkin also read it, or Zachary conveyed its essential content to him. Which means that–by the time our paths had crossed once more (just after my posting the jumbo cards)–Larkin was well aware of my attempts to rally the locals around my fundraising scheme. And how it will likely put him on the spot regarding our own, increbile association since 2006. Including my criticism of wealthy patrons who adore him for his wit and good looks. Yet allow years to pass while his teeth drop out, and a great career as party mixer goes down the tubes.

But I also surmise that Larkin’s telepathic antennae inspired him to let me get another bounteous glimpse of his darling self, shortly after I exited the post office. His unique way of saying, “thank-you for sending off those jumbo postcards, and taking big risks for my sake.” Prayer is worthless without action, and I certainly do follow through. So now we must sit and bide our time, to see what sort of brouhaha I get from the managers (and the gay papers). If any. *sigh*

[ Fractured Fairytale Reader: buried among all my present musings is my theory that Larkin is a gumshoe, preparing to bust the remainder of a dangerous cult. Which theory I’ve discussed numerous times in past articles, but not recently. This would explain his elusive and sometimes antagonistic behavior towards me. Yet sporadically, he’d say or do something to lift my spirits, keep my hopes up high. Thus, these evasive maneuvers are for my own protection: to deflect our enemies from targeting yours truly any more (as they did back in our SOMA days, see my chapter in Book 1, “The Phone Call“). Perhaps even his housemate Zachary numbers among these curs. Thus, Larkin must step gingerly in order to keep him off my tail. So why does he live with him (you ask)? Ever hear the saying “Stay close to your friends, even closer to your enemies?” Perfect strategy for a private eye! And consider this too, O Haphazordous Reader: if my detective hunch is correct, Our Divine Dragon deserves all the love and support This Poor Humble Queer can muster! I can’t imagine the kind of danger he is in, placing himself as he has, smack dab in the center of a gay cult! So I cheer him on via whatever method I can…if not in person, then by postcards and letters. And praying, yes, lots and lots of praying. ]


UPDATE: Now that several hours have flown since my last encounter with Satan this afternoon around 3 o’clock, I grow more joyful in spirit. The sight of him is still sinking in…and as it does, my heart sings like a nightingale, and hummingbird wings sprout from these weary shoulders! And Michael J. croons “Remember the Time” (in a video I downloaded from Youtube) from my USB speaker. Good ganja. Thank you, Chris!

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