[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 5: Chapter 24]
Subject: Threatened with eviction as of May 24, legal aid forthcoming! Big, stupid mess!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: Calvin Hope
Date: June 7, 2022 at 8:01 PM
But I’ll win, so PLEASE don’t worry yourself. I have no enemies, only teachers, and I am working VERY hard to make this a win/win outcome for ALL parties involved. I can NOT possibly fill you in on all the details, as important as that is. In a nutshell, I am under attack through false witness and harassment/gossip. However, my eviction episode begins at the sixth from last chapter on my Brindlekin Tales table of contents.
Just go to the bottom of that page and count six chapters up.
Entitled “Chapter 18r: The FINAL Final Chapter (part 18).” The eviction tales begin smack dab in the middle, so feel free to jump down to the section entitled “Subject: I JUST GOT AN EVICTION NOTICE!” Or just search the page for “eviction.” You’ll be good to go, either way.
All chapters that follow continue the eviction saga into the unknown future. I know you’re a voracious reader, so I hope I am not asking too much of you, but it’s the very BEST way to give you an accurate, blow-by-blow report.
“My Dear Wattson” in real life is [xxxxxxx xxxxxx], friend of almost 20 years (and accomplished author or many published books and articles), who lives in Mendocino. She gave me permission to use her REAL name in my previous book, “Free Me From This Bond.” She would have gladly done likewise for Brindlekin Tales, but I thought it would be fun to use a Sherlockian pseudonym (wherein *I* am “Zeke K-Holmes”).
FYI, I use pseudonyms for all the characters in thes tales, who are actual human beings.
[xxxxxxx xxxxx] is ALSO aware of my dilemma, as of about a week ago. He appears in my recent chapters as “Kind Warlock.” We have been in touch as new friends starting barely two weeks ago, including two, lengthy phone calls.
IF you are so gracious as to read up on this (and have the time to do so, as well), you will be pleased to discover exactly how I’m DEALING with it: via sheer compassion, faith and a joyful spirit. If you DON’T have the time or inspiration to read those chapters, perhaps then you can read the very latest one. Which is what is happening NOW, TODAY. Including my contact with an attorney.
These eviction chapters are lovingly intermingled with my homeless true tales, especially regarding Deek and his two lovely doggies. (Deek’s real name BTW is “[.”xxxx]”) I’m sure if you DO go ahead and read them, you will be captivated by the many vignettes strung together into my own, personal rosary beads of literary design!
Have an EXCELLENT day, Alvin, you and your furry familiars! My day shall be lovely too, thanks to friends and allies including your own kind self.
Re: Ms. Elvensborn must delay her call till 1 PM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 11:52 AM
> Northern correspondent standing by.
Ha! Your devoted friendship of so many years now makes my heart glow with a fervent passion! I AM A WOMEN’S RIGHTS ACTIVIST, HEAR ME ROAR!
Re: IF the resident manager SHOULD call you…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 11:55 AM
> Roger on that. Though it seems highly unlikely!
Think about it, Wattson: if my theory is correct, regarding this Bodhisattva Premise, my building manager Kevin, as one of my taskmaster guardians, may indeed decide to have a little fun and ring you up!
Re: IF the resident manager SHOULD call you… ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 12:49 PM
> Double Roger!!
“Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble!”
So, among those on the MCN lists, both Kind Warlock and Calvin Hope are now aware of my eviction fiasco…told them to keep it to themselves until further notice. What say you I send the same message to Mel Porter, and who else…Lisa Harwood? She’s that awesome woman who praised my tales to the havens back in April 2021. And a good friend of yours, I believe. Meanwhile:
I have gathered up the email addresses for the two major queer news outlets here in San Franshitsco (including the Bay Area Reporter, which has both nationwide and global distribution), as well as SF Gate’s LGBT department (they’re a part of the larger SF Chronicle media outlet…so, excellent coverage as well). But we’ll get to that later, after I hear from attorney Magdalena Elvensborn a short while from now (hopefully). She HAS read my two emails to Ablahblah Realty’s lawyer BTW.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: IF the resident manager SHOULD call you… ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 1:31 PM
> Though Mel and Lisa can doubtless be trusted, my advice would be to tell as few people as possible. Secrets have a way of leaking out, even with the best of intentions, and the chances of that happening increase as the number of “carriers” of the secret increase. I’m the best secret-keeper in the world (I myself seethe with secrets).
In my particularly unique situation and destiny, I think perhaps it’s time to let the secret escape Pandora’s jar. (I already have with Kind Warlock and Calvin Hope.) What’s the worst these idiots can do, should they catch wind of my imbroglio…hurl additional insults, epithets and threats my way? Dox me over and over again? I’ll just record all their nasty rants for the record, and present them to my attorney. This stirring things up may be MOST beneficial towards achieving widespread recognition for my LGBT activism and tales. And EMPOWER queer equality across the world like a blazing supernova!
And there may be safety in numbers, as a result of drumming up allies. Whereas to remain under a bushel (so to speak) I have little protection from any further slings and arrows sure to come my way..
Waiting on bated breath, on the edge of my doggy-beloved swivel chair, for the attorney’s phone call, It’s 1:30 now, and I’m on tenterhooks. My decision yea or nay to let my secret fly, like a dove from its cage, hinges on this woman’s evaluation of my case, moments from now.
Or not.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: IF the resident manager SHOULD call you… ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 2:42 PM
> I’ll abide by what you decide. I just hate to give Sewerrs or any of the others even a moment of gloating glee.
I’m a tough old bird, and so are you. We can handle any shit storm that comes our way…and turn it into the finest gourmet Mousse on the planet (and I don’t mean Bullwinkle).
I NOW HAVE AN ATTORNEY, so that helps big time. EXCELLENT one-plus conversation, she says my case is pretty much rock solid. She is going forward with contacting Ablablah’s attorney, to see if he’ll drop the complaint, seeing as I quickly resolved the “problem.”
I need to take it easy the rest of the day, I’m exhausted…so you’ll have to wait later for me to give you a thorough update. My smartphone/s speaker mode caused irregularities in her hearing me properly, so I had to switch it off, dern it.
> That makes sense.
I think so…safety in numbers and all that rot.
> I hope by the time you get this, she’ll have called. If not, I’d send her another email.
Another email? I didn’t even know you sent her ANY. Be that as it may, I just told you at the beginning of this missive, we had a superb talk. I believe she is Swedish, judging by her lovely accent…though it could be Norwegian or even Finnish. BTW:
The first thing I said to her was: “First thing’s first: how on Persephone’s green meadows do you pronounce your surname?” Well, she had a good laugh over that, and told me it’s difficult to pronounce, so just call her Magdalena or Maggie. Then I said:
“Okay, sounds good, and secondly: what are your pronoun preferences?”
She replied so sweetly: “She and her. And yours?”
“He/him,” I said, realizing I’ve never been asked that question before.
Okay, GOTTA take a break now, Wattson, will tell you the rest of the story later in the day.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: Two things I would’ve corrected in your letter to Kevin…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 3:51 PM
> Still, it’s at least ten years, so a good long time.
I wanna divorce! You don’t even remember our anniversary any more.
> As for “occasionally,” it just means there was no set schedule (as far as I knew), and it could vary, and did.
That’s fine…as I said my two gripes are trivial.
> We’ll see. I think reminding him how long you’ve been there, what a reliable, rent-paying tenant you’ve been, and how fucking dangerous it is on the streets these days, and my honest expression of concern for your safety just MIGHT penetrate his haze of oblivion.
Ya know what’s PROBABLY gonna happen, don’t you, Wattson? Ablahblah Realty will tell him to cancel the eviction and allow the dogs back in, tomorrow or early the next day. And only THEN will your letter arrive later in the afternoon. HILARIOUS!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: IF the resident manager SHOULD call you… ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 4:36 PM
> No, no. I meant: If I were you, I would send her another email…
Oh…duh. Who’s on first, what’s on second, I don’t know’s on third.
> Swedish!!!! That’s wonderful!
A remarkable woman, how well she listened and gave me MORE than ample time to present my case. A VERY bright spirit whom I will have the honor to meet this Thursday at 11:30 AM in her office on the third floor of 1800 Market Street. To flll out the intake forms and I guess, to update me regarding Ablahblah’s attorney. Actually, she offered me TWO good options: to play things by ear and see if a 30-day notice finally arrives, in which case I’d have to respond in five days or I’ll lose…and we’ll have to go through the litigation process.
The second option is for her to contact the attorney posthaste, to persuade him to drop all charges, seeing as I’ve resolved the “problem” promptly…and no proof of a dog bite has been provided, and that the resideny manager gave his tacit permission for well over a year, for me to sit the doggies. I really don’t want to go through further stress on not knowing what’s gonna happen next, and litigation is a harrowing, drawn out, expensive process.
According to Ms. Elvensborn I have a solid case, and it looks more like a matter of prolonged harassment against me, than my being a nuisance or breaking any contract. I then told her how I tried to bring a lawsuit against them over the Adisa/mom conflict, but attorney Jared Kingsley’s assistant decide they’re not willing to take my case. But if my attorney cares to look into it, and thinks my grievance is viable, and I COULD sue them, I’d be glad to give all the money I collect over to Bay Area Legal Aid.
I gave her a brief rundown on my history as an activist on behalf of our LGBT homeless, and my philosophy of compassion a la Buddhism. And that I seek a win/win solution for all parties involved, that I have no enemies, only teachers, making it very clear I am NOT angry at anyone, just sad that the dogs have to be outside on the streets 24/7, with an owner who does NOT always treat them well, though he’s improving in leaps and bounds. And that I am working with other houseless who know him, to provide Deek with warm material to keep his mutts warm and dry: discarded sweaters, jackets, whatever works. Because too often he does not.
Ms. Elvensborn also suggested she negotiate to allow me to officially have the hounds visit me whenever I’d like, as emotional companions, in light of my history of mental disabilities (borderline schizophrenia and severe depression). I told her that would be EXCELLENT on so many levels! Her email response this (which show up just a minute ago as I’m typing this) was:
“If you want dogs to stay with you/visit you as emotional support animals, we can request a reasonable accommodation, but we will need medical verification from a medical provider/social worker/therapist. Ideally the provider can verify in writing your need for an emotional support animal, for example how the dog can help your mental health disabilities. Is there any therapist you can contact to get such a medical verification letter? We can discuss on Thursday too.”
I think maybe they can find me a therapist just for this purpose, along with my providing some medical records from the dusty past…as I told Ms. V. thanks to Medi-Cal’s ginormous share of cost, I could no longer afford to see a shrink…as of the mid-90s. Plus, I refuse to take toxic medication as a requirement to even SEE a therapist. So come Thursday, we’ll discuss the matter.
Before hanging up I implored her to take a gander at just ONE of my doggy videos, because she’ll SEE just how sweet natured they are, no one in their right mind would DREAM of calling them “vicious.”
“Then you’ll know EXACTLY what kind of dogs I’m talking about!” I concluded.
“Alright I will,” she happily replied.
That’s it for now, Wattson! What an amazing day this has turned out to be! Wait’ll I tell Deek. The trickster will probably say, “I knew it all along you’d win; YOU’RE the one who’s been bouncing off the walls with worry!”
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: Get a load of this!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 4:43 PM
> My letter to Kevin, sent yesterday, delivered today!
Too soon, it’ll muck up everything…now it’s back to square one.
Ha-ha, just kidding. I saw him earlier today around noon: stepping inside while I was about to exit. Wished him a good morning, he said a modest “Hi, Zeke” in return, then shuffled across the lobby to climb the stairs, while I exited. And that’s all she wrote.
These guys are fukkin with me. They must be crackin’ up somewhere behind my back. Deek’s in on it too, I’d swear on a stack of gay bibles (the ones *I* penned)!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: IF the resident manager SHOULD call you… ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 8:41 PM
> Astoundingly copiously wonderful!
To put it mildly.
> I LOVE the idea of not just the eviction being vacated, but the dogs being officially designated as emotional support doggies! Which, in fact, is EXACTLY what they are.
I’m sure my Swedish attorney will find me the PERFECT therapist who is loyal to my cause, starting with giving me her official, signed approval for having support pooches visit me on a frequent basis.
This is JUST the beginning, Wattson! Bay Area Legal Aid may have a keen interest in publishing my tales, that most of the profits therefrom benefit LGBT causes, starting with our homeless brothers and sisters, with especial outreach for transgender folks among whom number African Americans, presently the MOST persecuted. And I will only request two percent of those profits. Did I NOT predict this some years ago? Looks to me like my schizophrenic fantasies were not fantasies at all, but prophetic visions. I AM a shaman!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: IF the resident manager SHOULD call you… ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 8, 2022 at 9:45 PM
> Ha. If anyone ever asks me, I’ll say “It” and “Its.” Kidding, kidding. My problem with “they” and “their” is that it grates on my sensitive writer’s ears, though I fully grasp and support the concept.
Here’s MY question on the matter of talking about a solitary person who is also transgender or nonbinary:
Is it: “Do they has to go now?” (singular)
Or is it: “Do they have to go now?” (plural)
After all, we’re not talking about multiple personality disorder! For now I use the singular, though it sounds quite incorrect, grammatically. Until I learn otherwise, if indeed the plural state is preferred.
Whatever happened to “ze (long E),” “zeir,” “zey” and “zem?” They seem a much better fit, but then we’ll all come off like we’re parodying the French. Sacré bleu!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: The owners of Ablahblah Realty are also Palestinian!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 9, 2022 at 1:01 AM
This I found out just today in a brief discussion with Kind Warlock, about my eviction blowup…the first time I ever brought that up to him. He’s one of the clerks at Rosenbergs, and a fine individual. When he asked the name of my landlord I told him “Ablahblah Reality,” to which he replied:
“Palestinian family name. Greed, they’re all about greed.”
Now, Wattson, don’t get him wrong, being from Palestine himself. For he was either talking about that particular family perhaps notorious for heartless profiteering, or more generally, a remark on the tendency of certain clans succumbing to avaricious ways, no matter how oppressed or overall-compassionate the oppressed minority that gave them birth.
Personally, I think the Ablahblah dynasty is either a mixed bag, or that appearances and behavior may be deceiving…serving a higher purpose in their sometimes playing a malicious role. For they HAVE saved my skin more than once, when they could have either made me miserable, or even evicted yours truly. I said as much to K. Warlock, and gave him the following example:
“I’ve lived there since 1984, and some years later I lost my job and had to go on welfare. But even though my rent would be fully covered with this gov’t stipend, a stipulation required the property owner to ACCEPT such payment, otherwise I’d be evicted. So I sweat beads for almost two weeks before their verdict came to me in the mail: they said yes, I could stay here.”
I also mentioned the numerous times I’ve assisted in preventing violence or property damage in this or that emergency in this building, brought on by a resident gone lunatic…one of them being an Ablablah family member, Tariq, who urgently fled Palestine to be deposited in a room down the hallway from me, soon as a relative picked him up at the SFO airport. His behavior was frightening, walked around with knives or other sharp objects, and was apparently a heavy meth addict. VERY paranoid and constantly disrupted the electrical service by plugging in too many heavy-load items, even used an extension cord that snaked from his doorway, down the corridor and around a corner, and into a supposedly defunct 4-plug outlet near the stairs. Though (as we residents living within his proximity who shared the same circuit learned the hard way) STILL operable albeit dangerously so, that is: a fire hazard.
Soon as Ablahblah Realty received my letter of alarm they removed him from the premises posthaste. Something which the building manager should have done WEEKS before I finally took action. Some months later as I was strolling about downtown, it was my displeasure to walk by Tariq standing right outside a popular welfare SRO. This was many years ago, BTW, in the mid-nineties. He appeared to be haggard and edgy, though put on an unconvincing face of sheer enjoyment to be alive. Tariq was a raggedy, skinny old bag of black, wiry hair and bones.
On and off over the next two years I ALSO found him hanging around sometimes at the SONY Metreon, a place *I* used to frequent long before HE ever did, because it was a nice place to stop, relax and have a snack, and abutted a lovely city park with the Museum of Modern Art on the further end.
In describing my eviction brouhaha to Kind Warlock, I ended with my conclusion that this is just shenanigans, an initiation if you will, by the gay community shortly prior to receiving great honors and gifts for all my good works over many years. And that I’ve suspected all along (since this possibility first struck me thirty or so years ago) there’s a sort of secret society of queers who’ve been guiding, protecting and watching over me. And very soon, the rabbit will be outta the hat.
“So everyone knows you, eh?” he quipped.
I told him yes, that seems to be the case…and then I wished him a good day and departed with a fresh cup of steaming brew.
Deek dropped by this moring around 11 AM and hanged out on the sidewalk with the pups, a laden shopping cart, and his friend whom I call “Samuel,” his large, black form sprawled out on the concrete and soaking up the sun’s warm rays. Lucky was curled up against the base of a lamppost, blocked by the shopping cart and Deek’s seated form, such that I couldn’t reach him for some hugs and pats.
Flaco, however, was sitting in a shady corner of the ATM alcove, gazing attentively at me with a wagging tail. So I came up to her and sat down in that corner, where she quickly climbed on to my lap with a paw pressed upon my chest and her darling face looking up at mine with those sparkling brown eyes. As if to say:
“I really miss visiting you, do you still love me, have I done something wrong?”
I lowered my torso to embrace her with loving arms, and dotted her head and neck with kisses. But her master wouldn’t allow us more than a few minutes together, called to me from where he sat along the curb:
“Get off your ass and bring me some more water!”
So I tenderly eased Flaco from where she was stretched across me from chest to thighs, onto the concrete. She, of course, resisted with all the might her little quadrepedal form could muster. Once I stood up I looked down at her seated once more in that corner, and looking up at me. I pointed my finger at Flaco and firmly, though kindly, told her to stay. And she did! Which surprised me as she’d usually scoot past me in her rush to reach the front gate.
Before returning upstairs, I approached Lucky from the other side where I could pet him and talk sweetly into his floppy ears. He was half asleep, warmed by the sun’s gentle rays mingled with the light ocean breezes. I gave him the comfort of my touch, for lack of anything else I could do. And a few kisses before I departed.
When I returned with two more bowls of water, Deek commenced his usual griping about how long the two phones were taking to charge, and was rude to me in several other ways. Though nowhere near as offensive as I expected, probably due to Samuel’s tempering presence, for he was awake and drinking in our entire badinage with a smile.
During his prolonged whining, I interjected:
“Please stop crucifying me, you freaky lunatic, I’m your FRIEND!”
With that, he tossed me another insult, rather than back off, so I tilted a tad backwards, arms extended towards the sky, and emoted:
“No! Another nail pounded into my hand!”
He then flung yet one MORE insult, to which I responded with a sharper tilt backwards as if an invisible hand just shoved me:
“Ouch! Stop pounding those nails in me! I’m your friend, not your enemy!”
I finally got around to telling Deek the good news that came out of my first conversation with my attorney: that I’m NOT gonna be evicted, and I may soon be able to have the dogs start visiting me again.
“Well, I don’t know if I WANT you to bring the dogs over any more, after their being BANNED,” he replied with a tinge of resentment. “I don’t really need your help, I take perfectly good care of them on my own.”
I wasn’t about to TOUCH that tar baby, but just replied that it’s healthy for them to take regular indoor breaks, and they just LOVE to visit their uncle in such a peaceful, comfortable sanctuary where they are loved and respected and undisturbed by the sudden confrontations and chaos of a busy street.
“I’m going to see my attorney tomorrow at her office,” I explained. “And we’re going to figure out a strategy where I can legally sit your dogs on a frequent schedule.”
I explained further that the gay community will soon offer me my own place to live, and one for him as well. They’re gonna publish my books and a ton of money will be rolling in, soon. So I may indeed wind up moving outta here, though on my own volition and not from a legal mandate.
Deek began mocking me: “Oh, you’re the second Harvey Milk, the NEW Harvey Milk, are ya?”
Which startled me, because I never spoke of Milk to him, ever…especially not by comparing myself to him. And get this, Wattson: I had cracked a JOKE to Charlie earlier that day:
“Some people call me the second Harvey Milk, or the NEW Harvey Milk, but the funny thing is I thought he was an asshole and I never voted for him!”
And then, a few hours later, Deek said VERBATIM what I told Charlie. But how could this happen unless Deek IS one of my guardians, and is part of this secret cabal watching over, guiding, and challenging me over the years?
Deek then stared into the sky, saying that’ll be the day he gets his own apartment in the Bay View District and overlooking the East Bay towards Oakland. Don’t know why he chose that particular location, as it is populated largely by low income African Americans. Except that he’s a ghetto boy himself, raised as he was among black folks in a slummy part of New Orleans…and most of his friends then WERE black.
“I’d be the happiest man in the world if I could have that!” he finished.
“But Deek,” I countered, “you should be happy NOW with all the good things you alREADY have going for you.”
Of course I was including mySELF in that list of good things, but I let it be, as I’m sure he KNEW that’s what I meant, in large part.
Just minutes earlier I accused him of being a professional whiner, that he makes UP reasons to complain.
“I KNOW you, Deek,” I challenged while smiling at Samuel with a palm-up hand gestured towards Deek, “you’ll STILL be griping over this or over that, even WHEN you have a nice home of your own!”
He denied that with a “No I Won’t!” and I followed on his heels with “Oh yes you will!”
Shortly after that amusing parley he said he was ready to go, so bring down the electronics, please.
I sighed and said, “Okay cap’n, and god bless all of you, it’s a beautiful day!”
Then Samuel looked up at me and mumbled something indiscernible through the whoosh of traffic close by. So I lowered myself towards him and asked, “Say what?”
“I said god bless you too,” he replied.
“Well, thank you,” I warmly glowed back. “Coming from YOU, that means a lot!”
BTW good doctor: this afternoon, in one of my many daily ascensions towards the second floor, I believe I passed by that Chinese fellow who made that dog-bite accusation. I looked at him in a neutrally friendly manner, and he did the same as he traversed the lobby and exited. No words were exchanged, nor did he project the least bit hostility in my direction.
It is time now for me to hit the hay, later than planned since I really wanted to complete this latest update before visiting my attorney for the first time, tomorrow morning. But before I end this missive, allow me to share this little day dream I had earlier today, about stepping inside the purple Edwardian edifice that is 1800 Market Street:
My attorney, Magdalena Elvensborn, was standing in the front room with about a dozen other folks who worked there, some no doubt also lawyers. They smiled at me kindly, and Ms. Elvensborn spoke the following:
“Zeke, we are here to honor you. You were right all along, this eviction scenario was nothing more than a ruse or, better said, your initiation into a new existence as a global leader of LGBT equality, and the first president of Athenia, formerly central and northern California.”
I just stood there, both stunned and relieved, and greeted each one of them with a grateful nod of my head.
“Furthermore,” she continued, “We want to present you with these new clothes and shoes that you should wear as you march at the head of this year’s parade fifteen days from now. They were lovingly designed and tailored by several of our creative staff.”
Well, we’ll see what happens soon enough: tomorrow morning at 11:30 AM to be precise. Good night for now, Wattson!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: Voicemail from the SFPD!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 9, 2022 at 7:09 AM
Just noticed I missed a call yesterday. From the SFPD about a “vicious dangerous dog attack.” So I’ll have to inform my attorney about THIS false complaint, as well! I did NOT call them back.
Subject: My first text to Officer Ibarra
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 9, 2022 at 9:09 AM
Re: Texting with Officer Ibarra
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 9, 2022 at 2:29 PM
On 2022-06-09 12:48, My Dear Wattson wrote:
> Gawd.
It’s a shit storm down here, hope it doesn’t go so far north as to reach YOUR locale, good doctor! Excellent conversation with my attorney. The bite issue has added a bit of a problem into the mix. Suing me is possible, due to the bite, though highly unlikely, considering the very light scrape that barely passes for a bite…and the dogs were removed from the premises soon thereafter, so it’s unlikely I will be evicted.
Also, Ablahblah Realty’s NOT yet delivering me a 30-day notice is a good sign they won’t push that far. Ms. Elvensborn said their rejecting my rent payment is standard procedure, because accepting it is legal admission they have no intent to evict me. She also said they are most likely not aware yet that I have an attorney, as she’s holding off on calling THEIRS, but will do so very soon.
She’s from the Netherlands, BTW. Just as excellent as Sweden or any other Nordic/Scandinavian society. I am NOT worried or stressed out over this, and I have a very good feeling that things WILL turn out favorably for all parties involved, including Deek and the doggies.
Meanwhile, read my text messages to Officer Ibarra. And, oh yeah, I’m deleting all my eviction chapters just to play it safe…because in the agreement I signed in her office, I am not to discuss or in any other way, present, my eviction debacle in the public light, including of course social media or anywhere else in cyberspace.
Don’t worry, though, it’s all backed up to my external hard drive and Google Drive. Don’t know what the fuk’s going on with Idrive…I hope they’ll resume my subscription, and haven’t already deleted my copious backed-up data.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: If this is actually another bodhisattva challenge…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 9, 2022 at 5:36 PM
…to tweak my nerves further, see whether or not I begin to panic or grow fearful or despondent, they’ve done a great job by tossing in the potential for a criminal suit. But, I am NOT disturbed, worried, fearful or angered in the least. I’m pretty damn calm and happy through it all. And when it comes to Deek, re. Ofc. Ibarra advising him to take better care of his dogs (or he could lose them)…I’ll handle it fine, tell him it’s actually good advice. Now, here’s an email exchange between Ms. Elvensborn and yours truly, starting about two hours ago and spanning 40 minutes or thereabouts:
–begin:
ATTY: Can you please send me the pictures of the injury that the person got from the dog bite? -- ME: Ofc. Ibarra has the photo...and the video clip. Would you like to contact him directly yourself, or would you prefer I do that? Here's his phone #: 415-[xxx]-[xxxx]. -- ATTY: You can just leave it for now. I think you should probably contact the SF Bar Referral Program or the Public Defender’s office to see if you can get some advice. It would be good to know whether or not you should talk to the police at all at this point and/or the risk of criminal charges related to the dog bite. --- ME: I just emailed Ofc. Ibarra requesting a copy of the photo, and the video, before I got your latest email. As for not talking (or cooperating) with the police any more, I sent Ibarra a text saying I'll let him know when my homeless friend drops by, so he can talk with him. I'm sure they're trying to track him down, anyway...he's easy to find. Should I post Ibarra an email or text saying my apologies, but my attorney advised me to no longer communicate with you? -- ATTY: I really can’t say anything about what is best to do with regards to communication with the police. I cannot help you with that because that is not my area of law. You should contact the SF Bar or the Public Defender’s office to try to get advice on that. -- ME: I will do just that, thank you. -- ME: I cannot afford the fees. But here is what they say on a "dog bite law" site, which strikes me as sound advice. The bite has to be regarded as "serious," so I believe I'm in the clear. Here is the page. As for my contacting Ofc. Ibarra: I think it looks better if I cooperate by texting him when my friend and dogs show up. Because they're gonna locate him soon enough, anyway, even w/o my help. Deek hangs out on my block two or three times a week, often close to, or in front of, my building. So anyone who lives there (including manager and complainant) can simply call the police themselves, to inform them the dogs are right outside. If I don't cooperate by letting him know when Deek shows up, it will not look good in the cop's assessment. Hopefully, Ibarra will send me the pic and the video. But if not, I won't pursue the matter. And that will be the end of my communication with him, or any other officer regarding this issue. I doubt he will contact me any further, either, after sending me the photo and/or video, if he does at all.
–end
Subject: Deek Is Here
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 10, 2022 at 1:05 AM
I texted Officer Ibarra an hour ago, that Deek is here…see pic. Nothing yet, he hasn’t shown up, nor texted me back. I’m not gonna keep this up, texting to him whenever Deek’s around. I’ll just contact him tomorrow, and say exactly that…seeing as Deek is so easy to track down anyway, he’s so often in the Castro. And I don’t want to disrupt the good man’s other duties with text alerts. He’s actually QUITE a handsome young fellow of jet black wavy hair, trim bod and of modest stature (my height). IOW: what a yummy package HE appears to be: eye candy for aficionados of lovely man/boys not caught up in that horrid macho posturing so endemic in the hetero populace. He must’ve been all of 24 years young!
Ofc. Ibarra spoke both professionally and courteously to me, and was kind enough to allow me the time to describe my history as an activist of many years for the LGBTQ+ houseless, and a rundown of the conflicts I had with the manager early last year (re. Adisa & mom and teenagers loitering in the hallway and not wearing masks, their false dog-bite accusation, and workers refusing to wear masks as well, and my friendship with Deek for over 12 crazy years, how he’s sometimes DIFFICULT to deal with, but in other ways an excellent human being now growing in leaps and bounds). Took me a surprisingly SHORT three minutes to convey all of that!
And now, dear Wattson, here’s a tasty little tidbit I’m gonna toss your way, as I KNOW you’ll savor it for months to come, popping up in your memory bank now and then when you least expect it:
–begin:
I told the cop I’ve always discouraged Deek to NEVER adopt a dog, as I think it’s cruel to force such sweet creatures to live on the streets 24/7, but he went ahead and done it anyway.
“So when he showed up with a SECOND pup eight months later, I almost had a heart attack!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” he replied.
Upon which I flashed a cockeyed grin along with a dismissive wave of the hand, and corrected him:
“No, not LITerally!”
–end
Now, on to the Deekster himself:
He was quite stressed out when I came downstairs, and LOOKED it: hair a dishevelled mop, face and hands stained with dirt, grubby hooded sweatshirt and baggy pants that have seen better days. Soon as I exited through the gate, he screamed at the top of his bronchial tubes (shocking the several outdoor patrons of Super Duper, who raised their heads from their burgers and fries and looked Deek’s way):
“These dogs are drivin’ me NUTS, I’m tired of it, maybe I’ll give ’em up!” Then he handed the leash handles over to me. “Here, get ’em off my back, take ’em to the bank witch-a!” And right he was, for when he called up to my window barely a minute earlier, he requested advance payment for Sunday’s allowance (as usual), and I said alright but I gotta go to the bank first.
So I guided the dogs gingerly through the pedestrian throng, as they jumped like wild around my feet and tousled with each other, they were SO happy to be with me again! But Deek screamed some more from afar:
“Hey, why are they actin’ like that, don’t you know how to walk a dog?”
He screeched other idiotic nonsense to the point where I turned around and brought them back to where he was seated by the lamppost…handed the leashes back to him, and started to walk alone, towards Noe Street and eventually to the Chase branch three blocks distant. He was still hollering god only knows what, so I took a deep breath, exhaled and marched right back to him.
“Deek, they’re just excited to see me, is all!” I admonished, then held out my right hand. “So, can we try again?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he acquiesced, “but it’s gonna take forever to get back, they way you’re walkin’ my dogs.”
“No I won’t, just let us go now, we’ll be back in a jiffy,” I calmly assured him. “Thanks for letting me walk them, it’s been awhile.”
So off we hightailed it outta there to finally reach the less trafficked streets once we crossed 16th. Of course, the pups wanted to sniff EVERYthing, and take a pee stop every twenty feet, then one had to poop and I had nothing to pick it up with, so looked around me and saw nobody nearby watching, upon which revelation I scooped up a handful of gravel and dirt to cover it up.
Once we reached the bank’s foyer where the ATMs resided, I allowed the dogs to run free inside since nobody else was there. They barked with glee and ran in circles, play-fighting and chest-bumping while I pushed some buttons to withdraw two twenties and four fives, totalling $60: ten for me, and the rest for Deek, which I inserted into am envelope from a pile of ’em on the small standup desk by the picture window…upon which also rested two plastic bottles of hand sanitizer and, for the delicate among us, a thick packet of sanitizing wipes. So now I wonder, Wattson:
Is hand sanitizer in bank lobbies going to become a permanent fixture, or will it, one day in the (hopefully-not-so-distant) future, be relegated to a dusty past we all yearn to forget while still in the midst of this viral scourge?
Once me and the hounds returned to their master, he was in a cheerful mood, and all his haggardness earlier had completely dissipated. I gave him his allowance and he, five small gadgets to charge, along with an oblong Bluetooth speaker the size of a squooshed breadbox. Here’s a pic of him, pups and a visiting friend, that I shot from out my window. (See 2nd snapshot.) Deek is standing up on your right, and you can see the doggies curled up on comfy jackets.
Which pleased me because some 20 minutes previous to my taking this photo, Lucky was lying down on a lumpy backpack, and Flaco sat on the sidewalk beside Deek. And seeing that I told him:
“C’mon, Deek, you have a pile of soft clothing for the dogs to rest on. They’ll very much appreciate that, and be less likely to bark at sketchy people strolling by, because they’ll be snoozing instead.”
“Don’t tell ME how to raise dogs,” he muttered while yanking a red jacket from the cart, buried deep beneath other clothing. He tossed it behind him, so Lucky could have SOME comfort, albeit rather thin.
I sighed: “What about Flaco?”
“Never mind her, she’s fine,” he replied, and I shrugged my shoulders, turned around and disappeared through the front gate.
So I’m GLAD to see he’s followed up with my appeal, as I discovered when I poked my head out the window, then snapped that picture.
A little while later I heard Flaco barking, and Deek hollering “Come here, Flaco, stop that!”
I looked out to see a black gentleman walking with his bicycle, and Flaco barking at the wheels. She was on her leash, but not tethered, yet Deek did not bother to just stand up, lift her in his arms and return to the lamppost. He’d ratjer stir up a ruckus and screech his lungs out. So I stepped back downstairs, crouched near him while soothing Flaco (Lucky was sound asleep by then), and said:
“Look, Deek, yelling at her doesn’t work, and it’s NEVER worked, so why bother? You’re just adding noise to her barks, disturbing the peace of my neighbors. All she thinks is that YOU’RE barking, too, which just excites her further.”
To my surprise, he didn’t drown me out with screams, but actually listened. And so I continued:
“She LOVES you and LOVES to be your guard dog. She is PROUD to defend you from whatever she thinks is a danger.”
“Well Lucky doesn’t do that,” he interjected.
“They have different personalities, Deek,” I explained. “What you NEED to do is keep her leash tied to a post, or just your arm, so she can’t get away from you. Then, whenever she starts to play guardian and bark like wild, pull her onto your lap and hug and pet her, and say, in a DEEP voice without yelling, ‘Calm down, calm down, everything’s okay,’ until she stops barking. Keep doing this and in two or three weeks she’ll finally get the hint and realize there’s no real danger, and she doesn’t have to bark.”
I’m pleased as punch that he actually LISTENED to me for the entire sermon, and didn’t put up a wall of screeches!
I then returned hovel to continue working on this piece I’m now writing, until an hour or so later, when he called up to me and said to bring down all his electronics. Once I reached the gate, I held it open and signaled to him where he was chatting with another vagrant by the bus stop, and the pups were watching me from where they were tethered to the shopping cart. They were quiet and din’t bark even once; they just looked at me.
When I caught his attention as he glanced in my general vicinity, he said, “Whoops, I’m coming!”
He promptly took the plastic sack from my grip, which contained the gizmos, and I said, “God bless, see you three angels tomorrow!”
“Okay, bless you too, Zeke!” he answered back as he departed with a smile and a bounce in his step.
THEY’RE STILL FUKKIN WITH ME, WATTSON! Deek’s tantrum this evening is part of the ruse, for once I returned from the bank he was smiling and cool as a pebble in a creek. His screeching at me was contrived, part of the overall stress challenge that includes the dog-bite issue, and threat of eviction. I continue to maintain my calm and friendly demeanor through it all.
The roller coaster ride of my life these past two weeks has a cadence, a rhythm, a pattern like that of a playwright’s SCRIPT, than chaotic, senseless REAL life alone. They are really pushing the envelope, though…which actually SERVES to affirm my suspicion of many years.
My attorney tossed in a NEW bugbear, criminal charges, as a possible outcome, though highly unlikely. She DID that to tweak my nerves and witness my response. I’m sure I impressed her with my stable, highly optimistic attitude in spite of that additional threat, another demon attempting to haunt my cranium, but with no success.
And so many fascinating, real-life vignettes have been spiraling around me for quite a few months now…such that, regardless of whatever spooky notion or incident should come my way, I will immediately vanquish such demons from my reality. Because those delightful vignettes have ignited a brilliant fire in my heart, and continue to do so. It burns away all chaff!
Due to the legal necessity of removing all my eviction tales from cyberspace, you, and you alone, good doctor, have the tremendous honor of being the ONLY reader on this planet to lay eyes on my latest Brindlekin chapters as I churn them out like Rumpelstiltskin spins gold!
Yesterday I crossed paths while climbing the stairs, with a friendly transgender who’s lived here for at LEAST twenty years. As they passed by me, they asked:
“How’re your babies?”
“Oh very well, thanks!” I replied. A reminder to me that not EVERYone knows whats going on with me these days. Probably only a handful DO, in spite of this edifice being such a gossipy nest of vipers.
Officer Ibarra has YET to make his presence known to Deek, thus I doubt he’ll show up at all, as night’s veil darkens the skies of San Franshitsco, and Deek and hounds eventually vanish into parts unknown, and THIS bedraggled pilgrim gets to enjoy a quiet late-night repast and a good movie or selection of scary Youtube videos from the comfort of his cushy cot, which tubular stainless steel frame nonetheless presses in part against his torso or thighs through the four sleeping bags laid out atop. The Princess and the Pea has NOTHING over me!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: Deek Is Here
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 10, 2022 at 11:46 AM
> Deek yelling at you to take the dogs because he needs a “break” speaks volumes.
It’s all a dupe…he’s just playing his role in this script so aptly penned by Bodhisattva Guardian Extraordinaire, Arwyn Miles. Who conjures up difficult challenges for me to figure out how to overcome. One of them being, of course, Deek’s hellacious anxiety attacks and temper tantrums.
> God, what a sight his encampment is. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame him, but it’s gotta be demoralizing for him to live in such unsightly squalor.
He isn’t the least bit demoralized by his station in life, but moves ahead in his world with impressive diligence and hard work. That is praiseworthy.
> Glad he listened to you about how to calm Flaco’s barking. You’re exactly right.
I have learned how to use the right words, tone of voice and body language to grab his respectful attention. QUITE an uphill struggle over many painful years! But I’m a better man for that.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Re: Deek Is Here
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: June 10, 2022 at 1:34 PM
> I don’t mean demoralized by his station in life; I mean demoralized by being surrounded by the ugly detritus of our sick society.
The is often the story of anyone who eventually blossoms into a hero!
> Same for me. In my case, it’s negotiating the buried land mines of Dan’s widow’s deeply damaged psyche while I struggle to help her not get sucked down into oblivion. I’ve seen her “go off” in the past, and it’s truly disturbing–loud, terrible, anguished screeching. She’s veered close to such a fit a couple of times since Dan’s death; in each case, I was able to short-circuit it by not reacting, staying calm, keeping my voice steady and modulated, saying the exact right words to steer her back to “sanity.” I do it for my own sake as much as hers, and of course, for my poor dead Dan.
An anguishing, drawn out trial, love’s labor’s burden. Something tremendously good will come out of this, Wattson. Just don’t take any wooden nickles.
ZekeBlog 2.0 