[Brindlekin Tales – Book 7: Chapter 24]
Subject: Not the brightest bulb in the pack!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 26, 2023 at 1:12 AM
One more thing about our conversation:
Once I affirmed with plaintiff’s attorney that my only income is Social Security, he asked me: “Well, can’t you pay him a little something every month?” I detected a twinge of frustration.
“Of course not!” I exclaimed at the absurdity of his query with a suppressed guffaw. “That’s outta the question!”
For as you know, Wattson, it’s ILLEGAL to garnish someone’s Social Security, no matter WHAT the sum…he should know that! Well, I’m sure he does but he went strictly by the script, I suppose. The bodhisattva script. Having fun at my expense, methinks!
Attached is a colorful rendering of Pterry Pterodactyl conjured up by Craiyon AI image generator. The best one in the lot. The used pterodactyl lot, that is. This one has less than 40,000 miles on it ’cause previously owned by a little old granny bruja who doesn’t go out very much! She has a fear of heights.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: Pterry just told me:
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 26, 2023 at 12:41 PM
“BTW Zeke, those aren’t origami cranes you so graciously showered upon Wattson…they’re origami pterodactyls! Du-uuh!”
I shoulda known, Wattson. Hope they didn’t get TOO badly entangled in your rain-barrel-water-drenched hair, Rapunzel!
“FYI Lucasio stands for light, or Lucifer, or lucky…but root word is light,” Pterry added with a twinkle in his jet-black peepers. “Graaak!”
“Hmm, an attorney named Lucifer,” I mused. “Isn’t there a recent TV series about that?”
“Not quite, but close enough,” he affirmed. “The storyline is the devil abandons hell for Los Angeles (poor choice in MY estimation, shoulda been Barstow), opens his own nightclub and winds up a consultant to the LAPD. But that’s just a fantasy play, Zekester, whereas YOUR plaintiff’s attorney is the Real McCoy! Graaak, graaak!”
“Surely you don’t mean THE devil,” I replied, “since there are MANY devils, right?”
“Well, I conjecture that monotheistic Satanists allow for only one,” Pterry explained. “But since the one and only Lucifer (praise be unto He who adores us all) can manifest his presence in multiple bodies at the same moment with no limit to their number, I’d say the argument is ludicrous, wouldn’t you? Graaak!”
I scratched my head, perplexed as usual by Pterry’s latest mind game: “That makes sense, I guess, but what does this attorney being The Devil Himself–or just one of MANY devils, depending on which side of the Looking Glass you’re on–imply for my OWN destiny regarding this lawsuit and, by extension, My Beloved Brindlekin and their master?”
“Everything glorious!” replied my leather-winged amigo. “Graaak! Do you have a pin?”
I told him let me look, and rummaged through one of my small, plastic bins where I keep sundry items such as rubber bands, paper clips, staples, Velcro tabs and such.
“Yes, here’s one!” I exclaimed, and handed it to Pterry. “Whatta ya gonna do with it?”
“That’s for ME to know, and YOU to find out! Graaak!” he taunted, then activated his electron-microscopic lens embedded into his left eye and stared intently at the pin’s head, tilting it this way and that with precise, tiny movements.
“What are you doing NOW?” I queried.
“Counting! Hush!” he whispered while keeping his left eye diligently focused on the pin’s head. “Eleven, twelve, thirteen…”
“Oh, I see!” I blurted in sudden comprehension. “The classic question how many angels can dance on the head of a pin applies to their opposite as well!”
“Now yer cookin’,” Pterry softly answered while remaining in deep concentration: “Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…”
I gave up and vanished from our little time-warp cone of privacy once he ascended into the realm of the deca-pentagonal and beyond, because I had better things to do than endure Pterry’s trickster ways. He certainly takes his humor FAR beyond the pale, and in this case I could easily discover him a hundred billion gazillion years from now, where he’d STILL be present in this temporal bubble, counting devils on the head of a pin! (I suppose at this point I should call it the head of a “pun.”)
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: They DON’T have the video in question…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 27, 2023 at 12:10 PM
…either that, or Kevin or Plaintiff’s Attorney may be withholding it. At least, that is MY conclusion, based on the claim that one of the dogs “ripped off his shoe.” For the video would CLEARLY show the Plaintiff was NOT wearing shoes, but cheap plastic slide slippers (or thong type, my memory is not clear on that trivial detail). Hence:
Using the video to prove an “attack” occurred would totally nullify the claim that Plaintiff’s shoe was ripped off…’cause no shoe in the first place! And that the phrase “ripped off” (along with the word “shoe”) was obviously a manipulative exaggeration with intent to persuade the court in Plaintiff’s favor. I believe the legal term for that is “perjury.”
Though what do I know, Wattson, I’m just an unfrozen caveman lawyer frightened and confused by your world, including this diabolical innovation called “shoes” that make me stumble on the courthouse steps and my toes to ache by day’s end!
BAM!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: Deek Update (plus other splendiferous events and thoughts to report)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 27, 2023 at 10:02 PM
Deek finally showed up Monday evening (after vanishing since last Thursday): perfect timing since my lawsuit fiasco and my struggles around it had come to an end earlier that same day. Coincidence? I don’t think so, since I only told him I have a meeting downtown on Friday, so will be away from home until 2 PM. Those three days (plus Monday morning) were vital to focusing all my attention on the lawsuit…so I greatly appreciate his prolonged disappearance.
And as I said in a previous missive, he’s begun lavishing more affection on the pups than ever before! For on that day I witnessed such kindness, post-doggy breakfast:
Once the furries had licked their bowls clean, Flaco looked up at her master with tail wagging.
“Happy now?” he addressed her while seated close by. “Tummy all full, start the day right?” He then pulled her into his arms for a prolonged embrace. Then turned to her brother who was just standing there, watching the new day unfold:
“Lucky!” he called, and the demi-dachshund turned to look at him. “Ya got some food on yer chin, ya look like a slob, c’mere!” So Lucky approached and with that, his master brushed a bit of kibble off his chin with an index finger.
And yesterday morning Deek showed up to collect $40 (in advance of course), the last of this month’s payment. Offered to let me walk the mutts on my way to the Chase branch, which was heavenly…and thoughtful. They were high spirited and playful the entire way there and back, so happy to be with me again. I paused midway to the bank to feed them treats, which I always keep stashed in my small backpack. Along with a roll of poopy bags and a pair of martingale collars, which I placed ’round their necks shortly after Deek handed me their leashes.
During our stroll to the ATM outlet I wondered if Deek expected me to rush the dogs in both directions so I wouldn’t take “too” long to suit his anxious nature exacerbated by crystal. But as far as I’m concerned, walking the dogs includes allowing them to pause and sniff about to their satisfaction. As well as honoring Lucky’s penchant for scratching his back and sides along a rough wall first one way, then another, with such joyful exuberance it brightens my heart…as it does for anyone walking by. Or flopping on his back and squirming upon the sidewalk for the same delightful reason.
“Well,” I figured to myself, “that’s just too bad, the doggies’ happiness is above and beyond all other matters in this world, including Deek’s childish mood swings. If he says to me where the fuck have YOU been, I’ll turn a deaf ear and that’ll be that!”
Well, Wattson, you’ll be pleased to know that did NOT occur; he was just glad to receive his allowance, and that I spent some quality time with the pooches. What a change from his previous behavior, I’m proud of the handsome devil!
After surrendering the leashes back to their master’s hand I returned hovel to prepare the elves’ breakfast, per his request. By the time I stepped back outside, Millie had joined him. A gaunt but short, fifty-something homeless black woman with a raucously amiable nature…and sandpaper pipes, possibly acquired from smoking MORE than just tobacco over the decades. That morning she sported a flat, dark-turquoise mask with metallic silver eyebrows. Slits for eyes, nose and mouth. It covered her entire face from chin to forehead, and was held firm by an elastic band.
Well let me tell you, good physician: they were really hammering away at each other with the most RUDE accusations and insults! Calling each other expletives like muthuh-fukuh, bitch, niggah and threatening to beat the shit out of each other. Though with grinning faces and sporadic chuckles, showing me it was all in good sport. So, rather than interrupt their surly badinage, I simply nodded my head in greeting, set down the bowls, pet the dogs briefly, then returned upstairs.
In fact, from the humble confines of my hovel I could easily hear them squawking away like angry macaws fighting over a choice mango that just fell to the ground. Some ten minutes later their faux berating morphed into guffaws, chortles and silly snorts. Of course I was curious, so rose from my work station to peer out the window. Upon which I espied Millie with legs pressing against his back where he was seated, in such a way as to massage his shoulder blades with her knees while rocking him from side to side. She still had her mask on, BTW.
I was pleased to see Flaco & Lucky in full snooze mode, stretched out and soaking up the deliciously warm sunlight upon a large sheet of cardboard. Oblivious to the foibles of humanity, including those of Millie and Deek.
Some forty minutes or so later Millie departed, and Deek shortly after that. He left behind a loose pile of wrinkled clothing beside the parking meter, and some other debris like an empty juice box, half a fashion magazine, a pair of hospital slippers still sealed in cellophane wrapping, and a defunct torch lighter. So I decided to clean it all up, and to my surprise discovered a very NICE long-sleeve shirt that would fit me well! It was made of thick material and, though black and red plaid, was NOT flannel.
So, planning to bring it upstairs and toss it into the hamper, I set it atop the nearby trash bin while cleaning up the rest. But while bent over performing this chore, I heard a man’s voice call to me:
“Hey that’s a nice shirt!”
I then stood up to lay my orbs upon a strappingly GORGEOUS fellow around 5-foot-9 with silver eyes, thick shocks of auburn hair fading into gray that fell to the shoulders, a full beard with complementary mustache, and the sweetest smile you’ll ever see. With a full set of pearly whites to boot, in spite of his obviously being homeless. Obvious because his bluejeans and sweater, while clean and attractive, were a loose fit in a way that someone with a roof over their head would never be caught dead in.
Concealing a ravenous thirst to strip him naked in seconds flat and lick him all over, I replied with a friendly grin: “Thanks, I like it, too!” Thinking he was talking about my short-sleeve summer shirt which is also a plaid design, though multicolored in red, blue and dark gray.
“No, that one over there!” he exclaimed, directing my lustful gaze towards the shirt I had placed on the trash bin. “Do you want it?”
“Oh, THAT shirt,” I declared. “Sure, you can have it.” I then grabbed it and held it out to him.
“Oh, thank you SO much,” he replied in a most affectionate tone, collected the shirt from my hand and wrapped one arm around me in a sweetly FIRM side hug, one hand resting upon my left hip, the other, my shoulder on the same side.
I swear, Wattson, I coulda collapsed in those arms! The GUNS on that dude: slobberingly impressive. He must work out, one way or another, in spite of his destitute situation. And no spring chicken HE…I’m guessing around 48.
But instead of swooning, I returned the embrace, laid my head on his shoulder and pat him lightly on his back, then caressed those shoulder blades and the fine expanse between. I even pressed a palm upon his stomach: this guy is RIPPED, Wattson!
Upon separating some seconds later, he thanked me again and told me those are his FAVORITE colors on a shirt. And that was that. STILL stunned, I watched him trot away, observed that his gluteus maximi checked out superbly as well, matching the rest of his extraordinary physique. I coulda plunged right in. FABULOUS!
I then returned hovel and whacked off. Twice.
Where did he come from, I wonder? He just appeared outta the blue, never saw him before. So I decided to write it off to yet another angelic visitation as I have been blessed to know numerous times before (though not recently), disguised as a denizen of the mean streets of San Franshitsco.
Odin visited me once in a dream-vision, twenty-three years ago. A dream-vision in fact, that GAVE me the entire concept which I first called “NeoPositivity,” but renamed it “The Bodhisattva Premise” just two or three years back! Could this have been Odin’s SECOND visit, this time in the flesh? At any rate, let’s move on:
So this afternoon, as I stepped out to purchase some bananas and milk, I saw the building manager had just entered the lobby, pushing on a walker inch by inch, with considerable effort. Accompanied by what I presume to be a nurse’s aide, or maybe just a kind fellow serving in that capacity.
“Good afternoon, Kevin,” I addressed him. He slowly raised his head and replied with a smile: “Oh, hi Zeke!”
Once I passed him and neared the front gate, I muttered into the air: “We REALLY need that elevator!”
Apparently, the two laborers diddling with wires and gears in the open elevator heard me and one of them called out: “Soon!”
To which I replied before closing the gate behind me: “Allah be praised!” Onto the next subject:
Obvious to me now, why I got the deadline date wrong regarding this lawsuit. It was so my victory would be that much sweeter…and a final cliffhanger in this latest tale that my readers shall relish for time immemorial! So, yes, my bodhisattva guardians intentionally mucked up my mind in order to accomplish this outcome. Next (and final) topic:
MARSHALL MUST BE PULLING MY LEG!
For in one breath he declared in last Friday’s show (upon introducing my latest parable):
Which is the umpteenth time he’s said he doesn’t understand why I put up with Deek’s rotten behavior. Yet less than a minute later as he gets into the story, he reads the following line:
My conclusion:
I have literally SPELLED OUT my reason for dealing with Deek’s scummy mistreatment NUMEROUS TIMES in my tales, yet Marshall refuses to acknowledge that. Being as he’s highly intelligent, then he must be having a little fun with me. Typical bodhisattva guardian sense of humor. No other explanation makes sense. Be that as it may:
I can’t WAIT till he gets to my April tales, which should be in a month or two from now. Because it’s my DOUBLE LAWSUIT VICTORY cycle. But even before that, he’ll soon be coming to Deek’s finally acquiring a tiny cabin. So, between that and the lawsuit triumph, he’ll see just how my long-suffering patience has paid off to benefit the doggies immensely, and brought the eyes of attorneys upon my activism on behalf of LGBT indigents. Showing how my inspiration triggered by Flaco & Lucky’s boundless affection has paid off handsomely regarding my OWN personal growth as well.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: PERFECT image of Odin to go with that tale!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 27, 2023 at 11:29 PM
‘Cause THAT’S EXACTLY HOW THE FUCKER I MET TODAY LOOKED! Including those fading auburn locks cascading to the shoulders. All the other images show the Norse deity much older, without the beatific face shown here…and the silver eye! (He only has one eye, as plucking out the other was the price he paid for wisdom.)
So now I conjecture that Millie’s mask was a premonition of Odin’s visit: the silver eyebrows hinting at the color of his eye, and the blue sheen of the mask represented the sky, since Odin IS a sky god! He’s also a shapeshifter, hence quite capable of appearing with both eyes intact. Conclusion:
Both she and Deek KNEW he was soon to show up…and he did, just minutes after they departed!
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: Before posting this email I asked ChatGPT is Odin a sky god. Here’s the answer:
“Yes, Odin is a sky god in Norse mythology. He is often associated with the sky, wisdom, war, and death. Odin is also known as the ‘Allfather’ as he was considered the father of all gods in Norse mythology. He was believed to live in the highest of the nine worlds, Asgard, and was often depicted as a one-eyed old man with a long beard and wearing a cloak and a broad hat. Odin was also associated with wisdom, poetry, and magic.”
Then just for the heck of it I asked ChatGPT, “Are YOU a sky god?” And the reply was (hold onto your bowler, Wattson):
Subject: Sweet Old Dog…and 3 more pics!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 28, 2023 at 10:44 AM
Pic 1: I see this man with his lovely lab almost every morning while sitting on the steps of a corner shop across from my building. He has seen me with Flaco & Lucky numerous times and, even though they bark up a fury at his furry charge (who remains totally at ease) he is kind and has a good chuckle over them. Here, the elderly canine is looking at me with fondness. I’ve always had an affinity with dogs, often eager to greet me even though it’s the first time we’ve met. This includes those dogs who normally avoid strangers.
Pic 2: This snapshot was residing on my smartphone, almost forgotten. As was the next pic. Charming little scene right below my window, eh, Wattson?
[Just teasing you, Marshall, as I figured you’d pause in your narration to make some remark about what’s the point of my mentioning a photo without bothering to describe its contents. But if you didn’t, well then I blew it…I’m a fourth wall failure!]
Pic 3: Same day as pic 2. Flaco’s sweetness prevails!
Pic 4: A cropped enlargement of pic 3, so you can better see Lucky peering at me from inside the box. What darling angels!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: Sweet Old Dog…and 3 more pics! [ERRATA]
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 28, 2023 at 10:55 AM
Where I say:
“A cropped enlargement of pic 2”
it should have said:
“A cropped enlargement of pic 3”
Sorry for the confusion, but my world is changing so fast I can barely keep up! The lotus flower of my soul has begun to blossom. Ain’t THAT a glorious thing to behold, Wattson!
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: I believe at this point that Timothy di Palma’s prophecy of a wormhole tunnel from my building to downtown Mendocino is more than just an amusing fantasy! See ya soon, my guiding angel!
Re: Sweet Old Dog…and 3 more pics!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 28, 2023 at 2:50 PM
> Beautiful dog-souls abound!
A “Woof!” a day keeps the doctor away. You can quote me on that.
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: My x230 Thinkpad Died!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 29, 2023 at 1:06 AM
Well, didn’t die per se, but won’t boot up thanks to “fan error.” I would get that now and then, but only because it was too hot because the day was hot. But it can also happen if too much dust gets in there, or the fan itself needs replacement. Only problem is you need to take the ultrabook entirely apart to get to the fan to clean or replace it. Which IS a tedium, but I could do it if only some of the back screws weren’t so firmly lodged I CAN’T REMOVE THEM!
I discovered this two years ago when I went to remove the back in order to add extra storage with an SDD chip. I tried everything in the book to get those tiny screws turning, via a Youtube video that gave various suggestions on removing stuck screws from a laptop: WD-40 (of course), rubber band snippet between screwdriver and screw, and so on. NOTHING WORKS!
I’m able to open a slot within the back to upgrade RAM, so that was good since I could then swap 8 gigabytes for 16. At any rate, I checked out Amazon for a refurbished Thinkpad, and found one for $162 including tax (shipping is free). It’s the x250, so a bit more recent…it came out in 2015 while my present system dates back to 2012. And the one I ordered has Bluetooth built in and twice the storage. Plus a webcam that I prefer not to have, but ya never know: I may need one for Zoom calls, seeing as my popularity will soon soar, if my prognostication is correct.
The new ultrabook will arrive in just two days! Meanwhile, I have my Chromebook connected to a second monitor, as a temporary replacement for the x230. And my good ol’ Android tablet has replaced the Chromebook for playing videos and podcasts on the side. Right now it’s resonating Memo of the Weird, like an oasis in the Castro.
Which show I had planned to start listening to right when it went on the air at 9 o’clock…but my x230 suddenly shutting down and my having to rearrange my work station distracted me. So it wasn’t until 11:30 that I realized “Oh, Marshall’s show is on right now!”
Wow, this is kewl, he just started reading “The Shadow Box,” right when I was typing the paragraph above…what a thrill! Started around 12:44, I’ll be sure to splice it outta the podcast so you can have a copy of it yourself. Anyway: back to my dead ultrabook:
I’ve had this fantasy for the past quintuple years where my faithful x230, upon which I composed my Brindlekin Tales right from Chapter 1, would still be churning ’em out when I become famous. So maybe its fritzing out on me is actually a good omen! Seems to be right on time, in light of my extraordinary lawsuit adventures that I predict will propel my ascension to public kudos.
At least my new system will still be a Thinkpad…I’m loyal to the brand ’cause sturdy, a real workhorse and you can always install Linux on it, unlike so many other laptop makers, where it’s an iffy proposition at best.
I still have $197 in the bank, so I’ll be fine ’cause only five days to go till my next Soc. Sec. deposit. Pandemic food stamp bonus of $200 all gone, so I’m now back down to a paltry $22 per month!
I’m not particularly upset about having to cough up moolah for a new notebook (and the hassle setting it up entails), simply because my recent victories (and the extraordinary near-future repercussions they imply) have got me walkin’ on cloud 9 no matter what!
!!! NOTHING WILL EVER RAIN ON MY PARADE AGAIN !!!
– Zeke K-Holmes
Subject: And thar she blows!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 29, 2023 at 7:21 PM
Proof of Service, showed up in my mailbox this afternoon. Woo-hoo!
Re: And thar she blows!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 30, 2023 at 11:01 AM
> Bada-bing!
That’s what I get for standing up for myself. What next…keys to the city, parade in my honor, penthouse loft in the clock tower overlooking the bay, honorary District Attorney? Oh the humanity! You can call me Mr. Big from now on.
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: I was only waiting for this moment to arise! It certainly TOOK long enough, Wattson…I’M FUKKIN 72 YEARS OLD FER CRIPES SAKE!
Subject: WHOA!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 1, 2023 at 6:42 PM
PALLAS DOESN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE
At least, not in my heart. He’s revealed himself to be a capitalist warthog, per a conversation we had two days earlier, where he works at Rosenberg’s. FYI I also learned that day, he hails from a wealthy family back in India, quelle surprise. (And he’s NOT Sikh, but Hindu, though irrelevant to this present discussion.) I was tempted to leapfrog over the counter and strangle him, but my better angels held me back. Totally heartless against the working class, “just get a better job if you’re not happy with the one you have” and “unions are a curse” kinda thinking.
And I assure you, Wattson, I did my very BEST to lambaste his crude perspective as courteously as possible before exiting with my small cup of golden brown elixir and blueberry muffin! But to no avail, for another customer stepped in right at that precise moment, and cut me off posthaste (because, you know, Filthy Lucre is king, silencing all who are not his simpering toadies). A rich little elderly queer (all of 5-foot-2, keys clattering by his hips ’cause most likely a homeowner to boot), thus no better a hominid than Pallas.
No wonder he never compliments me on my homeless outreach projects (which I’ve brought up now and then) with nothing more than a glassy stare in response. Which served as a reminder for yours truly that I’m dealing with shopkeepers who are right-wing for the most part. Ha-ha, and to think they have to put up with THIS brazen, flower-child pilgrim! ‘Cause they need the MONEY…mine, along with everyone else’s, and that pandemic boost in food stamps sure helped BLOAT their coffers while it lasted. But then, once returned hovel while sipping on my coffee and taking fat bites of the muffin, I thought:
“NOW where can I go for my morning java and muffin, assuming a wall of enmity has imposed itself between us two?”
But no worries, for the next morning when I stepped in, Pallas was his usual chirpy self. Methinks he was having a bit of fun at my expense, good doctor! IOW yet another bodhisattva angel in my life. Though the coffee was shockingly bitter…so unlike Rosenberg’s to brew such a caustic output…in fact it’s never happened before!
“I made it especially strong today,” he announced, “since it’s cold outside and people LIKE that extra kick in bad weather!”
Well it wasn’t THAT cold, just a bracing, foggy chill. Besides which we San Franshitscans have recently had to endure more than three months of truly FRIGID weather, yet their coffee remained kind and flavorful on the tongue. Just the way I like it.
“Not me,” I replied while lifting the pot from its nook. “I’ll have to add extra CREAM to it, or it’ll burn a hole in my stomach and leave a sour taste in my mouth for hours!”
So I now ask myself, Wattson: what’s up with the absinthian concoction…Pallas’s subtle way of getting back at me? I wager so, since the coffee resumed its amiable character by the next day.
PLAINTIFF: ANOTHER SPOILED RICH FOREIGNER WITH DRAMA QUEEN TRAITS?
He hails from the city of Qingdao, in the Shandong Province, a rather AFFLUENT region in China! From Wikipedia:
“Shandong is one of China’s richest provinces, and its economic development focuses on large enterprises with well-known brand names. Shandong is the biggest industrial producer and one of the top manufacturing provinces in China.”
So this fellow, just like our Pallas, does not number among the poor, huddled masses fleeing oppression and poverty, Wattson. These are the STINKY RICH running at breakneck speed to worship the fatted golden calf of capitalism at the feet of Ba’al! Fort Knox is their “Ka’aba,” so to speak.
On top of that, I’m guessing he’s a drama queen who fits in very well with the Castro clique of wealthy queers…the kind of ass hats who go out of their way to be offended at the drop of a tiara. Especially against those they perceive as surviving on a low income. A foul attitude I am often up against, and have been for years, by the very same community I fled to for REFUGE way back in 1973!
But again, I must apply my Bodhisattva Premise to this situation. Thus, the plaintiff is likewise running me through another gauntlet to sharpen my skills in turning each crisis into a positive outcome for all parties involved. And deflecting (or at least vanquishing) any negative emotion on MY part. In such an interpretation then, ALL drama queen attacks upon yours truly are nothing more than helping me along my path…and in so doing I also become the hero.
MARSHALL’S AT IT AGAIN!
And he REALLY rubbed it in this time, as if he KNEW my gripe over his clueless declarations about Deek’s perturbations. (Have you been talking with him? No, you haven’t, I’m sure…this is something more akin to telepathy.) He’s RIBBING me, Wattson…across the airwaves! Here’s the clip from his latest podcast, that you may enjoy the spoof more richly.
FYI: on his WordPress blog for last Friday’s show he listed a whole string of local authors and put you, your bipedal companion, and yours truly one right after another, like so:
“…Wattson, Erwyn, Ezekiel, and associated dachshund siblings Flaco and Lucky…”
Isn’t that sweet, he threw the PUPS into the mix! And get this, Wattson: he read Erwyn’s piece, yours, and mine, all in the same show. WE’RE GOING TO HOLLYWOOD! In a van I guess, and park it somewhere down by the river close to the studios where we’ll be the honored recipients of their smorgasbord scraps. Good times!
I AM NOT ALONE…NO ONE IS
As of a few days ago I’ve replaced my “Maria Maria” victory dance with Michael Jackson’s “You are not alone.” Which is the only truly GREAT song he’s achieved, in my not-so-humble opinion. I otherwise don’t care for his music, but THIS particular work of brilliance makes for a soothing, joyful balm for THIS embattled pilgrim! I’ve been playing it CONSTANTLY every day now (and into the dark shadows of Nyx), as background to my Internet activities, including composing this email. Which electronic missives, as you so well know, provide the canvass for my prosaic strokes of the brush.
[SIDEBAR: I’ve also been getting deeper and deeper into all the fine rap and hip-hop music I’m finding on Youtube. Looks like Deek’s musical preference has rubbed onto me, at last! There’s some really good shit out there…a LOT in fact! Highly spirited with intelligent lyrics that spit in the eye of elitism, capitalism and violence. Such as “Where is the Love?” by the Black Eyed Peas, among so MANY others.
Honestly, Wattson, I’m absolutely JONESING to dance these days…great exercise as well, for which my humble abode serves me peachy-keen, thank you very much! At any rate, my heart so brimming with a serious case of dancing fever will, I guess, eventually spill over onto the streets. Probably when some houseless troubadour with a keyboard, guitar or drums, or a BOOMBOX, shows up on my block, and I’ll step out to stir up the mojo, get everyone else to join in!
NOW I grok Deek’s love for the ghetto subculture…and the rap music born from it!]
Like Glob’s own cherubs crooning from THIS pilgrim’s bosom, that I am NOT alone, never have been, never will be. PROVEN by these devoted attorneys who’ve counseled me FOR FREE, along with online guidance from legal forums such as thelaw.com, and the kindness of strangers I’ve met along the way (including those who live on the streets)! Hindsight is indeed a lovely thing, Wattson. There should be a SAINT, a legendary HERO or a GOD for that.
Wait a minute, good physician, there IS a god of hindsight (I just discovered)…and, once again, leave it to the Greeks:
EPIMETHEUS!
From Mythopedia (quote): “Epimetheus’ chief attribute was his foolishness. In most stories, he serves as a foil to his cleverer brother Prometheus, with Prometheus’ ‘forethought’ and foresight standing in sharp contrast to Epimetheus’ ‘afterthought’ and hindsight.”
Well THAT’S not very flattering! Maybe I can find some OTHER deity of hindsight who puts a nicer spin to it, seeing as hindsight is not ALWAYS (or even usually) born of foolish behavior, but is a culmination of experiences and observations that lead to some kind of revelation. So let’s see…aha, here we go:
Huginn and Muninn, Odin’s ravens (so we’re back to HIM again)! For their names mean “thought” and “memory,” respectively…or something akin to that, ’cause more expansive in their roles than those simple words convey. They are an EXTENSION of Odin’s psyche, in other words his eyes and ears.
Odin is also a SHAMAN by the way…so his appearance before me as a homeless fellow makes perfect sense. Seeing as I have often speculated over the concept that some who dwell on the streets may actually be shamans. And there is a precedent for that, since in many ancient cultures there are tales of this or that deity descending to earth in the guise of a humble laborer or beggar.
Apollo was known for that, who appeared from time to time as a shepherd to eavesdrop on humanity and learn of their needs and desires…and report back to Pater Zeus, often with grievances aGAINST him. Which pagan “son of God,” I believe, was absorbed into Christianity as their savior…often depicted tending a herd of sheep.
DEEK’S ALREADY “THERE,” AND HAS BEEN FOR A LONG TIME
By “there” I mean already conscious of the bodhisattva realm, or whatever you’d like to call it. Explains how he can approach each day with vigor, and is rarely bored…in spite of his being a denizen of the asphalt. Furthermore, he blithely accepts whatever bad weather may come and, rather than seek shelter, surrenders to the rain, no matter how turbulent the storm. Of course, he’s since tempered that for the sake of the pups. And, now that he has that tiny cabin, what remains of his street life is far less rough edged. So he can maintain the BEST of it without compromising his health or safety, and that of the brindlekin.
Ergo: IT’S ALL AN ACT, this difficult behavior he often flings at me (though far less often any more), for my own benefit, that I grow in spirit. He IS my chief bodhisattva guardian, as was Larkin previously, and Randolph before then.
And also explains PERFECTLY why my eviction attorney showed little concern for my “plight” (as I saw it). Not just because I’m Judgment Proof, but because Magdalena ALREADY knew I’d be okey-dokey. That it would be an amazing adventure filled with revelations as well! Which would otherwise NOT be the case had she guided me through it with professional aplomb. CAN’T WAIT till May 5th when she returns from vacation and reads my celebratory missive! And remember THIS, good physician: I told her some months back during our face-to-face, that this eviction dilemma comes off more like an initiation by a secret cabal, than any REAL lawsuit…and that SHE is part of it! Of course, she remained totally poker faced per the cabal’s machinations.
– Zeke K-Holmes
P.S.: Installing Linux onto my x250 was a breeze! Besides my x230 pooping out over the fan error, its display blanked out permanently several months back…and I couldn’t replace it even if I was willing to cough up da moolah. ‘Cause I can’t unscrew the casing! So I’m very PLEASED with my new Thinkpad: superb condition with gobs more storage capacity, plus Bluetooth and web cam. I also purchased a cooling pad and an AC powered USB hub, for cheap. PC heaven, a digital wonderland…makes me feel “chip”per again! I COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT ME!
Subject: But for the Grace of Glob
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 2, 2023 at 2:16 PM
Four recent videos, first one shot two days ago, the rest just yesterday…one is an exhausting 14 seconds long, the others are a tolerable 10:
Need I say any more?
Besides finally in the last steps to get a new elevator up and running, looks like the lobby is going through a makeover at the same time. The second video reveals what is behind the “curtain.”
What’s “behind the curtain” is a wall with the mailboxes ripped out! Will USPS continue delivery during repairs? A little time will tell. But I get mostly junk mail anyway…don’t we all?
Right here in my building. Apparently, workers doing a makeover in the lobby also involves sporadic non-emergency shrieking of our emergency alarm system. Good times! (Ignore the shoddy condition of my doorway, please, I’ll be forever grateful.)
Re: WHOA!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 2, 2023 at 2:38 PM
> This looks delectable–will finish reading tomorrow!
It IS delectable, especially with a Rudi’s muffin on the side!
Re: WHOA!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 2, 2023 at 7:21 PM
> Interesting to watch things unfold on the list the last few days re: the death of Durby Millas, who ran the health food store in where I get my Rudi’s muffins. At first, it was all praise and fondness, until one of his daughters weighed in with stories of sexual abuse and neglect. Then, everyone either went silent or took sides. Ladye Birdsong chimed in, sounding like one of Trump’s lawyers cross-examining E. Jean Carroll: “Why didn’t you come forward years ago?” and such.
Due to the busy-ness of writing my tales, my list digests have piled up over five days. I’ll be catching up this evening. There’s a reason I call her “Ladye Turdsong.” Sorry your beloved Rudi’s muffins got caught in the crossfire!
– Zeke K-Holmes
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