Baked Alaskan

May 31, 2016

Two Facebook conversations that occurred in late May 2016, covering two issues: sexual minority rights and the impoverished disabled. Names have been changed to protect me from Cornholio revenge.

Dialog #1: in which Mr. Arcauld, a gay Alaskan retiree, posted a video of some historic event that occurred several decades earlier. What that event was, I forget, but it’s not important to the context herein.

Zeke Krahlin: Historical moments can take on new, and even astounding, insights upon retrospect. I intend to keep that in mind while starving to death for the crime of being gay in a FEMA relocation camp.

Manny Arcauld: Get off the pity pot.

Zeke Krahlin: I’m too poor to even have a pity pot to piss in. Count your blessings that you’re not. In fact, I’m sure you’ve created some stunning stained glass pieces to embellish them…and sold them for a tidy profit.

Manny Arcauld: Sorry you’re so bitter.

Zeke Krahlin: I’m sorry you’re so humorless. Interpreting what is really just a joke (“black humor” in my case), as bitterness, says more about the critic, than the jester. I am definitely an anomaly here on FB, since most poor folks can’t afford to even participate online. And it does make a lot of people here very uncomfortable. Should I apologize for that? BTW, do you have any custom made pity pots on sale, right now…and do you take food stamps?

Zeke Krahlin: As a matter of fact, Manny, considering that I’ve been on Soc. Sec. Disability for most of my life, with inferior health care even during the best of times, and now that expanded Medicaid has arrived in CA, Medi-Cal wants to charge me a whopping $518 monthly share of cost (meaning I can’t afford /any/ health care whatsoever, my teeth are now falling out and I’m slowly going blind, and whatever else happens to me such as cancer, stroke, heart attack, etc., I must endure as if this were the 19th century)…I think I’m doing damned fantastic, what with keeping a robust sense of humor and all! And still writing incredible tales, many of them quite funny and dedicated to lightening the hearts of troubled LGBT’s around the world who shall /never/ taste of the comforts and luxuries you seem to take for granted, nor even what limited comforts I still have before the inevitable occurs: homelessness.

In fact, every gay person on the planet should celebrate my existence, for all the sacrifices I have made over several decades (a large part of which are my tales, poems and essays freely distributed across the planet), while you and other privileged queers suck on the teat of prosperity with little thought of your less fortunate gay brothers. I know you’re not a Log Cabin Republican, but you do seem to harbor some rather elitist and RW notions, as most recently displayed by your snarky remarks back to me, herein. So I say “shame on you” for not even lifting a single dollar to buy my book or broadcast my excellent activist writings to others. What have /you/ got to lose, my friend? Regardless of the /many/ gay people who mock me, put me down, and gossip ugly things about me, I continue to press forward with my tales and online and street activism for as long as I am capable. And you shall continue posting pics of your delectable feasts here and there across the Alaskan frontier, growing more and more plump along the way. And, eventually, we shall both die…one before the other, though I don’t know who’ll be first. Most likely myself, seeing as I don’t see /how/ I will possibly live more than two or three years from now, with virtually no preventative care whatsoever.

Regardless, one thing I’m certainly /not/ is “bitter.” And I resent your forcing such a notion about yours truly. I nonetheless remain an optimistic person, mostly happy. Obviously, most FB denizens are reasonably affluent, and would rather have poor folks like me stay outta this venue, or at least “stfu.” (One of my callings as an activist is, of course, to be a thorn in the side of those who are comfortable in their middle class bubble…in particular, those spoiled brats in our own LGBT family.) I don’t know many people could do that, under my ridiculously difficult circumstances. Instead of making false accusations about me, don’t you think it would reflect much better on your own nature, to congratulate my efforts under such duress? This is why I avoided seeing you when you visited San Francisco, as I sensed your snobbish elitism, which company I prefer to avoid. Hard enough to do in this uber affluent city, w/o another swooping down into my neighborhood to sip a little nectar before returning home once more. (You are like a little kid still trying to impress his mommy at what a success he’s turned out to be…only you project this to everyone around you now, every chance you get…like they are maternal surrogates.) Perhaps you are drunk right now, and will regret what you’ve posted by tomorrow morn. Whatever. If anyone deserves pity, it is you. (Oh yeah, and thanks for providing me with a perfect opportunity to vent…from which I gained tremendous satisfaction.)

Dialog #2: in which Mr. Arcauld posted a video of an armless young lady getting into her car, about to whiz away with her left knee guiding the steering wheel. Caption: “If your life is hard, watch this video!”

Zeke Krahlin: Only those with financial resources can benefit from prosthetics and other devices that make their disabled lives livable. Many such devices and therapeutic services needed can only be accessed by the affluent…either directly via their own bank account, or (more likely) via wealthy family and generous friends. For every one such lucky person, a hundred more go without. Need a high-tech wheelchair to get around? That’ll be $45,000, please. Need those artificial legs that allow you to run and hop like a rabbit, and even win marathons? That’ll be $70,000, please. If you are severely disabled and poor, you’re lucky if you can even afford a plain old wheelchair with an electric motor!

And let’s not even talk about all the high quality, VERY EXPENSIVE therapy so necessary to restore one’s life to a livable, fulfilling one. Months and months, or more likely, years and years of it, perhaps a lifetime. This tragic outcome is very much a variation on the Horatio Alger myth, which claims that no matter how disadvantaged you are, you can make it in America, if only you persist and never give up. Then just to /affirm/ this false (and CRUEL) notion, every now and then the media tosses out an example such as the one depicted above. Yet for every such glorious example, there are hundreds of seriously disabled people way too poor to afford the luxury of quality restoration and therapy. Venues like Facebook are flush with affluent people who love to broadcast just this sort of tripe, to assuage their conscience. Easy enough to do, since it is very rare that any low income person can even afford the luxury of social media participation. I am one such rare exception.

Federal Policy Barriers to Assistive Technology |

Poor Internet for Poor People: Why Facebook’s Amounts to Economic Racism

Rom Proust: Amazing !!!! Thanks for sharing Arcauld.

Zeke Krahlin: Yes, just fabulous, she has all these financial resources at her fingertips to recuperate fully and live a rich life. So wonderful that she is not one of the many poor with severe handicaps who do /not/ have the benefit of these amenities. What an inspiration, my mind is boggled.


Zeke Krahlin Absolutely! Now if only our crude society can bring the very same, expensive therapy, quality medical care, prosthetics, accommodating transportation (such as a car adapted to their special needs) and medical/social support group to the poor who also suffer severe disabilities. Shocking, I know, to think that the low income are even /more/ vulnerable to debilitating disease and accidents, than even the unfortunate rich (or at least comfortably well-off). I know, life is not fair…and a lot /less/ fair to the poor. Unbelievable, eh? The only successful and inspiring stories I come across, are from those whose trials occur within an affluent environment.

I know many people living on the streets with AIDS, cancer, blindness, brain damage, missing limbs, etc. Here in decadently wealthy San Francisco! Some with rickety old wheelchairs, crutches or jalopies…while privileged IT workers whiz by on their way to or from work, or to or from whatever nighttime pleasures they pursue (maybe an opera, 5-star restaurant, the theater or a Swedish massage date). Totally oblivious to the outlandish suffering of the disadvantaged scattered about the streets and lavish neighborhoods. (But not /too/ lavish, as the uber-rich districts make sure /those/ types never have access to their turf, with a little help from the police and Mayor Ed Lee.) I wish such a boon of quality assistance for them, these straggling souls with no roof over their drooping, sad heads…and for myself, as well. Though my head isn’t drooping yet; and through some sort of miracle I still have a roof over it, albeit just a dumpy SRO.

Annie Bliss Moore: Zeke Krahlin I AGREE.

Zeke Krahlin: Thank you. Always good to know there /are/ some others on FB with a heart, who /do/ care about the poor, who remain invisible anywhere on the Internet. And who suffer disabilities as serious as the woman shown above, and even worse…and who can /not/ avail themselves of all the quality care and devices that she is so lucky to have. Just because of one single thing: money.

Hope Springs Infernal

November 28, 2015


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My Halloween Epiphany

October 9, 2015


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Declaration of Dignity

August 6, 2015

I have lived on a very low income for most of my life, since leaving my family on Long Island in 1967. Through the late 60’s and into the next decade, I benefitted from free, quality health and dental care. Which of course I took for granted as a sort of birthright for every American. Then came the 80’s and Reaganomics. Until now, 2015, the social fabric that once had honored the poor, has been mostly eradicated. The final kibosh being Obamacare, which has betrayed the poorest among us.

For while I remain a blue-state resident here in California, and am regarded (at least on paper) as a fully-covered recipient of health care via Medicare and Medi-Cal, I am actually stripped of any and all medical services, due to Medi-Cal’s atrociously high share of cost. Which is, for example, $500 per month on a Social Security monthly income of $1,100. This means, of course, many of us receiving Medi-Cal can not even afford to see a doctor for preventative care, let alone emergency and maintenance.

Medi-Cal is California’s version of Medicaid. I do not think that Medicaid in other states is much better…and probably much worse. President Obama’s mistake was to leave management (and even acceptance or rejection) of Medicaid up to each state. But is this truly an error, or intentional persecution of the poor in a grand plan to kill off all so-called “nonproductive” citizens?

I am not a Republican, nor ever will be. Yet this betrayal reflected in the Affordable Care Act, leaves a cold chill up my spine. At 65 years of age, I doubt that I will survive much longer than three years, without any sort of health care. But if I do, I will likely be blind and homeless by then. Yet not even the alternative media cares to cover this urgent topic…and obviously our government and mainstream press have swept it under the carpet.

How can one be truly proud to be an American under such diabolical circumstances? While the Democratic Party pats itself on the back over what a (so-called) miraculous success are Medicare and Medicaid, millions shall soon perish, including myself, that Barack Obama gain glory.

I walk the streets of San Francisco, passing by businesses that offer therapeutic massage, quality health clinics, dental services, sports medicine, psychological therapy, acupuncture, quality herbal extracts, organic health food, and vitamin supplements. You’d think we live in a cornucopia of maximum health for all residents, yet all of these services are well beyond my economic reach.

And that’s just the half of it. Being low income also means no real friendships or social circles, that make life enjoyable rather than merely survivable. Most of my friends, as a consequence, are poorer than myself, usually homeless. They are good people–very good people–and accept their lot in life with far more grace than I do my own. I do not want them to be without me; I do not want to die before my time. Yet that is the likely outcome.

Advertisements on television, radio, billboards and the Internet reach out to the financially comfortable, as if we all were blessed with expendable income. We–the poor, the disenfranchised, the homeless–are made invisible while all around us are the socially privileged going about their daily routine wrapped in a blanket of affluence. For we outcasts live in another world: a world of misery, illness, hardship, tragedy and loneliness.

Why can’t I taste the fruits of organic industry, or enjoy the comfort of a nice apartment with friends and family, celebrating our good lives? Why can’t I have beloved comrades who’ll always be here for me, rather than their passing through and struggling to survive that excludes forming long-term bonds? Why must those I love perish or disappear before I even have a chance to know them very well?

So this is my Declaration of Dignity, for which I will stand by unto my final breath. I have nothing to lose at this point, thus am ready to lay my life on the line for what I know is just…even unto war and revolution. I number among the Davids of society’s Goliath.


See also my “New Declaration of Independence,” released in 1997.


July 29, 2015

Date: Tue, 28 Jul 2015 11:36:21
How I Got Larkin Excommunicated from Toad Hall
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Andromedan Acolytes & Various Mud Moles

This happened 8-9 days ago. It was a sunny evening with a slight breeze that made the leaves of those skinny urban trees flicker. Larkin was calling to me via telepathic command:

“Step out, Zeke, and find out where I am right now!”

The first bar I walked by was Twin Peaks Tavern, but he wasn’t there. So I veered east towards Hartford and Castro, only to discover he wasn’t at Moby Dick, either. Turning 180 degrees around, I trotted across Castro and almost to Collingwood Street. Where I paused before Toad Hall, a place that he never frequents because it lacks a pool table, nor do any of his friends go there as far as I know. I didn’t see him through the plate glass, but it was highly reflective, so I thought perhaps I should enter and look around. I did, but no Larkin.

“Hold on a minute,” I paused just before the exit, “Irene works the patio. Maybe she’s there; it would be nice to say hi.”

Irene /has/ read my book, and raves about it all the time. Not that I ever see her any more, since Larkin got me kicked out of all the bars in The Castro…but still, she’s more of a friend than most. So I proceeded towards the open-air terrace where smoking is allowed (both pot and tobacco), and glanced towards the mini-bar where I spotted not only Irene, but Larkin!

My Scandalous Sauropod was leaning forward upon the counter, two empty glasses at hand. I ran up to him and positioned myself immediately to his right. He behaved as if he didn’t notice me, in spite of my standing beside him at a very close range of no more than five inches. So I looked up at that sterling mug and demanded:

“Buy me a drink, you filthy kunt!”

[ Glankulous Reader: at this point you should learn that my blasphemous request has a history. For it was back in 2007 that I first bought Larkin a drink. Many months before then, he had been awesomely kind and attentive towards me, that I grew so bold as to speak to him that day with my pre-scripted appeal. I stormed into the Hole in the Wall Saloon where we first met, saw him seated at the front of the bar and hollered:

“May I have the superlative honor of buying you a happy meal, you filthy kunt?”

To which he simply replied with a blase shrug: “Okay.”

A happy meal, by the way, is a Budweiser with a shot of whiskey on the side. Something which Larkin taught This Pathetic Neophyte of Alcoholic Subculture some weeks prior. ]

Larkin looked upon me with disdain, then spoke these insulting words to Irene: “That’s my stalker, I gotta go now.”

Thus he departed in haste, leaving me once more The Scapegoated Ishmael, for others to deride if they so wish. I looked back at Irene to declare:

“Oh, we’re just roleplaying, don’t mind him,” and pointed to my cardboard sign I happened to be wearing, that said, “I am not Larkin’s stalker, I’m his boyfriend.”

Irene gave me a friendly wink (though perhaps it was a wish to not get involved), and I swiftly departed to the front of Toad Hall. Where I stood behind a post almost ten feet from Larkin’s tall presence. He didn’t see me at first, but when he craned his neck about the room, of course I became the target of his abuse:

“Get the hell outta here, Zeke!” he ordered. But I calmly stood my ground and replied:

“You summoned me to find out where you are. I had no idea you’d be here!”

“No I did not,” he snarked. So I rebounded:

“If you have a problem with my being here, go talk to the bartender.”

So he turned away and approached the nearest barkeep. During which time I whisked myself outside Toad Hall, and stood lingering on the sidewalk in front. A strategy that would make Larkin look foolish as he requested from the employee that he kick someone out who wasn’t really there!

Some minutes later My Dimwitted Dimetrodon peered through the front door to scream at me: “Don’t ever come back!”

But as he did so, two gents passed through the doorway, which timing made it look like he was yelling at them.

Larkin apologized: “Ohhhh, I don’t mean you guys! Sorry to give you that impression.”

They walked away in a huff, while one of Toad Hall’s employees stepped up to Larkin and told him to leave. Larkin shrugged in shame, and departed without objection.

“Ha, ha, you got yourself 86’d,” I gloated with great joy. Needless to say, I followed him for a few blocks from across the street, razzing him, and in other ways being a thorn in his adorably sexy side. Shouting at him two or three times:

“Buy me a drink, you filthy kunt!”

He turned up Diamond Street without looking back (I guess because he figured to lose me, but he did not). Some doors up he stopped to pet a neighbor’s little doggie that started yapping at him without cease. The lady apologized, but Larkin wished her a nice day and said “It’s all good!” before continuing his stride uphill, where I followed quietly from across the way. Then I bellowed:

“It’s all good, right Larkin?”

He was stunned and annoyed to discover I was still nearby:

“Go away! Get outta here! Go home!”

Seeing as I greatly resent spending every evening alone in my cruddy SRO while he galavants from one bar to another, playing pool, commiserating happily with friends and strangers alike, not to mention his softball and bowling sprees…I simply reemphasized that sterling truth he so blithely stated just moments ago:

“But it’s all good, Larkin, it’s all good!”

My Miscreant Mesosaur disappeared mid-block up Diamond Street, into the Eureka Valley Playground, and I did not follow. Instead, I ran back up 18th in an attempt to intercept him. But he was nowhere to be found, so I wandered off back home, sad and elated at the same time.


So the next day I mailed the following postcard to Larkin, knowing how much he’d enjoy:

Anger Pours Forth

July 21, 2015

Date: Sun, 12 Jul 2015 14:40:49
Re: Please read!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

On Sun, Jul 12, 2015 at 1:49 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ That’s a marvelous piece. Zelda and the bracelet are a real grace note. }}

Yes, my life is a living O’Henry tale…with a little Alfred E. Neuman
tossed into the mix.

{{ What is making you go blind??? }}

Old age and lack of medical care. Uncle Sam is a bastard, and I will
have my revenge. Soon. Very soon.

– Zeke

Date: Sun, 12 Jul 2015 15:21:51
Re: Please read!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

On Sun, Jul 12, 2015 at 3:14 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Right, but what I mean is aside from age do you have some progressive eye disease, like cataracts or glaucoma?? }}

In my emails I sometimes mentioned how I had to get surgery for a
probably-detaching retina. I also have cataracts, and the ones in my
left eye are starting to impair my vision. My mother came down with
macular degeneration around my age…so that’s another thing.

– Zeke

Date: Sun, 12 Jul 2015 16:01:21
Re: Please read!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

On Sun, Jul 12, 2015 at 3:27 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ So in other words, medically treatable but for this crappy evil system… }}

Of course. I just heard on NPR this morning, of elderly and poor in
Florida who are not eligible for any medical care, not even Medicaid.
But what got me, is the black lady interviewed is too sweet natured,
not the least bit angry about it. SHE SHOULD BE ENRAGED! I know I am.
She’s just waiting to be with Jebus.

But I’m completely in control. And I shall /never/ need a doctor or
any sort of health care ever again. My eyes will heal all on their
own, and so on through my entire body /and/ mind. I’m just milking
this present (and temporary) situation for all it’s worth…as an

So, not to worry, Morticia. Larkin has my back. My Guardian Dragon of
Great Beauty. My homeless friends keep telling me I’m gonna be
perfectly fine, nothing to worry about. Exactly what I’ve been telling
them for /years/. Now all the love is coming back to me in spades. In
fact, I just told my newest street pal, Gregory, who was worried about
his AIDS treatment:

“Know what the real killer is, Greg?”

“No, what is the real killer?” he replied.


He just smiled and smiled all day, after that.

Oh, yeah, I got Larkin kicked out of a bar two nights ago, through
clever skulduggery. It was hilarious. Must get around to putting this
on “paper” soon.

– Zeke

PS: My “revenge” towards our gov’t has nothing to do with violence, I
assure you. And everything to do with online data manipulation. I have
an army of brilliant hackers setting things up right now. All my email
communique is totally secure from prying eyes (including our exchanges), thanks to these uber-smart allies.


Date: Mon, 13 Jul 2015 15:05:10
The Anger Pours Forth!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

Daily Kos’s optimistic article about how Obamacare is wildly
successful has triggered a small avalanche of outrage. Search for
“krahlin” and you’ll find my own comments interspersed among other
outraged posters.

On another note: I found my missing booty bracelet! It was tucked away in a bottom drawer of Desk #1. God only knows why. Must’ve been a tad

– Zeke

Date: Tue, 14 Jul 2015 11:22:51
Good News!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney


Listening to Bernie Sanders’ speech on the radio yesterday, he declared that many people who are insured must pay high fees which they cannot afford. So he /knows/ my situation, and that of many others on Medicaid. I am most impressed. Maybe he read my message of outrage that I posted to his Facebook wall.


On another note: I think that my intentional typos in the final
paragraphs of “Booty”–that emphasized my increasing sight
impairment–are directly inspired by that incredible sci-fi short
story, “Flowers for Algernon.” A synopsis of which you may read here:

Date: Tue, 14 Jul 2015 12:12:26
These two articles affirm my claim of ACA hurting the poor.
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Sean Harrison

Millions Are Now Realizing They’re Too Poor For Obamacare

Bernie Sanders: Obamacare is a good Republican program

Date: Tue, 14 Jul 2015 14:16:58
Re: Errata
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

On Tue, Jul 14, 2015 at 1:30 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Ah, yes. I know that story well. So you’ll go fully blind, then slowly get your vision back. }}

OMG no, not that extreme! That piece was, in part, a memoriam to
“Flowers for Algernon,” and nothing more. (Interesting though that
only in hindsight did I realize this.) No way do I plan to take it any

– Zeke

Date: Tue, 14 Jul 2015 14:23:11
Re: Errata
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

On Tue, Jul 14, 2015 at 2:19 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Kidding, kidding. }}

Funnier than a barrel of monkeys on Adderall with vibrating dildos.

– Zeke

Date: Fri, 17 Jul 2015 10:43:02
I’m gonna rock the world soon!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Carlyle Lambourne

Ally Carlyle:

Please read my latest blog entry entitled “Birthday Magic 1.” Scheduled to be released to the public on the morrow.

Two reasons I beg this request, are because of the miraculous happenings in my life that have recently taken over; hardly anyone else shares my enthusiastic revelations. Plus:

In the event that my whistle blowing activism may land me in prison–or even have me disappeared by gov’t intrigue–I need at least /three/ witnesses towards my courageous demise. But I’m sitting pretty, for I have 17, including yourself: Larkin Kelsey (of course), Eleanor Cooney (from Mendocino), John Havrilchak (from Philadelphia), Laundromat Lady Zelda (around the corner from my hovel), Barbara (employee at CVS Pharmacy just a half block away), my brother Vincent Catalano Jr. (from Massapequa, Long Island), Sally Leiser (mother of a homeless man, Mike; she lives somewhere in Michigan) my illustrator Sidni Rohan (from Levittown, PA) and my street pals Kurt, Mikey, Hollywood, Gregory, Darrin, Zach, Cameron, and Jerry. They will each receive a letter similar to the one I am now posting to you.

I will of course keep Larkin informed of my situation as best I can. By snail-mailing him a copy of this email to you, for one. He is both my protector and saviour.

So I should be going into hiding soon, via the blueprint laid out by my army: The Blue Rose Militia. Contact with you and all other allies will be established through super-secure routes.

I am so greatly loved these days, I cannot be anything but tremendously assured that /many/ brave and lovely men have my back. If I am delusional in all this, so be it. But who on earth can oppose such a marvelous destiny, when revealed this amazing outcome whether by fantasy or real-life drama?

– Zeke


July 12, 2015


If you are underage, or in any way forbidden by your government or religious laws from viewing X-rated subject matter, please do not go there. If, however, you are not restricted by any laws in your geographical location, by all means click on the image above, to read my salty tale.

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