The Next Next Next Next Chapter

March 27, 2021

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 3: Chapter 12]

Subject: IT WILL HAPPEN BEFORE FLACO’S NEXT ESTRUS!!!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
March 25, 2021 10:06 PM

That is the thought-message I got today, an hour or so ago. Referring here to exactly WHEN my Brindlekin Tales will take off and explode across the world. This makes a lot of sense, because it seems unjust at this point to torment me with the idea of yet aNOTHER looming tragedy that will put me between a rock and a hard place aGAIN, with much agony in the mix. Considering all the horrors I’ve ALREADY been through.

And that is what I said in an earlier missive, that SOMEthing must happen to thwart ANY possibility of Deek getting Flaco pregnant. Ergo:

My sudden rise to seemingly impossible success on such a phenomenal level, is just what the doctor ordered to put an abrupt HALT on Deek’s plan to use Flaco so carelessly, like a puppy mill money machine, instead of the darling, sweet brindlekin she is. I would be instantly empowered to rescue BOTH pooches from his clutch…as I’d have COUNTLESS people on my side, some of whom will be both loyal bodyguards AND followers of my every command. Deek will be treated with compassion, regardless, and made to understand WHY such a drastic move was necessary. FOR IT IS NOT JUST THE DOGGIE’S LIVES I’M SAVING, IT’S HIS LIFE AS WELL!

But that is solely on the assumption that he knows not what he does, that he is blinded by a false sense of importance and dark notions beyond his scope of comprehension. THAT action, then, will be a last resort, but if resort it must be, my henchmen WILL be prepared to carry it out posthaste.

Though it is more likely a bodhisattva scheme where Deek plays a rather disturbed human being, that I may step in to become the hero. IOW: IT’S ALL AN ACT PLAYED OUT TO PERFECTION, WHEREBY NEITHER DOG COMES TO HARM, INCLUDING PREGNANCY. In which case, Deek will assure me very soon, with all his heart, I need not worry that such a monstrous tragedy would come to pass…for he will NEVER allow her to be “with pup.” And he’ll do so without my ever having to bring it up..

So, since little doggies go into heat three or four times a year, Flaco should enter that cycle again some time between late April and late May. Therefore, Brindlekin World Renown should skyrocket starting in one of those two months, depending on, and just ahead of, Flaco’s next estrus.

What say you, Wattson? Should I perhaps consult with Our Sterling Advisor On All Things Prescient: NuSctoland Yard’s very own Chief Inspector Extraordinaire Pterry Pterodactyl? BTW, where IS the old bird these days…I haven’t seen her since she laid another clutch of pterrykins, and that was almost four months back! So unlike the feathered gumshoe!

And please, good doctor, not another “probably busy HATCHing another plot” riposte out of your mustachioed crumpet hole, or I’ll tunnel all the way to Cathay in seconds flat, just to distance myself!

Yours in jest and good faith,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin-Holmes, Esq.


Subject: This is pic 3…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
March 26, 2021 1:14 AM

…out of the four shots I took back in October of 2019.

Click here for a larger view.

Notice the sparse color palette again, which I think makes for a more interesting image. Deek’s bright orange windbreaker beside the purple-red velvet bathrobe upon which Lucky rests…two bold colors splashed across the canvas dominate the surrounding hues of black and gray. The contrasting textures between windbreaker and bathrobe are also striking.

The curve of Deek’s arm melding into the curve of Lucky’s body form together a central “S”…like Deek’s yin to Lucky’s yang. Very nice.

– Zeke K-Holmes


Re: [MCN-Announce]- poem
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Announce MCN
Date: March 26, 2021 12:46 PM

On Fri, 19 Mar 2021 15:12:00 -0700 (PDT) Judas Sakoschitz poetically bloviated:

> JESUS THE NAZARENE, KING OF THE JEWS

Yes, we must hold onto the archaic notion of a “king” to lead us by the nose with all our might…like bulls being lead to the arena for gladiatorial slaughter. Ain’t religion grand!

> How can He solve the problem of Himself?

The bigger question is:

How can we solve the problem of you being such a hokey poet yourself, spewing crappy verse after crappy verse like churning out cheap plastic gewgaws from a Chinese factory, for all the world to scarf up and toss into the trash a day or two later?

> Hanging at Golgotha like a common thief?

Right. It’s perfectly fine to literally CRUCIFY a thief, with all that entails of driving spikes through them, and letting them bleed to death in exquisite, slow agony. Even if all they stole was a candy bar, a few dollars or some clothes. By your own sickening proseletyzing, you preach the OPPOSITE of what Jesus taught, who preferred to HANG OUT with “common thieves,” than spend any time with affluent hypocrites like you!

> How does He free Himself?

The bigger question is:

How do we listers free ourselves from your sanctimonious, wooden lyrics that make Laugh-In poet Henry Gibson look like a Pullitzer Prize winner a hundred times over?

> How is He not condemned, condemned?

The bigger question is:

How are YOU not condemned for your hideous stanzas?

> Vibrating in agony,

Vibrating? You mean like some of those beds in cheap motels where you pay a quarter for a mattress massage? (Maybe it’s a dollar these days, it’s been over 40 years for me.) Or those electric chairs built to execute criminals? News flash: they didn’t HAVE electricity back then! Regardless, “vibrating in agony” is an incredibly skanky figure of speech in this context!

> obedient in death,
> He looks up towards His Father,
> As the Beast lowers Itself into the void.

No doubt you MADE a pact with this so-called “Beast” to become a famous poet. Guess what, dude…you’ve been HAD, big time! His trick is to DELUDE you into believing your verses are “magnifique!” But only to yourself, as no one ELSE sees ’em that way, and for good reason. Why, he’ll probably set up a SQUADRON of demons to post you emails to FURTHER enhance the delusion, praising your almighty lyrics to the stratosphere and beyond! In fact, I would NOT be surprised at all, if they magically show up on this announcement list to do just that. Stay tuned!


Who were The Three Stooges?

Re: Check yr FB messages STOP THE PRESSES!!!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: March 26, 2021 2:12 PM

> Who knows? He may have been a prick in other areas of his life (don’t know), but if he loved and helped dogs the way he did, I give him major points…truly, dogs are little Jesuses: they’re the ones who actually die for our sins.

Dogs are probably the MOST important creatures to humans, in the spiritual scheme of things…otherwise, Brindlekin Tales would have never come to life.

STOP THE PRESSES!!!

I just visited with Deek again, across the street…recorded it all, which I will upload later today. However, in going through the results, I was stunned to discover something that I SHOULD have noticed while I was there! It’s what it says on his spare cart (a small rectangular sign with one word on it), and what’s IN the cart itself! If this ain’t a HINT of his bodhisattva nature (and a very strong hint at that), and my speculation that indeed he IS such a being, then I’ll eat my Queerstalker cap! See for yourself; tell me what you think:

Click here for a larger view.

And I’m now ABSOLUTELY SURE he knows I’m filming everything. The video itself, our conversation, is quite funny, BTW.

– Zeke K-Holmes


Re: Check yr FB messages HOLD THE PRESSES!!!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: March 26, 2021 3:34 PM

> Good heavens. It’s Caspar himself, is it not?

Ha-ha. I think it simply represents a spirit, a ghost, probably an angel, because “Angel” is on the cart’s label. DEEK IS INDEED CREATING TALES FOR ME! And this most recent clue is so potent, as to indicate I’m at the home stretch, and when I bust through that ribbon at the end of the marathon, all Brindlekin hell will break loose! JUST AS I SURMISED ALL ALONG!

Two more observations about this latest visit:

A houseless person strolled up (don’t know his name), pet the dogs and talked nicely to them, while I was present. So much for Deek’s gossiping to others on the street about how I “stole” his pups! For if he did, and they now see us getting along so well (especially my bringing Flaco & Lucky home with me under his approving gaze), their eyes are now open. But I don’t think that’s the case at all. I COULD blame it on the Bossa Nova, but if I do, it’s bodhisattvas that dance! Here’s the Annette Funicello version (the perfect cure for anyone’s insomnia). And here’s a pic of him departing, angel in tow:

Click here for a larger view.

Notice that the angel (or ghost) is tightly bound in black…so something ELSE is going on there. Maybe an S&M reference? Which is NOT my thing, but it IS funny, for how the HECK does someone strap down a ghost when they can walk through walls? But as for an angel…that just might be a Pegasus of a different color!

Well, the video is now online. It’s only 9 minutes, and well worth the gander, Wattson!


Re: poem
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: March 26, 2021 4:58 PM

> You’re so MEAN! (Hee, hee)

It’s now in my upcoming chapter as well! I renamed him Judas Sakoschitz. Imagine his shock somewhen down the line, when he learns of its publication in Brindlekin Tales. Not to mention all those OTHER MCN creeps I’ve featured in TWO chapters. You heard me right: TWO. Those would be Chapter 14: “Checkmate, Mr. Kuzlowski” in Book 1, and Chapter 6: “zEEK’S PUPPY GRIFT” in Book 2. I just MIGHT include another such chapter in Book 3…depending on how things roll for the rest of my tales.

I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY OWN SHIPWRECK!

– Zeke K-Holmes


Re: Can you send to me my last email to you?
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Carlyle Lambourne
Date: March 26, 2021 6:35 PM

Excellent, thank you! I’ve just spliced it in to chapter 9 (book 3), which is already published to my blog. You’ll be glad to know that my relationship with Deek has vastly improved, and things should be running on an even keel from today forward. Great news for the pups, I should say. This will be laid out in the upcoming chapter, which will be #12 of book 3. This is all JUST AS I PREDICTED in previous chapters. Things are now moving VERY FAST, and mostly in my favor. I can barely keep up with my writing and video creation, even though all I’m doing is recording what’s happening in my life these days. Which is extraordinary, to say the least.

The Bodhisattva Revelations are coming in thick and furious, and the Saurian Sorcerers’ soaring flying saucers are on the “march” towards planet earth, which is good because it’s almost April. Next month should be a doozy for the world as we know it. And I, for one, welcome our new Reptilian Overlords! Let the dinosaurs rule once more…they did a GREAT job last time around: look how long they lasted! More good news:

Their Green Beret Special Velociraptor Forces shall avenge all LGBTs like a boss!

– Ezekiel


Re: [MCN-Announce]- CHRISTIAN or POLITICIAN
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Announce MCN
Date: March 26, 2021 9:07 PM

On 2021-03-27 02:40, Xian Pantywaist wrote:

> Zeke, I have read some and parts of many of your posts on our local listserve. You are a smart man and I believe you are reaching out to the world through the internet for the truth. So, I respond, just once to your reaching out.

Here it comes: more Christian dogma being proselytized from the announce list, only THIS time directly TO me via private email! Just goes to show how deluded they are. Yes, I am a smart man, and definitely smarter than you! FYI, I am NOT “reaching out for the truth,” as I alREADY know the truth, and Jebus ain’t part of it. Why on earth would you think someone would join a rinky-dink, small town mailing list to find the truth? That’s like sitting around the cracker barrel, hoping all the answers to life will be found therein!

Oh, I get it, you don’t believe that at all…you just came up with some sort of opening parry before dumping your ancient Roman paganism doo-doo on my lawn. ‘Cause that’s all “christianity” is: a cobbling together of EARLIER belief systems that were equally untrue, by the Roman Empire to assuage its massive populace and better control them!

> Jesus did come to live among men, on the earth. He is the son of God, born of the virgin Mary, by the Holy Spirit. (That is what faith is) He did come to earth, as a man, to show us God’s love for us and live a perfect life and then take on all the sins of man, die as a sacrifice for all who would believe in Him, that our sins would be forgiven and we would receive eternal life. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him, should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.” John 3: 16-17.

Yadda yadda yadda. You Jebus freaks are all alike: sanctimonious and full of BS. If you read the bible for yourself, you’ll learn that Our Most Benevolent Creator is actually a FEATHERED DINOSAUR…with wings. From Psalm 91:4:

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.”

By that description, you might ask yourself: “Is he some kind of super-large BIRD?”

No, just think about it. Some dinosaurs had feathers, too…and wings for soaring. At least, some of their closer relatives on the Tree of Life did, like pteranodons…and some of them were HUGE. Ergo:

GOD IS A GINORMOUS, WINGED AND FEATHERED DINOSAUR! A FLUFFY SERPENT, LIKE THE AZTEC “QUETZALCOATL!”

All his angels are ALSO dinosaurs, of one sort or another, whose home base is a distant star cluster circling around the dog star Sirius. They traversed the universe over billions upon billions of years, planting seeds of life on one planet here, one planet there, and so on. And they will soon return to OUR planet, to establish an intergalactic base, through which they will clean up this mess we are living in, and transform earth into a utopia for dogs! And any human being who truly loves them. Need I say this will leave many people out of the Kingdom of Canine Paradise? IOW:

GOD IS GOING TO JUDGE MAN BY ONE MEASURE ALONE…AND THAT IS HOW WE TREAT OUR LOVELY CANINE SPECIES. Not very well I’d say, for the most part. THEY STILL FUKKIN EAT DOGS IN PARTS OF ASIA AND AFRICA!

Dogs are the only species that would lay down their lives for mankind, and they do that over and over and over again, for one person or another somewhere on this planet, EACH AND EVERY DAY. IOW:

DOGS ARE LITTLE JESUSES!

And that is a BIG part of what my brindlekin tales are all about! Beautiful stories within stories, all of which reveal the divine nature of Canis familiaris, and their role in the universal scheme of things. And WITH the abundant profits I shall soon receive from my tales, I will open the world’s First Church of Pooch, with dog biscuits instead of communion wafers! But that’s just for starters, as I will achieve SO much more over the next five years. All of which plans have been written down in My Sacred Brindlekin Text.

> Jesus wasn’t a Christian, He was Jesus, the Christ and we who believe that He was and is and is to come are the Christians (little Christs) as imperfect as our lives are we are hoping to live a life that points to Him.

What a ridiculously simplistic mindset you live by! There IS still hope, however, just adopt a dog or two, and treat them with nothing but kindness, love and respect. For theirs is the way, the light and the truth…as writ by St. Fido’s Revelations of the End Days.

> I would have lost hope unless I believed I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Psalm 27:13

You would’ve lost hope because you were already BRAINWASHED to believe that Christianity is THE way, the ONLY way, and no other. You are NOT yourself, you are SOMEONE ELSE living in your shell of a body…who is the creation of madmen, preachers who spew out this Jebus drivel day in, day out, and 24/7. Thus, only those who learn to THINK FOR THEMSELVES could ever HOPE to be released from this tar baby of insanity and lies.

It is far better to think for yourself, and just BE yourself, rather than glom onto a phony and DANGEROUS belief system, as so many others have…and which threatens to destroy this planet, as a result. But for the merciful intervention by the Saurians of Sirius, that horrid outcome would certainly come to pass! WHEN will they arrive, you might ask?

SOME TIME IN APRIL THIS YEAR, I GIVE YOU MY WORD! AND THAT’S VERY, VERY CLOSE FROM NOW!

All is revealed in my Brindlekin Tales (see sig below), but at this point you won’t have the TIME to catch up before they land with their dog-faced star ships! The best solution for YOUR simple-minded kind is to adopt a pup or two, and just try to figure out how to be yourself, as this clever painting advises:

Click here for a larger view.

Re: [MCN-Announce]- Deek’s Silly Rants (1 of 2)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Announce MCN
Date: March 26, 2021 9:32 PM

On 2021-03-27 02:46, Lisa Harwood wrote:

> Zeke: I read an item in the S.F. Chron last week indicating the IRS has set up (or will be setting up) an office in every major city to service folks who live on the street and have little if any ID, so that they too have access to the stimulus money by way of debit cards made out in their name.

Any money from the stimulus check is immediately routed back to the gov’t of Louisiana for his child support payments. I registered him with the IRS for the first stimulus check, filled out all the forms online, etc. A church nearby allows the homeless to use their address for such things. So, after applying for his money, we got a letter around four months later from Louisiana, stating it’s all been passed on to his ex. That’s how we found out about that surprise twist.

> On TV this evening there was a report that most seniors who receive a monthly SS deposit have NOT received their stimulus money because of a deliberate slowdown on the part of the Trump left-over running the Bureau of Social Security.

Oh, I see. I’m sure Deek WON’T be glad to hear THAT little factoid!

> Before you hand over half your check, hopefully you can find out how Deek can get a full one of his own.

I don’t mind at all giving him half my stimulus…I have no NEED for all that moolah! If it were not given to him, I’d be donating it to one charity or another. So it’s all good, and thanks for your kind concern, Lisa!

> Nice video.

Thanks! I had fun filming the scene. Did you catch the word “Angel” on his little cart that contained a rag doll all in white, and bound in black straps? I don’t know what’s up with that, but I find it amusing as well as mysterious.

> To freshen the conversation between the two of you, I suggest you ask Deek when and where and by whom he is next going to get his hair braided. Make sure you let him know one of your viewers commented how good he looks in braids so he hears something nice about himself.

Ha-ha! I don’t dare pay him that compliment, as he doesn’t realize he’s being filmed. My video camera is built into a pair of glasses.

– Zeke

P.S.: Deek needs to get all past debts and obligations straightened out, and I am confident he will do just that, in a little more time as his life improves…which it is.


Re: [MCN-Announce]- Deek’s Silly Rants (1 of 2)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Lisa Harwood
Date: March 27, 2021 2:11 PM

> Wow! I didn’t know those video cameras existed and were so inexpensive. You mean you never use your cell phone, even in the video you take in your room?

Yep, the images and videos are very good quality. I did NOT use my smartphone for any of those videos.

> It’s possible the Angel bumper sticker is left-over from a previous borrower of the shopping cart.

You need to read the Brindlekin Tales to get a better understanding of my relationship with Deek, and the underlying spiritual implications. They’re just astounding. Deek is VERY PARTICULAR about things he carries around, and any words that may be on them. If the word “angel” were already there, I’m sure that charmed him. Same thing if he FOUND a tag with that word on it…he would’ve placed it somewhere prominent. One way or another, he obviously wants to project it to the world.

> though in one of the recent video verite’s he asks you whether you hear from the “spirits”—the ones he has heard from. Having and holding the rag doll may be a soothing mechanism.

As I said, you need to read the tales before you can do any serious speculation. Sometimes he keeps an object that he finds particularly humorous, or nostalgic. Though, if you read my tales, you’ll understand PERFECTLY the bodhisattva aspect of all this, and Deek’s probable role in it that is MUCH more than it seems on the surface. My tales delve into this, in fascinating detail. I doubt very much he uses that or any doll to soothe him. He’s already got his doggies.

> He doesn’t seem to have any tactile relationship with Flaco and Lucky.

Not right there in the video, no. The pups are incredibly stable emotionally, and always of good cheer. So Deek must be doing SOMEthing right, eh? Let me put it this way:

When he’s not visiting with me and has the pups, he’s VERY affectionate with them, including hugs, kisses, etc. It’s when he appears before me, that he behaves differently, in such a way as to make me think he’s NOT caring for them anywhere near enough. Why this is so, is explained in my tales. The videos are an integral part of my stories, as my Brindlekin Trilogy is a multimedia work of art. If you just watch the videos alone, you have scant idea of the incredible ramifications implied, and even revealed, in those little movies. They are more profound than you think!

– Zeke


Learning to Love Lizards

August 6, 2016

Darshana posts on Facebook:

I am learning to love myself more and more everyday. I try to spend more time in nature to realize how much beauty, earth and life has to offer. I try to not wear much make up all the time, it helps seeing natural beauty we all have. The more you learn to love yourself the more you realize how much this life is so beautiful.
Think positive.
Believe positive.
Live positive.


Zeke responds:

Darshana: For you to reach out like this (to yourself and to others) is the mark of an enlightened soul. I have concluded that all these apparently “imminent” disasters and horror threats are orchestrated by higher forces. Some western belief systems call them “angels” or “fairies,” Buddhists call them “boddhisatvas,” and some UFO conspiracy theorists call them “reptilians” (as I do, though from a benevolent interpretation, as well as humorous). For if these beings are not humorous, then I don’t know what humor is.

Everything terrible is all gonna happen at once: global warming, earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, nuclear catastrophes, carbon dioxide and methane air, Islamic jihads, Christian domestic terrorism, poisoned municipal water, Zika virus, super bugs, anti-gay holocaust, mass shooting of blacks, unaffordable health care for all, burgeoning homelessness, collapse of western society, return of Planet X (also called “Wormwood,” “Nibiru,” etc.), zombie apocalypse, and last but not least: Donald Trump for President.

GIMME A BREAK ALREADY!

All these bogeymen rising to the surface from our collective fears actually serve a most compassionate cause: to shake us to our very marrow in order to release our deepest desire to be of good will and do whatever we can to reach out to our neighbors across the globe, with an abundance of joy and good humor.

Remember how a dad or mom would play with their little kid in a tent made of blankets? The parent would stand outside while the child remains securely hidden within, and tickle one side of the tent:

“Boo! The bogeyman’s gonna getcha! Boo!”

The kid would peep out and laugh in ecstatic thrill, then return to hide, this time on the other side of the tent. The parent would then go to /that/ side, to repeat the playful threat…thus the game would continue until one or the other finally gives up for whatever reason.

In the same manner do these reptilians play with us, though on a much grander scale (i.e. “global”). For we are as children to them. Though not in any sort of condescending way. We are their BELOVED children, about to be introduced to The Greater Realm of Reality that is intergalactic in scope, and bursting with countless civilizations, all of whom are benevolent to the max. (With all these incredible star ships and space colonies just oozing with flora and fauna like some ginormous version of The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, or The Original Garden of Eden…but with the most advanced, super quantum technology you can never imagine thrown into the mix.)

And it looks like all this political instability brouhaha is finally getting through to a rapidly increasing number of humans. Those of us who are the First Wave ride the crest like Maui surfers, and see the Great Illusion behind us from an ever increasing distance, while the Great Awakening looms before us on The Shimmering Shores of Metaphysical Utopia.

And in being so privileged with this newly found awareness, we can have TONS OF FUN playing mischief on all those fools yet to wake up. Some of us who now hold positions of power in politics, science, broadcast media, religion, and Goddess only knows what else.

THE POTENTIAL FOR INTERCONTINENTAL MISCHIEF BOGGLES THE MIND!

Let us not lose this brief window of opportunity to fuk with the heads of all those who’ve been fukking with ours for our entire, distraught ridden lives.

ONE GOOD JOKE DESERVES ANOTHER!

I will /not/ offer any suggestions as to exactly /what/ kind of mischief we should dump upon their sorry souls. For that is a big part of the fun about to commence: leaving it to each one of us to come up with our own bad-ass conjury. (For one of the Rules of This Birth-of-Consciousness Game is that we each get only /one/ plot to unravel upon the world stage.) Nonetheless, I’m sure each will be a hoot, a really, really /big/ hoot.

No one religion or belief system can claim to own this, for it is simply nature doing its thing in the right place, at the right time. THIS IS EVOLUTION of the most wonderful sort. Yes, it /is/ awesome, but also something the Angel of Destiny planned all along…thus quite normal in The Universal Scheme of Things.

I don’t think I can top what I’ve just declared in the preceding paragraphs, any time for the rest of this fine day. So I think that, perhaps, I ought to withhold further comments or uploads to Facebook or other social media, simply to honor the scintillating insanity of my words herein.

Sinqueerly yours,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin
Jehovah’s /very/ Queer Witness

P.S.: Don’t forget to write me in come November 8th.

Really! Click on the dragon head to cast your vote.


What Is The Point?

July 28, 2016

I guess the point I’m making in my essay, “The New GOP Meme,” is that whatever political party–whether Democratic, Republican, or a third, fourth or fifth, etc. party–declares solid dedication towards liberating and protecting LGBT’s, is the party to vote for. EVEN IF THEIR PROCLAMATION IS PHONY. For this is a trick (or better said, “a test”) conjured up by higher forces. It is also a game, of sorts. And their intent is thusly:

“Whatever party promotes the most strident pro-gay agenda, even if based on deception (and even if the rest of their platform is destructive in every other way) will be transformed into the Holy Grail of LGBT victory. And by extension, THE liberating force for all other oppressed peoples across the globe. No one is required to vote for this party, or in any other way promote it, to make this happen. It’s a done deal no matter what.

“There is every benevolent reason to finally put to an end, once and for all, this persecution of sexual minorites that has gone on for many centuries, perpetrated by this or that group, whether religious or not. It is to the shame of any political party that claims to support gayfolke, to nonetheless continue to drag its feet on the matter of homophobia and its consequential terrorism. As if 100% strident alliance of LGBT’s were such a difficult thing to do. Which it is not.

“For it should be obvious to all intelligent humans at this point, that this election fiasco is totally scripted, like “Idiocracy” or some other dystopian, grade B movie. Certainly not without comical interludes that will increase in vigor and duration as the weeks pass. And as they do pass, more and more people shall wake up to the likelihood that this is a script contrived for the enlightenment of your species…and, of course, for our own selfish amusement.

“So do not be so hard on those who appear to be idiots, such as Donald Trump, Newt Gingrich, Vladimir Putin, Hillary Clinton, and so forth. Since they are also earth’s guardians playing the role of enemy, that we be challenged to grow into heroes not just to others, but to our own selves. And this is the heart of the message of Buddha’s most brilliant statement:

‘We have no enemies, only teachers.’

“Please, you who read this, do not feel upset if you do not grasp the message, or do not believe it. But I promise: the truth of what we claim through Mr. Krahlin’s keyboard will make itself increasingly evident between now and November 4th, by which time everyone on this planet will be awakened to this glorious dupe.

“And finally, I would like to note that the recent release of the film, ‘The Purge: Election Year 2016,’ is no coincidence. It is scripted into our game, as a minor, comic gag. But it has a happy ending, as will the upcoming election.”

Signed,

Lounge Lizard Larkin
Commander in Chief of the Terraforming Starship Fleet XXDII

cc: Andromeda Headquarters, Sector z32-A

– Zeke

P.S.: “The Purge 3” (its alternate title) was released on my birthday, of all days: July 1st. I only came to realize that after composing the above message.


Don’t Mess With My Buddy!

August 30, 2014

[ Spaciotemporal Reader: this little masterpiece of sci-fi parody is dedicated to Stanislaw Lem (1921-2006), whose exquisitely hyperbolic tales of futuristic intrigue eventually drove me insane. ]

It was somewhere in the Crab Nebula that I visited a particular planet as The Milky Way’s Ambassador, and planned to vacation there for approx’ly two months. It was the year 2076. You may be reading my report years before that time, because this dispatch has been teleported to key moments in the past, but no earlier than 2017. By which time I had simultaneously become president of Athenia, world’s first gay nation (formerly Northern California), and Earth’s Star Spokesperson thanks to the Reptilians of the Andromeda Galaxy who chose me for such a position because they consider moi the most compassionate sentient being of this world and its galaxy.

I co-presided as Athenia’s commander with My Ultimate Soulmate, Larkin Kelsey, who was too preoccupied with Dark Matter Intrigue to accompany me on my journeys through the Crab Nebula. Now, this may seem peculiar to you, as Larkin is highly telepathic and can also travel anywhere in time at the snap of a finger. Yet in spite of his remarkable abilities, he is compelled to obey the dictates of An Even Higher Force: a force which rules over, and contains, every aspect of this universe, and all the multiverses ad infinitum. For lack of a better term, let us call this force “Universal Mind.” And this force so deemed that I must embark upon my journey as sole missionary.

The moment I stepped out of The Enterprise v1.2, the first thing that struck me was the planet’s extraordinary sky: like a rippling zebra skin, black elongated clouds sailed seductively against a background of light-gray firmament. Or like the comforter on Leisure Suit Larry‘s water bed, if you switch your perspective from up to down.

The Grand Poobah of this world welcomed me with open tentacles, and escorted me to all their finest hotels, restaurants, theme parks, media outlets, prostitution clubs (from which I refrained the attainment of full orgasm out of respect for My One True Love), 5-D entertainment centers and the average homes of Nebularean Residents. I must say here, that my greatest delight was visiting these domiciles of average citizens, for their hospitality was beyond any Malibu Integral Massage Therapy I could ever imagine, as it came with the most splendiferous arse-rimming perks.

Some days later, the Grand Poobah approached me to offer phenomenal pleasures beyond what I have yet known. He proudly spoke the following declaration which mesmerized me into such fevered temptation, I lost all reason:

“Sensations many you have great in your world that to heights of ecstasy bring you unbelievable. Yet assure you myself, kind vertebrate, that Nebulareans we can titillate your soul in ways never known before you’ve. We expose you can to incredible levels such of ecstasy erotic that again never you will return to former enjoyment ways of seeking!”

Of course I was greatly seduced to dive right in (considering all the sensual amenities already provided me in barely a week since my arrival), but a tiny alarm bell dinged in my cranium:

“But there is one man I love so much, I couldn’t bear to discover any pleasure that would make our delight in each other fade from my heart!” Of course I meant Larkin whose joy in my friendship is the jealousy of 42 thousand galaxies and 574 dimensions. “So with all due respect, I will refrain from your magnanimous offer.”

The Grand Poobah immediately flushed a refulgent pink, but quickly recovered to a sour green. “Course of, perfectly comprehend me. Forgive please indiscretion this. Cultural some differences never be bridged can, and would I dream not broaching social barriers your own.”

The Poobah promptly vanished, and I found myself escorted to an egg-shaped room by His Doppelganger Guardians, where I awaited the descent of The Enterprise v1.8. Which starship beamed me up and returned me to Planet Earth in the wink of a Tralfamadorian‘s orbital socket.

War swiftly broke out between Planet Earth’s Intergalactic Federation and The Crab Nebula’s Union of Soviet Socialist Face Suckers. In less than one week after their initial salvo, the entire Crab Nebula and 18 surrounding galaxies (plus four energy-sponging black holes) were obliterated into subatomic dust. A piece of wisdom you should all bear in mind:

Larkin Kelsey commands the entire fleet of the Andromeda Galaxy, which Reptilians were the first civilization in the entire history of the universe, to leave their home planet and terraform all other worlds. Their technology and understanding of Universal Law far surpasses that of any other sentient life anywhere in the cosmos (or any other cosmos). So when you try to turn me against My Dragonly Heartsong, there will be hell to pay. Or IOW:

Don’t mess with My Buddy Larkin.


Four Times in One Day

July 12, 2014

From: Jehovah’s Queer Witness
To: My Dinosaurian Digirati
Date: July 9, 2014
Subject:
Four times in one day…

[ Venomous Reader: I know what you’re thinking by the subject heading of my missive…but All You Gila Monsters share a dirty hive mind! ]

…two days ago, my path crossed Larkin’s. This is unusual (even if just /twice/ in one day), and I know it only occurs via his intent. If I ever questioned the existence of telepathy, he’s totally banished any doubts. Thanks to the many times over eight years of his showing up at the most unexpected moments and places (or whenever I have a gift in my backpack I want to bring him), and when he speaks to me as if he’s just read my mind.

[ Some people might say he has the mark of a psychopath, as they typically seem to possess paranormal “tricks.” And you feel like you’ve found your soulmate. Just figured to mention this, let you know I’m on my guard in spite of my infatuation. In weighing the pros and cons of our association, the scales fall in his favor because of all the /good/ he’s done for me prior to the sudden downfall that started with a shove. And it makes for awesome mystery and suspense in composing my trilogy. ]

First, I saw him playing with a dog at Duboce Park around 1 PM. I traverse that park almost daily on my way to Bean There coffeehouse. I sort of came up from behind, as I approached him along the sidewalk parallel to Duboce Street. His back was turned to me as he flung a tennis ball to the park’s far end, chased by a friendly black doggie. So I stood awhile, leaning against a silver utility box and enjoying the scene. He had cut his hair to almost a crew, after months of displaying a glorious and bushy mane. Then I spoke:

“Well if it isn’t Dragon Squarepants!” (That’s my new nickname for him.)

He turned and saw me, but did not acknowledge, and resumed tossing the ball. So I intercepted his line of sight as I strolled diagonally through the grassy postage-stamp tract. (The trees there are sparse; only three, so it is not my habit to relax there on sunny, warm days.) His occasional appearance at Duboce Park is a relatively new aspect of our “accidental” encounters. And it only started /after/ I was driven out of Howard’s Cafe and sought a new wifi hangout. Just another example of his possible telepathy: arranging to show up along my new route. (Whether or not he is actually conscious of this latest “coincidence,” kismet continues to see fit that we are never kept apart for very long.)

I gazed up at him in passing (he flung the ball way over my head as I did so), and commented:

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you wearing a pack of any sort!”

It was a red carry-bag that hung from one strap and rested upon his lower back. Interesting because I too sported a similar single-strap pack, also red (perfect for holding my android tablet). Now, in later reflection, I realized I had just pointed out in a recent blog entry how it’s never been his style to carry a pack, valise or whatever, of any sort. And I mailed him that article (as I do /all/ pieces where he is mentioned) just several days before this latest rendezvous. “Could this be another example of his telepathy?” I wondered. “Or another gesture of his faith in our friendship just beneath a rocky surface?” Perhaps it was a message that he does indeed read everything I send him, in spite of Zachary’s claim. So in his own unique and humorous manner, he broke his “style” by wearing a pack…simply because I wrote that he never does! One beautiful thing about Larkin (I have observed) is his extraordinary way of communicating heartfelt wishes through display or behavior, without a single word to shatter the moment. The man is subtle, but eloquent. He’s an artist! And life is the canvas.

I then watched the dog in its pursuit of the tennis ball for several seconds, then turned my face back to him as I proceeded towards a bench on the other side:

“It looks good on you. Then again, everything you wear looks good on you.”

It is really hard to keep expressing love to someone who has betrayed you many times over. Thus I was quite sad; no hugs since, OMG, December of 2012. Seated on the bench and from a distance, I gazed upon My Beauty until he leashed up the dog and vanished across Duboce and down Noe Street. But like a powerful magnet, the pull was strong and I wanted badly to chase after him, tell him about that homeless tweaker who threatened to set my place on fire. Even if he screamed at me, or ignored me…or shoved me again. Instead, I continued my path to Bean There, with some regret. (But as you will soon learn, O Dinosaurs From Andromeda, Larkin provided me with that chance later on in the day, to inform him of my present crisis.)

Jeez, it’s 5:15 AM, been up since 4:30…a writer’s urge is unpredictable!

The second time our lives crossed, I was standing about Jane Warner Plaza, enjoying a smoke (even though Larkin was not at Twin Peaks Tavern, or anywhere else to be seen; just the usual bums and naked trash that wear only a flashy sock over their genitals, in order to taunt the new anti-nudity law). In a heartbeat there he was, escorting a somewhat drunk lady of early middle age, and coming in my direction down Market Street. He looked up at me from thirty feet away, so I stuck a finger up my nose and twirled it in a mocking gesture.

They crossed the plaza within feet of me, then Larkin spun her around to proceed back up Market. And paused with the woman’s back to me (she was really out of it), lowered his face to mine and declared:

“Listen to me!”

“No, you listen to me!” I hollered back in an attempt to assert my dignity over his horse hockey. But his words still got through:

“You send one more letter to the bars, and the police will be at your door!”

I grinned: “Fine with me, Larkin. I’ll just show them my police report about you! I’m sure /that/ will open their eyes!”

Larkin seemed somewhat snockered, himself. Surely it was a faux pas for him to confront me with another bar patron under his wing. And I struck while the iron was still hot:

“You shoved me twice!” I screamed into his surly mug. “You spit on me! You keep slandering me!”

The woman seemed oblivious to everything around her (three sheets to the wind as they say), and remained with her back to me, wobbling a bit with Larkin’s firm hand on her right shoulder. It was then My Vexing Velociraptor realized this confrontation wasn’t a very good idea, for it threatened to undermine whatever gig he had going with the lady. (She probably had money to splash around in exchange for his charismatic company.) So he turned about, clutching her arm, and marched off towards Noe Street. But I followed from three yards behind, my voice like thunder:

“Some street punk threatened to burn down my building!”

“That’s certainly not /my/ fault, I don’t wanna hear it!” he called back, glancing over the lady’s head. He kept hollering in order to drown me out. But I made sure the vital details reached his ear in spite of the imposed cacophony, before walking off.

He /did/ gesture towards me and say something to the bouncer standing outside The Cafe (a newer bar he now frequents…perhaps to get away from me by Twin Peaks just around the corner). The bouncer glared at me as I passed. But for panache I spun round in the direction I just came from, turned my head to him and waved. Then who should I encounter, seated on the curb by Subway, but Mikey…that gorgeous, skinny young blond with whom I shared many torrid nights four-five months ago! So invited him home.

“Sure, why not?” he grinned and stood up, and I admired once more that elfin visage of spermalicious young manhood.

Now for the /third/ time that day, my path crossed Larkin’s as I escorted Mikey hovel. Guess he exited The Cafe while I was lingering in front of Subway, for whatever errand I can’t imagine. So I pointed at Larkin (with Mikey in tow), said:

“There he is! That’s Larkin!” and hollered at him: “You better stop telling people I’m your stalker!”

He paused at The Cafe’s entry and smiled at me. It was a genuine look of affection, nothing snarky about it. (Another example of his subtle communique to express amity; he’s /proud/ of my courageous stand against his bully actions.) And I hollered once more while Mikey witnessed (his arm in my grip):

“You’re a drug dealer!”

Now, a different bouncer was out front at this point, and he paid attention to my accusation, glanced at Larkin as he disappeared up the stairs.

The fourth and final time I saw Larkin that day was around 10 PM, during my nightly stroll. I had approached Moby Dick on 18th and Hartford, and peered through the window to see who was playing pool. Sure enough, there he was, with housemate Zachary. The window is covered by a grill that darkened the view, both inside and out…I guess to give a bit more “private” feel for the patrons. And maybe they’ve had their windows smashed one time too many. There are actually /three/ windows on the Noe Street side, the outermost two facing the pool table.

Larkin glanced up, said to Zachary: “There he is again, standing outside!”

He then whipped out his cell to either dial or answer. I thought perhaps he was gesturing to call the police, in order to scare me away. So I pulled back to where he couldn’t see me any more, perhaps thinking I had just skedaddled. But a few moments later I hovered about the windows and watched him play, being cautious to position myself so as not to be seen by Zachary. Larkin saw me again–maybe two or three more times–before he gave a sharp, angry rap on window 3.

“So what’re you gonna do, Larkin?” I thought. “Run out and shove me? Spit on me? Beat me up? Summon the blue shirts? None of that will work!”

(Of course there is also /this/ possibility to consider: Larkin must behave in anger towards me, in the public eye. So as to deflect any jealousy or vengeance of our friendship that might otherwise ensue. Or more seriously: that this cult may continue to be tricked into believing they’ve done their dirty deed, which was to turn us two love parrots into enemies. Until, finally, the remainder of this cabal gets busted and locked away. Then we have our honeymoon.)

A few minutes on I decided my work is done here, and meandered back to my trashy SRO. I just feel it’s important to assert my right to stroll my own neighborhood, look at or say hi to anyone I please…especially Larkin. And the semi-obstructed view from those windows will keep Larkin guessing if that shadow lurking outside, is me. Every night he’s there. Every single fukkin night. And I only needed to perform the task just /once/, to achieve all that! Plus:

That spot outside Moby Dick and beside those windows is where Kurt threatened to burn down my apartment building, seven days ago. Good to exorcise the demons of fear by revisiting the scene of the crime.

– Zeke


Date: Wed, 9 Jul 2014 20:32:23
Subject:
Re: Four times in one day…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: A Reptilian Advisor

On 7/9/14, a Reptilian advisor wrote:

{{ Well, just remember: psychopaths are lots of fun (believe me, I speak from experience), but they can do the psychological equivalent of ripping your warm steaming guts right out of you…. }}

Of course, but that’s not what he’s about. He’s done many good things for me that do /not/ typify a psychopath. He is extremely intelligent, and seems to have telepathic abilities. You can’t just plan showing up in my presence four times in a single day, without possessing such a gift. For I do /not/ keep to a tight schedule. The only way Larkin can do this, is through precognition.

The fourth time I saw him was at Moby Dick. So one might say that’s just coincidence. But he /knew/ I’d stroll by there that night, so arranged to also be present. Whenever he puts me through a gamut of ordeals, he also makes a point of showing up frequently thereafter. And at times says something wonderful to lift my spirits. Such as just three weeks ago when he said that our friendship was a godsend. Of course, I mused over the possibility of him stringing me on like a yo-yo, to infuriate me and break my spirit.

Though it just doesn’t add up. But I don’t really believe he’s protecting me from any cult that wants to do me in. It is a /game/ he is playing, to make me the hero…played as well by numerous others, and I can’t imagine how many! It is also my honor to display courage before him, his associates, and the LGBT community at large. This is exactly what I /want/ to manifest…and so it does, thanks to Larkin’s astounding abilities to manipulate reality. I even suspect that Kurt is one such participant, whose script it was to terrorize me with arson.

Whenever my hopes have ebbed to the lowest point, Larkin always appears in my world, to give me a boost. Just like he hears my prayers to see him once more, and lighten my burden. And he always does. But
he certainly will /not/ coddle me, or let me manipulate him by phony desire…which is not my style, anywayz. For he never rewards me until I’m pushed to a very real extreme of despair. Whenever I imagine losing his friendship for good, it is all I can do to keep from plunging into desperate straits. I simply cannot go there.

Remember, some of the chief indicators of a psychopath are identical to those of truly loving relationships. Such as making one feel totally special, dedicating tons of undivided attention, and swearing lifelong fidelity. In other words: psychopaths perfectly mimic very nice people. By just those markers alone, one would diagnose your partner Casey to be a psychopath…which of course, he is not.

I even conjectured that Larkin has been badly hurt in previous relationships, thus my affections touch upon a very painful spot in his heart. In other words: he suffers from PTSD. Randolph taught me a lot on dealing with such a person: be firm (even harsh) when necessary, never flinch in doing so; but also be as loving as possible whenever the opportunity affords. It takes years of patience and dedication, which not many can live up to. But the /best/ lover, in my opinion (at least between two men) is exactly one who has suffered enormously. And that is precisely the kind of dude I seek for a soulmate. One who I can make impossibly happy in the long run.

But I don’t even think he’s burdened with PTSD: again I conclude that it is all an act, orchestrated by Larkin, that my mettle may be tested to the max…and my victory be so much more sweet, as a result. Were he a psychopath, he would /not/ have provided me with a channel to post letters of kindest regard, nor would he so often go out of his way to speak with me, even if harshly. A psychopath only values people with money, fame, and elite connections. I have none of those benefits. Four or five years ago, he moved from South of Market to merely a block away from my residence. I don’t know how he does all those things, unless he has significant inroads to many resources within our LGBT family. He must therefore be a prominent figure among this crowd, albeit subtle. Which explains why–even though he’s not a bouncer or employed in any other manner–the bars allow him authority to kick anyone out.

I do not doubt he will confront my potential arsonist, and scare the bejesus outta him, in spite of his verbal declaration that it’s my problem, not his. For he doesn’t want to deny me fighting my own battles…yet at the same time would never allow /anyone/ to cause me real harm. You have yet to peruse my several latest blog entries, but when you do, you will better grasp my perspective. To give further examples of Larkin’s extraordinary talents would serve no more purpose than a tiresome rehash.

I am treading unknown waters, thus cannot gauge my experiences with that of most others. I have to find my /own/ way through this tangled journey, except perhaps for the occasional and unexpected ally who comprehends My Odyssey. Which kind people I believe, are also members of this hidden organization that grooms me for leadership…thus show up at the most needful times to keep my spirit afloat. For it is a very rare kind of love I have found, one which is absolutely unique in the annals of romance (gay or otherwise). Larkin has enriched my life beyond even my own dreams: the gay-spun Damon Runyon adventure I so badly sought. Now I have that adventure, and I must keep my chin up through even the murkiest waters

It is not without its golden moments.

– Zeke


Date: Wed, 9 Jul 2014 21:00:27
Subject:
Re: Four times in one day…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: A Reptilian Advisor

Besides:

I am 64 years old now, and after Larkin, what remains but a terribly lonely life? If he truly /is/ a psychopath, so be it. Let him rip out my soul, beat me to a bloody mush, throw me under the next N Judah light rail next time I greet him walking a doggie in Duboce Park. I’m ready to go, if such be the outcome.

No quantity of fame, of riches, of glory via my tales or otherwise, will restore my passion for a belov-ed partner. Get it over with. Let the heteros wallow in their smug superiority.

I could /never/ go through another courtship, another series of trials to prove my eternal love. The years required to achieve such a monumental victory would see me doddering into my 80’s. So fuk it.

Give me Larkin or give me death.

Yet I must point this out: I am /terribly/ flattered that Larkin is so nuts about me, he’s ready to explode. Hopefully, it’s a sperm bomb.

– Zeke

PS: Sometimes I can be quite the drama queen, don’t you agree?


Date: Wed, 9 Jul 2014 23:24:58
Subject:
Re: Four times in one day…
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Amdromedan Advisors

The amazing thing is this:

The Most Wonderful Love Story Ever (since paramecia figured out how to fuk) is unfolding in this dreary world…

…and it’s happening to /me/! Or I should say: “Me and Larkin.”

For whatever reason beyond This Old Homo Sapien’s ability to put 2,104 and 2,104 together (which makes 4,208 I think), Fate (or “God” if you will) has so deemed me worthy of such a tremendous miracle, that He (or She or It) has decided to catapult me onto World Stage Center.

With Larkin by my side, his trusting hand holding me steady from The Grace-Filled Shock Of It All. And I shall speak through cyberspace, television and radio media, and newspapers, journals and magazines:

“Citizens of Planet Earth: we are about to embark on the most epic journey imaginable. So hold onto your hookahs and whatever ganja you (hopefully) have on hand. ‘Cause without it, things are gonna be a /lot/ tougher than you’d ever expect. I don’t have any access to pot myself, except for some lousy shake that at least is from an organic marijuana garden. Still, it does little more than give me a carbon monoxide buzz. You are soon to become my servants, and I, your master.

“If you are comfortable with gay people for your best friends, then you will have no problem. Otherwise: your eyes shall melt in your face, and hemorrhoids shall infest every square inch of both your greater and lesser intestines! And even /that’s/ an optimistic diagnosis.

“You shall acquiesce to everything I demand, and do so with utter compassion, devotion, and gratitude. For I am Big Gay Brother whose destiny it is to right all wrongs in this world, and represent Planet Earth before The Andromedan Council.

“Whose commander in chief is Larkin Kelsey, and who has descended from his interstellar spacecraft solely to become my lover and BFF of all time. Eat your heart out, earthling brothers and sisters! For I am the absolutely LUCKIEST sentient being anywhere in the universe and multiverses, for eternity!

“If you don’t realize by now, that the story of my life holds any significance….then perhaps you should search for a mound of sand in which to bury your pathetic little pinhead.

“For I /am/ the Alpha and the Omega…who is also 100% gay. Do you hear me? Gay gay gay gay gay gay gay! And Larkin is my /most/ darling and belov-ed, that my tales can only give you a pale rendering of what a truly /fine/ man he is!

“For Larkin has given me adventure, cliff-hanging and tragic scenarios to play out, and Divine Ecstasy scattered through it all. How dare you even suggest there is anyone else out there who could fulfill such an incredible dream that will topple medieval notions which have cursed this modern world for way too long?

“Hearken to my words, or forever be the itchy polyp on God’s (or Goddess’s or Its) own anus!

“For no one but Larkin has given me this incredible destiny that marks me as the savior of all gay people worldwide…and by obvious extension, everyone else.”

– Ezekeil J. Krahlin (a.k.a. “Jehovah’s Queer Witness”)

PS: Well, that’s just how Larkin makes me feel. And if you can’t say your /own/ lover makes you feel just as exquisitely grand, I say: dump him (or her, or it), and clothe yourself in sack cloth for twenty years or more. And perhaps after that time, you will gain /some/ wisdom. Though by then, I will be off earthside and exploring Uranus.


LAST MOMENT POSTCARD

I suddenly felt inspired to send Wyvern-Tard another nifty little postcard with my own personalized flair:

Notice that this time around, Randolph’s face has been /totally/ obliterated, whereas previously it’s only been a partial block-out. All done on a /subconscious/ level, mind you. That is, until I became aware (in one of my later postcard flurries) of what I was doing: paying Larkin my greatest compliment.

The “Zilla” reference hearkens back to the old days of Hole in the Wall Saloon…where I noticed that he signs the pool roster as “Zilla.” Some years later it struck me:

What other word comes immediately to mind when you see the word “Zilla?” Why, “God” of course, for that completes the title “Godzilla!” He is a Reptilian (a.k.a. a dinosaur) from the Andromeda galaxy, and represents God in my world. Bhakti yoga claims that should you devote yourself to another person with total love (and for a very long time), God will finally come to you through that person. And Larkin already knew this, so he chalked the word “Zilla” for many years until it sank in, and I realized the implication. Ironically, this is the year a remake of Godzilla has come out in all the movie theaters.

Once this new awareness erupted in my brainpan (around five years ago), I created a “Got Zilla?” button during the time I still had a button machine, which a year or so later broke down for good. So I thought it would be fun to send Larkin an “oldie but goodie” by printing out the logo once more, and pasting it onto the front of my “Free Me From This Bond” postcard.

What now follows is the reverse side of this postcard, entirely explanatory in light of my observations made earlier in this blog entry.


Heaven is Just Across the Street

June 28, 2014

[ Free Me From This Bond (sequel to the sequel): Chapter 15 ]

To: All My Reptilian Redeemers
Date: June 24, 2014

Well whaddya know, Divine Salamanders, I’m sitting quietly in my room around midnight, swyping away on my tablet (a blog entry I’m writing called “Benevolent Kingship”)…when guess whose voice I hear through my window? Larkin’s! So I looked out to see him across the street, lecturing a homeless newcomer to improve his grubby appearance by going to the Salvation Army. He was waving those gangly arms while vociferating: a booming voice that can be heard blocks away, especially when it’s dark and the air is chill (like tonight). And which voice (I must admit) is music to my ears. Like knowing his love and devotion will always be here for This Adoring Soul…a hidden communique just for me, riding the broadband of his larynx.

But first let me get this homeless twit outta the way, before I go on. She showed up in the Castro approx’ly five weeks ago, and is a noxious variety of urban weed. His effeminacy wouldn’t be a concern, if she weren’t such a backstabbing queen stereotype. Always scowling with a pinched-up face that is rubbery and mounted with a long swath of brown hair curled up in a big, fat knot on top. Clothed in a ratty and thick overcoat that reaches to her ankles and mostly hid those filthy blue jeans. Feet dirty and bare, fingernails way long and icky with grunge underneath.

I shall call her (or it) “Ms. Flaky.” She can usually be spotted seated or lying down on the rustic bench that lines the front of Cafe Flore, and is intended for customers only. One would think this is bad for business, especially when you realize this eatery has become such a ritzy-titzy joint in the last 15 years. If a place chases you out for ordering just a cup of coffee and maybe a slice of pie (’cause that’s one less table gushing moolah like a slot machine), it would seem they’d also chase away scummy vagrants. Even so, their lack of propriety in this matter does not reflect much concern for the neighborhood that provides them with a beautiful corner location. Their obsession with El Diablo de Dolares has overtaken their neighborly senses.

Now this is hilarious: my new next-door neighbor, Gabe, joked with me as we exited our apartment building. (FYI: no one living in my edifice has ever befriended me for well onto twenty years, so this is good.) He pointed at Ms. Flaky from across Noe Street, who was seated in her usual spot by Cafe Flore.

“There’s your new friend, Zeke!” he chortled.

At first I didn’t know who the fuk he meant, but then I realized, and said: “Oh god no, he’s not a friend! I haven’t even talked with him, and I hope I never will.” I was a tad disgusted that my new neighbor (who is quite the hottie in a late-fiftyish sorta way, and we’ve already kissed) would seriously think I’d hook up with absolute losers.

Then he told me he spoke with Ms. Flaky just the day before, and asked if he knew Zeke. Her response?

“Oh he’s an awful man, he pissed on me while I was sleeping on the bench.”

Now that certainly isn’t true, and I reminded Gabe about the many jerkwads who gossip to keep me from making new friends. I’m still not sure whether Gabe really spoke with the knotty-haired bitch (or if he did whether or not she claimed I pissed on him), but that’s neither here nor there. For he was yanking my leg…and I hope some day soon, he’ll be yanking another appendage to make up for it. I’ve already stuck this letter in an envelope to his door:

June 18, 2014

Dearest Neighbor Gabe,

Just checking up on you, hope you’re doing very well. I find you to be a marvelously eccentric, sweet and handsome fellow. So if you’d like to rescue me from one more lonesome night, I’m sure game! We can even keep our clothes on: I’m really big into affection.

Thank you again for gifting me with some high-grade edibles. Just what the doctor ordered!

Please know that you can knock on my door any time of day or night…something which I rarely grant anyone. Whenever you need a shoulder to lean on, someone to cheer you up, I’m your man! (Or your boy, however you wanna play the game.)

Your newest friend,

Zeke

Well I ended our discussion about Ms. Flaky with the conclusion that she’s probably just another one of these guardian dragons spreading mischief to test my mettle. (Taking to heart as I do, Buddha’s tenet, “We have no enemies, only teachers.”) But also her anti-Zeke gossip is a handy way to root out those who wouldn’t really make good friends. Seeing as anyone who is so gullible as to play into the hands of scurrilous misfits, is not someone I’d really care to know. But since Gabe readily admitted he doesn’t believe what Ms. Flaky said about me, he passed that little test with flying crullers. Thus a sterling friendship is likely to unfold. (FYI: as a shamanic pagan, I prefer to use the word “dragon” instead of “angel,” but it comes down to the same thing.)

[ A bit more about Gabe, Engorged Reader, then I’ll get back to Larkin. I first noticed Gabe while standing outside the laundromat waiting for my clothes to dry. He was dressed in a tie-dye shirt of rainbow hues, a pair of green, baggy slacks and cheap thongs. But that face, that gloriously seraphic face, graced in a halo of shaggy, silver-gray hair: who could not notice such a face? He flashed me a bright smile in passing, and my widdle heart melted. I turned as he sauntered towards Market Street, and saw that he carried a smallish backpack, also rainbow colored. He’s about 6-foot-1, skinny but well shaped. Next time I saw him, about a week later, he was picking up debris at Duboce Park, all by his lone some, moving to a tune only he could hear through those ear buds.

The N Judah was just pulling up, but I hesitated in my desire to embrace the little stud muffin right then and there. (This was also the first time I saw him in shorts: loose-fitting and below the knees, yet revealing enough to show off a spectacular pair of gams…Gabe’s calves are something to die for, let me tell you! Of course I chickened out and hopped onto the light rail. So I sacrificed my passion once more, opting out instead for the mundane errand of grocery shopping at Parks Farmers Market. *sigh * )

Less than two weeks later I made my first move: he released those ear buds as I gestured and smiled at him. Then I spoke:

“I like the colorful duds you wear!”

“Thanks,” he replied, “I’m just getting into the swing of Gay Pride.”

“Oh, how nice,” I said, “So tell me, do you help clean up Duboce Park with a group or on your own?”

“On my own.”

“Cool, so now I know who’s responsible for keeping that park so neat!”

That was the sum total of our first conversation. Wasn’t till several more days had passed till I discovered (much to my lascivious delight) that Gabe resides in the same apartment building as yours truly! It was a balmy dusk, and I was standing outside by the trash bin, having a smoke and wishing for Larkin to stroll by. Here came Gabe instead (he didn’t see me) stopping at the front gate of 2306 to insert a key.

“Well,” I grinned to myself, “How very copacetic! I wonder which floor he lives on.”

Figuring though he already has a boyfriend and is probably monogamous– and in light of my history of doomed friendships and amours–I allowed myself the fantasy as a consolation prize. During the following weeks we met several more times and exchanged kind greetings. I handed him my business card in hopes he’d check out my novel. (Which later I learned he did, as well as some of my recent blog entries…whoopee!)

Now, just barely two weeks ago, as I climbed the steps to my hovel, I espied Gabe inserting a key into the door of apartment 206. WE’RE NEXT DOOR NEIGHBORS!!! Since that awesome turn of events, Darling Gabe has presented me with a baggie of THC-laced breakfast cereal…knowing by now that medicinal pot is beyond my meager financial reach. That is when we embraced and gave each other a warm peck on the cheek. But first he pressed his lips upon mine, and it was quite electric. Don’t know why on Dragon’s green orb I instantly shifted my mouth to his jaw, except that perhaps on an instinctive level, I thought it best to play the shy virgin. (Yeah that’s me alright: the innocent little boy who’d rather plunge his hand down a good man’s pants than any old cookie jar. o_0 )

He hasn’t been around for five or six days now; the stuffed penguin is still taped to his door, awaiting Gabe’s return and (hopefully) his joyful surprise. Though perhaps my silly overtures have scared him away, and I must once more live in awkward suspense as a result of my latest love’s foible, and the proximity of our abodes. Though I am certainly open to a sweet friendship… platonic all the way. (Or as we gays like to call it: “girlfriends.”) He did mention a couple of times a desire to visit his family down in SoCal, soon. But has mixed feelings thanks to a brother who used to punch him out brutally when Gabe was just a little squirt. I told him:

“Gabe, I’d feel the same way too. Just be sure that if you do show up, you won’t fly into a rage and smash his skull with a ball peen hammer.” (That cracked him up. So nice to put a smile on such a “cumly” mug.)

Gabe appears to be the eccentric type (like myself and Larkin in our own ways). Which attracts me even more than those super-good-looking dudes who are duller than a warmed-over omelette. Sometimes I see him standing about on this or that corner of the Castro, boogying to his mp3’s and waving his arms like he’s sprinkling fairy dust upon The Yellow Brick Road. He has also commented in regards to my visionary gift:

“Zeke, maybe that’s why I moved next door to you. Maybe I’m one of your guardian dragons to join you in our fight for liberation.”

“Oh I’m sure you are, Gabe,” I immediately replied, though in wonder.

“And maybe I’m also here to spread the good news about your book!”

Again I agreed with enthusiasm, for here was acknowledgment of my gay prophetic visions, standing right before me in glorious human form. I should have hugged Gabe that very moment, and wept tears of gratitude onto his shoulder. Gabriel The Archangel. (But I did not; don’t know what’s wrong with me. Write it off to a lifelong history of sorrows, and residual PTSD.) Then he gifted me with yet one more affirmation, I suppose to eradicate any remaining self-doubt that I might just be crazy, and nothing more:

“Wow, I’m so excited I can feel the wings sprouting from my shoulder blades!”

So, Gabe My Compassionate Archangel, you’ve made it into Book 3 of the trilogy “Free Me From This Bond!” Congratulations. (Right under the wire, but still, congratulations.) You will appear in the last, or second-to-last, chapter. Larkin saw to it that the happy ending wouldn’t enter the picture until well into the end play. IOW, Larkin (the true author, as if you didn’t know) wanted me to pen the most incredible cliffhanger/tearjerker romance of all time! Can you imagine what he put me through, to accomplish this? I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy…though maybe perhaps on Ms. Flaky. You are The Joy He Sent Me, and for that I am infinitely in your heart.

When you step out to celebrate (or stay home for cozy-time), what will you do? I for one will be really really PISSED if I’m not on all three courses of your Wedgwood platter! For we should be celebrating finding each other! And not each in his own way, in his own time and place…that’s ridiculous. Together! Together! Two birds of a feather!

It is truly an understatement when I say I await Gabe’s return with great fondness. Now, back to Dragon Squarepants: ]

Seems like when one sidewalk creep disappears from our streets (much to my relief, as they often threaten me whether it’s homophobia or jonesing from their last hit of crystal or smack), two more take his place. I even confronted Larkin one night on Market Street:

“You’re a big guy and telepathic, so why don’t you drive these homophobes outta here so I can do my street work?”

I was referring of course to my frequent clashes with anti-gay puds who want to turn the Castro into Hillbilly Haven for all the hetero rednecks that decide to mooch off LGBT generosity, but still think it’s fun to insult and harass us on our own turf. They’re constantly ogling attractive lesbians, coming onto them like the breeder perverts they are with all sorts of vulgar phrases. As for the gay men, well, we’re just a bunch of silly, sex-crazed geese who Jehovah shall soon banish from this earth, that The Righteous Heteros may be “Lords of Where We’re Permitted to Insert Our Priks at Risk of Extermination.”

A winning advantage of Larkin’s psychic talent is that I never need speak about my troubles, for he already knows. Think this through and you’ll realize he must also know which sacks of mierda are my antagonists. This man is out to avenge me as so clearly revealed by the illustration that begins Chapter 8 of Free Me From This Bond (book 1). For Larkin is my Guardian Dragon, and that illustration depicts a dragon toppling over the Transamerica Pyramid.

Therefore, he also knows I’ve been pining to see him again, ever since he shoved me for a second time just last week. My level of anxiety attacks were getting a bit out of hand starting yesterday, thanks to the painful challenges he presents me… along with all other trials in my life that have naught to do with him. So I guess he heard my woeful plea for some respite, after my wandering This Gay Ghetto all afternoon, seeking him out. For some assurance that he is taunting me, pressing my buttons for a compassionate purpose…that I may become his hero this time around. And that’s precisely what occurred:

At first I thought Larkin was sitting down in a shop doorway, but I thought: “That’s not his style, I’ve never seen him sit on the sidewalk or curb, or even on a chair at Jane Warner Plaza. Heck, he doesn’t even perch himself on the concrete buttress where he often stands outside of Twin Peaks to smoke.”

[ Other things I’ve observed, Crafty Reader, that are not his style: he never sports a backpack, briefcase, portfolio or whatever (in fact I’ve never seen him carry anything in his hand except a plastic bag occasionally or a cell phone), doesn’t drive a car or motorcycle or even ride a bicycle (like me he seems to be a dedicated pedestrian), he doesn’t wear any jewelry or piercings, nor does it look like he’s inked or scarified anywhere on his warlockian body. But he does have a glorious head of sepia hair which style he frequently changes (one month it’s a sexy buzz cut with chevrons, another month it’s dyed a rich orange that’s bodaciously hot, yet another season it’s a thick mane that frames his face like a knight’s portrait. He is indeed the handsomest dude I have ever met; even just thinking of him takes my breath away. ]

The reason I first thought he was seated on the ground was a combination of my 2nd-story elevation, the darkness of night, my own nearsightedness, and the fact that whoever he was reprimanding stood between my view and Larkin (such that I only saw his spindly arms waving about). The first thing that I hollered when I realized it was My Bodacious Basilisk:

“Larkin, stop lecturing people like you always have the answer!”

Just a friendly taunt, though once I realized he was confronting Ms. Flaky, I listened more closely… and actually appreciated his dressing-down of the miscreant. I know Larkin heard me, but he was totally immersed in his little lecture to pay me any mind. Some two or so minutes later, Ms. Flaky meandered off (to her squatter’s bench I suppose). Not wanting to lose this golden moment to call to Larkin from My Juliet’s Balcony– or perhaps Rapunzel’s–I hollered once more.

“That piece of monkey vomit showed up in the Castro about a month ago!”

My words were such a strident echo I know I woke up the neighbors. (Just wish Gabe were around, as I’m sure he’d absolutely savor being witness to my latest Larkin Escapade. He might have even joined in!) Then Larkin tilted his Celtic ruddy head to stare straight up at This Intrusive But Lovable Queer. And growled:

“Aargh! Now I gotta deal with you!”

As he marched in my direction and across Market I yelled:

“Go see a doctor, ya got a brain tumor, asswipe!”

He stopped in the middle and stood on the cobbled island decked with lackluster palm trees.

“C’mon, step up to my window, I got some water balloons to drop on you!” I announced. He looked up at me with a sort of woeful plea:

“You need to stop sending…”

I knew the rest of the sentence would be “my mail to the bars,” but I cut him off:

“Blah blah blah blah blah!” Which effectively drowned him out.

He sighed, smiled at me and stretched his arms in a broad air-hug. We both remained silent for some moments as I drank up his projected endearment. Then he dropped his arms, turned about and crossed back to the opposite side. I called out as he vanished into the dark:

“You are so lucky I didn’t carry pepper spray that night you shoved me a second time! Soooo lucky!”

At that point I could no longer see His Beloved Self, but knew he heard my parting shot:

“JULY FIRST!”

This unexpected banter lifted my spirits like Tinkerbell appearing at my window. So I mused on what just occurred:

I wanted to see him badly, so he shows up. Set himself in position right across Market Street in clear view of my window, knowing his sweet voice would pull me away from the desk. Put on a little show just for yours truly. But more than that: confronted a street punk who spoke ill of me.

[ Restless Reader: you may be wondering why I’m certain Ms. Flaky badmouthed me when earlier I said that perhaps Gabe made that up, as a tease. Here is my conclusion: since Larkin is telepathically gifted, he knows immediately who’s done me foul. Were Ms. Flaky not guilty, he wouldn’t have confronted her… at least not in my vicinity. He would’ve devised some other script to cheer me up. In effect, he was killing two birds with one stone. The second bird then, served to assure This Beleaguered Budgie that he most certainly will avenge my honor…and Ms. Flaky is just the beginning. ]

I ponder further:

Was he watching me from across Market before Ms. Flaky showed up? My curtain is open, anyone can see me from that distance and position, as I am in direct line of the window, my desk brightly lit as I swype away. Has Larkin been pausing across from my building every now and then, unbeknownst to me? And if so, how long has he been doing that? Don’t think I’m upset, even for a nanosecond; in fact I am heartily pleased at the thought. For My Guardian Dragon watches over me in loving regard. And I’m sure it’s his greatest honor to do so.

So here I am, suddenly dropping the article I planned to complete in a day or two, taking up instead another blog entry about my latest encounter with Serpent Breath. Once more, he usurps my focus on whatever I’m presently doing, and demands my full attention. Which I gladly give, always. I have a sneaking suspicion that was his intent tonight, all along. To pull me out of my morose funk since he shoved me last week. For Larkin is One Smart Cookie Firedrake!

He also gave me another story to write.


SECOND LETTER TO Gabe


1 Billion Beautiful People

April 15, 2014

Regarding my Reptilian interpretation of reality, and how these lizard guardians manipulate false events of war and other tragedies to test the human potential without requiring any single real person to endure uber-extreme tribulation…that we homo sapiens may learn lessons of patience, compassion and neighborly goodwill through media-manipulated atrocities that have no real proof they ever occurred, or are occurring:

How on goddess’s green and blue earth do they pull this off? The answer is actually quite simple, yet elegant. There are roughly more than 6 billion Reptilians residing on this planet, and only approx’ly 1 billion genuine human beings. Or in other words: for every person you meet, you’ll encounter six or seven other folks who are actually Reptilians in disguise. Perhaps the old saying, “Be kind to every stranger you meet, for you never know if one’s an angel” should be upgraded to replace “angel” with “Reptilian.”

I have expounded on this matter in three recent pieces titled “J’accuse,” “They’re Reptilian!” and “Soaring Saurian Speculation.” This article is therefore but an expansion of the previous ones as my “Reptilian Awareness” evolves into “Reptilian Kok-Sucking of the Horniest Kind.” (I also refer you now to my seminal piece, “NeoPositivtiy: A Gay Religion,” in which I tell of a powerful vision that revealed to me for the first time, God’s benevolent dupe. Though the Reptilian aspect did not come to me until years later, barely a month ago in fact.) For I have since learned that each and every scale on their luscious bodies is a G-spot of sexual arousal. Just touching a scale or two for several minutes puts them into a state of orgasmic ecstasy that you wouldn’t believe!

These shape shifting Reptilians play our enemies as well as allies. But it is their role as enemy I find revelatory to such a degree it blows my mind (as I hope yours too, as I explain further). From the worst “people” on this planet (such as Nero, Hannibal, Olga the Terrible, Hitler, Ronald Reagan and Vladimir Putin) to the evil bottom dwellers that fuk up our lives in all possible ways (such as failed friendships, backstabbing coworkers, racists, homophobes, and so on): they are, or were, all Reptilian. And why is that (you might ask)?

Precisely because Our Creator is a Loving Creator…who therefore would never require any actual human being to play such evil roles that would result in karmic hell proportional to the sin. Thus, Reptilians step in to play our monsters, that our human family can learn harsh lessons without the consequent punishment of such wicked behavior. It is also obvious to me at this point, that all the worst terrors throughout history up to and including our present woes, are illusory. In other words:

World Wars I and II never really happened, nor did Nazi concentration camps exist. There was no war in Viet Nam, nor was/is there any dire conflict playing out in the Middle East. No woman has ever been raped. No gay person has ever been bashed. No African-American has ever been lynched. And so on. It only seems that way, since Reptilians have complete control over our perceptions, including the air waves, the Internet, newspapers, and any other aspect of our modern media, including books.

Not that we all don’t suffer…just not to such extremes that a loving God would ever allow. The souls of those people we believe to have suffered (or are suffering) have been transported to a heavenly existence well before their tribulation ensued. Reptilian minds (via telepathy) enter the bodies of these souls to play out these tragedies, that humans may witness apparent catastrophes, so they may learn ultimate values such as compassion, long suffering, sacrifice and other noble virtues.

Bad enough that loved ones are taken away from us by death or other misfortune. But isn’t it good to realize that such outcomes are merely dupes for our own spiritual growth…and that our cherished friends will return to our side once all painful lessons have been learned? And that no one really dies, but is just made invisible for a time? (For example: know that a loved one suffering Alzheimer’s or fatal cancer is already liberated to Nirvana, and who you see now while still alive is actually a Reptilian occupying that shell of a body, and going through the remaining motions unto so-called “oblivion.”) Which concept leads me to another fantastic revelation:

All 1 billion-plus human beings are genuine sweethearts, not a mean bone in their bodies. They are not the least bit prejudiced against anyone, including homophobia. For it is only these Reptilians that act bigoted, ignorant, violent and stupid, in order for us real humans to grow in wisdom and understanding. You might think I’m terribly naive (a la Pollyanna or Anne Frank) in my perception, but let me clue you in:

If there is a God, and he (she or it) is truly loving: what an incredible strategy to evolve our souls into eternal joy through a kind of benevolent deception! 6 billion-plus Reptilians serving as guardian angels, beloved comrades whose only wish is that each and every one of us achieve eternal bliss. And they never fail in their mission, no matter which planet they serve!

So what if God’s original form is a dragon?


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