A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)

August 27, 2016

Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2016 12:21:29
A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

Part 1:

Nighttime, relaxing in the kitchen by myself. Or a back room like a study or old-fashioned screened porch (2nd or 3rd story). Don’t know if that’s where I live, or just a friend’s place…but I’m quite soothed as I sit there beside a cupboard or bookshelf.

Then from about 15 feet ahead I glimpse someone’s shadow, accompanied by the sound of a broom sweeping the floor. He vanishes as quickly as he appears, so I couldn’t figure out who that was. Though he seems of slight build and height, like myself. At least that’s what the silhouette suggested.

I move to a larger chair to recline, and look up to see wispy clouds drifting overhead, against an electric deep blue, moonless sky… obviously, there is no roof in that part of the flat. I feel refreshed, calm, happy. Moments later two or three people show up, discussing some matter or other around a plain, wooden table. What it is, I don’t know, nor am I curious. They all seem like old friends anyway, and perhaps this is /their/ home, in which I’m always welcome. They don’t pay me any mind, and I just stand up to stretch, and yawn.

Part 2:

Larkin got me on call for a voiceover audition in an upcoming animated film. We are sitting at some sort of freestanding bar or kitchen counter, as he tells me this. The overhead lighting is very subdued, and serene. Obviously, our friendship is renewed…and now he’s making up for the difficult challenges he gave me in the recent past. Using his connections here and there to open doors for me.

There are two other friends nearby, seated on stools and diagonally to my left. They are part of the conversation but, at the moment, only smile. I don’t know who they are in real life; their actual visages are muddy. But I sense they are good people: one man, one woman.

Then Zachary, Larkin’s real-life housemate, shows up in an unexpectedly well-disposed manner. Unexpected because, apart from this dream, the rare times our paths have crossed in the past year or so, he screamed at me like a harpy in passing. Apparently, he’s made his peace with me…or, more likely, his hostility was a dupe all along.

I introduce Zachary to these two other people, claiming that they and Larkin are my very best friends. Zachary smiles and shrugs, before turning away to get something from the fridge, or the closet, or whatever. As he does that, I deliberate on Zachary’s purpose in my world, and decide it’s the latter of the two possibilities I covered in the paragraph above. So as he returns to our company, I declare:

“You will be my fourth good friend, but not yet. Friendship takes time.”

Zachary gestures “okay” in gentle acknowledgment, then takes a swig from the unknown concoction swirling in a glaucous bottle stuck to his palm. Seeing as he displays not one iota of antagonism towards me, but just wanly grins, I decide to couch my statement differently:

“Okay, Zachary, I consider you my newest best friend right now, because of all the good things you’ve done for Larkin, including keeping a roof over his head.”

Then I wake up, and, feeling refreshed from that (rather simple) dream couplet, I perform my morning ablution, exit 2306 on my way to Muni Metro’s Castro Station and The Posh Bagel downtown. As I descend the Metro steps (Harvey Milk Plaza), I look up to see Larkin boarding the escalator right beside me. So close I could touch his hand gripping the back of that gliding black python. Appearing somewhat harried, like he was going to a job he didn’t like (or pretending my existence is Revulsion of the Highest Order).

I call to him in a singsongy fashion as our faces eclipse, then part:

“Larkin loves me!”

He does not react in any way, just keeps rising to the sidewalk like a floating vampire. So I summon once again, though with different words:

“Yes he does!”

Now I’m here, typing at the Posh Bagel, this report. Only realizing after my second sip of Riviera French java, the sweet synchronicity of our near collision this cool, foggy morn, with the dream I had only hours before.


Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2016 12:45:57
Re: A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

On Fri, Aug 26, 2016 at 12:30 PM, Eleanor Cooney wrote:

{{ Literary gold. }}

I’ll settle for platinum.

Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2016 13:28:03
Re: A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor Cooney

Another curious detail:

I have only seen Larkin two times since our scuffle last December; each time passing below my window. And in both instances, he made a point as he meandered down my side of the street, to bellow out whatever phrases or words occurred to him. Sometimes greeting others or just rattling to himself…but never calling up to me, or mentioning my name or any related subject.

He did this (being noisy instead of silent) I believe, to draw my attention so I’d poke my head out the window and cast some spicy retorts. But also to reassure me he’s still around, and cares about me, and doesn’t want me to continue living without his presence, even if I only glimpse him occasionally. Until this chapter closes and a new one begins, wherein we are no longer separated by Kismet’s Mandate.

Though the first time he passed beneath my room (about three weeks ago), I remained silent, observed him wander east towards (and beyond) Noe Street. The second time, however (one week later), I /did/ drown out his boisterous nonsense with the following insult:

“You’re walkin’ funny, Larkin…more hemorrhoid issues?”

To my surprise, he didn’t ignore me, but turned about, glared up at me and decried:

“I haven’t seen you in…in…months! You’re supposed to keep it that way!”

To which I countered:

“Then just stay outta the Castro or at least shut the fuk up when you walk near my apartment building! Is that too much to ask?”

But before I even completed the first sentence he swung forward to resume his gait, and cross the intersection. Though I’m sure he heard everything; I was formidably vocal. Then I saw him pause on Noe before he even reached the opposite curb, to talk to someone he knew. So I hollered one more time, my fierce words bounding up Market Street, the rumble of traffic muted by comparison:

“Get outta the Castro, dipwad!”

From that distance, he was diminutive as a toy soldier. But he heard, looked up, pointed a gangly arm in my direction, and hollered back:

“I’m not talking to you!”

Well, since then I wondered what line I could throw at him next time His Eminent Poobah decides to “inadvertently” swagger along my side of the street with pomp and circumstance, that my ears be polluted once more. I finally settled on (get this):

“Larkin loves me!”

With his inimitable trickster cleverness, Larkin gifted me just that opportunity this morning, though neither where, nor when, I expected. AND I ALMOST BLEW IT (but did not).

– 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.


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.


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.


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.

Letter to my Brother, 8/4/16

August 4, 2016

[ Flaboromous Reader: printed out and sent by snail mail, including the image at top. ]

August 4, 2016

Hey there, Vince and Darcy!

Well this is awkward, my brother, as regards your printout sent to me. I googled “obamacare after 76” only to call up a ton of sites claiming this is a hoax that has been running around the Internet since 2009. But I already thought it might be, since the statement “make 20 copies and send to others” set off a little alarm in the back of my head. For this is a common phrase (or one similar) used in chain mail. Be that as it may, there are plenty of justified grievances against Obamacare that I see no reason to make anything up. Bad enough my own struggle to expose expanded Medicaid’s exorbitant share of cost as a death sentence to millions…only to be accused of being a liar and even a right-wing saboteur, by many. But there are folks out there who hear me, and appreciate my courage and efforts to bring out the truth despite difficult odds. So I am making headway.

Regarding my “No PrEP for the Poor” letter in the Castro Courier: the remarkable thing about their publishing it, is that rarely does a newspaper print a letter to the editor that is longer than two paragraphs. But if they really like what you have to say, they usually either pare it down themselves, or contact the author and request he do that himself. This may be vain to declare, but I like to think that whatever I have to say is important to the world, and that I’ve already condensed my essay in as few words as possible to the point where any further subtraction would be detrimental.

So when I send a letter out to this or that publication, I just don’t give a fuk whether or not they think the piece is too long. And, more often than not, I have my way. Besides, all my letters to editors are also posted to my WordPress blog (embellished with eye-catching images, as you already know), my Facebook wall, my Twitter account, my LinkedIn update, my Gay Bible site, and my emailing list.

I certainly hope someone is listening, regarding the import of my letter, and that it will reach and influence the proper channels to right this tragic wrong. But I have long ago concluded that belief in yourself should never be allowed to wither on the vine, simply because the results you seek from any effort are not fulfilled. Or better said: “are not apparent.” No matter how much you busted your cojones. For it is an absurd notion to believe that God does not answer all worthy prayers. Of course He does, just not in your own time, but His. Which leads me into the topic of what I think is the best way to pray:

Prayer is only effective when backed with action. Such as when you, Vince, show your kindness to neighbors by plowing snow from their driveways. But it is also good to set aside some time every night in silent, traditional prayer. Though I think many folks get this wrong…for in their praying they obsess over someone’s worst case scenario every time they kneel down to plead for God’s intercession. Here is what I think is a better way:

The first time you pray for someone suffering tragedy, I guess it’s okay to fantasize “what if” horrid outcomes. But really, worry does no one any good, it only causes further stress and spreads anxiety to others, including perhaps the person for whom you pray. Besides, it only shows one’s lack of faith that God does, indeed, fulfill all compassionate wishes. So after that first prayer–and every prayer thereafter–one ought to thank God ahead of time for answering your prayer. And in so thanking, place an image in your mind of that person’s recovery, and a joyful outcome all around. The rest is in God’s hands, and I assure you: those hands are Grace personified.

Tip straight from Gabriel’s mouth: humor is always a great balm to one who is suffering, when done with kindness.

Please allow me to clarify, though, by saying that, if you sometimes fall back into a worst-case scenario fear while you pray, by no means will God fail you in your time of grief. Nor will your heartfelt plea be any less heard for that. To believe otherwise is, simply, superstition. For praying should never be seen as appeasing God; it is, actually, your soul’s willful desire to share the cross of another. Even if you don’t pray, God know’s the ache in your heart, and is already on it, with the commission of his merciful angels.

It is easy to get bitter, especially if your prayer is not answered in the time you think due. Or “does not seem to be answered,” I should say. For I have found that prayers are oftentimes answered in secret, even to the one who prays. And that is why I know I’ve done a good thing with my letter to the editor…with all my letters to the editor over the years. And why I thank God for answering every one of them, although I may not discern the outcome in this lifetime.

Yet I have been blessed from time to time, with a prayer here or a prayer there, being answered rather quickly, and which I witness with my own eyes. Most recently, regarding my adventures with Zach…but also with Larkin.

My sincerest prayers are with Darcy, that her arthritis clear up promptly. And that she find a long term solution towards easing its ravages, and the pain that goes with it. No matter the source, or how surprising.

In loving memory of Mom and Dad,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

Zeke’s 10 New Rules

August 17, 2015

[ Exfoliated Reader: these Ten New Rules are roughly drawn to satirize Moses’ Commandments, updated for LGBT folks as channeled through my specifically personal adventures. Originally broadcast separately, each New Rule was snail-mailed on a postcard, to six gay bars that Larkin frequent(s)(ed), as well as to The Dragonfly Emperor Himself. Which occurred during the months of July and August 2015. (It was originally five bars until I discovered that 440 Castro was his latest addition to his hustler dives.)

Note: the paragraph above was written in the past tense, as I planned to release this blog entry after all postcards have been sent. However, I decided to publish this piece today, in advance of New Rules 7-10. I also mailed a copy of my 10 New Rules to Larkin yesterday, that he may be aware of what’s comin’ down the pike. I will mail the remainder three days apart.

Click on the Sufi heart below each section, to view an image of the actual postcard. You will have to scroll down to find it…first the front and then the back. In two cases (numbers 2 and 3, and numbers 7 and 8) two sequential postcards are presented in a single blog entry. After August 30th, links to postcards #9 and #10 shall be provided. ]

  1. Do not allow Larkin Kelsey to enter, or remain in, any gay bar, tavern, saloon or the like, without my company. Except for Moby Dick, whenever his roommate Zachary is tending bar.
  2. Larkin must commute from his home on a motorless go-cart no less than 5 blocks in any direction. This go-cart shall be powered only by a flock of 20 chickens tethered to the front, like a bobsled. No other form of locomotion is acceptable.
  3. Give Larkin as many hugs as he can handle. And tell him each time, how much Zeke loves him. And wants him to have a beautiful life with or without me. If he is in a gay bar, tavern, saloon or the like when you do this, kick him out immediately after your hug…unless of course if I am standing beside him at that time.
  4. Be kind to Larkin Kelsey, yet do not allow him to disappear from my world: geographically, socially or consciously. This includes watching over him, that he does not hurt himself (unlikely, but better safe than sorry). Know that whatever outcome is my lot with Mr. Kelsey, reflects directly upon the S.F. LGBT community at large.
  5. Like a popular sport, many denizens of gay bars go out of their way to destroy potential friendships outside their own circle. This must end. I fully trust my supporters (whoever they are) to bust their ovaries in order to make this change. And thank you ahead of time for all your good work. A new age is dawning, and it’s very gay. (This is writ in memory of Officer Jane.)
  6. We the SF Queer Family owe Friesen Press everything! For they are the only self-publishing venue that would even touch my novel, which is based on true tales of my adventures as a gay street activist here in Baghdad by the Bay. With Larkin Kelsey the protagonist, and my hero. So if at all possible, please publish the three sequels to my book, “Free Me From This Bond” via Friesen, as our community takes over the distribution of my writing. The link to the free version is http://www.gay-bible.org/free. My publishing advisor is Debbie Anderson, out of Victoria, British Columbia. 1-888-378-6793 ext. 307. danderson@friesenpress.com
  7. Flush out all the obvious and not-so-obvious street people who are homophobic. Thus you shall protect those homeless
    who are either LGBT or friendly to us, who are the most vulnerable to violent attacks (certainly more so than those living indoors). Please base your judgment on behavior, not words. For some who are gay nonetheless act very bigoted, believing that is necessary to protect themselves. They gotta go, too, no excuses. This will also make The Castro a much safer place for residents and visitors alike. You can easily expose the not-so-obvious by calculated words or behavior that you impart. We can then build on this accomplishment, by forming a more cohesive union among all queers and their allies.
  8. The borders of The Castro shall be defined much as the earlier delineation that is termed “Eureka Valley.” That is: Dolores
    Street is the eastern edge, the outermost (Waller Street) border of Duboce Park the northern extent, 20th Street is the southernmost border, and Douglass Street the western limit. So please confine all New Rules within those limits. And be confident that our victories shall swiftly expand beyond these borders, to finally encompass the entire planet.
  9. Do not be fooled by The Naked. For most of these
    guys and gals who occupy Jane Warner Plaza almost totally nude, do not give a flying fuk about LGBT rights. They are wannabe celebrity poseurs, who use the relative safety of The Castro in hopes of gaining financial glory, at the cost of queer denizens and visitors, who only wish to have a nice time in a safe space. Most of these nudists are hetero, but those who identify as gay, are self destructive with a perverted desire to fuk up The Castro Reputation as much as they can. For if they were sincere in The Right to be Naked, they’d have already expanded their cause into other SF neighborhoods. Their purpose is merely to serve as puppets for the homophobic right wing: to convince tourists and TV addicts that The Castro is indeed a boiling pot of sexually diseased sodomites. Give ’em hell and get them outta here!
  10. Give all glory to the Hypnotoad! But if not, then give it to me. Or to Larkin Kelsey thanks to his many incredible (and often painful) lessons. Or to the many excellent LGBT scouts under His Command: such as yourself, perhaps. For I/Him/We am/are The Be-All & End-All of LGBT Equality. This is my last New Rule, which I trust you will take to heart. Have fun with your life; just know there are others also queer, but who must suffer the slings and arrows of homelessness, poverty, redneck location, et cetera. Do your utmost best for each of these long-suffering angels. I hope My 10 New Rules will be an inspiration towards a more egalitarian and LGBT friendly existence. Thank you kindly for bearing with me…Larkin be exalted!

This Extraordinary Claim

February 13, 2015

13 February

Most Beloved Larkin,

I will soon save many souls, and bring great deliverance first to sexual minorities across the globe, then to everyone else. This extraordinary claim comes not from delusion, but from a profound miracle of which (for whatever reason that I really cannot grasp) I am the centerpiece. A destiny which has stirred in my heart since the day I was born, that has often made me question my sanity.

Tears of jubilation by every single human on this planet shall be my cup that runneth over for all eternity. And I owe it entirely to you.

For you, My Amazing Dragon, have never flinched in delivering harsh lessons to This Beleaguered Fukup whenever you so deemed necessary. Which purpose accelerated the growth of my spirit into mature realization of my unique place in the universe. I’m sure it broke your heart many times over in doing so…but at the same time I’m also sure that great joy overrode any sorrow you felt, knowing of course the benevolent outcome.

For when so permitted by Universal Mind, you showered me with love, friendship and loyalty. Which gave me strength and inspiration to strive forward. Among your many kind words and gestures, your confession last year some time in May, was the greatest of them all:

“Our friendship, our being brought together, is an incredible godsend!”

You are My Guardian Dragon who has been with me since I was conceived in the womb. And who summoned me to the Hole in the Wall Saloon back in 2006, that we finally meet in the flesh. Of course it took me years to acknowledge such an amazing kismet, resulting in the publication of “Free Me From This Bond.” Now moving on to Book 4, beyond the trilogy that I thought would complete our tale.

Besides the painful challenges you’ve tossed in my path, you’ve created most of the adventures I write about since we met. And for which reason I give you most of the credit: for you are the true author of these chapters, and I am but the recording secretary.

No one is so beautiful in my eye, than Your Sweet Self. In fact, no one else comes even close. The handsome, kind men I have been meeting lately (and who’ve blessed me with great affection and super-hot sex), I conclude are your scouts whom you’ve sent to give me R&R as a reward for my trials you’ve put me through. Perhaps they are escorts you’ve paid well to show me a nice time. Be that as it may:

I still prefer your company over These Glorious Stallions…even if just chatting over a cup of coffee for 20 minutes or so, now and then.

So when my fame rises, I really don’t want to bask alone in the glory. I prefer that you stand by my side through it all, that I may constantly reflect back to you, so the world may know who really is the true hero. Together, we shall forge a new nation, one that is primarily dedicated to the liberation of sexual minorities, and which shall be named “Athenia.”

Your Friend Who Loves You So Dearly,


P.S.: I finally realize that your calling me “your stalker” is but a code term for “your boyfriend.” Thank you so much for your incredible forbearance. That I may fulfill a destiny which harbors only the greatest happiness for all sentient beings on this wobbly little orb called earth.

New Year’s Letter

December 29, 2014

29 December 2014

My Beloved Larkin,

May this letter find you well as we enter The New Year. I want to emphasize here that your declaration, “Our friendship, our being brought together, is an incredible godsend!” means so much to me, my gratitude is beyond measure. No gift, no other expression of compassion, no kind deed (of even the greatest magnitude) can top those awesome words…except perhaps laying down one’s life.

But I have already shown you by brave actions, that I am indeed willing and happy to surrender my existence if that’s what it takes to give you ultimate fulfillment. But such a tragic outcome is not in the cards, so let’s not go there. Suffice it for me to say:

What a terribly sweet man you are, Larkin Kelsey, for speaking those awesome words, regardless of the many times you’ve thrust a sword into this bleating heart (both before, and since, then)!

It brings me great joy to shower you with gifts, regardless if you do not thank me for them, or even acknowledge my offerings. For how can any of my thoughtful gifts come close to your noble confession? I am humbled and honored…and love you that much more, as a result. But I must admit:

You have a strange way of showing me your love, and which causes me incredible anxiety, grief and confusion. Yet that awesome declaration (as quoted in the first paragraph) is indeed an anchor for my soul that craves so much to be Your Sterling Companion. You are a Most Unique Fellow, as well as Divinely Beautiful to these tearful eyes! (But let me assure you: my tears are those of joy…mostly.)

It is my hope that my volley of silly postcards has brought tons of smiles to your glorious mug, as well as the occasional pang of the heart. As I’m sure you realize, the concept of sending you postcards was born of Zachary’s claim that you rarely even open my letters, let alone read them…but toss them into the garbage, or lay them down in a pile. So I have him to thank for that (ironically). For in sending you postcards, you are more likely to read the contents.

I often fantasize the day you finally phone me, or send me your first letter or card. I’m therefore sure you can imagine the torment I go through, each and every day as I anticipate such a kind return for my patience and devotion. Yet the answering machine and my mailbox remain vacant of your sweet spirit, despite the many years we have been in this prolonged and embattled association.

Wish I were a fly on the wall, to see the expression on your face as you unwrap my most recent gift. Especially my latest prize to you, for Christmas 2014…and which I heartfully presented you on December 23rd at Twin Peaks Tavern. The lovely silver tie with purple stripes, bound about that Scooby-Doo box (which originally contained 500 Scooby-Doo stickers, but which I replaced with a Scooby-Doo beanie doll dressed up as The Nutcracker).

And the other contents dropped into that blue gift-bag I purchased at Walgreens: a music CD of Irish-Celtic songs, the Yuletide dream catcher, and my “Little Match Boy” tale I composed just for you. Though my angels tell me the day will come soon, that I may view–like a DVD recording, though not really–all those moments I have been denied witness, once these trials you’ve put me through have ceased, and we are finally brought together in each other’s arms.

After some days’ hindsight, I now realize you summoned me (telepathically) to Twin Peaks, that I may present you with my latest gift in lieu of my apprehension that you wouldn’t accept. Just as you summoned me in March 2012 to Moby Dick, that I discover you now hang out in The Castro…and likewise called me to The Cafe in February 2014, as a test of our psychic link. Here’s how it went down:

Two days before I handed you my Christmas package, I attempted to gift you with it while you were seated at Twin Peaks Tavern. You saw me through the plate glass, but did not acknowledge…I guess because your housemate Zachary was there (and it was very crowded), thus accepting my gift at that moment would cause some difficulty as a result. So I did not linger more than a half minute before proceeding back hovel. “Never mind,” I thought, “I’ll try again another day when, hopefully, he sits alone.”

Three confrontations occurred between us before I could bless you with my gift…and for which reason I concluded that you most likely would turn me down. You scowled each time you saw me walking towards you, which of course broke my heart, but which also caused me to affirm my love, regardless. For I refuse to be duped by your rejections, especially since you confessed to me back in May, that “our friendship, our being brought together, is an incredible godsend.” Yet had that most kind admission never occurred, I’d still remain forthright in continuing to reach out to you! Thus the 23rd arrived, and I wrestled with my demons:

“Surely he won’t accept my gift at this point,” I mused with much angst, “But so what? After all, it’s only a material gesture, which I can mail to him post-Christmas, when my next Social Security automatic deposit arrives, January 3rd.”

As the short day diminished into night, I grew feisty:

“Wait a minute, why should I be such a coward? It’s Tuesday, the night he plays pool at The Cafe. I’ll just bring the gift there and attempt to hand it over. If he humiliates me and drives me away, I’ll just shrug my shoulders, tell him I love him anyway, and be gone!”

With that determination in mind, I marched with the blue gift-bag, across Market and up the street…then climbed the stairs to The Cafe. But the place was empty. So I sighed and ambled back down, hoping to find you seated in Twin Peaks Tavern.

Sure enough, there you were, camped on the corner stool of the bar’s short edge. chatting it up with an elderly buffoon on the lengthy side, with a vacant chair between you two. A space perfectly situated for me to drop my present, spout a few kind words and run off. But would you rebuff me with cruel retort, or accept my gift in friendly grace? I did not care at this moment, for opportunity struck, and I was not about to be a spineless turd. In face of the challenge that the last time I entered Twin Peaks to wish you a lovely evening, you turned to me and said: “Don’t ever come in here again.”

With that, I entered the tavern, dropped my gift onto the empty stool, and declared to you, My Guardian Dragon:

“Merry Christmas and God bless you!” Then pointed to the bag: “It contains a very nice Scooby-Doo gift.”

I quickly departed in order to deflect your possible rejection, and show respect for your wish to be left alone, no matter the reason. For the last thing I desired, was that you shove the Christmas present back into my hands. But to my surprise you offered no opposition. As I departed Twin Peaks and looked back at the window where you sat, I saw you reach an extended arm towards me, with an outstretched hand like a claw.

I beamed with joy and threw you an ecstatic guffaw before turning my face away and returning to my humble SRO. One thing I love so much about you, Larkin, in spite of your frequent hostility towards me, is this:

You have never turned down any gift I bring to you. In fact, you’ve accepted every single one with incredible grace. This latest being no exception, though I was cursed with doubts that arose from recent conflict. But only today have I come to realize that the argument I had with myself (whether or not to present my gift to you face-to-face) was really a telepathic communique between you and yours truly, where you assured:

“It’s okay, Zeke. I’d be delighted to receive your gift tonight. And I have set up a pleasant scenario where you can come in and bless me with your lovely present, without any harassment whatsoever.”

Sure enough, Zachary wasn’t there. Nor was the tavern crowded at all. An empty chair awaited my gift, and no one else was present to obstruct my desire to wish you a beautiful holiday season. The path was clear, as if The Angels Themselves had paved the way.

And I’m sure they did.

So this is what I taped to the back of the envelope:


December 22, 2014

21 December 2014

My Dearest Friend, I’m under the impression that you are basically asexual. Some people are born that way (just like “gay,” “hetero,” “bisexual,” and so forth). But I also know you are a very affectionate man. I want to reassure you at this point, that I have nothing but great love for you, and always will, even if sex never enters the picture. The fantasies I have about you never include the explicitly erotic…but do involve dreams about sleeping with you with our clothes on, plenty of hugs, and a really amazing friendship. In spite of the occasional steamy fantasy I’ve composed about us, in My Larkin Tales. “Titillate your readers and they shall come back for more,” is a great way to become a best-selling author. I also do it to make you laugh.

I can imagine how very difficult it is, to be asexual (while incredibly good looking) and seek someone to love who will not refrain from groping you in all sorts of horny maneuvers, no matter your wishes otherwise. Most likely this is a terribly lonely existence, but which I guarantee need not be the case between ourselves. I have also considered that you might have sex with very hot guys (as you are so handsome yourself), but that you nonetheless have great love for me, though not in a sexual way. That is perfectly okay by me. I have also considered that you might have a sexual attraction towards me, in which case I still think it’s best to forego conjugal thrills until we are both sure our friendship is so well established and solid, that the sexual dimension will never destroy our trust, love and fidelity we have for each other.

Having said this, let me move on to another issue, which is your most difficult behavior (especially since you shoved me in January 2013) and which, of course, brings me much grief: While you have done many acts of kindness during our escapades at The Hole in the Wall Saloon, and then again since around 2010 and beyond…you have also vilified me, humiliated me, and in numerous other ways insulted me and broke my trust.

Yet now and then, you have performed gestures of compassion that give me good reason to hang in there. In spite of all this, I declare: It is me who has constantly reached out to you and expressed my affections since we both were driven out of the Hole…far more times than you have returned the compassion. Yet (I must admit) those occasional moments you have expressed fondness back, were extraordinary on such a divine level, that I cannot measure our mutual endearment as anything other than equal. Now what I am about to embellish upon is neither a guilt-trip nor a threat. However:

No way am I capable of continuing to extend my kind regards for you, should you not begin to make things up to me in a big way, by Christmas (or by Randolph’s birthday Dec. 30th, or New Year’s Day at the very latest). For I cannot conceive of having the strength to forge ahead without your love requited in full. To paraphrase Randolph Taylor:

“You are my last hurrah!”

There will be no one after you, that I shall yearn to love, and go through all the tests that life demands as a result. And for this reason, I don’t see how the remainder of my life will be more than a living death…and will not result in putting an end to my misery in short shrift. After Randolph, after many others I have loved but who have turned on me (or been disappeared by Fate’s Hand), there is really nothing more I care to do, that would give me hope or inspiration to live on. Not that I wouldn’t continue expressing my love to you whenever our paths cross…nor would I not do my very best to thrive without your friendship.

But how long have I already been the very best friend I know how to be, for your sake…yet how often have you caused me needless grief and betrayal? I certainly don’t see how I could deal with this much longer, without perishing from exhaustion and a broken heart.

More than eight years have I loved you like a darling brother, yet with what outcome?

But I also cannot conceive that you, yourself, have not suffered incredible grief and long-suffering to get to where you are, now. It just wouldn’t make sense to be any other way, if God matched us for each other. Which I’m sure He has, else you wouldn’t have so graciously (and enthusiastically) declared to me one day in 2014 May:

“Our friendship, our being brought together, is an incredible godsend!”

I really don’t mean to frame this appeal in an “either/or” mandate: “either you love me unconditionally or else.” Yet this is what it comes down to. So if you value me as a best friend, and do not desire to see me suffer as I’ve been doing for way too many years (most of my life in fact):

It is time for you to drop your animosity (feigned or otherwise) and get this show on the road.

I realize the possibility of you being a detective, and for which professional reason you cannot admit. And that having a friendship with you out in the open may pose a threat to myself, and to your mission. If this be the case–and our association must continue to appear as a hateful one for my own protection–of course I’ll do my best to play the game as I’ve done for years. But I am telling you:

I’ve reached the end of my rope: if this ridiculous drama plays itself out for too many months into The New Year, I will most likely collapse into oblivion. Thus our enemies will win.

I also realize that this “detective” routine may be nothing more than a ruse: a fantasy played out by you and others in some sort of secret society that actually has my best interests at heart. Which is: to make me The Ultimate Hero in Some Amazing Gay Scenario of which I have barely glimpsed. But regardless of the actual cause of my dilemma, I tell you this:

I am pretty much spent out. But perhaps this is how it’s supposed to go down before you extend a hand in friendship and pull me up, and into your darling arms.

I am alone in this world, Larkin, through no fault of my own. Do you realize how painful it is for me to see you have so much fun and camaraderie, while I remain looking in from the outside, like The Little Match Boy? How sad for me to know that you now just live a block away from me, yet I am never invited over? That you refuse to even give me your phone number? And that most of the time when our paths cross and I greet you with great admiration, you walk by like I don’t even exist? That I put together another Christmas gift for you (Scooby-Doo included), not knowing whether or not you’ll accept the offering in person?

What kind of man are you to be so wicked as to tell everyone that I’m psychopathic, and your stalker? I may soon die without having any answer. My heart is badly broken.

Yet I still wish for you, and with great sincerity: a beautiful life filled with joy, friendship and prosperity.

Truly yours w/o expecting any kindness in return,


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