The Doggies are Now Mine!

January 7, 2021

URGENT! TRULY URGENT! The dogs won’t eat ANYthing!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 7, 2021 6:46 PM


They continue to refuse the kibble and/or canned gravy-style Pedigree dog food (as well as these chicken-chew treats), so this makes the third day in a row I’ve blown twenty dollars on rotisserie fowl. At first, I pulled the white meat off the bone in small pieces, and mixed a considerable amount with some other canned food that Deek left me: “Diamond Naturals Chicken Dinner”…not chunky at all, just firmly packed, gray-brown mush. No success in THAT department; the mashed-in chicken pieces failed to entice!

So I then prepared a bowl each of nothing BUT roasted bird, just as I’ve done yesterday and the day before…and which they went nuts over. To my disappointment and worry, they refused to touch that, either! I have no idea what to do now, and this is becoming a financial disaster. And to make things worse, Deek showed up right in the middle of my preparing their meal. I hollered at him through the window, where he stood across Market Street, shopping cart in hand:

“Wait ten minutes, I’m feeding them!”

But he didn’t say okay, and said it will only take a minute, and he’ll wait for me by the bus stop. So I speedily finished mixing the mush with the white meat, set down the two bowls and exited. I really did NOT want to leave the brindlekin alone during feeding, as they might fight over the chicken, or Wiley would gobble up all of Taco’s portion. But I stepped out anyway and, lo and behold, there was a humongous Bluetooth speaker hogging up more than half of Deek’s shopping cart and sticking out almost a foot above the top…behind which stood the Bodhisattva of Disruption and Chaos Himself.

“I’m really hurtin’ Zeke, could you PLEASE give me a little more money to feed myself?” he begged, just like any other meth freak would, who just blew a HUGE wad of cash the day before, on something frivolous…like a stupid electronic device that he’d sell for another Tina fix in a day or two from now. (I never believed he lost any of his devices, or they were stolen, as he’d always claim. In fact, I’m both surprised and delighted that he’s held onto the dogs long enough for me to take them in permanently.)

Of course I severely reprimanded him for wasting the $300 I just gave him yesterday, instead of spending at least SOME of it on the doggies, in order to help me with their expenses. Then I paused to examine the small sticker on the speaker’s top edge:

“A hundred ninety-nine dollars, eh?”

“No, I got it for less,” he retorted. I was about to explode in fumes of anger, but tamped it down.

“It doesn’t MATTER what you spent, Deek!” I reprimanded. “You are responsible for using that money for more important things, like FEEDING yourself. It’s OUTRAGEOUS you’ve come back so soon after I just gave you a WHOPPING three hundred bucks!”

Then I explained how both Wiley & Taco have completely lost their appetite, and I just spent $60 on roasted chicken for them, three days in a row. And that MY share of the stimulus is supposed to go to THEM, not him!”

“Oh, they’ll be alright,” he blithely brushed it off. “PLEASE, I need some cash to eat. I’m very hungry now, Zeke.”

So I caved in a little, “How much do you want?”

He hesitated to answer, so I blurted: “Ten dollars?’

Deek looked shocked, as if I had the nerve to offer him such a pittance. “I was thinking more like sixty dollars.” He had the gall to add: “You have the money.”

Upon his declarng that specific sum, I parried: “Oh, you’re asking for an advance on this Saturday’s allowance. Well, I don’t know if I have that kinda money upstairs, and I’ll have to march over to the bank to withdraw it, but I’m right in the middle of dealing with your dog’s eating problems, which have me worried like hell!”

“I’ll never ask you again, Zeke, I promise!” he swore. “Really, I won’t ever ask you for any more money, never again!”

“Well I don’t believe you, Deek, but we’ll see, now won’t we?” I riposted. “You’re squeezing money out of me that I need for the dogs, now that they are in my charge. You can NOT do this ever again, Deek!”

“I promise I won’t, ever again!” he perpetuated what I know is a blatant lie. But after this round of wallet-sucking ploys, I really WON’T be able to cough up any more moolah. So be it; I am definitely more than capable of saying NO and walking away. I know, because I’ve done it before to Deek, at least several times in the past two years.

So I told him hold on, I’ll see if I have that amount, I’ll be right back. Knowing full well of course, that I did NOT have three Jacksons on hand, but FOUR one-hundred-dollar smackaroonies. “I see where this is going,” I thought in frustration as I scurried back up to my hovel, to discover that neither Taco nor Wiley had taken even a single nosh of their white-meat-studded bowl of mush, before grabbing a Bennie and exiting the building once more.

Before handing the bill to him, I admonished: “You know when I hollered back at you to wait ten minutes, ’cause I’m feeding the dogs? You could’ve easily said okay and waited. If I don’t watch Wiley, she’ll scarf up Taco’s meal too. Now I have to go back upstairs and feed one of the dogs all over again.”

“Oh, I didn’t hear you say that,” he replied. But I know better…he DID hear me say that, because he yelled in reply to my plea for him to wait: “This’ll just take a minute!”

He also mentioned how he’s doing everything to better himself (ha, as if a $199 Bluetooth speaker is a “help”). I replied that yeah, you got a tent now (which he told me yesterday, for forty dollars, and I pointed out tents are being handed out for free to the homeless, he doesn’t need to spend any money on that.) His reply?

“My tent was stolen this morning.” Of course…and his speaker will be “stolen” too, soon enough. So I declared once again:

“You can get another one, Deek. They’re handing them out for free, just ask Boulevard Joe, he’ll tell you where to get one.” Then I pointed out the Benjamin now in his hand:

“I didn’t have sixty dollars, just this hundred dollar bill, so you get NO more money for the rest of the month, I can’t AFFORD to do this any more, now that Taco & Wiley are in my care, and you’re no longer covering ANY of their expenses yourself.”

It was time for him to depart, and for me to return hovel and deal with the present doggie crisis. But before we parted ways, he said, “Thank you, I love you Zeke!” and we exchanged fist bumps. But then I summoned him to hold on, with a tug at his sleeve…so he stopped and turned to face me. I spoke these final words for this, our latest rendezvous:

“No matter what you do or don’t do, God will protect you, and turn your life around in an amazing direction. Deek. I just can’t be the one to provide you with any more cash…short of a miracle that is. Which COULD happen, but not today.”

He chose not to reply with so much as even a “thanks” or “goodbye;” instead he flashed me a broad smile, then turned away to push his shopping cart to whatever his next destiny will be. But there is an interesting topic he ALSO brought up amid our negotiations, which is this:

“There are riots,” he declared, “and revolutions going on in Washington…they wanna assassinate the president.”

“Well, they SHOULD assassinate him,” I blurted out, then mused aloud: “I’m so wrapped up in my writing and tending to your doggies, I haven’t been paying attention to the news, not ANY news, for at least two weeks now. But I’m gonna check it out later today.”

What I most appreciate (with a bit of hindsight) is that Deek learned of this by listening to the radio! A milestone I’d say, as he’s beginning to stay informed about current events now and then, instead of playing rap music 24/7. However, I fear he’s listening to SF’s own, right-wing talk show station, KGO AM, and getting the facts all twisted. For now that I’ve caught up with the news, the issue appears to be all about pro-Trump butt lickers storming the capitol, CLAIMING that the left threatens their Commander-in-Cheat with death threats. Which clearly is NOT the case. So much like the dim-bulb, christo-fascist right wingers to scapegoat the noble opposition by blaming them for their OWN sins!

Maybe I should just not worry, and stop offering them food till they’re SO hungry they’ll eat anything? Neither pup looks the least bit distressed, sad or in any other negative mood. In fact, they’re relaxing here on the bedding, in what appears to be appreciative repose, and respite from the cold. (Jeez, we’ve had so many chilly days and nights for WEEKS now, and still not a break in sight!) They remain cheerful and sweet as ever. I’ve stashed the remaining half of the chicken in the fridge, along with the mound of scraps I placed in their bowls, which they refused to touched, now sealed in a Ziploc freezer bag.

But I refuse to end this report without analyzing the latest scenario from the perspective of bodhisattva intrigue:

This is the latest scene of Act #whatever, that Deek is playing out for my benefit. Because he’s CREATING a wonderful story that will gain me fame and vast wealth, by typing it out and sharing it with the world via WordPress, Youtube, Facebook and Twitter. And this is just the latest twist in the plot. Oh what drama! The doggies now refuse to eat, and meth-head Deek is preying on my meager finances! Woo-hoo!

  • Zeke

From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 7, 2021 6:46 PM

Okay, I just purchased the doggies from Deek (video link towards the end of this email). As I was waiting for the police to get here, more than a half hour creeped by with him screaming “I want my dogs! I want my dogs!” from across Market Street. He saw me once or twice from the window, which didn’t help any. I had called 911 back, to arrange they call to my window, or make a little siren noise to alert me…because my landline phone has been dead since yesterday, and I can only use my smartphone to make 911 calls. How ironic, that I was incapacitated in that way, just in a moment of emergency, considering the VERY rare moments I even use my phone!

Dieter had stepped inside, with my assistance because pushing a wheelchair. I told him about the terrible turn of events with Deek. So warned him to play things dumb should he run into him. And that, since the gendarmes are taking SO long to show up, maybe he could be my bodyguard…which I’ll also need anyway, while walking the pooches. He cracked up as he slowly hobbled up the stairs, with another resident carrying the wheelchair up to his fourth-floor SRO. And said: “Oh, sorry, I’m not good at that these days!”

A few minutes later (and I still heard his painfully-slogging ascent to the second floor) I called 911 back, and asked if I could return to my hovel to tend to the doggies. (I had initially called 911 to explain how my emergency call was about Deek’s dogs, how he’s abusing them but now wants them back, which I do NOT have the heart to do, for obvious reasons. I had also explained that I was helping take care of them through the cold and rainy weather, and everything seemed hunky-dory between us. But he’s a meth freak, thus unpredictable, and today is a whopper, and I’m afraid he may be violent towards me, and wind up killing the dogs through severe neglect and abuse!)

They understood my land line is down, and my smartphone has no cell service, so agreed to either call up to my window, or turn on the siren for a few seconds, once they arrive. The four times I called 911, they were all quite nice and professional…except one who just shunted me over to the police department, where no one answered the phone. I guess because of all the political brouhaha now going on with the right-wing riots in D.C….activists and marches, etc.
Adding to the difficulty with keeping a line open to 911 is they couldn’t use my now-dead land line number, nor could call me back via my non-cell-service smartphone!

So I then climbed back up the stairs, where the manager Kevin was speaking with Dieter. I interrupted to tell Dieter the cops were finally on their way. Then I looked towards the manager, and said should I tell Kevin?

“Not necessary,” he replied, “I already told him.”

Well, Kevin was totally nonplussed when I explained how I’ve been helping Deek with the doggies through the cold weather and rains, but I’ve never seen him act so crazy as he is today. That I don’t want to return the pups to him, because he’s an animal abuser, and they’ll probably die. And they’re such sweet pups, I added.

“They aren’t to me!” quipped Kevin, but I just waved it away by telling him that was because he was thump-thumping a trash bin down the stairs when we stepped out and into the hallway…that they’re actually very quiet! I also mentioned I’ll probably be moving soon in two or three months, because I have a very lucrative publishing contract in the works. Which, BTW, is called “Brindlekin Tales” and is all about my adventures with Deek and the doggies. (I know, Tara, I’m really hedging my bets to a dangerous extent here, but what the hey, I believe in my destiny!)

I also told him to feel free to call 911 over Deek, whenever you deem it necessary, but I think he has enough sense to stay off this side of the street…and I’ll do my best to keep him at bay.

Upon returning hovel (finally! I was starving ’cause Deek’s drama disrupted everything, so I hadn’t had even breakfast yet and it was well after three o’clock) I heard My Nutty Bodhisattva screeching from the other side of reality:

“C’mon down, let’s strike a deal!”

Turned out he was willing to give up the dogs for $300. Interesting, I thought, that he didn’t say four hundred, per his original price. Though since I coughed up an extra hundred for him this morning, I guess he was respecting that as part of the four hundred. (A hint, mind you, that this is all an act put on by a bodhisattva par excellence…as it strikes me that a REAL tweaker would insist on the original four hundred!)

Anyway, I told him I need a witness, and it has to be Boulevard Joe. Well, he kicked up a stink and refused. So I said how about a video recording our agreement? He said no to that, too, so I said well then, you’re not gonna get the money, and started to walk away. But he finally caved in…so I returned hovel where the sweet little brindlekin were happily minding their own business, relaxing on my bed as usual. What patient canine souls! They of course greeted me with a quizzical stare that said: “What on earth is going on, Zeke?” I pet them both and told them to be patient awhile longer, I’ll be back really soon.

The best I could get regarding a solid contract, is this video which I uploaded only moments ago:

And here is a brief prequel I shot on the sly, taken just moments before he agreed to be recorded, and eleven minutes before the contract was made firm:

Talk about a drama queen…or speaking from the bodhisattva trickster perspective, a “melodrama” queen! He looks quite the wreck, BTW. But knowing this is just one of his finest Jewish Homeless Princess scenarios he’s ever performed here in the Castro (and maybe anywhere else), I am not particularly stressed out over any further nonsense from his corner.

Of course, after the deal was done, he ranted on about how I’m probably a pervert letting the dogs lick me all over my body, and that he’s heard people say all sorts of bad things about me, and how he has a lot of his buddies watching me. I retorted that I have enemies who badmouth me all the time, and I’m sorry he’s chosen to stand on the wrong side of Castro history, and that he wouldn’t believe how many of MY comrades are watching HIM! I was not the least perturbed by his ugly accusations, because I knew it was yet another challenge from My Cajun Bodhisattva, of how well or not I could handle my temper. Indeed, I handled it very well, wouldn’t you say?

Upon returning to my room, I dialed 911 once more, to cancel my emergency, explaining to them we had struck a deal with a three-hundred dollar trade, and I have it all on video, and that should he ever harass and threaten me again, I’ll sic the cops after him. Oh, yeah, I DID pull my “I-have-your-social-security-number-and-with-that-could-really-mess-up-your-life” card, as well as threaten to report him as a deadbeat dad to Louisiana authorities, and I know where to find him. He simply shrugged his shoulders, said he’s been through worse.

  • Zeke

PS: I really needed that $300 to help the doggies out, especially with their surprise appetite loss. Why is this happening all at once? Deek’s insanity, dogs stopped eating, total wipeout of my stimulus money in less than 24 hours (plus an extra $100 from my slim Social Security budget), and dead land line when I need to call 911? Methinks the bodhisattva forces are working overtime! My faith remains strong, puppy love is in my heart, always.


From: Tara Roosevelt
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: January 7, 2021 7:51 PM

However, I fear he’s listening to SF’s own, right-wing talk show station, KGO AM, and getting the facts all twisted.

Yep, right-wing radio and TV is going wild with the disinfo. The mobs were”Antifa.” They were “hired by Democrats.” It was all “staged.” The bit about assassinating the president is rich; they’re carrying Trump flags, Confederate flags, one of them was photographed wearing a an Auschwitz t-shirt. The irony is that they were there trying to halt the electoral college certification; they did stop it, but only for a few hours. When Congress resumed, which they did, several Repukes who were going to vote to hold things up had suddenly changed their minds. So the effect was that the certification happened much more smoothly and expeditiously than it would have if not for the riots. Meanwhile, Trump and Pence are now mortal enemies. Trump goes out with a bang AND a whimper.

From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: January 7, 2021 8:43 PM

Oh, Jesus. Interesting to actually lay eyes on him.

Not his best moment, by a long shot.

He looks to be in fairly dire shape. Not that I have much basis for comparison. But he seems shaky, unstable. How I hope he just lets you keep the doggies in peace.

He usually looks MUCH better than he does today. Oh, he’ll let me keep the doggies in peace…after all I have my bodyguards who work the Koheba Smoke Shop to keep him off my block. The manager of my building also knows about it now, and he may have some neighborhood clout. And, once my New Year’s Parody gets distributed tomorrow in the Duboce Triangle News, a lot more locals will check out my Brindlekin Tales, and learn about my situation with Deek and the doggies. Because in the introduction to my piece, is included a link to the Brindlekin section of my WordPress blog! Also, I’ve uploaded those two videos to Youtube, as well as shared ’em on Facebook and Twitter. One or both just MAY go viral!

I just uploaded my latest Brindlekin chapter (18) which is called “The Doggies are Now Mine!” And it’s all about today’s disgusting fiasco, and includes those two videos towards the bottom of that tale.

Are they eating yet???????

Hardly. Wiley accepted a small serving of chicken, but Taco still turns down everything. Not sure if he’s even drinking water, but I’m watching. Wiley has been drinking. Oh, and Taco threw up, but it looked pretty harmless, just clear fluid and two tiny bits of chicken. He also had diarrhea when he pooped this afternoon. Yet, they remain cheerful and active as ever, play-fighting and being affection. They continue to look sparkly, healthy and joyful. I give them plenty of hugs and scritches, and they don’t act especially needy to receive them…just the usual loving rapport. It may very well be lack of exercise killing their appetite, which is known to happen in dogs. So I really have no choice but to get them to a safe area tomorrow, where they can run about to the point of happy exhaustion. Then we’ll see if their appetite (hopefull) picks up. But this may also be their estrangement from Deek, even though they don’t seem the least bit worried or sad. Dogs get very attached to their owners, even the abusive ones.

GOOD NEWS: My GoFundMe first withdrawal just arrived in the sum of $387.20. I will open a second account now, and transfer that entire amount to it, minus the $60 spent on three roast chicken orders, because I am reimbursing myself for a doggie expense. My GFM amount is only $400, so only $13 left to spend, beyond what I’ve aleady withdrawn. Hopefully, once the Duboce Triangle News publishes my tale with the link to my Brindlekin Tales page, many locals will check it out, and they’ll see my GoFundme appeal right there on top! And more donations will come rolling in.

CONCLUSION: This is all an amazing adventure, which Deek has assisted in creating in a MAJOR way. He is no threat, Tara…he’s one of my brilliant guardians who gladly makes personal sacrifices in order to turn me into a hero. And I believe there are many other bodhisattvas here in the Castro, who know all about me, and ready to catapult me to fame. If I’m deluded, this is the most incredible delusion one could ever have! Sleep well, my most kind and intelligent ally…I truly wish that for you!

My Faith Moves Planets, Not Just Mountains

January 5, 2021

[Note: Carlyle Lambourne is the pseudonym I’ve chosen for my greatest ally in the struggle for LGBT equality. He resides in the greater Boston area and is, like me, a dedicated activist who’s made many sacrifices along the way. We must’ve exchanged thousands of emails since we discovered each other online, way back in 1997. Though we have yet to meet in person, I consider him a brother and my best male friend of all time (Tara Roosevelt being my female counterpart to that). Enjoy this latest communique, which I’ve decided to include in my doggie tales, because it IS God’s unconditional love delivered unto me through the species Canis familiaris. And which revelations are occurring at the same time I’m struggling for Taco & Wiley’s happiness, and getting them off the streets.]

From: Zeke Krahlin
Sent: Tuesday, December 29, 2020 5:24 AM
To: Carlyle Lambourne
Subject: Have you been paying attention to my latest writings?

I have a hunch you aren’t, because I’m damned sure you would’ve felt compelled to remark on them. Ten short chapters so far, and they are astounding. Another chapter coming up in a day or two:

  • Ezekiel

RE: My Year of the Wig (latest blog entry)
From: Carlyle Lambourne
To: Zeke’s Mailing List
Date: January 2, 2021 11:13 AM


There is no way to win with hair. People will mock you if you are going bald, but will mock you if you have a hairpiece; mock you if you are getting gray, but mock you if you use hair color.

The only way to win is to be eternally young, which no one can do.

I think that putting brown hair color on gray hair is little different than putting brown shoe polish on shoes when they are looking scruffy. gray hair is a morbid reminder not just of aging but of death and mortality. Who needs it?

Aging is God’s sin against humanity. It is horrifying what age does to people as a process of uglification. If I were a poet, I would compare aging people to wilting flowers, but since I am not a poet, the best that
I can do is to be more honest and compare them to rotting bananas on a Formica counter top, getting brown spots, turning black, eventually dripping down the side.

Any way to get even a small victory in fighting back is fine, whether wig or hair dye or merely escape into fantasy and denial.

  • Regards, Carlyle

Subject: Re: My Year of the Wig (latest blog entry)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Carlyle Lambourne
Date: January 2, 2021 11:49 AM

On 2021-01-02 14:28, Carlyle Lambourne wrote:

The only way to win is to be eternally young, which no one can do.

That may soon change…IF and only if what is happening to me (which is astounding) is some sort of cosmic joke. But, even if just a joke, no less astounding. I relate all this through my Brindlekin Tales, if you know how to read between the lines. Besides that: the gift of my writing, how it’s suddenly taken a great leap in quality, literally drips of angelic honey…so much so that it’s hard to deny what a profound love from the universal mind has befallen this VERY lucky soul. These tales are now collated into chapters, as a growing work in progress that my fans can follow:

Readers may enjoy each chapter as the story unfolds in real life, and I write it down, dress it up with nifty images I find on the web (which I call “found cyber-objects”), then proudly upload and announce its birth with an immense rush of epiphany that lingers on for days. BEST HIGH I’VE EVER HAD, WHETHER NATURAL OR INDUCED! Along with living proof of God’s hand working through me. Though not in a Christian way, but more through pagan inspiration…such as what gave us fairy tales of yore. Or from a much earlier source that anointed this planet with a shower of Greek myths that still rain upon us to this day. For I pen all my tales under the Light of Prometheus.

gray hair is a morbid reminder not just of aging but of death and mortality. Who needs it?

For the majority of people that’s true, Carlyle. But in my Randolph‘s case, his hair was the most gorgeous silver shade I’ve ever seen. Like a god’s hair, not a mortal’s; or that of some superhero in D.C. Comics. Astounding! Randolph IS Zeus, who paid me a visit…and triggered an amazing, personal odyssey in so doing. Which led, ultimately, to my first published novel, “Free Me From This Bond,” with the brilliant assistance by yet another superhero in my life: Arwyn Miles.

Aging is God’s sin against humanity.

No, God is incapable of sin by any stretch of the imagination, IMNSHO (in my not-so-humble opinion) I think it’s more of what burdens we are expected to bear, that we may grow in wisdom. Long-suffering, Patience and Selfless Compassion are indeed the Three Muses of Wisdom. We do not ever really die. It’s more like breaking out of a cocoon. Death is not what most think it is. When it comes near your time, you are visited by other-worldly beings who welcome you into their dimension, while your previous, physical body remains on the earthy plane, to act out the death process. So that others may learn further lessons of compassion and caring for one another. The decaying person is not the human who once lived in that body…it is a type of angelic force that, like a superb Shakespearean actor, fakes whatever suffering others witness, unto his or her final breath. IOW: the actual person that body once represented is NOT suffering, but has already begun living a new life in a higher, exquisite reality.

Nor is nature the harsh, impersonal beast we think she is. For likewise are each of God’s little (and big) creatures transported to a benevolent realm before the dying process begins…even before the chase commences where another animal seeks it out as prey. I am not sure if insects and even tinier living things such as microbes are part of this web of immortality, but I think not. However, like certain sects of Buddhism and other Asian philosophies, it’s best not to take that karmic risk by intentionally crushing them underfoot, or killing them in other ways, such as with pesticide or antibiotic cleansers, or even a slap upon a mosquito now stabbing its proboscis through your cheek. Instead, their tenet is to do absolutely the LEAST harm possible to ALL sentient beings, including the most minuscule.

I have previously discussed my stunning theory a number times, but initially in an essay I call “Neopositivity: A Gay Religion:”

Unfortunately, no one seems to get the point, thus dismisses my supposition as a frivolous notion…like a sole, flashy gewgaw still dangling from a dead Exmass tree unceremoniously dumped on a road’s shoulder while no one was looking!

How I came to this remarkable insight is partly through my readings of, and meditations on, various cultural myths, religions and folklore over the years. My majoring in cultural anthropology at the University of Missouri certainly opened these doors…along with, of course, the Free Speech Movement. But it’s mostly just a gift, I conclude…but what an astounding gift it is! I know my destiny like the back of my pecker (ha-ha)! And here it is, in a nutshell:

I shall soon become a globally celebrated author and thinker, highly regarded as among the greatest such kind in all of history. Imagine what that will do for LGBT equality: we shall become LIBERATED! Imagine, on a more finite note, what that will do for your OWN recognition as a brilliant activist and author! For you can count on me–once I become a beloved icon–to direct the world’s attention to one Carlyle Lambourne, as surely as you can count on the sun rising over the east each and every triumphant day. Thus:

You need struggle no more to awaken the world regarding the profound issue of LGBT persecution (and how it ambushes the progress of anything ELSE worthy of pursuit, dissent, or invention, though it be perceived as having NOTHING to do with homosexual issues), my incredible cyber-friend, ally and confidante of more than two astounding and mostly difficult decades! Now, for a final thought regarding my seemingly ridiculous (and some would say “dangerous”) declaration of myself as the world’s next avatar:

According to Kabbalah wisdom, one who truly seeks the path towards YHWH seriously and tiresomely enough, just may (after MANY years) achieve that goal. And in so doing receive the greatest gift possible, that The Lord of All Kingdoms Earthly and Otherwise can bestow upon one of his human creations:


Which height of spiritual achievement is actually accessible to ANYONE. Though, of course, rarely achievable, due to the tremendous challenges laid at his or her feet, in the process. As well it should be, just like any other great reward one might seek through a lengthy and excruciating process of training and devotion, such as what’s required to win the gold medal at the International Olympics. But even THAT most celebrated sports competition pales in comparison to what is being discussed herein. But I must note now, that one can NEVER earn God’s most profound blessing of all, if THAT is solely your goal, or even just in part: to enjoy its fruits for one’s own happiness, power and popularity. For that is the ego’s imposition upon what is intended to be a tremendous act of self sacrifice and devotion to an ideal way beyond earthly foibles.

It is what that great and compassionate psychoanalyst, the Honorable Dr. Carl Jung, called “The Hero’s Journey.” Plus his theory of archetypes that goes along with it, explains quite well the various inner drives and dreams of our psyche, which motivate our waking hours. Thus, in perceiving oneself or another as the savior or hero archetype, one should recognize that person as just himself through it all, and NOT literally the archetype. One must remain grounded and centered as the person he actually is, and not become so confused as to wind up BELIEVING that he or she is the archetype itself. That would be, as Jung would say: “the dark side taking over.” You can read a bit more about the hero’s journey in this well written article:

If I were a poet

But you ARE a poet, and a most EXCELLENT one…so I don’t get where you’re coming from on this. Your so-called prose is often of such a cadence and riddled with bullet-shot insights, which are the mark of an accomplished poet.

Any way to get even a small victory in fighting back is fine, whether wig or hair dye or merely escape into fantasy and denial.

I have a hunch you are responding to the excerpt only, and have not actually read the story, which is HILARIOUS. Try again?

Wishing you, Manny, and all others you love, a most rewarding and profitable Nude Ear! Which I celebrate and share with the world though this satirically prophetic little bon mot of prosaic absurdity:

2021 is going to be a FANTASTIC year!

Most sincerely and with great jubilation for our friendship:

  • Ezekiel

Re: Have you been paying attention to my latest writings?
From : Zeke Krahlin
To: Carlyle Lambourne
Date: January 3, 2021 1:17 PM

On my Christmas/New Year PTO, I’ve been preoccupied with needing to set up a new Windows 10 PC, a new laptop, and dealing with a plumbing issue, so sorry that I’ve been short on time for other things (including more updates to my website).

Of course such interference would happen right when I’ve made the absolute breakthrough in my writing, that will GUARANTEE the liberation of all sexual minorities. In fact, they will do the same for ALL oppressed people, but not until LGBTs are first emancipated. This is one of the greatest achievements of mankind, and it’s coming through yours truly.

And yet your stupid job demands shove their ugly, monstrous imposition into preventing you from witnessing an EXTRAORDINARY phenomenon that is also the answer to YOUR wishes for ultimate justice.

You may very well wind up kicking yourself in the butt, for not being in on the action from the start. Well, whether or not you can find the time for something so earth-shakingly important, most important of all is that I move forward with this breakthrough, with or without your conscious presence, or with or without anyone else’s. I will GET THE JOB DONE, THE BREAD BAKED, NO MATTER WHAT!

Said the little red rainbow hen.

  • Ezekiel

RE: My Year of the Wig (latest blog entry)
From: Carlyle Lambourne
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: January 4, 2021 12:45 PM


There is a book called “Cracking the Aging Code”, which is a good read. Yes, I think eventually, if the human race survives, they will find ways to extend life much longer, if not indefinitely.

As the book said, aging is not simply like a car that “wears out”. It is programmed, built into the very mechanics of the basic mechanism of cellular reproduction (the shortening of telomeres in each cycle, that at its final stages will produce progressive DNA damage.” But it doesn’t really have to be that way; many species have drastically varying life-spans, relative to ours.

I know that the herb astragulus would be needed in wheel-barrows to get a quantity that help to restore telomeres, but I starting take some regularly, anyway, can’t blame a person for hope and wishful thinking, if it isn’t harming anything. There was a guy at our Christmas Zoom party who remarked that everybody except Mort and myself were aging, but said he was amazed that we seemed unchanged.

I doubt that’s really true, but was nice to hear. Bless him.

Someday, scientists might really beat aging, but the question is whether that would be in time to do us any good. Here’s hoping (but trying still to have realistic expectations).

As I probably mentioned, one of our long-term friends died, right during the Christmas season. You can’t get any older than “dead”.

I’ve said before, “I don’t know how old people can stand it.” Maybe they can’t, and really do go crazy in despair. But I guess we will find out, since “old people”- can’t deny, that is us.

  • Regards, Carlyle

Re: My Year of the Wig (latest blog entry)
From : Zeke Krahlin
To: Carlyle Lambourne
Date: January 4, 2021 3:10 PM

There is a book called “Cracking the Aging Code”, which is a good read.

I read a similar book way back around 1972, called “Your Right to Immortality,” though I may not have the actual wording of the title correct (perhaps “Every Man’s Right” or something similar)…and I can’t recall the author’s name. But thanks for your reflections on the matter. From my perspective, the topic is useless, as we already ARE immortal…which revelation will soon be known to all. Outrageous claim, I know, but true IMNSHO (in my not so humble opinion).

  • Ezekiel

RE: My Year of the Wig (latest blog entry)
From: Carlyle Lambourne
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: January 5, 2021 12:07 AM


I think that at least in a manner of speaking we are immortal, but not sure if the nature of the immortality is what we would most prefer. I don’t recall if I’ve mentioned this, but according to relativity, at least as best as I can understand, past moments are not really ‘gone’. I think that we live in a kind of “chauvinism of the current moment”, always thinking that the current moment is more true, more real, more important than
either past or future, but that is the same thing that we thought a second ago and will think a second from now. I suspect that there is really an equality among every instant of time. They all exist,permanently and all just as real.

Another sense in which I think we have immortality is in that the driving basis of reality is randomness iterated through infinity. Just as an infinite random number would within it continue to generate the infinite series of “pi” or any other value, that driving principle of reality will continue to recreate us with infinite small variations. I think that we exist simply because we are possible, a condition not only necessary but sufficient. Since we are always at least possible, we would be guaranteed to exist, even it is only in the tiniest corner of Infinity, yet still another infinity unto itself.

I am skeptical of the religious concept of immaterial, immortal souls. If our consciousness were really independent of the material gray matter in our brains, I believe that we would not be unconscious, ever, for example under anesthesia for surgery. It is quite a reversal of the order to things to suppose that instead of the gray matter animating our consciousness, it would be the other way around and actually suppressing our conscious awareness during surgery until we were somehow “liberated” from material by death. Brain scientists can do tricks such as erasing individual, specific memories, or even splitting the brain into two separate sites of independent consciousness. If our awareness were independent of material, I think that there would not be such detailed and specific means of manipulation.

That might be kind of a party pooper, but I am a stickler for science more than into mysticism, so that is my take on things until better evidence comes along. I do listen to other views, though, and open to any substantial new evidence.

  • Regards, Carlyle

RE: My Year of the Wig (latest blog entry)
From: Carlyle Lambourne
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: January 5, 2021 12:24 PM

I think that at least in a manner of speaking we are immortal, but not sure if the nature of the immortality is what we would most prefer.

Thank you for your well-thought-out take on the matter of immortality, Carlyle. But I mean it literally, the claim I just made: that we continue on as ourselves, from our present lives as Carlyle Lambourne and Ezekiel Krahlin (for examples). Like you, I am also a stickler for science, and I believe that the Rational Guardians at the Gate shall eventually discover, or stumble upon, this remarkable conclusion. And when they do, our scientists will also conclude that this phenomenon, by its very NATURE, reveals itself first to the human race (on an individual and limited basis) via intuitive insight, or direct, personal experience. And then, finally, science catches up. In fact, I declare it will happen this year. Care to make a wager? :D

  • Ezekiel

RE: My Year of the Wig (latest blog entry)
From: Carlyle Lambourne
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: January 5, 8:36


Part of my feeling about reality in general is that by all rights, by human reasoning (if we have looked at the problem enough) it makes no sense for this world to be here, at all. By all rights, everything around us, the chair we sit in, the floor under your feet, the sun in the sky…none of this should be here.

It’s difficult to explain why that is true- maybe I can expound on it at some point. While it is all the more perplexing considering the obvious that we ARE here, I still cannot help but to feel that it would be enlightening to people and improve their perspective to share the realization that we really shouldn’t be here.

Consciousness is even more puzzling and difficult to understand than the existence of material bodies. Its very existence seems somewhat paradoxical – that you have to be something more than yourself, outside of yourself, in order to be aware of yourself. The behavioral repertoire of the building blocks of nature–particles, atoms, photons–is insufficient to understand how they could produce consciousness any more than a configuration of wooden blocks could produce consciousness. I don’t buy the line that mere complexity of any system that carries forward influences of past could become genuinely self-aware. AI can mimic self-awareness, but we don’t really know at all where the magic of real self-awareness arises.

So I would never be dogmatic about what might be true or might be possible.

While I respect science and trust it the most, I highly doubt that science is even capable of properly understanding the question of “What is Deep Reality” much less answering it.

One of the basic assumptions of science is that there are immutable laws of physics that are the same throughout the universe and through time. I strongly suspect that this is not
an obvious truth, but is actually quite a whale of an assumption that as likely is not true. I suspect that there are no real laws of physics… it just seems that why In our tiny corner of Infinity. They are pseudo-laws, just like evolution is not really a recipe calculated for improvement, but only seems that way.

Concerning Deep Reality, you really have to do a deep think about time , cause and effect, simplicity vs complexity. When you do, you might realize that our world is “impossible,” that laws of physics are not real, that a driving force of reality lies in things and events that are totally uncaused–not simply causes that are complex, or difficult to compute or measure–but literally capricious, for no reason at all. Deep Reality is crazy.

These are things that I want to write about when retired and have the time, to try to flesh out the reasoning behind these ideas.

  • Regards, Carlyle

Re: My Year of the Wig (latest blog entry)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Carlyle Lambourne
Date: January 5, 2021 5:56 PM

So I would never be dogmatic about what might be true or might be possible.

Nor myself, for that matter. I am simply stating what appears to me as blunt fact. Being dogmatic involves insisting upon others, what you BELIEVE to be true…without any evidence put forth. But I AM offering proof through my Brindlekin (and other) tales, by recording the astounding events now unfolding in my life. TRUE tales, I should note. And by reading these accounts of my own personal experiences, what else can one conclude other than the startling claim I’ve put forth? The best one could oppose my claim, is by questioning whether or not I really AM relating true events, or fiction (while lying to the public about it). I guess one can also offer up the challenge that my perception and/or interpretation of these remarkable scenarios is off kilter…or that it could even be total, sheer, one hundred percent hallucination. But what I ALSO claim is this:

That more and more people on this planet shall experience the SAME remarkable kind of events in their own lives. The phenomenon has just begun, but it will soon snowball into a global free-for-all. By which time all fingers will point to me as the original source…not as the actual “creator,” but as the very first human being to which this has happened. That is ALSO profound, but not the crux of the matter. Which is this:

That we ALL shall soon be elevated into the next level of consciousness, and it will be wonderful. Do not leave your skepticism at the door, Carlyle, not by any means. But keep it close to your heart and mind, that when this phenomenon begins to shine upon your own life, and those around you, you will have the tools to question, analyze and conclude. And I predict that you SHALL conclude that Zeke is correct, by employing the scientific methods of rationalism and logic. Not because I am such a great thinker, but because it has simply happened to me first. Well, I am a great thinker too, but this shit that’s now going on in my life goes WAY beyond even the highest level of perspicacity!

  • Zeke

Checkmate, Mr. Kuzlowski

January 1, 2021

Subject: Checkmate, Mr. Kozlowski (a.k.a. Carl Morano, Fred McMillon and “Get A life”)!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Discussion MCN
Date: December 27, 2020 6:40 PM

On Tue, 29 Dec 2020 15:19:37 -0800 Fred BOOGALOO McMillon squoinked:

I’m sorry Ewwwgene,

Eugene is actually an eloquent and beautiful name…but I REALLY like the Russian version most of all: “Yevgeny.” See:


And I learned a few years back (while studying the origin of this name, which I do from time to time) that “Eugene” has become a popular choice in Japan for naming their daughters. I can’t locate that article now, and I don’t have a lot of time to try to track it down further…though I would’ve liked very much to show it to you. I anticipate you’ll mock me over this, because “female.” Since THAT is your role as a bodhisattva yourself: to seek out every possibility to mock and insult me, that I may stand up to the challenge, and grow stronger in spirit as the result. Ergo my rebuttal before the anticipated attack (’cause that’s a high-point-score power-move on the game board I just couldn’t resist…did you see it coming?):

To perceive women as inferior is wrongful thinking.

I’m just not in the mood to bark back at a dog today.

Canis familiaris is a kind and gentle species, for reason it is called “man’s best friend.” And for which reason I consider it a grievous injustice to use the word “dog” or its image as an insult. The Islamic world certainly needs to clean up its act in that respect (and in many other ways, but that is for another discussion). So now is a choice time to explain what I mean by “I have you figured out.” Bear with me, as it’s actually rather extraordinary, and complimentary as well.

“Bodhisattva” is a Buddhist word for an enlightened being who is SO highly evolved, as to be one hundred percent deserving of the right to live in Nirvana (or “heaven”) for all eternity. But they choose, instead, to return to this earthly plane of woe, out of a compassionate yearning to aid others not so evolved towards a higher level of consciousness. And I say “consciousness” because this is truly a state of mind, rather than a place (either materially anywhere in the universe, or as some aspect of one’s imagination). In other words, one can actually ascend to this level while STILL present here on earth…and enjoy all the fruits of your labor NOW!

The bodhisattva takes on his task by sometimes playing the devil instead of an angel, if deemed the best option for his chosen pupil to learn the latest lesson…and in so doing, his charge becomes a better person. Unlike in western thought–where angels and devils play separate roles of good and evil without mixing the two–in Asian cosmology, bodhisattvas switch from one role to the other, as appropriate to the situation. Likewise for ALL their deities. Nonetheless, the bodhisattva’s motive always arises from pure compassion.

[Please note at this time that while I use the male pronoun to describe the bodhisattva, I do so only for a smooth flow of prose. Female bodhisattvas are just as prevalent and glorious as the males. Also note I will now use “BS” as a short form of “bodhisattva” in order to spare myself from typing the long version over and over again…and also, I guess, to add an element of humor.]

So why do I call YOU a BS (artist…ha, ha I couldn’t resist)? Because you fit all the prerequisites. You’ve set up the game quite awhile ago: the board is laid out, the pieces are all in place. Your chosen role is to mainly offend and threaten me, that I may take up this excellent opportunity to confront your many offenses, in as compassionate a manner as possible. This does not mean, however, that I shouldn’t ever dish it back with equally robust force for a time. But if I am true to my morals I have the obligation to drop my replies of outrage, eventually, and bring compassion to the fore, which I am now doing.

It also does not mean that one should shirk from doing what is right, even if it means reporting the offending BS to authorities, that he may be stopped from causing harm to others. Unless the BS surrenders his antagonistic role for good, you must assume he’ll keep it up forever…and can only be stifled by outright retaliation. As always, the utmost compassion possible must still be applied; one should not use his ceaseless offenses as justification for acting out of anger or hatred. As that would just be caving in to your lower demons…thus you lose the game, and the BS folds up the board and returns all pieces to their pouch. In such an egregious scenario, “most compassionate” may be to report the BS to law enforcement, or call 911 if it requires a speedy resolution. (Or, instead of getting the law involved, use other effective means such as strong, brave allies or defending yourself at the point of a gun or other weapon…such as pepper spray, which often makes for an effective, and safer, deterrent.)

But the most unwelcome (and grievous) of all challenges, is when you just may have to kill the BS yourself, to stop him from violently assaulting YOU or someone else. (Did I say this game was a pleasant one? Well it can be, but only for the most highly evolved among us, who are entirely cognizant of the BS nature, and of their own role and position on the board.)

You, yourself, Mr. Kozlowski, may or may not concede to losing the game at a certain point. However, you may choose not to, but instead go all the way into nonstop feral mode. In which case you WILL be arrested and tossed into the clinker. But even if you go to prison for a year or more, I’m not worried about any suffering you may seem to endure, in the eyes of the world. For you ARE a BS, thus have access to a higher realm of consciousness at any time you choose, to exist in a blissful state no matter where you are located, physically. But here’s my prediction:

You WILL concede at some point, perhaps very soon.

For you have long provided every witness here, almost countless opportunities to stand up to your challenges and fight back…thus becoming heroes in their own right. Sad to say, though, almost everyone has not. Much to their shame and loss. You have even pointed out now and then, that they have failed to defend me. Or have only weakly, or partially, spoken out in opposition. Jared Fisher is a perfect example of a weak challenger, in that he has only resisted you two or three times in the vast span of a year…and in a rather milquetoast fashion, and without including a defense of my OWN person, but just in direct opposition to you. As for a textbook example of partial resistance, we have the recent rebuttal by one Annabelle Koski, who only chastised you for racist remarks, but entirely ignored the homophobic ones. Also, she’s otherwise ignored your myriad epithets for many months before she bothered to stand up to you.

I would therefore think that, after having laid out the game plan many months in advance, providing all active subscribers a more-than-generous number of opportunities to become a hero (with barely no skin off their teeth in doing so), you are ready to call it quits and move on. For you’ve done your job…and done it very well, I might add. And I think you are actually a VERY NICE PERSON for sacrificing potential friendships and respect and admiration from others, in order to serve a higher purpose. Which, in this scenario, is to serve my evolution into becoming a better man than I was before YOU showed up. But THAT (as you well know, my friend) is the true nature and mark of a bodhisattva.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my explication as much as I have savored its writing, Mr. Kozlowski. But it is quite possible you’ll choose to continue to play your role as a raving Nazi lunatic for awhile longer…sabotaging the communal purpose and enjoyment of this mailing list as you have been for nigh unto a year now . And maybe just because playing the villain onstage is so much MORE fun than playing the hero!

But I think I understand you now. Game well played, Gerard!

With warmest regards, and wishing you and your loved ones a most joyful and prosperous Happy Nude Ear,

  • Ewwwgene Frank Damien Catalano, Mafia Prince of the Schizophrenic Realms Par Excellence

Subject: Checkmate, Mr. Kozlowski (part 2)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Discussion MCN
Date: December 28, 2020 10:45 PM

On Tuesday, December 29, 2020 9:00:29 PM Fred BODHISATTVA McMillon sagely posted:

Do you wack to my pics Zeke ?

Good grief, no. Stop it, I just spewed coffee all over my crotch; now I have to sponge it all off with a lightly moistened washcloth, and relubricate the zipper so it doesn’t rust!

Is that what your obsession is with me ?

The obsession is all yours, Gerard. But it’s an act, part of the game…for you have chosen as your game piece, the Dark Knight, who is designated to play the arch enemy, whose role is to attempt to obfuscate and anger as many opposing pieces as possible. Whereas I have chosen the most vulnerable piece on the board: the Rabbit Prince. (FYI there is only ONE Dark Night and ONE Rabbit Prince among all pieces.) Whose goal is to try to break through the opposing camp and checkmate the Dark Knight’s Invisible Fortress, without getting massacred before then. The position of the Invisible Fortress is known only to yourself and your minions, and is designated at the beginning of the game by drawing any one of 32 cards…which determines WHICH of your pieces is also the Invisible Fortress. (BTW there are 32 pieces for each side, on a board with 144 squares.) Depending on how much POWER a piece has (which can never change), acquiring the additional role of Invisible Fortress makes for a most COMPLEX and interesting game!

I know that 6’3″ blue eyed guys turn you f*ggots on

So many other prerequisites left out of your claim, it doesn’t bear any truth whatsoever. For example, in my case, my Lover Numero Uno has the most remarkable, fiery, smokey orange eyes…like a dragon! He IS 6’7″, but all my remaining soulmates average 5’8…and one is a real shorty at 3’4″, but is MOST attractive and packs a REAL wallop where it counts, so to speak (mind you, I’m highly cerebral, thus what may mean “wallop” to you may mean something else entirely, from my OWN perspective). He earns his keep in midget tossing contests, and usually wins because while quite buff, he’s also a lightweight. At least, that’s how he garnered a wage before the pandemic struck. Nowadays, he’s testing driverless cars for Uber, and playing a clown for children’s birthday parties via a remote conferencing app called “Zoom.”

like that f*ggot who tried to rape me when I was 14.

Most men who rape their own gender are actually heterosexual. It’s more a force of power over others, than a sexual thing. And the urge for such control is far more common in the heterosexual male, than in the homosexual, or even the bisexual.

But I really think that people in MY community know what I look like.

Much to their abhorrence, no doubt. And I say this as a tactical maneuver. Check!

So, I will ask yet again.

You just lost two brindlepawns for attempting a move that failed the first time around. Woo-hoo!

WHY did you and Alvin, two mentally ill homosexuals who do not live in Mendocino county decide to take over our LOCAL Mendocino county list serve ?

I’ll just ignore the “mentally ill” pejorative to give you my answer: we both have friends who live up there, whom we value highly. Alvin USED to live there for some time, while I have visited only twice. But the sole reason I’m on this list, is because I was INVITED to join by a very DEAR friend who resides there, and has for over three decades.

What is your political agenda ?

To cross all the way over to the other side of the board and lock you up in the Invisible Fortress.

Just now got off work so sorry for the delay in response but I don’t start until 10AM tomorrow.

I’m glad you hold down a steady job in these terribly unstable times…for many millions upon millions of decent, loving people have been shoved into a dark hole of poverty and its consequential state of misery and existential anxiety of the worst sort. A growing number of whom are now homeless, or WILL become so in a very short time from now. I pray you may keep your job, Mr. Kozlowski, and your loved ones as well. Who I’m sure are many. How do I know this? Well, I just discovered yesterday you are a friend on MY good friend’s Facebook account. And this person ONLY is surrounded by most excellent human beings. But I had already come to realize your TRUE nature (which is kind) several days before this providential discovery. I’m also glad that your present vocation allows you to spend some recreational time on the Internet, including inviting us all to play one of the most brilliant psychological board games ever devised: “Battle of the Bodhisattvas.” The only thing I can compare it to is a cross between “Go” and “chess,” with a bit of “Chutes & Ladders” tossed in.

You truly are a fascinating case study of mental illness.

Thank you. However, it is only an illness according to a vulgar and ignorant society that yet has much to learn on how to care for its own people who are left out in the cold in any number of hateful ways. Simply because they are “different,” and can’t fulfill the stern expectations of a status quo that reflects a level of psychopathy on a par with Vlad the Impaler. On those grounds alone, one is perfectly justified in rebelling (he may even feel morally OBLIGATED to rebel) against it by choosing to live off a government stipend as a form of dissent. Indeed, one may even go so far as to justify robbing banks, rich people’s homes, and/or hacking into databases of large, greedy corporations, mega-churches and certain gov’t agencies including the military, to funnel these disgustingly gained profits into their own account, as well as redistributing it into the accounts of the low income and the poor. In fact:

Such is the plan I’m setting up right now, via my now-globally-expansive hacker army of loyal soldiers and compatriots…but that is a discussion better suited to secret plotting through protected channels of communique, rather than on a publicly naked listserv. Please don’t report me to the authorities, I beg of you! Actually, I don’t care one whit if you do, because at this point in my extraordinary mission to propel this planet into a higher state of being, I have countless allies who’ve infiltrated all levels of gov’t up to the highest. And they monitor EVERYthing I do in cyberspace, including whatever I post, and whatever is posted TO me. They also have a vast network of pro-Zeke agents to closely observe the online interactions of ALL netizens associated with me in one way or another (even if tangentially, via word of mouth). This, of course, includes YOU and anyone else on this list, and on the announcement list as well.

Or, if said folks do not HAVE a bank account (and many don’t), converting this digital cash into REAL hard currency and distributing it to those most in need. And/or purchasing FOR them, the basic things they require to live a decent life. Such as food, clothing, medical care, computers, smartphones and Internet service, vehicles including large vans and travel trailers, professionally forged passports and other ID, higher education and/or trade school…and even housing, including tiny homes and an acre or two of land on which to put several of them per plot, as multilevel structures. Also (since man does not live by bread alone): frequent exposure to (or even participation in) artistic/social adventures from a wide variety of venues such as theater, art and science museums, open air orchestra, chess and Go and other cerebrally competitive sports, storytelling and spoken-word open mic events, charitable causes, community gatherings for any number of good and friendly reasons, nonviolent and cooperative sport and exercise clubs, and so on.

But let us now set aside any rebellious justification for living on the dole, and now address OTHER, less controversial, reasons to do so. For there are also those who are not psychologically equipped to fulfill the status quo, and never will be…due to their unique physiological or cognitive makeup. In a truly SANE world, none of this would ever BE a problem, for they’d be lovingly incorporated into their community with opportunity aplenty for meaningful labor and social interaction. In the case of those who are declared “mentally disabled” (as am I), there is a greater prejudice against them than those who are physically compromised, due to the often invisible nature of their malady. Thus, they are summarily accused as being freeloaders by ignorant minds…which prejudice unfortunately spills over into gov’t policy and, as a result, leads to egregious neglect, poverty and persecution of these long-suffering souls. In short: they are treated as third-class citizens and pariahs. This is actually due to a phenomenon called “scapegoating” that wells up from the collective unconsciousness, and manifests in any number of ways, including aforesaid social stigma and gov’t policy. And is one of the dark manifestations of humanity throughout the ages, that must PROMPTLY be tackled and overcome if we are to have ANY hope of surviving into the future for more than a few brief years from now.

I am one of the lucky ones, Mr. Kozlowski (and thank you for bearing with me so long, as it is quite a challenge for me to unravel in as concisely yet thoroughly a fashion as possible, my rebuttal to your accusation that I am ripping off society by not holding down a job, any job, which you incorrectly insist I can EASILY do; but that really is NOT the case at all…believe me, I’ve tried). As I said, I’m one of the lucky few…and that is because I’m BORDERLINE schizophrenic/bipolar, rather than full-blown or somewhere in between. I have been able to fully recover on my own, without any use of dangerous medications, or getting sucked into the web of psychiatric abuse, experimentation and manipulation. Studying Carl Jung’s theory of archetypes, mostly through his greatest disciple’s explaining this theory in layman’s terms in both a colorful and entertaining fashion. That disciple is Joseph Campbell, who passed away in 1987, leaving behind an incredible legacy of healing insight.

Highly creative people are more prone to schizophrenia than those who aren’t. There is something of the GENIUS in these types, and I think that what is labeled schizophrenia may very well be a kind of sixth sense. Which is actually a GIFT, not a curse or illness. It is only an insane society that would fear and scorn my kind, who were condemned as witches, sorcerers and servants of the devil in times past. Gay people are also more intelligent and creative than their hetero counterparts, thus likewise fall victim to social stigmatization of the most horrid sort. And it is just these kind of people (MY kind of people) who harbor a certain percentage of their ilk who cannot POSSIBLY function in the day-to-day world of the job market. They simply do not possess the thick skin, the robotic, submissive behavior required to maintain a functioning existence in the “normal” realm of employment. And that is where gov’t assistance comes in…or SHOULD come in. Sadly, far too often it is impossible to obtain for many of them, only because their so-called “disability” is invisible, and they lack any real advocate such as an attorney or social worker who is expert in standing up for the rights of those so disenfranchised through no fault of their own.

Once this stipend fell into my lap YEARS ago (1975), I recognized my good fortune and sought ways to find meaning in this life, and give back to society in a manner befitting yours truly. So over the years I have focused on writing and social causes, including volunteer work both through organizations and on my own, as a freelance street activist. The Great Barrister in the Sky has passed final judgment on my behalf, and the payoff is tremendous…both towards myself, and towards the benefit of humanity at large. My tales are beautiful, extraordinary, inspiring and enlightening…and will be a tremendous boon to MANY people of all walks of life (not just to gays and the homeless, though surely they shall profit, as well). THIS is how I give back to the world, for the years it’s granted me a reasonably stable life, even though I was incapable of holding down a job to “earn my own way,” as you like to say. And I claim that, were our society more compassionate, it would NOT make seeking a leg up to keep a roof over your head, food in your belly, and friends in your life, so goddamn difficult or nigh impossible! How many brilliant minds, inventions and achievements have been tossed to the wayside, thanks to a hostile world?

I really have NO idea how I’ve made it through to the other side. But one thing I’ve learned about recovering from such an excruciating, seemingly unending curse is that once you recover (IF you do recover; there is no guarantee) your strength and spirit of heart, mind and soul is BOUNDLESS. Just as Carl Jung concluded, and Joseph Campbell so well expounded upon in his televised series about what he calls “the hero’s quest.” In fact, his biggest bestseller book is entitled: “The Hero with a Thousand Faces.” About which you may learn a bit more, here:

The gist being, and which Jung first proposed, is that overcoming great odds over a long stretch of your life (and schizophrenia indeed is a “great-odds” maker) is the path of a hero. The many struggles and challenges you go through to get there, are metaphorically equivalent to slaying dragons. In conclusion, Mr. Kozlowski, I assure you:

I shall be MOST effective in making this a saner, better world by a long shot…through the squid that flows from my pen, and the mayflies that take wing off my tongue. All because I was NOT compelled to join the world of worker drones, but free to discover my own way through this very messy, turd soaked reality. But hey, they were dragon turds, and surely that counts for something! How many millions could I get on eBay?

Most sincerely,

Eugenio Franceso Damiano Catalano
(Prince of the Mafia in the greater northeast region of America, and several states further south)

Re: [MCN-Announce]- Checkmate, Mr. Kozlowski (part 2)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Karen Jeeters
Date: December 31, 2020 11:12 AM

Bravo! Well played…

Why thank you so much, Karen! I spent the entire day composing this piece, and I could never call it a waste of time. In fact, it’s going up on my WordPress blog tonight or tomorrow…with all names changed so I won’t wind up drawing the “You’ve just been sued!” card from the deck. The Battle of Bodhisattvas rages on! Today, January 1, 2021, marks the very first day of a sweet golden age for humanity. Happy Nude Ear to you and everyone you hold dear! To paraphrase the Mary Tyler Moore Show’s theme song: “We’re gonna make it after all!”


Re: [MCN-Discussion]- Checkmate, Mr. Kozlowski (part 2)
From Zeke Krahlin
To: Discussion MCN
Date: December 31, 2020 2:44 AM

On Thu, 31 Dec 2020 18:02:33 -0800 Fred BODHISATTVA McMillon posted:

Do you think I or ANYONE is going to read that?

Yes, yes I do, Mr. Kozlowski. YOU’VE read it, and that means more to me in the world, even if no one else has perused my remarkable discourse with a very Buddhist spin to it. But more than likely, MANY on this list (along with the announcement clique, ’cause I’ve also posted it there) have read it, and are so inspired by the contents therein, are at this very moment sharing it across cyberspace, to as many online venues they can think of. Why, I’ve even made it EASY for them, since it is now my latest blog entry, where they can just email or post it as a link! Here it is again:

In addition, anyone can click on one or more of the “share” buttons below that mini-opus, and send it off to social media sites such as Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and so forth. You get the idea.

You’re INSANE !!!!

If this is insanity, I wish it upon the entire planet. Thus I command, thus it be so.

Go take a walk. See if you can find a nice young n*gger boy to take back to your tax paid dwelling.

Sorry, oh respected opponent, but you have played that card too many times to make a move for the next six rounds. Again, I declare “Checkmate!” Don’t you see you’ve already lost, eighteen moves ago? News flash: you CAN’T trump your opponent, by ACTING like Trump!

“The Battle of the Bodhisattvas” may be an open-ended board game, but no matter which strategy you attempt from here on forward, you can NOT win…not ever. Oh well, this is boring me now, but since I regard you as a most worthy opponent, and a game well played, I’ll keep on making my moves until it finally dawns on you that the only possible outcome at this point, is you lose and I win.

WHAT is your obsession with me?

Aha! You just forfeited another brindlepawn…you only have four left.

WHY did you and your fellow insane f*ggot f*ck buddy Alvin take over our LOCAL list serve?

Oops, TWO more brindlepawns sacrificed: one because I already answered that question more than sufficiently, and another because needless or inappropriate vulgarity comes at a cost.

This is NOT YOUR COMMUNITY. You DO NOT live here. NO ONE cares about your gay world.

There go your remaining brindlepawns, Gerard. And you know as well as I do, that it is virtually IMPOSSIBLE to be the victor with zero brindlepawns! Nevertheless:

Your decision to toss the “Sore loser!” card onto the board face up, is a perfectly legal one to make, albeit optional and NEVER played by True Masters. It is, however, one frequently executed by neophyte bodhisattvas as the ultimate form of respect to the victorious Rabbit Prince…in that behaving so childishly is the highest sign of honor shown towards their better…the deepest act of humility possible in that context.

I must excuse my presence from your world for the nonce, as the more basic matter of breaking my fast so late past noon calls me to do just that.

  • Eugenio Francesco Damiano Catalano
    (The Chief Mafia Don’s Only Son, and Most Beloved is He, by the Godfather Supreme!)

Re: [MCN-Discussion]- Checkmate, Mr. Kozlowski (part 2)
From Zeke Krahlin
To: Discussion MCN
Date: January 1, 2021 9:18 AM

On Thu, 31 Dec 2020 21:33:40 -0800 Fred BODHISATTVA McMillon posted:

I don’t read your rants. I see, I delete.

Perfectly fine with me. It’s a legitimate move, but one which only serves to increase the perils against your frontline defense, and further empowers THREE of my Loyal Rottweilerkins. Plus you forfeit any move for the next eight rounds. You have already humbled yourself MORE than enough for my taste. AND my patience! This actually borders on obsequiousness on your part. I may be a GREAT bodhisattva, but certainly not THAT great. Unless, of course, you see more in me than I see in myself. Ergo:

Compliment accepted. I see no point in rejecting it, or any gain in so doing. I already own the entire board and then some, so: no harm, no foul. Arf, arf!

Your friend,

  • Zeke

Re: [MCN-Discussion]- Why us Aaron Cooper ?
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Discussion MCN
Date: January 1, 2021 5:55 PM

On Thu, 31 Dec 2020 18:31:16 -0800 Fred BODHISDATTVA McMillon posted:

Neither of them live in Mendocino, but have taken over our local list serve and have chosen you and I as a catharsis for their frustration and mental illness.

Your attempt to manipulate Mr. Cooper into working with you may or may not pay off, Gerard. Each player is permitted to play just ONE “Dirty Card” per game, though should never be used except as a last resort. Even then, it’s a treacherous ploy that has at least a 70 percent chance of backfiring…and casts a dark shadow over anyone who participates in it if requested to do so, and agrees. Furthermore:

Neither of us has “taken over our local list serve,” nor are you and Cooper a catharsis for us, for ANY reason. No one’s falling for it, as both you and Aaron are the REAL trolls who’ve either been:

1) pumping the regressive right wing agenda into this mailing list, as is Mr. Cooper’s style of gameplay, or

2) spewing rabidly hateful, Nazi type propaganda peppered with expletives that are highly bigoted, especially against LGBTs and people of color. But also women, Jews and the poor.

So of course you’d draw the attention and wrath of SOME who have the guts to speak out against BOTH of you. This is not a carthartic move, but one which calls us to war against the dragons who have broken through the gates of our realm. Indeed, it is YOU who’ve taken over this list, thanks to your incessant rants of vitriol day after day and month after month. SOMEthing will stop the both of you dead in your tracks…and I have a strong sense that it will come down very soon. I just have no idea HOW it will occur. But oh, what a great victory that shall be!

Have a theory ? I would love to hear it.

There is no theory to speculate upon, only the taking up of arms in cyberspace, to staunch the bleeding of many souls you and Cooper have impacted. Your days are numbered, as are your game pieces. But I DO have to thank you for one thing, Mr. Kozlowski:

That each and every time you post back to me, you also repost the entire body of the very writings that irk you no end. And for that, I thank you from the bottom of my widdle heart. Surely if you hated them so much, you’d take that special little effort to delete them from your replies. Don’t tell me you don’t know how to do that, because if you ever ask me to help you with this, I’ll tell you you’re barking up the wrong tree!

Peace be with you my brother, and to your hesistant ally, Aaron Cooper a.k.a. “Helicopter Man.”

Re: [MCN-Discussion]- Here is my political agenda, Mr. McMillon…
From: Gerard McMillon
To: Discussion MCN
Date: January 1, 2021 6:38 PM

On Thu, Dec 31, 2020 at 10:18 PM Zeke Krahlin wrote:

…since you keep squawking that question like a parrot, under your Fred McMillon sock puppet pseudonym:


WHAT THE F*CK is your OBSESSION with me ?

WHY are you CYBERSTALKING me !!!!

I do NOT READ what you write.

I have MUCH better things to do than have exchange ideas or care about what some mentally ill, homosexual PERVERT thinks.

You DISGUST me. You are no different than that f*ggot who tried to rape me when I was 14 with your young negro boys.


Find another object for your obsessive/compulsive STALKING behaviour.

Manannan’s Gift

December 30, 2020

[This is about a treasure of a strange but lovely little cabinet I found some time in 2002. I’ve been perusing my archives of stories and articles in order to update certain ones, and stumbled upon this delightful little gem. It’s called “Manannan’s Gift.” Since we are still in the holiday season, I thought it would be nice to share it on my blog. Enjoy!]

(How I Came to Acquire this Cabinet)

I found this lovely hand-painted cabinet on the sidewalk outside my apartment building, April 2002. I think–for the first time in my life–that I now own a bona fide “objet d’art”. Probably a period piece from the late 60’s/early 70’s; definitely is “hippie funk” with a clear influence of Peter Max and Zap Comix. Perhaps a young woman painted it for her child, who brought her great joy. Maybe the cabinet was used to store children’s toys. At any rate, the painting emanates happiness in a “faerye magickal” British Isles sort of way.

Often, deities come to me unbidden…some I’ve never heard of before; thus I study them in order to learn more, after their first visit. An example would be the sudden apparition of Odin, even though I have never felt inspired to meditate on any of the Nordic spirits…my preference being Celtic/pre-Celtic, Native American, and Greek myth.

Likewise did Manannan suddenly come to me unbidden, out of the blue mist! It all started one week ago, when I was curious about your “” website promoted via a pagan newsgroup. As I viewed the home page, his apparition began telling me wonderful things, and showing me some secrets about the world. His presence remained quite strong for several days.

And it was on the third day since his first visit, that a gift fell into my hands, that was clearly from Manannan. (I live on San Francisco’s busy Market St., in the Castro.) A few doors down from where I live, I came upon a lovely, hand-painted cabinet that was just sitting there on the sidewalk, under the brilliant light of afternoon sun. It was so colorful and jewel-like, this hexagonal box, that it seemed like some magical manifestation of the fourth dimension, happily radiating its power like a radioactive aura. Passersby all paused to admire the curious objet d’arte, as it really stood out to delight the eye. I stood by it, so folks would think I owned this piece of furniture, as I waited myself, to see if someone was just moving, or had really disposed of it. After five minutes of waiting, I hauled it back home.

It is hexagonal in shape, thus suggesting the Star of David…with a door on one of its six sides, and was hand-painted like an artist’s canvas all around and on top. The cabinet is empty, just a slick black interior. The painted background is sea-green in color, with little twinkly stars reflecting the sky. On the sides are painted sort of fantasy underwater scenes: winged fish swimming through coral; and some big, froggy type thingy with one eye (in the hippie style of Zap Comix). Indeed, the whole style is very Peter Max.

On the cabinet top is the face of a man with thick, flowing blond hair, looking up at you as if rising up out of the water. He has rouged cheeks and a little other clown-type makeup, that suggest an illusionist or minstrel, rather than a modern-day clown. A large blue bowtie and a red sleeve with purple cuff completes the impression of a magician or clown. He is presenting to you, two large, lush flowers, one red, one purple.

But I first didn’t relate this cabinet to Manannan until hours later…when I realized that the background was not earth or sky, but sea. And it also didn’t dawn on me til later, that Manannan Mac Lir is indeed a magician. I originally brought it home, just because it was so charming and unusual, thus captivating. The realization that it is a depiction of Manannan Mac Lir didn’t sink in till later that evening, when I thought “Oh my God!”

Now whaddaya all think of that? Myself, I am stunned and incredibly delighted…and honored. Manannan is indeed a most benevolent gift-giver, and joyful, kind spirit…who I never knew about until last week. Then, suddenly, he’s all over me, showering me with affection, and manifesting also as my missing or deceased lover, Randolph, who has disappered from my life way back in 1991. But that’s another story, I’ll save for later. Suffice it to say that Randy manifests often to me in visions, over many years…usually as Zeus, sometimes Horus, and of course as himself. He never before wore the visage of Manannan (if that is the right way to put it), but Randolph is pure Celt: half Scot and half Irish. Wanna learn more about him? Then click here.

Brindlekin Tales

December 29, 2020

Chapter 1: More Than a Hole in the Ground

Chapter 2: I’m Counting on His Hug

Chapter 3: 3-Night Dogs

Chapter 4: Surprise! Jackets Have Arrived!

Chapter 5: Doggie Wish List & GoFundMe

Chapter 6: Reflections on a Black Puddle

Chapter 7: Doggies at Play (5 videos)

Chapter 8: A Lotus Blossoms by the Bay

Chapter 9: Someone Should Kick Him in the Ass!

Chapter 10: A REAL Christmas Story Happening Right Now!

Chapter 11: Skellington III

Chapter 12: Down to the Home Stretch

Chapter 13: The Sweaters Have Arrived!

Down to the Home Stretch

December 27, 2020

[Note: all images herein (except the very last one because for some reason WordPress won’t let me include an embedded URL, unlike all 12 of the other pics…maybe it doesn’t like the number 13) has a link to a fun or informative web page or video. Just hover your mouse cursor over each one, and you’re good.]

Looks like I’m down to the home stretch, in light of these sudden and NEW disruptions that the Moirai (Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos) have now tossed into the ring…what I call “My Last Big Challenge,” or “My Final Test.” Based on my profound conjecture a la my mini-opus, “Neopositivity: A Gay Religion,” these Celestial Boot Camp Sergeants are assigned to SEVERELY oppose us at what-is-for-them, every opportune moment. And, in so doing, provide further obstacles to overcome, which they fling at us like pop-up zombies in a Halloween haunted house. May I also point out that SOME of these egregiously unwelcome bogeymen-of-a-problem will seem diabolically impossible to resolve. But that’s where faith serves you well: do NOT (I repeat, do NOT) allow even seemingly astronomical odds stacked against you, to discourage or deter you from your most noble of goals. Just roll up your sleeves and REALIZE that, somehow and some way, you WILL get through this, and do so with flying colors…though at the moment you have absolutely NO idea how.

Thus, in speculating over the extraordinary events currently unfolding in my abruptly-shifted reality (that only began just two short months ago; on Samhain Eve of all days), it sure looks to me like the Parables of Tribulation are about to close their chapter on The Book of Ezekiel, forever.

I am guessing–no, not guessing, but decreeing (through a greater force than I)–that these Frankensteins who now impose their ugly countenance before me (on Exmass day of all days!), will be the very last ones to curse my world. For I know full well that Frankenstein the monster is not the true villain, but just another victim in an unhappy scenario we call “life.” Just as in the Tibetan Book of the Dead, where it says (and I paraphrase):

As you pass through each circle of reality in your ascension to godhead, there will be some realms where evil demons will approach, to threaten you with swords, flaming arrows, iron-spiked clubs and vipers…or whatever implements of torture most frighten you. Should you cave in to your fears as a result, you will remain stuck on that level for at least one incarnation, but probably more. But if you hold steady, and not permit those fears to bring you down, nor take up arms against them, but instead just stand calm as best you can…they will drop their masks of horror to reveal their true selves: loving, all-wise bodhisattvas. And in such a lucky case, they will joyfully escort your transcendence into the next highest kingdom.

A little birdie just told me right after I finished composing the emboldened paragraph above: “Enough lecturing, Zeke! I’m sure your readers just want to get on with the show!

Just read the following email exchanges of the past twenty-four hours that I’ve cobbled together. (Yeah, things are moving REALLY fast!) They explain themselves superbly well, as the manifestation of hideous impossibilities hatch their black, rotten eggs of ruinous despair. Enjoy the ride! You won’t regret it.

Subject: Here’s how I may get the building manager on my side:
From: Zeke Krahlin
To Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 25 2020, 8:02 PM

The building manager, whom I now call “Kevin,” is pretty good friends with my sometimes-fascist neighbor down the hallway, whom I shall call “Moe.” Who, as you know, emailed me in June of this year, a complaint about Deek’s being a nuisance. But he’s done some nice things for me, too, once in a blue moon. One of which is dog-related, interestingly enough. And that is what this forwarded letter below is all about.

I’m hoping the result will impress my neighbor, as well as warm his cockles. Which may then impact the manager in a positive way, and to my advantage. Please check out the WordPress link I’ve included in the forwarded email, and read the blurb…it’s just two short paragraphs. You’ll learn that it’s about his little papillon that he shared with me for a time, until its sad passing. FYI:

Moe and I do NOT send greetings to each other, holiday or otherwise…except once about seventeen years ago he delivered to my door, a gift of Godiva-chocolate-dipped biscuits (delicious!) around Exmasstime. So I sent him back a lovely, expensive holiday card. But that’s it. For the most part he keeps his distance and regards me as a negative element in this building…that I’m partly responsible for this neighborhood “going to the dogs” so to speak. Now I realize he’s been right about that all along. :D

Come to think of it, I would NOT be surprised if he complained to Kevin about the cute padding of my brindlekin’s paws on the hallway carpet, several times a day, as I let them run free. Even though it’s not loud at all and they never bark unless someone suddenly appears climbing up or down the stairs, or exiting or entering their apartment (all of which are infrequent). Besides, the doggies impart a joyful spirit to our otherwise drab and lifeless residence. Furthermore, each “runway” incident lasts but a brief few minutes, and does not occur too late at night. Here ya go:

——– Original Message ——–

Subject: Skellington III: now on wordpress and youtube
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Moe Fleisher
Date: December 25 2020, 6:14 PM


I just spent a heartwarming three hours setting this up on both Youtube and WordPress. I didn’t plan this; it was just the strike of sudden inspiration’s lightning. I’m not one to celebrate Exmass, but some wonderful things have been happening to me these past few weeks, which timing with the holiday season is unexpectedly synchronistic…though certainly unplanned. But if I were the type to celebrate Exmass, I can’t think of a better way to spend two or three hours on that day, doing something like this.

Nonetheless, I’d choose to celebrate this time of year in a non-Christian or non-commercial manner…preferring to call it “Winter Crossover” or “Exmass” (both of which terms I’ve invented just yesterday).

I have recently created a spanking new Youtube channel I call “Brindlekin Tales,” and it is dedicated to the love of Canis familiaris:

The Skellington Videos are mixed in with other doggy videos on my channel (in my “action videos” playlist). But you can view just the Skelli ones via my WordPress blog:

Though you can’t appreciate the cute title I’ve created for each video, as the WordPress-embedded videos conceal the last part.

Brindlekin Tales will also become my next novel, as I compose one blog after another, around this doggy theme. FYI, “brindlekin” is also a word of my creation.

I guess this is my (unforeseen) Winter Crossover greeting to you, that arose spontaneously in my latest, and most profound, creative cycle. BTW, I’m not sure of the year Skelli passed on, so I stated 2012 in my videos, and in that blog entry. Feel free to correct me on this, and I will make the change promptly.

Your sometimes-but-rarely-annoying neighbor of many years,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

PS: How about replacing Christmas with a NEW holiday, to celebrate the sweet, healing nature of little doggies? And call it “Brindlekin Fest,” or “Brindlefest” for short? I think it’s a great idea whose time has come!

My Amazon Doggy Wish List & GoFundMe Project

Brindlekin Tales on WordPress (written)

Brindlekin Tales on Youtube (narrated)

Subject: He got another dog!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 25, 9:07 PM

Most disturbing. Wiley and Taco are still with me, ’cause it’s raining…and Deek just showed up for a few minutes to show me his newest dog: a blue pit bull. Very, very gentle and sweet, but large. Deek was talking about breeding him with Wiley, and I strongly advised against it. He said that this dog is more loving than Taco! I told him that’s nonsense, Taco is a very loving dog, as is Wiley. He agreed, but Jesus, whenever things go smoothly with us for a day or two, he throws another monkey wrench into the works. And this one’s really BAD. The dog’s not even neutered! I’m afraid someone will report him with all these dogs, and the brindlekin will be taken away with the pit bull. He just poo-pooed me, saying there are other homeless out there with four, five, six, seven dogs.

And Deek got a bit upset that I even questioned another adoption. (“You’re just like everyone else who doesn’t support me!” he whined. Well in this case, I sure hope so!) But I gave in and wished him a Merry Christmas again. After telling him I can only have Taco and Wiley over, and cannot afford to give him any more money or dog food than I already am. He said he didn’t expect me to do that, anyway, he’s got work (whatever the heck that means). But just to hear him even suggest that the two brindlekin are not as loving, and that he may get Wiley pregnant (and with a large dog!) makes me wanna not even give them back to him.

He plans to drop by tomorrow morning, if it isn’t raining too hard, and all three dogs meet. I’m sure they’ll all get along, but that’s not the problem…which is POTENTIALLY CATASTROPHIC.

I was having a lovely, peaceful Exmass, and now this. I told him that “Blue” could get aggressive and uncontrollable on the streets because he’s not fixed. He wanted another dog like the one he gave up, called Gator…who also was not neutered, and became uncontrollable. But I fear for the little doggies again, especially Wiley. I told him the dog’s too big for her, she could die from large puppies in her womb. “Oh, I can take care of that, just do a caesarian!” He said the SPCA will take care of that. Yeah, they’ll take care of that alright…take the dog away from him. I don’t want to lose Wiley…ever!

Can you believe that? I reminded him he can’t afford a veterinarian. But this is the insane part of our conversation…and he often does it: twist it about to where I’m actually defending a bad decision, in order to oppose another “what if” one. In this case, I think it’s a mistake to adopt another dog, but then he has me arguing about not letting a large dog impregnate her…so in essence I’m advising him to adobt a third, but smaller, dog. How he convolutes everything, and does it so fast, and won’t let me get a word in edgewise, then starts accusing me of not supporting his goals.

May God protect Wiley, because I can’t.

Subject: Re: Here’s how I may get the building manager on my side:
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 26, 12:43 PM

I like your winning-hearts-and-minds plan. MOST civilized, old chap!

Yeah but now Deek put a big old fat monkey wrench into the works…as I just reported in my email I sent you a moment before I read THIS reply. Deek’s adoption of a third pup will most likely cause him to lean on me more to sit the brindlekin. This moves over into having the dogs live with me, instead of just caring for them during a cold snap or a rainy spell. They will also see him with yet a third dog, and that will no doubt reflect badly on me, in their eyes. There goes my nice Christmas; thanks for nothing, Deek. And it’s not for my sake I’m angry, it’s for Wiley and Taco’s sake. I just can’t keep up with all this crap he dumps!

  • Zeke

Subject: He got another dog!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 26 2020, 2:12 PM

Oh, this is a fucking disaster. Stupid, stupid macho asshole, wanting to “breed” poor Wiley. He has NO business having an un-neutered male pit bull. And he can “take care” of a caesarean?? Christ, this is awful. Wish there was some way (only wishing, I know it’s not possible) for you to keep the doxies…

Oh I’ll keep the doxies one way or another, should that gracious opportunity fall into my hands. As I previously indicated, there have been other SRO residents harboring a doggy, with no opposition from either manager or property owner…in spite of the renter’s contract of stating otherwise. I have a witness in my friend, Chuck from Philly, because he knows of at least TWO single-residence-occupancy tenants who’ve had pets while he was living here. He can vouch via an email to me, that I’d keep as evidence.

And, since they are NO trouble at all, so peaceful, smart, loving and obedient…there will be no complaints! If it came to a court challenge, I would win, hands down. But no such conflict will ensue, nor will Deek get Wiley pregnant, or give the brindlekin away. After the initial shock, I thought it through and, in short:


And I’ll tell you why AFTER I describe my wonderful sleepover with the doggies, and this morning’s rendezvous with Deek. I don’t care to write about this stuff (the horrendous parts, I mean), but in facing it head-on I come up with incredibly promising insight. Here we go:

Last night was a revelation of pooch-powered divine intervention. Upon returning hovel from meeting Deek’s pit bull, Wiley crawled on her belly across the bedding and in my direction, wagging her corkscrew tail with glee. This is how she ALWAYS greets me, even if I’m gone for just a minute or two. She reached the edge of the cot, and stamped her dainty paws in a repeated demand for more hugs, kisses and belly rubs. Of course I got down on my knees and gave her the sweetest long embrace as she playfully squirmed between my arms and drenched my face with slobbery licks.

Taco soon joined the love fest, after watching us with what seemed to be a brotherly appreciation for how kind I am to his little sister. Though as I clutched them both, the thought that their innocent lives of good cheer may soon come tumbling down, and they would never be the same, happy little doggies again. So I gave them both, especially endearing hugs throughout the evening and into the dawn of a new day…and they returned their gratitude in kind. As if they understood my deep concern for their probable, horrid fate…comprehending my dilemma (that I could do nothing about it). And still they anointed me with unconditional affection, because they are brave and selfless to the very end. Such is the profoundly angelic nature of Canis familiaris!

During one of their playful scuffles (which are amazing, as they now love to burrow beneath a blanket, evading each other’s toothy grips, with pounces aplenty between the two, and their wiggly butts protruding) they suddenly crossed the line and got vicious. Nothing physical or injurious, mind you…just nasty, sharp yaps and truly angry expressions. Something which Deek pointed out, and blamed me for causing this behavior by being overly kind and undoing all his hard work training them. Which is, of course, BS.

“Now, now, be nice to each other!” I commanded in a strong but patient timbre. They ceased immediately in a flurry of apologetic gestures to each other: attacking the sneaker instead, or a part of the blanket where neither was hidden, frolicking together in gentle fashion once more. They understood! I concluded that outdoors, all the distracting cacophony obstructed from their ears, Deek’s order to stop it. Here in my hovel there is little noise, and only MY voice…and presence.

[Aside: this is ridiculous! A jackhammer is right now pounding outside, just across the street…and has been going on for at least the last ten minutes, as I compose this letter. So much for a peaceful day-after-Exmass. And now I REALLY have to take a dump, because when I tried some twenty minutes ago, a contracted cleaner was scouring down the restroom…as he does every Saturday. Jeez! Bear with me a few minutes; I’ll be back shortly to resume this letter. Maybe fix yourself a drink in the meantime.]

Okay, I’m back! Jackhammer still clanking away, fuck it. Now, something ELSE just occurred out my window. I heard someone hollering expletives like “Fuck you bitch” and other nasty stuff I can’t bother to write down…you get the gist. So I peer out the window, and guess who it is: Deek. There he was from across the street, hollering like any of the most offensive vagrants around here (though totally unlike his usual, ornery self; it was much worse). Pushing his weighted cart around, with the two, sweet doggies merrily hopping beside, without a problem in the world…but with the addition of that calm and gentle pit bull pup loping along. As I keep saying:

I CAN’T KEEP UP WITH THIS CRAP! The moment I start writing down ONE incident, another one crops up. Well, at least the jackhammer stopped. You need to know what happened this morning, so I will get to that shortly. Meanwhile, back to the brindlekin:

Their usual sleepover habit is for Taco to snooze at my feet, and for Wiley to crash near my head, above it, or snuggled against my chest. Several nights back, it was the reverse for a little while. I was about to hit the sack myself and, to my surprise, Taco was sleeping on my pillow, while Wiley lay at the other end. “Okay,” I thought, “This will be nice for a change; I don’t give him enough cuddles at night.” So I cautiously slipped under the comforter, careful not to let my legs disrupt Wiley. I then grabbed Taco in a kind embrace, and scratched his belly; his back was to me. He turned his head to give me a single thank-you lick. Well, after around a half hour or so of this arrangement, Taco suddenly sits up to look around, as if confused as to why he’s sleeping up HERE instead of over THERE. Flaco seems to be cognizant of her brother’s confusion. So with that, she stands up on all paws and walks toward him, while Taco proceeds past HER, to plunk himself down by my feet. Flaco was now cozily in my arms. I found that whole little doggie skit dearly funny. But last night was even sweeter:

This time, BOTH were zonked out at the far end, by my work station. But the moment I tucked myself in, they simultaneously arose and scampered over to me, burrowed beneath the top blanket and just lay there, gazing into my face with a bright-eyed love (the flickering candles of Exmass unbound)! I embraced them both. All three heads touched and lingered awhile, both pups making little growling sounds of affection. They seemed to SENSE my concern about their near future, a possibly imminent tragedy…and sought to console me. Which they did, mightily. Telling me it’s gonna be alright, which it most certainly will be. Read on, and you will learn why I say that.

Deek called to me from his corner, around 11:30 AM. Wiley & Taco had just finished a hearty breakfast. So I put on their jackets and mine, and headed out. There was the pit bull, of very gentle temperament. To my relief, I saw that all three dogs were gonna get along just fine. Right off the bat, he said the dogs look different; that they always do after spending a night or two in my hovel. Implying that I don’t care for them properly.

“Taco looks skinnier, see?” He rested his palms across the sides of the little mutt’s chest, as if to emphasize.

“I don’t see it Deek,” I calmly replied. “You’re lying, you like to lie.”

“I never lie! What are you talking about?”

“Oh you lie every single friggin day,” I retorted. “BIG lies sometimes, too!”

“Oh, like what?”

“Like when you claimed to have a broken leg. That’s just ONE of many examples, Deekster.”

He didn’t deny, but went right on ranting:

“This is too much, I’m gonna give up Taco & Wiley. I’m too stressed out, I”m tired of living like a bum, always begging for money, for help, for one thing after another,” he pouted. “And I’m starving half to death all the time!”

It was then I noticed how well he was dressed today, and his hair so clean, falling in honey-brown wavelets that barely touched his shoulders. He had on a longish twill jacket in colorful, thick stripes, muted plaid shirt, fresh pair of Levi’s (the tag was still on) and some new Nikes.

“Cut it out, Deek,” I admonished,”You look great today, nice clothes and all cleaned up. ‘Oh poor me, my life is so miserable. What’s the point in living any more?’ Boo-hoo, boo-hoo. You survive amazingly well on the streets and always have enough food and other stuff well beyond what it takes to survive. You have SO much going for you, but especially your dogs. I think they’re the best thing to ever happen to you!”

“No, I can’t live this way any more, my heart is broken.”

“EVERYone’s heart is broken, Deek. That’s just life!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, and I shared my dogs with you, and now I’m taking them away. That’s life too, accept it!” he smugly retorted.

“Oh is that, right, Deek. And if I beat the shit out of you for giving the dogs up, that’s life too. Accept it!”

“I told you many times I’ll be handing them over to my girlfriend soon. She’s been in jail four years, and now she’s gettin’ out.”

Yes he did tell me, but I neglected to remind him then and there, that since he’s said that (last time being over a month ago), he’s remarked several times he’s never gonna give them up, he loves them too much, he’d DIE if he ever lost them. I certainly failed big-time in THAT round of the debate! But partially recouped that loss by rebutting:

“How well do you really know her? Will she treat the dogs kindly? What if she doesn’t like them? Will she be living in a meth house?” I counted off. But he simply shrugged his shoulders. I resumed:

“I don’t know her, or her family you said she’ll be staying with. As far as I know, you’re making this up. God knows WHERE you’ll dump the dogs or WHO they’ll be with!”

“Maybe I’ll sell ’em, I need the money.”

“Are you kidding me, Deek? These are the sweetest, most wonderful dogs I’ve ever met, and you would betray them? Give ’em to me, then…I’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll NEVER give ’em to you, Zeke. I don’t know WHAT you do with them when they’re in your room.” (Here we go again.)

“I’m just very KIND to them, Deek.” Then I finally addressed something he said last night, that greatly concerns me: “PLEASE don’t get Wiley pregnant, that would be an awful thing to put her through.”

“I do as I want. Besides, whatever someone tells me to do, I do the opposite.”

“That’s CHILDish, Deek,” I admonished. Again, I lost another round…’cause I should’ve snarked back with: “If that’s the case, then let me say this: ‘Please give the doggies away to anyone but me!’

But then, once more, I recouped the loss (and then some, this time around): “If you get Wiley impregnated, I’ll report you to the SPCA and they’ll take her and ALL your dogs away!”

“No, they wouldn’t do that,” he waved away my threat like an annoying mosquito. “They’d help birth the pups.”

“Wrong, Deek. They’d take them away and charge you with animal abuse, and you’d go to jail. It’s a federal offense! They’re not gonna let you get away with running a puppy mill on the streets!”

“You’d rat on me? Then you’re NOT a real friend at all!”

“You BET I’d rat on you…that’s a terrible SIN you’re proposing. And a REAL friend will ALWAYS confront you if he sees you headed in a bad direction…even if it costs him that friendship in so doing, because his friend doesn’t wanna hear it!”

“Well that does it Zeke, you’ll never see me or the dogs again!” And he firmly crossed his arms on his chest accompanied by a beastly scowl. (Yet even that does not detract one whit from his sublime and sculpted good looks.) “Get away from me, go aWAY!”

“I will NOT go away until I’ve had my say. You NEVER listen, it’s all about you and no one else, your spiteful stubbornness will come to no good end.”

“Go away, leave me alone, you’re giving me a headache!” he squealed unconvincingly.

“You DESERVE a headache! I’m your FRIEND, Deek, I’m trying to steer you away from going down a really bad road!”

“You don’t care about me, you just care about the dogs.”

“Not true at all, Deek. I care about BOTH you and the dogs. I’m concerned about your SOUL, and what God will do if you give up the dogs to a bad home! He’ll strike you down!”

“Go aWAY Zeke, this is my last warning!”

I noticed that all through this heated exchange, the doggos were as calm as could be, cool as a cucumber, sweet as a bing cherry, patient as a saint. “Doesn’t he realize how LUCKY he is to have such faithful companions?” I thought.

“Okay, Deek, I really want to leave on a positive note. So I give you my blessings, regardless.”

“Oh thank you so much, mother.”

“No, I mean it. You do so many wonderful things, but sometimes you do something horrible, VERY horrible. So it makes it DIFFICULT to commend you, when you also have such a cruel streak. But you know what else, Deek?”

“I’m all ears, mother.”

“God told me not to worry, the dogs will be fine, they won’t be taken away from me. In fact, if he has to, God will simply transport them back to my home, no matter where they are. Neither you nor anyone else on this planet will be able to take them from my world…or let them come to harm.” I paused, though still had more to say. Deek was staring up at the clouds with a pleading eye.

“And if it comes down to it and you DO make a move to get rid of them, God will stop you dead in your tracks and teach you a lesson you’ll NEVER forget. So I’m not worried at all, I do not allow anger to be the final outcome. You will see what I mean, if you are THAT foolish to try to sabotage my friendship with Taco and Wiley. All that God asks of me now is to not worry about a thing, or allow grief and anxiety to be my master.”

“Get the FUCK away from me, Zeke!”

“Fine. I’ve had my say.” I obliged, but first pet all three doggies with a kind hand before I departed.

Yet once I arrived hovel, I remembered that large can of dog food from Trader Joe’s that Deek had added to the bag of canine vittles (already stuffed with two large Ziplocs of kibble and five cans of gravy style dog food) I had given him four days ago. He asked me last night to take it back till morning, as he wanted to travel light for a few hours. I thought it would be fun to return so soon, just to irk him a bit more…so I donned my coat and acrylic watch cap once more, and stepped out. As I arrived at his corner, I saw a homeless woman who’s been here in the Castro for at least a decade: a bona fide Innuit from way, way up north! She’s actually pretty nice, but for some reason we never get around to talking, or even acknowledging each other. Be that as it may, I came up to Deek and the moment he saw me return, he started griping right in front of the Innuit at how thin Taco seems after staying with me. I just ignored all that, and said:

“One more thing: that Trader Joe’s dog food is the best canned dog food I’ve ever come across! They ate it up yesterday like there’s no tomorrow! The ingredients are all super healthy. I just wish I could order it online, but TJ’s is committed to brick and mortar.”

Then I spun around and marched back home, while plugging up my ears as he hollered from across half-a-street length:

“May as well stop buying stuff for the dogs, because they’re NEVER comin’ back, it’s all over! You’ll never lay eye on ’em again!”

Well, Tara, upon mulling over my frustrating conversification with Deek this morn, I feel ESPECIALLY glad I threatened him with reporting him to the SPCA, should he get Wiley impregnated. He KNOWS I mean it, and that will give him great pause. Though he said he does the opposite of what people tell him, I know it’s just to press my buttons. I don’t think he actually wants to test me on this.

When he introduced the pit bull to me last night, two witnesses showed up out of the blue, who stood quietly by. Homeless, of course. I didn’t even notice WHEN they showed up. But they DID hear my admonishments about making that sweet brindlekin pregnant (how it could kill her), that Lucky is no less loving than his new canine, and that adopting yet aNOTHER pooch is a bad idea. And four days ago I held a satirical and impromptu “sermon on the mount” speech amid a circle of street folks that included Deek.

In sum: Deek’s malicious attempts to pit his street buddies against me (often by inventing an argument right on the spot, when they’re present) have backfired. Just as he threatened me several months back, that he’d sic his new pal, Phillippino Jay, on me…that he’s already beaten up a few others to get them to stop stealing from his cart. But I knew better; Jay struck me as a good guy and, sure enough, one day he comes up to me and says: “Swamp Boy needs to respect you, you’re a good man.” (Swamp Boy BTW, is Deek’s nickname on the streets.) To my further annoyance, Deek has dragged an increasing number of vagrants to right outside my building, where he sometimes meets me after the Koheba shop closes. Though now I realize they pretty much see through him, and consider me a nice fellow. And I TOLD him that, this morning, how his trying to play them against me has BACKFIRED. This is a hopeful sign, since they now know who to bring the doggies to, should something bad happen to him, such as being arrested, going to jail, or (god forbid) dying on the streets. They might also grab the dogs away from him and bring them to me, if he starts to be abusive. I will certainly put the word out, should the opportunity arise to speak with any of them, to bring the doggies to me in such a crisis.

So let’s wrap this up, and conclude with a brief discussion of my theory I dub “Neopositivity,” and how it seems to be clearly affirming my suspicions via these extraordinary episodes now transforming my life. The suspicions being that there IS a god (in the sense of Universal Mind), and we are all watched over by what many call guardian angels. Though I believe it is more likely to be a different kind of manifestation, albeit just as effective and loving. But it suffices to call them angels, for the sake of simplicity, rather than getting into complex, esoteric analysis. I’ve already extrapolated this theory in my previous chapter, so I’ll reiterate in a briefer way, and in different words:

These guardians often play the role of tough taskmasters, hence create difficult, and often frightening, scenarios…that we may be challenged. And in confronting whatever challenge comes up–and figuring out how to overcome it in the most compassionate way possible–we become a better person for the lesson. These ethereal mentors also possess a robust sense of humor. Conclusion:

Deek is one of my guardians, playing the role of a homeless person who is also a drug addict. He is neither. But by acting out this character, he provides me with the glorious opportunity to play the hero. For the homeless…to be their savior so to speak. For all guardian angels bust their ovaries in making our most benevolent dreams and hopes come true…though the road that takes us there is populated with monsters and tragic pitfalls. Which, if viewed another way, are nothing more than opportunities to improve ourselves! They are NOT curses, they are GIFTS! Of the most valuable and transcendent kind.

So this is why Deek often behaves so onerously: that I may take up the challenge and find the most compassionate way through it. But he also loves to press my buttons because humor. He relishes to witness me go into a panic over his latest scheme! But now that I have caught on, I do NOT panic any more. Therefore, this morning’s shocking rant of his was simply playing another move on the gameboard. He has NO intention on giving up the dogs, and EVERY intention of offering them up to me as a gift of devoted camaraderie. It’s kinda like a surprise party, where some of the secret planners start behaving rudely or evasive to the birthday boy or girl…just to make the surprise that much sweeter. I once thought about two weeks ago, that if Deek ever asks me what I’d like for Exmass, I’d tell him: “to spend Exmass Eve with Taco & Wiley.” I never told him that, but, lo and behold, there he was on Exmass Eve, after making me think he would not be back later that day. And asks if I could watch the brindlecurs that night! And so I did, and had a beautiful Eve and Exmass day, because of their charming company.

Deek has also been mocking me now and then, over my activism, calling me a phony, a hypocrite and a deceiver. But that is also a subtlely humorous accusation because, if he is indeed an angel, what does that imply about all of the OTHER houseless? So here I am, thinking my dedication to help them is the bee’s knees…while all along they live these secret, amazing lives as higher beings that pretend to be otherwise in the eyes of humanity. For the sake of guiding our rebirth into a better realm, like emerging from a cocoon…or the blossoming of a lotus.

Thanks to the amazing events now unfolding in my world, and at such a rapid pace, I am CONFIDENT I’m correct in my angelic assumption. Which confidence I’ve already conveyed to Deek this morning, in spite of his continuing to behave like an idiot…and a very SCARY idiot at that. But I’m not frightened any more, no, not in the least. In fact, I am most GRATEFUL for his incredible labor of love, that I may grow wings. His probable LAST challenge to me forevermore, was to scheme up something that might TRULY agrieve me: adopting yet another dog (and a pit bull at that) and telling me he’s gonna get Wiley pregnant. I don’t know where he got that third dog from, but it’s just another stage prop for the final act of the “Fuck with Zeke” off-off-off-broadway play.

Meher Baba was famous for that deceptively simple saying: “Don’t worry, be happy!” And ya know what, Tara? He was one hundred percent spot on. All the world’s a stage…in the most literal meaning of that word!

FINALLY! I’ve reached the end of this tale, and it is now 10:30 PM. I’ve been hacking away at my keyboard ALL DAY LONG.

I haven’t received a response from my neighbor down the hallway, yet, regarding those Skellington videos. But I think he’ll greatly appreciate them, for now he can be with his beloved papillon anywhere and at any time, through a smartphone. They look fantastic on that medium, BTW!

Also, I listened to Marshall’s show last night, remarkable as always. But by the time I reached the four-hour mark and I needed to hit the hay, I had yet to hear my tales. Hopefully, as I listen further this eve (after the podcast is made available), they’ll be there. But if not, no worries, I’ll take it in stride and vie for another chance to be on the airwaves in the kingdom of Ft. Bragg.

Isn’t it astounding that you’ve become a significant part of THIS novel, too? Besides which: you are every bit my muse, as are the brindlekin. And a most EXCELLENT sounding board and confidante for my authorial penchant.

Your crazy friend,


PS: I just finished listening to Marshall’s latest podcast, and nowhere did he read or play any of my tales. I have a hunch he may be infuriated by my spiritual extrapolations in my latest tales…three of which I asked him to read in lieu of Skeptical Crow’s narration of my spooky two tales. I probably come off to a lot of people as maniacally gung-ho over angelic nonsense. But even if I’m completely off my nut, they sure do make for a fantastic ride for the readers lucky enough to stumble upon my prose (but not through it, I hope)! I guess Marshall thinks I’ve morphed into another Alvin Waak!


Subject: Wiley Peed on my Fascist Neighbor’s Door! (I’ll keep this short)
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 27, 2020, 03:13 PM

Deek showed up this morning around 9:30 with the canine trio, this time parked right across the street and facing both my apartment building and the Koheba smoke shop. The dogs’ three leashes were lashed together at the end…but they didn’t seem to mind. Instead, they played merrily together, feigning vicious attacks with harmless bites, pounces and arfs. But Deek exclaimed:

“Look how they’re fighting! They’re not getting along together, and you did that to them!”

I queried: “Did you just call me out here to complain, ’cause I got a ton of work to do.”

“Oh, you don’t do nothin’ but hang in your dumb room and watch TV all day,” he mocked.

I chose to ignore any and all of his insults and threats, which were beyond counting…realizing now that he is an angel testing my emotional level for stability. But I sure was bored, listening to his ridiculous, wicked accusations. This went on for almost twenty minutes before he asked me to take the two brindlekin home for awhile:

“I don’t know what to do. Wiley & Taco are not the dogs they used to be, since you got your hands on them! I’m gonna have to give one of ’em up, maybe Blue. The only reason I’m askin’ you is I have no other choice, and I need to get some things done.”

So I finally unglued myself and the two brindlepups from his tar-baby spell, and proceeded on hovel with Taco bearing down on my pants cuff with sharp little teeth and growls of conquest (making it difficult for me to perambulate properly across Market Street, but I managed like all good crips). Wiley lead the pack on stretched leash, eager to return once more to her little plot of heaven on earth.

In consideration of the manager’s recent Grinch-ian warning, I did not unlatch the pooches till we all arrived on the first landing. Then, as per their usual prelude to entering my monk’s cell of a room, they dashed like brindlebats from hell, up the remaining steps and through the trifurcated hallway on the second floor. I love the sound of their pudgy paws lightly pounding through the carpeted corridor: staccato drumbeats of joy!

Upon arriving last to my floor, I saw Taco come scampering out from the right-branching hallway that contains the shared restroom…but no Wiley!

“Uh-oh,” I thought, “Is she taking a poop there again?” She had done so once before, but it was an easy cleanup thanks to the dry, solid nature of her “gift.”

But I WAS worried, because loose stools are sometimes on their agenda. So I rushed off to find her at the end of that hallway and, yes, hunkered down in front of another resident’s doorway, taking a dump! She looked at me with hopeful eyes; I don’t know what for. But I was nonetheless pleased to discover the kind of firm, well-packed deposit that is easy to pick up and doesn’t leave a trace: every dog-owner’s dream come true!

“What a considerate little mutt!” I thought in endless gratitude.

As I crouched down with a poop bag and quickly eliminated the evidence, the doggies romped on down to the main hallway.

When I stepped around the corner, to my surprise, there was Wiley crouched down again, only this time to pee. By the time I ran up to her, she was done. But it was barely a tablespoon or two of urine, much to my relief. Right along Moe’s doorway, of all places! I quickly rushed to my room to get some paper towels…but in spite of a speedy return, it had already been absorbed into the carpet’s edge. Though since that section was already dusty and darkened by years of wear, you couldn’t see any sign of the crime. So, as the great Alfred E. Neuman always likes to say: “What, me worry?” Besides:

Moe has a little doggie of his own.

Subject: Asking of you a BIG favor, Chuck!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Chuck Kapinski
Bcc: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 27, 2020, 07:49 PM

In the event the building manager should tell me I can’t have the dogs over any more, I will remind him that other SRO inhabitants have adopted a doggie, with no conflict from the landlord, or any previous manager. In fact, one manager from back in the nineties, Arnold Wexler, allowed a young woman to keep THREE pit bulls in her single room, for a time! It’s really important to me, to help Deek out whenever he needs a break from the doggies or has to go somewhere where they’re not allowed…as well as to give them shelter on especially cold nights, or it’s raining. They are adorable little mutts, and are totally quiet when staying with me. Never any problem! So here’s what I’m asking:

Email me a statement that you lived there for such-and-such number of years, and know of at least two SRO occupants who owned little dogs in that building. If you know of any more, of course, please include them as well. (If you can only remember just one, that’s fine too.) Post the email to me, with the top line being:

“To Kevin Bond, present manager of 2306 Market Street, SF:”

Followed by the body of your text. I will save your post for any possible future need regarding these precious pups, and management. Thanks much, Chuck. If you don’t care to do this, that’s okay, too. To quote Einstein: “Vere dere’s a vill dere’s a vay. Arf arf!”

Someone Should Kick Him in the Ass!

December 24, 2020

[Please note: this incident occurred two days before I wrote my inspirational piece, “A Lotus Blossoms by the Bay.”]

Someone should kick him in the ass all the way up the block, and back again! And you know I’m talking about Deek.

I had prepared the pooches for our morning ablution a short while ago, around 9 AM. They were in those wonderful jackets Moira was so kind to donate, only this time black instead of plaid, because reversible. They actually wore them for the first time, last night: they are not the least bit perturbed by the apparel; Taco can pee perfectly fine…plus they look great. Funny thing, though (no, hilarious) is that Taco, in his playful attack mode, sometimes goes for the Velcro tabs on my sandals. I can barely walk when he does so, but I let him have his fun and play the hapless victim.

“Oh no, Taco, ya got me again!” I’d exclaim…which response inspires him to further aggression on the browbeaten sandal, his toothy grip unyielding. All while feigning vicious growls.

Well, these jackets ALSO have Velcro tabs…bold, fat, juicy straps that number not one, not two, but THREE! Clearly, they are a tease to Taco’s mischievous nature, sticking their raspy tongues out, just daring him to rip them asunder. And so he does. Though this time the target is not yours truly, but his sibling, Wiley! All hell breaks loose, and they’re at each other like Tasmanian devils as the leashes intertwine into half their length.

So this morning when I step out, there’s Deek looking all trashy, slumped against my building about fifteen feet from the front gate. This time, instead of a shopping cart, he showed up with a baby stroller that overflowed with a myriad of stuff, including three thirty-gallon trash bags bursting with recyclables and lashed to the stroller on both sides, and in back. Yet in all that Brobdingnagian pile of discarded “treasure,” I didn’t see the doggie blanket I had given him just five nights back. Two other vagrants are with him, standing and walking about, mumbling about God only knows what. I released my grip so the furry charges could dash up to him in their usual glee. Right off the bat, he starts griping:

“What is this?” he demands while glaring at the jacketed pups. “Are these from your charity pity pool?”

“Yeh,” I reply. “I wanted you to see how good they look in them, and how well they fit.”

“Take ’em off!” he angrily spews, upon which one of his sketchy pals (a burly fellow with a thick shock of wavy black hair) pipes up with a bold frown aimed at Deek:

“No! What’s wrong with you!”

“You don’t understand, it’s how he GOT these jackets,” Deek retorts, then waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll explain later.”

Not only do I resent Deek’s unwelcome appearance below my neighbors’ windows, and imposing a loud argument there, as well…but now I also resent his coloring me as the culprit in front of a perfect stranger who may or may not be unglued. And this is definitely NOT the first time he’s potentially placed me in harm’s way. Fortunately, such attempts have fizzled out each time…so far. Including THIS incident, in light of burly-man’s rebuke. So I may indeed have people on my side, who are aware of Deek’s bipolar behavior. I desperately hope so, because if push comes to shove and the doggies are left to fend for themselves on the streets, fearful and in grief, some kindly street person will know who to bring them to.

I also resent that Deek has more frequently begun to reveal my living quarters to a growing number of strangers…something which I ALSO told him not to do numerous times, over numerous years. But it seems to be getting out of hand these past few months…including this very morning, when his two sidekicks saw me step outside my apartment building, and a little later, step back in. It’s as if each time I admonish him, he digs in his heels and pushes things even further. Yet when I think about it now, it may save the pups’ lives for the reason described above: more street people than ever know where I live.

When I go to remove the jackets, Deek stops me and says never mind, they’re okay.

“But what is this, they look like they’re on wrong, inside-out.” He scowls while examining the inner lining of the floppy collar, which is plaid.

“They’re reversible, Deek.” I reply. “I put ’em on for the first time last night, so I thought I’d try it different today. I think they look classy in black.”

Meanwhile, the pups sit there patiently on that large square flap of cardboard, soaking up the winter sun’s scant warmth, so kindly absorbed by quilted polyester padding. They look like two, big fat burritos wrapped in a licorice tortilla. They were both still on the sleepy side, and digesting a hearty breakfast. Boy are they spoiled when they visit Uncle Zeke!

Sadly, Deek suddenly erupts in a new barrage of wicked accusations; his two scruffy homies had departed by then, but how soon before, I hadn’t noticed. Rather than walk you through a blow-by-blow report that would not only bore you, good reader…it would also disrupt the flow of my prose, like pigeon poop on freshly baked rye.

Just imagine the obscene diatribes of a dope-sick speed freak, because he is also that, at times. Dope sick, I mean. Now, don’t get me started lecturing on the evils of meth, how it is the greatest bane to humanity, anyone addicted to it is a lost cause, and I’m a fool wasting my time. (If anyone’s ever noticed, we are ALL fools wasting our time, but that’s another topic I reserve for my existential conversations on Reddit.) Personally, I don’t ever TOUCH hard drugs, alcohol or other potentially harmful substance…but let me tell YOU one thing, Sparky:

If I were ever bounced onto the streets unceremoniously, you BET I’d be ingesting whatever illegal substance I could lay my hands on…as MEDICINE to help me cope with the insanity and cruel abuse by society at large!

Furthermore: you pretty much can NOT perform any kind of homeless outreach by excluding all those who don’t imbibe in one mind altering substance or another. But since I prefer to limit my street activism to one particular person for the most part, I carefully seek out the more stable among them. And Deek fits the bill to perfection. Frankly, I’ve long ago learned that I absolutely cannot deal with alcoholics. Or any other substance user, except for crystal queens. But boozers are the worst; take my word for it. Whereas SOME meth freaks, on the other hand, are capable of maintaining civil dialogue and keeping their world together, pretty much…and hold amazing, thoughtful conversations at times. Not all of them of course, but some. Here’s an eye-opening article for ya:

Famous writers and their choice of drug

Much to my hilarity, the article revealed that Ayn Rand was a notorious meth addict. Quote:

“During the time Ayn Rand was writing The Fountainhead, she was prescribed an amphetamine as an anti-fatigue drug. She continued to take amphetamines from then out for another thirty years.”

No wonder she was such a byatch! No surprise to me, then, that modern day Libertarianism is based on the mad ramblings of a dope fiend. Yes, kind reader, the roots of disaster capitalism are nurtured by the innocent name of “Christina!” But boy-howdy does she love to party.

Deek’s bipolar madness was at an all-time high that morning! Accusing me of the most wicked sins, like not feeding the pups (“Taco’s ribs are sticking out!” Hogwash. He has a proud, broad brisket.) or giving them water (“They’re acting sluggish like they’re always thirsty!” Hogwash. I leave a bowl out all the time, and constantly refresh it.) or drugging them (“You givin’ them pills? ‘Cause they sure act different when they get back to me!” Hogwash. Maybe,just maybe, it’s his behavior.) or being sick (“Look at Taco, he’s puking!” Hogwash, I’m right there and he isn’t. Just a bit droopy with those Keane brown eyes rolled up in my direction as if to say, “I’m ashamed of my master, too, Zeke.”) or that the pandemic is fake (“No one really knows what it is, the government’s lying to turn us into slaves; and I lost a friend of twenty years yesterday from opioid overdose!” Hogwash to the first part, bullshit to the second.)…and so on ad infinitum.

This all sounds tame compared to how he acted out in real life: face coral with rage, cracked, stained hands flitting about like two frenzied birds (pups’ eyes glued in fascination), staccato imputations flung at me like bullets, in a bellicose timbre that shook the windows above…phlegm spewing in every direction. The stroller was a hazmat junk pile and HE looked like a creature from the wrong side of the tracks of the Black Lagoon! Let’s get real here: Deek was an utter disaster of a Tina-craving drama queen that morning!

Even the cheap Bic disposable razor I brought to him was a victim of his hostility. I keep a spare pack or two, just for his needs, along with black felt markers he uses to create graffiti-like designs on his sneakers and other items, such as bicycle tire whitewall and boom-box style Bluetooth speakers. I knew he needed another razor because he asked for one a couple of nights ago, but I forgot, so he said oh well, next time.

“A used razor? What the hell is this?” he scowled as he examined it closely, tilting it one way or another. It wasn’t used, it came fresh out of the pack. But I wasn’t about to feed into his game, so kept silent.

“Enough!” I blurted. “It’s too early for this, I need my coffee!” With that, I turned on my heels and marched toward Rosenberg’s on Noe Street. I could already smell the Robusta brewing, from that far away.

Then, instead of packing up, he remained a Morlock lump on the sidewalk and started taunting me with god only knows what vulgar statements. I can’t recall now, but they served their purpose: to infuriate me. So I turned back and stopped ten feet away:

“Would you like me to kick the shit out of you, Deek?” I bellowed like a snorting bull in the ring.

Meanwhile, Taco and Wiley serenely sat beside him without showing the least bit anxiety over their keeper’s lunatic ranting…while HE kept deriding me with Exorcist-movie-level insults flung my way.

“How DARE you screech and argue right in front of my building!” my shivering voice boomed. “Get the FUCK outta here, NOW!”

Well that did the trick, and he started packing posthaste, like he precognitized the devil’s arrival at any moment…and I finally departed to get that soul-saving java down my gullet.

One thing I do regret before departing, is that I didn’t have the good sense to reassuringly pet Wiley & Taco at any time during this latest bout. I noticed Wiley had wagged her tail and raised a friendly paw at me, in the middle of our argument, as they sat on a sheet of cardboard beside Deek. But in the heat of the moment, I ignored her sweet gesture. The dogs are in the middle of this, and that’s just not fair, it’s cruel. No wonder I want to bust Deek in the jaw, sometimes. Thus, the paradox of my great respect for him, as well as great disgust.

As grim as this sounds, whether or not the pooches survive, or wind up in a living hell of a situation for the rest of their darling lives…I will never betray the love they’ve shown me, but forge ahead with my goal to bring real succor and inspiration through my Brindlekin Tales. In fact, I’m already releasing them, for free, across cyberspace. Chapter by chapter, video by video and blog by blog. That’s how much these curly-tails have inspired me, and I yearn to touch everyone through my stories, the way they’ve touched me.

For there’s no love like a doggy’s love, and that kind of love never leaves you.


STUPID ME! I should’ve just told him “Nope! I purchased them myself,” when he asked if the jackets were donated. I could’ve come up with somethin’ about how I managed to afford them. So here’s what I’ve cooked up, and the great part about it is it’s all TRUE! I just didn’t anticipate his intense dislike for “handouts,” though of course it’s all fake; he just loves to complain and hurl guilt trips around. Nonetheless, here’s the solution to this puzzle:

In exchange for donations, I am writing a fantastic story each week. So I’m EARNING my dog supplies and vet care by trade.

He needs to hear this, but, as usual, every time he stirs up a shitty, pointless argument, I’m forced to agonize over how I’m gonna work this through, and come out a winner on the other side.

Scheherazade has nothing over me!


Subject: Sound strategy pays off
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 22, 2020 8:14 PM

Deek showed up some moments ago, after that horrid tantrum he threw on Sunday morning. Which I am still in the process of churning into my latest Brindlekin Tale. I rushed out to greet at godspeed pace. For I was eager to inform him that these donations weren’t “handouts” per se, but in exchange for a new (and GREAT) story every week. Upon approach, of course Taco & Wiley went ballistic with joy, pulling so hard on their leashes attached to the cart, they had to stand on their hind legs, paws fluttering about like butterflies.

Zach was twenty feet distant, parlaying with yet another street dude I didn’t recognize (how does he know so many people?), while I was crouched down and doting on the foxy canines.

A few moments later he turned and approached me. I blurted:

“I owe you an apology!”

He appeared somewhat groggy and perturbed, not in reaction to what I just said, but as a current, overall state of mind. He spoke not a word, so I continued:

“These donations aren’t really handouts, Deek,” That caught his attention. “I EARN these supplies, because in exchange I promise to write one good story a week. And it’s going really well; they LOVE my tales!”

I waited for his reaction, but he just stood there, a bit withdrawn as if mulling over something other than what I had just said.

“So these jackets, the food and everything ELSE they send me is EARNED. I just do it in trade instead of money. Since for now, accepting any cash for my work from ANYone would sabotage my Medi-Cal, and I could wind up in the clinker for government fraud.”

Well, Tara, he still didn’t utter a sound, but handed me a new smartphone and a Bluetooth speaker that’s seen better days (held together with duct tape around one side, and the bottom). Then, after I received them, he finally spoke:

“Christmas is coming up.”

“Yes I know,” I replied. “Things are falling into place for me very well now, as my stories are taking off…they’re even being read on the radio and Youtube!”

He just stood there; no more words rolled off his tongue. Perhaps because he felt ashamed of his behavior last time around. At any rate, I was overjoyed at seeing the brindlekins once more. They were jumping about my legs, yearning to drown me in licks and snorts and chubby paw pounces. Zach was now turned away from me, schmoozing with yet some other homeless guy. So, as I held the leashes in a firm grip, I called from a departing distance:

“See you later! The hounds are pulling me home!”

And with that, we all three scampered on hovel for another sweet sleepover. I think I did good by him. And saved the day once more, for the doggies’ sake.

  • Zeke

Subject: Re: Sound strategy pays off
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 22, 2020
10:03 PM

Are the doggies still with you tonight??

Yes indeed. Deek’s okay with jackets and anything else I get, now that he understands I’m busting my ovaries in exchange. But he did admonish:

“Well, ya better not be writing about me or the dogs, I won’t have any of that…I’ll be furious if that’s what you’re up to!”

“Oh c’mon, Deek, have a little faith,” I pleaded, “My stories are all horror tales or funny ones, like the time I wore a wig for almost a year; I made a fool of myself.”

He just stood there by his cart, listening. So I added this repartee before taking my leave and returning to the pooches:

“Besides, I don’t find you INTERESTING enough to write about. Sorry.”

Oh, yeah, I also told him my writing career is gonna take off like a star ship…a lot of people are turning on to my tales, and they love ’em. He asked how I could make millions so fast, in just a few months.

“Well, there’s several ways, at least. One of ’em is that publishers fight for the rights to my stories, so the winner offers me a huge sum. Millions of people by then will be cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs to read my next novel, so they’ll sell out in one day. Even if my cut is just a dollar per book, I’ll make at least three million in twenty-four hours. Another way is that wealthy people and organizations really like what I stand for, my activism, my ideas, my proposals, my unbridled enthusiasm. So one group or another will be eager to set up a nonprofit foundation for me, that I can further my cause…er, causes.”

I didn’t bother to come up with other conjectures on how I may get rich very soon, as I told him I should get back to the mutts, so have a good night.

Get this: I’ve just uploaded four more of my KNYO video narrations, and am very pleased at how things are developing on my Youtube channel. I think those KNYO pieces will be quite a hit, and a boost into recognition. I just listened to a few of them, including when he interviewed me. That was on March 10, 2017, by the way. I discussed Trump for a bit…and I mused: “Gee, I thought my KNYO stuff was older than that! I also listened to him read “Zeke’s Last Supper.” What a hoot!

Well, Wiley & Taco are snugly tucked in their blankets, snoozing away like they’re in heaven. I’m gonna put away my tools of the trade for now, and kick back in bed with two little doggies, and watch a torrent-downloaded movie with a glass of milk and two Peter Paul Mounds candy bars.

Ha ha, Peter & Paul’s sermon on the Mounds!

  • Zeke

Subject: Run-in with the building manager…not very nice.
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 23, 2020 3:15 PM

So I just stepped back inside, after taking the pups for an afternoon stroll. Released them from the leashes once in the lobby, so they could race up the stairs and dash back and forth in the hallway for the few minutes it takes before they’re exhausted and wanna step inside. This is the standard routine. But this time around the building manager, Kevin, was on the first landing, which is halfway up the stairs to my level. As usual when they see someone else in the building, they bark. Though not as much or so often anymore…but still they bark, while wagging their fluffy rudders. Everyone in the building who’s run across them, compliments me on their charm. Their barks are brief, and are otherwise wonderfully quiet in my hovel. They don’t make ANY noise, in fact, when I exit for a short time…like going to the restroom or around the corner for some java, or to return Deek’s recharged devices (while letting me keep the brindlekin overnight).

At first they were anxious about my brief departures, so upon my return, they’d be sitting up in bed, staring quizzically. But as time passed, they grew more relaxed…though Wiley would still make a big fuss over my return, and crave comforting hugs, pets, belly rubs and kisses. She was SO happy to see me again; she feared I’d abandoned them in a locked chamber! Yet as more time passed, they no longer sat up at attention during my departure, awaiting my return. They now just remain prone on their blankets as I depart, maybe open their peepers a slit as if to say “We know you’ll be back in a jiff, have a nice poop, we’re good!” They don’t even raise their heads! Nowadays, the pooches don’t trouble themselves to do THAT much…they just keep on snoozing. Except that Wiley still greets me with puppy joy the moment I open the door: she crawls on her belly inch by inch, front legs fully extended, using the grip of those paws to propel her forward across the fluffy bedding. And her tail flicks like a boss.

As they ran up to the landing, they paused there to make a flurry of yaps at the manager, then resumed their dash up the stairs to enjoy their runway playtime. I followed quickly behind, coiled leashes in hand and, as I reached Kevin, said “Oops, sorry!”

His response (in his usual calm but slightly whiny tone of voice): “They shouldn’t even be here!”

“I’m just dog sitting,” I replied, as he already began his descent towards the lobby, so I couldn’t actually engage him in adult conversation. I think he knows whose dogs they are; you can’t keep ANY secrets here in The Castro…buncha gossip queens.

As he vanished down the stairway, he finished with: “I see them all the time on the camera. Next time that happens they won’t be allowed in any more.”

And I called back: “Oh c’mon, they’re sweet little doggies.”

First of all, that’s a lie, that he sees them all the time. Their visits average twice per week. Besides, what does he mean by “next time that happens?” Next time they’re running upstairs off-leash, or next time I have them over? I don’t think he means the latter, as he would’ve worded it differently. Such as: “Those dogs gotta go NOW!” Not a single person’s complained of their presence…in fact, everyone seems tickled. Besides, this is a pet friendly building; over a third of the residents own dogs. And bounding up the stairs and up and down my hallway, is the rare chance they get to exercise when I’m their keeper. I don’t DARE let them run free in a park, or anywhere else…what with no rabies tag, and so many mean-spirited folks out there just looking to fuck with you, especially dog haters. Well, they DO get more exercise by wrestling on the bed…they really go at it! So I’m gonna play it like so:

Keep the leashes on until I reach my floor, then let ‘er rip. They only do this for less than three minutes, anyway…and they don’t make any noise except for the pattering of their paws. And there ARE no cameras in the hallways…just in the lobby, the basement, the back gate exit, and on each of three porches. But they LOVE scrambling up the stairs! I just hate having to take that away from them. Oh, well, if that’s his only complaint, I’ll comply. Come to think of it:

Some residents with dimutive mutts have been in the habit of letting them run free up and down the stairs. Until the pandemic hit…which is ridiculous, because they’re no more a risk when unleashed. And my fascist neighbor down the hallway from me, Moe Fleisher, always had his previous charge, a papillon named “Skellington the Third,” play in the corridor every evening, chasing after a laser beam.

Seems to me he could sit down and speak with me about the doggies…like a grownup. Perhaps he’s afraid he’ll fall in love with them if he does. And they’d wind up becoming the mascots of 2306!

I don’t see anything illegal about my sitting two well-mannered and friendly pooches. Especially when other SRO tenants have adopted a little mutt now and then, without any opposition from manager or landlord. Furthermore, this is NOT in violation of the pandemic safety measures, as dogs are RARELY known to carry or spread the virus. So say many reports that have come in, including this one from The Wall Street Journal:

Disease experts say the chance of your pet catching the virus from you or another pet in the neighborhood or at the park is tiny. If they do, the chance they get sick is smaller still. And the chance you catch the virus from your pet is close to zero.

As for bedbugs: they are outdoor doggies, never enter another person’s home except mine. I have never found one on them, and believe me, I check each time before stepping indoors. Since they have thin pelts, it’s easy to spot even the tiniest out-of-place speck. So let’s keep our fingers crossed, and hope that Kevin’s reprimand was simply an off-leash gripe. Having said that:

With my new-found confidence in my destiny, I’m sure it will never come to a ban on Taco & Wiley’s angelic visits here. And on my part, I have no reason to express anger or hatred in this conflict, or in any other conflict for that matter. Meher Baba was right: “Don’t worry, be happy!

  • Zeke

PS: I just received a notice to Deek, care of my address, from the US Department of the Treasury in Birlingham, Alabama. Acknowledging that his $1,200 stimulus was rerouted to his child support debt. They didn’t include how much he still owes…just that his monetary obligation was reduced by that amount. But this is just an affirmation, as he already received the statement of rejection months ago. So I don’t think I’ll even mention it to him, as what would be the point? Recalling his great expectation for receiving that stimulus (waiting months for the process to complete, only to find out he would not receive even one red penny) would only serve to upset. And I’ve had enough of Mr. Grouchy!

Re: Run-in with the building manager…not very nice.
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 23, 2020
10:04 PM

Oh, Jeez, hope he doesn’t choose now to become a villain.

I certainly don’t appreciate his playing Ebenezer Scrooge to my Bob Cratchit (and to Deek’s Tiny Tim). Yet I hope the final outcome of this conflict is every bit as fortuitous as the one in Charles Dickens’ tale.

Okay. Hope you’re right, i really do. Your plan sounds like a good one.

Yes, it seems the best way to deal with it.

Absolutely no point in picking that old scab. He’d just think of a way to turn it around and blame you.

Exactly. By the way, I just saw him again only 20 minutes ago, to retrieve the brindlekin. He whined about the jackets, but I reminded him they are not handouts…I earned them through my writing. Then he griped about how the plaid design looks “gay.” (Imagine me, a diehard LGBT activist having to put up with this crap right here in the heart of the heart of Gay Mecca…and from someone CLOSE to me! Homophobia remains ubiquitous.) So he turned them inside-out, and now they’re black. Even though the other day when he saw the jackets for the first time, they WERE reversed to black, and he complained they look stupid, like some retard who can’t dress himself. Whatever. At least he’s keeping the jackets on them…and that’s what REALLY matters.

Deek’s talking about visiting one of “his people” for two or three days, who lives almost ten miles away. I said fine, hope you three have a lovely time. I’m not anxious about the doggies any more…I just sense they’ll always be nearby, and we’ll have many visits for many years to come. Considering how so much is falling into place for me now, it wouldn’t make any sense if the doggies weren’t part of that. So guess what, Tara? You are the first to learn of another new word I just invented, after “brindlekin:”


Here is an example…in fact, the world’s very FIRST example of its proper use. And it comes from a story I just completed a couple of hours ago:

“Well that did the trick, and he started packing posthaste, like he precognitized the devil’s arrival at any moment…and I finally departed to get that soul-saving java down my gullet.”

  • Zeke

Re: Sound strategy pays off
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Tara Roosevelt
Date: December 23, 2020
11:57 PM

Deek just swung by to pick up his electronic toys. The temperature’s really dipped…brrr! It’s forty-four degrees right now. As I stepped out, I was pleased to see the jackets on…Taco wore plaid, and Wiley wore elegant black. Deek asked for a blanket when he summoned me from the sidewalk. Glad to part with that excellent kids sleeping bag Tim Glyde and partner of the announcement list sent me! We talked a little while.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he stated.

“Yeah, I know…just two or three days from now.”

“No, I think it’s Thursday, which means Christmas is tomorrow.”

“Really? I don’t think so, I think today’s Tuesday.” I thought to escort him partway to where he was planning to crash (right around the corner and across from Rosenberg’s, in a well-lit nook), so we could pass by a newsstand and look at the date.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s Christmas Eve,” he replied.

“Hmm, I thought today was Tuesday. But I don’t pay any attention to the holidays, even the days of the week. Maybe you’re right.”

Then Deek whipped out his smartphone and spoke into it: “Google, what’s today’s date?”

“It is Thursday, December twenty-fourth,” replied the AI.

“Well I’ll be!” I was actually a bit surprised and impressed at Deek’s savvy use of the device. So he said:

“Merry Christmas, Zeke…I’ll be around the corner for awhile. You have a good night. And thank you for the blanket, the jackets, everything.”

“You, too, Deek.” And with that they mosied on across the street. Then suddenly, Wiley freed herself from her collar and came running back to me.

Deek grew angered: “Wiley, don’t play me like that!”

“I got her, Deek,” I said with one knee on the concrete to embrace the scamp. “Don’t be angry at her, she’s not playing you, she just wants in from the cold.”

He placed the collar back on, and she begrudgingly followed, tugging forcefully on her leash in her wish to be indoors, away from the cold. Deek hollered at her, but gently so, and she stopped resisting. As the trio approached the distant corner, the doggies kept looking back at me. I so badly wanted to run up to them, scoop them into my arms, rescue them from an almost frigid night and a man too angry for his, and their, own good.

But they have jackets and a blanket, so they’ll be alright. Maybe I’ll pop over in a half hour, just to check in on them. I’m guessing he’d like me to visit, else he wouldn’t have made a point of telling me where he’ll be tonight. Welp, time to brew up a piping hot cuppa blueberry tea, and bring it out to him! Stay tuned.

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