The FINAL Final Final Chapter (part 16)

October 10, 2022

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 3: Chapter 19p]

Re: Speaking of Native American, Calvin…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: Calvin Hope
Date: October 6, 2022 at 3:55 PM

On 2022-10-06 14:39, Calvin Hope wrote:

> Hi Zeke, yes, thank you.

> I tend to go with the “fictional” to keep the imagination alive and healthy. My dreamworld is reality safe space. This part is just weird. However, you have a better relationship with it, producing your tales. Right now, have become a total dropout. The surgery left me without stamina. Have to rest all the time. Sinking into forest reality. Hoping for recovery but uncertain. Lost Boots about 2 weeks ago after 18 years. Can’t imagine life without him, think I’m in denial. It’s working. Keep thinking he’ll show up any moment. Ready to go on into the spirit world. Not good at figuring out compromises, think I tend to become destructive but maybe that’s not true either. IAS sounds like my kind of place.

> Warmest Greetings, Calvin Hope

So sorry to learn about Boots’ passing, but you gave that lovely little creature a great life. Though I know exactly how you feel, because when my two sweet brindlekin go, I go too. Unconditional love has powerful attachments, and that’s why so many are fearful of love, and often conceal it with hatred, neuroses, keeping super busy on the job or with trivial matters, substance abuse or whatever. Some folks think such intense love towards a non-human is absurd; they just don’t understand. Warmest regards, likewise.

– Zeke

Click here for a larger view.

Subject: Just found this beside my door, see pic.
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 6, 2022 at 5:46 PM

It’s a white powder called diatomaceous earth, which some fools believe really works to keep bedbugs out of your dwelling. It does NOT, though it works for many other insects. But the way they applied it is useless, anyway, ’cause you’re supposed to use only a very LIGHT dusting…and THIS is overkill to the max! Maybe they think I’m bringing ’em in since now they’ve seen me lounging outside with the doggies, and you know all the vermin and diseases they think the homeless spread! Besides which, inhaling that dust is DANGEROUS for pets, because it’s like super tiny glass shards! If you DO use it, the instructions state to only put it in places that your dog, cat or whatever won’t sniff around or disturb it. Couple across the hallway have been laying DE at the bottom of his door for MONTHS, and very thickly as well…THEY HAVE A CHIHUAHUA who walks over that stuff two or three times a day! At any rate:

Deek’s new dog sitting arrangement is changing my entire world because I just don’t have time to carry out my usual routine of Internet activities throughout the day, and my writing. So this is a BIG CHANGE for me, that is difficult to adapt to, especially in light of fixing meals, figuring out what prepared foods I can get to make things easier. I don’t even wanna run down the street to pick up groceries a block away, because the pups would be left alone! If only I had a backup person to watch ’em for me now and then, that would make all the diff. Part of the problem is Deek doesn’t have a set schedule, so I never know when he’ll show up and I’ll have to drop everything pronto.

The best answer is to take it all in stride, and have faith things will balance out. So SICK of one new urgency popping up after another, I barely have a moment’s pause! Well, that’s an exaggeration, but you know what I mean. How’s today going with your new familiar, Pluto? I’d love a pic or two!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Just found this beside my door, see pic.
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 7, 2022 at 12:39 AM

> When you start using the tent, maybe you can take the laptop with you for work??

The tent is not doable, under the new restriction Deek has declared, that is: no more camping out behind the building because he claims there’s too much dirt and bugs. I suspect he saw how much I was enjoying myself back there with the pups, so decided to fuck me over. No way could I ever pitch a tent anywhere in front of my building. And I can’t really concentrate with a laptop, without SOME shelter to muffle the distraction of pedestrians and traffic. The only advantage sitting the pups by the bus stop, is it’s a good spot to meet new and friendly people. Otherwise, the whole day is wasted when it comes to my Internet activities and writing. I’d also be wide open to theft of my Chromebook, like a sitting duck. The only other spot I can sit with the doggies is the ATM nook, which is notorious for attracting the crazier vagrants. Though yesterday evening it was peaceful, no one else was there. Furthermore:

I can’t just lie down and rest in front of the building, like I could behind it. So in essence, Deek’s pretty much ruined a workable situation for my outdoor pooch sitting, and turned it into something far more uncomfortable and stress inducing. But something good came out of this:

The doggy vomit Deek pointed out to me that may or may not have contained Lucky’s blood, made me aware that forcing the mutts to eat off the sidewalk is especially bad because of potential ingestion of teensy glass (or plastic or metal) shards. So I HAD to make him aware of that; and I did, yesterday, though not without some difficulty to get him to listen.

> I know how new urgencies pop up one after the other; yet I still labor under the delusion that I’ll actually solve them all and be delivered onto calm waters. Ha!

Well, it’s more like a wave of cycles, some more intense, others less. After all, the nasty gossip I’ve suffered for years from my quasi-fascist neighbor down the hallway DID finally resolve itself in the most definitive way possible!

> Pluto’s doing really well. Is learning not to leap all over us, actually “sits” when I tell him to. Most of the time, anyway. He has, of course, the cutest, sleekest, sweetest little puppy head, eyes full of love and velvety ears. I have a couple of pics, but want to get better ones. He’s actually sort of hard to photograph because he’s mostly black! He chased Butterball a little bit, but she stood her ground.

He’s gonna turn out to be a marvelous doggy, and a good companion for Surely (for sure, ha-ha). Pluto is your love shadow!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Texting w/Wattson, 10/06/22-10/07/22

Subject: Pallas and a 2-Jacket Day
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 8, 2022 at 1:08 AM

When I told you in a text earlier today that I have a true tale “that’ll blow your mind, get ready for my next email,” I never imagined it would encompass the rest of the day’s adventures beyond what I first intended to share. Which was my conversation with the new employee at Rosenberg’s. For Deek and mutts had shown up right when I sat down to type it all out, thus I knew I’d be detained from sending you my missive by three or four (or maybe even five) hours. Little did I dream, however, that further adventures would ensue during today’s dog-sitting spell. I’m sure, good physician, you’ll find the delay well worth the wait…in fact, it’s a literary pearl of great price, if I say so myself. Many smiles are in store as you sit down and begin to scan your eyes across the screen and scroll ever further down until the breathless end. Needless to say, I DO hope Marshall McGee reads this piece on his next airing of “Memo of the Weird.” Here goes:


Another incredible day dog-sitting outside for Deek…though it was off to a good start well before he delivered the beloved hounds unto my care. It has to do with my first REAL conversation with the new clerk at Rosenberg’s, which is just around the corner, and where I have been faithfully purchasing my morning java each and every day since the pandemic took off. Seeing as coffeehouses had all become places to shun, for fear of the Grim Reaper’s breath wafting your way in a closed environment.

He’s been there less than three weeks, and several days back I learned he’s from Punjab. He certainly LOOKS Indian, what with that swarthy, copper tinted complexion and slick, jet black hair. A somewhat handsome fellow around five-foot-ten with a lithe-but-solid build. But from India?

That surprised me, as I thought the shop was run by an Arab family, or at least by Arabs only. Maybe the owner hires from a pool of immigrants beyond the realm of the Middle East…just a guess, I really have no idea. Though the first time we met, I recognized his Indian accent right off the bat. Who wouldn’t? It’s the Kwik-E-Mart owner’s signature voice so broadly popularized by his frequent appearance on The Simpsons. For you trivia fans: that character’s name is Apu Nahasapeemapetilon. Don’t ask me to pronounce the surname, please! Try THIS link instead:

The owner, Felix, hails from Palestine though he recently went on vacation to Syria (of all places…I duckduckgo’d it on the web and it seems that tourism is flourishing there once more, egads). And a very nice lady, Sa’daa, who always wore lovely handcrafted scarves and worked there for almost four months but has since departed, claimed her home land to be Egypt. At any rate, most of the employees who work (or have worked) there, whether for a short time or long, are (or were) quite friendly…with the rare exception of two who were only there briefly. Possibly fired or shunted to some other position where they don’t have to deal with customers.

Like in a back room somewhere, producing fake passports and ID or running Russian military rifles from Moscow’s failed war with Afghanistan. Ha-ha, just kidding, I’m a jackass American with a touch of Islamophobia who nonetheless voted for Barack HUSSEIN Obama not once, but twice. Conservapedia has some nasty things to say about him, but what do you expect from a snake-in-the-grass, right-wing, anti-American, traitorous Trump-turd propaganda mill? Anyway, back to the new cashier from India:

He greeted me with his usual “Good morning, how are you today?” as I slipped my five-dollar Goodwill-purchased mirror shades onto my two-dollar Goodwill-purchased black baseball cap over the word “Syracuse” in thick, embossed orange letters and stepped inside.

“Oh, pretty good,” I said with a smile, “and how’s Punjab doing these days?”

“Punjab? What do you mean?” he queried with a contorted brow. “My family?”

“Well, anything, actually,” I replied: “Family, friends, recent events, the weather. I thought maybe you keep some sort of connection with your home base, even if it’s just the Internet. Facebook perhaps.”

He scoffed at that with a wave of the hand, “Oh, no, that’s not home base for me anymore. I have little interest in that place since I left it. I don’t read the Punjab Times, if that’s what you mean!”

“Aha, I know exactly how you feel,” I commiserated. “I left my family years ago for California and never looked back. There are so many other concerns and interests to take up our new life, why bother with the past, eh?”

So anyway, the conversation turned to Hinduism per my direction, as I informed him that that religion has had a major, and benevolent, impact on my perception of the world.

“Buddhism, too,” I added. “But we don’t really NEED Buddhism, as everything’s already there in Vedic scripture! Buddhism strikes me as an intellectual distillation of Hindu wisdom when it comes to how best to live our lives. That is, before other of his worshipers got their hands on his original ideas and grandly embellished upon them, long after he passed away under that bodhi tree. Though of course, like Jesus, he probably never existed, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Well, that got him goin’ like a race horse outta the gate, Wattson! He began telling me some of the tales and characters, gods/goddesses out of the Mahabharata, and the wisdom flowing from those tales! I listened with a raptured ear, delighted to have found a kindred spirit.

“I have a book you should read,” he exclaimed some minutes later after completing his impressive iteration of the Veda’s greatest hits in record time.

I asked him what the title is, and it was something like “Finding One’s Soul,” though I’m sure it wasn’t quite that, though definitely was three words with “soul” at the end. Maybe “Discovering” or “Realizing” One’s, or “Your,” Soul. Whatever.

“So who’s the author?” I queried.

He then stated a quintessentially Hindu name, meaning one that is excruciatingly difficult to pronounce and thus impossible to remember for western plebes like THIS grossly ill-informed pilgrim.

“Oh! That name sounds familiar,” I replied with glee. “I think I’ve read it. Tell ya what, let me give you my email and you can send me a list of books and references you’d recommend, and I will gladly check them all out.”

He agreed, and so I printed my email address with the pen and scrap of paper he lent me. But our conversation didn’t end there, as I gave him a rough outline of my history as an LGBT activist, particularly for the homeless in our community, my present lawsuit that puts me in a position to speak OUT for the homeless, and my volume of works still in progress called “Brindlekin Tales.” And how it all ties in with my following the precepts of Hindu wisdom, along with that of Buddhism, Native American lore, Jewish Kabalism, early Christianity, Celtic fairy tales, and several other cultures’ worldviews.

I also informed him of my enthusiasm for Carl Jung’s teachings, especially about archetypes and how understanding them gave me the key to rising above my borderline schizophrenia and turning it into a creative force…what he called “The Heroic Journey.” And how Jung also studied Hinduism because it’s so rich in archetypes: its myriad deities, demigods, and countless other fascinating denizens of their imponderable spiritual dimension.

I wanted so badly to also tell him of my adoration for Ganesha the elephant god a.k.a. “Mover of All Obstacles,” but alas time is money and another customer had stepped inside. But before departing, I asked:

“What is your name, by the way?”

He called back from further down the counter where he was puttering with something.

“Palace?” I asked to be sure I got it right. “Did you say Palace?”

“Yes, Pallas, like the Titan!” he replied, then spelled it out: “P A L L A S.”

“You’re kidding…Pallas?” I exclaimed in astonishment. “Now THAT’S a great archetype right there!”

I did not explain further, for he knew exactly which archetype I meant: Pallas of Greek mythology, the Titan god of warfare who was accidentally killed by the goddess Athena in a mock battle. A romantic-warrior archetype!

I DID drop by again a few minutes later with my business card I call my “Brindlekin Prayer Card,” which includes the fun blurb “True stories from the Castro; eat your heart out, Armistead,” and the link TO these tales, along with a black and white illustration of a puppy that resembles the brother-sister homeless dog duo I help watch over, and who have inspired well over a hundred chapters so far, since my love for them took off on the evening of October 30th, 2020, the eve of Halloween. And the beginning of “My Very Own Journal of the Plague Year” that it unexpectedly morphed into, as an alternative title.

He kindly accepted my card after I explained a bit how it encompasses Vedic and other wisdom we just discussed, via the inspiration of two, sweet little hounds. “And there’s the Bhakti yoga I told you about!” I said upon exiting Rosenberg’s for the second time that morning. For those who don’t know what that is, here’s Wikipedia’s definition:

“Bhakti yoga is a spiritual path or spiritual practice within Hinduism focused on loving devotion towards any personal deity.”

Though from what I have learned by reading about it many years ago, this devotion can also be directed towards another person, another living creature, or even something inanimate. Depends on just what your object of worship means to you and no one else, how it strikes your heart. In other words, your “personal” deity. And in my case, it’s two doggies. Both half dachshund, half terrier, and one hundred ten percent pure love.

So there I was, back hovel and sipping on Rosenberg’s amber elixir, kicking back in front of my X230/Chromebook work station, joyfully pondering over my excellent rapport with Pallas, when who should come hollering at my window, but Deek. I hadn’t even begun to break fast with my usual toasted Orowheat whole wheat English muffin slathered with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter! No rest for the wicked, even less for the good. Or as Marshall likes to say on his show whenever someone calls in: “What fresh hell is this?”

I stood up and walked over to the window and peered out, whereupon Deek gestured for me to come down with a tilt of the head. As I slipped on my polyurethane slide sandals, thin polyester aquamarine hoodie and black Syracuse cap, it occurred to me:

“Oh fuck he wants me to watch the pups again, after sticking them with me for almost six hours yesterday! Well, chin up, I love those mongrels, but can’t he give me a break now and then?”

The hounds were ecstatic to see me, as always, pressing against my legs for their Uncle’s attention as I crouched down to caress their brindle coats while their master pawed through his shopping cart to collect several devices he wanted me to charge. Along with a Bluetooth speaker even larger and heftier than the one he carried these past several days. At least it had wheels.

“Oh, a new speaker already?” I queried.

“I traded it for the other one,” he replied.

It looked much better built, and its impressive heft indicated a more powerful battery that would give him seven to ten hours of high volume play, instead of just two or three. Of course, a serious speaker like this would need to be charged seven hours or longer, if you start from zero percent! Be that as it may, I admitted to myself he got a really good deal for once. These small time, black market skunks outta the Mission or stationed at the U.N. Plaza frequently rip him off! Well, they’re almost always stolen goods, and the customer is never right, so what’s a girl to do?

I lugged it upstairs along with two smartphones (one battered and with a few cracks on the screen, the other fairly new) and two small battery packs (one sherbet orange, the other mossy green). Smartphones in one pocket, batteries in the other…made me appear as if I had unusual fat deposits on the front of my hips.

Upon returning with a wobbly, water-filled disposable plastic bowl (purchased through Amazon, fifty thirty-two-ounce bowls for twenty-four dollars and ninety-nine cents) for the canines, Deek swung a leg over his bike and said he won’t be gone too long. Which is what he’s told me all three previous times I’ve sat the dogs, so it really means nothing. (What is “too long” anyway…a Chinese actor’s name in a Shanghai porn flick?) I figured I’d be stuck out here for an ungodly number of hours again…but that’s okay, my doggy devotion is boundless, and it’s another loverly day here in Bag Daddy by the Bay. So I didn’t argue with him, accepting my fate for the Bhakti yoga it is, told him the dogs will be fine and wished him happy trails.

As it turned out, I managed to fix my breakfast (and later, lunch) indoors, as well as use the restroom and grab some cardboard sheets from the basement in record time, so that I wouldn’t be away from the hounds more than three minutes each run. This outdoor dog sitting is a new obligation that Deek flung upon my shoulders barely two weeks ago, so I’m still learning how to adapt…one way being to switch to simple meals prepared ahead of time. Such as three days’ worth of veggie stew that only needs to be warmed up in a microwave and topped with grated cheddar cheese or slices of mozzarella. I use cardboard for clean spots for myself and the pups to rest upon, instead of a dirty sidewalk. It also provides them with a bit of cushion for those times their master is too inconsiderate to supply them with cushy blankets or old jackets, sweaters and such that he can easily snatch up on his daily rummaging through street discards, and carry in his cart. It is surprising how CLEAN such items remain, after residents toss them out. Some folks are so kind as to first wash, dry and fold them into “free boxes” that you find at doorsteps here and there throughout the city.

I don’t find it practical to sit outside along a busy street with my Chromebook to get some work done. For one, it’s too much of a distraction; for another I’m way vulnerable to theft. Not to mention that sunlight makes the screen difficult to view. To my surprise, though, my Xfinity service is robust enough that I can actually connect while camped out by the bus stop in front of my building…and it’s a reasonably strong signal to boot!

Of course I was hoping to see Frigga again, as I had such nice vibes with her two days ago: our first meetup ever. Alas, that did not occur. Regardless, I was surprised that I never wound up getting bored, just sitting there with the pooches, no Internet, nothing to read, no one to talk to. Just watching the world go by with two sweet quadrupeds by my side seemed to fill my cup just fine. But some charming moments DID ensue for all that. I guess I really needed these “doing nothing” breaks from so many trials and writing up a storm every day. So I now consider my dog sitting on the streets a form of meditation, and treat it accordingly. I’d assume the lotus pose if I could, but my legs tell me that’s not gonna happen.

First charming moment: an old fellow way up there in his eighties and sporting a walker paused to look upon me and the pups (with Lucky asleep and cradled in my arms, and Flaco curled up and pressed upon my thigh) to declare: “Dogs sure can be a comfort, can they not?”

“Yes sir, they sure are!” I kindly replied. “These are my two angels.”

His face then lit up with a smile, though he spoke not another word but pressed on forward.

Second charming moment: Some time later Deek’s ex, Scampy, passed by me after crossing Market Street. I waved at her and said hi, upon which she pointed behind me and said: “The water spilled!” and kept walking on towards Castro Street.

Sure enough, when I reached around I felt the bowl had tilted over, and water was pooling where I sat. Fortunately, most of it had slipped beneath the cardboard and thus only slightly dampened the butt side of my pants. Before Scampy got out of earshot, I called out, “Thanks!”

Scampy’s around forty-three years old and five-feet-two in height, and only has half her teeth left…all rotten. She’s a lady of few words except when screaming at her nightmares while half asleep. But sometimes what she says is really funny, though I can’t give you an example offhand. Maybe in some future tale.

Third charming moment: almost an hour and a half later, a young man who appeared to be all of nineteen and probably gay, suddenly appeared by my side with a puffy black nylon jacket dangling from one hand. “Here, would you like this coat,” he spoke in a falsetto voice almost operatic, “I really don’t want it.”

“Wow, sure, thank you!” I replied and accepted this presumably birthday-gifted garb into my own hand. Soon as he left, I tried it on: perfect fit, loose but comfy…and WARM!

Funny that, only in the past few days did I realize all my clothes have gotten quite worn out and I’ll soon need to replace my entire wardrobe, as meager as it is. And I really can’t afford to buy even the least expensive apparel on Amazon, thanks to so much of my income going to support Deek’s furry companions. Nor can I take the time to shop at thrift stores, because it’s so important I remain in and around my residence for his sake, twenty-four/seven. I never know WHEN he’ll show up next, and should I be gone too long he’ll panic. (I know, because it HAS happened, and more than once.)

Though he said he won’t, he’ll be fine, when I recently spoke to him about it. I don’t believe him, and he is never one to abide by a schedule in any way, shape or form. Say, for example, he brings the dogs over every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday for me to watch them for several hours. That will NEVER work with his kind of bipolar personality. ONE reason he’s homeless and unemployed: living by the clock is just too constraining and nerve-racking. Which I understand perfectly; we’re not ALL cut out of the same mold to be factory replicants. Same reason he can’t deal with finding a social worker, which is VITAL for getting a roof over his head and other basic services: he’ll suddenly have to live by a strict schedule, appointments up the wazoo, and essentially become a prisoner of other people’s demands who watch his every move and take notes. Anyway, back to the jacket:

Fourth (and final) charming moment: I’m thinking my need for fresh clothing has just begun to be answered by the Great Spirit, through whatever Bodhisattva guardians watch over me. And as if to affirm that, yet another jacket came to me through Deek’s hand, upon his return! He had tossed it upon the shopping cart while I went back hovel to retrieve his electronics, all now fully charged. By the way, it was only 3:30 PM when he came back, so no, he really wasn’t gone too long!

“Here, I’m giving you a holiday gift ahead of time,” he said with one hand resting upon the jacket which I had yet to recognize as such because it lay front down and looked like a small blanket…and since I’m never particularly curious about the contents of his cart, which are worthless most of the time. “So don’t expect anything from me for the next holiday coming up, whichever one that is!”

“Oh, that’s fine, Deek. I’m not into holidays myself, you know that,” I replied. He didn’t say anything more, thus I grew restless and egged him on: “So, what is it?

He then lifted off the cart what was obviously a military jacket of some sort: long in length, thin but surprisingly hefty, that is: quality cloth with a dense weave that could keep a Siberian guard toasty warm even on New Year’s Eve, out there on the windswept tundra where the wolves howl in hunger for the next Gulag prison breakout.

“Wow, yes, I love it, thanks!” I exclaimed with an effusive glow.

Yet he still held onto it; he had something important to say first:

“I know you once had a good friend who was in the military. A Vietnam Veteran, correct?”

Dumbstruck to hear such thoughtful words rise from a mouth that only recently had insulted and demeaned me in so many horrid ways, I could do nothing more than nod my head in agreement. And look into those sparkling Cajun eyes, and smile.

“So I thought you might enjoy wearing this jacket, though I COULD just walk a few blocks over and sell it for at LEAST twenny dollah!” He grinned back at me in such a way that only true camaraderie could inspire.

With that, I raised up my arms and held out my hands to speak these words in return: “I’d rather you earn more money, than just give me something so valuable, Deek! It IS a great jacket and yes, I like it very much.”

“Here then, take it, it’s yours!” He draped it over my left arm and said, “It’s kinda narrow in the shoulders, so it might not fit.”

Upon those words I removed my bedraggled old hoodie and tried it on. Once my arms wiggled through the sleeves I pulled the top down to my shoulders and gave it a few shakes so the entire jacket would fall into place. The khaki wool garment fit like a glove…and a comfy glove it was!

Deek stood back to check me out. “It looks good on you, Zeke!” he observed with satisfaction.

I thanked him several times over before leaving Deek and mutts to their next adventure where (I noticed through my window upstairs) they remained at the bus stop awhile longer, Deek conversing with another vagrant who appeared shortly after I departed. They sat there on the cardboard I had laid down earlier, and faced each other in amiable badinage as the dogs reclined beside their master. I watched the shadow of a growing twilight cloak this little group like a soft blanket as the sunset bid its adieu to a glorious day well done.

And that’s today’s Brindlekin Tale, Wattson! In closing I want to note:

You really pinned the tail on the donkey when you told me in an earlier missive I will have great adventures once I start dog sitting on the streets!

Oh, but wait, there’s more: for what’s a homemade angel cake of a tale without the frosting? Which in this case are the pics that go with it:

Flaco and Lucky by the shopping cart:

Click here for a larger view.

Flaco, closeup:

Click here for a larger view.

Lucky, closeup:

Click here for a larger view.

My view from close to the ground:

Click here for a closer view.

The black puffy jacket:

Click here for a larger view.

The military jacket:

Click here for a larger view.

Re: Pallas and a 2-Jacket Day
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 9, 2022 at 2:47 PM

> Damn, that’s a fine piece of work!!!

Oh I’m so glad you finally got around to reading it…I KNEW you’d be gobsmacked! I had so much fun in the composing OF it. And its completion gave such an endorphin rush you wouldn’t believe! And it’s STILL pulsing through my veins! Meth could never be that good, not by a long shot. Marshall has already affirmed he’ll be reading it next Friday.

Another great piece coming up in a short while, around an hour or so from now. Unless Deek interrupts me for a time, which is perfectly okay. But no matter how you slice, dice or crush it: I NEED MY NEXT FIX, AND SOON! So stay tuned, comrade Morticia.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: A Scammer & A Scooter
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 9, 2022 at 5:34 PM

Two scenarios have cropped up since my “Pallas” piece…yesterday and this morning, to be specific. And they WERE a headache, though nothing I can’t handle, so no worries:


When Deek dropped off the hounds yesterday morning, he asked me for a “big favor” (his words). Well, you know what THAT means, Wattson.

“I can’t imagine what you mean by ‘big favor,’ Deek, unless it’s money,” I remarked before he presented his case. Because all the OTHER times he’s asked for a big favor, that’s what it’s always meant.

“My feet really hurt in these shoes,” he griped, “they don’t fit me right, and I saw a pair that I tried on, and they’re comfortable. They’re a hunner dollah with sales tax, and I won’t ask you again for a week.”

Since I give him an allowance of fifty dollars twice a week anyway (Sunday and Thursday), and his next payday was just one day hence, I had no problem with that. Especially since I already gave him a hundred LAST week for a Bluetooth speaker he wanted badly, and he DID wait an entire week short of one day, before this latest “big favor.”

However, I DID have a problem with him spending so much cash on footwear, seeing as he could easily acquire decent kicks via the black market for much cheaper in any number of ways, including the UN Plaza’s pirate bazaar of stolen goods sold by ex-cons to keep a motel roof over their heads (or pay for their next fix, or both), as well as from any old hawker along Mission Street. Nor did I believe that was his REAL plan for the money…more likely, his aching feet were a fabricated excuse to purchase something ELSE, if you get my drift. As probably was the speaker, seeing as he requested the hundred in all fives. Deek fancies himself a master of deception, but he’s actually quite the transparent trickster.

“Okay, I’ll give you the cash,” I replied, “but I don’t think you’re gonna purchase shoes. It’s none of my business anyway, what you spend it on, and you’re not asking for any more than I already give you each week. So long as you can handle waiting seven days before your next payment.”

So I marched back upstairs to see if I had that much moolah stashed away (I usually don’t) and, sure enough, I did, plus a tad more: four Jacksons, four Lincolns and three Washingtons. I carefully counted the larger bills twice, before inserting them into one of the Chase Bank envelopes I have lying around. I then returned back outside and handed it to him, whereby he glanced within to examine the contents, and was satisfied.

“I see where this is headed, Deek,” I spoke once he pocketed the envelope. “You’re gonna come up with a new excuse each week to ask for a hundred dollars, instead of accepting fifty twice a week.”

“No, no, I promise,” he objected, “this won’t happen again, I swear!”

“Of course it won’t, because I won’t let you,” I retorted. “Now go and run your errands and let me get the pups fed and settled in.”

I was pleased to see he had laid down a large, fluffy red sleeping bag, fully unzipped and spread out, for his furry charges. Though his shopping cart was stuffed haphazardly with useless junk as always…an embarrassment for yours truly, since people see me lounging beside it and assume it’s mine, and thus reflects upon my own character, placing me in a class of the less-desirous vagrants here in the Castro. But I assure you, good doctor, were it my own cart, it would be neat as a pin. A work of found “objet d’art” in fact, which stunning arrangement would both delight and impress anyone who laid eyes on it. Folks would wanna shoot selfies in front of that cart! But alas the cart is Deek’s, not mine, thus I am cursed with unwarranted reproach by those so privileged to have a roof over their heads…and, perhaps, their own washing machine, high-definition wall mounted smart TV, an Alexa bot, and personal masseuse.

Residents of my building who know I live there, too, walk speedily by in either direction, having no desire to pause for a chat and query why I’m out here, let alone even look at me to acknowledge my presence.

I’M A PARIAH, WATTSON! Well, I always have been one way or another, but this is a whole new paradigm.

Maybe, thanks to the building manager’s gossip (this past June and July) about evicting me, they think I AM now homeless…at least for a time, until they see me step in or out of the building, or dumping my garbage in the chute or trash bin on the back porch. They must sure be confused at this point, eh, Wattson? All they have to do is ask, and I’ll satisfy their every question…but no, that’s just too easy. Everything’s first gotta be diabolically convoluted, dragged across a bed of nails a dozen times over, and pureed into a madman’s smoothie, before it pleases their pinheaded, troglodyte egos as they slouch their way to Abaddon!

It was four more hours before Deek returned, during which time I immensely enjoyed the hounds’ company as always, gave them many hugs and belly/neck scritches, took them on a short poopy walk twice, and enjoyed a prepared lunch that only required a blast from the microwave and cheese grated on top. That would be a thick, veggie stew with brown rice and lentils, a three-day supply which I prepared two nights before. The day was otherwise uneventful if you exclude the rambling byways of my own mind. I met no one interesting, nor did anyone offer me food or something ELSE nice for either myself or the darling brindlekin.

“There was only eighty dollah in the envelope!” Deek exclaimed as he pulled up on his bicycle. “I couldn’t get those shoes, I had to buy a cheaper pair!”

“What are you talking about?” I shot back while seated there, my spine braced against the bus stop stall, Lucky draped across my lap and Flaco scrunched up beside me.

“You counted wrong!” he declared in frustration. “You gave me THREE twennies insteada four! Go back upstairs and bring me that other twenny, I’m sure you’ll find it!”

“Whoa, hold on there, Deek!” I exclaimed as I gingerly set Lucky aside and stood up, then raised a flat palm in his direction. “I do you a big favor, and this is how you treat me? I KNOW I gave you FOUR twenties because I counted them carefully TWICE, and then YOU checked them over soon as I handed you that envelope!”

“Well, go upstairs and see if you find that twenny, before you regret it!” he ordered.

“No, I don’t need to do that. I KNOW there are just three one-dollar bills left, and nothing more. But I’m going home now, anyway, to prepare the doggies’ dinner. See you in a few.”

He ranted on as I quickly escaped inside, not wanting to play ping-pong with his false accusation. He’s a speed freak, Wattson, and you know as well as myself, they always come up with tricky ways to squeeze more money out of you. But it never works on me, and Deek should know that by now. There was, of course, no twenty dollar bill, just those three Washingtons, when I returned hovel to prepare the mutts’ dinner. But something notably positive occurred during this conflict, which is:

He did NOT fly into a rage, but kept his tone of voice at a reasonable pitch throughout. I was impressed, for it looks like I clearly got through to him that screaming in front of the pooches does them harm (Flaco even shivers in fear and comes to me for succor), and is thus a wicked thing to do, considering what sweet, trusting angels they are. You have NO idea how badly I want to slam him to the ground for such crude behavior, Wattson! Animal abuse!

Upon returning outside with the pups’ meals, Deek resumed ragging on me, but this time in front of another vagrant who had shown up! They were both seated against the building’s front, while Lucky & Flaco remained tethered to the shopping cart twenty feet away, at the bus stop. Nice of him to start a money argument in front of another person, I thought, who COULD be violent. Way to go, you fuckin’ asshole! Fortunately, he was not; in fact he kept his clam shut for the entire clash, which lasted no more than two minutes, after which I went over to the mutts and sat down with them for a little while.

Then I was ready to return hovel, but first I moved the dogs over to their master, so they could rest beside him, instead of remaining alone while gazing at their owner with yearning, just across the sidewalk. Deek didn’t object, nor his sketchy companion (who looked like an old Ichabod), as I tossed the sleeping bag between them so the hounds could continue relaxing in comfort.

“Please excuse my intrusion,” I spoke softly as I arranged the bedding.

“No, that’s alright,” Ich replied, and began to pet the doggies.

I smiled upon witnessing that display of affection and remarked, “They’re such good company, I wish Deek would appreciate them better.”

I then fetched the shopping cart and moved it near the canines’ new spot, and tied the leashes back onto a lower rail. And finally, brought them their bowl of water and half-eaten meal.

Deek appeared to be drifting off into slumber, with drooping head and arms fallen slack upon his thighs. But he rustled his tired bones awake to hand me a white slip of paper:

“Hear, this is the receipt to prove I bought these shoes. You think all I do is spend your money on drugs, so for now on I’m bringing you receipts.”

I snatched it from his fingers, but could barely discern the tiny blue print because my reading glasses were upstairs. At any rate, I didn’t see the point, as he could’ve just picked it off the ground, selecting a receipt with a price that closely matched what he claimed to have spent. But I DID manage to make out the cost, there at the bottom:

“A hundred twenty dollars? I thought you said you spent only eighty!”

“Uh, no,” he kinda mumbled as if to deflect my challenge, and make up some believable story. “I DID wind up buying those hunner dollah shoes, but now I have to make up the difference.”

I handed him back the receipt and said: “You mean to tell me the store trusts you to bring what you still owe? And why does it say a hundred TWENTY instead of just a hundred?”

Deek paused a few moments, as if irritated by my pushing for an answer, as if he couldn’t be bothered, he needs his sleep…for he didn’t manage to look up at me through the entire dialog, but kept his head bowed almost to his lap: “That was the deal, he’s charging interest in exchange.”

Well, I knew he was talking BS like a Sunday preacher passing through a one-horse town in a rickety old cart, but since he remained soft spoken, I gave him kudos for that, and thus did NOT berate him. Instead, I offered the following solution:

“Just sell some product, and you’ll have paid the debt you owe in no time!”

To my surprise, he simply nodded his head in agreement instead of giving me grief, then dozed off with the mutts snuggled up against him, and the other vagrant already sound asleep. It wasn’t even sunset,  in fact it still had another hour to go! But who am I ponder the sleeping habits of crystal addicts who eke a meager living on the streets and from the good will of others, among whom I like to include yours truly. But get this, Wattson:

I swear I’ll eat my Syracuse baseball cap if the shoes he wears now aren’t the same ones he had on beFORE he supposedly bought new ones! I should’ve paid more attention. Oh he’s a weaselly character alright, my Cajun comrade and sack o’ worries. In summation:

I certainly understand why this is happening, why I am now insinuated into the homeless scene in full view of my residence and all those who occupy it. Kismet has so deemed they witness my dedication to the LGBT homeless, and that what further challenges they may hurl my way I shall overcome with panache and compassion TO those miscreants who choose to play my enemy. And in so doing, I will impress and inspire them, which result will be a newfound kindness on their part towards all those forced to live a rough life on the streets. Furthermore:

Deek’s gifting me with that military jacket the day before, and his kind words around it, still count for much. In spite of my cynical facet that tells me he was just [I Can’t Believe It’s Not] buttering me up for that hundred smackeroonies.


As you know through previous missives, Scooter may be trouble. I was glad he finally toned down his boisterous calls and shrill whistling up at Karlsen’s window at all hours of the day and night. MOST nerve-racking, to say the least. But Scooter is also a SCARY fellow, a meth demon with an explosive nature to go with it. Nothing’s been resolved regarding blood on the stairway walls, lobby and out front, since I first brought it up to you mid-September, with pictures. It has since been scrubbed away by our maintenance man: good boy! The SFPD never bothered to follow up on my call to non-emergency by dropping over to check out the evidence (because I had not actually witnessed a crime), but Scooter’s lurking about the premises makes him a suspect as far as I’m concerned, due to his volatility and substance abuse.

I spoke to a few people in this building about the blood smears and large droplets, but no one seems to care…least of all Kevin Bond the resident manager! Not that I actually spoke to him about this, considering I shouldn’t talk with the rat fink at all, about anything, per my attorney’s counsel.

It was obvious to anyone who paid attention, that Karlsen wanted nothing more to do with him, after making his acquaintance five weeks earlier. And when Scooter did not show up for a few days, I thought it was all over, much to my relief (and no doubt to others in this building, though no one seemed to talk about it, at least not in my presence). But remember, Wattson, his temporary disappearance occurred immediately AFTER that blood appeared. Yet a bit later on, there were the two foolish pricks chatting away outside like they were the best of pals! And I did not see anything like a bandage for a wound on Karlsen’s arm, or anywhere else. This makes his street companion less of a suspect, but not by much. There COULD be a wound somewhere on his torso, covered by a flat dressing beneath his shirt and coat.

So now Scooter’s back these days, calling up to Karlsen’s window…though not shrill and loud like at first, but nonetheless enough to disturb the peace if it were too late or early. Like this morning, when I heard him outside around 6:30 AM. Of course Karlsen did not answer, ’cause he most likely wanted to remain in bed! After all, he’s a raggedy old fellow, and looks it. His grotesquely bowed, skinny legs complete that picture!

Well, some time later I was ready to step out for my morning coffee, but when I peered out the window I saw Scooter right outside, standing very close to the front gate! It was by then around 8:30 AM. So I decided to sneak out through the back exit, but when I closed my door behind me, I heard some old geezer’s raspy voice ramble on in an angry tone somewhere to my left and down the hallway. Of course it was Karlsen, who I figured was standing outside by his door, preparing to meet Scooter downstairs. But I discerned some of his muttering, which conveyed a wish that “the muthuh fukker” (his words) would just leave him alone. Also, he grouched a couple of times, “Now where are my fuckin’ keys?”

I then backed away from the main hallway, and hid in the small alcove beside my door, assuming he was about to proceed towards the stairway and wobble on downstairs. But he did not, so after about twenty seconds more, I tiptoed back towards the hallway to listen to him further. But only for a very brief time, as I got a bit wary of being caught eavesdropping, so decided to sneak down the side hall and into the common restroom, in which I could hide for a spell behind a locked door.

About a minute had passed, during which time I heard footsteps and more talking…like maybe Karlsen HAD gone downstairs to let Scooter inside, and they were now at his door, about to enter. So I slowly opened the restroom door and stuck my head out to see what was going on. There is an enclosed back porch between the restroom hallway and Karlsen’s studio apartment at the west end of the main corridor. Through which you could see all the way to his door, thanks to a window on this side of the porch, and another on the door at the further end.

To my astonishment I spotted three cops standing by Karlsen’s door! I was about to slip back to my room without being noticed, when suddenly there was Scooter standing right before me, with the door still ajar and my hand on the knob!

“What are YOU doing here?” I addressed him with intentional chutzpah, that he sense no fear emanating from yours truly.

He looked at me with a poker face and said: “I need to use the bathroom.” (He didn’t even say “please” or flash a smile: no surprise with someone so bellicose.)

So I curtly and decisively replied: “No you can’t!” and shut the door behind me with a loud “Clack!” Upon which he turned one-eighty without speaking another word, and walked to where the cops were still at Karlsen’s door.

I think perhaps he stayed his belligerence because of the presence of SF’S finest. And thank Glob for that! I didn’t even have my pepper spray with me. Can you believe this, Wattson? I did my best to remain invisible, yet who should suddenly get in my face without warning? I can’t even keep a scumbag away sometimes, even in my own building…and it has NOTHING to do with me being lax with security! Scooter must have slipped through the front gate shortly after the police latched a pair of handcuffs to it, keeping it ajar. Talk about a SKUNK!

And since Karlsen seemed to be babbling incoherently at this point (I noticed as I quietly proceeded down the hallway and back to my hovel), Scooter played the cops like a fiddle, feigning what a close friend he is. Because Karlsen was incapable of uttering anything in his defense, such as:

“No, he’s not a friend, I don’t want him near me!”

Karlsen’s a major vodka lush himself, and probably smokes meth with his ghoulish companion. They deserve each other, and I have no concern for Karlsen’s safety, but I DO have considerable regard for my OWN safety, and thus, that of Hotel California North, wherein I’ve dwelt since January first, 1985! A rather nice and handsome fellow who lived here back in the early noughts, and enjoyed my company, once called this building “sketchy” in an email some months after he moved out. What a gentleman! And what a great lay! I miss you, Donald, hope your manscaping venture took off back there in Biloxi! Be that as it may:

I decided to finally step out to Rosenberg’s for my morning cup o’ Joe, and leave the SFPD and the two stooges to their own devices. Upon opening the gate I saw two cop cars and one ambulance parked out front. When I returned several minutes later, warm cuppa java in one hand, I saw from a quarter block distant, Karlsen being strapped to a gurney and lifted into the ambulance, with Scooter standing close by, and speaking with the public servants in blue.

Having no desire to get involved, I squirreled my way through the gate and hustled back upstairs…then took the following quick video of the scene outside, through my window:

Homeless fellow by name of Scooter stands at the back of the ambulance before my Bohemian neighbor down the hall, Karlsen, is driven to the UCSF medical center for god only knows WHAT kind of emergency! This isn’t the first time he’s called 911 ever since he moved in almost three years ago. In fact, it seems to occur every three months or so. Scooter is a meth head BTW, who explodes in anger now and then. He is not to be trusted, and I resent Karlsen bringing him here to our building, and to the neighborhood. Maybe he won’t return from the hospital this time around, and then problem solved.

And just for the heck of it, here’s a snapshot taken a couple weeks ago of Karlsen and Scooter out front, after their unholy reunion (Scooter is the one dressed in black):

Click here for a larger view.

Well, that’s it for the two scenarios, good physician. Hopefully, Deek will come to his senses and stop trying to scam me, and Karlsen’s last bed will be the one he’s now resting upon. In the hospital. Final rest stop: on a slab in the morgue. A few quick notes before I end this lengthy (though intriguing) missive:

Delighted to discover while listening to Marshall McGee’s latest podcast this morning, that he read my piece entitled “Amazing Day Again, Dog Sitting Outside!” Which is all about my meetng Frigga. The recording is six minutes, and here’s the link.

He also indicated he’ll most likely read one of my newer tales every week from now on (or possibly not so frequently, but regularly enough)…and, once KNYO’s phone problem is cleared up, he’ll invite me to resume calling in. AWESOME! Though I wonder how using my Moto phone will fare, as opposed to my former call-ins using a land line. Keeping my fingers crossed on that one.

Unfortunately, Frigga has yet to get in touch with me via the email I sent her three days ago. I would LOVE to connect with another homeless advocate as dedicated as myself, and who is NOT all wrapped up with the more conservative, LGBT elite leadership. So, keeping my fingers crossed on that, too, hoping she’ll eventually contact me one way or another, maybe show up again out front when I’m watching over the doggies.

Just yesterday I discussed a little with Morey at the corner shop two blocks up Noe Street, my latest adventures sitting the dogs outside. And all the interesting people I’ve met, who are giving me new stories to write. For more than two years, Morey has been a compassionate, stalwart supporter of my homeless outreach, especially when it comes to Deek’s pups. I was, however, disappointed at his reaction to my telling him that Frigga invited me to join her at some events in the Tenderloin, but I had to turn her down due to a major obligation to stay in or near my residence, for the sake of Deek and the doggies.

“Well, if you don’t mind being someone’s prisoner, I guess that’s okay!”

Jeez Louise.

– Zeke K-Holmes

The FINAL Final Final Chapter (part 15)

October 6, 2022

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 3: Chapter 19o]

Subject: Scampy Packs Up Her Bedding [22 sec. video]
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 3, 2022 at 10:01 AM

After a full night camping out at the ATM depot below my window, with Deek and one or two others, she packs up to leave in the morning. All the bedding and bags are loaded onto a discarded, swivel office chair.

New developments w/Deek, too busy to write it all out at the moment, watching the pups outside. Will get around to a full update soon.

Click here for a larger view.
Click here for a larger view.

Subject: 2 quick pics
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 3, 2022 at 10:23 AM

Preparing two buttered English muffins, then stepping back out again to be with the doggies while I break fast. Gotta go!

Click here for a larger view.

Subject: Deek Finally Returns
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 3, 2022 at 6:10 PM

5:10 PM…meaning I was on the streets with the pups for seven fukkin hours! I was able to fix my breakfast (and later, lunch) and take it outside, walk the hounds twice, lie down and listen to Marshall McGee’s latest “Memo of the Weird” podcast on my tablet. Who BTW narrated my “I CAN’T KEEP UP WITH HIS CRAP!” post last Friday, that I accidentally sent off to the MCN lists. THAT is certainly an unexpected repercussion…I’ll never live it down, now!

Two very unique people stopped by at different times…one I know but haven’t seen for three years (Vince), the other (Sean) I don’t, but he imparted a lot of Bodhisattva wisdom with me outta the blue, much to my surprise and delight. Including my suspicion there are many shamans in the guise of vagrants.

Even Deek’s ex-girlfriend Scampy showed up for about an hour, and lay down by the mutts for a nap. She was still there when Deek returned, and he started hollering at her: “WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” She finally did, to which he noted: “Good! You’re alive!”

And that is when I realized he did a wellness check on her, common among homeless addicts.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: The tent arrived!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 3, 2022 at 6:32 PM

I cracked up when I saw the slogan on one end of the elongated box…in light of its purpose for my particular mission. In MY context, it’s like declaring: “Go homeless & enjoy life.”

Subject: Tent too big to set up in my room!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 3, 2022 at 10:46 PM

The cot on one side, and the storage bins on the other, make the floor space too narrow. So I’ll just practice setting it up and breaking it down outside. Easy peasy. EXCELLENT material, so durable and strong for something so thin! Anyway, time for another Deek Update:

He woke me early this morning and asked me to watch dogs while he gets other stuff done. Wow! I had to skip breakfast sitting outdoors, but it was worth it, anything for the pooches…and their master return three hours later. Set up a few large sheets of cardboard, threw those four doggy blankets I purchased down, fed and watered my brindlekin…and I even went around the corner for my Rosenberg’s morning brew.

But he first left the mutts leashed to his cart out front, near the bus stop…and about a half hour later Micah appeared out of nowhere, behind my back, and started pawing through Deek’s cart. He was muttering did he steal my boots, did he give you a new phone ’cause I think he stole mine, I can’t get anywhere out here on the streets if people keep taking my things, I’ve taught some of ’em a lesson before with a rebar, etc.

I didn’t say a word other than no, he didn’t give me a new phone and no, I don’t see a pair of boots in there…and kept the doggies close to me, wishing he’d disappear. After a few more minutes he finally walked away and only took from the cart what looked to be a can of WD-40. I decided then to move pups and cart around the corner, because too many crazies come by on this side of Market Street, attracted by the ATM alcove and the Hohokum smoke and paraphernalia shop. But Deek’s idea, albeit stupid, was I could watch Flaco & Lucky from my window while setting up his new smartphone (yes, he DID give me a new one, but that’s no one’s business. let alone Micah’s. He could be making this up, and claim ANY new phone Deek has to be his)

When I told Deek about it, he was of course furious. “Now I gotta beat him up!” I said no you don’t, there’s never an excuse for violence and hatred. Well, Wattson, he doesn’t care to see how similar he is to Micah when he gets in a mood! They both act like bullies, like they’re such tough, mean dudes.

Anyway, he asked me for a hundred dollars to get a really good speaker, but I reminded him it’s the end of the month and he’ll just have to wait till tomorrow. Besides, I said no way I’m gonna give you that much, you’ll get fifty as usual. And that if he needs more money he can always sell product, which would be either bud or glass.

He slept all night in the ATM nook, in the company of Scampy and one or two others…but they all departed some time after midnight, leaving Deek and furry charges to their rest. Cacophony broke out two hours later, thanks to some crazy A-hole who showed up, screaming and tossing bottles and cans into the street. That went on interminably long, at least a half hour. There was also a straight vagrant couple arguing out front at the same time. Needless to say, all this disturbance aroused the brindlekin, and they barked like wild. But they all finally dispersed, including Deek, who was already packing things up shortly after the A-hole wrecked the peace.

I decided to give him the full one hundred, since he promised he wouldn’t ask for anything for another week. So when he showed up this morning, before I marched on over to Chase, he requested I give it to him in all fives. Why, I asked, if you’re gonna spend most of it on a speaker? Hmm, I mused aloud, sounds like you have OTHER plans for that money. Never mind, he replied, it just looks better if you’re seen with a fat wad in your hand.

He also had a bit of a hissy fit about how always having the dogs around blocks him from getting other things done, so he might leave ’em with me all day. Realizing how rotten it is that they can’t reside with me any more, I figure I owe it to him to make the sacrifice and adapt to this new situation…for it IS awful to be so constricted.

I went ahead and withdrew twenty fivers, and he was delighted when I handed him the envelope. He had set the mutts and cart up behind my building, realizing now the good sense it makes to not park everything in front. I met that fascinating fellow, Sean, who essentially affirmed some of my Bodhisattva theories, as if he were a guardian himself to cheer me on. I gave him my card before he departed.

Vince, OTOH, has had it rough, been in prison for a total of five years (not consecutively, though). But he was SO grateful to spend some friendly time with me this afternoon. He has a LOT of respect for me, and I’ve never felt him to be a threat…he’s just has an edgy nature that disturbs my restful state of mind. However, I realized it was a good time to touch bases again, and I told him I’ll be out here quite often, and we can do this again soon.

Deek returned around 5 PM, with his new speaker, fairly large but not unwieldy. He was pleased to hear I was able to fix myself a quick meal and step back out with it, and that I took them for a walk not once but TWICE. Showed him a red cord that I will tie to the nearby post, to indicate I’m taking the dogs for a stroll. That way he need not panic, or start screaming up to my window. Until this morning, he was strict with my leaving the pups out there for more than a minute or two…but now he says I can take longer, so I can fix myself a meal. And he’d prefer I walk them and not worry about watching his cart, there’s never anything valuable in it.

He’s been crashed out back there since six o’clock, dead to the world. I brought the hounds their evening meal a little later, and took that snapshot of him sleeping, that I’ve already sent you. He had wrapped himself in a warm, colorful comforter, and did not forget to keep the canines covered as well. It’s now almost 10 PM, and a few minutes ago I heard the dogs barking. I figured he’s gotten up and packing to leave, so I stepped out to tell him both phones are at a hundred percent, and his Bluetooth speaker light is now green.

But as it turned out, Deek was still sound asleep while the doggies barked away, probably at some rowdiness from passersby crossing the street…or maybe that vagrant wrapped up in a blanket against the building’s wall about twenty feet away, stirred in his sleep, and the dogs went on alert. I heard him say when I peered out the hallway window to see what’s up, hey! hey! c’mon, I’m tryin’ to get some rest here!

So I donned jacket and shoes to step back outside and comfort the canines. They quieted down posthaste, and all it took was to caress them a bit; they lied down again and went back to sleep. The REAL trick is to cover their heads as well, for once out of sight, out of mind.

Anyway, that’s where I stand now, regarding my new adventure being a quasi-street person myself. Hope you have an elegant and peaceful evening, good physician! Perhaps Marshall’s latest reading of one of my tales will help lull you to sleep, it’s just under 5 minutes.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Click here for a larger view.

Subject: Deek just makes things more and more difficult!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 4, 2022 at 3:39 PM

This morning he claimed it’s too dirty and dusty behind the building, so guess what, Wattson…no doubt he wants to force me to stay with the dogs right out front! But before he said that, he showed me some dog vomit he says is Lucky’s, and it has red coloration.

“Doesn’t look like blood to me,” I observed. “More like dye or food coloring from something he snatched up off the sidewalk.”

He also claims they have worms, and I need to schedule another vet appointment. Which is actually impossible, because you need to prove you’re homeless with a signed notice from a social worker, after the first time you bring your pet(s) there. Attached is an actual copy of the form required. As for worms:

He doesn’t know the diff between heart worms and tapeworms, claims they have the former ’cause they keep scooting their butts. I tried to explain to him heart worms don’t make ’em do that, and they’re not a problem here in the city because no mosquitoes. And tapeworms are easy to treat, but the pups don’t have ’em as there’s no evidence in their poop. He said he took a semester of veterinarian classes, and I don[t know anything about raising dogs. What a SCHMUCK!

He said look at the dogs, they have no energy and their noses are dry and hot. No energy? They just got up and it’s damp with a gray sky. Besides which, I checked their noses and told them they’re cool and wet. IOW nothing’s wrong with the hounds, but everything is with their master.

Then he complained about the cushy blankets and coats he slept in last night, that they’re full of bugs and made him itchy. I said nonsense, I sat and laid down on them, too…they’re reasonably clean and I found NO bugs on ’em. Jeez!

He also griped that Lucky was barking all night, kept him awake, to which I replied that’s not true, they only barked for a few minutes until I stepped out to comfort them. They were quiet and slept soundly otherwise.

“Well, Lucky was barking at me to let him off the leash so he could go and puke his brains out over there!”

Also a lie, because the rare times he pukes, he just does it without a single bark, yelp or howl whatsoever. But he DOES need to lay down cardboard if nothing else, so they won’t have to rest on the concrete, because there’s plenty of GLASS pieces so small you can’t see them, all over the city. A dog could pick up such a piece with some food scrap, that COULD cause them to bleed inside and show up in their puke. It could even KILL the poor doggy.

Anyway, at least he didn’t fly into a rage…but that was probably due to the presence of OTHER houseless folks this morning, including Filipino Kai, Scampy and Boulevard Joe. Before Deek left, I told him I left a voicemail with VetSOS, as well as sent them an email…but I don’t think they’ll set up an appointment until he provides PROOF he’s living on the streets. And you CAN’T do that will seeing a social worker.

Once he was gone from there, I asked Blvd. Joe if there were any way around getting a social worker’s verification for a houseless person to take their dog to a vet. He said no, there isn’t, that MOST vagrants never see a social worker anyway. But the ASPCA will take care of your dog in an emergency, though with stipulations, such as: if it appears to be dying they won’t try to revive it, and if it needs surgery you’re fuck outta luck.

“So they just take their chances with their dog for the most part, no checkups or preventative treatments?” I queried.

“Yep,” he replied, “That’s the way it is on the streets.”

And I guess that goes for rabies and other shots as well, though I forgot to ask him about that. They CAN go to the VetSOS clinic ONCE, and one time only, for those vaccines, but after that, no dice without a social worker’s verification. VERY tragic, IMO.

I sincerely doubt Deek will ever get around to hooking up with a social worker, due to his dubious history out of Louisiana, including child support and deity only knows WHAT else! Blvd. Joe says if he DOES see a social worker, all that past will catch up with him. So there ya have it, good doctor: damned if ya don’t (’cause the doggies do without health care), and DOUBLE damned if you do (’cause you could go to jail and/or be penalized in some other ways)! Be that as it may:

The mutts are their usual, loving and playful selves now that the sun is out and the chill has dissipated. I fed them breakfast and they ate well. I don’t think either one is ill or infected in any way possible. Count our blessings! As for what is to be done about where I’ll sit the dogs outside:

Hopefully, still around the corner, assuming Deek gets off the bullshit train. Otherwise, I fear he’ll make the outdoor arrangement far more difficult for both yours truly and the brindlekin.

– Zeke K-Holmes


Also, Flaco’s sweater is gone, though Lucky still is wearing his! I asked him a couple of times where it is, I’ll put it back on. He mumbled something incoherent and did NOT comply. I was SO tempted to start pawing through his cart, but didn’t ’cause he’d just start screaming at me. That little darlin’ dog has to suffer the chills because of his apparent sadism. And then he has the nerve to fake their being sick and dump it all on me. What’s his end game, Wattson…destruction and misery?

Price of dog food keeps going up, and Amazon seems to have run out of the larger economy bags and cartons for the moment at least. The Rachel brand of dry dog food, which I like and is reasonably priced, appears only to have unreliable sellers anymore! In fact, there is only one distributor now, charging $45 for a 14 pound bag that normally costs $18. These past few months ordering dog food (both kibble and canned) has become a problem trying to keep the price down, or ordering a particular brand you prefer. I actually have THREE different brands I favor, but ALL of them are out of stock for the economy sizes…or have one or two dubious sellers who’ve marked up the price dramatically.

But let us not forget the advice of my Bodhisattva Premise: don’t worry, be happy. So I’ll drop my angst over Deek’s latest shitty behavior and trust the Divine Googly Face, that all shall come out “okely dokely” in the wash.

Click here to watch the video.

Subject: Kevin from Across the Street [14 sec. video]
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 4, 2022 at 5:23 PM

He’s on the way out, in more ways than one…his ambulatory days may soon be over. But then who will step in to replace him? I just happened to peer out the window as I grabbed a slice of toasted raisin bread from my little oven …and figured to grab my camera and shoot.

Subject: Did you see what George Dennis Posted?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 4, 2022 at 5:51 PM

I never expected THIS from Mr. Dennis!

–begin forwarded email:

On Tue, 4 Oct 2022 11:19:27 -0700 George Dennis wrote:

> Spike Dequeers and the homo qweers have gotten somethin over on me
Litttle Spikey Queer and his Homo Squires Took over the list

Gee, Mr. Dennis, that's a fucked up thing to say about myself and
Calvin, just because we're gay! What the hell is wrong with you, dude? I gave you TONS of support regarding Mr. Dewar's horrific threats towards you. But after you just threw two decent gay people under the bus, you lost any further support.

- Zeke Krahlin


Re: Did you see what George Dennis Posted?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 4, 2022 at 6:25 PM

> I missed this one. He’s pretty crazy. I like your answer to him a lot.

Hoisted by his own petard, what a fool. I don’t feel sorry for him, as homophobia cancels out any kind regard I may have had.

Re: Did you see what George Dennis Posted?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 4, 2022 at 7:36 PM

> Agreed. Or even just exploiting homophobia.

Right. Because George’s playing it the way he did nonetheless legitimizes shamefulness for being “queer.” He may think holding up a mirror is a good tactic, but it’s still homophobia. Did I grasp your point correctly?

Re: Did you see what George Dennis Posted?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 4, 2022 at 9:55 PM

> I think he’s the worst kind of hypocrite–he probably isn’t truly homophobic, but is willing to use homophobic slurs in order to seem “edgy” and “cool.” Never mind that he harms actual people in the process.

So he’s stupid. I was coming to that conclusion already, with his strange posts of recent vintage. Let’s see how he responds to my retort, if he does at all. At any rate, he’s placed himself in the same corner as Mr. Sewers. Ms. Merang is a piece of work as well!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Just as I thought, Vet SOS won’t see him…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 5, 2022 at 10:05 AM

..without a signed paper from a social worker. Here is their email back to me, in my message requesting to set up an appointment:

“I’ve saved Zach an appointment for our November 14th clinic at 11:45am. The clinic will be at the SF SPCA parking lot [24 Florida ST.] again. We are supposed to have an eligibility letter completed by a case manager or services provider attesting to a client’s housing status before their second visit. Would you be willing to pass along the attached form to Deek and tell him that he should have a case manger or services provider complete the form for him?”

So his ONLY option is the ASPCA’s emergency clinic, which is open 24 hours. Be that as it may, I have a NEW concern, regarding his tossing kibble right onto the sidewalk, instead of placing it on a sheet of cardboard or newspaper when he doesn’t have a bowl:

Glass fragments…they’re all over the city, some so tiny you can’t see them, even if you clear the sidewalk of debirs as best you can. Deek had tossed some kibble on the ground at our spot behind my building, where there WERE glass shards nearby which he FAILED to sweep away first. I did that a day or two later when I sat the dogs. Nonetheless he should NEVER force them to eat right off the sidewalk, as they could easily pick up a glass bit in their food. Heck, not just glass, but a sliver of chicken bone, hard plastic or metal.

Also a very good reason not to force them to lie down directly on the concrete, as a tiny sliver of glass or whatever could get in their fur; they’ll lick it off while cleaning themselves, and they could wind up swallowing it.

Of course he’ll probably scream me down as I try to explain this to him, because he wants to blame everything on me, and he knows all about raising dogs, don’t tell HIM about raising dogs. But one way or another I’ll make sure he listens. Deek is the King of Needless Misery and Crises.

– Zeke K-Holmes

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 5, 2022 at 10:05 AM

Deek dropped the dogs off around 1:30 PM, and we camped out by the bus stop for a few hours, then when a chill wind kicked up, I moved our little family to the ATM depot for better shelter. Their master didn’t return until 7:45 PM, but apologized for being so late.

He was a bit pissy when he dropped the dogs off, yelled even when he saw me walk them around the corner…so that’s why the bus stop today. Which was okay, as the weather was great, and had I not been at that location I would have never met this incredible woman, Frigga Raisa Kady.

She ordered a meal at Super Duper and sat outside, smiled at me and admired the pups…and the conversation took off from there. The back and front sides of her business card are attached to this email. She no longer works as a tattoo artist, but she IS quite the artist. Told me she just got an award for her graphic novel, so I searched her name and, sure enough, here ’tis.

The Institute for Anarchist Studies, of all things…now THAT’S my kinda gal! She’s an activist of many causes, including Gay Shame. In a little while, Frigga joined me on the sidewalk and sat beside Lucky, and very much enjoyed hearing about my activism as an advocate for homeless LGBTs. Told her about my street friend, Deek, who owns these hounds, and I dog sit for him so he can run his errands without having to pay constant attention to them. I even told her a bit about Randolph Taylor.

Towards the end of our badinage, she said: “How’d ya like to be on Instagram?”

“Fine with me, I said, take all the pictures you want!”

So she snapped away, including a selfie of us. THE FIRST SELFIE I’VE EVER BEEN PART OF! She now has my own card, “Brindlekin Tales,” so can check out my writing and activist adventures.

“You should be famous by now!” she exclaimed.

“I agree,” I replied, “but everything in its own good time.”

“Well, I’m here for you now, so get ready for the boost! You’re a very good man, Zeke, you deserve it.”

I cracked up: “Gee, everything’s going so fast in my world all of a sudden like!”

The woman’s amazing: outgoing, cheerful, wisecracking and robust. She’s a large lady, though not obese. You would LOVE her, Wattson. I even brought YOU up, as my greatest confidant and supporter of my writings, and in more than half the chapters of “Free Me From This Bond.”

Gee, can you imagine my writing finally taking off, as a gift to the queer community, and Frigga my illustrator? Now get this:

In the middle of our delightful conversation while she still sat at the table, Boulevard Joe came walking by AND THEY KNOW EACH OTHER! Very well, it seems. But he didn’t stay to join us, so I know little at this point about their relationship. But I surely will bring her up next time I see Joe.

I just emailed Frigga to make our contact firm, and included my phone number. Meanwhile, shortly before Deek returned, I decided to get a cheap bean and cheese burrito two doors down, because I didn’t wanna spend too long upstairs ’cause the dogs would be left alone for too many minutes. It was only $5.95 and I brought a cup of my own soda from my fridge. Only cost ME ninety-five cents, since some very young fellow around 11 years old stopped by this afternoon where I was seated with the pups, and handed me two dollars. And two days before, some sweet little old Asian lady gave me three dollars to help me out.

Deek was very pleasant upon his return, and I am now upstairs while he’s resting below, waiting for his newest smartphone to reach a hundred percent, which is just about now, I think. But if I find him sleeping when I tell him the phone’s ready, I’ll just leave it in my room…along with two speakers and a battery back. Just so they won’t get stolend, ’cause he snoozes like nobody’s business…a bomb could drop and it wouldn’t even make him stir.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Oh, yeah, and a young fellow who works at Super Duper stepped out a little while after Frigga departed, and offered me a generous serving of French fries and asked if I would like some ketchup with that. I said sure, thanks!


Frigga does a ton of activism in the Tenderloin, and invited me to attend some events with her. I told her I’d LOVE to go, but I have a major obligation to remain at home base, for the sake of Deek and his doggies. I found her website, it’s all about her tattoo art…but it’s temporarily offline. Yet an image search got me her photo from that site, see pic. I’m guessing the snapshot was taken 15-20 years ago, as she has a more filled out face and has dyed her hair blond. But you can see the Native American in her! And according to that anarchist page, she was then living on Ohlone land in Oakland. And she’s bipolar, like myself, Deek, and I guess you, eh, Wattson? The mark of the true artist, I suppose.

She very much enjoyed my telling her about my being an anthropology major, focusing on Native American culture. “Do you have some Native American in you?” she queried. I said, “Nope,” then described my incredible advisor who was half Sioux and half German, Erhard Krause.

So the Great Spirit has come to me once more, this time through a most incredible Native American lady, definitely a shaman, a medicine woman!

– Zeke K-Holmes

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 5, 2022 at 11:20 PM

> Fantastic report. Where can I see the selfies??

I have no idea. I imagine once she responds to my email, she’ll give me a link or send them to me, maybe via smartphone.

> I love it that people are giving you “donations!”

Isn’t that a hoot! I have to admit: trickster Deek knows what he’s doing!

> It was a day and a night and a morning of drama here: about a week ago, Erwin went and got a puppy at the Humane Society without actually consulting me. He’d talked about it recently, I said I didn’t think it was a good idea at the present time, for all sorts of reasons. But he went to Fort Bragg to do errands, and decided to go get a puppy and bring it home, knowing that would be half the battle. Turns out the puppy, 4 or 5 months old, though cute as he can be, is totally untrained, hyper energetic, needy, leaps and barks and flings himself against a door if you put him on the other side of it. Surely is being a good sport, but he gets a little grumpy with the pup from time to time, so there are occasional sharp yips that make me jump out of my skin. The cats took it pretty well, though Princess Butterball didn’t go out for a whole week, wanting to avoid the whirlwind of puppy exuberance. Lots of chaos.

> Welp, yesterday afternoon, Erwin took both dogs with him on an expedition to the woods behind the house. The K through 8 school is on the other side of those woods, with a big playground on the side nearest to us. I can hear kids on the playground in the morning, far enough away and muffled by the thick woods between us so that it’s not irritating or sleep-disrupting, but distant and pleasant, dream-like, happy kids shouting and playing and yelling. Sometime during that walk, Erwin turned around and the puppy was gone. Called and called, tramped around for hours, both of us, as darkness fell, feeling ever more hopeless and certain he’d been eaten by a mountain lion. I posted on the Announce list, on Nextdoor and on a FB Lost Pet page. Went out again close to midnight, called and called, sinking into real despair, and of course, guilt.

> Woke early (for me) this morning, checked my phone, found a text: “We have your puppy at the K-8 office!” I called, and the gal said a teacher had found the puppy running around on the playground (late, no kids present), took him home for the night, where the teacher’s 7-y.o. son fell in love with him, wanted to keep him, but somebody saw my Lost Dog post, so the teacher brought him back to the school, where Erwin picked him up this AM. They’d set him up with a pad, food, and water, people and kids loving on him like crazy. When we got him home, it was as if he’d gone to an overnight Total Immersion Doggy training camp: he was much calmer, slept most of the day, didn’t rush after the cats or leap on us too much. As he rested up, his wild puppy energy returned, and here we are.

That is quite a doggy tale, Wattson! As I was reading about the family that found the pup, I anticipated you and Erwin deciding to gift them with it. But things turned out well, nonetheless. I saw your post about a lost doggy, but I thought you were doing a friend a favor, had no idea it was YOURS. So what is the doggy’s name?

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: When you said I’d have adventures while dog-sitting on the street, I didn’t expect them to be so grand! You hit bullseye on this one, Wattson!

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 5, 2022 at 11:39 PM

> Wow!!! She’s fantastic! And yes, you can see the Aboriginal in her, clearly! When I was younger, people sometimes thought I had some of that, too. I didn’t, but I let them think it!

I wonder if she lived on Ohlone land as a homeless person, maybe set up a tipi. Yes, she’s fantastic…like an angel descending from the sky to be my friend.

> Alas, I’m not bipolar…

There’s still hope! I only included you just to be silly.

> I have a solid core of sanity and self-control, made of some sort of tungsten steel. It serves me well, but it’s also to my detriment, because people discover they can pile their troubles on me and I’m incapable of breaking. Pair that with my pathologically compassionate nature, and…well, you get the picture.

“Pathologically compassionate:” has a nice ring to it.

> What I do have is a dark, deep, far-flung imagination, a molten lava core of anxiety and a lot of existential dread. It serves me in my art and my thinking, and I’ve learned how not to let it out of its cage so that it turns on me.

Extraterrestrial dread: fear of waking up on another planet.

> BTW, my bro’s and my best friend in childhood had a bipolar mother. She was the real deal–two months up, two months down, a wild roller coaster ride. She was by far the most fun grownup when she was in her “up” cycle. We kids were crazy about her. You may remember her from DEATH IN SLOW MOTION, pseudonamed “Katrina.”

A prophecy of the hurricane, perhaps. Her down cycles must’ve been horrendous. Well, tomorrow’s another day, another adventure! I could tell by Deek’s broad grin how pleased he was over my devotion to the pups. I sat by them the entire day, those two, happy little elves! And I gave him no grief over being gone so long. Instead, I told him that’s fine, I had a nice time.

When I delivered his charged devices, I thought he might have fallen asleep, so I first brought him just two of the three phones, rather than lug everything down. Easier to carry two phones back upstairs. To my surprise, he was wide awak, chatting away with two other vagrants, one of whom I know already, and who’s name is also Deek. He said hi and handed me this bottle of Gatorade that had no sugar in it, but concentrated watermelon juice. I’m sure I’ll enjoy ice cold in the morning!

I told Deek a bit about meeting Frigga, and how she and Hollywood are friends. And that, had I camped out behind the building, we’d’ve never met! He wished me a very good night, and thanked me for doing such a good job keeping the mutts safe. I told him I have a lot of writing to catch up on before hitting the sack…but I’m not complaining because the hounds come first.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: I keep forgetting Deek is Native American in part, himself…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 6, 2022 at 12:19 PM

…and it shows, in his hairless face and body. Images swept through my mind this morning, soon as I arose from my cot: about Deek being “Indian” himself, and how a vital connection and elevation of his material status will ensue, thanks to Frigga’s intervention. Not through any direct gifting on her part, but from the benevolent machinations of the Great Spirit sparked by our remarkable first meetup. Among these visions was Deek smiling at me, that he’s been guiding me along, and the latest was him forcing me to sit the dogs by the bus stop, that I hook up with Frigga.

Stupid old white fool that I am, I was under the mistaken notion that a Native American shows up in my world every seven years or so, to affirm my mission and commend me…which is how things seemed to be, because that is what’s been going on for decades. But this morning’s string of visions knocked sense into me, which is:

I’ve had one such indigenous person by my side for more than twelve years! And all his difficult maneuvers were either challenges to stand strong and not cave in (so I could move forward), or just his brotherly way of joking. For example, he KNOWS it would be a bad direction to have him enter my building anymore, but he berates me now and then over this, just to test my will…or simply to enjoy witnessing my noble choice NOT to have him visit, for the sake of a greater cause. Which includes preserving our friendship for the sake of the doggies at least.

But on a grander arc, these visions that came rushing to me immediately upon awakening, were an assurance and a celebration that a BIG breakthrough is coming down my pike, and very soon.

Among the many topics we discussed, I told Frigga how I’ve concluded there are many shamans on the street, and Deek is one of them.

“What KIND of shaman is he…a trickster?” she queried.

“Oh yes, definitely,” I replied.

“So he dumps a lotta shit on you!” was her comeback, and not without a hearty chuckle.

“Yep, that’s the way of a trickster,” I agreed with a shrug. “And he KNOWS how much I love these dogs, so I put up with a TON of shit than I would otherwise, for their sake.”

I understand she ALSO has a dog, Wattson, but she didn’t get into what breed, it’s name, etc. At any rate, she’s really big into DC and Marvel comic books, which I’m not, so when she asked me which superhero I think she resembles, I told her I have no idea. I’m not sure I remember correctly, but I THINK she said “Magneto,” which I later looked up in Wikipedia:

“The character is a powerful mutant, one of a fictional subspecies of humanity born with superhuman abilities, who has the ability to generate and control magnetic fields. Magneto regards mutants as evolutionarily superior to humans and rejects the possibility of peaceful human-mutant coexistence; he initially aimed to conquer the world to enable mutants, whom he refers to as homo superior, to replace humans as the dominant species. Writers have since fleshed out his origins and motivations, revealing him to be a Holocaust survivor whose extreme methods and cynical philosophy derive from his determination to protect mutants from suffering a similar fate at the hands of a world that fears and persecutes mutants.”

Frigga is also into astrology and tarot cards, so of course she asked what sun sign I am. “Cancer,” I said, and she made some favorable remark about that, but to which I paid no mind. She then asked me which tarot card I think she resembles. I told her I have no idea, but guessed “The Fool?”

“No, but that works, too,” she replied, then went off on the particular card that best represents her, though again I didn’t pay much attention, and have now forgotten. Not that I was being rude, but sitting there alongside a busy street, the din of traffic blurred her words at times, and I got tired of tilting my head/cupping my ear and asking, “What? Could you say that again?”

When I told Deek about my meeting this incredible person, Frigga, he interjected:

“Did you tell her those dogs aren’t yours, but belong to a good friend who is homeless? Or did you suck up all the credit for yourself?”

“Of COURSE I told her about you,” I quickly shot back, “and that I dog sit so you can run your errands without delay. In fact I spoke VERY WELL of you!”

He then retorted: “Does she wanna get fucked?”

Jebus Cripe, Wattson, I get so tired of his macho game, but it WAS funny. “No I don’t think so, Deek. She’s lesbian.”

Upon reflection, I think my reply was needlessly somber, and I thus regret not snapping back with a witty repartee such as:

“How would I know, Deek? I’ll ask her next time we conversate.”

Everything clicked into place as a result of these merciful visions: that Deek’s Native American spirit explains EVERYthing about his nature: mercurial and often over the top, and his trickster psyche. Thank the Great Spirit he’s not alcoholic to boot! Meth is actually a superior addiction by comparison.

You should also know that before I got beyond writing the first sentence of this missive, I stepped outside to purchase my morning brew…at Rosenberg’s of course. There is a NEW cashier these days: a young gentleman from Punjab! He’s quite amicable, though not particularly garrulous as Sa’daa was. And I say “was,” because apparently she is no longer working there, as I haven’t seen her for almost three weeks. I miss our delightful chats immensely. Be that as it may:

I sat down upon the steps of a corner shop to take some sips of java before continuing on hovel, as I always do, just to start the day right. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate a more pastoral view instead of this urban scene of a starbust intersection with vehicles rattling by and all-too-frequent jackhammers pounding my eardrums…but it is what it is. It was actually pretty quiet this morning. Wouldn’t you know it, good physician:

I espied Boulevard Joe at the far corner, preparing to cross the intersection on a bicycle. So I called loudly to him and waved: he heard me and veered in my direction. Once he arrived, I asked:

“What do you think of Frigga, I was really impressed with our first conversation!”

To my disappointment, his answer was a jejune “She’s okay.”

“You mean she’s kinda nutty?” I retorted.

“Yeah,” was his brief reply.

“Well, she must’ve been going through a stupendous MANIC cycle when we met yesterday!” I humorously concluded. “I very much enjoyed our tête-à-tête!”

I went on to describe our talk with relish, speculating that this may be the connection I’ve been hoping for, that will boost my own efforts to aid the homeless in spectacular ways, starting with Deek…then spreading beyond him, to benefit MANY.

“As you know, whatever boons come to me will also benefit the homeless, because of my dedication TO that cause,” I exclaimed with pride.

Joe nodded his head in agreement, though I sensed he had somewhere to be. I’m not surprised, as he’s a major influence among the local indigents and thus is burdened with responsibilities that go along with that role.

“She’s Native American, isn’t she?” I queried.

“Yes, I believe she is,” he answered.

“So is Deek, though I often forget that,” I elaborated, “There is something profound and hopeful about my meeting Frigga, which I believe will wind up benefiting Deek immensely. After all, he’s not gonna get a roof over his head or make any other improvement in his life in the usual manner, since he refuses to hook up with a social worker.”

“Yes, that’s right,” he acknowledged.

“So there’s gotta be some OTHER way to get the ball rolling,” I declared, “and I suspect the Great Spirit’s intervention will be his key to success, rather than the status quo. And I sense Frigga will play a part in this…maybe by interviewing Deek and posting pics and videos of him on Instagram and other social media. More people could reach out to him as a result.”

There was something else I needed to know from Blvd. Joe before he took off: “What is the name of that other Native American, that lady with the dog who’s Inuit?”

He looked at me in confusion. “Eskimo!” I stated.

“Oh! That’s Verity,” he replied.

“Thanks, I’d forgotten her name, but I hope this time it will stick. She’s been here now for how long, maybe a decade?”

“Yes, that sounds right,” he affirmed.

“Well, I know you’re running errands, so I don’t wanna keep you any longer. You’re a shaman, too, so I’m sure you grasp everything I’ve just said. Thanks so much for stopping by, Joe!”

And off he went. Now here’s an observation I now share with you, Wattson:

Don’t you find it curious that Boulevard Joe should make himself available to me, so soon after my meetup with Frigga, that I could ask about her? And that he made a point of strolling on by DURING my conversation with her yesterday?


– Zeke K-Holmes

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announce, MCN discussion
Date: October 6, 2022 at 12:52 PM

On 2022-10-06 11:30, Lisa Harwood wrote:

> Glad you are contemplating (and perhaps seeking) publication of Brindlekin Tales. You are an engaging diaryist, Zeke. Your writings are a consistent Boswell-esque eye-view of a particular sector of San Francisco. There is a greater local audience out there for Brindlekin Tales. I hope someone helps you find it.

Thank you for such a kind compliment and your continued support, Lisa! I have had to hold back on releasing my latest chapters, because of a lawsuit. And, since you’re not allowed to discuss it while it’s going on, and since it has become intermingled with my Brindlekin Tales, my recent chapters are all on hold, though written out and backed up for later release. They total a grand 15 by now, and still growing!

But I have become tired of holding off on all the other scenarios composing my tales, so I’ve decided to start posting again, those scenes that do not include the lawsuit. Which I am well on the way of overturning and coming out of it with spectacular gains. I have a crackerjack attorney through SF Peninsula Lawyers Group, a young woman from the Netherlands, and is the Senior Attorney of that organization. All pro bono, of course. What a new and excellent adventure to add to my diary, eh? I’ve gotten to meet and associate with some brilliant lawyers dedicated to fighting for the downtrodden. Who may ALSO be impressed enough by my pro-homeless, activist tales, to assist me with publication. My GIFT to the LGBT community to support our cause, and I only want two percent of the royalties in exchange. These are very compassionate lawyers who’ve sacrificed the opportunity to make big bucks…they’re struggling, themselves, and deal with so many tragic cases each and every day. My case is a walk in the park on a lovely spring day, by comparison. “Mr. Krahlin,” said my attorney one day, “you’ve already won, it’s now just a matter of time, and the plaintiff finally letting go, especially since their OWN lawyer says what my accusers are doing is wrong, and a lost cause.”

I will soon begin posting a segment here, a segment there, from those chapters I’ve already created, but have held back on for so long. And Marshall has resumed reading my tales on his radio show, after some months’ delay. I believe because I’ve been posting a slew of messages each day, and it’s just too cumbersome for him to seek out my tales. So I’m drastically reducing my number of posts to no more than ten a day, to make it easy for him. Well worth the tradeoff, I’d say! I take whatever he reads of my work and upload it to my own WordPress blog…that is, I splice out just that part from each of his awesome podcasts, and add the growing collection into my blog’s KNYO section.

Have a superb day, Lisa…that’s an order!

– Zeke Krahlin

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: MCN announce, MCN discussion
Date: October 6, 2022 at 12:55 PM

> We’re trying out “Pluto” on him. Let’s see if it sticks.

A lovely name. He’s orbiting your personal solar system!

Subject: Re: Speaking of Native American, Calvin…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: Calvin Hope
Date: October 6, 1:02 PM

On 2022-10-06 11:44, Calvin Hope wrote:

> Lovely! The Universe provides goodness and surprises for those who are ready and worthy!

Yes it does. And if, like most people, it is hard to believe that, it’s still the best path to take, by assuming so. And, in the long run, that goodness shall be affirmed in spades. We ALL have doubts, don’t we…at least when we’re young. But that is simply the Great Spirit’s way of testing our mettle.

> Thank you for sharing. Frigga is one of your people. It is SO helpful to meet our tribal members along the way. It reduces the terrible tearing loneliness of this world.

That’s not her real name, I always use pseudonyms in my tales. If you check out the link to her award page for her graphic novel, you’ll discover her chosen moniker.

Your friend, Zeke

Re: Did you see what George Dennis Posted?
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 6, 2022 at 2:24 PM

> Ha!!!!

Double ha. Capital punishment for any and all homophobes…they are purely violent by nature. This includes many leaders of religious organizations, declare them cults and shut ’em all down. IMNSHO (in my not so humble opinion).

The FINAL Final Final Chapter (part 14)

October 1, 2022

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 3: Chapter 19n]

Subject: Still waiting on the cops!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 18, 2022 at 7:06 PM

Can’t figure out why my phone no longer alerts me, but I just checked the history to discover I missed a call about 20 minutes ago. An Officer Gomez left a voicemail and said he doesn’t know what the police can do for me, but call back when I can. My phone shows that number to be “restricted,” so he doesn’t WANT me to call him back directly. Which means I’ll have to dial the non-emergency number again and wait until they answer.

So I called non-emergency again, and they said they came over, but I wasn’t around…but the can try again. I said thank you, I appreciate that. Meanwhile, I switched my phone to cell service only, turned off wifi, and made sure the ringer was on, and loud. I stepped outside and made a call to myself, and yes, the cell service works. So now I’m waiting on the police to arrive.

But when I walked down the stairs a few moments ago, I saw that someone had washed off the blood stain on the wall! However, blood drops still remain by the gate, and in the lobby. I have just downloaded the pic of the blood stain onto my phone, so I can show them.

I think they should do a wellness check on Karlsen, to see if he’s been stabbed. Then they should contact the building manager and ask what this blood trail is all about.

Will keep you updated. Ta-ta!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Still waiting on the cops!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 18, 2022 at 7:49 PM

> Jeeziz!!!!

I know! Between the frustration with getting the blood trail missive posted to you, my phone flaking out, the cops missing me, and now the blood smear being washed away…I’d say the poltergeist of Hotel California North are having a hearty laugh at my expense. Oh, and one more thing:

Scooter showed up a half hour ago, and whistled up to Karlsen’s window! He’s not loud or shrill about summoning him anymore, but still…who wants the fuckhead around?

Still waiting on the cops.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Click here for a larger view.

Subject: New blood streak…unbelievable!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 18, 2022 at 10:19 PM

I KNOW it wasn’t there before, I surely would have noticed it, it’s right in your face! Located on the wall halfway between the first landing and the lobby. I was about to step out to pick up some groceries, when I turned the stairway corner and BLAM there it was! So I returned hovel to get my Power Shot camera and take this pic. What the fuck is going on?

Another resident just entered the lobby after I took that photo: don’t know her name, but she’s M2F transgender, is very nice and has lived here for at least two decades. So I asked her if she knows anything about that blood stain on the wall, the one that disappeared earlier today. She said no she didn’t, and I pointed out the blood spots on the lobby floor, and outside the gate.

I then pointed at this NEW stain and said it just appeared less than an hour ago. She said THAT wasn’t there before, affirming my sanity. Upon departing for the gate, I said sorry to bother you and she replied, no that’s fine honey, you have a lovely night.

Well, at least I have another wall stain to show the cops if they ever drop by. Which is unlikely at this point, and I’m not gonna bother calling them again.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: New blood streak…unbelievable! ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 18, 2022 at 10:33 PM

The clot thickens.

Subject: SFPD just called me, but…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 18, 2022 at 10:33 PM

…after hearing my story, she said it’s not an actual crime that would be something the police would look into. I told her well, I understand but thanks for calling. She made a few lame suggestions about talking with the building manager or a neighbor or two. I explained I can’t speak with the manager due to a lawsuit, and that I DID talk to two residents, but they didn’t seem the least bit alarmed, let alone curious. She ended by telling me if anything else comes up that appears suspicious, give them a call anyway.

Maybe I’m overreacting here, maybe someone’s just smearing the walls with strawberry jam, and I’m a monkey’s aunt. At least I know my phone is working again.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Click here for a larger view.

Subject: Now this outside my window, looking up at me.
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 26, 2022 at 11:11 PM

Don’t know what to make of it, I don’t even have any idea with the OB stands for. It’s funny though.

Subject: Yet aNOTHER blood streak this morning…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 27, 2022 at 10:04 AM

…as I walked down the hallway; this appeared on a neighbor’s door. Things are gettin’ too damned serious for THIS nerve-jangled pilgrim! Even weirder, someone had washed it off less than an hour later.

Re: New blood streak…unbelievable!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 27, 2022 at 2:41 PM

> Sure looks like actual blood. has that slight rusty tinge, and the smear looks unplanned.

It’s also kinda high up, like from someone’s head, or arm/hand raised. Maybe someone is intentionally smearing the walls? Otherwise it looks like the victim was staggering on the way up (or down), pressed against the wall. Perhaps trying to fend off the attacker.

Well, our handyman, Victor, just washed it off after noting it wasn’t there before yesterday. Which I find VERY strange, because that indicates a repeat incident. Something hokey about that idea, though.

I had a good talk with him; turns out he also removed the other stain, by the landing. So I asked him if he knows how the blood got there, ’cause it looks to me by the blood drops outside and in the lobby, that a tenant got stabbed while entering the building.

He agreed with my theory, but admitted he has no idea what went on. Did you talk to Kevin about this, I asked, and he said no he didn’t (who BTW I haven’t seen hide or hair of for the past four days). Then I explained I can’t speak with him myself, due to my current lawsuit, which I then described in a quick outline. I told him he might be going senile, as other residents are upset at him, though for different reasons. And guess what, Wattson: he agreed! Well, Kevin HAS spoken harsh words to him at least once, which I’ve witnessed…and that was around four years ago.

I then told him about Karlsen’s “friend,” Scooter, and how dangerous his friend is, due to a combination of smoking meth and a short, explosive temper. And I suspect the blood trail was the result of Scooter stabbing Karlsen. Victor also agree about the sketchiness of those two, and listened to my tale wholeheartedly. So I requested that he speak to Kevin about the blood stains, and Kevin’s friend Michael…seeing as I can’t talk to him myself.

“The important thing is what’s been recorded by the lobby camera, so bring that up with Kevin, too, if you can. Before too many days pass and the incident gets erased.”

I thanked Victor very much for listening, and added that if he doesn’t feel comfortable bringing any of this up to Kevin, don’t worry, I’ll understand. I also told him I contacted the police, hoping they’d drop by to check out the blood trail and talk with Kevin and, perhaps, Karlsen. But another officer called me a few hours later to cancel the visit because it’s not an actual crime I’ve witnessed.

I’m VERY glad I got to talk with Victor about this, as two residents I’ve already addressed on this matter weren’t the least bit interested. But dammit, if law enforcement had bothered to drop by, no question they’d demand the video recording to see for themselves!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Now this outside my window, looking up at me.
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 27, 2022 at 2:33 PM

> Things are getting beyond weird in your zone!!!!!

Well it WAS twilight.

> I think it stands for “obese.”

Fat chance.

Re: Yet aNOTHER blood streak this morning…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 27, 2022 at 2:44 PM

> INSIDE your building??????? Fucking Christ.

IT WAS A JOKE! I downloaded the image from a web page, certain you’d get the movie reference right off the bat. Or are you pulling MY leg now?

Re: Yet aNOTHER blood streak this morning…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 27, 2022 at 4:13 PM

> Guess I missed the movie reference!

I am devastated. Here:

Re: Yet aNOTHER blood streak this morning…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 27, 2022 at 5:08 PM

> Ah. I actually thought of Redrum and The Shining, but figured whoever had written it inside your building was imitating that!

My joke backfired, my world is crumbling before my very eyes.

Re: Yet aNOTHER blood streak this morning…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 27, 2022 at 5:42 PM

> Au contraire! It was a stunning success!!

Aw shucks, you blew my cover, Morticia. Nonetheless:

My world was meant to crumble…’cause there’s a better one just around the corner. And for many others, as well. A tofu chicken in every pot, and pop-up tents for every tot!

Subject: Here’s the tent I finally went with.
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 29, 2022 at 12:27 AM

Not a pop-up, but quick to assemble, 2-person tent by Coleman. Got it for $49 instead of the standard $79 because it has cosmetic imperfections. I think it’s a great deal. Also bought a $7 can of Coleman’s Seam Sealer to make extra sure I won’t suffer leakage during a heavy downpour. Though this model tests out very well for rainy weather, as one Youtuber and camping enthusiast has demonstrated:

I’ll do some practice runs in my room, setting up the tent, so I can assemble it outside ASAP. I’m more worried about Deek’s impatient nature, than I am about beating the rain. “C’mon, I gotta go, I’m in a rush, get the fuckin’ tent up already!”

I’ve actually discovered a new pastime: watching people set up their tents! I love the quirky personalities, the remarkable variety of tents, and overall joyfulness in their camping endeavors.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Just canceled Coleman tent order!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 29, 2022 at 12:22 PM

I looked over my Amazon order list this morning to discover the tent I purchased is for THREE people, not two…my mistake or theirs, I have no idea! But since it was just shipped (arrival in two more days) I couldn’t actually select “cancel,” but had to choose “return.” So now I gotta wait till it arrives, then march on down to UPS to send it back. Then it will take up to a week for my refund to show up in my account. THEN, and only then, will I order another tent. I decided to opt for a pop-up that is highly rated, and costs $122.

I didn’t think of this until a few days ago, but: anything larger, and Deek will probably try to get in the tent with me, declaring he’s not entering my building, so it’s okay. He’ll most likely be pushy about it, even with a 2-man tent. So THAT’S a problem I know I’ll have to deal with. He may even try to slip in late at night, while I’m sleeping (or at least trying to). Let’s hope he won’t retaliate to my firm “NOPE, dogs only!” by refusing to allow the pups sanctuary in my new tent. Which is stupid, because he’d benefit by letting me dog sit on NON-rainy nights so he can enjoy his solo bike rides. So a tent wouldn’t be JUST for the rains, but for cold days as well, or whenever he’d like a break from the dogs.

I also had to cancel my seam-sealant order, because it’s for the wrong material. The Coleman tent is nylon/polyester, while the Teton is taffeta.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Just canceled Coleman tent order!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 29, 2022 at 2:02 PM

> You’re absolutely right–that’s EXACTLY what he’d try to do. Maybe some bear spray? Kidding, kidding.

He’d probably force his way in, I’d have to push him out at which point he’ll start screaming I’m trying to rape him, or something akin to that. Which he kinda just did a coupla days ago…more on that later today. So I’d have to exit the tent, and he’d wind up walking off with it, and if the police showed up he’d claim it’s his, not mine. He’d make them think I tried to barge in on HIM and the pooches!

> Too bad, because a three-man (or three-wombyn) tent would be a great size.

Well, other reasons for not going larger than 2-person: takes longer to set up, cops frown on tents they perceive as too large and tell you to take it down, sticks out like a sore thumb when ya really wanna be discreet, more susceptible to windy gusts, more difficult (or impossible) to warm up w/your own body heat, greater potential for tears due to larger surface area, more floor space to cover up with comforters (so doggies won’t scratch it up), impossible to practice assembling it in my hovel.

> Still, I think the tent idea is truly inspired! And I still think it will result in great adventures!

Not if Deek acts shitty about it, as he does over so many things. I have been harboring much hatred towards him for so long…and all for good reason. He never lets up with the bullshit, doesn’t care to realize he’s just screwing himself over in the long run…and the sweet mutts as well, who are totally innocent and deserve better.

Well, let’s see how it goes, I’m getting a tent come hell or high water!

– Zeke K-Holmes

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 29, 2022 at 4:44 PM

Jeez, I can’t believe I inadvertently posted this to the MCN discussion and announcement lists! Anyway, here’s the latest missive:

He came by a short while ago, asked me to watch the pups again, I said okay, but then he exploded and accused me of horrible things, screaming at me for over an hour, while the dogs shivered and huddled beside me in fear. He started by talking about the police driving all the homeless outta the Castro, people approaching him and saying those dogs need to be rescued off the streets, he’s not taking proper care of them.

I tried to tell him he needs to not let idiots upset his world, he can handle things better. Then he lashed into blaming me for being a phony activist, if I cared about him I’d have him staying over, blah blah blah.

I just sat there while he went on and on and on, sometimes interjecting doesn’t he have some chores to do, the pups’ll be fine with me. I also said he’s talking bullshit, playing the drama queen again, blaming others for their cruelty when he, himself, has also been VERY mean to me from time to time.

Then he said when I talk “phony” like that, he wants to kick the shit out of me, and ranted on LOUD for another half hour.

“You think this is a GAME, don’t you?” he scowled, “Well it’s NOT, and I don’t think I can take everyone’s bullshit any more, especially YOURS!”

He also accused me of hanging out in my room while the doggies were outside, which isn’t true. Told me his homeless friends said they didn’t see me with them at all. I rebutted by saying it’s a lie, and he’s making all that up.

Deek even screamed that he’s gonna get me evicted, even if he has to go to jail for doing that…and a whole bunch of OTHER horrid stuff.

I told him several times to stop screaming, he’s hurting the dogs. “I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE!” he hollered back.

“Well you should,” I replied, which holding Flaco and Lucky close to me.

He FINALLY departed, and I ran upstairs to take a piss and bring a couple of doggy blankets back down. Wouldn’t you know it, Wattson, he came back while I was upstairs and started hollering: “Zeke! Zeke Krahlin!” several times before I stepped back outside, and saw him riding off on his bike, with doggies in tow. So I called out:

“I just had to use the bathroom, Deek!”

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” was his only response as he disappeared up Market Street. His way of wanting to ACCUSE me of leaving the dogs out there by themselves.

Two days ago he also started screaming at the top of his lungs, when I told him he needs to not let the dogs shiver at night. He told me to shut up, he doesn’t wanna hear it, get outta his face. I did NOT, I just stood there and pointed to Flaco:

“You’re scaring her, Deek, with your screaming!”

I then stopped down to pet her, but he yanked her away and screamed: “Don’t touch my dogs, faggot!”


Then he started screeching: “NO I DON’T WANNA SUCK YOUR DICK! GET AWAY FROM ME, I’M NOT A FAGGOT!” Which he repeated several times.

“Oh yes you are a faggot,” I replied, not in a holler, but loud enough to hear me above the din of traffic.

He then leapt up and tossed a faux swing at my head; I ducked with an arm held up…but refused to go. So he then picked up the two meals I brought the doggies, the bowl of water, and set the mutts atop his cushioned cart and marched off in anger. He didn’t notice he dropped his small battery pack in the street, so I ran up to grab it, then caught up with him and said “You dropped this.”

He said thank you, but kept pushing forward like a madman.

There’s a whole bunch of other things I plan to report, but Deek is moving so fast in a bad direction, I can’t keep up with it. So I just churned this out to get SOMEthing to you.

Oh, yeah, he also tossed into the mix how he can’t do a lot of things with the dogs always around, he loves them very much, but he’s gotta give ’em up. Accused me of making up the lawsuit ’cause I don’t really want to have the dogs over anymore.

– Zeke K-Holmes

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 29, 2022 at 11:40 PM

> Well, it’s painful for me…

I guess SOME pain is always part of such ugly conflicts, but my point is to not let it rule the roost. Deek came back two hours later, I told him he didn’t need to depart in anger, I just had to go upstairs to take a piss. He was definitely more mellow, and this time I sat with the pups for a spell. QUITE a spell as it turned out, because he didn’t return until 11:15 PM…almost five fuckin’ hours! Unfortunately, he started ragging on me again, and I said I’m not gonna listen to his crap, I hope he has a good night. Again, he threatened to get me evicted, so I replied: “That’ll backfire on you, Deek.”

I actually had a very pleasant time before he returned, lying down with the dogs on the sidewalk…covered in a spare comforter I found on the streets a few weeks ago, the pooches were comfy and warm. I met some really nice people out there, too. But details will have to wait till tomorrow…I need to eat now and hit the hay.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Click here for a larger view.

Subject: Camping Out W/The Doggies Thursday Night: Lovely!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 1, 2022 at 2:10 PM

Before I begin my tale, check out the attached photo of the ATM station below my hovel. NO MORE ATMs! I heard through Deek they intend to seal off the alcove as well. End of an era, I suppose.


Even Cerberus honored me with a quick hello in passing. About two hours into the campout behind my building, a stumpy, middle-aged Mexican fellow barreled ’round the corner with THREE large German shepherds, and with that, the pups rousted themselves from their warm covers and barked like there’s no tomorrow! I held their leashes so they couldn’t extend beyond a short radius. The shepherds did NOT make a sound, but were very curious, with one managing to get its nose within inches of Lucky’s as their owner pulled them forward with much effort and a boisterous “¡ÁNDALE! ¡ÁNDALE!

When I first began sitting the pups (around 6:30 PM), we just had some cardboard sheets to sit on, and a bowl of water. To my surprise, someone who had been my stalker and harasser years ago (though has avoided me since then, thank god) approached me from higher up the hill, where a dirty orange dome tent had been set up several days hence. And politely (get it? politely!) asked me if he knew the guy living in that tent, because he thinks that’s where a friend of his might be.

I looked up from where I sat and saw DEAN bent over me! I told him no, sorry, I have no idea who lives there. He then said thanks, and left. I was pleased to see no animosity coming from either his visage or body language. So that’s the first nice encounter I had while camped outside yesterday, with two more to go. After that brief exchange I returned upstairs to gather those four puppy blankets I recently purchased.

But before that occurred, and it was still daylight, someone who knows Deek (new friend I suppose) came by to say hello, as he did a few days earlier. His name is Wes, and he was looking for Deek because he sells “good bud” (his words, not mine, as I think otherwise, though perhaps Deek has upped his game lately). The guy’s average in height, slender, sports a ginger beard and bushy hair and wears eyeglasses and a blue baseball cap.

“Oh, he’s running errands,” I replied, “He’ll be back sooner or later, but I’m not sure when. I’m watching the dogs for him.”

Then he remarked how he saw the dogs sitting by themselves yesterday, and was wondering where Deek was. THAT explains Deek’s screaming at me that all his “people” claimed I never actually sit WITH the mutts, but hang out upstairs most of the time. I told him that’s a lie, I only run inside for a minute or two now and then to use the restroom, bring the pups more water or food, etc. So if any of his “people” saw them alone, it was because they didn’t bother to wait a brief while to witness my return.

I concluded that Deek was referring to Wes, who most likely spoke with him later, and Deek conflated that ONE person into MANY, just to guilt trip me, being the drama queen he is. But what I find curious is that, only a day after Deek’s accusation did that same person who informed him about the dogs sitting alone, approach me and bring it up. As if they’re playing me, as if this is a SCRIPT, and they’re having fun at my expense.

So I explained to Wes why he saw them unattended, but I never leave them alone for more than one or two minutes.

“Oh, I see,” he mused, “Well, I’ll leave you to your puppy time then.”

I told him he doesn’t have to leave right now, he’s welcome to visit. He cordially turned down the offer, but I’m glad to have touched bases with such a nice fellow, and the door is now open to have some company while I’m outdoors now and then. Flaco & Lucky take kindly to him, which is a boon. I also mentioned if he ever sees the pups stranded again, he’s also welcome to hang out there until I return.

Some time after Cerberus’s surprise visit, I decided to make myself more comfortable, along with the hounds…seeing as three hours had passed since Deek’s departure, it was now dark and the temperature had dropped to a slight chill. The mutts had those four doggy blankets to keep them warm and comfy, but I figured those thin blankets may not be enough. And we could ALL benefit by sharing that ultra large mattress cover I found a couple weeks ago and had bagged and slid beneath my cot for future use. Well, Wattson, the future had obviously arrived!

After spreading the cover over both my seated self and the pups (with ample material left over), I felt instantly warmed and lay down upon the large sheet of cardboard with my head nestled upon my folded backpack. Flaco was flush beside me, while Lucky had his head resting upon her rump. I caressed them both, scritched their necks, and sighed with delight to have them sleeping close by me again. A few minutes later Flaco stirred, so I pulled the cover over my head to see her gazing up at me through drowsy eyes, whereupon she extended herself to lick my face and ears with a thorough tongue wash.

It was a most pleasant night, partly because all the streetlamps on my block were out for some reason (and they are tonight, as well), but also because the air was delightfully clean with a chilly nip, and everyone strolling by was surprisingly mellow. Including those who passed within a few feet of me, walking up or down 16th Street, laughing and chatting merrily. I was fully hidden beneath the mattress cover, so I could be any old homeless person for all they knew.

I was amazed at how comfortable I felt, laying there on my side and peering out at the lovely sparks of various hues shimmering from traffic lights, some shop fronts and a billboard across the street. I could even see the pinpoint of a single star shimmering right above in the dark cerulean canopy. A bit later, Lucky roused himself to take some slurps of water, and finish what remained of his meal. I held up a corner of the cover to ease his return beside his darling sister. Then some few minutes later Flaco did same, and I did as well. She rolled partly over on her left side, an invite to rub her belly. Ah, this is the life!

I laid stretched out on the sidewalk like this for almost forty minutes, before I sat up again and decided to return hovel to don a warm jacket, a watch cap, and a pair of socks (for I was wearing sandals and my feet felt cold). Once I got back to my spot, I sat up with the pups nuzzled beside me beneath the weighty cover, and enjoyed the ambiance of the gentle, cool night with gleeful people passing by…as if my world had magically transitioned into a planet of peace and harmony at some point during this spontaneous campout.

Around this time, some grubby-looking fellow came walking by and grouched at me: “I can’t stand it when people leave a mess around my tent!”

So THIS was the person Dean was looking for, I realized. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I simply replied.

He didn’t stop to chat (to my relief), but returned to his tent after discarding, I guess, what unwelcome debris he was griping about. He DID, however, drift by me several times through the evening, including one fly-by on a Lime electric scooter. Which scooters have proven to be a boon to vagrants, albeit NOT the original intent of the companies that distribute them throughout the city. After all, street folks cannot be burdened by lugging around their OWN scooters (if they could even afford them), but for a few dollars each time they get around the city with ease, whether to run chores or for sheer recreation. More efficient drug runs, too, I suppose. Hope I’m not being too judgmental here.

It was only minutes later when two, nicely dressed men (one middle-aged, the other in his thirties) approached me with a smile and an extended hand, both gay I’m sure. They wore some kind of badge on their lapels, and for a moment I thought they were going to ask me to move, but in a second flash I realized who they were before either opened his mouth: the HOT (Homeless Outreach Team)!

The older fellow, Roger, did all the talking while his companion quietly stood there with a thoughtful smile. Upon introducing themselves and their reason for being out here, I interrupted to explain I’m not really homeless, but am friends with someone who is, who owns these dogs. They were amazed at my dedication to the LGBT homeless, as I described my mission of many years and my Brindlekin Tales inspired by these two, lovely pooches. They were even kind enough to hear my “Bodhisaatva Premise” inspired by Buddha’s teachings and Carl Jung’s theory of archetypes and “hero’s journey.”

“And this is MY heroic odyssey!” I exclaimed with raised arms encompassing the circle of the bundled, snoozing pups and myself.

“You certainly have the pizzazz!” Roger remarked in a jovial spirit.

“Thank you for acknowledging that,” I replied. “But get this: my Brindlekin Tales are just the latest addition to a much larger body of works that I call–drum roll–True Tales of the Castro, Eat Your Heart Out Armistead!”

Well, THAT really cracked ’em up, Wattson. Before they departed, I invited the two gentlemen to drop on by whenever they see me out here. It hadn’t occurred to me till the next day that Kismet has deemed I sit outdoors with the hounds, that I get better known so my cause will inspire a more compassionate and effective method of reaching out to the homeless. I am ALSO amused by residents of my building seeing me camped out on the sidewalk like any OTHER houseless person. I can imagine the gossip reaching Kevin’s ear! I will make a point from now on, to bring my Brindlekin cards with me whenever I’m sitting the dogs.

Soon after the two HOT ambassadors continued on their OWN mission, I rushed back hovel to bring down a half-full bag of popcorn, some slices of extra sharp cheddar chase, and a paper cup filled with root beer. Before exiting my hovel, I glanced at the clock to see it was 10:05 PM. I had already accepted the possibility that Deek may have decided to fuck with me and wasn’t planning to show up till morning. So I figured I was in it for the long haul, but was nonetheless in an unexpectedly pleasant state of mind. Doggy love can do that to a person!

Barely two minutes into my nosh, sitting there with the hounds and enjoying the nighttime ambiance, Deek finally appeared like a vision out of Purgatory. For no sooner had I greeted him in good cheer, than he flew off the handle with a litany of hostile gripes and false accusations. I think partly because he saw how much I was enjoying myself, when he expected me to whine over how long I was stuck outside! It would be way tedious and burdensome for THIS overwhelmed pilgrim to jot down every one of his petty grievances, but here’s a quick rundown of SOME of them:

“I love these dogs but they’re stopping me from getting ahead, I can’t go anywhere with them. They’ve been banned from your building because you fucked up.”

“I have no family anymore, they’re all dead. And what happened to the kids I left behind, they could be dead, too, or in prison.”

“I’m sick of your god bless you this and god bless you that.”

“You don’t even believe in God, you were wearing that Buddha necklace.”

“You’re no real activist, you’re no wise man aiding the homeless, you’re just a sack of bullshit.”

“You think this is funny, huh? You’re going back to your cozy little room now, with your Internet, and I’m still out here on the streets, you were supposed to have millions of dollars by now and I’d have my own place to live!”

“I’m gonna get you evicted, just wait and see, even if I have to go to jail for that!”

I had been packing my things as he ranted on, including the doggy blankets. Though when I noticed he had NOTHING comfy for them in the shopping cart, and it was a chilly night, I offered him the mattress cover. He paused to say yes, thank you, amid his outbursts, so I unpacked it and laid it down beside the pups who eagerly fluffed it up and settled in again.

I DID manage to get some words in edgewise, such as:

“These wonderful doggies are a gift from God, can’t you see that? They are your heart and soul. They’d die of heartbreak if you abandoned them.”

“My family’s dead, too, except my brother, but he’s dead to me anyway.”

“I really mean it when I say god bless you and your little family.”

“Of course I believe in God, the Buddha is just a wise man.”

“There are many different ways to be an activist, Deek.”

“Well, yes, you ARE kinda funny, because you’re spewing nothing but bullshit, and I refuse to fall for it.”

“May as well cut off your own legs with an axe than get me evicted, you’ll be better off.”

It was towards the end of this meetup I took the opportunity to tell him he can scream at me all he wants, even throw water at me…just don’t do it in front of the dogs, PLEASE.

To which he responded: “But I’m NOT yelling!”

I stopped then to realize that was indeed quite true, he hadn’t raised his voice one whit throughout his latest prolonged hissy fit. His way of telling me he IS listening to that advice, and it pleased me no end, especially since neither pooch appeared distraught this time around. Now if only he’d take my OTHER advice to always keep the dogs warm and comfy…I just don’t understand why he has a problem with that.

Anyway, I finally grew tired of listening to his nonsense while standing there with my trash bag stuffed with doggy blankets and snacks. So I told him I’ve heard enough of his crap, it’s a beautiful night, I hope he can enjoy it instead of wallowing in misery. And with that I disappeared around the corner as he resumed his rants which did NOT diminish till I neared the front gate.

As I dwelt upon his phony allegations once hovel, I concluded this was all an act, a script…and he really wasn’t the least bit upset. The big clue was his bringing up the Buddha medallion, seeing as he GIFTED me with it, and even asked to wear it himself a few days later; and he sported it with pride, even adding a dragon medallion to complement the Buddha. In recalling this, we’re going back a year-and-a-half as noted by my video, “Deek & the Buddha Necklace:”

So the next day (yesterday) he dropped by with several gizmos to charge: a cheap speaker (’cause on the large size but lightweight), two battery packs and an old smartphone with several cracks on the screen. He still had the king-sized bed cover which I asked to take back so I could use it next time I dog sit…especially since his cart was now bulging with comfy material to keep the pups warm. He said fine, so I folded it up and returned hovel with that, and plugged in those four devices.

I needed to put music onto this “new” phone, so I turned it off, removed the back cover and saw I needed to first remove the battery. Then, once having snapped the phone back together, I turned it back on so I could make sure the micro card was recognized, and the music would play. But to my dismay, the device wouldn’t even start up, though its charge was 17 percent when he gave it to me! I fussed with it for awhile, hoping it would finally activate, but no luck. I knew then what was in store for me as I returned downstairs to tell Deek the bad news.

I explained to him how I turned the phone off to insert the music chip, but now it won’t turn on. Of course he went into a rage (but this time not really screaming, just like last night, thank Glob):

“I don’t need to hear this! You broke it!”

“I don’t see how I could, Deek,” I reasoned with him. “You never know when these old, worn out phones will die on you!”

He then attempted to remove the back part to see what could be done, if anything, but he was too shaky with faux rage to do that, so handed it back to me. I deftly unsnapped the device and returned it to his hand, now open.

He briefly examined it, then declared: “WHAT? There’s no battery, what did you do with it?”

I then did a face palm: “Oh, sorry, I spaced out and forgot to put the battery back in.” I then turned to enter the gate, reassuring him that everything’s hunky-dory before returning upstairs.

That was kinda funny, Wattson…though he probably thinks I did that intentionally, to work his nerves. Which of course I didn’t, but it turned out to be an excellent test of his emotional quotient. He did NOT fly into a screeching fury in spite of the possible expiration of his “new” smartphone. “I paid twenny dollah for this!” was one of his retorts when I returned with the phone…just to lay another guilt trip on me. NO WAY would someone charge him cash for a phone in such cruddy shape! Maybe a trade for a few deep puffs of pot or meth, or five cigarettes, somethin’ like that. Most likely, though, he found it in the trash or discarded on the sidewalk. Be that as it may:

The phone worked fine after I reinserted the battery: the micro chip was promptly recognized, and the rap songs played loud and clear. Deek hanged out below for an hour or so, where I brought the mutts their meal and a bowl of water. He later called up to my window to inform me he’s moving around the corner because a Wells Fargo worker had cordoned off the ATM alcove and set up a ladder.

Almost another hour had passed before I decided to fill an empty 2-liter soda bottle with water, to replenish the dog’s bowl if need be. To my delight, I saw four cleanly attired men seated around Deek and canines, about twenty feet up 16th Street. They were all on the large size, six feet or a bit taller, and appeared peaceful…one of them smiled at me and raised a hand in greeting.

Deek addressed me where I stood at the corner, beside his Safeway shopping cart. Told me the hounds still have enough water in the bowl, just set it beside the cart. So I did, then returned upstairs. My intent was not to impose myself upon his friendly powwow, but to just drop off the bottle. Mission achieved. Some time later, he picked up his electronics and took off for parts unknown.

He may not show up at all today, but if he does, at least he’s given me enough time to complete this, my latest Brindlekin Tale. Including spellcheck.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: I can get a second, cheaper tent for the fair weather. Doesn’t even need to be a pop-up, as there’d be no rush to set it up because no rain to contend with. I already have three heavy duty plastic tarps, one of which I can set on the concrete, so neither the dogs nor my clothing get dirty, or exposed to any nasty gunk that may be present. It will be MUCH easier to use a tent every time I dog sit, rather than be totally “out there” on the sidewalk. I can place a second tarp onto the tent floor, then toss those doggy blankets atop that. I can then lie down or play with the doggies, or just sit up and watch the world go by. Heck, I could even bring my Chromebook down and type out my latest story or watch some videos or a movie!

Re: Camping Out W/The Doggies Thursday Night: Lovely!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 1, 2022 at 7:10 PM

> Great story.

Wasn’t it? Opening it with the sudden appearance of Cerburus was pure inspiration! The pudgy Mexican dude guiding them and calling out “¡Ándele!¡Ándele!” was a reference to Speedy Gonzalez, famous for the expression “¡Ándele! ¡Ándele! ¡Árriba! ¡Árriba!”

> I especially like the part where you lie there peacefully, getting a homeless-eye view of the world, and finding it all quite serene…

I felt SO refreshed for the adventure, with two darling pooches resting in bliss by my side.

> and the conversation with the two outreach guys!

Wasn’t THAT something else, Wattson. Right on Day 1 of my outdoor project!

> See? You’re already having great adventures.

Indeed I am, as you predicted…all unanticipated, and started right off the bat. Can’t wait to do it again! I’m changing my diet to accommodate this new reality, purchasing foods that are easy to slap together in a minute or two and take outdoors to eat. Such as whole wheat pita bread smeared with avocado-cilantro hummus I found at that Palestinian corner store. Assuming I’ll acquire a collection of homeless friends who are decent, I’ll have no worries at all about leaving the pups for brief errands to my building, since there will always be SOMEone kind to keep them company. May take a little time, though, to get the process going, but I’m off to a good start with Wes. Regarding the Homeless Outreach Team:

Therein lies the possibility of someone connected with them who also lives in the neighborhood, offering to provide the pups with indoor shelter from time to time, and a backyard to play around in. Maybe even more than one kind offer! Looks like my playing homeless with the doggies will pave the way towards their becoming the Mascots of the Castro! Local news coverage would be great, too, as word of mouth about my personalized activism spreads. People impressed by my efforts may be moved to help provide for the pooches with food, blankets, sweaters and so on.

Things may move so quickly that my being on the streets could turn out to be surprisingly brief, before Lucky & Flaco will be taken care of by dozens of locals, maybe even hundreds…and housed every night! Deek willing, that is, because he’d most likely want to spend SOME nights with his furry angels on his outdoor treks. In which case so many people will know him and the pups by then, they’ll be watched over by many, thus drastically reducing any potential harm from living outdoors.

There will also be less animosity towards Deek for being houseless, and more outreach on a compassionate level. Such goodwill can’t HELP but spill over towards OTHER homeless folks in the area…starting with his OWN friends. Which will have a tremendously STABILIZING impact on the long suffering vagrants who’ve made the Castro their home. And eventually radiate across the entire city.

There are many shamans living on the streets, and they’re waiting for me to join. Not as one more homeless person, but as a vital intermediary. They’re quite an exclusive group, and you just can’t become a member without first proving your good intentions, efforts and sacrifices. I know these past several months at least dozens of them have witnessed my constant outreach to Deek (and others, though of a lesser degree since my focus is on one person only, who takes up most of my time and energy). It will be a magnanimous HONOR to be welcomed into the fold! Especially after all the difficult tests Deek has put me through.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: I forgot to mention in my previous post that when I sat outside with the pups for a couple of hours in the afternoon, three days ago, some fellow with a fancy camera on a stand showed up on the corner to take our picture. Didn’t introduce himself, but kept his distance some twenty feet away. I think he snapped several shots, then departed…but not without a quick wave of the hand before disappearing up Market Street. I wonder where those photos will show up?


And ya know what, good doctor? Deek knew EXACTLY what he was doing by leaving me out there for so many hours!

The FINAL Final Final Chapter (part 13)

September 26, 2022

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 3: Chapter 19m]

Subject: Here come the rains…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 18, 2022 at 9:50 AM

…and I can’t provide shelter for the pups.

Re: Here come the rains…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 18, 2022 at 11:28 AM

> I was thinking the same thing. So sad, so hard. I know how I’d feel if Surely and my kitties were out in the rain and I couldn’t do anything about it. So sorry.

If worse comes to worse–and it easily could, in light of Deek’s pathetic neglect of the dog’s health–I’d have no choice but to watch those darling pups grow sick and perish. With how slow the legal process is, even if I won this lawsuit and could have the pooches stay with me again, it will take MONTHS to get there…by which time they’ll have had to live outdoors through the entire rainy season.

Which they may not even survive. In which case Deek will go berserk and blame me for everything. NOT a happy outcome. I used to love rainstorms.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Late Night Activity (18 sec. video)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 19, 2022 at 1:17 AM

Around 1 AM this morning: just below my window there’s an ATM station where all kinds of spooky activities sometimes go on late at night. Homeless tweekers and soused bar hoppers are the typical players. My homeless friend Deek sometimes crashes out there, and not even a dynamite explosion could wake him up. He was there when I shot this video, along with his two little doggies nestled in the corner atop a folded comforter. I earlier covered them with a thin blanket I pulled from his cart, so they’d stay warm and wouldn’t be noticed. I was surprised they didn’t bark up a storm with that spastic dude who showed up, but pleased they remained silent and asleep like their master. As the camera pans to the right, you can see Deek’s shopping cart that I covered with two trash bags and a wooden plank to hold them down, in case it rained later on.

Subject: Late Night Activity, part 2 (10 sec. video)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 19, 2022 at 1:42 AM

And about a half hour later after shooting the previous video, here is a small, colorful trio to share some puffs of crystal. That’s Micah with his back to the camera. I don’t know the other two, but they seem kewl.

Subject: Flaco & Lucky were warm and dry!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 21, 2022 at 11:09 AM

Deek dropped by around 8 PM three nights ago, and you will be glad to hear that the pups were warm and dry in spite of such a wet afternoon! He laid down a fluffy blanket for them in the ATM nook, then shielded them with several sheets of corrugated cardboard for walls and a roof. I brought the pups a meal and water, and charged their master’s electronics overnight because he crashed out there till 1 PM the next day.

The following morning I also fed the dogs and replenished their water while Deek remained aslumber. I tried to return his gizmos around 11 PM, but couldn’t wake him up, so brought them back upstairs. He also had a baggy of primo bud set down beside a small backpack…anyone could steal it! So I dropped the weed in his pack and took it all upstairs for safekeeping. Just wish I could’ve taken the pups with me, too! But they seemed content enough as it was; they’re such good troopers.

I tried a few times to come back downstairs and take a snapshot of Deek asleep with the mutts, but there was always one vagrant or another (at one time, several) standing about. It was close to 2 AM when I gave up on that, and went to sleep, myself. However, I woke up around 5:30 AM (which I’ve been doing for the past few weeks, but after 10 minutes or so return to Slumberville), so decided to step outside and try again, since no one seemed to be around at that time. Yet to my surprise, Deek was wide awake and munching on some bagged snacks!

I told him I couldn’t wake him up to return his devices earlier that night, and I also have his grass and backpack. He thanked me for holding onto his valuables, especially the baggy, and said yes I can bring it down now. So I did just that, then said I’m seriously going back to bed now, see ya when the sun shines.

After waking up (finally) he told me the guy who shows up to take a pic of the ATM nook from his car every evening (who I guess is contracted with Wells Fargo to do that all around the city), said to him that they’ll be shutting down this depot in two weeks, because of so many complaints about the riffraff hanging out there.

“I’m sorry to hear that these ATMs will close, ” I empathized, thinking in terms of the shelter and communal gathering spot it’s offered our local vagrants for many years now. And how convenient it’s been for my own association with Deek and pups. Now that the rainy season has commenced, I’m especially concerned for the shelter it provides the doggies whenever they drop by. What rotten timing, in light of this ongoing lawsuit that bans me from providing sanctuary! But Deek expressed quite a different attitude, much to my astonishment:

“Oh it’s gotten really bad,” he griped. “You shoulda seen the creeps who stopped by throughout the night, I hardly got any shuteye! I’m glad they’re closing it down.”

“Yeah, I saw them,” I replied. “But you’ve certainly benefited by hanging out here, as have other good people. They’re not all bad, as you know.”

I think perhaps Deek’s attitude is his way of coping with what to me will be an unfortunate change in his world: friends dropping by to keep him company, and his proximity to my hovel where I could quickly pick stuff up, bring stuff down…and knowing I’m close by through the night. Because I’ve never known him to NOT get a good night’s sleep whenever he beds down, no matter what intrusions may occur.

Nor do I really think he meant it when he said these visitors were “creeps,” except perhaps that one spastic fellow who was around for less than an hour. Yet he was NOT noisy or threatening, nor was anyone else last night, which was actually quiet and nondisruptive. No, Wattson, this is just Deek’s dealing with a new reality soon to be. But I find it sad, mainly because it will probably drive the dogs further away from me.

I was hoping to report in this update, Deek’s improved behavior, but just last night he exploded in a fury. More on that in my next email. Nonetheless, his attitude the past three weeks HAS been impressive. More on that as well.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Click here for a larger view.

Re: Flaco & Lucky were warm and dry!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 21, 2022 at 12:07 PM

> That’s really alarming news about the ATM closing. And with winter coming and all. God damn!!! But as long as you’re giving Deek his regular allowance, he’ll keep coming back and not just disappear over the horizon with the precious doggies.

The ATM depot has been there more than 20 years, and has ALWAYS been a vortex of disturbance and cacophony, for which I’ve cussed Wells Fargo ever since. So why didn’t all these previous complaints over such a long span of time, get them to shut it down years ago? Why now? I even told Deek how ironic it is that I’ve long wished this ATM station gone, but have come to value its presence in the past five years, because of the shelter and communion it provides the homeless, especially for HIS sake (and that of the dogs)!

So I finally got my wish, albeit belated and no longer desired. Enclosed is a pic I shot just this morning, showing Deek asleep in the ATM nook when there was a light rain falling and I had moved the basket further inside, to keep the contents dry.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Click here for a larger view.

From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 21, 2022 at 9:20 PM

[Please note: description of the attached image comes towards the end of this missive.]

As if Deek’s vulgar rants last night weren’t enough, he returned again to dump yet MORE bullshit on me. This occurred around 4:30 this afternoon, when he hollered up my window: “Zeke! Zeke Krahlin, get down here! NOW!”

I poked my head outside and gestured I’ll be right down, then donned hat, jacket and sandals and stepped outside.

“What’s the problem now?” I said, not without some annoyance because he intentionally yelled out my full name like the brat he is. He looked an absolute WRECK, Wattson: skin a ruddy scarlet, hair all disheveled, and an angry scowl on that Cajun mug. I crouched down to greet My Beloved Brindlekin as he yammered on about:

How did he get shit rubbed on his pants last night while he was sleeping? What did I do to him, I was coming back and forth behind his back? Blah blah blah.

I stood a bit closer, sniffed, and said he doesn’t smell like poop, and I don’t see any stains on his pants or anywhere else. I also told him I brought a bowl of water down for the pups, then awhile later their meals…so what’s wrong with that, I was just being kind. And when I stepped out for coffee, a drizzling rain had commenced, so I moved his basket closer to him, to keep it dry. And that’s what my “back and forth” was about, and nothing more. And it wasn’t “behind his back,” it was right in front of him, where he opened his drowsy eyes a bit each time I stooped down and said, “Here’s their water,” or “Time for the doggies’ breakfast” or “It’s starting to rain.”

I know his game, Wattson: I wasn’t about to be duped into responding with anger. I’ve been through this before, many times, though with variations in his false charges. He knows what buttons to press, but at this point in our association they are all null. At worst, I find his perpetrating such foul denunciations a bore.

Then he exclaimed he’s going away for a time, maybe weeks, maybe months, and he wants his allowance NOW. Fine with me, because the next $50 is due tomorrow anyway. Though I really doubted he’s departing these environs, so I bit my lip. And it was only last night when he showed up, this time WITHOUT THE PUPS PRESENT, that he made up a tale how the dogs were stolen, so no more pets in his life, ever again.

“Why did you bring the water down?” he queried when I stepped out with a bowl of tap water in my hands.

“I thought the dogs were with you,” I replied. (Duh.)

“They were kidnapped. $500 wasn’t enough for them, and they held a gun to my head.”

Of course I knew that was a lie, that the dogs were most likely parked somewhere nearby, around the block and tied to a cart or bike rack, or maybe just curled up on a fluffy comforter. (That remark was a reference to his sham crisis nine days back, how he needs his next $50 allotment NOW, to pay off some dealers who’ve threatened to steal his mutts, and he has to work up half a thousand before nightfall.) So, rather than react with alarm, I calmly replied with a shrug:

“I have complete faith that God will bring them back to you, unharmed, happy…and soon.” A choice thing to say, as I knew he was scamming me and, once he returns with them (no matter the story he concocts as to how he heroically reversed this tragic loss) I’d be vindicated in a most resounding way. IOW: I already popped his bubble with that response.

Turned out less than a half hour after he departed, he brought the dogs back with him and called up to my window, “You can bring the water down now!” And he did NOT bother to conjure up some cock and bull story about reclaiming the pups…I presume because I already called his bluff. And he didn’t care to be lectured about trusting God…especially with my prayer so quickly answered, and my rubbing it in his face! Anyway, back to this afternoon:

I said sure, but I have to go to the bank, whereupon he followed me all the way there. But get this, good physician:

As we began our trek my elitist queer neighbor who’s played the spy for Kevin’s gossip, came toward us with his own dog and passed by. And just to add a twist in the knife, Chihuahua Man followed quickly behind! So they BOTH got an eye and earful of Deek’s unkempt appearance and hostile behavior, before stepping through the gate. Never has the phrase “much to my chagrin” been so apropos in my entire life!

Deek persisted with his griping over my shoulder (“monkey on my back” comes to mind) all sorts of screwy accusations, including how the residents voted me off the island and want me evicted because I allowed Lucky & Flaco to run around the halls and lobby, and disturb the peace…so I fucked up, it’s all my fault. When we turned the corner of Noe & 15th, Lucky erupted in a delightful “Grrr-WOOF” at me, so I stopped to crouch down and pet him, whereby he playfully tugged on my pant cuffs.

“That’s his way of saying fuck you,” Deek remarked, to which I replied:

“Nah, he’s showing me his love!” Flaco also approached me with a waggy tail and accepted my caresses with glee. How kind of these two angels to make a point of stopping to comfort me amid their master’s berating, because Deek had not given them that chance since we began our walk to the Chase ATMs!

Deek did NOT pause, however, but thoughtlessly pulled them forward and continued squawking his nasty accusations. I refused to defend myself for the umpteenth time, so just ignored him after saying I already explained what’s going on in my building numerous times over, and he just likes to play the asshole.

“There are some shitty people in my building that I have to deal with,” I exclaimed. “But they’re in for a rude awakening, Deek; two have already died. Then, half the time when I step out I have to deal with aNOTHER shitty person, and that’s YOU!” (Ha ha, I guess “rude awakening” in the case of THOSE two deceased occupants is more like “rude asleepening.”)

I then accused him of causing MOST of the needless drama in his life, and that his desire to get away from assholes in this city is a false notion because of that.

“You’ll conjure up drama no matter WHERE you go, until you get a handle on it!” I pointed out.

To my surprise, he actually adMITTED that he often acts shitty, and creates a ton of drama! This certainly threw me for a loop, Wattson, though it really shouldn’t have. Seeing as my Bodhisattva Premise has already enlightened me as to these chaotic, rude scenarios being SCRIPTED in order to assist my own spiritual growth…a large part of which is teaching me NOT to worry. And they will attempt to discover any more buttons to press that may STILL cause me worry, and keep pressing them until I’ve learned NOT to anymore.

So Deek’s admission was a HINT that that is exactly what’s going on, and his willful part in it, as one of my guardians. And those bodhisattvas watching over us LOVE to toss a hint in the ring, now and then, just to buoy you up from all the seemingly adverse challenges they put in one’s way. Which also explains why Kevin has been greeting me kindly these past several weeks. Not that he’s doing so in hopes I won’t press charges against him, but as a CLUE that all is not as horrid as it seems, and he’s only playing the guardian’s role to toughen my spirit and get me not to worry so much. Which is VERY LITTLE these days, though obviously a bit of tweaking is still necessary here and there.

I surmise, then, that this attorney friend who has stepped out of the shadows to aid you in your difficult support with Van’s widow, is a bodhisattva type himself, a compassionate guardian to ease this burden, rather than a taskmaster. Seeing as Darly has been playing that latter role in spades, already!

So Deek waited outside as I entered the bank’s alcove to withdraw his allowance. Apparently, another customer who entered and stood by the ATM to my left, had witnessed Deek’s haranguing me, for he exclaimed while processing his account:

“Yeah, some of these homeless people have pestered me, too, and you can’t always get away from them because they sometimes stalk you!”

He said more than that about homeless harassment, but I ignored him while punching my own numbers, hoping he doesn’t witness me handing a wad of money to Deek, when I step out. How awkward! As my ex-friend Philly Chuck loved to tell me: “Living in San Franshitsco is like living in an ant farm!” He’s the one, by the way, who coined the title “San Franshitsco,” which I have come to use in my tales.

Once the ATM coughed up da moolah, I shoved it in an envelope, then exited and presented it to my indigent pest. Deek said thanks, but continued to insult me as I gave the hounds one last petting (for now) and departed while he blathered on, but was soon out of earshot once I crossed to the other side of 15th.

As I reached the close end of my block, I saw a metal wire basket that was obviously Deek’s…see pic. You can’t discern the contents very well, but it contained two unopened cans of dog food, THREE Ziploc bags of kibble, two half-full and one full, and those two camouflage doggy sweaters I gave him several days ago. This morning I saw only ONE sweater in that basket, so was glad to find he had NOT lost the other. I lugged those items back upstairs, rather than waste the doggy vittles and two perfectly good sweaters.

Which garments I immediately washed in soapy water once I returned hovel… rinsed them thrice, squeezed them in a tight roll, and hanged ’em up to dry. It was kind of a religious act of devotion for me, to do that. I felt the love of Canis familiaris emanating through those sweaters and unto my trusty hands as if awash in angels’ tears. I couldn’t have felt more blessed than had stigmata appeared! Though I am NOT a Doubting Thomas, thanks to the love of two sweet poochies.

I have yet MORE updates coming, but let’s stop here for the nonce, closing with a brief video I shot this morning:

Something I wish Deek wouldn’t do (tossing kibble on the ground), as he is quite capable of taking better care of his pups (Lucky & Flaco) in spite of his being homeless. Heck, he could just use a few sheets of newspaper, or a cardboard flap. I’ve been on his case like forever about this, yet he doesn’t listen. Awhile later I prepared their breakfast of kibble mixed with canned dog food, and brought it downstairs, along with a bowl of water. One of their camouflage doggy sweaters was lying in that basket…but what happened to the other one? I have never before met someone like Deek, who cranks out drama queen nonsense and needless crises like an assembly line factory. He’s terribly inventive, but not always in a good way.

Subject: I just saw Deek and pups from across the street…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 21, 2022 at 11:18 PM

…only a moment ago, as I removed my dinner from the microwave. He was pushing a bicycle that appeared to have a large blanket folded over the handlebar. The little doggies were trotting by his side. He didn’t bother to look in my direction as they wandered off towards Castro Street. My conclusion?

He got his fix that he couldn’t wait another day for. Hope I’m not being too judgmental here.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: He’s Ba-aaack! [44 sec. video]
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 23, 2022 at 2:23 PM

Haven’t seen him for many months thank god…one of the more disruptive vagrants in the Castro. Fortunately, he moved on a half hour later. I sure hope not to see or hear him again for aNOTHER long stretch of time!

Re: He’s Ba-aaack! [44 sec. video]
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 23, 2022 at 6:12 PM

> Poor fucked up bastard…

I just wish these poor fucked up bastards wouldn’t park their sorry asses right below my window! It’s the ATM station that draws them here like a magnet, along with the conveniently spacious, sunny corner with the bus stop and fast food outlets at this end of the block. It’s a perfect storm!

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Deek and pups dropped by this afternoon…all is good. More on that soon.

Subject: Emergency tent: $50
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 24, 2022 at 1:15 AM

You should know that I have been dog-sitting outside for Deek, two or three times a week these days, while he runs off to wherever. I love the time I spend with Lucky & Flaco, even when he’s gone for an hour or longer. But I sit them behind the building instead of out front, to minimize the foot traffic and possible intrusion of one bat-shit crazy indigent or another (like in the video you saw earlier). Not to mention any large canines passing by that will arouse Lucky into barking up a fury (Flaco seems to be less easily disrupted). I want them to have a good rest while their master’s gone. Be that as it may:

I was doing some thinking as to how I’d shelter the pooches during a rainy spell, should Deek bring them by. At first I perused Amazon for waterproof doggy houses. I found some nice ones made of heavy-duty plastic and easy to assemble. I could throw in a sleeping bag for comfort and warmth, and toss a tarp over it if need be. But how would I, myself, keep dry, as I certainly wouldn’t leave them out there on the sidewalk all by their lone little selves! So I pictured THIS bedraggled pilgrim standing out there through a ripping storm, donned in rain gear from head to foot, and thought: okay, that will have to do.

I could be out there for hours, maybe through the night. I’d run inside whenever I needed to relieve myself, or prepare their next meal or bring them fresh water. All my own comestibles are quick to prepare, and I could stand by the hallway window overlooking 16th Street to watch the doggies while I dine. So it’s MOST convenient that my quasi-fascist neighbor so recently kicked the bucket, as that window is right by his apartment, and it won’t be occupied again for a VERY long time! In other words: THAT jelly-belly gorilla won’t be on my back about this, or anything else for that matter, anymore! I love how things keep working out in my favor in unexpected ways.

But then, just this afternoon, it occurred to me I could get a rainproof, two-man tent where all three of us could snuggle together…and for the same cost as one of those portable dog shelters! The attached pic shows which tent I purchased, for a great price when you consider that it’s rugged, speedy to assemble, and holds up to heavy rain. Here’s a 7-minute video produced by ONE happy customer, a nice young lady who calls herself “Daredevil Girl” on her Youtube channel. You’ll be especially pleased to discover the name of that brand of tent, good doctor!

I’d toss in a couple of fluffy sleeping bags and “voila!” we’ll be a trio of happy campers. I could even bring my Chromebook and type another tale, watch a movie, read an ebook, etc., while the hounds snooze away! I already have a good tarp to set down on the sidewalk, before setting up the tent. It should arrive in three days. I might even use it EVERY time I sit the mutts, ’cause I know they’ll love it. And half the time Deek doesn’t even have anything comfy for them to rest upon, and I have to scout around for some cardboard. Of course, once Deek sees the tent he’ll try to coerce me to give it to him, but that’s DEF not gonna happen! Tents are handed out to the homeless for free, and I’ll remind him of that. In fact, less than two weeks ago he said he got himself a tent, but I’m sure it’s gone by now. Everything he owns runs through his hands like quicksilver…except the brindlekin, thank Hypatia. And he STILL has those rabies tags on their collars! As for tents: he can easily get a replacement.


Three nights ago, as you remember, he had a major hissy fit over my not being able to even start up his new smartphone.

“You broke my phone!” he howled like an air raid siren. “You unplugged it when it was updating, you’re not supposed to do that, you broke it!”

No matter I explained that couldn’t possibly have “broken” it, it just wouldn’t allow me to bypass the update because it has no cell service, and won’t let me wifi connect, so it’s stuck right at square one. The warning to keep it plugged in is to prevent the battery from running out during the update, but it had plenty of charge already, so no harm unplugging it for a few minutes, so I could step out to show him the screen, and what it’s frozen at.

This large black dude was visiting with him during this unpleasant meetup; fortunately he’s a friendly fellow and kept quiet through it all. I’ve seen him many times before, with Deek, who threatened me with all sorts of horrid acts, including how he’s gonna set his “people” on me and beat me into the concrete. As he screeched on, I saw Flaco sitting nearby and trembling in fear. Her brother, OTOH, seemed blase about his master’s rage, and was comfortably curled up on a jacket, close enough for me to pet. Flaco rose up from her spot and approached me with a sweet little tap on my leg…she wanted to comfort me!

So she sat on my lap as I stroked her, and told her everything’s fine, and what a sweet little doggy she is, as Deek continued to scream at the top of his lungs. Once he saw Flaco in my arms, he hollered:

“Get away from my dogs, don’t touch ’em, leave ’em alone or I’ll call the police on you!”

I told him in a soft voice, “No, she needs comforting now, because you’re screaming in front of them. I’m gonna stay until she’s no longer shaking. Go ahead and call the cops, they’ll see what a crazy fuck up you really are.”

He bellowed for awhile longer, including a threat to throw water in my face again. Get that, Wattson? He didn’t say “acid” or “bleach,” he said “water.” That ain’t much of a threat at all, I’d say…which suggests this is a SCRIPTED scenario, not a genuine display of hatred. Though I wish he wouldn’t “act out” with the pups around. I’m even willing to tell him he can scream and throw water at me all he wants…just not in front of the poochies, please. I’ll get around to it…I think it will do him good to hear me say that.

Though I DID manage to get some words in edgewise, to inform him his “people” are well aware of our friendship, and my caring for the mutts with pure kindness, so I doubt they’re gonna fall for his bullshit. In fact, they might even turn on HIM.

He quieted down shortly after I said that, and when I felt Flaco’s shivers cease, I gave her and Lucky a kiss, and swiftly departed.

So it was the next day (two days back) he made up some cock and bull story about getting the heck outta Dodge, and he wants his Thursday allowance in advance (which was only a day away). And escorted me to the bank, ranting in my ear for the entire journey. Including as I stepped into the ATM foyer while he sat down against a ledge with the dogs beside him, patient as angels.

The next night I spotted him across Market Street, pushing a cart with the dogs prancing along, so happy to be his guardians. Get outta Dodge, my ass…he just wanted some fresh tokes on that glass pipe! I hope I’m not being too judgmental here. Now we have finally arrived at today:

He had no more smartphone or speaker, and wanted badly to get another speaker today, so again asked for an advancement on his allowance.

“Nope,” I replied, “not until Sunday at the earliest. Which is only two days away, but that’s beside the point. He then talked me down from $50 to $35, ’cause that’s how much the speaker would cost, including tax.

So I said okay, but I have to go to the bank first. Which I did, as he and the hounds awaited my return. I was pleased to see that, by the time I got back, he had moved the dogs and his cart from the ATMs to the back of my building. Which he never did before, but left me to take care of that. So I thanked him for going through the trouble, and handed him an envelope stuffed with one Jackson and three Lincolns.

He than asked if I have a spare SD card with music on it and, if I do, he only wants the latest two rap artists on it (“J.I.” and “Lil Tjay”) that he requested several days back, and which I downloaded for the smartphone that turned out to not even boot up properly, thus his explosive tantrum the night prior.

I said yes I do, it’ll be ready for him when he returns. But he then asked if I could give him that chip now, since he wanted to start playing music soon as he bought the speaker.

“How long will that take?” he asked, knowing that almost an entire hour is required to copy his now 5,500+ songs onto a card. He really has no idea that it takes a much shorter time to copy 95 files, which is the number of songs for those two rap musicians.

“Oh,” I answered, “less than two minutes. It takes only seconds to delete all the songs, and maybe a minute to copy those two back on.”

Just as I turned to perform the simple task, he called to me: “Never mind, bring it down with all the music on it, I’m in a hurry!” He always acts like he’s in a rush whenever he drops by, but I guess he really WAS this time around, as the store might be closing soon.

He left his dogs with me…and the bike which lay atop his cart. Because he didn’t want the bicycle stolen, there was no way I could step back inside for ANY reason, say, to bring more water down for the hounds, or even go to the bathroom. But he was gone more than two hours and, sure enough, nature finally called. So I had NO choice but to lug that hefty two-wheeler up the winding stairway and into my hovel…while leaving the dogs tied up outside. They never complain or get nervous when I do that, BTW. They just patiently wait for my return, then leap with joy to see me again!

Deek didn’t return until three hours and some minutes later. I didn’t mind, though, as it was a lovely day, and spending time with my canine BFFs, no matter how long or short, is always a gift beyond price. I found a large sheet of cardboard laying nearby along the curb, for them to rest on (and for me to place my keister). I set it alongside the building’s wall for back support, and took turns holding each pup on my lap, face-up so I could scritch their bellies and give them little, shivery hugs that contents them no end.

Some time later I noticed a large, dark-green empty suitcase made of tough nylon sides discarded on the sidewalk about thirty feet up the hill. That would be a perfect nest for them, I thought, so stood up and had the pups walk with me in that direction. But I first tied their leashes to the portable city fence, before collecting the suitcase and dropping it before them, wide open.

But once I set it down, they remained standing beside the suitcase until I tapped on it and said, “C’mon, climb inside!” They promptly did that, with just enough extra space between them both to share this cozy space in comfort. It wasn’t the cleanest suitcase I’ve ever seen, but certainly nowhere near as dirty as the sidewalk.

Then I decided to bring down a fuzzy black comforter I had bagged and stashed beneath my cot, to plush up the suitcase. I found it on the back porch a couple of nights ago…among the many discards on the back porch that no doubt belonged to my recently deceased neighbor. At least he left SOMEthing nice behind, I thought. But Deek finally showed up before I had a chance to do that.

The mutts were delighted to see him again, as their master sat himself right beside them. Music was playing from a closed cooler on a dolly, that he brought back with him. He then looked up at me and said:

“There’s no music on that chip, it doesn’t play.”

“So what’s that?” I asked, pointing to the cooler blasting a funky tune.

“The radio,” he replied.

“Well, I KNOW there’s music on it,” I answered back. “So it’s your device; it doesn’t recognize the chip. That happens sometimes, and there’s no real way to prevent that. You just need to try another brand.”

“Well, get me another one,” he replied, as he pulled the current SD card from the speaker and handed it to me.

I brought down two more cards, along with the one he gave me, and he tried each one out, but with no luck. They were all microchips in an adapter, and the device only uses standard size cards…IOW no micro slot option.

“Hmm,” I remarked, “Looks like the speaker has a bad connection, can you exchange it or get your money back?”

“But it was workin’ fine yesterday!” he griped.

I didn’t know how to answer that, because I thought he just purchased it, so how could he have had it the day before? Then an idea occurred to me: maybe it doesn’t like micro cards, even when they’re in an adapter that fits?

“Wait a minute, Deek,” I said. “Here, gimme those chips and I’ll be right back.”

I then rushed upstairs to dig up a standard size SD card, of which I had two: one was 8GB, another 32. I chose the former, since it contained more than enough storage to handle a mere 95 mp3 files. Took less than a minute to copy them onto the card, upon which I brought it to Deek, with one hand behind my back, fingers crossed.


“Well, I learned something new today!” I began to tell him, but before I could say anything more (which was that some devices that accept standard SD cards can’t handle the micro versions), he smiled and declared:

“That’s all I want for now, my music. Thanks!”

“Well, maybe you want more dog food?” I queried. “I can bring some down right away, it’s ready to go.”

He said okay, so I did, along with the black comforter, both of which I dropped into his cart before wishing them all a lovely and blessed night.

What I most appreciated around this latest “conflict” was Deek’s calm repose in spite of a frustrating outcome, albeit temporary. Who would ever know the solution would be an old-school SD card? After all, all his OTHER devices that used the larger cards NEVER had a problem with the micro versions.

I also had some nice encounters as I sat outside with the pups, including a friend of Deek’s whom I’ve only met twice before, He’s very amicable it seems, and he came up to me and greeted the dogs for a few moments, then said, “Well, I’ll leave you to your puppy time!” I told him thanks, and wished him a nice day. However, I wouldn’t have minded at all if he spent some time visiting, in light of his congenial manners, and that the dogs appeared to enjoy his company.

Then, later that afternoon, a young male couple suddenly appeared before me to offer a bagged meal.

“Those are really cute dogs,” one complimented.

I said, “Thanks, I’m not homeless myself, but my friend who owns these dogs is, and I help him take care of them.”

The bag was impressively hefty, for one with food in it, so I peered inside, but did not open anything. Looked like a fat burrito wrapped in foil, and some container stuffed with other treats. Deek will like that, I thought, but I wound up giving it to a friendly, black homeless fellow dressed in a faded dark hoodie and seated around the corner across from the bus stop.

I had seen him a half hour earlier, when I got up to stretch and took the dogs by the leashes to walk them around a bit. He gestured to me:

“Could you tell Deek I’d like to buy that bike,” he said with a smile that exposed a full set of impressively white teeth. “I’ll cut you in.”

I paused, then grinned back: “Sure, I’ll be glad to tell him, and you don’t need to cut me in.”

Unfortunately, the guy had to depart before Deek arrived, which didn’t occur till more than an hour later. Other people walked by and flashed beautiful smiles at the doggies. As did drivers and their passengers on 16th Street. So it was a very nice day all around.

After Deek and canines departed and I returned hovel, is when I did my search on Amazon to find that perfect tent. And composed this, my latest missive.

– Zeke K-Holmes


Most importantly: before departing from Deek’s presence, rather than saying something like “You sure took a long time to get back, and I’m starving!” or “Would you PLEASE stop forcing your dogs to lay down on concrete?” I said: “It’s always an honor watching over Flaco & Lucky.”

Re: Emergency tent: $50
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 24, 2022 at 12:08 PM

> Oh, man, the tent is a GREAT idea!!! Next-best thing to having the dogs upstairs with you. And it’ll be an adventure for you.

Exactly. There are difficulties/sacrifices that go along with this project, but my motivation to keep the pups safe overrides everything else. They hate the rain, so they’re not about to step outside, even without their leashes secured. (Besides which, they’ll stay where you tell them to, except to poop or pee, in which case they’ll return to their spot.) And if anyone approaches who they don’t know or trust, they’ll bark up a storm. Furthermore, there has NEVER been a situation where someone has tried to abscond with them. Except for yours truly. :D

> And how can you go wrong with Night Cat??

You simply can’t, that’s all there is to it. It’s CATagorically impossible.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Cancelled tent order…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 25, 2022 at 7:11 PM

…after perusing more reviews, showing it’s not really waterproof, and the flexible poles are made of cheap fiberglass (that pierces your skin) and break easily. So I opted instead to get a small tent, the one shown in pic #1. Ample room for Flaco & Lucky, dimensions: 32″ wide, 20″ deep and 22″ high. No door flap, but I could throw a tarp over it for rain protection, as well as another on the ground. I can fold a third tarp over the floor, to allay their digging into cloth…and top it off with a couple of blankets. I order a package of four large-dog ones (instead of small, to give them extra fluffy fun), which you can see in the second image.

The tent costs $18, and the blankets $25…not bad at all. I plan to use the tent and blankets whenever I dog sit, so no more worries about them being forced to rest on concrete, and my having to search for cardboard to avoid that. They will arrive tomorrow, thanks to Prime.

I am presently checking out these newfangled pop-up tents, in hopes of finding one I can afford, and that is durable AND truly waterproof…of a larger, 2-person size where I can join the pups inside. Seeing as in an emergency due to a rainstorm, it would be much better to get the tent up pronto, rather than fussing with sliding each pole through a sleeve and hooking up the rain fly, during which time the entire tent could get soaking wet. Here’s a video of a pop-up (or “instant”) tent that would work for me, as all you need do is extract it from the storage case, then toss it away from you, and it will blossom like an alien flower.

That’s the Zenph 2-person tent, for $85. Looks I’m I’m gonna have to cough up extra moolah to find one that’s truly waterproof. I’m looking at other brands before I come up with a winner.

The IMPORTANT thing is, I can’t afford to get a big tent only to find out it’s NOT waterproof, in the middle of a nasty storm. What would I do then, to keep them warm and dry? So I’ll need a backup, such as that tiny tent I just ordered, with a protective tarp over and under it. Or a heavy-duty, plastic doghouse, like the one in pic #3. But THAT will set me back $70! I have the money, though. AND it takes a half hour to put together. Possibly, I can stash it on my loft sideways, fully assembled.

No worries, I’ll get this all figured out! I like those cheap doggy blankets, for times when I don’t find a dry, clean blanket, comforter or thick curtain on the street, I can just hand one over to Deek. This is a new expense, but it won’t kill me, at just $8 per blanket (including tax).

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Or maybe I can order a large shipping box in lieu of a pricey doghouse, and turn it into a rain shelter when the time comes, by taping two or three large trash bags around it, with a front flap. It will arrive flat, so I can easily stash it on the loft.

Re: Cancelled tent order…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 25, 2022 at 10:21 PM

> Very important that you end up with a tent you can all fit in, cozy and waterproof!!! And yes, easy to deploy.

Right, there is one tent that isn’t popup, but easy to assemble, sturdy, waterproof and uses aluminum crossover poles instead of fiberglass, for just $35 from Walmart…which store increases my options beyond Amazon. I’ve wound up doing a LOT of homework to figure this all out! What I can do before setting it up, is have the pups sit near me in a corrugated box covered in a large trash bag or two (so they’ll stay dry), while I set up the tent. Instead of having them wait in the rain.

Providing my own meals would be a problem, as I’d be leaving the mutts alone for the time it takes to prepare my vittles. But if I’m out there, people will think I’m homeless and maybe BUY me a meal ’cause the dogs are so cute! In which case I won’t tell them I’m NOT indigent, nor will I turn down meat when camping out. My plan is taking shape! I’m gonna be a carnivore like my little angels! GROWWRRRR!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: A Trail of Blood
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 26, 2022 at 11:12 AM

Click here for a larger view.
Click here for a larger view.
Click here for a larger view.

Pics 1 to 3, that I shot a short while ago: drops of blood by the front gate, more drops at the foot of the stairs in the lobby, blood smears on the wall by the first landing. I only noticed the smears three days ago, the drops by the gate yesterday. and the ones by the foot of the stairs just this morning when I stepped out to take these photos, after a friendly meetup with Deek. He doesn’t know about this, but I’ll point out the blood drops by the gate to him, next time he shows up…if they’re still there. Come to think of it:

Why are they still there?

Re: A Trail of Blood
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: September 26, 2022 at 1:52 PM

> This came through!

I just got off the phone with the SFPD non-emergency service. Told the fellow about the blood spots and smears, that they’ve been there for the past two or three days. And because I’m in a legal dispute with the resident manager, I can’t speak with him per my attorney’s advice…and I find it strange the stains haven’t been washed off yet.

I also told him that the trail of blood ends at the landing, as I’ve checked all floors and found no further stains or blots. He asked if I saw any police come to my building recently and I said not that I know of, nor I did I hear any yells for help, or other alarming noises at all. But maybe the manager or someone else already reported this, but I thought it best to call the police department just in case. I DO have my suspect, Wattson:

That would be Scooter, my Bohemian neighbor Karlsen’s meth-freak acquaintance who’s been hollering and whistling up at his window the past two weeks, and for a couple nights in a row yelling at him with threats and expletives, sauntering to and fro out front like an enraged bull. Of course I didn’t DARE step out, considering his stalking me last week, and his enraged remarks about the “stupid homeless” that day I first met him sitting on a bench beside Karlsen…where one was smoking meth, the other swigging on cheap vodka from a plastic bottle concealed in his jacket.

During all this time, Karlsen never responded to Scooter’s calls, most likely because he wants nothing to do with him anymore. For several days prior to my noticing the blood smear by the landing, Scooter had become subdued, no longer loudly calling out to Karlsen, or cussing at him…then suddenly disappeared starting the night before those blood marks showed up. Gee, what a ko-inky-dink! Yet strangely enough:

Five days ago I DID see Karlsen speaking with Scooter, out there by the ATMs as I entered my building. No argument going on, they appeared serene…but what do I know, I only saw them for a couple of seconds before slipping through the gate pronto. And had NO idea what their verbal exchange entailed. So now I wonder:

What kind of fuck-up IS this Karlsen, telling me when we first spoke some months back that he’s hiding out from a group of Hell’s Angels? Because he made some lady friend of theirs pregnant and skipped off…and then he brings this creepy Scooter guy around, intimidating and disturbing ALL the residents of this faux-castellated edifice. What a way for a new neighbor to introduce himself! Be that as it may:

Eight days ago on my way to Rosenberg’s for my early-bird java, I had the additional misfortune of discovering Scooter crashed out by my building, stretched out and snoring in that small recess of the corner eatery below, with the idiotic name of “Super Duper.” Attached is a pic of the clown. I was worried then, that he just might permanently lay down stakes on MY corner of the Castro, just my rotten luck. However, I haven’t seen him sleeping anywhere nearby, since that morning. Whew!

Click here for a larger view.

After speaking with one of SF’s finest I put down the phone and looked out the window to see Chihuahua Man enter, so I stepped into the hallway and waited for him to come upstairs. Upon which I asked him if he knows what happened to cause that blood smear by the landing. He says he has no idea, and I told him there are also blood spots just outside the front gate, and in the lobby, which he said he didn’t notice. And that I’m waiting on the police right now to look it over. He was cordial enough, but he said no more and disappeared up the stairs with his fairy pooches. Be that as it may:

Evidence suggests a resident was stabbed by the front gate, then entered and climbed up the stairs. But Kevin didn’t post any alert in the lobby, and his NOT cleaning up the blood strikes me as peculiar…and I’m sure unnerving to ALL tenants. Conclusion:

Hotel California North continues to live up to its reputation as a sketchy locale with dank overtones of Gothic horror and intrigue. And that good ol’ wobbly standing-on-his-last-legs Kevin may be hiding something.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Perhaps I won’t even bring this up to Deek, as that may cause him to fear having the pups ever stay with me again. But OTOH it may be important for him to know to stay away from Scooter, for his and the pups’ safety!

I Didn’t Know They Were Transgender Until Yesterday!

June 12, 2022

Andrea a.k.a. Cyberdemon531, has become my FAVORITE news vlogger only three weeks after discovering them. Just yesterday I watched one of their excellent videos, where they spoke of their transgender identity. REMARKABLE human being. Here’s that particular video I hope you can spare the 7.5 minutes it takes to watch:

Pro-Queer Biblical Rant against Homophobic Christians

May 23, 2022

Any SANE, compassionate person would agree that turning Christianity into a gay-bashing cult is absolutely MAD and stinks of Nazi dogma. But what if a gay person turned it around, held a mirror up so to speak? The quote below is a comment in a Youtube video page, that I just stumbled upon…that does just that. It is at LEAST no more crazy than what the homophobic bible thumpers preach…yet contains MANY seeds of truth scattered in with his unique spin. Read and enjoy:


The Bible says God prefers for people to be in LGBT relationships. Anyone that teaches the LIE of monetary tithing, sells anything using the gospel, or teaches that same-sex marriage is a sin CHOOSES to die with the wicked. Luke 10:7 states the only wages for ministering are eating and drinking whatever you are given. Also, know that rich people will all die. You can’t be a Christian, sit on all kinds of money, watch your fellow brothers and sisters starve, suffer, or be homeless, choose to do nothing about it, and think that it’s ok. Those are all wolves. Mathew 19:12 Eunuchs that are born that way are transgender. Eunuchs made that way by others were abused in some way and something inside of them blocks off a certain type of body but it doesn’t happen to everyone that is abused. Those that choose to live like Eunuchs FOR THE SAKE OF THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN are bisexual people that choose partners of the same sex-characteristics but opposite in regards to gender. Notice, it states God PREFERS for people to be in LGBT relationships. Leviticus, Corinthians, and Timothy were translated wrong by Billy Graham. Those verses are actually referring to pedophilia. Romans 1:27 All of the men were male in regards to gender, all of the women were female in gender. It is not referring to Eunuchs (where one partner is transgender). Also, it had nothing to do with marriage of any kind. They were trying to procreate during orgies so God did it on purpose. Anyone that continues to teach same sex marriage is a sin when the Bible says God prefers for people to be in LGBT relationships will also die by their own choice. In order to be a church building, the place must house people inside of it. Otherwise it is just another private money-making business part of Babylon that furthers satan’s agenda. Stay out of the fake churches. Eventually, they will be shut down. I am Elijah of Malachi 4:5-6 and Acts 3:22-23 says it will come to pass that anyone that fails to listen to me will be UTTERLY destroyed from among the people. Again, everyone has a choice. And anyone that deletes my messages CHOOSES to reject Jesus Christ Himself and that means they also CHOOSE to die with the wicked. I am Elijah so that means any discrepancies in the holy books are ultimately decided by me. I am also to usher in the Messiah! Be ready: Jesus is coming back! Malachi 3 says when He comes back, He will come to me first wherever I am at at that time. WORLD PEACE IS COMING!! By the way, anything based on gender norms no longer applies. In fact, the last will be first and the first will be last. It’s women that will mostly be ruling the kingdom of heaven. Rich people do NOT get into heaven. A camel can not go through the eye of a needle. Malachi 2 proves Malachi 3:8-11 is talking to the thieving church leaders! It’s prophetic instruction to return the money they were never supposed to take for ministering and God will end Covid. Every major church and fake Christian television network around the world knew how to end Covid since August of 2020, but they LOVE MONEY so much they intentionally chose to kill people with Covid instead of repenting and bringing all the stolen money back that they were never supposed to take in the first place.. Rapture is NOT what most people think. Read Malachi 4:2-4. It’s when God’s true people transfigure and shine like the sun with glory of God RIGHT HERE ON EARTH! Spiritually, yes, people will enter the demension of heaven, but nobody physically leaves. Jesus comes back to literally walk this planet and rule. I already had a vision I was above the clouds looking at a red/ orange sun about to rise! Pre-tribulation rapture is false teaching. Tribulations is the refining fire of torture Christians have to experience in order to get to heaven. Only those who endure to the end will survive. The 144,000 are coming out; they have already experienced hell on earth (tribulations), mainly by people who calld themselves Christians but are merely wolves that will die unless they repent and apologize.


The author of that piece is Elijah Dieker, and his comment can be found on this Youtube page:

To actually read his post, though, you first need to find an original comment by Andrew Kohler that begins with “this is a suberb takedown.” Once there, click on the “view 6 replies” link (or whatever number it may have increased to) and you’ll find Elijah’s contribution. BTW the video itself is OUTSTANDING, and worth every second of its 32 minute deconstruction of Bill Maher’s transphobic bullshit. Which podcaster, “Cyberdemon531,” a brilliant young lady with a sharp mind and wit, reminds us that the first group of books burned in Nazi Germany were those having to do with scientific research on LGBTs, and OTHER positively slanted pro-queer writings…just like what’s happening NOW, here in Amerikkka.

The FINAL Final Chapter (part 17)

May 23, 2022

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 3: Chapter 18q]

Re: The Clueless Moron doesn’t like the new collars!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 20, 2022 at 3:20 PM

> Cripes. I know you’ve taken the precaution of photographing the rabies tags, because he’s quite capable of losing them. Can a lost tag be replaced? Is there some sort of absurd bureaucratic rigmarole?

Since he refuses to spay Flaco, no free vet service for homeless dogs will touch it. Vet SOS was willing to do ONE checkup and vaccination w/tags and papers, but any further service by them requires Flaco to be fixed…AND for their owner to PROVE he’s homeless. Which means a signed paper by a social worker or similar authority. Deek, of course, won’t do either. His stubbornness and childish mentality are tragic. Had he failed to vaccinate the dogs before the building manager asked for proof, I would’ve wound up evicted, fined and jailed. Be that as it may:

There is no online venue to order replacement tags…unless you’re a licensed vet. So ya gotta go through a veterinarian, no matter what. But the good thing is: I didn’t just photograph the tags, but also the papers that go with them. The pups don’t bite anyway, so THAT’S not a worry. But what IS a worry are the mean people out there who get their sadistic rocks off by falsely ACCUSING someone’s dog just bit them. There’s no shortage of that kind in “dog friendly” San Franshitsco.

For the nonce I have REMOVED the tags from the Martingale collars, and set them aside in a box where I keep other doggy items, like snacks, spare leashes, shampoo, etc. He’ll probably LOSE the old collars he prefers, because he neglected to return them to me. But if he DOES still have the collars, and puts them back on the hounds, I won’t even MENTION the tags. But of course if he REQUESTS the tags I’ll tell him to give me those collars so I can go upstairs to put them on, and meanwhile place the choke collars on the brindlekin, temporarily. They are very DIFFICULT to attach to the slippery, fat metal ring…takes about a full 20 minutes to do them both, with a seriously aching thumb as a result of prying (and holding) open one end of the looped tag ring.

But if Deek refuses to do that and insists he’ll take care of it himself, I’ll just hand over the tags and STAY BY HIM to see he actually accomplishes the difficult, and somewhat painful, task. Rather then him giving up in frustration and pocketing them with a plan to place the tags on later…but loses them instead, in all his wandering and careless demeanor.

> What’s he on when he’s out of it like that??

I don’t necessarily blame any drugs, but meth DOES make one very irritable between highs…and paranoid. However, Deek’s rough upbringing and learning how to survive in a wicked world surely contributes to his short temper and lack of trust no matter how good a friend or friends one may have. There’s also lack of regular sleep, typical for homeless people; Deek goes for days before burning out. Not to mention the chaos, noise, and dealing with crazy people out there on the streets.

But getting infuriated over such matters avoids the entire point of my Bodhisattva Premise. For remaining calm through ANY AND ALL tribulations, setbacks and fears means exactly that: ANY AND ALL. And OBVIOUSLY, the rabies tag issue is no exception.

He is also fighting my wish to take each dog inside separately, by handing them over right by the front gate, and whizzing off! Because he claims to be in a hurry, which is bullshit. As well as dumping in my arms, his latest devices to be charged, while I’m holding onto the leashes as the canines tug eagerly towards the front gate. So from now on I’ll bring a choke collar with me when I step out to pick up the dogs, and put it on Flaco, so she can’t slip from the collar when I bring them inside. And any items he gives me, I’ll carry in a tough plastic bag hanging from my forearm. Or, in the event of a device being of a large size, I’ll place in a corner of the lobby, to recoup AFTER the pups are safely ensconced in their sanctuary.

Whew! What a pain in the ass he can be, eh, Wattson? Attempting to SABOTAGE the fuzzy angels’ sole access to sanctuary, and my ONLY source of a safe roof over my head, to boot. One IS tempted to blow up in has face, knock him to the ground and kick the shit out of him. So thank Siddhartha that my Bodhisattva Premise swoops in to save the day!

Deek is simply offering up further challenges for me to resolve, as one of my bodhisattva guardians (just as the building manager does). And best of all: he’s having the dogs stay with me FAR more often, almost DAILY now! Which is exactly how I’d hoped things would turn out. So if, god forbid, he should suddenly die, wind up in the hospital or get arrested, chances are high the pooches will be safe with me.

One (such as myself) would think though, that, possibly, this is Deek’s eccentric way of gifting me with the hounds. Tricksters are most oblique when it comes to expressing gratitude and offering up rewards for one’s kindness, courage and forbearance.

Walking Lucky this morning, a woman with her own dog approached us in a friendly manner, and allowed both dogs to touch noses, sniff buts, and dance a little. Not a single bark or lunge from my brindlekin! Flaco is just as amiable when I take her out for a walk. As I further train them with the choke collar, and solo walks, I’m sure they’ll EVENTUALLY be just as manageable when taking them out together.

Last night, when I brought the first dog, Flaco, down to Deek, another resident appeared several feet behind me, descending the stairs. I wasn’t carrying Flaco, but had her on the leash and the choke collar. No problem, she did NOT look back even once, and start barking. Upon reaching the landing I saw no one in the lobby, so said “Go!” and released her to dash to the front gate as I quickly caught up to escort her outside. She DID make a few charming “Woofs!” going down the stairs, which was a nice touch.

Two days ago, Morey of the corner grocery/liquor store on Noe Street and 14th, paid me a great compliment while I sat outside a few moments with Flaco, and showed him the choke collar and described my latest training techniques.

“Boy they sure do love you!” he exclaimed. “I remember when you first got them, they seemed unsure if staying with you would work out, they had their doubts…but now they’re happier than a clam with you!”

Okay, gotta take the pups out now for their afternoon poopy stroll. Talk to ya later, good doctor.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: The Collar Makes the Dog!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 21, 2022 at 11:50 AM

Deek picked up the dogs this morning super early, just before 8 AM. I was returning from my walk with Lucky, when I saw him outside the building, spouting a few “Yo!s” up to my window. Not too loudly, pleased to say. So I called back as I approached the corner of my block; after two of my own “Yo!s” he turned around. It was a wonderfully quiet morning, BTW, as was yesterday: no jackhammers, no leaf blowers, no traffic rumble. Sunny, too, with a light, cool breeze.

“You’re way too early!” I remarked as I handed Lucky over.

“Yeah, I gotta go somewhere. Just bring Flaco down, and some dog food,” he replied, “and not the weak-ass amount like last time.”

I calmly objected: “No, Deek, three cans and one bag work out fine, since you wind up returning almost ALL of it, anyway. I can’t afford the waste of giving you extra dog food, then claiming the next day you lost it. Prices have gone up on everything, in case you didn’t notice.”

He didn’t push the issue, but found something ELSE to whine about: the new, blue and yellow buckle collar that Lucky was wearing, since he didn’t like the choke collars. It’s made of leather and well padded. I got a matching collar for Flaco, and adjusting it so she cannot slip out was a cinch. Even though these collars are  quite attractive on them, Deek claimed they’re ugly, and too tight on Lucky.

“So just loosen it a notch,” I advised. “I asked you the other night to return the old collars I gave you so I could put the tags back on them, but you didn’t listen and rushed off. Do you still have them?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure,” was his predictable reply.

“Right,” I said. “I figured that would happen, so I got these new collars and the tags are already on them. I think they look lovely against their brindle coat.” I paused to see if he had anything else to say on the matter. He did not.

“Okay, let me bring Flaco down, now,” I said. “AND the dog food.”

But right when I turned towards the gate he stopped me with yet aNOTHER issue to gripe about:

“I don’t like you walking them alone,” he declared. “The other dog will feel lonely sitting there in your room.”

“No, Deek,” I replied, “they’re perfectly happy with the new arrangement, and it’s easier to train them separately. Besides, I DON’T walk them alone every time, I take them out together at night, just before bedtime, and let them run and play on a side street. It’s quiet, and no one’s around to distract them.”

He had nothing more to say, so I rushed back upstairs with the three small devices he had just handed me, packed a few cans of dog food and one large Ziploc of kibble, leashed up Flaco, and stepped back out.

He didn’t make any further complaint about the reduced amount of doggy vittles in the sack, nor spew any other snarky comeback. He simply thanked me, said he’ll return later to pick up his electronics. I wished them all an excellent day and returned hovel.

What is so notable in this latest meetup, Wattson, is he did NOT rant on about ANY of his THREE grievances.


Well whaddya know, Deek just called up to my window again, much sooner than I expected…asked what charge level the smartphone was at. So I checked, then poked my head out the window once more and told him “eighty percent.”

“Okay,” he replied, “I’ll check back a little later.” I was pleased and somewhat impressed that Deek conveyed not a single whit of angst.

Of course the two doggies were by his side, along with a vertical, half-filled cart (the kind old ladies use when out and about to shop). They made a charming little tableau in the morning sunlight, standing on the sidewalk below and looking up at me. The street was still mostly quiet, and a starling warbled somewhere nearby, possibly in one of the palm trees gracing this section of Market Street.

Anyway, the point I want to make is based on the theory that my Bodhisattva Premise is correct:

That Deek numbers among my spiritual guides, and part of his role is to keep fabricating as many grievances as possible to press my buttons. The challenge for ME being to find ways to NOT grow angered or haughty in return, but to rise above his unwarranted accusations in a calm and gracious manner. IOW: he’ll keep ON pressing my buttons till there are no more to press.

And THAT is why, after witnessing all my replies to his gripes this morning were answered by yours truly with peaceful and kind words (albeit firm), he did NOT press further in rude opposition.

I was delighted to see when looking down upon the waifish trio from my window above, the hounds still wore those lovely blue and yellow collars, and the metallic tags dangling from them, like tinkly fairy bells.


Just as I completed the paragraph above, hoping to end my latest brindlekin tale on a happy note, Deek returned once again, to pick up his gizmos…RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE GATE (though by the curb). The moment I appeared, Lucky escaped his collar (because Deek apparently loosened it a notch) and ran to the gate. Deek got a bit angry, told Lucky, “C’MON, YOU’RE NOT GOING INSIDE!”

He bent down to place the collar back over Lucky, then attempted to pull him away, but the little angel slipped out again, whereby Deek admonished “C’MON!” once more. Finally, Lucky returned with him to the cart, where Flaco patiently awaited. (Interesting that it was LUCKY this time, and not his sister, who escaped the collar; it’s always been the other way around till now.) So I told Deek:

“Best not to stop with them right in front of the gate, especially when I’m stepping out. Just lash them to that pole over there.” I pointed at the general vicinity of the bus stop.

He didn’t say a word, but moved on towards the corner where, to my surprise, he didn’t cross the street but turned left and parked himself right behind the building.

“So he’s not REALLY in a hurry to go anywhere, just likes to play the big shot, gotta connect with ‘his people,’ no time to waste, etc.” I thought.

But I was wrong in my assumption, since a few minutes later all three had disappeared. Guess he was just gathering together his possessions in a more organized pile.

Well, I’d still say this little doggy/Deek vignette DID end on a happy note, regardless. Just not the happiEST.

– Zeke K-Holmes


Speaking of the bicolored dog collar: it just struck me that blue and yellow are also the sole two shades of the Ukranian flag! A most timely collar indeed.

Re: The Collar Makes the Dog! ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 21, 2022 at 5:33 PM

> Noticed that first thing!!!

Didn’t occur to me until AFTER I posted you the collar tale. But once I DID realize it, and sent you my addendum, I thought: “Wouldn’t it be funny if Wattson says she noticed that right off the bat.” [Think Twilight Zone theme music now playing in the background.]

My Chromebook screen died out two weeks ago, BTW. It started presenting flicker problems for many days before that, forcing me to reboot, which didn’t always work. Finally, it didn’t work at all. I won’t bother telling Boulevard Joe about it…in fact I’ll let him think it’s still going strong and I continue to be delighted using it.

So it’s back to using my Android tablet to watch my videos while doing other stuff on my laptop. Just glad to have helped Joe out with some moolah. There are some excellent refurbished Chromebooks out there for cheap: under $150, some as low as $70. I’ll get one next month, perhaps. Whatever model I wind up purchasing, it’s definitely gotta have a 14″ screen.

Unfortunately, the tablet is ALSO giving me problems these days! The battery doesn’t hold its charge for very long, even when plugged into AC. So it acts as if it’s not plugged in at all, and shuts down after about two hours. The only way to fully charge it now, is turn it off. But once it’s replenished, it still only lasts for two hours…even when I keep it plugged in.

I just got 95 emails dumped into my inbox…all claiming to be FROM me, as well as TO, mostly from the discussion list, with two from announcement. They are all copies of emails I sent to either list. Upon perusing the source contents of several of these spam posts, the built-in “Spam Assassin” shows they originate from one Pickle Head Willsin:


The source IP number indicates these emails originated out of Pt. Arena. Though both email address and IP number could have been faked, in order to deflect from the REAL offender. I suspect, of course, Mike Sewers. Not that he’s bright enough to do this himself, but it’s easy enough to pay a nominal fee to someone, or some group, that can.

Though it COULD be Pickle Head Willsin, as he’s the one that did a 7-minute hit piece about me on KZYX, back in March of last year. I’ve saved it for posterity, spliced from the podcast version:

Spam Assassin doesn’t really function on my gay-bible mail, all it does is show you the source data…it doesn’t actually move any spam to my junk folder. That’s because Online Policy Group’s free email (and web hosting and mailing lists) has never upgraded its services for decades, so it’s like they’re still living in the ’90s. No worries, though, as it’s simple enough to batch delete them myself. Whoever it was, it’s the work of an amateur.

A few other noodle heads (all from the announcement list) have been reposting some of my emails to that list, back at me. MOST come from Carol Stinkburger. Total number of such emails reposted to me number less than 20 over the span of one week. Ho-hum. Childish minds actually believe they’re “flooding” my mailbox, when nothing could be further from the truth.

There seems to be a whole PASSEL of childish minds on these MCN lists! Where do they crawl out from, the woodwork? Considering how DAMP it is up there, I suspect that’s the case.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: The Clueless Moron doesn’t like the new collars!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 21, 2022 at 5:44 PM

> Splendid report!!!! Many thanks!!

My pleasure. I have some minor anxiety twitches after Deek’s visit this morning re. his three latest gripes, but nothing I can’t handle and overcome tout suite. Steady as she goes, I’m doing great through it all!

Re: The Collar Makes the Dog! ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 21, 2022 at 6:35 PM

> [Regarding the passel of childish minds:] Ha! You kicked over the rock is all….

Ooo, naughty widdle me…the devil made me do it! I cannot leave a stone unturned, thanks to my borderline OCD. “I tawt I taw a puddy tat under dat wock!”

Re: The Collar Makes the Dog! ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 21, 2022 at 7:34 PM

> I’m thinking of getting a refurbished Chromebook, too. Let me know what you see out there.

They’re very handy away-from-home ’cause they’re cheap and versatile. So if it gets stolen or you drop it on a hard surface, it’s not a major financial loss. Heck, they’re handy for MOST things at home, too. As writers, we don’t NEED high powered systems to crunch numbers, as required for video editing and other advanced needs of a high-tech nature.

Amazon has a lot. Just search “used chromebook.” Or “used 14 inch chromebook” if you want a large screen. Then check it’s expiration date, to be sure it’ll be good for at LEAST three years before Google will no longer support it. Tricky to find that out, though, as sellers don’t include that in the description. But it’s easy to figure out when the model was released, by looking at the date of the earliest customer review. Assume the model will remain viable for six years after that date. OR:

Visit Google’s own Chromebook list of expiration dates for every model under the sun.

Storage capacity should be at least 32 GB, as 16 is just too small to install Linux. If you do install Linux, the Chromebook will run just fine beyond the expiration date, with that OS. 64 GB storage is even better, but then the price jumps up.

It should have an Intel processor, which is required to run Linux.

You also want 4GB RAM, which most models have..not 2 GB. You should also read reviews on the models you’re interested in, outside of

Last but not least, CHECK OUT THE SELLER’S RATINGS. I wouldn’t dream of purchasing from any whose ratings dip below 90 percent.

Here’s a used HP 14″ Chromebook, same model as the one I got from Joe.

It’s only $120. and it’s from the Amazon Used Store, so, trustworthy. WORD OF CAUTION: it expires in 2024 (not 2026, like I first thought). So you may not want it. For my own purposes, however, that’s okay by me as I’d just switch to Linux. I JUST might get that.

Here is another HP 14-incher that expires in 2026, for $162, and it has double the storage capacity.

Many more excellent used Chromebooks out there, just follow the guidelines above. There’s a REASON so many used ones are cheap…because they’re close to their expiration date. Touchscreen costs a little more, but I see no point in getting that feature, unless you can fold it like a tablet. After all, it gets exhausting raising one’s arm so much, to tap or glide a finger on a perpendicular display! Just use the built-in touchpad, or get a mouse fer cripe’s sake!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: So now the Chromebook is working again…
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 22, 2022 at 11:25 AM

…but don’t know how long that will endure. Last night I was setting up my smartphone to play videos as a temporary solution, when I abstractedly opened the Chromebook after not touching it for almost a week…and to my surprise it booted up like a boss! The screen flaked out twice within a few hours, but I could start it up again pronto. I’m wondering if the problem was more a glitch in a previous update, than, say, a partial burnout in the graphics chip, or in the ribbon cable that connects the display to the motherboard.

Because just a few minutes after starting it up, a small window appeared, telling me to reboot for the next update. At first I thought, “Dammit, I just got to use my Chromebook again, and now this!” I was afraid the device would flake out again, but no, the update went smooth as buttah.

I was SO happy to get the Chromebook up and running again…like a dope addict jonesing for his next hit, who finally slammed another dose up his veins after a long, dry spell of demonic cravings. Working just fine this morning, too…the screen has yet to crash. So let’s see how it holds out for the rest of this month before any money is spent to replace it. The Android tablet, however, remains problematic, looks like the battery is dying. Well, I’ve had it for what…five or six years of heavy use? I’m ready to toss it, don’t need it so long as I have a functioning Chromebook.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: So now the Chromebook is working again… ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 22, 2022 at 11:38 AM

Forget all the hopeful words in my previous missive. The Chromebook screen just screwed up again, and I can’t get the system to reboot!

Re: So now the Chromebook is working again… ADDENDUM
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 22, 2022 at 1:31 PM

> Drat.

I’d kiss a rat’s ass if that would help.

Subject: Neighbor questioned me about the pups this morning!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 22, 2022 at 6:11 PM

Before I get to that, let me catch up starting with last night. Deek had picked up the mutts yesterday morning, then returned later that evening, around 9 PM, to hang out by my building while his electronics were charging upstairs…keeping Flaco & Lucky outside. I assumed, of course, they were NOT gonna spend the night with me, but two hours later when I returned his gizmos, he told me to take the dogs. Glad to inform you their new collars remained around their necks, and Deek had them notched so that neither dog could slip out of them.

Once I got them safely indoors, I realized he forgot to return any remaining dog food, which fresh supply I gave him just that morning. So I rushed back outside, where he sat by the curb smack-dab in front of the building’s gate. Annoying, but: he was quiet, and a small gathering of OTHER vagrants had camped out just fifteen feet further up the block towards Castro Street, and two inside the ATM alcove. Don’t know why he didn’t just park his skinny butt in the other direction, by the bus stop,

“You got the dog food?” I queried.

“Nope,” he replied while (what he calls) “nigga rigging” a pair of used sneakers, decorating them with a black marker I’d given him earlier, per his request. (I keep a supply of cheap ones on hand, just for this purpose, as I do with other items such as Bic lighters, 16 GB micro SD chips, disposable razors and flimsy plastic bowls for doggy food to-go, and water.)

“I lost it.”

There ya go, Wattson: another one of my buttons pressed! But I know the game, so remained calm while I screwed my lips, gazed at him for a few seconds, then replied:

“Guess they’re hungry then, I’ll feed them right now.”

And hungry they were! Usually, the pups don’t jump off the cot until I place the filled dishes on the floor (or they may not be hungry at all, in which case they languish on the comforters in canine bliss…perhaps an hour or two later to dine). Though sometimes they’ll get up and hop around me once I pick up the dog bowls from the prep table and carry them to their dining spots. But THIS time around, soon as they heard me drop the first handful of kibble in one of the metal bowls, they both leapt from their bedding and danced around me. Lucky even jumped on and off my chair in joy, with little “Woofs!” He’s never done THAT before.

Obviously, Deek did NOT feed them at all. They didn’t even have any breakfast because he picked them up early, before I had a chance to feed them…they were STARVING. So I decided to add an extra, THIRD, handful of kibble to their meals, mixed in with their usual half-a-can each of wet food. They licked their plates clean in minutes.

Deek is SUPPOSED to pick up his devices no later than midnight, but when it rolled around he did NOT show up. I thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep somewhere nearby, so I stepped out to see if he were parked by the ATMs, or behind the building, or anywhere else close. Nope.

“Dammit,” I cursed to myself, “He’s gonna drop by when he pleases, wake me up when: one AM? Two? Three?”

I sighed upon accepting the situation as it is, for he had indeed given the hounds sanctuary with me, from another chilly night. Small price to pay.

“Maybe he decided to wait till tomorrow after 10 AM,” I hopefully concluded as I opened the gate to return hovel and fix a late supper, while the pups snoozed away in Doggy Dreamland. About five minutes later and no sooner had I started grating some cheese for my brown rice and quinoa repast, than I heard a “Yo!” out my window. Of course it was Deek, god bless him.

I didn’t even MENTION how ravished they were, upon handing him three recharged devices and wishing him a good night, and to stay out of trouble. He was in a pleasant mood, and said “Bam!” for each gizmo I delivered unto his hand.

The next morning, Deek didn’t arrive until shortly after 10 AM, which afforded me ample time for the dogs’ poopy walk, more sleepy time, and breakfast around 9:30.

I decided to take them BOTH outside this morning, to see if they mellowed out any, after my solo strolls with them over the past several days. As I opened the gate, there was my immediately-next-door neighbor, Asher, standing by the curb and puffing on a cancer stick. He’s a young fellow, good looking in sort of a non-macho way (IOW “gay”), around 5-foot-10 and 32 years old. If you recall, he is the resident so displeased with the building manager, he’s attempting to start a tenant’s union. Don’t know if it’s ever gotten off the ground, nor have I ever discussed this with him…in fact, we’ve never talked to each other before today.

[To be cont’d in my next missive…stay tuned, Wattson!]

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Neighbor questioned me about the pups this morning!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 22, 2022 at 6:44 PM

> I’m danglin’ here!

Ha ha, I knew you would be. As I got to describing my neighbor, I realized I need the encounter to season more in my brain pan before typing it out. Have some hot cocoa while you’re dangling; it’ll help.

Subject: Neighbor questioned me about the pups this morning! (Cont’d)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: May 22, 2022 at 11:01 PM

Asher said hi as I escorted the hounds to a nearby tree, where they sniffed around the trunk before choosing the perfect spot to urinate. I smiled (with my lips still sealed, so as not to shock him with the horrid state of my crumbling few teeth) and said hello back. He took another long puff on his American Spirit, then made some wisecrack about my homeless friend who screams, and the dogs. That’s when they began to bark.

He pointed at the pups with the lit cigarette and raised his eyebrows as if to say, “See? That’s what I’m talking about.” Their barks were nowhere near as boisterous as they were before I began their solo walks…but how could I expect him to appreciate that? Instead, I reached in my pocket for a wedge of chicken jerky, at which point the mutts immediately grew silent and stared at me with eager expectation. I broke off two small pieces and offered them to Asher.

“Here, give ’em some treats,” I said.

The wee canines shifted their focus on Asher, who reached out a nummy to first Flaco, then Lucky…each of whom daintily snatched a tasty bit from his fingers. Flaco then raised herself up and plunked her forepaws on his leg, hoping for more. Lucky sat calmly beside her. Who can resist these darling pups when they look up at you with those pleading, aureate dachshund eyes?

So I broke off two more pieces, handed them to Asher so he could feed them once again. Soon as the dogs realized no more treats forthcoming, they backed off and resumed their barks. He reached out a hand, which silenced them for a few seconds to sniff it, then withdrew and started to bark again…though in a friendlier and less strident tone. A few moments later, they calmed down and sat by my feet as we began our conversation.

“That’s my friend Zach,” I replied. “And yes, he screams, but a lot less these days…he’s bipolar. We’ve known each other for more than twelve years.”

I then gave him a nutshell rundown about his acquiring first one dog, then another, against my firm discouragement both times.

“I don’t approve of any dog being forced to live on the streets,” I told him. “And I almost had a heart attack when he adopted the female seven months later.”

I further explained how I realized I had to accept the situation, and saw that the doggies need frequent sanctuary from the streets or they’d die, so I now dog sit for him a couple days a week…and when it’s raining or the night is very cold.

“He’s taking much better care of  them these days,” I said. “And his own behavior has vastly improved. So I’m helping raise not just two dogs, but a homo sapiens as well.”

“I see,” he said as he stubbed out the cigarette butt with his shoe. “And have they had their rabies shots?”

“Yes!” I immediately answered, pointing to the dogs’ necks. “That’s what those blue tags on their collars are about.”

Asher also owns a dog, on the large size with an unusual blend of wiry and shaggy fur. A very quiet, reserved mutt whom I’ve never heard bark. I don’t think he lets it socialize with any other person (except his roommate) or canine. He just takes it out for a walk two or three times a day, then brings it back home. Never seen it wag its tail, either.

Two times so far (about seven weeks apart), I and the brindlekin crossed paths with him and his dog, once in the hallway and another time in the lobby. My pups barked up a storm each time, but Asher patiently waited till I directed the dogs away from them, and down the stairs or out the front gate. Easy peasy. He actually chuckled during the lobby encounter. However, during the hallway incident, Flaco escaped from her collar and stood a foot away, barking at him, with his dog standing peacefully behind his legs. She immediately returned to me when I called to her with collar in hand, slipped it over her head, and quickly escorted the silly hounds down the stairs.

Asher expressed concern over such encounters, as he claims it scares his dog. I wonder about that, as it seemed totally placid both times. He also suggested I don’t let my doggies run up and down the hallway unleashed…which I really do NOT do. Except for several times months ago, as I let them do that while unlocking my door, upon which they immediately entered.

“I don’t do that, though,” I addressed him. “Maybe you hear them tumbling and playing in the hallway, as I walk them to my room, and it sounds like they’re running around unleashed.”

He didn’t respond, so I added: “Soon as we’re halfway down the stairs, I can see whether or not the lobby’s empty. If no one’s there, I release them and they run to the front gate, waiting for me to catch up.”

I then pointed at the black collars they wore beside the blue and white ones:

“Those are painless choke collars I just bought a few days ago, so they can’t slip off their leashes. and I’ve begun walking the dogs solo more often, as it’s easier to train them.”

I also described that with just one dog to escort in or out the building, I can pick it up if it begins to bark, and they immediately quiet down…even when someone gets real close and walks by.”

“So you’re working on it!” he commended.

“Definitely,” I assured.

Asher seemed satisfied with my answers, and thanked me for the talk. As I began to walk the dogs toward Noe Street, Lucky glanced back at him and evoked a solid “Woof!” as if to assert his authority over this land.

I looked down at Lucky and said: “Oh, please!”

Asher then called to me: “What did you say?”

I turned to him and said: “Oh, please!”

He then chuckled, as he realized at that moment I was addressing one of the pooches and not him.

I want to mention here, Wattson, that Asher was somewhat nervous and dry-mouthed when discussing the dogs with me…indicating he had no intention to be rude or confrontational, and that he was worried I might snap at him, since he had no idea what kind of person I am. And there may be difficult issues in his life that have nothing to do with the brindlekin or my “screaming” houseless friend of 12 years. God only knows the news these days is MORE than enough to perturb any decent person, especially one who is part of an attacked minority, in this case, queers. Though I suspect at least SOME of his angst is due to his brave opposition to Kevin’s poor management of this building. He really stuck his neck out on that one!

I’m thinking we may have further discussions, including as regards management. I can help him with building his case if need be, because of all the dirt I already have on him…with evidence. Meanwhile, I’ll work with him on my dogs not barking at his, such as avoid taking them out when he’s stepping out or returning with his wooly companion. I’ll ask if he has a strict dog walking schedule, so I can avoid any further confrontations. He has NO idea of my Brindlekin Tales blog…I need to order more cards.

So what REALLY was this encounter about, you may ask. My Bodhisattva Premise suggests I was being TESTED once again, on my emotional stability, and how well or poorly I deal with this latest challenge. Seeing as I didn’t act the least bit rude, angry or self-righteous, I conclude I handled the situation with great aplomb, and consideration for the other person’s concern.

In fact, I believe it was another SETUP, in that Asher placed himself right outside the gate minutes before he knew I’d show up with the dogs. HE’S MY NEWEST BODHISATTVA GUARDIAN! At least to me he is…but who knows how much LONGER he’s been that all the while? I’m sure some glorious day I’ll find out.

Oh yeah, he said something that REALLY impressed me, right before he brought up the pups’ barking in the hallway:

“Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE dogs!” And he said it while his body made a slight bow of reverence. Meanwhile, back to Deek:

Not much to report but that I saw him approaching catty-corner from the opposite side of Market Street, as I was about to cross 16th Street to purchase my morning brew. I decided then to wait on the corner for his arrival. It was several minutes after 10 AM, so the brindlekin had already been walked and well fed. He didn’t even have a cart of any kind, just a couple of bags stuffed with whatever, I have no idea.

“Good morning!” I greeted him. He didn’t have much to say, just asked for the mutts and more doggy vittles…plus two sandwich bags (which he uses to divvy up his weed for later sale). I was tempted to exclaim:

“More dog food? I just gave you a fresh supply yesterday, but you lost it. So whatta you gonna do, lose it again? I may as well throw it away!”

But I bit my lip, since I knew the foolhardiness of reacting to a pressed button. I just said okay, and brought everything he requested down to him, where he waited by the ATMs below my window. I then wished him God’s blessings, and to have a lovely day, and returned hovel. He didn’t stay long, just 20 minutes or so, before taking off.

It’s now almost 11 PM, so I doubt the dogs will be sleeping with me tonight. Hope you enjoyed my latest tale…sorry to keep you on tenterhooks for so many hours!

– Zeke K-Holmes

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