The FINAL Final Final Chapter (part 17)

October 14, 2022

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 3: Chapter 19q]

Re: A Scammer & A Scooter
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 10, 2022 at 10:56 PM

> Another fine piece of work.

Thanks! I had an especially fun time describing my artsy-fartsy shopping cart (were I homeless), and my pariah status thanks to the simpletons all around me, who are financially privileged.

> Scooter looks sinister even from behind.

Indeed he does. And he often glances up at my window, whenever he’s out front calling up to the Bohemian POS. At least he doesn’t holler my name out, too…he tried that once, but I ignored him. And he does not approach me when he sees me coming or going, or hangin’ with the pups, even when Deek is not around. I think I sufficiently scared him off, as he sees I’m not the type to be pushed around and WILL take action if need be.

> Karlsen appears to be a sad wreck of a human being. The short videos and pics are fascinating glimpses.

He’s still not back and with any luck, he’ll give up the phantom while at UCSF Medical Center. That means no more Scooter, either. Unless he sees my building as a honeypot and tries to hook up with someone else who lives there (unlikely, TG)…or has come to favor this neighborhood and my corner in particular. *shudder*

Seeing as Karlsen is highly stressed out by Scooter’s persistent intrusion on his world, such pressure may be what pushes him over the edge and into the grave. In which case I’d say Scooter is serving a useful purpose, like a scavenging hyena on Wild Kingdom. Or a Grim Reaper proxy from the Twilight Zone, ready to escort a foolish man to the depths of Gehenna. Maybe Karlsen faked an emergency and called 911 just to get away from him! Particularly satisfying was hearing one EMT who placed Karlsen into the ambulance say to Scooter:

“Oh, no, you can’t visit him because of the covid restrictions.”

And what was that trail of blood in my building all about, anyway? The Friendly Ghost Detective Agency needs to know!

Deek has not dropped by yesterday or today, and I’m concerned he may be in an ungodly snit about the “missing” $20. Though he’d be faking it, if that were the case, in an attempt to bully extra cash outta me. Which will NEVER happen, even if he brings some dumb lug along to intimidate me. Besides that:

He’s not gonna like it one whit when my food stamp supplement drops back down to $20/month from $220, and I’ll have to reduce his allowance accordingly: to $80/week instead of $100. But I told him very clearly when I increased his stipend, that it’s only temporary, and why. It’s quite possible the reduction has already begun, this month…but I won’t know until November arrives. The nights and days are getting cold again, and I weep for Flaco & Lucky, for the unkind master they are leashed to.

My swivel chair broke last night…the right-side armrest suddenly snapped, making the seat wobbly and difficult to sit upon without falling over. So I’m now perched upon the 5-gallon tub I purchased last year from Amazon, the one with a toilet seat lid. Hopefully, I’ll be able to scrounge up a decent chair soon, one discarded on the street somewhere. A metal folding chair would be nice, as it will hold me over until someone dumps another cushy swivel chair in reasonably good condition, outside their home. King Zeke needs his throne!

I just watched a Youtube video called “Why the Internet Makes Us Lonely,” and it made some good points. So I decided to reply to one person’s thoughtful comment, like so:

> It's also been shown that internet interaction does not compare to or replace face-to-face interaction.

That explains why, as an activist for the homeless for more than 4 decades, I have wound up having friends who all live on the streets. They're the only group of people for whom the Internet does not play a large role in their lives, and still base their world on face-to-face interaction.

One thing to be grateful for, though:

At least that damn skin tag on my neck has finally disappeared, hopefully for good! Once it got down to a tiny nub, it took forever to diminish into nothing as I dabbed a spot of tea tree lotion onto it twice a day. Would be just my luck if another one starts growing, this time on my nose. It would be the pièce de résistance that completes the village folks’ suspicion they’ve had all along, that I’m a witch! Well, at least I’ll have a place to hang my keys where they’ll always be in sight.

And my tales are more fantabulous than ever! Glad to delight a kindred soul like you, Morticia, with these stories, as a balm to ease your OWN ridiculous burdens. Some day, they will touch many other hearts.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: What a Mess!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 11, 2022 at 1:03 PM

Here’s a pic of what I’m talking about:

Click here for a larger view.

Scampy is on the right, but I don’t know who the other person is, though I’ve seen him around. What DID catch my eye among the rubbish is a folding deck chair…which will do in a pinch for my own chair-ful need until I get something better! However, in the last hour or so since I took that snapshot, they’re still out there and Scampy is sitting on that chair. With any luck, it’ll be left behind later in the day and I can procure the goods. I keep checking via the hallway window to see if they’ve left, but they’re still out there. Several indigents have parked there for the past two days, who’ve set up what I call a hobo street sale. Looks like they’re having another sale this afternoon, though they didn’t camp out there last night. Here’s what’s going on right now, three street people moving junk around down there, rather pointlessly it seems:

And for your delectation, I thought I’d throw in a video of yet another lost soul talking to himself (or an imaginary companion) below my window:

What a nuisance to wake up to, and ruin an otherwise quiet morning! No jackhammers, no huge delivery truck vrooming outside, no rap music blasting…just this asshole.

Oh, regarding the appointment I made with VetSOS for Deek’s dog Lucky: it’s scheduled for November 14th. But seeing as he’s required to bring a signed note from a social worker this time around, which he refuses to do, I canceled it, with the following email I posted three days ago:

“I was disappointed to learn that Deek has not followed up with finding a social worker, and refuses to do so per our conversation yesterday. Perhaps he’ll have a change of heart, but I don’t think so, as he’s quite stubborn. So go ahead and cancel the appointment. I know there’s only so much your organization can do, and understand this restriction. Thanks again for your compassionate work. Fortunately, the doggies are just fine, his worry was unfounded.”

Not that Deek even bothered to ask if I got an appointment set up for him, nor have I even brought it up. November 14th’s an awfully long way off for an emergency, anyway…obviously they only do vaccinations, medications and checkups. His ONLY option, as I said before, is to rush over to the ASPCA emergency clinic. You don’t need a social worker’s approval for that.

I was sure Deek would wake me up today, but no, and the whereabouts of him and pups remain unknown. But I’ll bet you dollars to donuts he’s conjuring up another flimsy justification for demanding a hundred buckazoids advance payment, which would make this the third time in a row. NOT gonna happen, no matter the hissy fit he’ll probably play out. He swore he wouldn’t do it again the last time around, and I’ll hold him to it. But you never know: he just might decide to not give me any grief over this, and resume our usual meetups in peace. THAT would be a relief beyond measure!

Last night it occurred to me that my Scooter piece is another scary tale that Youtube narrator Skeptical Crow may enjoy reading and posting to her channel! So I’ll get on top of this later today. I’m gonna call it:

“Scooter & the Trail of Blood (a true scary tale of recent vintage with no resolution at hand; maybe there’ll be a second part and I’ll still be alive to tell it).”

Now get this, Wattson: last night a couple of hours after I had removed my defunct office chair and replaced it with that bucket, I stood up to peer out my window ’cause I heard a dog bark that sounded like Flaco. Alas, it wasn’t her, so I returned to my work station and plunked myself down into the chair that was no longer present, and fell off the bucket with a resounding “thunk” onto the splintery, filthy old softwood floor! Fortunately, I’m in the envious possession of a solid, firm derrière that absorbed the entire shock like a plush cushion, and I came out of it unscathed and pain free.

“Gee, thanks for nothing!” I spoke aloud to my invisible bodhisattva guardians as I stood back up and set the bucket aright. No doubt they were having a most hearty laugh over pulling the seat from under me! How much longer is this going to happen, I wonder, whenever I’m in a drowsy state of mind? The need for a new chair is indubitably urgent, good doctor!

And finally, two remarks about me from Marshall McGee on his latest “Memo of the Weird” podcasts, the first being constructive criticism on his show dated September 30th, like so:

“Okay, um, Ezekiel…wrote…and I haven’t read anything on the air by Ezekiel for such a long time because he has his own folder in my, uh, email program because he sends like, you know, two or three dozen posts to the announce list serve every day, and it’s just…it’s frustrating because he’s not STUPID. I don’t know what the thing is, he doesn’t seem to…why? And most of the posts are just a link to some article that he liked. Put it all together and send it all in one post! You get the same job done and don’t bug anybody.”

The second remark aimed towards yours truly came on his next show one week later: highly complimentary though preceded by a wrist slap, like so:

“Another exception I’ve been making to embracing people’s total chaotic freedom to paint MY world with their own shit has been Ezekiel, who for all his faults never struck me as dangerous or scary, just lonely and working through trauma and genuinely CREATIVE. So I’ll be reading another of his stories of his current life, and travails in dog and homeless person fellowship a little later on in the show, and probably next week too, and the week after that, put him on the air in person if we ever get the phone thing fixed.”

1:00 PM and still no Deek, but I got a ton of writing done in the past two+ days during his troubling absence. I hope he comes around ASAP. No one else can deal with his bullshit except THIS pro-transient, intransigent pilgrim! Besides, I miss the brindle mutts already…as I always start to do mere seconds after they depart for the nonce.

– Zeke K-Holmes


Jeez, look how clean they left it, quite impressive. You wouldn’t even know anyone was ever there, and held a hobo sale to boot:

Click here for a larger view.

But I missed the chance to snap up that deck chair! Oh, well, they probably needed it. And I just got this reply from VetSOS:

“Thank you for letting me know and for looking after your friend and his dog.”

So I just posted back:

“Oh, I’m very inspired: [link inserted to my Brindlekin Tales page].”

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

Subject: GOT MY CHAIR!! (see pic)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 11, 2022 at 7:27 PM

It’s the cheapest kinda chair you can get, but hey, it’s a step above a bucket! It will do for now, that I can bide my time waiting for a cushy swivel chair to manifest. The chair’s now covered with a decorative cloth, but it’s so lightweight I wouldn’t dream of just plunking my ass on it, like dropping a bowling ball onto a Tonka truck!

There were actually two OTHER chairs out there, believe it or not, but the one I picked was the best of the lot. The second one was all metal, with a concave, meshed back, but it was way rusty. And the third chair sported a cushion seat, though ragged and filthy. So the folding chair was just right, and Goldilocks Zeke made herself home in it!

What’s so funny is I also found a pristine pair of sneakers on my way to the bank, shortly before I returned hovel to discover a suitable chair in the ATM nook. I saw them lying beneath a tree, picked them up for a sniff: no stink at all. Then sat down on a doorstep and tried them on: perfect fit! So I dropped them into my backpack and continued my short trek, elated for the find.

Upon my return from the bank, I stopped by Morey’s corner store to purchase a couple of items. As he rung ’em up, I stood back with outstretched arms and asked if he likes my military look, for I was wearing the khaki jacket Deek gave me.

“Is that from Russia?” he queried. (Amusing first question to ask, eh, good doctor?)

“I have no idea,” I replied. “It’s a gift from Deek, so god only knows WHERE he got it, maybe in the Mission or UN Plaza, probably black market ’cause he does a lot of wheeling and dealing on the streets. I never ask him ANY questions when it comes to whatever gift he brings my way!” (Not to mention the myriad devices he has me charge.)

I then told Morey it doesn’t close in front, it’s too narrow but I didn’t have the heart to tell Deek since he presented it to me in honor of a soldier I once loved.

“Is there a label in the back?” he persisted.

So I removed it to discover a label not on the back, but on the lining side of the right pocket.

“I can’t read it though,” I said while holding it before my squinting eyes, “not without my spectacles!”

Morey then whipped out a magnifying glass from below the till (hmm, a touch of the Sherlock in that fellow, too!), and told me to lay it down on the counter so he could take a closer look. But as you can see by the pic, it only states instructions on how to keep the jacket in tip-top shape, and nothing else. Well, so much for its Russian origin!

But my whole reason for wearing that coat was to make a statement to Morey that I’m not REALLY a prisoner of Deek’s demands, as there is more to it than that, which includes kindness. And I figured VISUAL proof would have a better impact over VERBAL. After all, Wattson:

One picture IS worth a thousand words!

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Well THAT was a corny ending to this missive, but I like it anyway. Please pass the borscht, comrade Wattson.

Re: He’s not stupid!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 11, 2022 at 7:36 PM

> Damn! Pretty good advice!

I don’t know about that…I did it to stir up the boobies. He has no idea the kind of crap I have to put up with in the discussion list, and then there are the anti-vaxxers and other assorted fruitcakes on the announcement list. The ONLY reason I decided to cease and desist, was because Marshall’s offer was too great a boon to turn down. But I DO think the way he went about it was hilarious, and worth a transcript in my latest chapter.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Spare Change of Heart
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 11, 2022 at 9:04 PM

I just might give him the “twenny dollah” as he calls it. And here’s how it will go down:

He’ll make some wise crack about my ripping him off of a Jackson, and I will answer back thusly:

“All this fuss over a lousy twenty dollar bill, even though I give you THOUSANDS of dollars a year? I don’t know, Deek, you sound awfully childish to me!”

And he’ll make some kind of indignant comeback, to which I will respond:

“Well, tell ya what, Deek. Hows about I return that military jacket so you can sell it. After all, you said you could get at LEAST $20 for it. Does that work for you?”

He’ll probably lower his head and mutter something like, “Nah, I don’t wanna do that. It’s a gift I really want you to have.”

Though he just possibly might catch me off guard and say, “Okay, I can roll with that!”

In which case I’ll reply: “Hmm, I have a better idea,” and then proceed as I had planned anyway:

“I still don’t believe I gypped you out of your money, but I’m gonna let it slide and give it to you just the same, and for a very good reason you can’t imagine.”

“Oh, what reason is that?” he’ll ask, perplexed.

“Because during our argument, you did not raise your voice one single time in front of the dogs. And THAT, my brother, is worth twenty dollars to me! Though realize this is a very tight month for me, budget wise, because I have to pay my publisher $69 every October to keep my book on the shelves.”

This solution is under the assumption, of course, that he won’t be screaming at me when he DOES finally show up and rag about what a shyster I am. I’ll have to play this by ear, Wattson. But don’t I always?

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: GOT MY CHAIR!! (see pic)
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 11, 2022 at 11:12 PM

> “Insist on it being properly pressed!” Oh, I love that!!

Sergeant 1st Class Orville P. Snorkel’s orders.

> Cannot believe those shoes. They look brand new.

Some wear shows inside, but not much. And I didn’t realize they’re Nikes till a couple hours later…NOT a cheap brand. Deek ALWAYS notices a person’s shoes, and he’ll see these on my feet and wonder where I got ’em. He won’t believe me when I say I found them, he’ll think I have plenty of money and accuse me of lying. End of day 3 since I’ve last seen him and the doggies.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: Ha-ha!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 12, 2022 at 12:00 AM

I just noticed the sticker on the folding chair’s backrest: “Quality cannabis for quality people.” I was so preoccupied with just having a chair, any old chair, I didn’t pay attention to that detail until now, and I had covered it with a bolt of cloth anyway.

Click here for a larger view.

Subject: Fuck, he’s back!
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 12, 2022 at 12:41 PM

That’s Karlsen, in the red hat sitting at the bus stop. I looked out my window just a moment ago and was MOST disappointed to see his unsavory visage once again. The nightmare continues.

– Zeke K-Holmes

Subject: The $20 Fiasco Resolved!
From: Ezekiel Krahli
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 13, 2022 at 11:59 PM

Not the way I had planned, but in a similar vein albeit unexpected. And he did not even fly into a fury, but remained impressively stable. I was glad to see him and the pooches after a three-day absence. The first thing he said to me was:

“You short changed me twenny dollah!”

“No I didn’t,” I replied, and then he went off on a tangent how badly he NEEDS “the full amount” (his words) of Sunday’s allowance in advance. Which SHOULD mean $50 ’cause that’s what I allot him gratis twice a week, Sunday and Thursday.

“No, no, no, Deek, that’s WAY too soon! Ya gotta wait till Sunday, and that’s four days from now.”

Well, he kept pushing, finally making it clear that by “full amount” he meant a hundred, not fifty!

“NOT gonna happen,” I answered back. “Look, how ’bout I return that lovely military jacket so you can sell it?”

“No, I don’t want it back,” he stated, then abruptly got up to leave in anger, yanking the pups from the large, plush pillows someone had placed in the ATM alcove yesterday.

“DON’T do that, Deek,” I ordered. “Don’t take it out on the dogs, that’s just wicked!”

I could see they were confused, as they thought they were gonna have a nice, comfy rest on those pillows, and they hadn’t even gotten settled in when he crudely pulled them off. He then looked at my feet:

“New shoes! Where’d you get the Nikes?”

“I FOUND them, on my way to the bank yesterday,” I replied.

“They look new. I gotta have ’em, I NEED them!” he exclaimed. “How ’bout giving them to me, plus fitty dollah?”

“Seriously?” I queried. “That’ll work for you?”

He said yeah, so I bolted upstairs to change back into my ratty old sneakers, shoved my wallet into a pocket (so I could go to my bank to withdraw fifty), then flew back downstairs to present him with the Nikes. I was surprised how delighted he was with this arrangement. And that it came down to giving him SOMEthing I had in the way of apparel to please him. Wattson, I shoulda known it would be the Nikes instead of the jacket, as he always goes NUTS over that brand of footwear. But for some reason I never thought of that, even though I told you in a previous missive he always notices a person’s shoes.

After returning from the bank I handed him the cash in the usual Chase envelope and told him to count it out, to verify it’s the right amount. He did, then asked me to watch the dogs today, which I was hoping he would. Then off to the races he went, and I got the mutts settled in for what turned out to be another lovely day. Perfect weather, too: sunny and slightly warm with a light, cool ocean breeze.

I first watered and fed the pups, and when I was upstairs preparing their meal, I heard two old ladies’ voices gushing sweet words over them:

“Oh, aren’t you a darling. What a sweety pie! Yes, I love you too-oo!”

Turns out they know Deek, and I explained I live in this building, have been his friend for many years and dog sit for him several days a week, so he can run other errands without being slowed down by the pups, and take a break now and then so he can ride his bicycle around the city.

“He’s a good man,” said one of the both-plump lesbian couples in silver hair. Then she paused and added with a frown: “I hope he’s not so fucked up now, like he used to be!”

“No, he isn’t,” I replied, “But he IS a challenge ’cause he needs to make MORE changes.”

She nodded her head and smiled with appreciation at my comment. They doted on the hounds a few more minutes, then bid me adieu and hopped into their vehicle and varoomed up Market Street. That’s when I wished I had brought my Canon Powershot downstairs: I could’ve gotten some great pics of the two ladies so colorfully attired while standing by their car and chatting merrily, before they took off!

So when I returned upstairs to use the restroom, I made sure to return with a camera. And the first pic I took, and a video, was of a friendly African-American dude who was homeless, and settled in at the opposite end of the ATM alcove:

I just met him today while sitting in the ATM alcove below my window, dog sitting for Deek. He showed up about about two hours after I set up camp, gave a kind smile and hello, then plunked himself down and started grooming his legs, feet and toes. His name is Deonte, and I felt very comfortable in his company.

Some time later a young Japanese woman came by to compliment me over how well I take care of Deek’s charges. I see her a lot these days, and she tends to show up only when the dogs are around, whether with Deek or yours truly. VERY nice person, always encouraging Deek to take better care of the hounds, but never in a conflicting manner. I really appreciate her! Don’t know her name yet, but I’ll be sure to find out next time we meet. She even kept Flaco company while I took her brother for a brief poopy walk up and down the block, and did the same when I switched doggies.

“You’re an angel!” she told me before departing towards Noe Street.

“These sweet little dogs bring out the best in me!” I called back with a friendly wave.

Here’s a pic of the poochies resting on those pillows:

Click here for a larger view.

The cardboard laid out on the right of the snapshot is what I put down for my own comfort and hygiene. I felt very secure with Deonte nearby and even lied down on my side with Flaco in one arm, and my right hand reaching out to pet Lucky and scratch his neck. I didn’t fall asleep, not my intention anyway, but was quite relaxed reclining there in such a position that my right hip didn’t press down on the hard surface. I was actually surprised how cozy I felt! Those corrugated cardboard sheets really make a difference.

After about an hour or so I sat back up to see Deonte still there, and the sky had darkened into late noon, the air a bit chilly, though not unpleasantly so. I decided then to put the pups’ sweaters back on, a clean pair I had stashed away on my loft, so I returned upstairs to retrieve them. The older pair Deek had given me to wash this morning, and were now hanging by a cord reaching from closet to shelf, to dry out.

It was only after I put their little garments on, that I paid closer attention to two posters that had been plastered over the boards yesterday, where the ATMs once stood. I was both astonished and elated to discover their message, which you can view for yourself in the following video:

The ATM station below my window has been a mini-haven for the local homeless for many years. Finally, customer complaints to Wells Fargo recently led to the money machines being removed and boarded over. I was worried they’d also close up the entire nook as well, but to my surprise it’s remained available for street people to continue to congregate, and sometimes sleep. It’s also a great shelter from the rain. That’s when I realized the plan to shut down the ATM depot has backfired in a way, because it wound up being a MORE accommodating spot for vagrants to gather…no longer disturbed and frowned upon by those wanting to withdraw cash, and sometimes even chased away by the po po. In fact, there are now two pro-homeless posters where the ATMs once stood!

You can pause the video at some point for each poster, and read the title at bottom. But just to make things easy, I’ll type them here:

Poster on the left: “Caledonia Street homeless encampment group photograph.”

Poster on the right: “Alberto and Jaime unhoused couple.”

Dare I say this little alcove that once housed automated teller machines for more than three decades has morphed into a shrine and gathering spot solely for the indigent? I’d sure like to find out which person or people put those elegant posters up, and shake their hand!

Now here’s a delightful video I took a bit later after recording the posters, of Lucky during one of his “fluffier” moments:

I dog sat for my homeless friend Deek today, where we settled into the ATM nook below my window. This is a charming scene of Lucky attempting to fluff up a large, fat pillow, but it doesn’t go anywhere. His sister Flaco is in the foreground. Watch the entire piece (it’s just one minute), you’re in for a treat…and you’ll know what I mean when you see it. It’s close to the end, starts at 46 seconds and lasts just three.


He showed up around 6:30 PM with Wes (who greeted me joyfully: “Someone just gave me a skateboard, Zeke!”) and a large, floppy orange pop-up tent wobbling from a fiberglass rod in one hand! I was flummoxed, because he doesn’t know I recently bought a rainproof pop-up tent of my own, to protect the doggies during soggy spells. And today I was thinking if it would fit in the ATM station, imagining myself and the pups snug within! As if he could read my mind, and was having fun with it…just as he did this morning by accepting some apparel in lieu of $20, which I only thought about while he was gone for three days. Here’s a pic of the tent:

Click here for a larger view.

I shot it from behind the tree in front of the gate, and at such an angle Deek couldn’t see me. I’m sure he’d have a conniption if I tried to take a photo of him with his knowledge…thus I can’t share with you the complete image of that tent. It’s more of a sun shade than a real tent, though it serves his needs just fine, in light of the fair weather. Flaco immediately stepped into it the moment he set it down, but a few seconds later realized the lining was too thin for comfort, atop the cold concrete without any additional cushioning…so returned to the plush (though dirty) pillow in the corner.

“Would you like me to put the pillows inside the tent?” I asked Deek who was already seated within, beside his large Bluetooth speaker. But the idiot said no, so the dogs remained several feet away from him, rather than snuggled beside their master. Which I’m sure they’d prefer, along with the plump cushion for a bed!

At any rate, I had yet another lovely day, and some adventure (as you predicted) sitting the dogs for the fifth time since this started. And learned something new:

That more people than I realized are aware of Deek and the doggies, and go out of their way to pet them and say hi to him. And as a result of my outdoor presence as Deek’s friend and dog sitter, more folks are becoming aware of MY role in this. Which is exactly what I’ve been working towards, that Flaco & Lucky become the mascots of the Castro, and protecting and watching over them become a community project. Seeing as Deek is not the best master he should be, so surrounding him with caring residents will work in my favor, and that of the dogs. There are helping hands out there, and their number can only increase.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: one more pic, this time a view from where I sit on the ground in the ATM alcove, wearing my worn out old sneakers instead of the Nikes I thought would be mine:

Click here for a larger view.

You can’t see this, but both heels have been partially chewed up by Lucky when the mutts used to visit me upstairs, the right heel more badly mauled than the left. Those shoes were his chew toys…and they still are sometimes when I take him for a walk and he suddenly clamps down on my heel like a curly-tailed stealth ninja, and I drag one leg along with great effort for a block or more, and passersby laugh as I say to Lucky: “Oh ya got me now, ya got me now!” Flaco, on the other hand, couldn’t be the least bit interested in shoes, but it’s just her little beating heart’s delight to be in my company. The feeling is, of course, totally mutual.


I almost forgot: Scooter showed up while I was out there today with the doggies. I was walking Lucky, so was about thirty feet from the ATM alcove, when he attempted to stand inside it while waiting for Karlsen. But Flaco, resting on a pillow, would have none of it and jumped up and started to bark wildly at him until he stepped back onto the sidewalk. She continued to harangue him until he moved further away and out of sight, by the bus stop. Had her leash not been secured to that rusty metal chair, I’m sure she would’ve chased him down the road until he crossed the intersection.

Then he saw me return with Lucky, but did not show any desire to intimidate me, or even talk. He wisely kept his distance, mouth shut…and a few minutes later Karlsen stepped out whereby the meth duo departed from my area, crossed Noe Street and disappeared around the corner. Good!


I decided the other chair, the one with a cushion on the seat and backrest, was better than the flimsy folding chair I took hovel yesterday. Because it is heavier and more solid, something I could feel more relaxed in. And besides, while it looks kinda seedy, covering it with a decorative length of cloth eliminates the eyesore.

So I deliberated on WHEN I should lug it upstairs: nighttime I concluded, so as less likely to run into any snoopy resident who might panic that I’m bringing in bedbugs. But I checked the chair thoroughly: no fecal or blood specks or crud, no tiny brown critters scurrying about: it was “clean” in that sense. But I thought if I waited so long to claim it, some street person might walk by and take it. So I finally decided to bring it inside right away, and just keep my fingers crossed that I’d meet no one on my trek up the stairs and into my room.

I opened the front gate with the chair tucked partly beneath my arm: the lobby was empty and so was the first flight of stairs. So far, so good. It was, however, in the back of my mind that the exterminator might still be around, as about two hours earlier I espied one of his pesticide spray canisters set down in my hallway by a neighbor’s door. I felt victorious halfway up the next level of stairs and to my hovel when suddenly someone greeted me at the next landing up. Of course it was the exterminator who I was afraid would notice the scrappiness of the chair and stop me with questions, and ask to look it over. Or possibly, just report it to the manager.

At any rate, I figured the best strategy was to rush on by and tell him I’m busy right now, watching my friend’s dogs outside. Thankfully, that worked, he said good to see you again and have a nice day. It remains to be seen, however, whether or not he snitches on me.

I took the folding chair downstairs with me and returned it to the place I found it: in the opposite corner of the ATM nook, from where the pups and I sat. A few minutes later some boisterous, mop-headed vagrant barged right on into the alcove, spotted that chair and kicked it around a few times (upon which the dogs stood up and commenced to bark like mad) before marching off with it.

Re: The $20 Fiasco Resolved! [ONE MORE THING]
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 13, 2022 at 4:06 PM

> And the beat goes on!

Ha-ha. Nice touch, insinuating the exterminator into the scene of my dragging a beat up old chair upstairs. I’m tellin’ ya Wattson, this is all SCRIPTED! Another mini-masterpiece coming up shortly, stay tuned!

Re: The Schnoz
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 13, 2022 at 5:48 PM

> I have the same jacket for Surely!

Who can resist a camouflage jacket for a little doggy? Seems to be the only way to go.

Subject: Just Work With Me Here
From: Ezekiel Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: October 13, 2022 at 7:34 PM

Deek showed up early, 8:30 AM in fact. He called up to my window, but I was already in the lobby on my way to Rosenberg’s, so I startled him upon opening the front gate.

He demanded I sit the pups NOW ’cause he’s off to work collecting recyclables. I tried to set up a schedule to make things less stressful for me, while giving him ample free time away from the pups. A generous arrangement of six hours every other day, then two or three every day in between. Which would allow me enough hours in the week to continue my writing and Internet activities (though I’d have to cease SOME aspects of it, such as posting so much to the MCN mailing lists).

Yes, he could even break up the six-hour days into two separate time slots totaling six. But I couldn’t get any further than “Let’s set up a schedule, here’s my idea…” before he rudely interrupted and ranted on how I’m not doing my fair share, and he’ll have to give the dogs up if things go on this way!

I told him the mutts are a blessing, he knows it and is just using them to play me.

“I can’t get anything done, when they’re with me I just sit around, bored out of my skull!” he exclaimed. “There’s a lotta things I need to do, and they’re tying me down, Zeke.”

“Oh please. Stop the drama. The more love you show the dogs, the better your life will be, and you know it.” I replied. “I didn’t say I won’t watch them again right now, glad to do it. I just want to establish some sort of schedule that works for us both. Otherwise, I’ll get exhausted and won’t have time to write more stories and make that breakthrough.”

“Exhausted?” he snapped back. “All you do is sit around all day, so how could you ever get exhausted?”

“It’s MENTAL, Deek, and it’s REAL,” I retorted. “Just because you don’t understand does not justify bossing me around. Dealing with that ALONE is an exhausting proposition.”

I also told him he was fine on his own with the hounds before they started visiting me, and I’m now giving him plenty of time each week to do his errands on his own, and his bike riding for recreation. Well, Wattson, he refused to listen, all the blame is mine, blah blah blah. Then he said:

“Gotta go now, the dogs are yours!”

“How soon will you be back,” I called to him as he dropped the leashes and swiftly moved on towards Castro Street.

“I don’t know!” he called out, with a large sack of aluminum cans and glass bottles rattling against his shoulder blades and butt. Two things are going on here:

1. He knows how much I adore the pooches, so he holds that over my head, threatening to get rid of them unless I do this or that.

2. Everything is leverage to him: whatever he possesses or conjures up in his mind is always geared to manipulating the other person so he’ll get his way, or at least TRY to. And the pups are simply one of those possessions.

Though I must admit: every time I sit the canines I have a really nice day; but it IS a bit nerve-racking sometimes, such as when a speed freak parks his fundament in the alcove and acts sketchy, or whenever I have to return to my hovel to fix a meal, use the bathroom, etc…because they’re out there without protection for whatever craziness may come down the road while I’m upstairs.

Wes showed up today, still with that skateboard, and we had an incredible conversation…talking about street shamans, Terence McKenna and his brother Dennis, Alan Watts, Carl Jung, Buddhist teaching, and other topics that made our meetup a total woo fest! Before departing, he said:

“You’re an outstanding man, Zeke, and I understand and agree with everything you’ve just told me…I’m a bodhisattva guardian myself! But I have appointments today, and many forms to fill out, so I gotta leave you now.”

I wished him an excellent afternoon, and said next time we get together I’ll let HIM take the stage, as I babbled on too much about my own theories of the world.

One bonus I get out of this newfound camaraderie is that he’s friends with Deek, and thus an excellent tempering link for Deek’s mood swings regarding how he treats me. But the other bonuses I get have nothing to DO with Deek, which are: he’s intelligent, conversational, attuned to the world in a spiritual way, optimistic, outgoing and cheerful. I’m sure Wes’s company will be an outstanding boost in my world on many levels. Another bodhisattva guardian (and he even admits it) not as an adversary but a compassionate ally. What a relief, eh, after all these crises and challenges over many moons?

Later on a Castro tour guide with a cortege of rubberneckers magically appeared before the ATM nook, where I sat with the hounds, typing away on my tablet with some difficulty due to solar glare and lack of a real keyboard. When the guide (lesbian and 60-something-ish) saw this mini-oasis occupied by two assumed-to-be-transient men (the second being Deonte, who had slept here overnight and was still recumbent), turned to her brood, sighed and said:

“Just work with me here.”

Humph, I thought, considering my decades of dedicated activism for LGBT rights here in San Franshitsco, and our homeless family in particular, *I* should be part of the tour! Yet here I sit, perceived as some old codger down on his luck with nothing worthwhile to say, or know about him. No golden years he! Rather than brushing me off, I wish the lady WOULD have declared with immense pride:

“And now may I introduce you to our local LGBT advocate of many years, Zeke Krahlin, who focuses on our homeless and is presently dog sitting for a long-term friend who lives on the streets. Mr. Krahlin himself is still housed, though it is indeed a most humble cell he occupies. Living many years in a rent controlled, single room whose two windows you can see right above the front gate here, has allowed him to dedicate a considerable chunk of his Social Security stipend towards helping his indigent companion and these delightful pooches.”

At any rate I recorded a snippet of her talk, which you may now watch and listen to here:

While I was sitting Deek’s pups this morning, our fabulous Castro tour guide whose name I don’t recall, paused before me for a few minutes with a gaggle of eager neophytes. So I decided to shoot a brief video of this momentous moment when they totally ignored yours truly, regarding me as a hopeless old vagrant instead of a dedicated activist of many years, for our LGBT houseless. She really should make me part of the tour! What she said in that clip, in case her raspy, pot smoker’s voice was too blurred from the murmur of traffic for you to discern, was the following: “…sexuality. For instance, I know several female-to-males that still date lesbians. How did Lou Sullivan identify that they were transsexual?”

Scampy also showed up today, said hi where’s Deek, and I told her collecting bottles and cans…and then she noticed the pro-homeless posters in the ATM nook and exclaimed:

“Wow, that’s awesome. Who put those signs up there?”

“I’d like to know that myself,” I replied, “and shake their hand. But there’s only the title and nothing else to indicate the photographer’s name or the person or group who put them up.”

Her recognition of those posters, and appreciation OF them, really impressed me, good doctor. Makes me realize how easily a homeless person, especially one with obvious psychological issues, can be underestimated! Scampy has her act together more than I realized. Guess I’m guilty of underestimating the indigent, myself. I suspect she’s yet one more bodhisattva angel in the guise of a vagrant. But they’re SUCH good actors, it’s easy to forget.

Deek returned three hours and some minutes later from the time he departed…not bad at all. I think he likes to keep me guessing, the little snot. I really don’t mind his getting me out of bed at cock’s crow and passes the doggy leashes to me, even though I haven’t had my coffee yet…I just prefer to start each day slow and calm. But with my Cajun devil it’s like boot camp where you have to move your arse pretty quick once you arise, and it’s an ORDER to jump out of bed, not a leisurely decision on your part. I’ll just have to adapt, as it IS all about the brindlekin: a most worthy mission that warms my heart. One final note worth your interest:

After Deek returned he laid out some mixed wet and dry dog food on a folded trash bag. I was about to tell him I don’t think they’re hungry yet, but then I realized he’s no longer forcing them to eat off the sidewalk. Which pleased me no end, so I kept my trap shut. He does indeed listen to me!

– Zeke K-Holmes

The Next Next Next Next Next Next Next Next Chapter

April 2, 2021

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 3: Chapter 16]

Subject: Your Key Phrase
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Anna-Lee Horsington
Date: April 1, 2021 8:57 AM

This particular phrase of yours is key:

“I do not experience the system as all bad.”

Because it just now hit me, that you worked with Medicaid clients in NEW MEXICO, which is one of the handful of states that has NEVER crippled the poor with an astronomical Share of Cost. (Though, as with the two other states I know of that likewise did not, there was STILL an egregious price to pay: NO real dental care.)

Thus, you were virtually SHELTERED from experiencing the draconic fees for Medicaid services that were typical for well over forty of our states, possibly as many as forty-seven. Seeing as I did not do research on this for every state. I only found, thus far, three states that did NOT charge a criminally-exorbitant SOC: New Mexico, Minnesota, and Massachusetts.

My point being, therefore:

You were not so hobbled in your mission to assist the poor, as you would’ve been in most every other state. Therefore, you cannot REALLY give me that inside view of Medicaid workers who had the misfortune of being employed in a high-SOC region. Which also means you cannot speak for the quality (or lack thereof) of Medicaid services across the board, that is: in a national context. It’s almost like you were working in a different country, where the poor were treated better.

– Zeke

Re: Some Sweet Lovin’
From: Zeke’s Mailing List
To: Chuck Kapinski
Date: April 1, 2021 1:13 PM

> Their adorable precious sincerity is unmatchable and priceless.

No truer words have been said! Thanks. But since that video, more sadness and tragedy has ensued. You can read about it in my last two Brindlekin chapters. That would be chapters 14 and 15 of book 3.

> I think I may have this goddamned bug.

VERY sorry to hear that, Charles.

> Two Sundays ago I began becoming insomniac with nightsweats, catching only maybe 3 or 4 hours alternating nights. I’ve been eating light, drinking plenty of fluids and juice, and just laying low.

Horrific, but I’m sure you’ll pull through. I hope those night sweats have abated by the time you get this email.

> I don’t DARE push the pussy panic button because a 67 year old on an SSA check ends up in the roach motel – where you check in, but you don’t check out. Lots of lying down.

America is a death cult, and the poor its greatest victims. So yeah, stay away.

> I still have to drive a couple miles every other day for groceries, dizzy as a zombie.

Drive slow, drive safe please.

> The thing lasts anywhere from two to six weeks depending upon your resistance. Maybe I’m half way through it. Hope so.

Most people survive it quite well…unless they have some serious medical complication already. You do not.

> I only make it out to Staples free wifi a couple times a week.

That’s a drag.

> How do you feel about shots? My jury’s out.

I would definitely get the shots ASAP. Unfortunately, here in San Franshitsco they have a shortage, and I can NOT get an appointment anywhere. The lucky ones with vehicles can simply drive to another county. I wasn’t even ELIGIBLE for the vaccination until a week ago! Despite my age, which is now 70. But what good is being eligible, if you can’t make an appointment? Looks like I won’t even GET my first shot for months from now.

Keep taking as good a care of yourself as is humanly possible…my prayers are with you.

– Zeke

Re: Louisiana took ALL his stimulus money!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Lisa Harwood
Date: April 1, 2021 6:05 PM

> Zeke: This video is so powerful; it sent chills up my back. . .I really believe your body of video work is going to be incredibly important some day.

Yes, it will be, but it must NOT be at the cost of two doggies’ lives, or that of a homeless person.

> And may even help in drawing attention to this tragic ‘Catch-22’ situation faced by impoverished fathers like Deek.

Definitely…I know EXACTLY what I am doing with my tales, and how they will impact the world.

> This is an intrusion of the State of Louisiana on an intended stimulus to the economy of San Francisco when it comes down to it.

Of course.

> So: start with calling your Supervisor. There may be a large number of homeless indigent fathers who have been similarly impacted.

I find that unlikely, just as I’ve found all my OTHER efforts through political and gov’t channels useless, including locally. Deek’s cooperation would be vital, and he would NEVER go along with it. But that’s not why I say “unlikely,” as it’s the system itself. Unless there were already an active support group to get the ball rolling, there is no point in wasting my time like this. I have even TRIED to get some major issues going by phone and email contacts, online forums, and so on. NOTHING went anywhere, in spite of my dedicated efforts.

> Call the local office of your Congressperson. Make the complaint. Ask them for assistance. They are in the best position to do that. Your own story of one poor person fortunate enough to have shelter trying to assist another who does not is compelling. And the shared pups also makes it a human interest tale.

Those are all nice ideas, but they will NOT mount to a hill of legumes. Believe me, I have tried that route MANY times. And that is PRECISELY why I am writing my Brindlekin Tales…a DIFFERENT route that I know in my heart will get the ball rolling in a MAJOR way. It WILL take off, and this year…I just don’t know the date of Day One.

> There must be a City Department or Non-profit who have the legal hutzpah you need. This is really a Class Action situation.

You can NOT pull off a class action lawsuit without a large number of people already on the bandwagon. I am not in a position, nor do I have the contacts needed, to achieve that goal.

> Deek had a day of feeling it was possible for him to live a “normal” life for awhile, one free if only temporarily of destitution.. . . . When he shows up again, as you know he will. Just let him blather for awhile—importantly: do not address his specific insults—and then use phrases like “Deek, I need your respect in order to help you”. . . “Deek, I can’t continue without your respect.”

Ha-ha, not gonna work…been there, done that. Soon as I suggested my contacting local gov’t officials, but I’d need his cooperation to speak for him, it all blew up in my face. You have NO idea how self-sabotaging he is!

> You have a remarkable mind, Zeke: you act on your intentions, and at least he realizes that about you. 

Thank you…and I am USING my remarkable mind to achieve the desired results through my BOOK, rather than those political channels that ALWAYS lead me to a dead end. I know this through MUCH experience over many decades.

> Offering him something to eat might help stem the stream of insults as you explain what you willing to try on his behalf next. Which you will not pursue in the absence of his respect. 

That’s NOT gonna work (offering him food), but thanks for your well-intentioned proposals. My book IS the answer, and nothing else. I think you need to realize that the creation of these tales is exactly BECAUSE the ideas you’ve suggested are ones I’ve already tried many times over, but got nowhere.

– Zeke

P.S.: The solution is therefore, to promote my tales and videos, because that IS the route I’m taking, after many years of not getting anywhere through gov’t channels. Yet I have NOT heard you say one word about sharing my works with others! Especially those you might know in gov’t, media or other venues of influence.


And the videos.

Since you are so MOVED by my tales, that’s an EXCELLENT sign that others will be, too. Right? So why try to get me to put my time and elbow grease into a strategy that is doomed for failure, instead of promoting my very MOVING stories and videos? You could easily tell friends/connections by email:

“Wow, this guy’s work is astounding…videos AND tales about very pressing matters, and are compellingly, breathlessly composed!”

Or do you not really believe I’m that good? To promote or not to promote: THAT is the question!

Subject: Little Miss Innocence Walks By
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 1, 2021 8:32 PM

Just a 29 second video. I step out of my hovel to encounter Dieter, and “Little Miss Innocence” Myrtle Haversak walks by. So tempting to strangle her; she has a petite skinny neck. But I’ll leave the Fates to sort things out, as I’m sure they have something especially ghastly in store for her and her punk son. And the building manager as well.

Re: Little Miss Innocence Walks By
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 1, 2021 9:28 PM

> Myrtle’s the skinny blonde wisp who darts by?

Of course. She’s the only person in the video besides Dieter. I can’t imagine what’s going on with those two, since things have been VERY quiet in their apartment lately. And I DON’T say hello to the building manager any more like I used to…I just walk right by him. Not that he’s ever said hello to me first, ever. Sick people.

I never phoned Deek back last night, nor today, nor has he shown up or called me at all. I’m totally disgusted with him. The dogs should not be with him…he’s a dangerous and scary fellow. This is The City of Ghouls. I need to get outta here, but not without the pups. I have no idea how to accomplish this.

Happy April Fool’s Day. There certainly are a lot of fools in San Franshitsco. And now Chuck, my friend from Philly, has come down with Covid-19…like we never saw this coming, eh?

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Little Miss Innocence Walks By
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 1, 2021 10:50 PM

> Christ. I agree. You gotta get out. And not without the pups.

Something will come through for me…I just don’t know what, or how. Or maybe Brindlekin Tales will be my legacy, containing clues as to who murdered me. Right up there on WordPress.

> Yeah, I saw that exchange. Scary as hell. Going to the hospital is like going to the morgue.

He’s an idiot. All his macho bragging how he refuses to wear a mask. I kept warning him to not be foolish, this is a serious pandemic. Now THIS happens, SO PREDICTABLE. How many others have come down with it, thanks to him, before he fell ill? His friendship is nothing more than a lingering memory. He’ll probably get dizzy and faint in his car while driving, and I’ll never know what happened.

I think today’s thoughts and scenarios were designed to send a shiver down my readers’ spines, wondering if I’m gonna go on a berserk murder spree. A trail of blood from Myrtle to Adisa to the building manager to Deek, and then to an Uber driver where I whisk the pooches away with me to some unknown destination. Maybe somewhere in Mendocino County, as the latest criminal refugee dodging the law by living out in the deep, dark woods. Maybe I’ll camp for awhile in a tent in your backyard. Erwyn’ll love the brindlekin!

Very pulpy plot. More likely a PARODY on pulpy plots. Let’s see what ensues. I am NOT inventing these tales, I’m LIVING them. This is what is so extraordinary, and is also wherein lies my liberation: a relic, a sliver of Saint Roch’s thigh bone where the hunting dog had licked and healed his bubonic wound. Discovered in the fountain spillage of my creative force. With Flaco & Lucky by my side, who led me there…my 2-headed Cerberus!

Jeez, my readers GOTTA go through all the chapters now, to understand ANYthing that’s going on at this point! I can’t believe I’ve written so many wonderful tales…though I haven’t really, except as one who pens events as they unfold. With my OWN flights of fancy scattershot across the pages. Like this email. Is it time to change your pseudonym again, or do you prefer to remain as Wattson? I rather like that!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: Little Miss Innocence Walks By
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 2, 2021 12:51 AM

> I like Wattson! Unless something better comes along!

You can never go wrong with a classic. You’re up late.

Subject: Here’s a video clip of your old neighbor, Dieter
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Charles Kapinski
Date: April 2, 2021 9:23 AM

I always have my “spyglasses” turned on once I exit my room, due to the horrid accusations against me by neighbors in 208 (mother and son) and the building manager. I call the bitch “Myrtle” in my tales. She and her punk son made a false allegation to the manager that one of the pups bit him and drew blood. That NEVER happened, as I am always with the dogs…and their dubious claim came IMMEDIATELY AFTER they received a copy of my complaint to Ablahblah Realty, that her son’s teenage friends were loitering in the hallway RIGHT OUTSIDE MY DOOR, being a disturbance with their loud pranks and “niggah” tough talk ALONG WITH refusing to wear a mask. It’s even in writing (their phony charge), in a printed letter the building manager mailed me, WITH HIS SIGNATURE. Nothing has come of it, of course, because they have NO proof, and the timing of their accusation is highly suspicious. This will be an EASY case in my favor for any attorney, once I can finally find one that actually responds to my email (a form on their page that you fill out then click “send”). But so far, no lawyer recommended to me by the SF Tenants Union has bothered to get in touch with me, and it’s been several months since I’ve started trying to get the ball rolling.

Furthermore, the ONLY reason they were loitering, is because Adisa’s mother, Myrtle, didn’t want them all to be in a small studio unit because of this highly contagious her answer was to risk exposure for EVERYONE ELSE in the building, by having them linger in the hallway WITHOUT WEARING MASKS! And, of course, I was more vulnerable to exposure, than ANYONE ELSE in the building!

These loiterers kept this up over several months, on and off, but averaged once a week. And was in ARRANGEMENT with the building manager. Whom I confronted several times about stopping this, but he just shrugged his shoulders: “They’re teenagers, what do you expect?” Right, as if it were perfectly fine to have strangers loitering in your hallway an hour or more, on a regular basis, and your own privacy is compromised, plus they expose everyone in the building to potentially catching the coronavirus…and I’M the most vulnerable, because they are almost RIGHT ON TOP OF ME!

Anyway, this was all covered in great detail in my Brindlekin Tales, particularly in THIS piece (chapter 4, book 2).

You can READ my letter to Ablahblah Realty at the top of that page. Perhaps you’ve already seen that chapter, but I have a hunch you haven’t…thus my explanation above. Who’s to say that the neighbor who recently died (in Maxie’s old room, isn’t that a hoot) did not contract the virus because of these loiterers? As well as one or more OTHER residents having come down with it, too.

Because of this horrific violation and harassment towards me, a longterm resident, I decided to purchase from Amazon, a pair of eyeglasses with a built-in camera. Which, happily, also gave me many excellent videos of the pups and outdoor scenes, particularly of their homeless “owner” who has no idea I’ve been video recording him, and uploading to Youtube.

So as it turned out recently, I stepped out and there was Dieter, slowly ascending the stairs with turtle-like speed. So I thought to share with you this 29-second recording, even though the more important point of this video is to have captured an image of “Myrtle” for future reference, if needed. I already have a recording of her stupid son hanging outside the building with two of his friends…all of them NOT wearing a mask! So here’s Dieter.

I will try to get a more interesting video featuring him, to send you.

Subject: I refuse anything BUT a happy ending!
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 2, 2021 10:12 AM

I have only two chapters to go (working on the next-to-last one now, which includes this email). This is based on my low-level OCD that wants Book 3 to contain 17 chapters, since Book 1 contains 19, and Book 2, 18. Yet it doesn’t look at all like a happy ending is forthcoming any time soon, good physician. If such be the case by the time I’ve completed the 16th chapter, that last chapter will simply contain one sentence:

“Waiting for that happy ending.”

Or perhaps I’ll add a SECOND sentence:

“Why not check out my Gay Bible website while YOU’RE waiting, too?”

IOW, it will be an open-ended conclusion, just as was my previous book, “Free Me From This Bond.” Though, once the fortuitous outcome DOES occur, I will replace that sentence with a full reckoning.

I could, of course, break my self-imposed chapter-limit rule, and continue on, possibly giving birth to yet a FOURTH book. Or continue my Brindlekin Tales outSIDE of the trilogy. We’ll just have to wait and see, as these stories depend entirely on what actually occurs in real life. And who knows?

Maybe a sudden turnaround will occur at the last moment, and chapter 17 will indeed be a happy ending withOUT delay!

No word from Deek, and I’m not gonna bother to phone him. Until, that is, when Sunday comes around, to remind him to pick up his weekly $60 allowance. I’m sure he’ll spit and fume and deny me camaraderie with the pooches. I heard him holler somewhere on Noe Street (in the direction of 7/11), “Flaco! Flaco!” late last night. Voices carry easily in the wee hours, and in the cold. I poked my head out the window a few times, to see if he were heading towards my hovel, but no, that did NOT happen.

Those wonderful, sweet little doggies, may God protect them!

Subject: More on St. Roch
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 2, 2021 10:56 AM

From Wikipedia:

“Saint Roch or Rocco (lived c. 1348 – 15/16 August 1376/79 (traditionally c. 1295 – 16 August 1327) is a Catholic saint, a confessor whose death is commemorated on 16 August and 9 September in Italy; he is especially invoked against the plague…He is a patron saint of dogs, invalids, of falsely accused people, bachelors, and several other things… he would have perished had not a dog belonging to a nobleman named Gothard Palastrelli supplied him with bread and licked his wounds, healing them.”

So, besides the dog issue, I HAVE been falsely accused, and I AM a bachelor. Also the patron St. of plagues (think COVID-19), he certainly is the one for me to pray to for intercession!

– Zeke K-Holmes

Re: More on St. Roch
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 2, 2021 12:13 PM

> Now, there’s a saint even I might pray to!

I know, right! It was never my intent to impose so much Catholic flow to my tales…yet that is where my muses took me. Some day we will understand better why this is so. For now, it is my conjecture that it is not so much an affirmation of Christianity, but an expression of Jungian archetypes most appropriate for a Christianized society. I certainly HOPE that any reader of these books will not hold any expectation of the maudlin trope that I will “discover Jesus” by the end of my tales.

I was awaiting your next missive, that I may add a further revelation to my previous email. So now, here it is:

Of course, after all I’ve been through since late October, and the incredible lessons and insights I’ve gained as a result: it makes PERFECT sense that a joyous outcome will occur right at the last moment, under the wire, a sudden twist in the final plot. But until then:

The box that Flaco loves to shelter in from time to time remains on the floor, and the two little harnesses still hang from the edge of my loft. They shall ALWAYS be a part of my hovel’s decor, so long as the pups remain asunder from my world. ‘Tis a horrible thought to imagine myself growing older with these dear items forever in place, till the day comes when I finally perish. But so it must be, if such a sad fate comes to pass. For I will never stop loving them.

– Zeke K-Holmes

P.S.: Did you see my latest Deek video yet? Less than 7 minutes. Very important to have documented…but a terrible heartbreak, so much so I can’t bring myself to watch it. I just uploaded it to Youtube and was done with it.

Re: More on St. Roch
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 2, 2021 2:37 PM

> Fuck, no.

Discover Jebus? Not on your life! Discover Artemis? I bet my whole Social Security payments and all my creative gifts on that!

> I know how you feel, and I’m not just mouthing platitudes. I really do know.

Much appreciated, Wattson. ‘Cause no one around here gives a flying fuck whether or not I exist…while a handful certainly WISH I were dead. They don’t know WHO they’re messing with, though. I shall still be here, long after THEY’RE dead and gone. It’s happened before, and it will happen again. If I can’t find any way to move the hell outta this evil burg, my own SPIRIT will repel the goons, and THEY’LL be catapulted away! And it has NOTHING to do with some silly plot to cease using underarm deodorant.

The dogs are fine, so is Deek…who is just playing his bodhisattva role to make me into a hero. But I HAVE to go through certain trials ANYway, in order to bring this about. For if I knew TOO WELL or TOO SOON, that little secret, then my mettle would have never been able to be tested! IOW:

I’m good.

> I did watch it. So, so sad to see the doggies looking back over their shoulders at you as he makes them run behind his garbage can.

Their sweet way of letting me know their love is always there for me, no matter what. INCREDIBLY caring creatures! But they also realize they have a duty to be there for Deek, in spite of a less-than-ideal situation. So: BRAVE, too!

– Zeke

Re: Did you see my latest Deek video yet?
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: My Dear Wattson
Date: April 2, 2021 7:49 PM

> I hated hearing him insult you.

He does that a lot, like every third visit. Unless he makes a big change in his attitude, it’s gonna be even worse, now that he thinks I fucked him over by getting him to apply for the stimulus after promising the gov’t won’t garnish it this time around. It was Lisa Harwood who swore to me up and down, that wouldn’t happen any more, so I took her word for it. Though I believe I DID check it out myself, and found a site that said, no, they won’t garnish it this time around.

Now, she’s advising me to contact politicians and the media, get the word out, blah blah blah. It’s all in my last two chapters, and the one I’m working on now. Anything BUT say: “Great, important writing, I’ll share it with others!” Which is what I REALLY need done…and I explained to her going though gov’t channels has NEVER worked for me, only backfired. And is the very REASON I’m creating these Brindlekin Tales…as they WILL have the desired impact, with MUCH quicker results. What is it with some people who say they love my writing, but never bother to let others know? It’s not like I’m composing some silly, romantic fluff novel, or a Reader’s-Digest-style doggy tale. This is POTENT stuff I’m broadcasting! I’ve bcc’d to you, two or three of my replies to Lisa, but I know you’re too busy to get around to EVERYthing I send you.

But whatever. I am totally CONFIDENT of my forthcoming success, so it’s more like I’m offering people like Ms. Harwood a wonderful opportunity to be a PART of nurturing this success. Anyway, back to Deek:

Besides him calling me a pervert for letting Flaco lick me on the face, he also said they stink, and weren’t like that when he dropped them off. Not true, I told him they DID smell a bit when you brought them here, and it’s your body odor from sleeping with them. Of course he denied that, accused me of lying. You saw how he feigned innocence, as if all he said was he didn’t want them licking me…unlike a few nights back when he cussed me out over that.

His hostility boils down to just one thing: jealousy over how much the pups love me. He even gets angry at me now and then, for not having him step inside any more…says everyone else has friends over, he sees them come and go from my building all the time. He doesn’t give a flying fuck if I catch the virus, doesn’t even realize the RISK I already take, by caring for the doggies! When the pandemic restrictions first took off, I told Deek no more visits, no more pups coming over, sorry. I was even afraid to touch them! But love won out: I just didn’t have the HEART to “ex” Flaco & Lucky out of my life for god knows HOW long this plague would last. It would be CRUEL to Deek, as well…who didn’t even believe the novel coronavirus was actually a thing. He now wears a mask slung below his chin, which is so he can enter stores. But he STILL refuses to place it over his nose and mouth otherwise, not even in my presence. As he departed that night, he said OLD people like me come down with it, not younger people. As if it’s perfectly alright for him to spread the virus wherever he pleases. Talk about pressing my buttons!

I can NOT reason with him in any way…he’ll shout me down unless I REALLY holler back to silence him. Which, sadly, then upsets the pooches: they lower their heads in a forlorn  manner. I’m sure he’ll claim I OWE him a full $1,400 for putting him through that.

Did you SEE that huge speaker he’s lugging around on a dolly? Ridiculous. He could’ve spent HALF as much for a decent speaker, so he could put some of that wasted money into the pups.

Okay, I’m done venting. Now for a refresher on my Bohisattva Premise:

That was March 31st, the last day of the month when I got whammied with Deek’s anger over child support’s taking his stimulus payment. The WORST thing that could’ve happened, DID happen. And he’ll milk it for all it’s worth, possibly, haranguing me with his every breath…trying to guilt-trip me as much as possible, to coughing up even MORE moolah. Which will NOT work. It never HAS worked.

Though as I said, signs point to a sudden alteration in my favor, some time in April…hopefully starting on day 1. Based on my prescient epiphany that it will occur before Flaco’s next estrus cycle. And that (remember) Deek is simply an actor, playing an antagonist’s role, that I answer his many horrific challenges to become the hero in these tales. Which are all SCRIPTED.

And since the last day of March, I haven’t been in contact with Deek…nor do I think I need bother. He is free to ring me up, whenever. I will therefore go by the assumption that the BS is over, and April will be that magic month, where Deek and all OTHER bodhisattva players will drop their masks of evil to show me their true aspects as angels. (This includes, then, my building manager and Myrtle and son, among others of less recent vintage.) TRUSTING that the pooches will be perfectly fine no matter what. WORRY is, after all, one of the demons I should NEVER allow to ruin my day. They’re expert at projecting all sorts of monstrous scenarios into one’s mind! Assuming I’m correct in my premise:

April will go down in history as “The Month of Miracles.”

– Zeke

P.S.: Also based on my premise, I believe I may very well be the MOST IMPORTANT PERSON ON THIS PLANET at this time. Everything, everyone else, is trivial by comparison. Do I have a fat ego, or what?

Down to the Home Stretch

December 27, 2020

[BRINDLEKIN TALES – Book 1: Chapter 13]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——– Original Message ——–

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

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

My Amazon Doggy Wish List & GoFundMe Project

Brindlekin Tales on WordPress (written)

Brindlekin Tales on Youtube (narrated)

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

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

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

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

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

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

May God protect Wiley, because I can’t.

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

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

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

  • Zeke

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh thank you so much, mother.”

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

“I’m all ears, mother.”

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

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

“Get the FUCK away from me, Zeke!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your crazy friend,


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moe has a little doggie of his own.

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

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

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

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

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

Letter to my Brother, 8/4/16

August 4, 2016

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

August 4, 2016

Hey there, Vince and Darcy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In loving memory of Mom and Dad,

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

Just How Dark A Day?

October 24, 2014

What kind of Guardian Dragon are you, Larkin? You say our friendship is an incredible godsend (with beloved enthusiasm, I might add), yet you otherwise ignore me, avoid me, tell me to get the fuk outta your face…and in many other ways, humiliate me in public, and bully me! I published a novel to honor your sweet friendship, and continue to write many tales which you inspire. I send them to you via snail-mail, yet not once have you ever said “thank you” for my kind letters and postcards. Nor have you sent me (via the USPS or other delivery option) any expression of friendship or appreciation of my steadfast devotion. But I admit:

You have also done and said many nice things for me, in addition to your “godsend” praise, over these same many months during which you’ve broken my heart so often I’ve lost count. I choose to respond for the most part, with patience, compassion and humor. Yet sometimes I deem it necessary to retaliate (as I did with those postcards sent to various gay bars), because I just don’t let anyone defame my character…and because I doubt you’d respect me if I did not take action now and then.

Yet I remain in complete faith that your egregious behavior serves a compassionate purpose in the long run. And which I believe is thus:

You are My Most Adored Soulmate, above and beyond even Randolph Louis Taylor. Which is nothing short of a miracle; thus your acknowledgment that our being brought together is a godsend. I thank you so much for speaking those divine words, which put wings to my troubled heart.

There are (or were, I hope with great pleading to Our Higher Self) certain end trials I must go through, before we are brought together for eternity. Some of which require you, My Exhilarating Zilla, to open old sores and rub salt in them, that they may finally heal in a proper fashion. Hence, you drop a hint now and then via a kind gesture or declaration, in between all the hurtful episodes.

And I love you for that. (More than words can truly tell, I assure you Luscious, Lovely Larkin!)

These trials are also part of a long term initiation that I foolishly presumed would end after three or four months from its inception…or at the most, five months. Boy was I in for disappointment…seeing as This Trial Of Love’s Labor has continued unto 22 months with no end in sight!

Yet I grasp your noble desire to drag me over this bed of nails as long as possible. For that is the only way to ensure eternal bliss with your chosen partner. You are My Guardian Dragon, who would not hesitate even one nanosecond to bring havoc and misery upon me, should Goddess inform you that is precisely what I need to experience in order for my soul to expand. And if you make things too easy, I’d never learn what important lessons are required to forge The Greatest Friendship Ever. A friendship that will expand well beyond our personal horizons, and eventually touch every sentient being on this wobbly little planet.

Which outcome, of course, will likewise expand respect and reverence for sexual minorities everywhere. Our tale is the greatest romance ever, and it is not between a male and a female (like Romeo & Juliet), but between two 100% gay men! And a real-live detective story to boot! So allow me to shower you now, with tremendous affection, and this promise:

I will always be here for you, Larkin, for that is Goddess’s blessing to us both. Our friendship, our being brought together, is indeed an incredible godsend!

So I saw you today, Oct. 21, approach Duboce Park around 2:30 PM as usual, walking that sweet smallish doggie that is mostly black, with a white tipped tail and one or two paws just as white. I was already awaiting you for more than 20 minutes, strutting up and down Duboce and scoring the occasional snipe. Just when I was about to give up on you, there you are with a red haversack that mimics mine, and canine in tow.

You seemed not disturbed over my presence as you crossed the street and entered the park. As for myself, I followed obliquely and settled on the grassy mound that occupied the “dogs-on-leash” section. You stood around 22 yards away, flinging the tennis ball to give your charge some exercise…and camaraderie I guess (which you’re very good at, and which I miss like a bear misses berries).

After several minutes had passed, I knew you were about to leave. Thus I stood up, brushed the newly cut grass off my Levi’s, and marched to the top of the mound. Whence I stood a distance, facing you and waiting for your sweet face to glance in my direction. And when it did, I spread my arms in a wide air hug, sending you rays of gratitude.

I did this two more times, after moving each time further away. Till I was situated at the inbound side of the Muni Metro stop.

Then the downtown-bound N Judah careened out of the tunnel to block any view of Duboce Park for a half minute or so before rumbling off. By that time, you were no longer present anywhere in the quadrangle…and which result I anticipated, knowing how clever you are in timing your disappearance from my passionate visions. You are a frustration-and-a-half, yet I comprehend the purpose of your tease, as described seven paragraphs above.

I am begging you, Larkin:

Please don’t leave me struggling alone on Christmas Day, thinking once more about Randolph, and how you don’t care enough to give me comfort on This Most Holy of Days. Bad enough that I must pass through Halloween and Thanksgiving without Your Gracious Presence!

Must Christmas also be just as dark a day?

The Breath of the Buddha

September 10, 2014


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

A Cautionary Email

August 23, 2014

From: A Friend of Bryan
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 13:28:30
ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment

I’ve just read your ‘Another One Bites the Faery Dust‘ and hope that you take a little of your apparent precious time to read my note to you in response.

I apologize you never got the chance to know Bryan. I am truly sorry that you apparently haven’t been able to come to terms with your own apparent issues which after reading your blog you do in fact have. Otherwise people wouldn’t disregard you or invalidate you. I’m sorry that for some reason in your sad little life you feel you have the right to judge others merely by their appearance.

I would tell you about Bryan and could probably give you some insight into why you may have gotten some of the responses that you received or say you received from him. I can tell you that he was far from wealthy in a monetary sense. But he was apparently much wealthier than you’ll ever hope to be in the fact that he was loved and cared for by so many both in San Francisco as well as back home in Michigan.

Are you sure it wasn’t a reflection of yourself staring at you with soulless eyes because everytime I looked into his they were comforting and welcoming.

I believe you Zeke are just a hateful, narcissistic being and hope that nothing like this ever happens to you.

And if it does I’m certain that someone will be blogging ‘Good riddance’ to your existance and that they “Never gave a fuk” about you.

As for a Mama’s boy, I will give you that much. Yes he was, right up until she died 7 years ago while Bryan and I held her hand.

Don’t judge, get off your soapbox as you are no better than anyone else. You obviously know this and it just makes you feel better to insult others. I apologize that you’ll never know love because if you did you damn sure wouldn’t be the hateful son of a bitch that you are now.

Date: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 14:06:36
Re: ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: A Friend of Bryan

That’s okay you are upset with me. I am attempting to dredge out certain reactions by community residents. As assistant to a detective, I play the decoy. There is a cult connected with this murder which my associate and I have been pursuing for almost nine years now. More than half were busted in 2007…but the remaining goons have migrated to the Castro.

Which is where I’ve been living since 1983. The detective has moved less than a block from me, for my protection. This cult intentionally spreads tragedy and mayhem through gay neighborhoods, many of whom are gay themselves.. I have to come off as a pathetic flake in order to protect myself, as well as catch some suspects off guard. They have already killed several of my friends since 2008, and have frightened other potential friends away from me. Thanks to this cult, I’ve been existing in virtual social isolation, except for my detective buddy.

AFAICT all remaining cult members will soon be rounded up and thrown into prison. They are the main reason the Castro presently suffers a dangerous uptick in violent crime.

Anyways, my apologies for getting you caught in a bit of crossfire.

From: Zeke Krahlin
To: A Friend of Bryan
Date: Tue, 19 Aug 2014 10:17:09
Re: ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment

A Friend of Bryan wrote:

{{ My apologies for the many insults. As no one should know your position, neither did I. It’s still very much raw as I’m sure you’ve experienced and can imagine.

Good luck to you }}

No problem,I don’t blame you one bit. Bringing out anger in a group is one tactic that helps flush out suspects. My scathing remarks against Bryan will be removed in two weeks…that’s plenty long for my purpose. Then, I’ll repost that blog entry and give him honors.

I am very concerned about two of my homeless friends out there, considering the violence going on. They are both great guys and are moving ahead with their lives…and I’m very proud of them. Wouldn’t even know they’re homeless at this point, they’re so clean and considerate. Last thing I need is to lose them, too. In fact, I wrote about one of ’em in that piece which includes Bryan. It’s at the very end section called “ThankDragon for Trace.”

It is not that you shouldn’t know about my activities, I am at the tail end of a long and crazy journey, and it is okay for me to reveal /some/ of what I do. IOW, I’m pretty much outta the woods now. FYI, my first book is out, and the reader learns how I stumbled onto this cult, and a wonderful man who I discover is a detective. All true, with my own flights of fancy interjected. You may read it for free online, at:

One purpose of that book (though there are many others) is to expose this cult and cease their misery.

Book 2 is also up there, so is Book 3 (a work in progress). I am actually greatly blessed and honored that kismet brought me such adventures, and a great love in this handsome detective, whose real name is Larkin Kelsey…though in Book 1, I use the pseudonym “Arwyn Miles”…and made him 6-foot-7 instead of his actual 6-foot-4. He gave me permission to use his real name starting with Book 2. It is my dream to use the profits off my publications to open a home for severely disabled LGBT veterans. And employ good people on the streets for whatever position suits them (cooks, companions, drivers, gardeners, accountants, etc.).

Those followers of my WordPress blog can keep up with my present adventures…most of which will be put into Book 3. But here are some tales there you might enjoy (in chronological order):

But It Won’t Make Me Happy

A Little Lizard’s Lament

Letter to Zachary

He Shoved Me Again!

I’m a Decoy for the SFPD!

Four Times in One Day

The Misery & The Ecstasy

Some of my blog readers BTW, are members of the SFPD. For in my tales I often include details about the homeless, both the good and the bad. That their work may be eaiser to fulfill, in as compassionate a way as possible. Again, you have nothing to be sorry for, standing up for a good friend. My role is a most awkward (and often thankless) task…though the rewards will be immense, and will benefit not only myself, but gay folks at large.

Blessed be!

– Zeke Krahlin

From: A Friend of Bryan
To: Zeke Krahlin
Date: Tue, 19 Aug 2014 16:23:58
Re: ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment

I did in fact read just about everything on your page yesterday trying to in a sense figure you out. Bryan’s mother was my best friend and sadly her time was cut very short as well. I became very close to him in the time she was in the hospital and drew what strength I needed to get through that ordeal from him. She made me her POA which is not easy for anyone but given she was married, had 4 children, 2 brothers and a sister it made things a little more difficult given the remarks and the second guessing.

Knowing him the way I did and knowing the demons that he constantly fought I was obviously immediately livid when I read your blog. If you do in fact work with the detectives out there and are familiar with this case then I’m certain you’re aware of said demons as well. There were times he was a little rough around the edges but I never knew him to take those feelings out on anyone but himself so I hope you see where I’m coming from and I look forward to reading the reposted version. Thank you for the links, and for the insight. I really do appreciate it and I will check them out when I get home.

Have a beautiful evening Zeke.

From: Zeke Krahlin
To: A Friend of Bryan
Date: Tue, 19 Aug 2014 18:20:14
Re: ZekeBlog 2.0 Comment

A Friend of Bryan wrote:

{{ I did in fact read just about everything on your page yesterday trying to in a sense figure you out. Your empathic nature is /most/ impressive…and I thank you for bearing with me. }}

I will soon compose a very sweet memorial to Bryan, though I hardly knew him. And I promise: I am /not/ deceiving you, it /will/ show up on that blog entry by Sept. 1, if not earlier. In fact, I’ll send you the redaction soon as I complete it, which I will be working on tonight and tomorrow.

Yes, I work with a detective, a private eye hired by the SFPD. They needed an outside gumshoe, because some members of this cult /are/ San Francisco cops. How I stumbled into this cult, and became a detective’s assistant is an amazing story in its own right. I do /not/ get any remuneration for my good works…but in the long run I will. Though what really matters is righting egregious wrongs, even if I wind up homeless.

What is strange (and remarkable) is that I found a “gray hoodie” near Duboce Park, the next day after the murder of Bryan. The suspect was described as wearing a gray hoodie. That next day (Monday, July 18) I was strolling through Duboce Park on the way back home. At Noe & 15th I found a discarded jacket. It was a thin-leather outer shell, with a gray-hoodie lining. And in such perfect, new condition, I couldn’t understand why anyone would discard it.

Now, with some hindsight after learning of Bryan’s demise, I /do/ comprehend. Though it may not be the same jacket that the criminal wore, I wonder if any witness just noticed the gray hood and not the black leather that covered the jacket itself…thus, described it as a “gray hoodie.” It was only yesterday that I considered this possibility, and a shiver went up my spine.

But before this realization, I passed on this jacket to a dear street friend, whom I shall call “Trace” in my tales. Now, I wonder if the street thug will spot his jacket on my buddy, and attack him, too. Life is quite bizarre, and this is not the first time I have been thrust into an extraordinary circumstance. Though I have faith that Trace shall not be victimized. In the sense that even the worst souls on this planet must be liberated and forgiven for their heinous deeds.Therefore I interpret this “jacket” episode as a sign of some sort of spiritual liberation for the perpetrator. But I will also tell you this:

From the recent wisdom I have gained about Life’s Workings, no one really suffers the horrid acts of violence and murder…in fact, no one actually /dies/, but is shunted to another sphere of heavenly peace before such an incident occurs. Whereby angels replace their souls and act out the remainder of their deathly throes…that we, as external observers, can learn compassion and long suffering without any person actually experiencing such horror.

Most folks get quite upset at the claims I just made to you in the above paragraphs. Understandable, ’cause it does get complicated. But I conclude that if God (or Goddess or the Great Spirit or Spaghetti Monster or what have you) is truly compassionate, he or she would /never/ allow any human being to go through such nasty outcomes. What I am saying implies thusly to Bryan:

Well before he was attacked and killed, his soul departed to a heavenly existence. And an angel’s spirit occupied his shell of a body during the time he was brutally destroyed. Thus, we (as observers) may suffer his loss and hopefully learn to be more loving towards others, not just our close friends, but strangers as well. For it is my belief at this point, that if Our Creator (or Universal Mind) is a truly loving God, this is how he teaches us to grow kinder and more concerned about /all/ people on this planet.

This philosophy of a benevolent creator I have expounded upon in my essay “NeoPositivity, a Gay Religion” which you may read here:

This wisdom has made things so much easier to help bust a cult that I stumbled onto more than seven years ago. And realize that, while I might experience a close call now and then, I will always be perfectly fine. Take this as you will, I don’t expect every single person to understand where I’m coming from. In fact, most people /don’t/. But in these last several years of personal experiences, this ideology has proven itself to me, 100% of the time, to be the absolute truth.

While realization to the greater part of humanity will prove to be a godsend to many long-suffering and sweet-natured souls.

I will not tell Trace of my suspicion about where that jacket came from, as it will probably freak him out and cause him to get rid of it. There is great joy for me to part with something which I valued greatly. Due to his incredible achievements in overcoming the brutality of surviving the streets, to present him with such a lovely gift I know will do wonders for his ultimate success.

And that, perhaps, is the liberating aspect of one who has committed a grisly crime.

Yours truly,



IT HAS OCCURRED TO ME that one of your “friends” on Facebook may have discouraged you from my posting to my page. Because I noticed someone in your list who is /not/ a very nice man. He is part of a clique that has for years denigrated me, and chased any potential friend or lover away (by instilling fear in them against me). I know who it is, and can tell you in person. His name starts with a “W” (whether first or last I will not say in this message).

The fact that you still keep me off your FB page indicates that someone may have spoken bad about me. You made a rather suspicious excuse for not re-friending me: “Oh, you needed a few days off from getting back on” (I paraphrase). That doesn’t make any sense…because I didn’t. I know myself better than you or anyone else. (Except perhaps Larkin, for he /is/ my Guardian Dragon.)

Another excuse you recently made for distancing yourself from me, is that you had some ex-wife BS to deal with, and you “needed your own space” for a while. I also need to vent on something you said about what “friendship” means:

You stated that the employees at Bean There /are/ my friends. Nope. They are friendly ’cause that is good for business…and I’m sure they’re nice people outside of work. But the point I tried to make (though you stormed off and slammed the door before I could) is this:


These Bean There workers are not people I spend time with in any way, shape or form. Not a one has invited me to hang out with him (or her). Therefore:


But I think you already know this, thus I am suspicious of your /real/ motives.

The people in this neighborhood and city are, for the most part, disgusting. They have compartmentalized me into social isolation…none speak well of me. In spite of my /many/ years’ devotion to LGBT rights. Though friendly enough to my face…they have never introduced me to their other friends as a veteran gay activist and author of many years. Nor do they /ever/ run up to greet me, or present themselves with a genuine smile. An indication they’d rather have nothing to do with me, and wish me to disappear.

Such social invisibility makes me quite vulnerable to thugs roaming the streets at night…as they choose those who appear vulnerable and friendless. IOW I am an easy mark for their homophobia.

So other long term residents such as Linda (laundromat manager), Guy (who sells flowers at Noe & 15th) and Les (who runs the liquor/grocery store just across the street from Guy)…are potential murderers. They isolate good people like me, that I may become more susceptible to violent attacks. Hoping of course to eliminate me w/o any mark of blood on their hands. And such deplorable behavior is how a neighborhood can be more readily manipulated by this cult I’ve described to you numerous times.

In fact, I’d say that such 2-faced neighbors are willful members of this cult. Know the saying: “God forgive them, for they know not what they do?” Well, what strikes me as particularly evil about these dirtbags, is they KNOW what they do!


FURTHERMORE: The only thing you’ve said to me, the only thing you’ve posted back to me after my numerous FB messages is “I love you, Zeke.” Do you think that ameliorates every question I’ve put before you?

You deny me the respect of speaking my opinion after thrusting verbal kok down my throat, then slamming the door in my face, so I can’t speak up. Larkin has done the same to me, as have many others. Causing me tremendous frustration, anger and grief. So I’m left to do what…vent myself via FB messaging, never knowing whether or not you even read them? For all I know, you’ve blocked me; or if not, just delete them immediately. Same pattern as Larkin, whose roommate told me he doesn’t even read my letters, just tosses them into the garbage unopen. Very beautiful tales which he’s inspired, some of which you’ve already seen.

When I tried to speak truth to you, you rudely interjected: “That’s /your/ reality, not mine!” Which is simply and purely HOGWASH. For I was speaking about friendship, and your definition of this was way too broad a term to hold any validity. I was explaining UNIVERSAL HUMAN TRUTH that does not vary from one person’s reality to another. I pointed out that you already /have/ solid and true friends via family and other long term associations. I do not. Therefore, it is an easy thing for /you/ to claim many friends in the city after only being here several months.

You can /enjoy/ superficial friendships because you already have a base of /real/ friends to lean on. But in /my/ case, all I’ve ever known are friendly acquaintances who disappear almost as quickly as they appear. Therefore, not having any true friends in my life causes great suffering and isolation for me…when you add up all the /years/ it’s been that way for yours truly. San Francisco is a highly transient city, which exacerbates this lonely situation immensely, especially for low-income people like myself.

I find it curious that when I asked if you’ve read my messages, you made up some faux excuse about how the Facebook app seems to disrupt viewing my posts. While I suggested you switch to a more reliable FB app, “Tinfoil,” I really don’t believe you.


FACEBOOK MESSAGE TO BRASUS – August 20 (later same day)

I noticed your notes on the back porch…very impressive. There has been a lovely tradition in 2306 of leaving nice items on the back porch for others to enjoy. But the last few building managers have pretty much put the kibash on this tradition. You understand what’s going on. Your reprimanding residents for not separating their trash is also spot on. Just because they have money to toss around, does not give them carte blanche to not cooperate in an important ecological movement (which is nothing less than saving this planet).

It is my conclusion there are one or more residents performing acts that make the manager think I’m the culprit. So that he will turn his anger upon yours truly, and get me evicted. Which will, of course, backfire. I just want to say thank you.

YOU HAVE BIG BALLS, BRASUS (and maybe some day I’ll get to lick them all night long).


So today I discover that Brasus has blocked me from his Facebook page, the only way he allowed me to communicate with him other than knocking (or leaving a message) on his door. Guess he can’t take the truth…which I believe I presented in as compassionate a way as possible. I therefore conclude he’s another one of your Castro Clone Losers. Fitting in for the acceptance of Upper Middle Class Queers who control the city, and exclude and spit on the remaining poor who are mostly homeless. With the exception of a few “gracious” benefactors who lavish the street urchins with the occasional jacket, socks, cigerettes, tina and what have you. Such as you, Brasus.

Obviously he has sold out to the many arrogant ciliques abounding the Gay Community here in Sf, and most likely in every liberal city of America if not the world. So now I’m stuck with a possibly aggressive enemy as my next door neighbor (206) right here in 2306 Market Street.

But I signed on with a new Facebook account via another gmail profile. Sure enough, his “page not available” that came up with my standard email, this time around presented the Full Monty. Ergo, the fukker’s shitting all over me. So much for having a kind ally for a neighbor. Silly me to ever expect such a nice thing to ever really occur. So I left him two sticky-notes on his apartment door:




Revision completed, safe to put it up now. Redactions begin right after his photo. It’s not “glowing” praise, but a fairer rendering of Bryan, and the tragedy of our community’s elitism. Here’s an anchor link to take you right to the Bryan Higgins section:

Friend of Bryan:

Not “glowing” but IMO a bazillion times better than what I read that led me to you originally. I hope you don’t mind that I shared a portion of one of your emails on my Facebook page. It was and is extremely comforting to think he didn’t suffer per se. I was talking to his uncle and didn’t have the exact verbiage but sent him the portion I shared and he feels the same. To attempt to explain Bryan’s ‘dismissal’ when you asked his name Bryan was bi-polar and schizophrenic and quite often would go off his meds. You may have caught him during one of those many times. He for the most part handled himself quite well, when he felt he needed to or when he began to go into a manic state he would begin taking his meds again. Not the healthiest way to treat his illness or disorders or whatever you want to call them but he believed in more holistic remedies. So let me attempt to offer you an apology for my ‘adopted’ son. He really was a beautiful creature. Again, thank you so much for the updated blog. I know you didn’t know him, he really wasn’t one to judge, I do indeed like this version much more than the first. And thank you for the kind emails. Much love to you. <3


The outrage you posted to me, is exactly the kind of response I wanted at certain community meetings over Bryan’s murder. Then Detective Kelsey could observe /which/ faces did not emote anger towards my callous accusations…or which faces mimicked outrage in order to blend in. He now has a trail on four people who match the desired “lack” of rage. At least one of them may be a cult member, who can then possibly lead the PD to the proper suspect. For it is my belief (and that of Larkin and several other associates) that this attack was orchestrated by this cult (which I call for want of knowing their /real/ title: Disciples of the Zodiac Killer). They are quite clever and surreptitious, using gossip and emotionally disturbed people on the streets, like puppets totally unaware of their controllers. Thus, the cult gets away with many crimes. SPOILER ALERT: Book 1’s Chapter 13, “The Phone Call,” introduces the reader to the cult: And the reader also learns, for the first time, that Larkin is a detective.


And it may well be that since this cult clocks my every move once outside and strolling the Castro, they witnessed my several friendly conversations with Bryan. The cult drives away, injures or even kills anyone they perceive could become a friend in my life. Thus the possibility that I am an unintentional instrument of his death.

Friend of Bryan:

I would like to think what happened was ‘random’ and that it had nothing to do with anyone in particular except this evil animals cruel nature. Whatever his/their intention may have been. I do intend to respond further, things are chaotic to say the least. And I work 7 days a week. I would prefer to respond via computer rather than my phone. It’s a bit easier. So I will chat with you soon. <3


I don’t own a cell phone, I have an android tablet and a Windoze laptop. But I want to end this conversation on a truly positive note: If I am correct in my understanding of life’s machinations described earlier, which evolved out of meditating for years on the Buddha’s statement: “we have no enemies, only teachers”…then nothing more than an incredible tragicomedy is unfolding in my world, and that of the SF Gay Family. Some play the role of evil, some die after a short appearance, and some my protectors with Larkin at the helm. Therefore:

No one killed Bryan, who is simply one of these actors playing out his chosen role. The entire scenario is exquisitely orchestrated, and for whatever reason are making me the hero of This Gay Soap Opera. It’s been going on for almost a decade now…but it wasn’t till approx’ly 4 years ago that I began to figure out what’s going on. And now that I have, I blog about it, that others may enjoy and grow wise.

This also explains why I am not so grief-struck any more, whenever another tragedy hits our neighborhood like a meteorite. It’s all a game, a beautiful game, which outcome will be unbelievably joyful. Though it may not manifest until just before the last scene plays out and the curtain falls.

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