Belated Beatitude

May 16, 2015


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 salty tale.

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?

Emotional Quotes

July 21, 2014

Today (July 14) I stumbled upon this new Twitter account called
Emotional Quotes.” I found their tweets so inspiring, that I decided to send yet more postcards to Larkin, with these heartfelt declarations. Seeing as I’ve been feeling really bummed out since my birthday came and went without his well wishes in any way, shape or form. So far, I have seven postcards ready to go, one for each day. Please note that cards 4 and 6 are my own original contributions added to the mix.

Displayed here is the address side of each postcard.

Click on any card (except #5) to see what I taped to the front. Six postcards to four bars, so two bars will get two postcards each, seperated by several days. Postcard #5 was, I think, sent to Larkin’s own mailbox.

Those were the last postcards from my “Free Me From This Bond” promotional package. So I’ll need to purchase SF-tourist type cards at 35 cents each, in order to send additional quotes such as:

I don’t know what my future holds, but I’m hoping you’re in it.

I care, I will always care.

I still remember the first time I fell for you. I haven’t gotten up since.

I didn’t say “I love you” to hear it back. I said it to make sure you knew.

No love without tears, no happiness without sacrifice, no forever without goodbye.

I feel better when you’re around, so please stay.

But I’m not sure I’ll continue my postcard blitz, as that would sort of water down a great chapter. Somehow I’ll conjure up a whole new way to be a thorn in My Linchpin Lizard’s side. A strategy I have yet to conceive, though I’m certain it will come to me in a flash when the time is ripe; and I’ll keep you all updated.

So here we have another impossible situation, yet one more doomed friendship in my long, unbroken list of failures. I’m batting a thousand! Yet within this tale of broken trust and crushed dreams lies also the promise of spirit fulfilled. Many times over eight-plus years, Larkin has scattered crumbs of such delectable dulzura along my journey, that I’d be a fool to give up so late in the game. He is not yanking my chain, he is playing a Game Of Life. A game that only permits another to participate, who possesses the intelligence to unravel his brilliant script. And the chutzpa to play back with equal force and aplomb. The bastard’s also my teacher.


Just a little fantasy where I track down Larkin somewhere in the Castro (such as Twin Peaks Tavern or Moby Dick), and present him each of those seven cards. The scenario goes like this:

Larkin steps out of the bar for his usual smoke, and spots me standing across the street…on the opposite corner by HM Plaza. So he then scowls and marches in my direction brandishing a blameful index finger:

“Zeke, don’t you dare send me another letter to any bar, or I’ll give you what for!”

I say nothing, but whip out the first card. He extracts his reading glasses from an inner pocket, and peruses the postcard (both sides), then tears it up, allowing the pieces to fall to the ground.

So I hand him the next, and the mini-drama repeats. This goes on until the final card…so by this point, a small pile of stiff cardboard segments are gathered about my feet.

All this time Larkin utters not a word…but awaits my comment. Instead I remain silent, salute him and plod on home. What tears stream down my face he does not witness, as my back is turned and I depart across Market Street.

[ Just so you know, Heraldic Reader, I did traverse the Castro with postcards in hand, hoping to manifest just such a scenario. (At least the part where I hand him seven postcards one-by-one; though I was hoping for a happy endgame.) But alas, it never came to light…thus I grew despondent and returned to my hovel to type this latest blog entry. My original plan for these seven postcards was to send off another salvo to the Castro bars he frequents. Odin knows he deserves it! Especially since he totally ignored my birthday, not even a kind word. And continues, AFAIK, to slander me.

But then I deliberated further, and decided I’ve played out my hand, there was no more point to it. However, you gotta watch these alpha males who insist on having the upper hand, the final say, in every situation. For two days after I settled on this decision, Larkin lumbered up to me with a drunk bar patron in tow, pausing to demand I cease my postcard slam. “Damn it,” I obsessed, “Now he’s gonna think I ended it because he told me to!”

So I returned to Plan A, but was held back for at least one night, as I needed postage stamps. But four more days passed without any stamps, where I found myself pondering whether or not I really should mail out a third round. “Then, he would probably sic the cops on me,” I pondered. “But what can they really do, except demand I knock it off or else? Furthermore,” I continued the internal debate, “That would be my opportunity to show them my police report against Larkin Kelsey. That would certainly change their tune, and perhaps inspire them to look into matters by assigning a plainclothes to chummy up to him at these joints.”

The police would also come to realize that Larkin’s accusations are false…thus he is squandering the SFPD’s time that could be spent on truly serious matters such as protecting queer citizens from bashers. They’d see him as The Boy Who Cried Wolf: a corrupt scam artist trying to frame me, manipulating blueshirts in the process.

One thing an alpha male hates like nobody’s business, is to be spied and snooped upon. Especially when they have something to hide, such as sucking up to inebriated customers with bulging wallets. Offering to escort them to a taxi, to the next bar, or even home. Coming off like a goody two-shoes while fleecing the herd of doddering sheep. “Larkin’s like a kid in a candy store!” I surmised. “He sure doesn’t wanna get caught with his dragonly paw in the cookie jar.”

Now it is clear to me why he 86’d me from all the local bars: I am a threat to his cushy arrangement, and the Castro his new turf since being evicted from SOMA. He’s not a drug dealer, nor has a brain tumor or Alzheimer’s: he’s a hustler (for looty, not booty)! And he works a crowd with such expertise, I can’t help but admire anywayz. He can’t risk it by having real friends, only acquaintances, patsies hypnotized by his charisma and convivial talents. He’s a regular showman! (And one of the reasons I adore him so much, for he’s an immense pleasure simply to observe. I absolutely crave to be in his company again, like yesteryear, even if it’s from across the room, pretending we are strangers.)

Which does have an element of great fun. Sometimes he’d stand between my seated legs while facing the pool table, pondering his next move…yet in such a way as to appear incidental to all others present. As long as I didn’t actually touch him–even a light pat on the shoulder was verboten–he’d stand that close to me now and then. So close I could feel his warmth. As for “patsies” it’s now obvious to me his housemate Zachary is one such…and he covers for Larkin’s transgressions to prevent anyone from growing wise. He’s sort of a wingman for Larkin’s subterfuge. He is the hustler’s pimp to Larkin’s gigolo. I bet he even takes a cut of the con.

So this is my Damon Runyon fantasy with a gay spin come true. An underworld bristling with gangsters, scammers, male prostitutes and darling young men wandering the streets without a place to rest their weary head. Except now and then, with This Beleaguered Bodhisattva. And Larkin is playing to perfection my tough-as-nails compatriot who suddenly took a wrong turn down Devil’s Lane. That I may be his hero and liberator this time around. IOW, it is all an act, a brilliant script produced and directed by My One & Only Guardian Firedrake. He has sacrificed my life, tossed me to the wolves, crushed any good chance I might have had, to promote my novel in our local gay bars. He has caused enmity against me from many patrons who don’t know who the fuk I am. Vultures who prey on others’ misery, psychic vampires that drink the blood of the innocent for their own dark gain.

All this just because he came to view my patronage as a dire threat to his own dubious career as a muckraker of drunken generosity from lonely old fags. At least, this is the character Larkin chooses to play out before me. His is a direct challenge to harness my outrage into beating him at his own game. And in so doing, become his hero–nay, a Hercules to every father-fukkin queer on the planet! He has played me like a chump, out of sheer compassion! Larkin is the true author of my tales, for he has created so many difficult adventures that I may become the star of this brazen drama. My love for this Boner Fide Man grows in leaps and bounds with each passing day.

NEWS FLASH: It just now occurred to me that those who respect my struggle to resurrect an incredible friendship, just might send postcards to Larkin c/o these four bars. To lend their support in stopping My Beloved Dragon from falling off a cliff. I need your help!

NO, WAIT, I CHANGED MY MIND: I suddenly fell into a rage over all of Larkin’s crude malignment of my own integrity and many decades struggle to liberate my gay brothers and sisters (for which I’ve suffered nothing but hatred and threats with rare exception). I have walked the narrow line of integrity since 1983, and what does it all finally come down to at my ripe age of 64? A man I love terribly (that showed so much potential to be the best friend I’ve ever known) who suddenly stabs me in the back, slanders me to anyone who’ll listen, tells them I’m a psycho and a stalker? No, this is going to court. I have more than enough witnesses to his defamation and threats, to give me a clear slam-dunk victory in the Halls of Justice.

Larkin has deliberately tried to drive me insane, and/or foment such hatred against me that I could be bashed or murdered as a result of his gossip. And he’d walk away with hands clean of my blood! But because I love him beyond anyone’s measure, I am proud to fight for his redemption, no matter what, and in spite of his wicked actions over more than one and a half years. “We have no enemies, only teachers” (quoting the Buddha). “Love your enemy” (quoting Jesus Christ).

The man shall go to jail, and I will be miserable the rest of my life, as a result (though I don’t expect I’ll live much longer after that). Yet there is a great satisfaction in successfully striking back at a handsome and charismatic man who, like Randolph Louis Taylor, eventually cast me to the hyenas without a moment’s regret. So I shall get the postage stamps tomorrow, and send them off to the bars.

I grossly resent Fate putting me in this tragic outcome, where I must exert so much energy in standing up for righteous truth…and for my own honor. Plus, I realize now that if I don’t fight back with utter outrage, Larkin will perpetuate his slander unto my grave, thus slip into a dark and horrid well of destitution. In which case jail or prison will be a necessary experience, that he may be spared a far worse outcome. Though I’d pay for doing the right thing with an undeserved torment: living out the rest of my Cinderella life without friends or even a sweet doggie for company.

So the first thing I’ll do when I wake up tomorrow morning, is march on down to the post office and purchase those stamps. Peace be unto you all. ]


Jeez, here’s one final Free Me From This Bond postcard I discovered in desk #1’s top drawer. I decided to mail it apart from all the others now stuffed and sealed in a brown envelope, ready for battle.

Four Times in One Day

July 12, 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Listen to me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a drug dealer!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– Zeke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is not without its golden moments.

– Zeke

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


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

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

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

Give me Larkin or give me death.

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

– Zeke

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

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

The amazing thing is this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

101 Hyde

June 17, 2014

Date: Thu, 12 June 2014 14:07:22
101 Hyde
From: Zeke Krahlin
To: Eleanor

It’s a post office in a seedy part of town, the Tenderloin. However, there exists a corner donut shop right across the street with a clear view of the PO. Just as I had wondered (how copacetic). Don’t know /when/ he picks up his mail, I’m guessing 11:30-ish, as he parties till late at night, and walks dogs, plays pool, drinks starting in the mid afternoon.

So mayhaps I’ll hang out at that Donut dive for an hour or so each day, and see what’s up. Oh if only they had wifi! Then again, the neighborhood is thick wih thieves.

Meanwhile, one postcard returned thus far, from The Mix. Doesn’t mean no one’s read it, and the gossip hasn’t sparked a flame that will rapidly spread and consume all the Castro hooch joints with Zeke’s spiritual fire! Or it may fizzle out like a wet cherry bomb. This is the card upon which I taped a small printout on the front, in which I suggested Larkin may be a drug dealer. Well, my jumbo postcards to the manager of each bar, should have been delivered by now…more likely, yesterday. Let’s see what my cage rattling will accomplish, eh, El?

– Zeke

Date: Thu, 12 June 2014 20:15:04
Re: 101 Hyde
From: Eleanor
To: Zeke Krahlin

Eleanor wrote:

{{ Doing your bit to keep the U.S.Postal Service alive!!!! }}

And I have Larkin to thank for /that/ one, too! Most incredible man I’ve ever met. He’s given me so many opportunities to utilize old-school letter writing and posting. Which has only served to increase my appreciation of the USPS and its incredible history. But I’m tellin’ ya, Ellie:

If Larkin doesn’t do something really /spectacular/ for me on my birthday, I’m gonna go postal all over his sorry ass!

{{ That postcard’s a beauty. Pearls before schweinhunds. }}

I’m sure they’re all having a good laugh at my expense…while preparing my surprise birthday party coming up very soon.

On the side I scanned is a tiny image of Manannan mac Lir, the Celtic god of the Irish Sea. Looks rather like Larkin. I’m no longer surprised at such things, just delighted.

[ Goodly Reader: total of 12 jumbo postcards I’m mailing out to Larkin along with the small cards. Dispersed over a two-week period, that is: till the end of time…er, I mean “June.” Click on any image below to view the accompanying super hero. ]

Fundraiser for a Fun-Raising Guy

June 6, 2014

[ Profligate Reader: I just emailed the following letter to four major gay newspapers in San Francisco (Bay Area Reporter, SF Bay Times, Castro Courier and Castro Biscuit.) As well as snail-mailed it to the managers of six bars in the Castro, which Larkin frequents. I will discuss the strategy of this compassionate maneuver after you read the letter. ]

June 5, 2014

Dear [Editor/Manager],

I want to bring to your attention an excellent (and fairly new) member of our community here in the Castro. His name is Larkin Kelsey, and we’ve been best friends since we first met at Hole in the Wall Saloon back in 2006. Three years ago I was delighted to discover he’s moved into the Castro–my neighborhood since 1983–thanks to the kindness of another longterm buddy. Larkin is an outstanding social mixer at our gay bars, reaching out to those who are disabled, elderly, or living with a difficult malady such as AIDS, cancer or Alzheimer’s. He is charismatically handsome, talented and gregarious, putting smiles on many faces of those for whom life is not so good. And he does it all out of sheer compassion and devotion to the LGBT spirit. But like me, he is low-income and losing his teeth because he can’t afford dental care. I want so badly to see that winning smile again, that it finally occurred to me:

Why not appeal to the many bar patrons who appreciate Larkin’s sweet outreach to needful souls that might otherwise be seated alone? Not every customer is too financially strapped to start a fundraiser whereby Larkin may have his teeth restored. Furthermore, since he can work a crowd like nobody’s business, it’s obvious to me he’d make an excellent social mixer for gay parties and other events. I think it would be incredibly noble for our community to return Larkin’s many years volunteering his own good will without any expectation beyond lightening hearts.

This darling fellow has shared so many kind words and hugs with me over the years. But his startling declaration two Mondays ago really knocked my jockstrap off. He ran up to me on Market Street near Noe, crouched down to look me directly in the eyes (he is after all, six-foot-four) and declared: “Our friendship, our being brought together, is an incredible godsend!” Now, I don’t mean to pitch my own talents here, but you are welcome to learn more about this fine man by reading a book I recently published about our adventures together, called “Free Me From This Bond.” Which novel is my thank-you gift to Larkin for being such a great amigo. Always free to read in web format at:

Most sincerely,

Zeke Krahlin
SF gay activist since 1983


First off I don’t want you to think I’m smarter than I really am. For the cunning impact of this letter did not strike me till a couple hours after I wrote and sent it off. For I simply thought this brainstorm a wonderful response to Larkin’s recent confession that our friendship is a godsend. And probably a great resolution to our ongoing conflict that started January 2013, instigated by His Own Dragonly Claw.

Should my letter get published (or it inspires one or more managers or patrons), what will they think if Larkin continues to spew animosity by calling me his stalker, thus maintaining my ban from every bar in the Castro? In fact, what will they think if I remain away from his side, while he garners all their generosity and support? I don’t think Larkin will be seen in a very good light, nor would it benefit him to keep me invisible. Thus, I’d inadvertently come up with the perfect solution to nip his scandalous behavior in the bud, and resurrect my reputation in everyone’s eyes. I have long concluded that public shaming is the most effective strategy for getting a person to change his ways. Or leave Dodge (which I certainly don’t want to happen; I’d be miserable unto death).

Larkin seems very well loved by many patrons. Which begs the question:

If bar patrons appreciate Larkin’s company so much, how come they’ve never bothered to get his rotting teeth fixed…and why don’t they see his outstanding potential to become a professional party mixer? Some customers who share merry badinage with The Good Man are quite affluent (they all have perfect teeth), so you’d think they’d wanna give him a leg up for all his kind regards and putting so much joy into their dreary little lives. Or do they want to keep him under their thumbs, for their own selfish amusement? Block him from having any real friends, then discard him like a used trick rag when his youthful beauty fades? Thus, the public shame also falls on the patrons. {And if my letter does get printed, and they don’t do as I suggest, things will never be the same in those bars again…to put it mildly.)

Will my letter even get published in any one of those newspapers? Will even one bar manager respond by organizing a fundraiser for Larkin’s benefit? Will Larkin even read my letter; will sidekick “Skinny Jake?” Ah, there’s the rub. Seems that every good effort I’ve made in my life–especially in regards to Larkin–backfires in the ugliest way! And I am left to drift alone into eternal isolation, despised by many. In a very tangible way, Larkin has cast me into a hell I don’t deserve. My life is indeed a comedy of terrors.

But since our friendship is a godsend, I realize that is not the truth, nor the final outcome. And the happy ending to this trilogy I call “Free Me From This Bond” is now within sight of these clairvoyant eyes. For we truly have no enemies, only teachers (as the Buddha once declared). Larkin is my teacher, My Guardian Dragon. And those who play the villain, likewise. He has not “framed” me, but set me up to become his hero this time around. He knew I could take the duress, the months and months of rejection, hostility, humiliation. He knows I’m strong in spirit and yearned for a Great Odyssey that would lead me back into his arms. But not without a warrior’s fight to claim The Holy Grail of My Heart’s Ultimate Desire.

And he knew I would find my way through This Minotaur Labyrinth of Love’s Corridor, soon enough. For he is the architect, and his faith in me is boundless.

In sum: the dragons have my back. And so does Larkin, Greatest Dragon Of Them All. So next time my path crosses the devil (walking a little doggie or whatever) I’ll say: “You’re one beautiful man, Larkin Kelsey. I’d rather die thinking of you, than live without you. Put that in your pot pipe and smoke it!”

[ The moral of my tale, Ichorous Reader? If you really-really-really care about someone, you will find a way to his heart. No matter the tribulations that seem endless with no promise of abatement. But the real gist of the challenge is this: do you honestly care enough to be in it over the long haul? If not, then you don’t deserve the happiness you seek, and may a thousand times a thousand fleas infest your armpits for a thousand times a thousand years. And beyond. Stay tuned as the joyous plot unfolds, with more twists than a Mel Brooks extravaganza. ]

1 Billion Beautiful People

April 15, 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that we all don’t suffer…just not to such extremes that a loving God would never allow. The souls of those people we believe to have suffered (or are suffering) have been transported to a heavenly existence well before their tribulation ensued. Reptilian minds (via telepathy) enter the bodies of these souls to play out these tragedies, that humans may witness apparent catastrophes, so they may learn ultimate values such as compassion, long suffering, sacrifice and other noble virtues.

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

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

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

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

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