A Dream of Reconciliation (in 2 parts)

August 27, 2016

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

Part 1:

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

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

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

Part 2:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Larkin loves me!”

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

“Yes he does!”

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


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

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

{{ Literary gold. }}

I’ll settle for platinum.

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

Another curious detail:

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

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

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

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

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

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

To which I countered:

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

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

“Get outta the Castro, dipwad!”

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

“I’m not talking to you!”

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

“Larkin loves me!”

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

– Zeke

Holiday Flurry

February 25, 2015

From late fall till the end of last year, I needed to rest my fingers from so much typing…seeing as I suffer from a mild case of repetitive stress injury. But the stories piled up, so now we must backtrack a bit. Other ‘belated” tales still await my posting. This is a flurry of ten postcards I sent to Larkin during the holiday season. (Some are “homemade,” that is: I took four “Step Into Hyper-Reality” adverts for the latest Spiderman film, and converted them into postcards. Didn’t occur to me till weeks later, that maybe Larkin likes Spiderman almost as much as he does Scooby-Doo…and that is why I intuitively chose it.) All self-explanatory:

Postcard sent November 25th:

Postcard sent November 29th:

Postcard sent December 3rd:

Postcard sent December 6th:

Postcard sent December 9th:

Postcard sent December 12th:

Postcard sent December 15th:

Postcard sent December 18th:

Postcard sent December 21st:

Postcard sent December 24th:

Ray Revisited

February 8, 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 spicy tale.

Standing My Ground

February 6, 2015

31 January

It is evening. A brave chill in the air and the moon is almost full, with a drizzly halo of blue-white mist edged in bronze. So radiant! I cross Market, then 17th, and peer into the plate glass of Twin Peaks Tavern, to behold:


He’s seated at the deep end of the bar, the hardest spot for me to behold from the 17th-Street side of the tavern, the doorway (even when open), or for that matter: the huge pentaptych of picture windows facing Castro Street (as the sun reflects strongly on that side, from around 3 PM until just before sunset, this time of year). But there is one other spot that, were he seated there, I’d never espy his sweet presence whether day or night. And that’s the mini-mezzanine.

Fortunately (for me), Apollo’s Chariot had already descended below earth’s horizon, and I can easily recognize My Beloved Basilisk through the Castro Street side of Twin Peaks.

[ What I am about to impart to you, Crafty Reader, is another silly little clash between Larkin and yours truly. Nonetheless, this particular encounter was such a tremendous blessing to my world…and which you can already surmise by the high level of inspiration reflected in the entire composition of This True Tale, right from the start.

Blessed be The Pro-Gay Saints Of This World, both atheist and god-fearing! ]

So I stand outside by the bus stop, positioning myself in such a manner as to be potentially visible to Larkin, should he raise his scruffy head in my direction. Which has me leaning against a lamppost, for the most part. He may or may not have seen me, for he does indeed turn his face in my line of sight, twice…but for such a brief moment each time, I can’t be sure. Yet my confidence in his powerful telepathy assures me that, yes, of course he’s aware of my proximity, even if he never glances at his Objet D’amour.

After standing my vigil for almost ten minutes, Larkin finally steps out for a smoke. He leans against the south-facing buttress of Jane Warner Plaza, placing us approx’ly 20 feet apart. After gazing upon This Beauty for a half-minute (while he puffs on a cigarette like it’s the last one on the planet), I suddenly realize that he’s providing me with the opportunity to toss him the badinage that has been haunting my brain for almost two weeks. So I flick my Fortuna onto the curb and walk up to him:

“Are you still telling people I’m your stalker?”

Larkin turns to me, speaking not a word. He scowls and spits on the asphalt three feet before This Trembling Sacrificial Goat. And I reply (totally unphased, I should note):

“I take that as a yes!”

He draws another puff on his Camel 99 before turning his back to me.

“That’s okay, Larkin,” I assure with a kind smile. “Doesn’t bother me at all.”

With that, he starts to zigzag his way across Castro Street. But not without first retorting:

“I don’t have to tell them, they already know!” he hollers like a biblical patriarch.

I parry: “That’s because they’re pea-brained, gossiping alcoholics who believe everything you say! They’re stupid and gullible, with fat wallets! You have them brainwashed!”

Which is quite true: Larkin is tremendously handsome, charismatic, and uber-talented. Every bit as seductive as the sirens were to Ulysses and his men.

[ Thus please realize, Corrugated Reader, that Larkin can have anyone wrapped about his little finger in less than five minutes! So what I’m up against is A Mischievous Archangel Of Zeus who is always dealt Jokers, Aces, Kings and Queens while I (his main charge) am dealt nothing but low cards. No way can I beat him at His Own Game, unless he intentionally designs it so. (And he frequently changes the rules, usually right after I get a lucky roll of the dice.) But what I find so magnificent about This Irish Warrior, is he wants me to fight back no matter what…like Miguel de Cervantes’ antihero slashing a rusty sword in the air. (Please note that the phallic symbolism of a rusty sword does not go unnoticed by this queer renegade!) ]

Mr. Silly Sauropod is, by now, standing on Castro Street’s sidewalk directly opposite me, with traffic flowing between. As he walks down Castro to 18th Street, he regularly glances in my direction while puffing on a ciggie. And I mirror his moves, such that we remain perfectly parallel to each other. Yet, at precisely halfway down the block, he pauses behind a parked Camero, staring at me from across the traffic lane.

I look back at those orange-flame eyes etched in dark night, and raise my shoulders as if to declare:

“What else can I do?” For he is truly loved by this vagabond queer soul!

He retaliates by flicking the smoldering filter over the car, and onto the asphalt…more than 30 feet off from its intended mark: me! I take that as a gesture of profound humility, respect, honor…and hilarity. You are so fukkin cute, Larkin! His glorious mane of auburn hair (with specks of silver scattered about, these days) bobs over the yellow Camero while I stand across the street, shoulders in shrug, as he propels a hostile cigarette butt in my remote direction then quickly turns about to enter 440 Castro.

“How long is he gonna hole up in there?” I question. “Do they have a pool table, ’cause that would make a big difference.”

Still, he left his jacket on the end stool at Twin Peaks, in which case I’m sure I can intercept him by Castro & Market as he crosses back, without my having to wait o’erlong. So I hang out on Castro Street, meandering up and down the lengthy sidewalk while keeping a peeled eye on 440. Twice I march down the opposite side to glimpse into His Accommodating Escape Hatch, but it’s too crowded for me (and rather dark) to spot the little stinker.

Then it occurs to me he could’ve slipped out and dashed in the other direction (towards 18th Street), then turn left up Hartford, then left again up 17th, where he could reenter Twin Peaks without my notice. I am on the 440 side of Castro at the moment, so stride back north to Market, cross, and–sure enough–there’s Larkin escorting a gaggle of young ladies through the swinging portal!

I quickly approach him where the momentary jam of bodies keeps him stuck just outside the doorway. He is peering in, his boisterous voice of good cheer addressing the ladies as they look about for seats. This is my moment. So I holler close to his right ear:

“When you’ve finally played out your silly game I’ll still be here for you!”

“Go away!” he growls, waving a dismissive hand at yours truly. “Get the fuk outta here!”

I step back barely a foot, then stand my ground: “No. This is public space and no one pushes me around!”

Larkin then glowers, his face now your classic beet-red. “I asked you to leave!”

“No you did not,” I rejoin. “In fact you’re being quite rude to me.”

“Then I’m telling you to leave!”

“Public space, I’m staying put.” I cross my arms in defiance while gazing up at those fiery, wyvern pupils.

He clenches his jaw in fake anger, nods his head and blurts: “Fine!”

As Larkin turns to step inside, I call: “Happy hustling! Go get ’em tiger!”

“Screw you, Zeke!” he hollers back as he strides deeper into the tavern.

“God bless you, Larkin!” I parley.

He turns back and steps to the door once more, to extend a middle finger in my face.

“Fuk you!” he thunders.

“Then fuk you too, Larkin!” I say without anger, but fondly. For I know his game, that he is not the least bit upset with me. It’s an act that serves a dual purpose:

(1) To stir up controversy about us, that customers may grow intrigued enough to actually purchase my book…or at least read it for free online, and hopefully spread the word to others. And

(2) that I may grow in spirit by playing the game back with integrity and compassion, rather than allowing anger to rule my roost. And why is this important (you may ask)? That I finally become fully healed from the residual PTSD I’ve carried with me for many years.

And it’s working!

So I linger several more minutes outside Twin Peaks, admiring through the plate windows (as he collects empty glasses and mingles with smiling patrons): what a gorgeous angel he truly is. Then march on hovel, completely satisfied with how I handled his latest challenge. In short:

I feel aglow with Larkin’s mischievous benevolence. All next day I walk on a cumulous cloud.

New Year’s Letter

December 29, 2014

29 December 2014

My Beloved Larkin,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I’m sure they did.

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

Two Times

July 27, 2014

To: Eleanor
From: Zeke
Date: July 18, 2014
Subject: I saw Larkin two times…

…the first time on Market Street right across from where I reside, walking a friendly black-and-white doggie he called (I think) “Scampy”. The creature was sniffing everything in sight to his heart’s content, oblivious to Larkin tugging on the leash with gentle persuasion.

“C’mon Scampy, let’s get a move on!”

I was walking from the corner grocery/liquor store two blocks up Noe and about to turn right on Market towards my hovel, when I saw him. Thus ran across the street…and leaned against the green newsstand to observe the scenario. Larkin continued his dog-walking, acting oblivious to my presence. Though I know w/o a doubt he saw me clear as a lone koi fish in a Japanese pond. But I wouldn’t allow it, so called:

“Our friendship is an incredible godsend, that was nice!”

He of course ignored me (being more vulnerable as he is, when handling the responsibility of another person’s pet). So I enunciated further:

“That’s it, keep ignoring me, don’t speak a word!”

It was immensely painful to just stand there and watch him cross the street without any acknowledgment of my presence whatsoever. I wanted to run up to him, tell him how much I care about him in spite of all the BS he’s put me through…and continues to put me through.

But I had a half gallon of 2% milk in my carry bag, and needed to prepare supper, so I just stood there and watched as he crossed Noe and diminished down 16th Street. I waited for him to glance back so I could flash a friendly wave of the hand, but it looked like that was not gonna happen this time around. So I proceeded towards the corner and awaited the green light in order to march home.

At the very last moment–when Larkin turned the corner ’round a side street–he poked his head back to gaze at me: a raised eyebrow and a lopsided grin. I waved at him, smiled, then crossed Market to return hovel.

[ Of course, Intraventricular Reader, most people would say that my infatuation is without purpose, there is no more use in my fidelity towards him, after all the horrid treatment he’s flung in my path. But that is not how I take things, though it is indeed a grievous situation to be regarded as nothing more than an annoying gnat, at this point in his life. Since he shoved me in January 2013, it has been mostly heartbreak whenever our paths cross and I set my eyes on his belov-ed visage. Yet he still honors me with a glorious moment now and then, as if to encourage me to hang in there…that this is but a game (an initiation, a series of trials).

What else can I conclude when his latest kind expression he bestowed on This Needful Gay Soul, was (almost eight weeks ago):

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

I am afraid I’m becoming an alcoholic, in my need to cope with such difficult challenges…for the vodka I consume gives me some genuine respite to think things through, and give him God’s blessing in spite of his dark perambulations. For I am fully cognizant at this point, that I will /never/ back off in being a thorn in this man’s side…a man who I believe is /so/ good and /so/ compassionate, that I truly cannot believe that his crude slander against me does not ultimately serve a greater purpose that comes straight from His Dragonly Heart.

If I am deluded, so be it. I’d rather perish in Such Divine Hallucination, than exist in a world where Larkin disappears from my universe. There is something so strong in my spirit that commands me:

“Zeke, keep confronting Larkin and give him hell! For he /will/ eventually acquiesce in full admiration of your refusal to move on in loss of his friendship.”

But I think of my birthday that recently passed, and how he did absolutely /nothing/ to wish me joy, even though I informed him in various ways, that I would soon turn 64. He didn’t even buy me a pair of sandals, the only thing I requested. Because his friendship means so much to me, I would never dream of burdening him with a demand for an expensive gift. (You may regard sandals as expensive, but I’m thinking here “Payless.”) ]

So I went home, boiled a three or four day supply of brown rice, then cut up a small head of broccoli and placed it in the microwave for eight minutes. While sauteeing the veggies in virgin olive oil (green bell pepper, orange bell pepper and a whole onion) I looked out the window and saw Larkin returning up Market Street, minus the doggie. I was tempted to holler out to him across the busy thoroughfare…but instead I just sighed and stirred my veggies for an even cook. Such a beautiful man, and he seems to be fading from my life.

Dinner finally ready, I set it aside and stepped out in hopes of finding Larkin (planning to sup upon my return), and buy a pint of Royal Gate Vodka at K&D Liquors. After that purchase, I wandered down to Rossi’s Delicatessen, where they sell Fortuna cigarettes to their regular customers from years ago, for just $4.50. There is a shop across the street that sells the brand for 25 cents less, but I am boycotting that place, as described in an earlier post.

I then crossed Castro Street, to discover Larkin at Twin Peaks Tavern with his arms about a youngish and skinny patron, who was drinking up all his charisma and sweet attention. Larkin saw me lean against the cement buttress of Jane Warner Plaza, and light up a tobacco stick. It was /so/ good to hear his voice, even if not intended for my ears. I wanted to tell Larkin with much fervor that it’s okay, I understand. This is how he survives: mooching on drunk patrons with fat wallets. But of course the opportunity never arrived, as he remained close to his prey, caressing him with a gangly arm that I wished so much were instead, across my own shoulders. I’m sure he got many free drinks in exchange…and I walked on home, once more alone in My Own World of Dreams Denied.

I am terribly morose this evening, for the feeling of Larkin drifting away from my world is anathema to my yearning soul. Yet there is Gabe, my new and handsome neighbor who has been so sweet to me ever since he moved next door five weeks ago. Only last night I learned he does deep-tissue body work (and has a massage table in his studio apartment), on top of being so divinely eccentric that I can barely control my kok turning into a boner whenever I think of him and his proximity to my rotten hovel.

Is Gabriel’s presence just another cruel tease, or will he understand and respect my desperate urge to explode orgasmically with another sweet dude? Especially in light of Larkin’s wicked torment to This Deluded Soul?

Yes, I saw Larkin’s roommate, Zachary, step into the Posh Bagel this morning while I was munching on a whole-wheat-with-sesame-seeds cream-cheese-slathered delight graced with a smallish cup of Columbian Medium Roast. So I said “Hello, Zachary” as he crossed my line of sight. He looked wasted and ready to hit the mortuary slab, so of course just nodded at me with a grimace before placing his order (infected as he was by Larkin’s Own Anti-Zeke Plague). And without acknowledging my existence once more, finally departed to The Mix right around the corner. A bar where it seems Larkin has been 86’d through no fault of my own about four months ago.

Larkin has certainly poisoned many against me who live in and frequent the Castro. Yet I forgive him all his slanderous acts, for I know w/o a single doubt, that he is to become My Quintessial Soulmate, and that I must bear for a while longer, all this absurd scapegoating. So I think of Gabe while sitting here and typing this missive, almost ready to burst into tears but for the cheap vodka.

Will Gabriel knock on my door tonight, and exchange sweet conversation? Will he grab me in his arms and shower me with kisses for all the sacrifices that have been my scourge for countless years…the latest being Larkin’s insufferable backstabbing?

Will Gabe take me by the hand into his apartment and demand that I lie down on his massage table? And then will he strip me down to my T-shirt and boxer briefs to give me the best feeling-up and blow job I have ever known?

It is now 10:53 PM, so I sincerely doubt it. (Gabriel is such a handsome fellow, and so delightfully eccentric, I can’t help but jack off to him many times over, especially since he shares his wall with yours truly.) But rest assured I will print out this email and leave it by his door, that he may know my ardent desires, and leave the rest up to him and Father Nature.

– Zeke


Upon arriving hovel from Bean There coffeehouse, late afternoon, I found this charming sketch taped to my door:

He dropped over later that evening, and explained how he attempted to first draw a T-Rex, but somehow his hand took over and came up with a shark. Gabe is a terribly sweet man with such bold and eccentric honesty, it knocks my garters off.

“I finally read your story,” he brightly chirped, referring to a recent tale I composed which featured our new friendship: “Heaven is Just Across the Street.” Which tale I printed out, crisply folded into an envelope, and taped to his door three weeks ago. My heart missed a beat:

“Did you like it? Wasn’t it a fun story?”

“Yes I did, very much.”

“You actually became the star of that tale, though I had intended it for Larkin. You have to be a pretty darned nice soul to do that!”

The shark drawing was a friendly retort to my latest letter taped to his door earlier that day…and which composes the first half of this blog entry. So I queried him on it, to which he replied:

“Yes, I liked it too!” He grinned and hunched his shoulders a smidgeon. “I just felt a little weird when you mentioned you jack off thinking of me.”

[ Now I found that a strange remark, Amplexicaul Reader, seeing as it was Gabe who pressed his lips firmly upon mine, the first time we hugged. Which of course made me feel comfortable about propositioning him in my two, brief letters (also taped to his door, since he made himself scarce for a good ten days; turns out he was vacationing in Los Angeles). Though I clearly stated in my very first blog about him, that “I am certainly open to a sweet friendship… platonic all the way.” Yet there are some (I suppose) who, while attracted to me sexually, may still be freaked out at the thought of my exploding jism upon the wall that seperates our two abodes. So for a spell I deliberated upon the best reply possible, given the awkward circumstance (and my feeling very much like the runt of a baboon litter who shall never come close to alpha status): ]

“Well then, just take it as a compliment,” I replied in as classy a way as possible, while my anticipation withered like a zucchini blossom on the vine.

He embraced me. “Yes, Zeke, that is quite a compliment, and I thank you!” When we pulled back, I grasped my chin in comtemplation:

“Okay, I’ll make you a promise: I will never think of you whenever I choke the rooster. Plenty of other hot men in my retinue I can focus on instead.”

We continued our hallway badinage for ten more minutes or so, before Gabriel excused himself. I watched him turn the corner (since he has such a hot butt to ogle; but let us not forget those solid calves)…and before opening the door to his apartment, called out:

“Never mind, Zeke. You can jack off to me any time you want, I don’t care.”

“Ha ha,” returned my echo. “Perish the thought!”


I’m Begging You

July 28, 2012

Note Sweet Reader: Keith who used to live in my building for a year or two, but who moved out later, due to the “edginess” of 2306 Market (and the intolerable noise pollution on Market Street), paid me a surprise visit recently, with a little gift contained in a tiny tin for medicinal marijuana. After he left, I opened it to discover a bunch of dollar bills.

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: Keith, my mind is blown!
Date: Friday, July 20, 1:10pm

Of course, I thought it was just a few dollars, maybe 5 or 10, but I was shocked (in a most delightful way) to discover a total of $78!

Thank you SO much for putting your faith in me…I am greatly touched by your generous donation. And I assure you: it will all go to the right places, that will help give the Castro a boost in a most positive direction. Here’s how I’ll divvy up the funds:

$20 will go to Pow, the gay-themed street musician. He is an /excellent/ soul.

$20 will go to Peace, who watches over the homeless youth that sleep by Holy Redeemer Church.

$15 will go to yours truly, so I can afford a couple more meals at Howard’s Cafe. The folks there are /so/ nice, it has become my major hangout whenever I need to destress from my street counseling. My income has been so badly stretched, I can no longer eat at Howard’s twice per week…more like three times a month. So this boon is a great blessing for my sanity.

Still $23 remaining; what to do? Howz about I invite both you /and/ Austin (or just yourself, if that’s what you’d prefer) to Howard’s some day soon? You’ll fall in love with the place, as I have. Have you read my blog entry “Howard’s Cafe” yet? If not, here ’tis:


Printer ink can wait…more important things to spend this money on, my excellent friend.

You have no idea the good karma you’ve just injected into my day, Keith. Only two hours earlier, there was screaming and loud thumps and door slamming across the hallway, in Apt. 211. So I called 911.

Seems to be a case of gay-on-gay bashing. The resident did /not/ want to file a report, darn it. As far as I know, this has happened at least once before, about three months ago. I was walking to the bathroom, when suddenly a loud thump startled me. It came right from the wall only inches from me, just before I entered the restroom. Then screaming, and more thumps. I quickly locked myself in the restroom, took a shower, and was rather afraid to step back out.

Called Mgr. Jim today, to tell him what just occurred. Told him I’m worried that the 211 resident may not appreciate that I phoned 911. He said, “No worries, he wouldn’t do that. Thanks for keeping the building safe.”

Jim was not in the building at the time. But I wonder if he isn’t just jiving me. I certainly /remain/ concerned for my safety. How ridiculous: I’m pushed out of the Castro due to a recent violent threat, now I’m squeezed from the other direction.

But the three cops were wonderful; I gave them my card w/my blog URL…that they may be better informed about the goings on among the homeless who hang out at HM Plaza. I’d like Peace to run the street patrol, which I will name “The Blue Rose.”

Again, thank you SO much, Keith. FYI: I don’t love anyone because of money, but I love you for putting such solid faith in my/our cause. Guess what? It just occurred to me:

You may be looking at this district’s next supervisor: me!

So is it a date for Howard’s soon? Best time to go is between 9-10am, ’cause the most interesting people show up then. Maybe this Saturday?

You put me on Cloud 9,

– Zeke

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: Please, Keith…
Date: Friday, July 20, 1:17pm

strike up a friendship with Peace and Pow. Once you see their photos in my blog entry “Rockin’ at the Plaza,” you’ll know who they are. Two most /excellent/ street denizens whom I know you will adore. Pow has a boyfriend named Nathan; also a most excellent soul. Tell them Zeke sent you…and just watch how they smile!

Your faith in me, is returned. Goddess speed! (Or Spaghetti Monster.) 0_o

To: Zeke Krahlin
From: Keith V.
Subject: Re: Besides KGO
Date: Friday, July 20, 1:50pm

HA! I remember all that craziness from our two years in the Crystal Palace. I was so naive before living there! I loved it, though – it’s a magical place really. I wasn’t too keen on all the drug cooking going on, and sometimes the ‘friends’ of certain residents made things feel a little scary and dangerous, but even those cracked out guys usually seemed nice (just crazy and a bit dangerous!).

Once we were booted out of our apt. for an entire day while the exterminators sprayed all of our belongings with CO2 and various chemical poisons from the imperial oil manufacturers to kill bedbugs, and I sat in the hallway for hours talking to some of the old guys who’d been in the building since the late 70s and early 80s, who’d seen all the comings and goings, all the death in the neighborhood after the First Holocaust of the 33 Year (and counting) Oil War. (When will the second round drop? There’s a whole new batch of queer youth to kill off).

I still have a book of Renaissance literature that the old gentleman named Keith gave me. I really liked him. Every time we’d place stuff out in the ‘lost and found’ (the cabinets in the 3rd floor interior stairway landing) he’d come poking around. I heard he’s left his body behind.

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: Re: Besides KGO
Date: Friday, July 20, 2:05pm

Sorry to say, Keith, but that Keith (Betza) was the reason I couldn’t befriend you and roommate/friend Austin. He had a very dark side, which included his badmouthing me in order to scare new (and old) residents from me.

We were friends, once. He had many incredible stories about his time in NYC as a cat burglar, and fringe association with many up-and-coming artists in that area, including Andy Warhol.

But he intentionally denied telling his fantastic true tales to yours truly, simply because he knew it would frustrate me. Write it off to Alzheimer’s, I guess.

Your new-found friend,


To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: I’m sure you’ve been told this many times before…
Date: Friday, July 20, 2:33pm

…but I will add myself to the list:

You are a very HOT and beautiful man!

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: Please…
Date: Friday, July 20, 2:33pm

…say you’ll come with me this Saturday, to Howard’s Cafe. We can take the N Judah from Duboce Park around 9am. Bring Austin if you’d like; I can afford you both.

I’m begging you!

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: I’m begging you…
Date: Friday, July 20, 2:39pm

…with tongue hanging out, panting!

Just so you know. I’ll leave you alone now, ‘ cause I know what a pest I can be, towards glorious men like you.

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: 415-863-3790
Date: Friday, July 20, 2:41pm

Just to make sure you have my number. I’m such a sucker for beautiful men, I should duck my head in a barrel of freezing water, to get over it. Or you.

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: I’ll accept platonic…
Date: Friday, July 20, 2:44pm

…if that’s how you swing. I’m the King of Bromance, if nothing.

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: Just so you know…
Date: Friday, July 20, 2:51pm

…I have frequent erectile dysfunction, due to arthritis in my right hip, which mild pain travels down to my right testicle, and thwarts a hard-on. It will take a very /special/ man to give me a super erection, in spite of this malady.

Ha, ha, I bet you’re blushing right now.

If not…please forgive my brazen proposition.

To: Keith V.
From: Zeke Krahlin
Subject: Just so you know…
Date: Friday, July 27, 2:25Am

On 7/27/12, Keith V. wrote:
> LI(b)tL;LUW
> :…
> 3->

Okay, Keith, I consider myself pretty savvy regarding Internet stuff, including emoticons. My weak point is, however, texting abbreviations. I cannot for the life of me, figure out line 1, except perhaps that LUW stands for “love you with”. None of the texting dictionaries have proven helpful, and I’m growing exhausted by the search.

Lines 2 and 3, though, I’m sure are emoticons for the male gender apparatus (so to speak). The first one, a side view, the second, a top view (or perhaps bottom, heh heh).

Or maybe I just have a dirty mind. You’d never suspect, by my writing. 0_o

Wait. It has to be bottom, or you couldn’t see the…oh, never mind, it’s just a silly emoticon. Yet, it seems to possess a life of its own, just like my johnson. Which (I might add) seems rather excited at the moment. Oh, the power of texting! Is there an emoticon for “lube”? Perhaps this:


Shame on me.

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