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2008: A Very Larkin New Year
12.30.07 (10:13 pm)   [edit]

Okay, so here's my New Year's present to a most incredible, outrageously handsome, super-witty, courageous, INTELLIGENT and all-around GREAT guy, Larkin Kelsey! All wrapped up in a Scooby-Doo gift bag. If you haven't been following my recent tales, you won't grasp the relevance of Scooby-Doo in our friendship. But you don't NEED to remain clueless: just click here to become enlightened.

Walgreen's (on 18th & Castro) limited selection of colorful folders left me NO choice, but the puppy-love theme, as all OTHER options simply did not meet my standards (BLATANT male-female displays, or ultra-feminine/pre-pubesc ent pastel pap.) Which standards being the very BEST for my buddy Larkin, within my threadbare budget. Caveat: I am NOT at all displeased with the sole option offered. As if my angels' guiding hand left no room for confusion or hesitation. They sure as heck know what they're doing! Especially when it comes to liberating my devastated soul after so many TERRIBLE years of vilification, social isolation and violence! I can't IMAGINE anyone but Larkin (except for My Randolph) being SUCH a tremendous balm for my aching soul...his very visage makes my heart leap for joy like a newborn lamb in the dewy grass of spring!

I couldn't find a New Year's Day card ANYWHERE in the city, even if my life depended on it! What's happened to some holidays I guess, is they just aren't profitable enough, in these days of HyperKapitalism. Walgreens seems to be the worst offender. No sooner was Halloween over, than they over-stuffed the shelves with Xmas goodies! Where the frig did Thanksgiving go? I did manage to discover a FEW turkey cards amidst all the Yuletide debauchery. But New Year's? Fuggedaboudit! It took Walgreens less than 9 hours after Xmas day officially ended, for them to spew Valentine's Day cards and paraphernalia all over the place! Not ONE single freakin' New Year's Day card in sight! I visited several OTHER card shops to discover NONE of them had ANYthing for New Year's, not even stickers! Well, that's not TOTALLY true, they did sell a small assortment of party favors, hats, noisemakers and butterfly tongues (is that what they call those paper-and-wire thingies that curl/uncurl when you blow into them? It's been HELLA long since I've spent New Year's Eve with anyone but me, myself, and ay-yi-yi. AAMOF, ya gotta go all the way back to my childhood!)

So this afternoon I perused what cards were available, that I could adapt via cunning handcraft. Well, the moment I laid pupils on THIS lovely card with a cellophane window framing a campout scene, I just HAD to have it!

(Discovered of all places, in that DOLLAR store on 16th & Mission, abutting the ever-ubiquitous Walgreens.) The front originally said: "To a special grandchild on Father's Day." I used my printer, then cut out and pasted my rectangular adaptations. Neat trick, eh? Unfortunately, I didn't notice that the New Year's rectangle was a tad long, until too late! So with a ballpoint pen, I scratched in the vertical bar to that capital D.

I trust your eyes aren't so bad you can't read what it NOW says, but just in case: "To a special boyfriend on New Year's Day". (Though if your eyes are THAT bad, then I doubt you can even read what I just typed for your edification!)

Open the card, to read:

Larkin, may your day be filled with beautiful skies and tonight,
May you sleep under a sparkly blanket of stars.
Happy New Year's Day!

Replace "Larkin" w/"Grandson" and "New Year's" w/"Father's" to get the original drift.

Scooby-Doo does NOT belong in the card; I added that sticker myself. (Plus my beaming-heart logo by the canoe.)

Let me make one thing perfectly clear: My wish for Larkin to sleep "under a sparkly blanket of stars" is NOT my wish that he become homeless (Goddess forbid)...but that my fantasy to camp out with a beloved buddy finally come true! I mean: I really need a break from this urban insanity, and camping under a pup tent with Larkin would be just what the doctor ordered!

The background, BTW, is part of my angel comforter that I bought in November from Thrift Town for $29:

To my great satisfaction, I can now tell people "I sleep with the angels," and it won't be a lie! And ALSO thanks to that comforter, I DO sleep under the stars each and every night!

Now, the BACK of the card includes an image I printed out and PASTED, to add my personal Zeke-touch. Has to do with my wish to turn the Hole in the Wall Saloon into Larkin's own venue, where he is both bouncer and host. Why? Well, I don't care to repeat myself. Just click here, and you'll understand. (In case you can't read the signboard on the saloon clipart, it says "Larkin's Lagoon". And that's a cowboy holding a cue stick. Tried to find a human figure that resembles Larkin, but no go, other than he's tall and skinny. Click on the image below, for a clearer pic.)

It's also copasetically sweet that the card's own franchise is entitled "Windows of Paradise," because that is EXACTLY how Larkin affects me: he's my heaven's door...and I sure am knockin'!


I just want him to be assured (for I KNOW he'll be reading this soon enough), that I would be MOST delighted to have him as a good friend in my life, without EVER expecting sex to enter the picture. I am very much the ROMANTIC type, who seeks camaraderie and jovial conversation over sexual intimacy any time of the day. I'd find it an absolute THRILL to camp out with you, Larkin, under the stars, sharing the same sleeping blanket, with our clothes on, embraced in brotherly affection! The concept of your devoted friendship is THAT fulfilling in my mind's eye! You NEVER need worry about sexual urges getting in the way of a most WONDERFUL friendship. And I think that, in these last two years, I've PROVEN that to the utmost, considering all the horrid intrigue that has forced its way into my humble life. Of course, if sex WERE to enter the picture at some later date, I'd consider that frosting on the, er, COCK...oops, I mean "cake," naughty me!


I want to remark that it is MOST appropriate I compose this piece on the birthday of my Great Beloved, Randolph Louis Taylor. Whose spirit I strongly believe brought Larkin into my life, in order to give my lonely heart Great Solace. Below is the final snapshot for this article, displaying the folder's cover. I've secured it with a camouflage leash hooked to a tiger-stripe collar...both purchased at that dollar store same day I discovered the card.

All in sweet wish for our friendship to blossom in 2008.


3 Comments
 
Moon Over Eureka
12.27.07 (12:05 am)   [edit]

23 December 2007












































1 Comments
 
Lord Of The Drug Rings
12.26.07 (1:30 pm)   [edit]

Latest blog entry. Something about living on razor's edge, not knowing if you're gonna live to see the next day, that stimulates my literary epiphany.

I have absolutely NO pain whatsoever, am healing nicely. 1/3 of my skull remains numb, no swelling or infection. That must be the endorphins kicked in, to spare me any ADDITIONAL misery.

Several people are granting me GREAT respect, as witness to my fearless courage. There are DOZENS of bicycle thugs, so the streets may be too DANGEROUS for me to step out. If such be the case, there are those who will bring me food and basic sundry items.

Until said time Larkin or another beloved ally arrives to cart me off to Safe Haven. I have PAID the price to become THE most powerful drug lord in ALL of Athenia. I will soon have my finger on the pulse of ALL drug traffic flowing both IN and OUT of my region. ALL dealers must assume PERSONAL responsibility for the well-being and SAFETY of their clients. NO tainted, toxic or otherwise BAD drugs permitted. Any dealer who breaks that RIGID rule shall be put to death STAT. No delay, no trial, no hearing. Nothing, nada, zilch, GOOSE EGG.

Today's drug network will be tomorrow's pharmacy!

Why? Because most EVERYONE in Amerika is rapidly losing their medical insurance...or what care they can still afford (barely) is inferior compared to 20 or so years ago. Drug dealers will soon profit ENORMOUSLY from this overwhelming tide of need for healing medicines. In addition to the standard street drugs, dealers will soon provide all other medications required by the needy and suffering...as a result of our own present system's voracious greed and intentional CRIPPLING of the populace. HERBAL formulas will also become readily available, as the FDA clamps down on citizens' growing desire for alternative health treatments. IOW:

I will turn our drug dealers into drug HEALERS!

By which they will profit like never before. Even though their fees will be drastically REDUCED in order to accommodate the POOR and lower classes. The poorest among us shall be provided healthful medicines at NO COST. The majority of dealers will eventually morph into PREVENTATIVE (as well as alternative) Medicine Men. So there you have a return to the ancient ways of shamanism...which have arisen from our Collective Unconscious to save mankind from its own foolish self.

A big chunk of profits will go towards housing the homeless. Universal health is of equal import, as is MEANINGFUL labor at a LIVING wage. This will also herald my dream to open loving, fun and wholesome HOMES for severely disabled GAY war veterans.

To honor My Randolph, whose love, long suffering, courage and WISDOM have made this MIRACLE possible!

R ivers of kindness course through your heart,
A rtery of God's messengers.
N ewborn child in the valley of
D reams-Come-True, listen to
O rpheus sing your name as
L ilies of the field bow their heads and
P urple heather underneath your shoe travels
H omeward where I sit, by a candle.

A significant number of dedicated scientists will align with my ideals, to develop HARMLESS versions of heroine, smack, coke, meth, etc. They will contain healthful additives to heal the immune system, and reduce dependency by at least 5% each time you inject, smoke, or swallow your "poison" of choice. Increased dispersion of QUALITY marijuana will play a major role in PAINLESSLY easing substance-abuse victims from addiction to formerly illegal drugs...which shall be DECRIMINALIZED by my orders. Gay bars will be morphed into marijuana-&-herbal-tea infusion/concoction and smoking outlets. A cut of the profits shall benefit no-to-low income patrons.

Is everyone with me here, on the same page? If not, that's kewl. You can even think I'm kinda NUTS...'cause in just a little more time I SHALL be VINDICATED, and ALL those who once thought me deluded will be utterly AMAZED and convinced of my veracity. INCREDIBLE! I hereby declare yours truly to be The Luckiest & Most Blessed Humanoid On The Planet.

Anyone dare CHALLENGE me?


From: Zeke
To: My_E-friends
Date: 26 Dec 2007
Subject: Lord of the Drug Rings

Latest blog entry. Don't be deceived...while lifted from one of my recent letters to you (my beloved e-friends), besides the added images and links, there is also a POEM.

Now, I need to take my shower, dress, and track down all those who WISH my death or ATTEMPT to kill me. I'll have them runnin'. THEN I march on down to the offices of the S.F. Bay Times, show them my ugly WOUND, and demand they take my photo, and INTERVIEW me. That I may EXPOSE the scumbags, and invite all concerned to LEARN about this cult via Steal This Blog!

What a day this is turning out to be!

Larkin.zip has now grown to a little over 6 megabytes, BTW.

--
Remember to download Larkin.zip!


Warren Q. writes:

{{ Ezekiel, please use caution - these types are no doubt very dangerous. Hope you can recover with no problems. }}

I ALWAYS am cautious, Warren. But when called to blow the whistle, sometimes one must choose COURAGE over caution. I couldn't live w/myself, if I remained silent. That would then make me a partner in their crime.

As you should already realize, I am TOTALLY vulnerable, living as I do in a poorly secured apartment bldg. INHABITED by several cult members as well. And I have NO other place to stay...praying for Larkin or other ally to provide me w/safe harbor.

Should I go to the police? Nope. They are NOT to be trusted. The Zodiac Cult has DEFINITELY infiltrated them.

Further: if I am to become a vital leader of our family, my bravery needs witnesses. It is CLEAR to more than several, that I am willing to sacrifice my life for Our Cause...if it comes to that.

I now have them, after all these years of courageous stunts withOUT any recognition. These photos go on my ZekeBlog in a moment.

MORE bad news: I phone-contacted the SF Bay Times, spoke with Kim Corsaro, their chief editor. She said, "We don't cover that sort of story. Perhaps you should go to the police."

Obviously, the cult has them, too. I know for sure that the Bay Area Reporter has been infested by cult members for many years. But I HAD hoped the Bay Times would give me credence.

My recovery is swift. Thank you.

John H., you tell me if my forehead wound is in the identical location as L. Thompson's. Is it also the same shape? You seem to have a much better memory than myself, regarding 2306 intrigue and characters.

Hopefully, Larkin will be at the Metro this eve. Assuming no permission to speak, I'll stand some yards away and remove my hat, that he can get a clear view of my injury. I'm sure he already knows what happened (he's telepathic), but I need to be CERTAIN...as I'm NOT yet as psychic as he.


ADDENDUM: The suspect who pilfered my wallet, also enjoyed purchasing junk food via my debit card.

6 Comments
 
Welcome To My Candy Store - 1
12.25.07 (7:31 pm)   [edit]

Part 1: spenser.jpg

Above photo: I just discovered my latest handsome dude on the 'net, to add to my "Cute Guys" SubSubSubFolder: His name is Spencer, a student at Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut. Found his image on a photo blog: "The Blonde Excuse". Holding him, kissing him (sometimes w/passion, sometimes affection) all through the cold, wintry night beneath my angel comforters (storm howling outside): My kinda XXX-mas Eve! In my All-Boys-&-Nothing-BUTT Candy Store, he'd be sumptuous, extra-large Milky Way or Snickers candy bar! Melt-on-my-tongue goodness, every time I taste and lick whatever body part turns me on at the moment!

Amazingly, his countenance is SO similar to my street buddy David (NOT homeless, just part of the Castro street scene), though approx 25 years younger. David is an abundantly handsome and sweet natured man, one of the rare hirsute individuals that rings my chimes. But because of his addiction to speed, OxyContin, crack, and goddess knows what else chemical, I keep a PSYCHOLOGICAL distance from him. Besides, he is somewhat CONTROLLED by this Chinese-Amerikan homo owner who I never had the displeasure to meet (except once, recently, and let me tell you it was NO treat).

David DOES have serious lower-back pain, which OxyContin, speed etc. helps relieve...I forgive him all that.

But because he is such a BIG (albeit DARLING) man, and I only get to see him SPORADICALLY, I hesitate re. getting TOO close to him. One day several years ago, while fixing us both some tea, and me standing within inches of his face (as he sat on my bed while I tended the microwave), he muttered several words almost indistinguishable. Arms resting on spread-out legs so close I was almost standing between them (though facing the other way)...(his) head lowered and cocked slightly to one side: in his darlingly DEEP, baritone-frosty voice that TINGLES my ear drums:

"C'mon, whip it out buddy."

I pretended to NOT comprehend his sweet invite, and continued fussing with food prep. Four years or so later, I regret my unresponsive maneuver, but I'm NOT a day person, and I AM on the shy side (or at least, WAS until quite recent). For just eight months ago when he showed up at my gate, I was QUITE the vixen, and attempted to seduce him every which-way possible. He was a NoThanksBuddy in every way but one: I got him to slide a middle finger up my anus, while I kicked back, whacking off with my legs sprawled across his own denim-cloaked thighs. DEFINITELY a steamy intermezzo. Though it seems that, since then, his Chinese-Amerikan overlord keeps a tight reign over David's associations. Which obvously excludes me from the picture.

I don't mean to deceive you, Dear Reader. (Though I DO hope to embarass! And if you're a 'phobe, ANTAGONISE.) It's not that David isn't attracted to me and doesn't give some of the NICEST kisses and bear hugs I've ever received. Plus, this is the ONE and ONLY time we've ever come close to "boner fide" (heh) sex. He smiled endearingly throughout my entire ploy to seduce, didn't even push me away gently (just interacted differently than I had hoped). Sadly, he seemed more interested in his speed or crack, than in making out. He even swore up and down, left and right, that we'd have really HOT sex together, if I smoked some crack with him! I refused, and thus the (rather happy) compromise.

Let me tell you: I'm totally DOWN on fist fucking. (By that I mean AGAINST, seeing as current lingo has reversed numerous negative-intent words. Like "bad" is really good, and "get down" means "dig it".) But GOOSING (finger fucking)? I like that, if your fingernails are clipped real close to the quick, and you have those MASCULINE hands. A workman's hands: rough with THICK (not stubby) fingers. Well, lemme tell you: David's hands are PERFECTLY suited to my desire! Not only did feeling his middle finger (slick w/aloe vera gel) slide up and down my tight rectum turn me on BIG TIME: I absolutely ADORE his touch, those strong, rough hands, ANYWHERE on my person! It feels god-damn RIGHTEOUS.

It was HOT, but not the intense reciprocation I had expected. Since then, I've only seen David once, accompanied by his monied Asian-Amerikan slave owner, whose name I do not know, nor care to know. David is MINE in the long run, he numbers among my most DEARLY BELOVED, who shalll NEVER be relegated to bulliness and submission to ANYONE! My crotch was within MILLIMETERS of his face (though zipped up) when he spake thus...but VICTORIAN little ole me freaked out a bit, and pretended he spoke something else a tad LESS provocative.

He gives the most AMAZINGLY passionate hugs in the world! First he'll hunker down a bit ('cause he's tall and I'm not), knees bent and BRACE himself against the wall (due to a pained lower back). Arms outstretched and curved, ready to contain me in all his friendly wishes. He'll lift me up a bit as we kiss (he loves my neck bites BTW), and through his loose-fitting Levi's, I feel that chubby, cut wanger (5 inches when deflated, wow...I guess 8 or 9 when NOT...but when's the last time THAT ever happened?)...that plump rubber BISCUIT press against my left thigh. His sturdy frame wrapped around mine, heartbeat against my ear. Pectorals to die for! (I cop a few licks just before His Release.) Tiger cub in The Lion's embrace!

Now THAT'S a sexy hug! Did I mention yet, how HANDSOME is David? A thick mop of the most wonderful, curly golden-brown hair I've ever seen. And baby-fine! For a time, he wore his locks sorta long, down to his chin. Such lovingly curled, bunched strands of hair halo-ing the face of a seraph! Did people stop dead in their tracks to GawkAdmire? Yes they did! He was THAT stunning. Thick, elegant eyebrows that nobly grace a broad forehead and countenance. And the most SCINTILLANT deep, crystal-blue eyes. As I suggested earlier, amply-haired men usually are NOT my cup o' tea. There are only several exceptions in my life, thus far...all but David being One Knight Stands. (Strange term that, as how much STANDING really goes on?) He's about 50 now, graying, and a little obese albeit STILL knock-down gorgeous! We've been friends for how long now? Oh, I'd say eleven years.

I first met David at that tiny Wash Day Blues laundromat on Hattie & Market. Presently boarded up.

It was evening, around 9pm. I was restless, needed a break from my online activism, so took a stroll down 18th Street going west, then up Hattie. First time I gazed upon David: through a plate glass window frosted by a damp fog. What a magnificent specimen of GayManhood, I thought. Remarkably HANDSOME face, and burnished-brass ringlets of hair so alluring I almost smashed through the window in my sudden urge to touch them! He was with another male, a diminuitively unappealing fem in whom I had absolutely NO interest. They were smoking methamphetamine through a glass pipe.

SMACKED in the face by a double-negative-whammy before I even say boo! Still, his beauty was such that NOTHING would stand in my way.

Entered and found a plastic seat, dropped my backpack to the floor. "Hey guys. Hope I'm not interrupting anything. I just need to rest my feet a moment."

The twink sneered and looked away, towards David...who PUSHED him aside to acknowledge my presence. Great Jehovah's Jism, that smile! Those sparkly sapphire eyes! Those eyebrows! Those excellent brave hands. Shoulders of divine proportion! Yellow shirt half unbuttoned to partly reveal the Most Lickable Pecs in the Cosmos! He looked directly at me, the face of a young Thor. Beamed a smile like the sun's first ray burst through a dark cloud.

"Hey buddy. No problemo," he chuckled. (Oh, that voice: MAGNIFICO! I shiver enrapt. LoveAtFirstSight is my favorite delight.) David whose name I didn't yet know extended an arm, which hand held the glass pipe. "Here, take a hit!" (The "male" lookalike to Phyllis Diller didn't seem too pleased.)

"Oh, no no. I only smoke pot. And once in a blue moon, imbibe."

Cupcake interrupted: "C'mon Dave let's go outside. It's getting stuffy in here."

David ignored him once more, and beckoned me: "Join us!"

I hanged out with David and No One Special a half hour or so, on someone's steps a half block up Hattie, under a spreading walnut tree. Found out he likes to hang at the Pendulum, so now I have a hook. Though at that time I was in NO mood to commence my next bar cycle (which occurs about once every 4-5 years, lasts about 6-9 months).

Three weeks passed before I found David at the Pendulum, even though I'd been strolling past it DAILY, several times each afternoon. He was standing out front, smoking a cig and leaning against the open front door. His eyes lit up (oh there I go again, keep me tethered to the ground, please), this time ran forward and before I could take my next breath, found myself in a glorious embrace! Felt his hefty joystick pressing down on me, right through those khaki-camouflage pants. For the first time, we kissed.

And I touched his hair, at last! What gentle radiance through my fingers! I turned my face to nuzzle the crook between neck and shoulder. Licked his collarbone and the recessed skin just above, then luv-bit his neck. O My Goddess Does David taste fine! His baby-soft locks covered the left side of my head, I inhaled the lingering fragrance of carnation and tobacco arising from those burnished curls. A softpack of Camels slightly crushed between our pectorals.

Heaven, when it happens, is always FAR better than even I, a highly CREATIVE and INTELLIGENT author, could ever POSSIBLY imagine. David gave me his soul, his heart, his embrace, his kiss, his laughter, his cocky rubs, his gracious attention...that I could KNOW this.

But then, weeks and weeks passed, with no David. Did he move away or what? I finally started frequenting the Pendulum as CUSTOMER, since I was determined to see my David again no matter HOW long it took! On my disability income, that's quite a sacrifice. I really can't AFFORD drinks. Well, did you know I attended the Pendulum for SIX WHOLE MONTHS before David finally returned? What a test! I was SO happy to see him again. Our friendship then took off, though problems aplenty continued. I eventually let him know of my long vigil at the Pendulum, hoping and praying I'd see him again. He really was charmed by that.

I HOPE he's alive and well, and my thinking of him so POWERFULLY this Xmas day is NOT because he passed on, his spirit come to love me. But two years ago, he spoke of heart ailment diagnosis and having to see doctors more often. All those illegal drugs he took/takes! And tobacco! Guess I should be glad that ALCOHOL is not part of the mix.

I never had many chances to tell David how much I love him. Because drugs got in the way. And my relative poverty. How could I expect him to leave the material comfort of his Asian master, to be with me? I couldn't provide for him, he'd wind up homeless. There was also the time, about six years ago, when he muttered something about "bashing faggots". I couldn't believe my ears, yet I think he spoke those two words AGAIN a few moments later. While we were strolling through Harvey Milk Plaza on our way to a round of pool at the Pendulum. My heart broke, and I avoided him for three years, during which time he moved on and stopped buzzing me at the front gate.

Had no idea for a time, how to approach him on this. Homophobia is a WICKED curse, with little one can do to change a person. Best answer is to walk away from him and NEVER look back. David's different from you or me. He cannot survive in this world independently, through no fault of his own. IOW, he NEEDS a sugar daddy to provide. Like so many OTHER men I love (most of whom are homeless or WERE when we first met), lack of material resources has proven an unboundable wall.

When I finally spoke to David about why I avoided him so long, he was shocked and grieved that I could EVER think he'd speak like that. I tried to explain that perhaps his mind was somewhat controlled by outside forces, but he seemed NOT to grasp the concept. So I dropped it and renewed our friendship, however sporadic it's been ever since. Next time I see him, IF there is a next time (and I sure hope so), I know EXACTLY the words to touch his heart forever. EVEN if he does not reciprocate, I want him to know what is in MY heart, regarding our friendship. He has always called me a righteous man, in the presence of others. Stating that I'm the BEST buddy on the planet. (Which unfortunate side effect INSPIRED some to plot my demise, and separation from David. Jealousy is my constant nemesis.) I'm afraid that even I did not quite grasp David's message, thus did not handle it as well as I ought. Life's all a big learning lesson, ain't it?

So it isn't JUST the drugs that are problematic, though that one alone suffices to repulse me forever, in MOST cases. Being a street minister FOR my gay brothers, though, requires of me a more forgiving and open-minded attitude. For I HAVE met (and still do meet) absolutely WONDERFUL men who by sad coincidence happen to be addicts. Yet I have also NOT found such depth of soul, sweetness and sheer BEAUTY among my brothers who do not indulge in illegal substances, or do not possess a tragic element of some OTHER kind. I understand PERFECTLY my nature...has nothing to do with codependency or low self-esteem. Though that's what others might claim, especially Zodiac Disciples who'll say ANYTHING to wreck a good man's life, friendships, and lovers. (And career, and freedom, and health, and etc.)

Goddess CREATED me to be a natural lover of the downtrodden in our queer community. I'm doing nothing wrong, and everything right! For there shall soon come a reckoning of my good works. Bless-ed result will be the RETURN of all those lovely angels in my difficult (but worthwhile) life. And they shall all be HEALED of whatever curses burdened them for so terribly long. And KNOW it is ME more than anyone else, has courageously guided them through their own personal hells to a MUCH better existance. When they suffer, I suffer. Not because I'm a "love addict," but because each man I grow endeared to means the world to me FOREVER! Whether or not even I mySELF don't like it.

Besides the barricades of addiction and poverty, there is ANOTHER significant contributor to the demise of my relationships thus far: The Disciples Of The Zodiac Killer. Once they get their hooks in you, they NEVER let go, unless somehow you can finally figure a way to get that twisted monkey off your back. For almost 23 years, they've dogged my every step, wrecked my every boyfriend and MOST if not all of my friendships and even friendly acquaintances! They'll do whatever it takes to destroy my sorely desired buddies. Drive 'em insane, usually with toxic substances. Kill them with drug overdose or hit and run, send them off to prison on false witness, where they'll get raped and beat to death (or at best come down w/AIDS). Turn them against me with wicked gossip...some of my loves have even threatened or STRUCK at me as a result!

With beloved David, they made sure he'd stay HOOKED on drugs. And his Asian owner is no doubt a cult member himself, assigned to keep David AWAY from me, for good. (They're certainly NOT beyond killing him, just to see me squirm. I trust Goddess that will not happen.) I have also concluded that his seemingly homophobic mutterings were a telepathic IMPLANT by my enemies. You see, under the influence of mind-enfeebling hard drugs, you become HIGHLY vulnerable to their cleverly wicked astral communique. Being so out of it, you don't even REALIZE what you just said. You are USED by the cult, like ventriloquist to dummy!

I didn't know as much back then as I do now, how they operate. Thus they forced my hand, and the only answer for me was to NEVER see David any more! Whilst they made David believe I'm a BAD person, 'cause I rejected him for no good reason.

Is there a God? Yes. Is God compassionate? Yes. Then why this hell I've been put through? Why this HELL for so many others? Evil exists to test our mettle, to give each of us many chances to resist temptation...and in so doing, become heroic. Evil also teaches us compassion. The End Game has already begun. This time around, I make SWEEPING VICTORY AFTER SWEEPING VICTORY. My prayers for David have been heard...of course! Since NO worthy wish or prayer goes unanswered in the long run. David's memories of all the kind things I've said to him, and my loving embraces etc. will soon click in as all the jigsaw pieces come together to reveal The Big Picture. Which BTW has a title:

David is Beloved to Zeke and Vice Versa

It is also David's broadly gregarious behavior that has forced me to keep my distance. For one, whenever we play Frisbee he insists on tossing the disc on busy intersections and other areas that would inevitably draw the police department's attention! For example; the last time we played Frisbee, was fifteen months ago at the South Park Marina. David peeled his T-shirt to reveal a most GLORIOUS torso and solid, WELL defined pecs. His arms, plumply muscled. But he kept INSISTING I toss the frisbee in such a manner, he'd have to retrieve it from the bay, dive into the pollluted Marina with all its ships, barks and yachts docked quayside. That was when I discovered how much he loves to swim, and how ATHLETIC his nature.

FYI: The background in that frisbee image is a SHIRT left behind by (another) David, the good Samaritan who rescued me from where I lay in a pool of blood December 23, after being cold-cocked. To read that episode, click here.

IOW: every athletic action on the part of My Belovd David would likely attract the police....which I could NOT afford. (He's like a big ol' friendly golden retriever: needs the grand outdoors and LOTS of acreage to run around. Dense urban areas are BAD: rules, regulations, restrictions, DANGEROUS automobiles everywhere. My pup DESERVES better, so I pray.) Yet at one point, as we strolled along the stadium promenade, a professional batter (whose name I do not recall, I'm not a fan of big sports) struck a baseball over the topmost bleachers and into the chilly, SF bay water! David, now stripped of his Metallica T-shirt, rid his shoes and dived in!

And, well, this is interesting. Just a few days ago, I found an Xmas-themed Metallica CD on the back porch. BEFORE I had even planned to write about my lovely David. Now that I am, I'm SO glad it's being writ on Xmas Day. To honor him, who is sorely missed by THIS lone sum. There MUST be a telepathic aspect to this, wouldn't be surprised if he showed up at my gate today. Well it's 3:56pm. Where's Larkin? Randolph's BIRTHDAY is in five days. There's a HIT MAN on the prowl for my flesh. And he's got LOTSa buddies, on racing bicycles! Too dangerous for me to step out w/o bodyguards..but I remain alone and isolated. Yea, though I walk through the (Eureka) valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou (Goddess) art with me! How INTENSE this all is!

The police soon arrived, while David emerged, soaking wet and chilled, to deliver the baseball to a proud father whose son would cherish it forever. I PROFUSELY apologized for my buddy's behavior, stating I never EXPECTED him to spontaneously dive into the dock water, where swimming is verboten. They kindly released both myself and David, whence we visited a Donut Shop one block away; him in his naked, wet torso, me delightfully at his knee! SURROUNDED (I might add) by heterocentric, post ballgame celebrants. They wouldn't DARE give us hell, not even a sneer. For MY David is MIGHTY like a benevolent Goliath!

I must comment that, while observing David leapt into the bay, I stood Mesmerized Witness to unbeLIEVable muscle and arm strength/coordination as he stroked SWIFTLY across the dark icy waters, to retrieve that baseball bobbing in the waves beneath the boardwalk. What spanned and noble freckly shoulders (fit for angel wings), blades gliding smooth beneath a sheet of muscle, like an adolescent PANTHER. Those long, fully developed arms, even the forearms were handsomely thick, fully STRETCHED breaststroke. PULLED the ocean behind him on each stroke! Baggy wide-belted Levis loosely clung 'round David's TIGHT waist. Denim blue jeans began to inch south, HALTED by a neatly packed rump. Boxer short wrinkled elastic band tantalizingly exposed: delicious contrast to a rhinestone-studded black belt.

My Goddess I wanted to yank those trousers off and ride my jaguar!


0 Comments
 
Cold-Cock/Hard Cock
12.25.07 (12:56 am)   [edit]
{{ Bashing, whoa. I didn't catch that upon the first reading. Was this near the school or on 18th Street? Were they hispano or adolescent? }}

I don't remember a thing. The good Samaritan Dave, found me lying in my own blood by the agave plant on the northeast corner of Market & Castro (same block as 2306). NO ONE else helped, didn't even call 911. He offered to, but I said no, please don't. (FYI, I didn't knock the plant cockeye, was already like that.)

BTW, I don't REMEMBER telling him anything, don't recollect a THING between the hours of 8 and 11pm. (Last thing I do recall, is walking into the bar few doors up from where Andy's Donuts once stood. Those were the days, eh, John? Part of my evening patrol: step into one or two bars, walk around, maybe sit a minute, then exit.) I was already in 205 with Dave. There were some paper towels wadded up on the file cabinet I use for a mini-kitchenette...sopped w/blood. I have a bad gash on the upper left part of my forehead. I call it The Curse Of Larry Thompson.

Mr. Thompson was a WICKED, petty-minded, nasty old queen. Incurable gossip. AND my neighbor across the hallway for many years until he happily perished from throat cancer. (Happy for ME that is.) Three months PRIOR to his evacuation through Life's Anus, KISMET stole his voice: larynx and vocal chords sliced out by a surgeon's deft hands. (Justice came late but swift!) Hideous fool's-gold hair (wiry thick), large pointy honker, Liberace apartment furnishings (including a hideous oil painting of Queen Elizabeth The2nd by his own lizardy hand) , and a foreboding DENT in his forehead, the exact same place where my latest Warrior Wound resides! But it's not ALL bad, for I DID fall onto a rather sizeable plant, acclaimed for its healing sap.

I didn't know WHICH upcoming chapter I'd make note of how dangerous our gay bars have recently become. Guess this is as good a page as any. This Cult of Zodiac Killer Disciples now runs ALL our queer bars and clubs, just like the Mafia once did. While there's always been SOME drug dealing by one or two bartenders at most every bar, The Cult is now FORCING all employees to deal. Or they die. Or someone they love dies. Walking out is NOT an option. It is POSSIBLE my presence at that one bar alerted a cult-head, who followed me outside, in secret, then STRUCK like a kamikaze once I crossed Castro.

I asked Dave if he saw who attacked me. He said no, just spotted my prostrate self among the succulents. I believe I was cold-cocked. My wallet is missing, and two $20 ATM withdrawals show up on my Washington Mutual account page. BOTH listed as "BART 16th Mission Street". Seeing as I don't have my PIN written down anywhere on my person, I don't see how the goon pulled it off. (Oh wait, he's PSYCHIC. Duh!) It COULD have been used like a credit card...you know so many clerks do NOT check for ID.

Dave thinks I need stitches, but my wound should heal fine, w/o any scar. The left side of my cranium down to the tip of my ear, is numb. No swelling, though. Ironic (though elegant): I'm using a SIMILAR treatment for my wound as the sap in that agave plant...aloe vera gel! (Mixed in are also witch hazel and two, three drops of tea tree oil.)

I'm SURE this is the work of a cult member. Or likely, GOSSIP by cult members to get people to fear, hate and ATTACK me. Foghorn Leghorn has been getting folks to hate me for YEARS...including deranged vagabonds. So I suspect gossip was the trigger.

I've been wearing bandanas tied around my head for several years now. So no one can SEE the wound. I DON'T want to give my enemies that satisfaction. It is my hope that ASAP, my undercover buddy Larkin will bring me to a safe house. He knows EVERYTHING about me, he's highly telepathic. So if he doesn't provide safe haven, he has a good reason not to. He KNOWS when I need to go through a difficult phase, and when it is best to intervene, or let it be.

I KNOW Dave, from years back when the Pendulum bar was still open for business. He's always been friendly, he's well groomed and intelligent. And damn good looking, too! It's rare I'm attracted to non-whites, but sometimes there IS that charming exception.

Hopefully, he'll show up this eve as he promised, with some weed. I want him to take me back to those bushes, and describe all that he remembers. BTW, he cussed out all the passersby that just stood gawking, some even chortled! No surprise here. We BOTH know how Frisco has become flooded with the wicked and the witchy!

And I ASSURE you, Larkin will hunt 'em down! I will soon have MANY decent guys befriending and protecting yours truly. For if truth IS to be known, this is all part of my destiny: a GREAT adventure unfolding, which I've already begun documenting via Friendly Ghost.

Imagine that! Dumped In the middle of a real-life Damon Runyon fairytale, unfolding as I type each new chapter.

Dave tended my wounds as I lay in bed, passed out. Regained consciousness approx 11pm. I didn't realize what a good looker he is, until last night. Next thing I know, I'm all over Dave, and we had a LOVELY roll in the figurative hay. I feel like I stepped into a noir detective film:

This Zodiac cult.
My SUPER handsome detective pal Larkin.
The gorgeously radiant full moon.
The good Samaritan.
The even BETTER sex.
The cold-cock.
The hard cock!

This letter is DEFINITELY a blog-worthy post.


Xmas is ALWAYS my worst time of year, in a way. If I'm ever gonna be violently attacked or threatened, almost ALWAYS an Xmas gift! And no matter how far and well I plan my finances, I'm usually BROKE the last week of December...and I don't even celebrate Xmas! Here I have $104 still in the bank (AFTER being ATM-robbed of $40), but I CAN'T GET AT IT until my next ATM card arrives.)

Because I seem to have LOST my ID card again. It wasn't in my wallet, as I keep it in a desk drawer since I lost my previous ID in February. One day, about two months back, I opened that draw to retrieve my ID, and it was NO LONGER in the envelope under my coin tray!

I don't think someone accesses my room when gone. Psychic phenomena ARE real. And this rotten excuse of a residence IS haunted. I am at war with this cult...a silent, DEADLY war via the astral dimension. HAVE been since 1985. My GREAT CHALLENGE is to make their vile antics visible by EXPOSING them through my craft. Friendly Ghost Detective Agency will HIT 'em like a gas bomb, smoke out those vermin from their scummy nest. It already HAS that power, though still a work in progress. ENOUGH has already been revealed, especially in my most recent chapters (such as "There's A Succubus Born Every Minute" and "First Letter"). The bomb WILL go off, and soon. Last night's cold-cock may even have been a telekinetic bruising. I surmise that their intent was to outright KILL me, but jeez I DO have the best protection a gal could ever want!

The WORST that has ever happened to me, and ever WILL happen, is the occasional close call. And look...good Samaritan Dave pulled me out of the mud when I had fallen. Goddess sent me an angel!

So I CAN'T access my money at Wash. Mutual in person withOUT any ID. *sigh* Broke again, it's anOTHER rotten Xmas! Dad's sending me $40 in a secure envelope (bills hidden within two printed sheets of paper). I don't even have COINS any more, 'cause I insisted Dave take 'em.

From what I know of ShamanHood (and I know LOTS), just before one ascends to Wizard Healer Extra Extra Extra Extraordinaire (WHEEE!), he goes through a scary INITIATION. As if:

You are going to become SUCH a lucky, bless-ed little fellow very soon...must be humble to receive This Goddessly Gift. Remember (before it was outlawed) when a Boy Scout graduated to the highest honor: Eagle? Before presented with your hard-earned badge, the scoutmaster would salute you with a vertical chop of the hand: SWIFT and STRONG. Sometimes the collarbone would break...you didn't DARE cry or show ANY emotion whatso lotso notso ever!

In my case, it's the cranium.


Dave (my newest Guardian Angel) explained: "While I was helping you home, this blond guy approached me, claimed to be your friend, offered to help. Said he lives in your building, followed me all the way to the gate! I drove him away."

I thought nothing of it then, but did remark: "I don't have any blond friend who lives here."

"Well I did NOT like him one bit," he declared. "I think I know where to find him."

"Yeah well, if you do, be careful. I COULD be wrong, maybe he said he ONCE lived here?"

He frowned, looked over my shoulder at an imaginary foe. "Yeah. I think I know what he's about. I'll track 'im down."

That's when I groped at his impressive basket through those loose-fit dark gray, cotton twill pants. Couldn't help myself! The angel made me do it! And peeled off his shirt to discover a GLORIOUS torso.

It seemed less than the wink of a harlot's eye, we found ourselves in 69 heavens! Next morning I tried to extract a better descripition of the blond man, but Dave remained vague. Shoulder-shrug vague. PROMISED he'd be back that eve with some pipe-lickin' good weed and his horny ol' self. I think he's around 40 years young.

But he never returned! Guardian Angels are like that: schedule-lax. But when you REALLY need their saving graces, they show up in a flash! So Goddess bless Dave. I HOPE no harm has come his way, and we hook up again SOON. I did ask Dave: Was he a BIG guy.

Strange though, I DID ask him that (sort of): "Was he tall, short, what?" He held his palm-down hand level with his nose. Which tip is but two inches above my bruised cranium. And I'M just five-foot-seven! Was he hiding the truth from me, the less I know the better off I am? Did he settle a score, the price to pay fleeing the city?


Peggy C.: Also, don't let that little guy Christopher in. He is NOT a friend. Simply tried to fish information out of me, by treating me to dinner. He likes to show up at Pasta Pornodoro to observe my comings and goings, and who I'm with. He likes to start arguments. That is a signal that tags a cult member. For they are DEVOTED to creating mayhem and misery.

The trap I set by requesting to NOT leave food or other item by my door is this: Anyone else who DOES is suspect. The food may be poisoned. I'll collect any items left at my door, and turn them over to Larkin. He'll pay a lab to test for toxins, but first DUST FOR FINGERPRINTS. Assuming I'll still be living here a while longer. Ugh. That's Plan B. Of course.

Plan A is for Larkin to provide me with a safe, joyful hideaway.


4 Comments
 
Tools Of My Trade
12.23.07 (3:20 pm)   [edit]


Whoever said "One picture's worth a thousand words" ginormously underestimated! I figure my Angelic Readers would enjoy an exemplary perspective of my digital canvas. You can also DOWNLOAD this image for your computer's wallpaper or just keep around like a friendly, compliant pet that needs NO food, NO water, NO grooming, NO bathing, and NO evacuation.

tools-of-my-trade(640x480 ).zip - 160 kb
tools-of-my-trade(800x600 ).zip - 258 kb
tools-of-my-trade(1024x76 8).zip - 140 kb
tools-of-my-trade(1280x96 0).zip - 916 kb
tools-of-my-trade(1600x12 00).zip - 1400 kb

0 Comments
 
Spencer's Tracings
12.22.07 (9:41 pm)   [edit]

Spencer Gray. He's 22 years old (I think, maybe he said 21). A mere TADPOLE in humanity's pond! Just discovered his bizarrely FANTASTIC paintings, drawings and collages at Church & Market, during my evening patrol of the Castro.

Formerly homeless, now volunteering to help other youth still on the streets. Born and raised in Frisco, on-and-off homeless since the age of twelve. Wow, I wonder what kind of dysfunctional family THAT has to be! (But I'm not here to judge, I'm just here to pack some fudge.)

Intelligent, gracious and (obviously) TALENTED. Says he's been doing this kind of artwork nigh onto seven years. Before that, he never cared to SHOW any of it to ANYone. He said that with a silly grin.

VERY compassionate man...the rare hetero who is unabashedly gay friendly. And DEFINITELY a bona fide starving artist. It cracked me up when he told me his monicker is Spencer. For just last night, I had come across a pic of another lovely young man that I added to my hard drive's "Cute_Guys" folder, making the total thus far, nineteen. Said image INSPIRED me to write a piece all ABOUT my collection of handsome dudes downloaded from cyberspace. And his name is...guess.

So I decided to help his career take off. Seeing as I'll soon be IRRESISTAB0B0BALLY FAMOUS thanks to "Steal This Blog," then it only follows that anyone sponsored via ZekeBlog has an excellent chance of becoming Celebrity Hisself! Spencer presently has NO phone number, e-mail, or stable location through which a potential purchaser or agent can get in touch. But he is all over the city, selling his Magical Wars on this or that street corner.

Anyone interested in this fine man's exposed-raw-nerve style artistry, is welcome to post me a note. I'll do my best to track him down. Spencer DOES have my phone number AND e-mail, BTW. It is quite likely he'll contact me soon. I couldn't pin him down as to OTHER specific locations where he hawks his recycled-wood canvasses. Just shrugged his shoulders, said "Dunno. I'm everywhere!"

No wonder he's starving!


4 Comments
 
The Case Of The Haunted Laundromat
12.21.07 (4:40 am)   [edit]

See that laundry cart over there (the one just left of center)? That's the one! He (or she, who knows WHAT gender they are, sure can't tell by lookin' at their skinny frame) attacked me several months ago, with no one else HUMANOID around. It was a knock-down, hard-floor, cold-core wrassle-and-punch fest. Nobody human to witness or pull a 911 on 'em. And me with my hands full (and feet, and arms, and legs, and torso and butt and COCK)!

So the OTHER laundry carts gang up on me, soon as I hit the ground! I finally get the upper hand, manage to EXTRICATE myself from this tangled drubbing, to beat a hasty exit.

That one (the right-of-center one...no, not the one in front but the one just BEHIND him...maybe you can't see him in the pic, I had to take a photo at night through the plate-glass window really QUICK, so's they wouldn't catch on) had the NERVE to follow me outside, for two friggin' LONG city blocks! TAUNTING me all the way, called me "Faggot!" at least a dozen times. DEMANDED I hand over all my boxer briefs, T-shirts and socks.

"Alright, I've had just about ENOUGH of this crap" I says to no one in particular, whip out my canister of pepper spray. And declare to the wiry punk: "You call me FAGGOT, then demand my UNDERwear? What are you, some kinda PERVERT?"

Well, I musta said the right thing 'cause the heavy-metal BITCH turns on her wheels and rattles swiftly in the other direction, vanishes in a FLASH.

Now, I don't cotton to laundry carts that can talk and walk. MY take is this: that laundromat's HAUNTED, and these carts are possessed by what I coin "Wash 'n' Dry Poltergeist". The previous owner, Margaret, died about twelve years ago. But that doesn't explain the OTHER spirits who inhabit the ADDITIONAL three or four carts. She prolly attracts them. Margaret was NOT a nice lady, I know that firsthand. Her face was always pinched in disgust, she always wore muddy-shaded, baggy drawstring workout pants and sweatshirts (no doubt unwanted droppings of her laundry clientele). She had washed-out, dish-watery blue eyes, and curly drab hair the EXACT shade of fuzz left behind in those dryer lint traps. Maybe she crafted WIGS outta the stuff!

One day while pouring BLEACH into a machine, it splashed up and into my face and eyes! Margaret was a mere 10 feet away, folding customer orders. "Margaret," I pleaded, covering my eyes with both hands, "I just spilled Clorox on my face. Please let me into your washroom to flush it out."

She just stood there, mute, defiant. So I runs ALL the way home to take care of it properly, CUSSING her all the way to my own sink, and DURING the washing, and DURING my return walk to the laundromat, and DURING the remainder of my time there (under my breath of course)...and DURING most of the rest of that stupid day. I never was friendly to Margaret again, and NEVER returned to that laundromat until AFTER her bless-ed extinction.

You could be reading a mag while your soapy-wet clothes are doin' the herky-jerky and the hokey-pokey and incestuous acts so naughty they'd wind up doin' PRISON laundry were they human...or just folding shirts and towels and dainty underthings...when one of those devil carts will just TAKE OFF unbidden by any human hand. Bump right up against you, as if it didn't know WHAT the heck it was doing! In fact, I know one PARTICULAR laundry cart that will ALWAYS roll away from you no matter HOW many times you set it against the dryer. I NO LONGER use that one. In fact, I don't even go NEAR it. There's more:

A few weeks ago I was by myself again, waiting for my clothes to dry and BORED out of my skull listenin' to that HORRID piped-in LaundroMUZAK, when three (get that: I said THREE, not two, not one, but THREE) laundromat carts roll smack dab into each other, then as a group, proceed RAPIDLY to the front doorway...my ONLY means of escape!

But I'm sharper than a tack and a FAST little fucker. I caught on QUICK, and just at the very last moment DASH towards the door, leaving my almost-done clothes behind (for later retrieval, with people present), and KNOCK those sinister wheelies asunder in my brazen depart.

Even more recent (oh, approx eight days ago):

Right when I insert a cabbage leaf into the change machine, this cart (not shown in photo) bumps right into my extended paw and DRAWS BLOOD. My quarters clankety-clank into their receptacle as BLOOD spills down on them from above, making them UNUSABLE for the nonce! I immediately return home to WASH the quarters and tend my wound. In hindsight, I suspect the COIN MACHINE is in cahoots with these forlorndry carts.

I ALSO surmise that these bully carts get around at night, once the laundromat is closed. And have ASSOCIATES on the outside, do their bidding. In fact, I have my PI on that shopping cart pictured below.

It was CAUGHT running drugs by a detective buddy of mine, last August. But RELEASED because the evidence had mysteriously disappeared before the case came to trial. My compadre though, didn't seem to mind one whit: he just grinned and grinned for WEEKS, glazed far-away look in those gorgeous golden-brown eyes. Is there a moral to this tale? Why yes, there is (and thank you for asking):

When washing or drying your clothes at Margaret's laundromat, there is NO safe quarter!




coffee, tea, or
get * together over
e-mail me...and we'll *
the web, whereby you can
you up to * discover my story on
my guardian angel Randolph * to set
* to present you with a * copy. Leaving it to
20 December 2007. Friend: I will not seek you out
(and directly * inspired this tale) on the day my mother * died:
jet-black-haired young man at * the laundromat, who made me laugh
This ghastly LaundroTale is dedicated to the charming, handsome and TALL,

9 Comments
 
Letters to Randolph
12.20.07 (12:30 am)   [edit]

All this fuss over Larkin, I almost forgot the main star in my life: Randolph Louis Taylor! I am incredibly grateful for Goddess bringing glorious Larkin into my life (in fact, I'd grovel before my enemies if need be, to PROVE my love for Larkin)!

However, no matter how you slice, dice, or splice it, Randolph is my PRE-EMINENT and NUMERO UNO lover and guardian angel. Larkin is (how do I say w/o hurting his tender heart) another most-beloved angel whom I simply ADORE as much as I do Randolph...albeit SECOND in line. I'm sure Larkin doesn't mind, as he totally ADMIRES my devotion towards Angel #1...whom I believe assigned marvelous Larkin to watch over, and eventually, love me with a great passion. I'd say it speaks MOUNTAINS for Larkin, that he should be the FIRST and ONLY man to enchant me so much as to FORGET about Randolph, whom I have thought about every single day since he shot himself in 1985, until I met darling Larkin!

Though Randolph has disappeared from my life since 1990, I continue to send him letters of kindness and hope c/o his cousin Kitty in Arlington, Virginia. And you know what? Even though Kitty never writes back, phones me, or answers my calls (another mystery yet to be resolved), NONE of my letters are ever sent back! Though in these last three years, my messages to Randolph are diminished in frequency, to about four per year.

It is, however, this NEW friendship with Larkin (albeit convoluted and tortuous) that has rekindled my devotion TOWARDS Randolph. So I decided to send him a select collection of my writings to him, from both the Larkin Chronicles, AND Friendly Ghost Detective Agency. In faith that he is NOT dead, but alive and kicking, thanks in large part to my UNDYING love and faith in my Randolph's incredible calling as both a Vietnam veteran, and gay activist.

There is a strong element of "deja vu" in this, considering that ANOTHER time in the past--say, 1993--when I LIKEWISE sent a bunch of letters on his behalf, 14 to be exact. CLICK on the image above, to find out EXACTLY what I mean! The FIRST time, I sent FOURTEEN letters...this time, I sent ELEVEN...though only NINE are shown in this image. I wound up sending TWO MORE a few days later, is all.

0 Comments
 
Is Bigfoot Gay?
12.19.07 (10:59 pm)   [edit]

{{ The Yeti, Sasquatch, Big Foot and the Abominable snowman are unique and unusual but they are not "gay" or homosexual. }}

They're not? Do you have any evidence to back up this outrageous and homophobic declaration? Are you the last word on this matter?

Surely SOME are gay, and may even be MAJORLY bisexual, as is 80% of the human family.

Perhaps their elusive lifestyle is precisely BECAUSE they're gay, and have to hide out from violent homophobes. Many HUMANS are in that very same situation, which gives plausibility to my surmisal.

In fact, I spotted a Sasquatch once myself, back in '93 whilst on a backpacking vacation in the Cascades. He took off when I spotted him...but I can tell you he was definitely male, I got that close! In fact, I caught him right in the midst of self-entertainment, using a handful of wild honey for lube.

But the most telling bit of evidence re. homosexuality, is this slick magazine he dropped to the ground on his hasty exit:

Getting Naked and Soaped Up in the Barracks
Issue 19: All Male, All Juicy!

(Badda-boom, badda-bing!)


The above missive was originally posted to alternet.org. Click here to view my comment in context.

I almost forgot! On a related matter, read my piece: "Encounter with a Neanderthal".


0 Comments
 
And The Lamb Shall Go Down On The Lion
12.19.07 (12:18 am)   [edit]

San Francisco Daily, 17 December 2007, page 3



From a newspaper discovered in the
hallway restroom, on the rack just
left of the toilet.


"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb...the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze; their young ones shall lie down together; And the lion shall eat straw like the ox." [ Isaiah 11:6,7 ]


The Book of the Prophet Isaiah

11 - The Righteous LGBT Reign of the Branch of Jesse

1  And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch Mt. 2.23 shall grow out of his roots: Rev. 5.5 ; 22.16
2  and the Spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the LORD;
3  and shall make him of quick understanding in the fear of the LORD.
And he shall not judge after the sight of his eyes, neither reprove after the hearing of his ears:
4  but with righteousness shall he judge the poor, and reprove with equity for the meek of the earth: and he shall smite the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips shall he slay the wicked. 2.8
5  And righteousness shall be the girdle of his loins, and faithfulness the girdle of his reins. Eph. 6.14
6  The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.
7  And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down together: and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
8  And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice' den.
9  They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain: Is. 65.25 for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea. Hab. 2.14
10  And in that day there shall be a root of Jesse, Rom. 15.12 which shall stand for an ensign of the gay people; to it shall the Gentiles seek: and his rest shall be glorious.
11  And it shall come to pass in that day, that the Lord shall set his hand again the second time to recover the remnant of his gay people, which shall be left, from Assyria, and from Egypt, and from Pathros, and from Cush, and from Elam, and from Shinar, and from Hamath, and from the islands of the sea.
12  And he shall set up an ensign for the nations, and shall assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather together the dispersed of Queerdom from the four corners of the earth.
13  The envy also of E'phra-im shall depart, and the adversaries of Queerdom shall be cut off: E'phra-im shall not envy Queerdom, and Queerdom shall not vex E'phra-im.
14  But they shall fly upon the shoulders of the Philistines toward the west; they shall spoil them of the east together: they shall lay their hand upon Edom and Moab; and the children of Ammon shall obey them.
15  And the LORD shall utterly destroy the tongue of the Egyptian sea; and with his mighty wind shall he shake his hand over the river, and shall smite it in the seven streams, and make men go over dry-shod. Rev. 16.12
16  And there shall be a highway for the remnant of his gay people, which shall be left, from Assyria; like as it was to Israel in the day that he came up out of the land of Egypt.


0 Comments
 
Recruiting The Irish Mafia
12.17.07 (10:46 am)   [edit]

From: Zeke
To: Warren Q.
Date: 15 Dec 2007, 07:01:23 PM
Subject: Irish Mafia

Hey, Warren. Larkin Kelsey is 110% Irish, even LOOKS Irish in a most HANDSOME, handsome way! (Plus, he's six-foot four, which makes him look JUST like one of God's GREATEST Avenging Angels!)

I've begun receiving psychic messages that Larkin is a powerful member of the Irish Mafia...greatly adored, in fact. So I figure it's wise to study what I can, OF the Irish Mafia. My guardians just suggested I ask you:

Do you KNOW anyone in Boston who's from the Irish Mafia? Or have you MET any, albeit briefly? Have you ever researched them in your area? Or read/heard of their participation in ANY of your own unique adventures and/or revelations?

I am certain that the Irish Mafia numbers among the GOOD groups who have psychic powers. This fits in QUITE well with my love, my visions of Celtic and pre-Celtic British Isles. Plus, my maternal grandfather was from Scotland.

Remember also my sudden and powerful vision of Manannan Mac Lir some two years ago...an Irish deity I never knew about till right then!

I even think it ADVISABLE (if at all possible), you become ASSOCIATED with one or more powerful Irish families in the Boston locale. Though I would not at all be surprised, if a representative of theirs approached you with an excellent offer.

- Zeke

--
Remember to download Larkin.zip!


From: Zeke
To: Warren Q.
Date: 16 Dec 2007, 03:37:11 AM
Subject: Re: Irish Mafia

Warren Q. writes:

{{ I was fond of the Irish countryside when visiting there, particularly Kilarney. }}

A representative will be dispatched to greet you at your place of employment.

That is my vision. Just scrolled right along, from right to left, like a mini-movie unreeling before my startled eyes, as I was in the process of responding. Remote viewing, Warren! Two gorgeous Irish mafia boys in some downtown Boston high-rise office, fighting over who gets to greet you first! They can't possibly be more than 22 or 23, they're so FRESH looking after being stashed in the crisper for three days! (Ooops, that's my Little Queer Vegan Vampire wanting some attention.)

You're a hero in their eyes!


From: Zeke
To: Warren Q.
Date: 16 Dec 2007, 02:42:26 PM
Subject: Re: Irish in Boston

Warren Q. writes:

{{ Front page article--Fireworks Erupt at Southie Parade--reports during St. Patrick's Day Parade gay Irish-Americans were pelted with fireworks, beer bottles, beer cans, rubber gloves and insults. }}

I am suggesting here that, since the article was written (1992) there has been a sea-change in certain criminal institutions regarding homosexuality...albeit covert. My scheme of queer infiltration of drug rings and mafia groups--which I've discussed on Usenet over these many years--seems to have been taken to heart by certain Irish gays born into this Celtic Mob.

Assuming you ARE approached by an Irish Mafia rep., he will make it VERY clear that they desire to dedicate their entire ORGANIZATION towards gay liberation. I HAVE CONVERTED THESE GROUPS, by the power of my digital essays!

There will be a USURPATION of the old power structures, by a highly intelligent and thought-out league of revolutionary queers inspired by my online rants, wisdom, and badinage.

The Irish Mafia will be the FIRST to publicly announce SOON, its stand for gay rights...with a most sincere APOLOGY for its homophobic roots. The ITALIAN Mafia will surrender next. It is then I will inherit the mantle of Godfather. I'm half Italian, half Scot. One foot in the Celtic Mafia, one foot in the Italian.

It is all too obvious (now that my angels have REVEALED such wonderful news) that you, likewise, have gained widespread notoriety and ADMIRATION for your acts of courage and devotion...and for your BRILLIANT political screeds.

You, myself...and I don't know how many rare others on this planet, have FOMENTED the next social revolution, via the infusion of our ideas into every culture (thanks to this new communications medium called the Internet), and years of persistance and stalwart BELIEF in our cause.


From: Warren Q.
To: Zeke
Date: 16 Dec 2007, 07:17:38 PM
Subject: Re: Irish in Boston

Ezekiel,

The IRA once urged that gays be killed. Gays are not well off in Ireland, as a rule, even though we can march their St. Patrick's Day Parade. But there is some advantage in the oppression- it is a culture that sentimentalizes rebellion and defiance. Rather long history of it ;-)

Sometimes, the deeper the oppression, the *less* is the rebellion. Cowards get scared, and hide. Sometimes, though, it fuels the bitterness of people who become fatalistically immune to fear of danger (like me). The world seems so completely intolerable as it is, that it is not even worth it, so why fear?


From: Zeke
To: Warren Q.
Date: 17 Dec 2007, 09:35:12 PM
Subject: Re: Irish in Boston

{{ The IRA once urged that gays be killed. }}

Warren, of course I'm well aware of the gay problem in Ireland. The Irish Mafia, like the Italian, Russian and Japanese mafias, ALL have been historically homophobic. But what I am suggesting, is this AMAZING turnaround my visions show, of these violent groups converting towards gay-support, and USING their muscle to gain our queer freedom! Two recent articles out of Ireland:

DUP accused of stirring homophobia

Quoting a Sinn Fein representative: "Everybody should have the same rights and protections.There is no halfway house. You cannot have rights for some people and not for others."

And once more, Sinn Fein stands up for gay equality, here:

McGuinness: No place for homophobia in NI

Quote: "Sinn Fein's Chief Negotiator launched the official programme of Derry's Gay Pride festival and paid tribute to a number of community organisations for tackling homophobia in the city and throughout Northern Ireland."

Tell me Sinn Fein ain't a facet of the "Irish Mafia"!

The sea-change I envision is for NOTORIOUSLY homophobic and violent crime syndicates--having been successfully infiltrated by gay patriots--morph into impressive FIGHTING FORCES dedicated to gay liberation. JUST as my visions foretell!

My telepathic communique w/angels indicates this time is due, and you shall very soon have a most PERSONAL encounter with some Irish Mafia types, who are ALSO gay and VERY aware of both YOU and myself. Why? Because of our political essays we've been dissemintating through the Internet for years. WE ARE REACHING THE RIGHT PEOPLE.

It is not my goal to LURE you over to my way of thinking. I wouldn't DREAM of expecting you to believe my predictions, w/o you finally having SOLID proof. As they say, "The proof is in the pudding"...and in this case, the pudding is IRISH.


From: Zeke
To: Irish Republican Army Website
Date: 17 Dec 2007, 11:26:37 PM
Subject: IRA's stance re. gay rights

I've just discovered your most informative IRA website at

irishrepublicanarmy.info/Home.html

I'm a gay activist of many years, using the Internet as a viable research tool for furthering our struggle for liberation. And I have a serious question that you might be able to answer.

The IRA once urged that gays be killed. But the times they are a-changin' (as Woody Guthrie once so aptly sang, but I don't recall that he ever sang out on behalf of gay emancipation. Some folk hereo, eh? HIS concern was ONLY for abused heteros, I suppose.).

What is the IRA's stance in these recent times? Do they speak up for, and defend gay rights, as Sinn Fein leaders now do?

Thank you so much for your time.

Sincerely,

Zeke Krahlin

--
Steal This Blog!

=======================

From: MAILER-DAEMON@harrybritt .onlinepolicy.net (Mail Delivery System)
To: Zeke
Date: 17 Dec 2007, 11:26:39 PM
Subject: Undelivered Mail Returned to Sender

This is the Postfix program at host harrybritt.onlinepolicy.net.

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8 Comments
 
Fisher And Visitors Smell After Three Days
12.16.07 (12:39 am)   [edit]

NOTE: Both Jackson and Brian (referred to in the e-mail below) have long since moved from my building. The OTHER two (Betza and Webb) unfortunately remain. Mark Fisher, FYI, is a large, flabby overwheight white guy about 6 feet tall, approx. 325 lbs. (But don't hold me to it, I'm a really BAD weight-guesser! Let me describe Mark succinctly: BIG and FAT. He is accompanied by a lovely, sweet little dog who IS my friend: a papillon named "Skellington III".

To: Mark Fisher, apt. 201 (down the hallway from me)
From: Zeke
Date: 15 December 2007
Subject: You're a rotten neighbor

I have informed our mutual friend Peggy, of your deceptions against me, with trying to turn both Jackson (that gay cracker in 210) and Brian Gamboli (VERY handsome man from 207) against me, with some WICKED gossip on your part. In fact, you said such AWFUL (and totally FALSE) things against me, as to drive Brian INSANE for a while, and give him a nervous breakdown...I have to say you are BASICALLY a very evil man, EQUIVALENT to the insanity of one Clinton Wagonner! Peggy has her defenses up, I ASSURE you.

You have also brought bedbugs into this building, as a result of your tryst in Turkey. I have already INFORMED the manager Jim of this, to THWART your scapegoating me of this potential HELL you've brought upon this building.

You have NEVER thanked me for the MANY risks I've taken, in order to protect residents of this building from various TRAGEDIES that could have occurred, but for my intervention.

You CONTINUE to treat me like a PARIAH, never saying ONE SINGLE NICE THING about me to ANYONE in this building.

You are every bit an accomplice to attempting VIOLENCE and DETRIMENT to me, as OTHER vulgar occupants of 2306, such as Carl Betza (308) and Randy Webb (307).

[ Carl gossips about me to residents of our building, and the homophobic homeless, in an attempt to get me evicted, beat up or even killed. He's been doing this for years, definitely an ex-friend...with a BIG "X"! Carl's quite an old man now (in his 70's), looks dirty, dresses dirty, has a sparse, sloppy white beard. His health is rapidly deteriorating, dodders around like an arthritic...NO WONDER! His karma's catching up to him! Randy's lover just died...after getting him back on speed last year, to accelerate Rob's demise in order to collect INSURANCE MONEY! He's milking for sympathy like there's no tomorrow. His PREVIOUS lover also died of AIDS (presumably...HA!) And, Carl's gossip has influenced him to glare in hatred whenever our paths cross. I tried to talk to him a few times, warn him about Carl's manipulations, but he REFUSES to accomodate me. He's been somewhat BELLIGERANT towards me, several times in the past year. Scary situation for me...which is EXACTLY what Carl planned. Randy's a short guy (5'5"?), shaved head or crewcut, his face reminds me of Baby Face Nelson. There's a pic of him here. We got some REAL loose cannons here in Crystal Palace! ]

You HARDLY talk to me, let alone invite me over for comradely conversation over tea...after all these years.

BTW, Brian Gamboli recently CONTACTED me, apologizing for his crude behavior towards me...explained WHY, and WHO gossiped so wickedly against me, as to cause him SERIOUS mental anguish.

WHO do you think I'm talking about dear?

Since you CONTINUE your ARROGANCE and PREJUDICE against me, I can only consider this WAR. You have ONLY TWO CHOICES:

  1. Cooperate with me to bring a peaceful, safe, and sane resolution to 2306 Market (and the neighborhood, by extension)...or

  2. Fall FLAT on your smug face, and be FORCED to move out unless you want MISERY as your companion.



posted by: ZekeBlog (reply)
post date: 12.16.07 (2:19 am)

God, I really screwed up that e-mail delivery. Sorry, peoplez! But I personally LOST the first half of that letter! So I have to suffer through typing it ALL out again, hoping I've caught everything. The Agony and the Ecstasy!

Here's the URL to my latest blog entry:

post/1969968737

Peggy does NOT know about this blog entry/letter. That's simply the BEST way I know how to play my cards at this moment. Her behavior in the last four months sometimes causes me to question our friendship. Hugging Randy last week to give him solace, whilst just two months BEFORE, Peggy had slapped an RO on his boyfriend Rob, because he THREATENED their lovely daughter Julia! (She's only 17, I think.) Peggy hangs out a lot with Mark...going out for coffee or meals, visiting at each other's apartment.

But truth is truth, and I could NEVER live with myself, if I KEPT this to myself, no matter the risk. You are to WITNESS my courage in these early stages of my rise to world dominion. For some unknown reason, I have been created for GREATNESS in a big, big way. I'm not obsessing over why...I don't necessarily WANT to find out, it might be alarming! But I'm sure as heck learning how to have FUN with it. The Twin Towers Collapse was but a clumsy tot's knocking over a wall of alphabet blocks. And Thomas K. it seems, did a similar number on the jets crashing in Pennsylvania, and the one that plowed into the Pentagon.

Are we having fun yet?

My angels tell me I'll be moved to a lovely, SAFE home base secured by the finest bodyguards seraphim can buy! (Hey, aren't they LESSER angels when compared to ARCHangels? You sure I'm gonna get my money's worth?) Visions have shown me several years ago, an underground city built into the lava caverns of Modoc County (northeast corner of Athenia), deep beneath the surface! It was devised and constructed by the most talented gay architects and hackers on the planet! And will comfortably house SIXTY THOUSAND citizens in spacious, sunlit, woodsy surroundings! Best of all, it will be the CAPITAL of Athenia, named "ZekeOpolis". Yaaa-aay, My Kinda Town! Except it's underground.

Maybe Larkin already has a room prepared and waiting for me at the "Lark Inn"! I plan to see him at the Tacqueria this Monday, to drop off another pile of data beneath a greasy newspaper. And he'll READ this blog entry for sure...I'll put it right at the TOP of the folder pages. And I HOPE he'll give me the Key To Sanctuary when I DO show up. Oh, please be there, Larkin...you're such a mischievous little angel at times, you LOVE to hear me pray "Uncle"! Ohhh, if you are not at work Monday as you usually are, I'll be sooooo DEVASTATED! But I'll love you no less.

Yes, this letter to Fisher will be smack dab on TOP of the folder's right-side pages. The folder with that gracious TIGER design. And I AM a tiger...born in the YEAR of the Tiger! Grrrr!

Enjoy your front-seat row to my RAPID climb in the Drug Kingdom Hierarchy, to become Drug Lord Superb. I want--and will GET--complete control over the flow of drugs AND their quality. Dealers MUST be responsible for their products, that they do no harm, and especially don't KILL. Any dealer proven to allow a customer to perish as a result of shoddy product, will be EXTERMINATED stat!

That's the ONLY thing these guys respect: a taste of their OWN violence. A bully's a bully's a bully. (And you can't pull the wooly the woolly the woolly over my eyes any more!)

Know this is a new world now, and for whatEVER reason, I'm about to gain COMPLETE SPIRITUAL AUTHORITY over all of Northern California! I hereby declare a NEW nation, seceded from the old, carved out of California. Northern border: where it is now. Eastern border: where it is now, but if my buddies wanna grab a CHUNK of Nevada, they're welcome to it! Western border: where it is now. Southern border, down to and parallel with the southernmost tip of the southern border of Santa Cruz County.

And we shall call it "Athenia", to honor Lesbian Pride and Women's Suffrage!

And I shall be--along with my Randolph (okay, Larkin, you can join us, too, you're too BEAUTIFUL to refuse)--co-president of Athenia. Marijuana as a cash crop will make us flush with currency! How can I accomplish this, when OBVIOUSLY the US gov't would NEVER allow it?

My angels tell me, there will soon be civil war raging out of control in EVERY state. Amerika will collapse, be divided up into NUMEROUS nations. I'm gonna get me a PIECE o'that Miss Amerikan Pie!

I guess I've just become the Godfather of the Gay Mafia, eh? Boy, is Santa GENEROUS or what? It helps that Larkin is also of Irish Mafia stock. In fact, he's a POWERFUL leader of The Underworld, greatly adored by the Irish. You can learn more about this Sterling Archangel by learning about Manannan Mac Lir, god of the Irish Sea.

wwwDOTmanannanDOTnet

Understand Manannan, you understand My Man In Larkin.

(And I'm smokin' some pretty DAMN good pot I bought off Dexter, one of the RARE street buddies who really loves me. He's even stopped playing "straight" so much, and VOLUNTEERED to tell me he's bisexual. Very lovely rogue of a dude! And I'll bet his SAUSAGE is a lot more than a mouthful! Randolph could lick one side, and I, the other. Or Larkin. They're my interchangeable dolls!)

Oh goddess, I just made myself blush.

--
Remember to download Larkin.zip!
Important update!

0 Comments
 
The Origin Of Evil
12.15.07 (9:40 am)   [edit]
Once upon a time--long long before Adam & Steve were created--Jehovah realized that the universe could never be complete without something called "evil". He tried to explain this to the Host of Angels (his only companions at that early time; though numbering in the hundreds), but they were all confused and aghast at this shocking concept. All that is, but one: Lucifer. When the Big Cheese saw that only Little Lucy was not aghast (but simply confused) he called him into his inner chamber, where they could be alone. (Archangel Gaybriel served them each a pot of lavender tea before departing behind the curtains.)

"Hey Little Buddy," declares the Good Master, "why aren't you also shocked by my proclamation?" To which Lucky replies: "My Father, of course I am confused, but I'd never be judging you. After all, you're our Creator...so even if I don't comprehend one of your decisions, I still trust you. I could never conceive of you ever doing any wrong...even though this is the FIRST TIME I have become perplexed by anything you've ever said or done."

Jehovah contemplatively sips his tea, then leans forward. "You don't really grasp what evil is all about, do you?"

"Of course not." shrugs Lucifer, "This is the first time I've ever heard of such a thing. And it does what, you say? Distorts truth and makes intelligent beings feel bad, and do wrong?"

"Why don't I give you a visual?" resolves YHVH, who then projects a holographic scene that hovers between the two.

Therein, Lucifer witnesses the awesome advent of evil upon a newly created species called "man". Wherein Lucifer weeps for the first time, some sparkly tears dropping into the teacup (which by the way is the primal origin of the Holy Grail). Lucy dries his eyes with the hem of his sleeve, and exclaims, "Oh, my father, what terrible betrayal. How could you wish such forces unleashed in any universe? But I can only trust your decisions, and offer to serve you in this outcome, as best I can. For as much as I abhor this new energy entering the cosmos, that you call 'evil'...I also understand that it is a necessary process in spritual evolution towards perfection. That without any evil in this world, humans would never be challenged to become the true hero that dwells within each and every soul." Lucifer then takes a deep breath and sets down his cup. "Okay, Dad. How can I help you in this terrible mission?"

So with great sorrow and pride, Jehovah requests that Lucifer play the role of Master of Evil. This time around, Lucy is indeed terribly shocked, and lowers his head in shame and sorrow for some moments; then looks up and into the eyes of His Father, to say: "I will do this, only because if I didn't, you'd be alone to carry this out. I wish to relieve your burdens as much as possible. For I do love you much!"

Jehovah took him up into his strong arms. "You are the only one of my angels who has never lacked in any way, complete faith in my plans. For that, I make you The Devil Himself, that you may tempt man to go astray. And in so tempting, each is offered the chance to resist temptation, and become a hero in overthrowing your seductions. You will be vilified, scapegoated, and ultimately despised by all but a few wise folks. Indeed, not until the end of this First Cycle of Creation, will the wrongs against you be righted, and will you be celebrated as My Most Beloved First Born."

Having agreed to be partners in this Great Mission, Lucifer calls together a meeting of all the angels, and presents his case: to usurp the Creator and run the show ourselves. He is very persuasive, thanks to a gilded tongue, and manages to convince a third of the angelic host. War breaks out. So Lucifer dutifully plays out his incredible roles through history, including one of his "time out" past lives, where he is willfully sacrificed on a cross, to reaffirm his total devotion to One who asked of him this awesome responsibility. For with every seduction, Lucky always prays in his heart that you won't be tempted.


MORAL OF THIS TALE

Evil is a necessary evil.

And if you really love your enemy, then one must also find
a way to love, and forgive, the Ultimate Enemy.


0 Comments
 
Censor Ship Of Fools
12.14.07 (8:45 am)   [edit]

3 Comments
 
Another Hetero Xmas
12.12.07 (12:39 am)   [edit]

Internationally reknowned heterosexual cartoon slut Betty Boop, gooses it up with chauvanist pervert Kris Kringle. Here we go again: another hetero Xmas! This breeder enemy occupation we've put up with for how long? A thousand years? Two thousand? The Nazi regime has NOTHING over hetero hegemony! A flash in the pan by comparison. Likewise for the paltry 400 or so years of black slavery.

So here we're supposed to ACCEPT as cute and totally appropriate for children female images (cartoon or otherwise) that behave and dress in a seductive "fuck the daylights outta me, big boy!" Yes, that's entertainment...for hetero men ONLY. A capitalist system where EVERYTHING has a price, and is grist for the bread-and-circuses mill, including of course the ever-ubiquitous PUSSY. (More honest to print on our currency "In TWAT we trust," than "God"!) And where are the romantic movies, books, and tales promoting delightfully GAY Christmas stories? Why must all the seasonal romance be relegated to HETEROS only?

Xmas is the chief holiday of Our Hetero Overlords: established to ASSERT the superiority of roughshod capitalist dogma, hand in hand with breeder supremacy. Breeders may take some time off from work, but they sure don't take a break from gay bashing! This is a "Fambly Valyooz" holiday, queers EXCLUDED doncha know. When so accused (being the smug fetus-poopers they are) they'll point to the rare exception of a family here and there (probably totalling no more than a scant dozen across the entire United States including Alaska, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Mexico and Canada), who INCLUDE their gay relations...under proscribed and severely restricted conditions. Such as:


Don't TALK about homosexuality especially gay marriage to ANYONE...don't hold hands except in the privacy of your bedroom (and don't be seen entering the bedroom together) and for god's sake don't DARE kiss in public...don't wear ANYthing that displays pro-gay sentiment such as buttons, stickers, key chains, or jewelry (which includes the pink triangle or rainbow in any way, shape or form)...cover up or remove ANY gay bumper stickers on your vehicle before you even DARE come within five miles of our home...and for chris-sake, don't DANCE with each other or even HUG! And NO faggoty behavior such as lisping, limp-wrist gestures, crossing your leg above the knee, sashaying like a vamp, or showing ANY interest in opera, ballet, and broadway musicals. Oh, and one more thing: BOTH ears should definitely not be pierced; ONE however, is permissable.


Lest you forget you're mingling with the enemy, albeit FAMBLY, just pretend you're an undercover communist homosexual gimped-out gypsy Jew at one of Hitler's exclusive Gestapo galas in the Bavarian Alps.

Keep your guard up at ALL times, don't wear anything PINK (or lavender), maintain a wan, obsequious grin...and don't speak unless spoken to. And study this manifesto "Seven Litmus Tests" before attending ANY fambly event. Writ by yours truly, it will help gird your psychological loins upon infiltrating enemy camp.

I've never been big on Xmas, but for the fact that Randolph Taylor's birthday is Dec. 30. If you are not one of my few close friends, and haven't read much of my tales, you probably don't know WHO the frig this "Randolph" is! He is one who I love more than any other man (except Larkin, who is NEW in my life, whom I consider equal to Randolph): a Vietnam Veteran and gay rights activist, and a truly gracious, heroic individual. Disappeared from my life in 1991, don't know what happened to him, can't afford to hire a detective. My whole life is dedicated to him, he changed my world tremendously, and for the better. To learn more about him, click here. Here is the last I've heard from him, except for two brief (and mysterious) phone calls a few months later:

Open the card to read: "May the sweet warmth of Christmas touch your heart and stay there all year" followed by one single word writ by his own hand: "Randy". Notice no return address, though postmarked San Francisco. Dec. 1990. All the while, I thought he was back east, either in Arlington, VA or NYC. The card now hangs above my bed (has for many years), and as you can see, is yellowed from age. I am a pagan at heart, Xmas means little to me...but for the fact that it means a LOT to my Randolph. His background is humble: raised in Covington W. Virginia, among poor whites, his father a coal miner who, diagnosed with black lung and given a short time to live, consequently shot himself, that his family may survive on the insurance. (Randolph was only 16 at the time.) And since My Most Beloved's birthday IS smack dab in the middle of Yuletide, of course I honor his remembrance. Here's a painting I did of him in 1993, called "Zeus Electric":

Do I regret the ordeal he put me through, his undeserved and unkind rejection and anger towards me? No, not one bit. (Though I must place a conditional tag on this: I did suffer inordinately for MANY years, in order to reach a loftier attititude and altitude. Randolph made me a BETTER man than I could ever imagine.) I'm proud to bear his cross, no matter how long. When I cry over him, it's with tears of joy, and because I miss My Little Chipmunk so very much. But more than anything else, I am SO HAPPY to have met him, and taken upon myself some of his own burdens...burdens which I never expected to be so difficult. His spirit has finally brought another incredible man to me, one who WILL be my very best friend of all time (one who will NOT disappear from my difficult life) and who ADMIRES my eternal devotion to Randolph: that would be Larkin Kelsey.

There is HAPPINESS afoot in my life: I can feel it in my boner...er, "bones". (Sorry 'bout that Freudian slip!) My life has taken an AMAZING swing into the most incredible miracle (with you, Eleanor C., being a sort of USHER into this New Reality, thanks to your kind enthusiasm and support as comradely authors and suffering geniuses). I will not go into this further (in this post), but if you want to understand My Miracle, you must read BOTH books contained in the incredible opus "Steal This Blog". It is free, it is FASCINATING, and you are welcome to make as many copies as you want, to share with others.


I DO look forward to the re-emergence of pagan beliefs...fairytales are better than Xian (or any other monotheistic-based) stories. Rude awakening: Jesus Christ IS a pagan nature-lover...attempting to bring back matriarchal belief systems. That's why the utter import of his friendship with Mary of Magdalene...for she was a prostitute who Jesus befriended, and gave utmost respect. (As he did to ALL downtrodden, rejected and marginalized souls.) But DON'T let this "Mary" cult suck you in, for it's just an attempt to HETEROSEXUALIZE Xianity by claiming Jesus and Mary boinked each other and had children. Jesus was 100% GAY I assure you! His homosexuality was a major contributor to his ultimate persecution and crucifixion! Sadly (and ANGRILY) I know of NO church--even those that claim GAY FRIENDLINESS--that cares to speak the truth about Our Savior's same-sex proclivities.


But let's not get our boxer briefs all up in a bunch, over the realization that we gays (and their true supporters) continue to exist under this evil regime of heterocentric bigots. For I ASSURE you, their days are severely numbered and we will gain TRUE LIBERATION in our lifetime...perhaps even in this transition into the New Year: 2008. But until that time, there are three hetero singers/Xmas songs I absolutely CHERISH...not because of their seasonal import, but because of the sweetness and clarity of heart conveyed. I am also a devotee of "midi" music, which blossomed out of the birth of PC sound cards (Creative Lab's Sounblaster being pioneer). These three songs are listed below, with lyrics. Just click on the title to hear it played in midi format. Sing along or just kick back and listen to the sweet tunes caress your eardrums:

Have Yourself A Merry Little
Christmas
Have yourself a merry little
   Christmas.
Let your heart be light,
From now on our troubles
Will be out of sight.

Have yourself a merry little
   Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on our troubles
Will be miles away.

Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore,
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.

Through the years
We all will be together
If the Fates allow,
Hang a shining star
Upon the highest bough,
And have yourself
A merry little Christmas now 





















































Grown Up Christmas List
Do you remember me
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you
With childhood fantasies

Well, I'm all grown up now
And still need help somehow
I'm not a child
But my heart still can dream

So here's my lifelong wish
My grown up christmas list
Not for myself
But for a world in need

No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end
This is my grown up christmas list

As children we believed
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely
Wrapped beneath our tree

Well heaven surely knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal
A hurting human soul

No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end
This is my grown up christmas list

What is this illusion called the
    innocence of youth
Maybe only in our blind belief can 
    we ever find the truth
(there'd be)

No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end, oh
This is my grown up christmas list

This is my grown up christmas list






















Wonderful Christmas Time
The mood is right
The spirit's up
We're here tonight
And that's enough

Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time

The party's on
The feeling's here
That only comes
This time of year

Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time

The choir of children sing
   their song
They practiced all year long
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong

Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time

The word is out
About the town
To lift a glass
Ahhh don't look down

Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time

The choir of children sing
   their song
They practiced all year long
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong

The party's on
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough

Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time

The mood is right
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough

Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
    Christmas time

Ohhhhhhhhh
Christmas time



For those of you with broadband access (or infinite patience), I now provide several video versions of the above-listed Christmas songs:

I just adore Linda Rondstat's version of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas"...but what on Goddess's green earth was she thinking of when she cozied up to that quasi-liberal hypocrite Jerry Brown? (Whose first act as Mayor of Oakland was to invite the United States Marine Corps to stage war games in a shut-down local army base.) But goshdarnit, I can't find a video of her ANYWHERE on the web, so here's that same lovely piece sung by "Celtic Woman," live from the Helix Center in Dublin, Ireland:

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas sung by Celtic Woman.
Just for my good friend John H. (since you LOVE 40's-50's swing band, be-bop, and doo-wap stylings), here's that same song sung by your favorite crooner:

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas sung by Frank Sinatra.

Amy Grant's version of "Grown-Up Christmas List" touches my heart strings like few songs do (and I'm a hopelessly romantic sap). Even though she's one of those conventionally DEVOUT Christians (who denounce homosexuality as a great offense against God), her vocal mastery of that song is profound!

Grown-Up Christmas List sung by Amy Grant.

And of course "Wonderful Christmas Time" is by popular song writer/singer par excellence, Sir James Paul McCartney. His music, more than any other Beatle, put Christmas in this baby boomer's heart all year round. I even had a CRUSH on him, and sent him a love letter way back in 1972! I wonder: Was I the only MALE in the whole world to do such a thing? As soon as I get famous, I'll ask him!

Wonderful Christmas Time sung by Paul McCartney and Wings.


As a special Yuletide treat to you who are so gracious to visit ZekeBlog, click on McCartney's immortal image to load a page containing MOST (if not all) of Paul's wonderful songs, in sweet midi format. Wishing ALL my fans (who number less than the toes on both my hands today, but tomorrow the world!) a most spectacularly GAY holiday season and the QUEEREST possible New Year.


Always know that, no matter WHAT time of year (for I don't limit my compassion to the "Christmas spirit"), ZekeBlog is ALWAYS here to cheer you up, inspire you to loftier heights, and wish you the GREATEST success, fulfillment and joy for you and those you love. AND for all your enemies, whoever those homophobic sad sacks may be.(Just don't spend too much time forgiving them; it's not worth it.)

7 Comments
 
There's A Succubus Born Every Minute
12.10.07 (10:42 pm)   [edit]

I think it wise to acknowledge your brilliant insight in the matter of shadow agencies and their machinations. You are absolutely, 100% correct. They DO manipulate the masses, and select individuals for various purposes...all of them devious. YOU ARE TOTALLY SANE, as well as psychically gifted.

I am ALSO convinced at this point in my incredible adventures of late, that there is at least ONE powerful agency on the side of righteousness...and they are guiding us, training us, preparing us. For what?


WORLD WAR THREE. But not the Apocalypse so beloved by Xian rednecks and murderous goons. The Celtic (and pre-Celtic) lore had it correct, regarding "The End Times". It will be "The War Of The Wizards", a final battle where the Good shall be victorious, and reign over earth forevermore, in peace, prosperity, joy, fulfillment, and most DEFINITELY: Gay Liberation.


The SPECIFICS of which groups are doing what, their names, affiliations, etc. are not NECESSARY to know, in order to gain our Sorely Desired Victory. It is HOW these evil ones operate that matters, so we can fight fire w/fire by learning to use their own psychic weapons AGAINST them. You might still have your doubts as to the outcome, but I don't: WE WILL WIN BIG TIME.

I can see the future. I can remote view. I have no desire to kill goats, or anything else incapable of homophobic will.

One SPECIFIC group I have discovered, is the one I've begun exposing in my latest Friendly Ghost write-ups: Disciples Of The Zodiac Killer. Do you know that the MAIN suspect, Arthur Leigh Allen, was a GAY man who maintained the Wurlitzer organ housed in the Castro Theater? That was I think in the early 80's, which is some nine years after the last known Zodiac murder.


Ironic that "Zodiac" recently played at that same theater, eh? This year in fact. (HIGHLY synchronistic with my own erupting revelations.)

Then, in the mid-to-late 80's A.L. Allen opened a little avant-garde movie house in the Richmond District (also in S.F.). I can find no more information on the 'net about him, after he closed down that business...which I believe was around 1988.

Note: the link above does not seem to include mention of his work at either the Castro theater or his own movie house. Maybe it is in there, I just have to dig further. However, I DID learn of these facts on another website, which URL I've forgotten. I'm sure with some intensive searches, anyone can discover my veracity.


It is highly POSSIBLE this Zodiac Cult--now numbering several MILLION, I conclude--has ERASED from many resources, as much biographical data as possible, regarding Their Beloved Master Of Bloody Rule. I find it MOST fascinating that--if indeed he WAS the Zodiac Killer--our S.F. Gay Community, or at least a SEGMENT thereof, was HOUSING, PROTECTING and EMPLOYING a serial killer! His New-Found Disciples...one of them being Harvey Milk!


Our Gay Family had begun to turn wicked at the time Mr. Milk climbed the political ladder to Supervisor. I found the man to be VERY cold-hearted, and non-receptive. And I'm not the only one. He APPEARED rather ghastly in the face, one could say "ghoulish". If correct in my surmisal, I conjecture it was H. Milk who paved the way for this demonic infiltration of local government, and gay political organizations...as well as gay-friendly bars, bathhouses and clubs.

I am sure that SOLID evidence will come in before I accuse Milk et al of murderous skulduggery. Albeit circumstantial, what evidence WILL emerge will likely be overwhelmingly undeniable. And that is how a psychic detective works: almost always 100% circumstantial, but such evidence becomes so ABUNDANT and easily linked to formerly broken chains, as to be perfectly legit.

What a SHOCKER this will be...and I will surely be vilified for my opinion by many. But AFAIC, the only folks who MATTER are those who respect and appreciate my long-suffering devotion to root out evil, that our community may finally be liberated.

This Cult knows about me of course, and has for MANY years. Some even dwell in my apartment complex, a NOTORIOUS building, of which small-time hard drug dealers are but a distraction from the REAL evil that occurs. They have sabotaged my every step, created much grief in my outreach, and most effectively ISOLATED me from any real social camaraderie. Their intent is to eventually kidnap, and TORTURE me with those very devices I fear most...such as being buried alive (then resurrected/resuscitated at the last moment).


This is no joke. What I am about to say may SOUND funny, but that is exactly how their meme-brainwashing works. They inspire onlookers to LAUGH at events that are most tragic...thus increasing the misery of their victims! And THAT explains why, whenever I'm threatened in public, most folks giggle and do NOTHING to stop my attacker (not even 911). They have been DUPED, mesmerized by The Cult, and do not comprehend the very wickedness that stands brazenly before them. Here is their Final Solution for "moi":

My skull is their chief treasure, as it houses one of the most brilliant minds to ever exist, dedicated SOLELY to freeing homosexuals from their oppressor's shackles...a totally BENEVOLENT sort of mind. IOW: a most DESIRABLE trophy for such villianous necromancers! A TRAGIC end game of inconceivably GROTESQUE proportion!



Presently, Hole in the Wall Saloon and Eagle Tavern are FIGHTING over who gets my skull! Each wants to nail it above the main entrance. (I am reminded of that scene in Conan Doyle's "Hounds of the Baskerville" when Professor Moriarty admires the impressively handsome, noble cranium of his heroic antagonist, the magnanimous Sherlock Holmes.) But if they can't acquire the real Mccoy (so to speak), they'll do a replica of my skull, in the purest, rarest of alloys. And decorate it with priceless gems, beads...and feathers from only the rarest, most ENDANGERED avian species. IOW, Arthur L. Allen's Disciples are absoultely and hopelessly INSANE.

The Zodiac Disciples are utterly CONVINCED of their victory over me...and who am I to correct them? God (or goddess, whatever) is merely providing them enough rope by which to hang themselves! And make ME the hero in the process, withOUT suffering any of their nasty schemes. They've DONE ENOUGH DAMAGE already. I will even win some over, who will assist in rounding up their leaders to have them put away for life or (as I strongly recommend) immediately EXTERMINATED.


I used to be AGAINST capital punishment, but this cabal is so cleverly WICKED, it would be way dangerous to keep ANY of their masters alive, even in solitary confinement on a far-flung asteroid. These Warriorlocks are awesomely telepathic. What evil they conceive can and DOES occur. Masters of remote viewing and telekinesis! Distance means NOTHING to them, even when measured in parsecs. Might I suggest a stake through their sorry little hearts?


They are very sophisticated warlocks, who employ biological warfare to gain their ends. They frequently DOSE bar goers with date rape drugs...for sex, money, information, or whatever the else fuck they want...including OVERDOSING THEM TO DEATH to break the spirit of a select victim. They have done this to me, more than once! Seems that those men I have loved dearly so far, have ALL been taken away from me, by Zodiac Disciples. They kill them, disappear them, get them sent to prison, or drive them insane (with a secret blend of their homemade toxins). I TRUST that my beloved Larkin will NOT be yet one more tragedy in my Heroic Mission...that he is in fact, My Avenger! Evidence thus far supports my fervent wish.

The Zodiac Cult plans a terrorist ploy SOON...perhaps Xmas day. They intend to poison the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir,


which provides MOST of the drinking water for San Francisco and neighboring towns. We're talking what...two point four MILLION residents? They have no qualms if this kills a few-score thousand, in order to TERRORIZE everyone to bow to their will. I also conclude they've BEEN drugging our water supply for quite a few years now...to STUPEFY the populace from revolting, and from listening to whistle blowers like myself. (I call this "Living With The Curse Of Cassandra".) I STRONGLY recommend using tap water only for cooking and bathing. (Unless you really WANT to subject yourself to potent hypnotic substances that are chemically flavored to TASTE like pristine mountain aych-too-oh.) Interesting coincidence is it not, that San Francisco restaurants have recently dropped bottled water, claiming our Hetch Hetchy TAP supply is equivalent or superior?


If I'm correct, there will soon be a power struggle over who should manage our water: between the Zodiac Disciples and OUR people. It will be in the news, very controversial...and probably fought through election ballots. (Both groups will appear as common politicians, nothing mystical suggested...it's a whole 'nother layer of reality, in a way.) But if The Zodiacs do NOT get their man elected, WATCH OUT! They will then use devious and VIOLENT means. I do not know WHICH people in the water department are cult members. I just know that These Disciples have infiltrated ALL levels of government, and therefore have MOST LIKELY done same to our public utilities. But it doesn't just stop with Gay Mecca.


The Zodiac Cult has grown into the MILLIONS since they first gathered some time around 1968. They've insinuated their hideous presence into ALL gay agencies in ALL the major cities of not just the United States, but of the ENTIRE WORLD. They plan a tremendous COUP, starting with poisoning Northern California's aqueducts. Their plan is to TERRORIZE their way into dictatorship, first by conquering California...then like dominoes, all the other states, then all nations.

Forget the military. Forget government. Forget global corporatocracy. Forget the Mafia. Forget Islam. These Zodiac Disciples are MOST clever in their wickedness, and also have the PSYCHIC ADVANTAGE among all OTHER evil agencies. (For one, they've successfully EMBEDDED themselves in these groups far more effectively than said groups have done to them.) What will stop The Zodiac Cult dead in their tracks?

ME. With the brave assistance of other heroic souls from all corners of the planet. My first salvo toward OUR victory is, obviously, the RELEASE of vital information to EXPOSE these devils, via "Steal This Blog". We WILL have to go through a Third World War before we claim success,


though the TASTE of victory will come before then...and it will be SWEET, I promise! There will be ONE location on earth totally PROTECTED from This Cult (or any other evil): Northern California. Which borders I've well defined in my essay some years back.

Somehow, some way, our Protector Guardians will bring you and loved ones here to N. Cal., as they will to ALL good gay-friendlies. The details, however, still elude me.


Be aware that the ONLY REASON any of my accounts herein seem humorous is not so much my gifted turn of the pen (or keyboard, actually), but that I have met Buddha's challenge to turn enemies into friends...thus transmutating dark energy into joyful force. "Behind the mask of every demon is another angel" (Tibetan Book of the Dead).

On the highest level (taking the Buddhist spin "we have no enemies only teachers"), this is simply a Grand Game in which I get to play The Great Hero. (And my enemies get to play -- umm -- my enemies.) Do not worry for my soul, I will be perfectly fine. I have absolutely NO fears, and very little anxiety even, over my daily tribulations. Which indeed are fewer and further between than EVER in my life.


Yes, I did have my memory erased...not by enemies, but willingly by my own hand, with the assistance of an intimate group of trusted friends, all detectives out of the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD). My conclusion is ASTOUNDING, yet all the pieces have begun to fit!

Remember some months back I talked about how I might be a celebrated detective with the LAPD, who wanted to use his psychic abilities to track down the Zodiac Killer...and this CULT that rose around him? But it was a cold case by then, so I had to surrender my badge, abandon my beloved career and friends, in order to pursue these "cult"-prits on my own. I was THAT driven to blow this cabal wide apart! But I don't actually recall WHY at this point in my "Early Memory Restoration" phase (or EMR).

Randolph Taylor was my lover...I should say "chief" lover, as I was not monogamous. There was also this glorious Larkin Kelsey, among other dedicated and HANDSOME detectives whom I've had the tremendous pleasure of knowing and blowing. I even surmise YOU were part of this circle, a good friend (not lover). Whether you REMEMBER this or not, I don't know. But if you do, I accuse you of participating in a highly ingenious plot to reward my years of devoted service and sacrifice for the sake of a Most Noble Achievement.


You would therefore be one of My Guardians setting things up for my success, including putting yourself out there in Usenet, knowing I'd "stumble" upon your articles and be inspired to contact you. While playing someone far less insightful than you let on. For example: your declarations of having the psychic power to create accidents nurtured my own awakening, that it wouldn't come as too much of a shock.


Before I departed Los Angeles, I made detailed preparation for my new destiny. Including a form of deep self-hypnosis, that I FORGET my present life to create a totally new and artificial one perfectly suited for the frightful challenge at hand. Thus, I forgot Randolph, and Larkin, and Keske, etc. A real heartbreaker all the way round. What a sacrifice! It would obviously take YEARS to achieve Ultimate Victory, during which time I'd grow old w/o my beloved Randolph et al. And when they followed me up here several years later (for I was getting solid RESULTS, at last), they had to treat me like a stranger, for awakening my memory from its hypnotic slumber would DESTROY my cover, hence victory. My forgotten comrades would even be HOSTILE towards me at times (to discourage any possible romantic advances on my part), for the sake of my own safety and anonymity. For I had INFILTRATED the Zodiac Cult!


How? By feigning membership myself. I was caught however, and consequently tortured. That's where the deep hypnosis comes in: I programmed myself to go into a trance during torture, as well as FORGET the painful details. This would give me incredible psychological STRENGTH to forge ahead in another direction, still dogging them with all my ferocity. Though they finally KNEW who I was: a celebrated detective from LA.

In fact, I was SO good a sleuth, the department had a beloved nickname for me: "Columbo Holmes". Actually, I surpassed BOTH in talent, finding missing persons BEFORE they were missing, murderers BEFORE they murdered, and gay bashers BEFORE they bashed. Don't know (or don't remember) how I could actually DO this within our legal framework...but I was VERY intelligent (still am, I hope), and am sure I found a way to pull that off. This form of Deep Self Hypnosis (DSH) was ALSO my invention, now used widely by topnotch detectives worldwide. Here's how it works:

PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) is a heartrending occupational hazard for those in the line of a traumatic calling, as is that of a detective solving gruesome crimes.


It takes anywhere from six to eighteen months to fully RECOVER from case-related PTSD, thus putting our very BEST men and women out of commission for an undue length of time. But what if one could be harmlessly hypnotized to REPRESS those bad memories until one is ready to RETIRE? That is exactly what I accomplished: DSH works like a charm...no nightmares, no addictions, no serious side effects whatsoever. And the best thing is: upon retirement, the healing from PTSD by top-notch therapists takes NO LONGER than usual!


I also found you could use DSH to erase one's ENTIRE memory or a considerable chunk of it. This proved MOST beneficial for detectives needing to drastically change personality, to infiltrate a cult w/o suspicion. This of course requires the cooperation of three or four assisting partners, through surreptitious contact and guidance unbeknownst to the DSH subject himself. They could never get TOO close to you (as much as they might desire, considering their LOVE and DEVOTION required as guardians), nor could they ever get TOO distant. It's quite a tight-walk on the rope for them, with MANY grueling moments of bowel-loosening proportion! We're like Spartan lovers/warriors with Alzheimers, in the midst of Apocalypse!


As my associates became more comfortable with my DSH methodology, they themselves created secondary (even tertiary) personalities with consequent secondary lives and adventures! Example: Randolph morphed himself into a Vietnam Veteran who performed a noble 40-day fast on behalf of fellow veterans. Knowing of course that a few months down the line, I'd meet him exactly where he planned: at a donut shop on Castro and 18th. Thus began a SECONDARY odyssey which I assumed was my PRIMARY one, since the memory of my present odyssey was erased.

Larkin changed himself into a Damon Runyon-esque character: a tough, funny, sweet natured pool player and all around party mixer and Gay Bar-Hop Gigolo. That was also GREAT COVER for a private eye, who had successfully infiltrated this Zodiac cult at Hole in the Wall (main hangout for the Disciples' gay faction here in SF). Nowadays, Larkin has moved closer to my residence (as you know) and is self-assigned to the new Metro City Bar (formerly The Expansion).



I'm the Little Guy, the decoy, the grunt. Who brings the evil curs out of the woodwork. Risky business, as I was at least ONCE tortured (though I've found NO physical scars on my person, unless my general-exploration appendectomy scar just below my navel is a false memory caused by something OTHER than medical necessity...or the deep scarring behind my left ear...or the severe cystic acne that devastated my face for years...not to mention NON-scarring torture methods).

But I HAVE brought the scum to the surface, successful decoy that I am. "Steal This Blog" will be my ultimate ass-kicker, my great victory! But now, as grunt, I've done my work, reported back to the troops. Now, I need safe hiding pronto. It is time for the BIG GUNS (Larkin, Randolph, et al) to move in and make the bust.


My latest blog entry "Homo For The Holidays" is the inspired result of discovering a "Lark Inn" website (while searching for images of a lark; it was the only "lark inn" listed). When you read the blog, you'll understand the hidden message: Larkin set up that page, and telepathically got me to discover it somehow. Essentially, it tells me that LARKIN is my refuge...he will provide a safe, friendly environment where no harm shall threaten me. How glorious!

Another example of Larkin's telepathy can be found here: Blessed Be My Wednesday. And more recently, here: Rerry Rissruss Rarkin.


This may all be just my COLORFUL imagination, and I never WAS a detective. Nonetheless, it's storytelling at its best, and thus would STILL be immensely advantageous to impress upon my hard drive, and cyber-broadcast. It's a BLOCKBUSTER:

Thought it was all over long ago, did you? Discover the secret cult of the Zodiac disciples, as outstanding psychic GAY detective Zeke Krahlin and partner/lover Larkin Kelsey take you on a frightening journey of startling revelation that will have you gripping the knob of your johnson from start to finish. You'll leave the theater with PERFECT understanding as to why San Francisco has become such a wicked, filthy, HOMOPHOBIC necropolis of resurrected ghouls, vampires, warlocks, werewolves and zombies who crave AIDS-tainted blood for their nightly sustenance! Featuring Gavin Newsom as the seductive Mayor Incubus, and former Mayor Willie Brown his limousine-liberal gremlin. Popcorn, drinks and snacks now available in the lobby...along with your complimentary pair of 3-D dildoes.


But I now consider the very REAL possibility that I've begun to REMEMBER...seeing as I'm at that retirement age. I HOPE this is true, because then it means my Randolph is still ALIVE and WELL, and that Larkin really DOES love me down to his very last breath if need be!

I WANT my story to have a most HAPPY ending. In fact: the happiest ending of any story ever writ, or TO be writ!



2 Comments
 
Homo For The Holidays
12.09.07 (4:57 am)   [edit]


A taste of country. A touch of class.

WELCOME to LARKIN.... a quiet, comfortable retreat where you can relax, enjoy conversation and awake to a refreshing compliment.

Impressive LARKIN has sheltered travelers for nearly a century. Today, candles in windows and porch lanterns glow with a warm welcoming light.

DISCOVER the DIFFERENCE.......LARKIN is family owned and operated with a personal touch.

GUEST SERVICES ARE UNMATCHED.

Visit us during the winter holidays, when outstanding decorations transform LARKIN into a glistening winter wonderland.

Join our guests, who return year after year, to enjoy warm holiday hospitality.

LARKIN makes a perfect "home base" for any type of activity or just "plain ol' relaxing".

MAKE LARKIN YOUR DESTINATION!!

2 Comments
 
My Three Muses
12.08.07 (1:51 pm)   [edit]

12/6/07

I haven't been able to get on the Internet for almost three straight days running! Before that, I couldn't get on for almost two days...then I managed to connect for half a day. Frustrating! I don't even have a working CD to burn my writings for backup! Must I REALLY resort to floppy diskettes and SneakerNet deployment? Oh Information War! Thou has knocked me down from a lofty perch w/my High-Tech GPS Infrared TriOculars and BodyGuard 3000 by Irish Spring...into this mucky swamp where NOTHING gets accomplished except in a despicably sluggish, tedious and rudely convoluted tryst. (And my TriOculars. Lost forever in that muddy morass; can barely lift my own feet a single inch for each Sisyphean step.)

But at least I can write, still. Yet to what purpose, if no one gets to enjoy my marvelously TRUE tales, parables, poems and snot-blasting hilarity? There IS a distinct possibility that my ISP has received complaints--albeit deceitful--and have taken a self-protective stance by cutting me off this CyberLifeLine. I telly phoned them yesterday af, still waiting for their response, if any.

ALSO possible is SURPRISE arrest and confiscation of ALL my writings, including my computer's hard drive and peripherals. Hence, unless or until I can resume Internet connectivity, I'm dropping off my latest creation of wordly mischief and robust flimflammable-erry, to my Three Trusted Muses down the hallway: Peggy, Emily, Julia.

Zeke

Diskette enclosed *sigh*


UPDATE 12/7/07

I'm back on the 'Net. Yay!

1 Comments
 
Rerry Rissruss Rarkin
12.07.07 (11:44 pm)   [edit]

Here's my Christmas card to my Guardian Angel Larkin. There is a HISTORY to the Scooby-Doo theme. Early last year, while we were still brand new friends, Larkin joined me, drink in hand, and we toasted. I still vividly remember the electric TREMOLO I felt in his proximity. Were I a tad more Victorian (and believe me, I'm already THERE in a big way), I'd have swooned. He is SO MUCH the Dream Come True for me, I am infinitely grateful to even KNOW such a delightful and exquisitely HANDSOME man exists! And it GRIEVES me to think he could be taken from my life, my trivial world. How could he ever know happiness again, without having me in his heart, and always nearby...when I myself feel EXACTLY like that? This CAN'T be a one-way steet, or I'd PERISH! No God coud be so cruel, it's inconCEIVable!

That's PTSD for ya, folks...comes with the territory if one desires to be the BEST street activist ever. NOT limited to Vietnam Veterans (including one whom I love SO dearly, My Darling Randolph). It's a typical result of going tbrough EXTREME trauma for an imposssibly proLONGED time (such as letting a loved one go 'cause they're on the streets and you just got a single room so there's nothing you can do, and the next thing you know, they're disappeared or dead). When MANY (here in Frisco) were enjoying the adventures of career success and buying their first home, I remained isolated and injured, single and under attack, in my crummy room (bathroom down hallway)...at the rather advanced age of 51!


Where are my loyal, trusting friends? Where is my wonderful lover? Where is the appreciation of all my noble sacrifice? My whole youth has been devastated by Fate's Cold Judgment (severe facial infections--reoccuring sebaceous cysts--which turned my handsome looks at 16 into UGLY; mysterious allergies--causing frequent weakness and exhausiton; anxiety attacks--truly a bitch fighting for my sanity at the very WORST moments; bully antagonism--did I mention I'm homosexual; Gov't terrorism--evading the draft to stay out of Vietnam; death threats--see the "bully" part). Even unto adulthood, all the way to advanced middle age...which is NOW, for I am 57. Though it stuns me to admit I still feel as I always have: breathlessly and incurably, foolishly young and in love...and still with only my phantoms to reciprocate! (As darling as they are, I keep trying to tell them: ectoplasmic balls won't get you very far!)


Goddess sure knows how to keep a guy humble.

But it's also LOVE in its truest, most devoted, angelic form. A path of bloody, sweaty, teary sacrifice and holocaust agony for MOST of one's difficult life. IOW: your TYPICAL existance if you're gay and born in Amerika. Peacetime for others, wartime for queers. But in times of WAR we're needed and appreciated. We make the best warriors AND lovers. World War II opened the door for gay liberation as well as women's rights! So if you're LGB or T, too (or a free-minded gal) and wanna live in glorious gay-friendly times, then pray for World War Three. It will liberate ALL sexual minorities everywhere! You like dudes with big cannons, don't ya? (Or dudettes.)

Prozac is NOT the answer, I assure you. It is following your heart and trusting your intuition! No easy path. In fact, it is the most DIFFICULT of ALL paths to walk! And I have walked it, from beginning to end, and HAVE DONE WELL! Anyone who does NOT praise me at this point, is NOT to be trusted. An exquisitely SIMPLE way to read people's beads, but MOST effective. I know because I engineered it that way. I call it a "Psychic Personality Barometer" but really, all it is, is a bullshit detector. If you DON'T like Zeke in every which-way possible, north south, east and west and all points between...well then, you're full of bu-bu-bu-BULL shit!

And keep this in mind (ALWAYS keep this in mind): There are no heteros in foxholes.

Go tell THAT to the Marines! And tell 'em also, you heard it straight from Little Pony's mouth. Though I'd much prefer a wholesome synonym in place of word "straight". I'm at a loss here. Oh the unkind advantages of breeder supremacy...our entire English language polluted by The Conquerer's Dogma! A POX to our once-lovely mother tongue, The Anglo's Prose. Shakespeare would be turning over in his grave right now, 'cept for all those nasty quills that poke like thorns from a rose! Come to think of it, Ol' Will hasn't done so much for the homoexual, either. Aren't all his TRUE heroes breeders, while queers (if they appear onstage at all; it is rare) merely serve to play enemies or buffoons...or perhaps a little scenery filler, a bit of fluffy poof, a splash of backdrop colour?


While I'm at it, I have a bone to pick with Stephen King, who ALSO used a vulgar stereotype of the homosexual, by portraying the main protagonist of "Needful Things" as a dark sorceror/muderer who is ALSO a queer pedophile. How capitalism--a hetero invention--perverts! Taking advantage of a tragically villified, underdog minority, to garner FURTHER wealth, though it may INCREASE the misery of those you abuse, you don't care. Wealth you certainly don't need any more of, Stephen! Fundamentalist preachers do the exact same thing: demonize the homosexual, and in so doing empty the congregation wallet. They bellow from a pulpit; while you, Mr. King, do same in the guise of a horror tale.


So here's the card's front. And the reason I selected this Scooby-Doo theme:

We were talking it up, Larkin and me, one fine February afternoon...typical for San Francisco that time of year, it was in the "chill but balmy" category. A personal favorite. Larkin told me he had a dog for a few years. I commented (thinking he said "have" instead of "had"): "Oh no don't tell me, another person I befriend who owns some scary, neurotic pit bull that I'm expected to tolerate!"

Larkin waved his hand before me: "No! He is a pit bull but a GREAT dog. A Scooby-Doo kinda dog!"

I almost fell off my chair in a gust of laughter, God's pun hit me so swift. Larkin: hyperactive, lanky, sweet as honeycomb, and funny as all get-out. Bingo!

"And YOU'RE a Scooby-Doo kinda guy!" I guffawed, pointed at him while keeping my balance at the bar with the other hand. Funny!

So now you know why I chose this Scooby-Doo card. It's a TALKING Scooby-Doo by the way! Can't find the indentical sound file to embed with the card's image, but if you click on the first image (open card) or second (closed), you'll hear him speak a trademark phrase.

But you DON'T know the rest of my story. I will not tease you, I'll tell it right away. You will NOT be disappointed, promise.

Last month, in planning my Thanksgiving gift to Larkin (of that WONDERFUL novel dedicated to him, "The Larkin Chronicles"), I desired to enclose a fittingly sweet card. At Walgreens (Market near Church) a card struck me immediately: a talking Scooby-Doo birthday greeting! I could just cover up the birthday words with Thanksgiving stickers. But it was a whopping $4.99, and my money as usual (so close to month's end) was tight.


Also: I'm not accustomed to all these increased prices, remembering when I first arrived in San Francisco, when coffee was just 21 cents including tax, and renting a 2-bedroom flat cost a mere $125! They were giving everything away back then; it was Utopia! But then hetero society caught on and voted in Reagan to put the kibosh on all that good, socialist free stuff, including quality health care and FreeGayLuv. And they're STILL harassing us, Breeder Hell Hounds they be! This Hideous Bush Regime has eliminated ALL Federal finding for LGBT's with AIDS; did you know that?And prior to Bush's coup to usurp the White House, former prez and SELLOUT to gays (most of whom elected him) William Jefferson Clinton passed the most egregious law against queers than any Commander before him: DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act). Hey, Bill, you forgot the G between the O and the M!


I left the glittery card there overnight...but it haunted me, so I decide YES, I will make the sacrifice and buy it. It's the PERFECT card for Larkin! But returning to Walgreens next afternoon, only resulted in NO Scooby-Doo card, of ANY theme. For two or so weeks, I've checked regularly to see if ANOTHER Scooby-Doo card would show up. Didn't happen.

So I forgot about Scooby-Doo, when two evenings ago on my way home, after conferring with my homeless ally Steve: something compelled me to enter Walgreens, instead of just walk by. I even struggled with myself: "Don't waste your money. Look straight ahead and march on home." But another voice intruded: "There's something REALLY specially there for you, Zeke. Trust me!"

Of course I knew it was my Guardian Angel Randolph, but sometimes he DOES mislead. Nonetheless, it is always an honor to obey his wishes...thus, I entered Walgreens, not knowing which aisle to walk through first, suddenly find myself standing in the greeting card station. And right at arm's length just parallel to my navel, is this Scooby-Doo Xmas Card! The next day I returned to Walgreens, to see if another Scooby-Doo card was there, that I could show Steve. Guess what? There was not one, single Scooby-Doo card on the shelves!


Now you know the whole story. Terribly sweet, is it not? And how HONORED I am to be the recipient of so much love from Our Creator. Just further affirmation that Larkin and I are MEANT for each other. (Though NOT being monogamous--and I don't think he is either--we have a considerable NUMBER of hunks who are ALSO meant for each other...and us. Share the men! Mormons? I like Mormons: the more mens, the better. (Looking forward to some FANTASTIC pajama parties with you, Larkin! BYOB: bring your own boy...or maybe "banana".)


Finally, here's the lovely Walgreens folder, holding my latest chapters of The Friendly Ghost Detective Agency, along with several short stories (I was born in the year of the tiger BTW)...and of course, the Scooby-Doo card. Merry Christmas Larkin! Or as Scooby-Doo would say:


0 Comments
 
First Letter
12.07.07 (11:36 pm)   [edit]

November 7, 1985

Dear B.A.R. editor,

As a member of San Francisco's gay community for over 12 years, and holder of a key position in two AIDS organizations, I feel it is time for me to speak up.

I never wanted Harvey Milk for supervisor: his "political" accomplishments never mounted to more than filling in potholes and scooping dog dirt from the sidewalks. He is a sacred cow that should be toppled if the gay "community" really wants to move ahead.

Regarding Dan White: I bow my head in shame whenever I hear a gay brother speak of "justice" and "what goes around comes around". I'm glad that Dan White's blood is not on my hands. Had we shown forgiveness, it's quite possible that today Dan White might very well be fighting for gay rights.

I, myself, forgive the gay community for all the discrimination and prejudice it has dumped on me! Countless times I have asked guys out for dates, and brought them gifts and flowers; yet not one single man has ever had the kindness and decency to bring me flowers and/or gifts. For the most part, these "men" stabbed and twisted knives in my back every chance they got. If I were really vengeful, I'd publish their names, addresses, and phone numbers right here in this letter! But I am man enough to forgive them, and continue my fight to liberate my gay brothers...not just from their petty, vicious infighting among their own gay brothers (and sisters -- oh, the misogyny among gay men!). I have the balls to forgive my own brothers; so let's see them forgive Dan White. Ha!

Long before the onset of AIDS, there were many gays with syphillis or gonorrhea who went to the baths without any concern whatsoever about spreading their diseases. If it takes the threat of excrutiating agony and death to change a person for the better, then woe to the gay community, which should have learned its lesson about compassion without drastic tragedies, for we have been persecuted down the ages far longer than any other minoirity group that I know of. Of course there are good apples in the barrel--but who wants to stick his hand through a ton of fruity mash to find that good apple?

The suffering that gay men have dumped on each other is incredible, outrageous, and inexcusable! And very very sad, for how often they have rejected amazing opportunities to know the fine love and compassion possible between (or among) gay men. I do not criticize lesbians (gay females), for they have their act together! If we don't learn our lesson(s) from AIDS, then what good are we at all? It is not enough to point our finger at straight society, but to look within our own "subculture" and question our true worth, before leaping to conclusions. Can we not set an example to the world by reaching out with compassion to all peoples, regardless of the crippling, tragic curse of AIDS (which we can turn into a blessing if we fight the good fight)?

Knowing only too well the nature of San Francisco's gay "community" (the word is sour on my tongue, and I have to spit it out), I do not expect this letter to be published in the Bay Area Reporter, member of the supposed "free press" in our "democratic" society. So I am also sending this letter to the Chronicle, the Examiner, and many others. And, when and if my letter does get published, I expect the gay "community" to rise up in hatred like a flock of ruffled hens who will attempt to tear me down...but they will not succeed. For those who really understand my point of view will rise to my protection with great grattitude.

I am not only proud to be gay (through it all), but likewise bursting with pride to be an individual, anti-capitalist, 100 percent socialist, free-loving Utopian member of the Universe. May God, in whatever form you worship (or degrade) bless you with abundant life and the new wisdom that comes with entry into the New Age!

Zeke Krahlin
San Francisco


That was my very first gay-relevant letter composed for ANY newspaper. And it got published...BOO-YAH! One could say this marked my presence as a bona fide (though self-made) ACTIVIST for the queer cause. Though I've been an activist for many years prior, both my PERCEPTION (as Dedicated Shit-Packing-Fudge-Stirre r) and DRIVE, ratcheted up a Brobdingnagian notch. That same year I had flown out to Washington D.C. in order to stand by the side of another activist who shot himself at the Vietnam Memorial ("The Wall") and SURVIVED.

That was Randolph Louis Taylor, with whom I fell deeply in love, and remain so to this very day. Despite his sudden disappearance in 1992. You can learn more about this Greatest Hero Of The LGBT Subculture in my website's section: "The Somalian Affair". It is my goal to honor Randolph with inclusion in our Gay History Archives, as Our Most Outstanding Liberator (albeit w/some hindsight). And I believe the upcoming notoriety of my Friendly Ghost tales will do the trick. (But why ISN'T he included already, considering how FAMOUS he became, and how IMPORTANT his message? Again, Zodiac Cult intrigue...they've infiltrated our archives and rewrite Queer History to suit their own diabolical scheme.)

I've come to realize that Randolph is actually my guardian angel whose dramatic appearance in my life at age 34, catapulted me into a Stupefyingly Awesome Spiritual Odyssey, which will NEVER end. He brought incredible Larkin to me, I know that now: yet one more bodacious, vivacious, loquatious and divine-acious Angel Of My Dreams.

Astute Observation: have you noticed the increased POPULARITY of the Hostess Twinkie, ever since Dan White's "Twinkie Defense"? Why would people be so cruel to gays, to take this cheap confection that has become the very SYMBOL of anti-gay violence, and turn it into a junk food icon? Is it simply this egregious social psychosis that is homophobia...or is it something else in ADDITION?

And what about good lesbian Dianne Whipple? Shortly after her fatal demise (viciously mauled and eaten to death by TWO large, brawny-jawed and toothed fighting dogs...in her own apartment building), I noticed a sharp increase in Presa Canario, pit bull, Rottweiler, mastiff and Doberman owners, here in the Castro and throughout the city. And I KNOW it's not simply my awareness being raised to notice what already exists! Perversely, the media-sensational account of Diane Whipple's case seems to have directly inspired the current popularity of large/aggressive dog ownership here in San Francisco. Including my own LGBT community! What does this say about the character of my gay brothers/sisters, and of The City at large? A shiver goes up my spine: this is not good. Homophobia runs a deep, wicked streak. I have only RECENTLY (less than a month ago) had my suspicions confirmed. Quoting from web article "Canary Island Fighting Dog":

Since the killing of Diane Whipple, there has been a surge of interest in this breed. Breeders report people calling specifically stating that they want a dog "like the one that killed the lady in San Francisco." Experts feel that a rapid surge in popularity for this breed will result in individuals of poor genetic stock and consequently more prone to serious, unprovoked attacks on people.

I am CONVINCED now, that Ms. Whipple was selected for attack precisely because she was gay, perceived as a disposable commodity for hetero amusement. (A toy doll. A raggedy Diane.) Terrorist dog owners Knoeller and Noel needed to test their darling pets' fighting prowess, so why not kill two birds with one stone (as the saying goes)? ELIMINATE an undesirable from our mostly-hetero apartment complex AND try out the dogs.

Do you get it yet? WE QUEERS ARE A JOKE to the rest of society. So a gay or lesbian or tranny or butch...or WHATEVER...gets killed, hopefully mutilated first, while still conscious. Why, that's just so damned CHARMING...CUTE...so very PRECIOUS. We're the toy puppets in their arsenal of Dark Magic paraphernalia! (Get ready for the Gwen Araujo dolls.)

Evil Hetero Ones feed off the energy of our LGBT spirit...they are psychic vampires employing a powerful form of TELEPATHY to drain us of our ghostly fuel, our SOULS!

But if truth be known: these aren't actual HETEROS, for the most part they are BISEXUALS intimidated, brainwashed, cursed, terrorized into playing The Straight Agenda. MOST people on the planet--that is: 80%--are born naturally bisexual. Some more hetero than others, some more homo...with the vast MAJORITY gravitating around the center. So what IS going on then, if gays--when you count bisexuals and place both groups under the "Queer" umbrella--are actually the overWHELMingly dominant homo sapiens populace, at least number-wise? Is it really HOMOPHOBIA or something much greater in wickedness, in which homo hatred is but a FACET of this Hopeless Diamond Of Greasy Spark?

Capitalism is The Devil's Tool, among His most effective. You need to sacrifice a certain MINIMUM number of souls in the form of human flesh and misery every year, to keep profits accumulating and the numbers of wealthy (or even reasonably well off) DOWN. Our blood...our lovely AIDS-tainted pink blood fashioned in the labs of Genentech...is the MAIN chosen body count for This Molech Of Moolah. These Disciples of the Zodiac Killer number in the millions now, after all these years incubating behind closed doors and minds.

These Bona Fide Vampires take advantage of our queer misfortune as Chief Underdogs to the Beast Of Hetero Dogma, and PIGGYBACK onto our community.

Our HELLA shell-shocked, devitalized community is too WEAK to shake them off...a weakness that is due SOLELY to lack of awareness and/or disbelief...for once awareness has taken hold, your ticket to freedom (and theirs to Hell) is guaranteed! The Zodiac Cult FEEDS on our sorrows so long-cultivated and aggravated BY these ghoulish lost souls. The more TRAGEDY in our lives, the better fed THEY are, more GOURMET their plate...these Succubus and Succubi Sexuals!

AIDS is their hydroponic blood farm. These Zodiac Revenants infiltrated the military in the late 60's, and experimented on another group of humans pereceived as "disposable"...in darkest Africa. Once The Virus was perfected, the military called on sexually active GAY men only (not hetero or bi), to volunteer for the final stage testing of the Hepatitis B vaccine. A few years after the shots were administered, the first cases of AIDS showed up among queers in those same two cities where the tests were implemented: New York and San Francisco. You know the rest of the story. My excellent ally Thomas Keske is well studied and researched on legitimate AIDS conspiracy matters. Any sincere person would GREATLY benefit by reading his essays...which are on my website, with convenient newsgroup links to ALL his works:

gay-bible.org/other/keske.htm

I predict that Mr. Keske will some day SOON become regarded as one of our LGBT community's most outSTANDING heros, philosophers, and angels. I am so CERTAIN of the outcome that--should for some weird reason I'm proven incorret--I'll eat Tina Turner's Ben Wa balls in Liz Taylor's gourmet colostomy-bag sauce! (Back to the topic at hand.) If my suspicions are correct (as they ALWAYS are, 'cause really psychic insight), the Dan White and Diane Whipple cases are NOT just textbook examples of society's rampant homophobia. Here is MY conclusion, which I think any intelligent person ought give serious consideration:

I charge those inspired to glorify the Hostess Twinkie, and Knoeller/Noel, as conspirators in evil under the direct mandate of This Zodiac Cult!


0 Comments
 
Larkin.zip
12.05.07 (2:46 am)   [edit]
From: Zekeopolis Headquarters
To: My E-friends
Date: 01 Dec 2007
Subject: Another Update, E-Mate!

Important update for Larkin.zip. Download here (4.3 mb):

gay-bible.org/share/Larkin.zip

The same contents unzipped can be viewed online here:

gay-bible.org/larkin

That's so you can share my tales with any interested parties, if they don't want to download and install the zipped version. You can see how I've established the remaining chapter titles and numbers for "Friendly Ghost". You'll also see how much more I have to go, if you open the "in progress" Parts 5-8. I'll be lucky if I get it all complete by Xmas. Then again, I consider myself The Luckiest Man On The Planet Already, based on what I've accomplished thus far!

BTW Eleanor, feel free to post as normally done before I was under such pressure to complete the most vital evidence, and guarantee its release and unstoppable distribution in the event MY life gets stopped pronto. Now, I'm off the hook (in the good sense of that phrase, I assure you), and can once more relax and enjoy conjuring up the remainder of my Ghoulish Opus. Resume communique w/o restriction...my situation is no longer Code Red! (Still, Code Orange is not too comfortable either, but what's a Renegade Gal to do?)

Factoid for hilarious speculation: One of my "impossible" goals has been to become WORLD FAMOUS and a GREAT LEADER (and start the Next Free Speech Revolution with Queers In The Driver's Seat instead of kneeling at the back of the bus) while still on disability funds and occupying my crummy 2306 SRO. Or at least, that's been a standing joke among Me, Myself and I for some years now. Well whaddya know, I think it's gonna happen. REALLY! (This can be scary if you think about it much.)

I include a photo of myself at the very, very END of the very, very LAST part, which is numbered 8. Abby Hoffman published "Steal This Book" on conventional bound paper. My version is a contemporay, electronic equivalent 'cause on the web or CD. Hence this title for my 2-volume MasterBatePiece:

STEAL THIS BLOG

--
Zeke Krahlin
http://www.gay-bible.org

========================= =================

From: Zeke
To: My Fab E-friends
Date: 02 Dec 2007
Subject: Larkin.zip update

gay-bible.org/share/Larkin.zip

Another whole article has been added to Chapter 6 ("Letters Germane"). I trust my e-friends to now download Larkin.zip each evening any time after 8pm. I wouldn't ask you to download so frequently, but for the high (Code Orange) possibility I could be sabotaged at any moment, thus losing the latest IMPORTANT update. (Further revelations of corruption and other valuable insights/clues.)

Since all but one e-friend have high-speed access, downloading Larkin.zip every 24 hours is expedient, a minimal intrusion. John H., assuming you still use a dialup modem like myself, I don't expect you to download so frequent, or at all.


John H.'s Animated Paradise

Today, Larkin.zip has grown to 4.4 mb. That is likely to double when complete, or maybe even go as high as 15 mb. Latter amount still a peace o' cake for high-speeders, but a real DRAG for slow-mo's.

Thank you again for your considerate cooperation. Your are all mentioned as heroes in Friendly Ghost. Which means that once I become world renowned (AGAIN, heh...what a deluded megalomaniac I am), all heroic characters will become fabulously famous AND wealthy by association. I therefore consider downloading Larkin.zip daily a VERY small price to pay, in exchange.

TWO more wonderful parables have just occurred to me today, which are definitely grist for my writing mill. What an amazing outcome my life has taken! Wait'll you meet this Larkin, an AUTHENTIC archangel sent by Randolph Louis Taylor, to avenge and protect my widdle Tweety-Bird self!

- The Zekester

0 Comments
 
Promotional Insurrection
12.02.07 (1:58 pm)   [edit]

The attached file is my animated gif lifted from tale "The Little Angel Who Wouldn't Fly". When I realized this morning that I need to promote "Steal This Blog" on my website's home page, I also realized this devil-salesman image would be the PURRRFECT advertisement ploy.

BTW, recognize who's delicious body that is? It's Marky-Mark, back when he was this ADORABLE white punk-rock star. Now a famous actor in film, including "Boogie Nights," "Perfect Storm," and "Four Brothers". I understand he's ALSO a homophobe. Read this:

Mark Wahlberg "creeped out" by Brokeback Mountain:

tinyurl.com/yr59oj

Using his image for "moi" extremely GAY agenda is fair justice, don't you think? Can't WAIT till he sees it! (From the security of a safe-house, of course: my subterranean retreat in the magma caverns of Modoc County.) Talk about the "Perfect Storm"! Kickback will be APOCALYPTIC in proportion, though start small and innocuous.

PERFECT REVELATION

First a ripple, then a bulge,
Then a hard-on (don't divulge).

Then a wave, and then a flood.
Marky-Mark will crave my blood!

The perfect body for my ad
Will start Third War,
Make people mad.

Gay-Bible censored,
Declared offensive
To every decent living thing,
From the humble maggot
And the worm in the earth,
And those god-damn faggots
Who can never give birth,

To Spurious George
Our King.


2 Comments
 
I Don't Trust Roman, Here's Why
12.01.07 (9:31 am)   [edit]
A big guy this Roman, right out of the cold northern woods of Michigan. Fifty or so years old: six-foot-two, straight black hair turning gray, thick eyebrows, often seen in black (trenchcoat w/guitar in black case slung over his shoulder). LOOKS like a Roman legionnaire out of a book on ancient history (he is named well)! ALWAYS cruises chicks here in The Castro. And does so with a cheesy and spooky demeanor. I assure you: women don't like it, though they pretend to as a matter of self-protection. They'll smile and walk on, hoping for no trouble.

But this is the worst part (and why I don't trust Roman): Whenever we are talking, the moment some attractive lady walks by, he'll totally FORGET I'm there, stare boldly and call her attention with cruisy language. And this, right in the middle of conversation, when I'm trying to convey or ask something PERTINENT about the homeless. Often, something that could temper the risk of violence I suffer as an activist confronting the street culture's rampant homophobia.

I find Roman's behavior shocking, rude and thoughtless. I'm sure part of his problem is my being a gay activist. Which seems to be trivial in his own mind. 'Cause he sure pays attention when a female shows up! At the cost of suddenly dismissing me without a second thought.

Hard-core hetero cruising (as opposed to respectful greeting) helps maintain a hostile attitude towards women...regarding them as Coitus Commodities. Such perspective is actually anti-female, as it serves to encourage men to intimidate and violate the fairer gender. Can (and does) lead to terrorism, violence, rape.

His corrupting behavior is an insult to our gay community that rightfully desires a locale free of breeder belligerance. (Factoid: a neighborhood that is safe for gays is also safe for women, and children.) It is as if Roman INTENTIONALLY acts this way, precisely to thwart this gay-resident-friendly outcome. But whenever I confront him on this, he acts perplexed, as if I'm denigrating Mother Nature's most common and celebrated raison d'etre.

I have a strong feeling that were I female myself, Roman would be all over me, respecting every single word I say. Or, were I a HETERO activist, worried over my female homeless friends, again he'd most likely give me his undivided interest.

Example: My concern over Johnny was dismissed by Roman with an abrupt statement: "Stay out of this, Zeke. We take care of our own." I stood there, angered. ("We" meaning the homeless, as he was for eight years until some months back. But maybe this was nervy reference to ANOTHER subculture, one more obscure and fiendish: The Zodiac Cult.) Said this, in spite of our being on rather FRIENDLY terms for a good five years!

As a result of this crude brush-off, it took MONTHS to discover what's really going on with Johnny. Sadly, I understand his father had died, thus causing Johnny great bitterness and taking it out on me. Looking back, the pieces now fit: a few weeks before Mr. S. passed on, Johnny confided: "My dad is also my very best friend of all time; no one could ever replace him. But after him it is YOU, Zeke, that I regard as best friend...no one else even comes close." (My heart was radiant with joy for that kind compliment...until The Big Letdown a little further down the road.) His father and I are the EXACT same age, BTW. But while I'm politically progressive, he was Republican, owning considerable stock in oil. I'm afraid therefore that he influenced Johnny with certain mean-spirited attitudes that eventually caused him to turn on me. Along with hate talk radio's endless spiel of homophobic broadcasts.

But also, I was concerned for his survival due to an infected arm (with blood clot) from an unclean heroin injection. Roman would not clue me in on Johnny's present situation, causing me months of needless grief for Johnny's sake. And I believe Roman's crude treatment of my friendship with Johnny is because it was all a "guy thing". Now, if this were a woman I cared about, I am certain Roman would be most receptive...even stumble all over himself to help.

Now you know why I don't trust Roman one bit, and believe that any "help" he'd offer in my recent entanglement, would only serve to obfuscate my endeavors, and result in personal harm towards yours truly.

Roman's thoughtless behavior is a grievous offense against gays, ESPECIALLY queer activists like myself. After years' observation I no longer give him the benefit of doubt, that that's how he is, straight people just can't help themselves. I actually conclude he is a willful saboteur for This Malignant Cult, not just a clueless puppet for their devious goals (or for society's heterocentric propaganda, though that aspect certainly FACILITATES The Cult's activities). Yet ONE MORE SKANKY HOUSELESS MALE on the streets of The Castro, gay-friendliness a mere PRETENSE to siphon off the benefits of an affluent neighborhood's kindheartedness and currency flow. And to own the streets themselves, once nightfall descends.

These Gutter Hobos return NOTHING to our community that is beneficial in the least towards LGBT security, advancement or sovereignty. In fact, it's the opposite! Blatant womanizing is actually the LEAST of their offenses. They poop and pee on the sidewalks, in bushes and gardens, and in our local parks (Duboce Triangle, Collingwood and Dolores)...sometimes even doing so right in broad daylight at a crowded intersection! They strew garbage EVERYWHERE, regardless of the numerous trashbins avaialable. Some (and that's more than a handful, I assure) strut these streets with macho bravado, scaring people and disturbing the peace with hostile and homophobic verbiage, and aggressively VIOLENT gesture.

Some even SELECT a victim to STALK through our 'hood (like that character Dane who does most of his dirty work around Castro and 18th Street. Another who calls himself "Joker"--of wiry build, bald pate, and queer as a four-dollar bill--feigns hetero-bully bravado around Church and Market). And of course there's ALWAYS the occassional outburst of physcial violence, often preceded by verbal epithets like "faggot," "cock sucker," "horn dog". (I learned of the latter phrase only by a bum who OBVIOUSLY hails from hillbilly country, like so many who are transported a la "Grapes of Wrath" from their Appalachian stomping grounds to Bleeding-Heart-Liberal San Francisco, to take advantage of all its gratuitous amenities, and gentle climate.)

The S.F. Chronicle has an ongoing expose about our homeless, entitled "Shame of the City". They err on at least one point, and it has stuck in my craw ever since. The claim that Eureka Valley (a.k.a. The Castro) has some homeless vagrants wandering the streets, but not as much as in other neighborhoods, like South of Market and the Inner Sunset. That is flatly UNTRUE. We who live and work in The Castro are INUNDATED with houseless dregs 24/7. We are harassed and terrorized CONSTANTLY by some of the worst hobos to ever plague a community. The place is FLOODED with street bums, hawkers and HOMOPHOBIC scum! What few decent and queer homeless there are must kowtow to the bullies, here in their own GAY 'hood. Furthermore, this expose seems to focus SOLELY on our heterosexual homeless, totally ignoring the plight of our LGBT street folk. I accuse the S.F. Chonicle of pro-hetero bias in their reporting of this matter! (More Zodiac Cult intrigue?)

A most EFFECTIVE strategy This Cult employs, is to program the homeless to broadcast hateful screams throughout the Castro (late at night), in order to frighten residents into staying in their homes, doors double-locked (or spending their evenings out in some OTHER neighborhood). This clever tactic keeps the streets relatively empty of decent residents, whose presence would THWART the evil curs, and make the streets far more friendly and secure.

While Roman is NOT guilty of the above grievances but one (AFAIK), I condemn his refusal to cease hitting up on females, a DIRECT aid and abetment of these more flagrant violations on Our Gay Sanctity.

I strongly suspect that (though evidence be entirely circumstantial albeit profuse and longterm) The Zodiac Disciples are behind much of this, using street denizens as their spies, runners, dealers, prostitutes, pimps and saboteurs. The many SF churches who preach homophobic vitriole ALSO house, feed, and clothe the downtrodden, contribute MIGHTILY to this cracker-thug terrorism on our streets. As does hate talk radio that DAILY vilifies homosexuals with Nazi-style propaganda. One host in particular stands out above the rest, and thus is PROBABLY The Cult's Broadcasting Director for the entire Greater Bay Area: Michael Savage of KNEW (9.10 AM).

Besides ubiquitous and often freely available newspapers, homeless people can't afford other kinds of entertainment or info sources, but one: the transistor radio. M. Savage KNOWS this, and plays them like marionettes to do The Cult's bidding. Street people listen each weekday afternoon from 4-7, to his FREQUENT and ROTE homophobic hate speech. I even hear from time to time, the very same PHRASES and TERMS among the homeless, that Savage bellows over the air.

I believe that this Cult Of The Zodiac Killer has grown very POWERFUL over these last 30 years, to have formed an extensive NETWORK, insinuating itself into all major public agencies on all levels. This includes churches, political office, mainstream media (especially radio), and LGBT organizations, bars, clubs and events. I ALSO believe a certain segment of our POLICE DEPARTMENT participates in This Cult's street networking, for profit and prostitution, drugs and power. Which readily explains why so many wicked street denizens continue to get away with their skulduggery year after year after tiresome year. A very diabolical form of social engineering, controlled from the top on down in a tightly enmeshed hierarchy. Certain police intentionally promote select homeless to keep our gay populace in their place, through terrorism, violence, and non-compliance e.g. failure to rapidly respond to an emergency. (If they respond at all!)

Before ending this revelatory essay, I want to acknowledge the DECENT homeless among us, who suffer horrid terrorism...surrounded and totally vulnerable as they are, by These Zodiac Street Bullies. Due acknowledgment also, to the GOOD cops in our force who have quite a job ahead of them, to mop things up. (For which I hope my Friendly Ghost tales will make Their Benevolent Though Brave Mission that much easier, and safer.)

And finally: hats off to what EXCELLENT churches and media outlets stand firm (though few and far between) against These Wicked Warlocks, until said time when reinforcement arrives to ease their most difficult, though sacred, burden.

Conclusion: Roman is The Cult's main provocateur along the Church Street corridor.

0 Comments
 

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