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.
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.
{{ 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.
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!
{{
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.
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.
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!"
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,
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.
{{ 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.
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 ]
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;
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:
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
¶ 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.
¶ And in that day there shall be a root of Jesse, Rom. 15.12 which shall stand for an ensign of the people; to it shall the Gentiles seek: and his rest shall be glorious.
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.
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.
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.
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
And there shall be a highway for the remnant of his 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.
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.
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:
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:
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.
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?
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
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TO command)
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:
Cooperate with me to bring a peaceful, safe, and sane resolution to 2306 Market (and the neighborhood, by extension)...or
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!
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.
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.
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
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
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:
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:
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!
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!
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.)
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!
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!
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.
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:
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:
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!
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:
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.
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 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:
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,
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.
