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Permission granted by author for anyone to distribute this
writing free of charge (including translation into any
language)...under condition that no profit is made therefrom,
and that it remain intact and complete, including title and 
credit to the original author.

Ezekiel J. Krahlin


© 1989 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
(Jehovah's Queer Witness)

     After a vivid dream of Amerika decimating itself with
disease, famine, pollution, and nuclear mishaps, then suddenly
being surrounded by handsome Russkies building a New Society
and loving the hell out of me...After dropping my sculpture
called "Vietnamicus Americanus" (or "The Marine Flytrap") that
broke in such a way to resemble a hydrogen bomb exploding off
the coast of L.A. (when viewed at a certain angle)...After my
friend Peter wrote the tale, "The Effect Of Nuclear Fallout On
Valley Girls," and concluding that Peter writes prophecy, not
fiction, and that I, like Peter, am a visionary; or that
whatever I write comes true, or something like that (God only
knows; I'm in His Hands, and it sure feels great when He puts
Them where I live)...

     I finally realized that the accidental nuking of Los
Angeles by our government is inevitable, and began writing
grafitti in all the gay-bar-and-cafe restrooms:  "Goodbye
L.A., Hello Kremlin!" (wrapped in a heart and arrow)...and
dedicated a new painting on the back of a jacket I stole from
a guy I rammed up the ass last week (but that's another story,
where it is my patriotic duty to have unsafe sex in order to
disseminate the cure for AIDS: "Aqua Vita"), designed to look
like stained glass etched with a yellow hammer and sickle,
entitled "Stained Glasnost."

     I also understand (through my friend Vince, who visited
The U.S.S.R. in 1979) that the Russians don't know how to
kiss...they just slobber all over your face and make your
shirt wet (if it's still on, which it usually is, 'cause the
KGB is always just around the corner, and ya gotta get away
fast, just in case). So, in preparation for the flood of
creamy-dreamy Soviet soldiers (all of whom are in desperate
need of a good roll in the hay, and how to make a proper show
of it), I am building a kissing booth to welcome them with
open arms, to teach them the fine arts of amorous intrigue for
so many rubles or kopecs a shot. After I'm through with them,
they'll never be able to dance the "Kossack Kick" again!

     The booth will stand right in front of my old apartment,
two blocks away from the intersection of Market and Castro
streets (after all, where do you think they'll head for their
R & R whenever they need a Vodka break from repairing
L.A.?..."The Caaaastro" of course; and not because it has
anything to do with Fidel), in gratitude to all my Russian
"comrades in arms," for their sweet devotion in service to all
mankind, no matter what their philosophy. (Real MEN at last!
Lemme at 'em!)

     Let me end this essay now (short but sweet, like me), so
I can upload it to my favorite computerized BBS (bulletin
board service)...where other (loyal) members will dispense it
all over the place, to eventually land in the laps of Russian
SysOps (system operators) ready to connect with the Wild West
of the World (see "Computer Currents" Apr. 18-May 1 1989, Vol.
6 No. 23, Pg. 14: "Glasnost Spreads By E-Mail").  Holland is
already knocking on The Kremlin's door to BBS-connect, in
order for them to run my animated sci-fi prophecy,

     What the hey; I'll kiss 'em for free (I'm no capitalist

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