Brian And The Werewolf
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
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
ezek...@my-deja.com http://surf.to/gaybible
--------------------------------------------------------------
BRIAN AND THE WEREWOLF
(a parable for the 21st century)
Š 1997 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
(Jehovah's Queer Witness)
In a time when lonely old ladies were being burned for
witchcraft and young men were tied with bundles of sticks to
light these fires, a woman died at childbirth on the edge of a
village. The child's name was Brian, because he was born in
the briars. He grew to be a lover of men; but these were
dangerous times for brotherly love. Brian therefore lived a
lonely life of heartache, and hatred for the ignorant folk
with whom he daily bargained to survive. Until he met Damien,
the werewolf.
Damien was a special werewolf, for he loved Man, and
longed for a maiden to bear a pack of frisky pups. But most
people are stupid, and fear all creatures of God's design that
they cannot tame for their own selfish needs.
It was, of course, on a night of the Full Moon that the
howling began. The townfolk bolted their doors and did not set
foot outside their cottages--except Brian, who loved
adventure. On the third Full Moon of the Howling, Brian hid
himself in the forest where he last heard the werewolf's
cries.
Brian's patience was rewarded, for there in a clearing
under the brilliance of an August Moon, appeared Damien.
"What a magnificent creature," thought Brian. "His fur
glistens with resin, and he steps around the little blossoms."
Now, the werewolf has a sharp sense of smell and keen
ears; but Brian was crouched downwind in the nettle, possessed
by the stillness of all creatures of the wood before the
werewolf howls.
Damien raised his face to the moon and pierced the night
with the cry of a soul that is damned. Tears sparkled down
the canine face, and Brian quietly wept.
The howling only ceased when the moon hung low in the
sky. Then the werewolf sat on a rock and sobbed, covering his
wet face with large, soiled hands. Brian wanted to surrender
himself to the werewolf, but he knew it was not the time.
When the werewolf vanished into the forest again, Brian
stepped into the clearing and sat on the rock, and thought.
Then he picked some clover, placed them on the rock, and went
home.
On the fourth Full Moon there was no howling, and the
villagers rejoiced. Except Brian. He crouched all night in
the nettle, but the werewolf never returned. The clover was
gone, however. But it could have been washed away by the
rain, or blown by the wind, or woven into a nest. Brian
placed another bouquet on the rock; and cried, and slept,
beside it.
When he awoke, the werewolf lay beside him. "You were
shivering," said Damien. Brian trembled in the warmth of the
werewolf's arms, and his heart leapt for joy. He nuzzled his
face in the werewolf's chest, and the scent of cedar filled
his nostrils. But when he tried to kiss the werewolf on the
nose, it leapt from their bed of rotting leaves.
"I brought you some breakfast," said Damien, and scooped
some quails' eggs from the ground. When Brian began gathering
sticks to light a fire, the werewolf grabbed his arm. "No.
Just eat them," said the werewolf, who cracked open an egg and
licked the gooey substance from the cup of his hand. Brian
smiled and ate quails' eggs until his stomach could hold no
more.
This is how Brian learned to live in the forest and find
shelter, food, and companionship, without bargaining.
"Damien," said Brian one day as they rested in a meadow
of dogwood, "I pray every night that God will turn me into a
woman, so our love would be complete."
Damien looked down at his companion whose head was
resting against his thigh. "Our love is complete," said
the werewolf, caressing the brow of his only friend.
But Brian longed to please the werewolf in more than a
filial way--and the werewolf understood. For each in his
agony had found a place in his heart to love the other.
The villagers lived without fear of the werewolf for
five, peaceful years. And Brian learned many mysteries of the
ways of nature from the tender wisdom of his friend.
Every evening, as the sun slipped below the hills of
Devonshire, Damien would sing songs on the lute that Brian
carved for him out of birch wood:
"When I saw you sleeping in the briar,
I knew you were dreaming of me.
We live in the dale of Clover-on-rock,
Beneath the cherry tree."
And under the veil of night, deep in the forest, they
embraced. Brian would whisper himself to sleep: "My dear,
beautiful, wolf friend."
One day, when Brian was gathering rosebuds for tea, he
heard Damien's howl. It came from the village.
By the time he got there, it was all over. The ignorant
folk had captured and killed the werewolf. Brian returned to
the woods and watched, all night long, the village festivities
around the bonfire to celebrate the death of his gentle
friend.
Where the blood had been spilled, now grows wolfsbane.
And for a hundred years after the murder of Brian's beloved
friend, the townfolk bolted their doors against the fullness
of the moon, and the howl of a werewolf on the edge of the
forest.
---finis
---
Pennsylvania Dutch Gay Jesus Says:
"Throw the hetero over the fence some hay!"
---
Lavender Velvet Revolution:
http://surf.to/gaybible
Lupinia
I mean..the story was excellent..but..~shakes me head~
--
"I'm an angel. I kill newborns while their mamas watch. I turn cities into
salt. And occasionally, when I feel like it, I tear little girls apart. And
from now till kingdom come... the only thing you can count on... in your
existence... is never understanding why."
Lupinia...aka...Lady Grey Wolf
Porch Loyal She Wolf
and self appointed Porch Puter Tard.
"Ezekiel J. Krahlin" <ezek...@my-deja.com> wrote in message
news:3a5629f...@news.cis.dfn.de...
Barely Proper
ezek...@my-deja.com (Ezekiel J. Krahlin) wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------------------
> 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
> ezek...@my-deja.com http://surf.to/gaybible
> --------------------------------------------------------------
>
> BRIAN AND THE WEREWOLF
> (a parable for the 21st century)
respectfull snip
what a wonderful beautiful sad story
thank you
--
Barely Proper, porch painter
Aka momy to Jenna and Louie Aka Janice Gutshall
http://sites.netscape.com/barelyproper
barelyproper on aim icq# 61761053
Sent via Deja.com
http://www.deja.com/
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
wrote:
>~teary~ That was awful!
>I mean..the story was excellent..but..~shakes me head~
Thank you for the honor. This is only one of two ghost-type stories
I've ever written. (The first one, "Dear Geoffrey", I lost long ago,
and have yet to rewrite the tale.) I have decided to write some more
ghost stories, where the readers in this newsgroup will be the first
to enjoy them.
"Brian and the Werewolf" was written with my belief that those called
werewolves, were actually people born with excessive bodily hair,
especially on the face. These poor folks were regared as children of
the devil--as was anyone born with some sort of physical deformity.
The few who survived by eking out a cold existance in the lonely
expanse of wilderness, may have howled to the full moon in sorrow and
longing...for sleep being their only respite of a harsh reality, they
were denied even that, when the moon grew so bright.
And now, I'll tell you a *real ghost story of sorts, that has to do
with my avocation as a writer:
---begin story:
Some years back, I was writing a short story called "The Elf
of Gwynnyd Cavern". I never got to finish it, as it was
stolen, along with much other material, including my first
computer: a "Compaq luggable". Strangely (and wonderfully),
when my stories on diskette had begun to pile up, doing a "dir
/w" to view the listing, clearly formed several letters into
one word, when viewed from some distance. That is: the columns
of file names formed large letters: one letter for each
column. For example, it's easy to see how a column of file
names all the same length could be read as the letter "i" or
"l" from a distance. Or how another column could be
interpreted as the two letters "E" and "L", like so:
00000000 TXT
10000000 TXT
2000 TXT
3000 TXT
4000000 TXT
5000000 TXT
6000 TXT
7000 TXT
80000000 TXT
90000000 TXT
So what was this word that showed up on my Compaq's tiny
green-on-black monitor? This:
ELFYN
"The Elf of Gwynnid Cavern" was about a little boy in the Dark
Ages, who was born with six fingers. Thus the ignorant
townfolk regarded him as a spawn of the devil; as they did
anyone with any sort of deformity. So he lived with his father
deep in the woods, to avoid the hateful actions of others. But
one day, some idiots tracked them down, and got hold of the
father, who told his son to "Run, run" and never look back.
The boy lived for quite some time as a lonely drifter of the
forest, until he stumbled onto a deep cavern, from whence a
strange smoke arose. He crawled into the narrow entrance,
weaving this way and that (using stale crumbs to trace his way
back; crumbs which, however, were eaten by a little lizard
that followed him). Finally, the narrow passage opened into a
majestic cavern filled with a glowing, ruddy light.
There, he saw the elf-folk quarrying large blocks of stone
from the earth. And in the center of this immense quarry
rested a dragon; one with shimmering scales of red and green,
just like Christmas colors! The dragon was in a
beautifully-wrought harness that allowed her to drag several
quarry stones at a time, through the cavern's exit. She would
then take wing, and deposit the stones where more elves were
ready to ease them into their final spots to create what we
know of as Stonehenge. Let me regress a moment: How did the
boy know that the dragon was female? Because she possessed
rows of nipples from which oozed a glossy milk, and which
nourished the boy back to vibrant health.
The wee folk welcomed him into their clan, and the boy was
soon riding on the dragon's back, on their expeditions to and
from the cavern. Once the dragon (who adopted the boy as if he
were her own offspring) learned of his sorrowful past, they
swung around to the evil town in which he was born, and the
dragon, with one powerful burst of fire like a nuclear
detonation, breathed her destruction and vengeance on that
entire village.
On another day, while watching the elves complete their work
on Stonehenge, the dragon dug a deep, deep hole in the center
of this circle of stone monoliths. Then she laid a huge,
transparent egg into the hole, and covered it all up, to the top
of the ground.
The boy came to accept his destiny as the Prince of Elves, and
assumed his rightful reign over the Elf Kingdom. Where were
his elfin mother and father? That was to be revealed by the
end of the story, which I never got to. Nor did I get to the
part when the egg, destined to hatch in a distant future time,
finally hatched.
---end of story
Remarkably, the theft of my first PC turned out to be a great
blessing, rather than a curse. For a few months later, the insurance
money came in, which allowed me to fly out to Wash. D.C., to stand by
the side of a Nam Vet, who shot himself at "The Wall", and survived
the ordeal. (We first met while he was still in San Francisco.) His
name is Randolph Taylor, who is a gay rights activist, as well as a
Vietnam Veteran. His bullet shot brought us together, to discover we
are soulmates. (He has since disappeared from my life since 1991, but
I have absolute faith we'll be back together again, as I believe this
is our destiny.) But that is another story, part of which I have
dedicated to him on this website:
The Somalian Affair
http://www.fortunecity.com/village/weaver/76/
There, you can learn more about this fine man, and my involvement with
him since October 1984.
Well, this old luggable computer, with word "elfyn" appearing on my
screen, was certainly blessed with a magical force, for it allowed me
to find my one true love. Amazing and true!
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
wrote:
>~teary~ That was awful!
>I mean..the story was excellent..but..~shakes me head~
Addendum:
I imagine Damien sneaked off to town one dark night, seeking to obtain
some trinket or other from a novelty shop, to bring back to Brian as a
token of their affections. And that is how he got caught and shot.
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
<barely...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>In article <3a5629f...@news.cis.dfn.de>,
>what a wonderful beautiful sad story
>
>thank you
I am honored that my tale brought you much delight and introspection.
I
originally offered to write a special story for a homeless friend,
Brian. I had planned to write a funny tale, but as it turned out, this
other, bittersweet story came flowing from my pen. I didn't know how
Brian would take this (he is hetero), but he just absolutely loved my
tale! That was several years ago, and I have no idea what has become
of
Brian. But I know my story touched him, and may be a spark of light to
guide him through life's ups and downs. I also wrote this poem for
him:
TO BRIAN, WHEREVER YOU MAY BE:
------------------------------
May green clover sprout in your steps,
And may you always walk in God's Light.
You are one of the Little People,
You are one of Us,
You are my beloved Brother;
And there is nothing I won't do
To guide you back to the Light
Should darkness blind you on your Sacred Journey.
Wherever I am, you have a home:
A place of Joy, Light, and Love.
Wherever you go, I walk beside you
And scare the evil ones away.
What is past is past,
Forgiven and forgotten.
Doors to better dimensions await you,
And one of them is mine.
I wish you the blessing of Our Creator,
For with that one wish is born all others.
Your best friend,
Zeke
P.S.: God bless you, little werewolf. And remember: the best
speed is Godspeed. Please call me.
Lupinia
Your story is wonderful. I hope in time you complete it.
Aesop would be very proud of you!
As for your soul mate{{{{Both of you}}}}
--
"The Horror. The Horror."
Marlin Brando - Apocalypse Now.
Lupinia...aka...Lady Grey Wolf
Porch Loyal She Wolf
and self appointed Porch Puter Tard.
"Ezekiel J. Krahlin" <ezek...@my-deja.com> wrote in message
news:3a616437...@news.cis.dfn.de...
Lupinia
vast expanse of emotion called love.~
Ezekiel, this was beautiful!
--
"The Horror. The Horror."
Marlin Brando - Apocalypse Now.
Lupinia...aka...Lady Grey Wolf
Porch Loyal She Wolf
and self appointed Porch Puter Tard.
"Ezekiel J. Krahlin" <ezek...@my-deja.com> wrote in message
news:3a616415...@news.cis.dfn.de...
Lupinia
You just had to add that tidbit, right?
~sniffles~
--
"The Horror. The Horror."
Marlin Brando - Apocalypse Now.
Lupinia...aka...Lady Grey Wolf
Porch Loyal She Wolf
and self appointed Porch Puter Tard.
"Ezekiel J. Krahlin" <ezek...@my-deja.com> wrote in message
news:3a616839...@news.cis.dfn.de...
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
wrote:
>~Teary again~
>You just had to add that tidbit, right?
>~sniffles~
:))))))
Well, this tale just flowed from my pen (er, keyboard, actually)...and
I am just as amazed as you, as to its unravelling. It was a few years
later when I daydreamed about this story, and received the image of
Damien the Werewolf sneaking into the village, to gaze at all the nice
little trinkets in the shop windows...deciding on which one to take,
to bring back to Brian.
When the stupid town folk burned Damian on a pyre of garbage, they
never knew that he held in his tight grasp, the lovely bauble he
sought for Brian: a rose carved of soapstone.
I wonder if this tale holds the truth of a past life...or a
recollection of another's life. Certainly, it is part of my collection
of "Elfyn Tales", most of which remains lost. But since there is an
obvious element of magic in my inspirations, I have no doubt, they
will all return to me in some wonderful and unexpected manner...just
like my lover.
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
wrote:
>~Sits in quiet contemplation, a warm smile crossing lips as I ponder that
>vast expanse of emotion called love.~
>
>Ezekiel, this was beautiful!
I think my gift of the written and spoken word, has a strong overlap
with the mystical and mythological. It is such an honor to know how my
writings touch other hearts. I sincerely believe that most of my
"ideas" are actually visions given to me by beings in the "other
dimension", some of them being angels and other beings thought of as
"myth". So I surely comprehend the ideas of William Blake. Here is
another piece with "ghostly" intimations:
--------------------------------------------------------------
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
ezek...@my-deja.com http://surf.to/gaybible
--------------------------------------------------------------
AGENT ORANGE JULIUS
© 1997 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
i expect you to suddenly
reappear
like a friendly ghost
into my arms
neon kisses
gentle embrace
hands sweetly touching
at any moment
sitting waiting for me
over an avocado omelette
i enter and stumble all over you
i am so hungry
metal utensils pushed by happy elbows
clatter to the floor
a-harmonic chimes
merry wedding bells
joyful tears caresses
thank god thank god thank god
i taste your sweet saliva
illuminating a forkful of omelette
silver/yellow/green
radioactive love!
that you press upon my tongue
i sigh over a plate
of french fries
the coffee
bitter
like my heart
my room
the building in which i live
hollow
like my heart
the streets
the people
the city
frigid
like my heart
oh brother of the lion heart
i wanted to
be your androcles
remove the bitter thorn
of viet nam
---finis
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
wrote:
>I couldn't bear to snip any of this.
>Your story is wonderful. I hope in time you complete it.
It is certainly a gift that I fully acknowledge, and intend to develop
further, to benefit anyone who cares to read. It seems that even my
fiction tales are actual parallels to my own life's path...and I
suspect that some of them are my own future in creation.
>Aesop would be very proud of you!
Interesting you say that. One of my lover's favorite gifts I gave him,
is a lovely illustration book of his fables.
>As for your soul mate{{{{Both of you}}}}
We both say thank you, from the bottom of our heart, Lupinia.
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
wrote:
Errata:
I said:
>And that is how he got caught and shot.
I meant "killed" instead of "shot"...as in that era, there were no
guns yet.
Lupinia
How many men and women suffered from this conflict and other wars?
Thanks again for sharing.
--
"The Horror. The Horror."
Marlin Brando - Apocalypse Now.
Lupinia...aka...Lady Grey Wolf
Porch Loyal She Wolf
and self appointed Porch Puter Tard.
"Ezekiel J. Krahlin" <ezek...@my-deja.com> wrote in message
news:3a62061e...@news.cis.dfn.de...
Ezekiel J. Krahlin
wrote:
>~Sad smile~
>How many men and women suffered from this conflict and other wars?
>Thanks again for sharing.
My own ghost has since travelled through time--past and future--to
stand by every soldier--man and woman--to give them courage and
compassion. Such is the splendid gift I have received from my loving
Randolph.
I am sure further tales and poems in this vein will come through. My
main calling, though, is to weave tales of dignity of gay men and
women, that will touch and amaze the world. Part of this project
involves reinterpreting favorite myths, tales, and folklore, as gay
themes...including religious tales such as those from Christianity,
Judaism, and Islam. Also, having been so close to a soldier's heart, I
now apply this understanding to the gay struggle...through my writings
and talks.
I have always loved the paranormal, ever since a little kid (I'm now
50). I see no reason why I can't conjure up some really great ghost
stories, along with my other tales. (And being gay-themed, they'll add
a new and refreshing dimension, and alternative to hetero-biased
literature.) Stay tuned!
P.S.: As for the trinket Damien found for Brian: I can only conjecture
what it was: the idea of a soapstone rose is not concrete (pun
intended). But the rose is a fine symbol of love's fidelity. So in
Damien's grasping a rose unto his death, is the promise of love's
return and fulfillment in a future time...when these two souls would
meet once more, as Brian and Zeke. So, in the long run, the outcome is
destined to be the happiest of all endings. For in God's great scheme
and mercy, he (or she) sees to it that Good ultimately triumphs over
evil. And in this jaded, cynical time--amid the ongoing and increasing
prejudice of homophobia here in the U.S.--I am honored to share the
gift of my tales, to help vanquish such ugly demons.