BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
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Five years ago this month
I had wept.
Not good enough
or not good enough yet.
And three years ago
it happened again.
He didn’t love me;
only a friend.
And now once again
or still not, I’m fraught.
I thought that I was
but it turns out I’m not.
Written by Jason Wright
August 15, 2019
A pearl wisdom true
gives reflection it’s depth.
A girl I once knew
lived a lesbian death.
She lied in her harbor
where enemy craved her.
She died a martyr;
lycanthropy saved her.
A reckoning spree:
woman slaked takes acumen.
The beckoning tree
can again make her human.
But will she return
to the world up above?
Why must she burn
for the girl that she loves?
Why must she suffer?
Why must she drown?
Why trust another?
Why up and not down?
Why must she try
myth reversals as treatment?
Why must she lie
with werewolves in secret?
Written by Jason Wright
August 15, 2019
For J.B.: “The Drowning Girl”, The Wolf and the Woman in spades.
Confusing DILF picture
adds layer of lust
to bruising filth mixture;
betrayer of trust
who back in the past
when present was future,
through lack of the ask
cast gent as abuser.
*
Doctored exuberance
from strangest of men.
I was awkward pubescence
and patience by then.
My doctor was present
which deftly he used.
Doctor was pleasant
which left me confused.
More than one patient;
Jason inside me.
More than one statement
was latent inside me.
And doctor was plural;
what’s quizzically true
is that doctor was neural
but physical too.
More than one practice.
More than one patient.
More than one mattress.
More than one Jason.
Deranged dereliction
of duty imbued
with strange contradictions
that strangely are true.
Innocent action
or wholly obscene?
Fact that this fraction
unholy was clean.
With no penetration
in sterile space.
And no abdication
of crime or disgrace.
With no policed questions
the proctors undress me.
Priests at confessions;
the doctors molest me.
Doctors are judged
through initial neurology.
The awkward begrudged
judicial apology.
*
And DILF in the picture
looks back from the past
and I am not injured
but was I the last?
And was I the only
or was I just lucky?
With no testimony
at least I’m not bloody.
Written by Jason Wright
August 12, 2019
I listen to Cigarettes After Sex
and Men That I Trust
as I wander the streets of New York.
I smile –
sad smile
for closeted younger version of myself,
lonely and wandering a well remembered
if faded watercolor fairground
and the man that I saw there…
I never spoke to him,
though we recognized each other –
or, should I say that
we recognized the truth in ourselves?
And that recognition was dangerous,
reckless, unplanned and perfect.
I’ve written of him before
and I’ve thought of him
even more times than that…
We crossed paths on the cusp
of momentous change.
And on an overcast Friday afternoon,
I stumble for words to capture
his vivid, pained echo,
which has forever remained a part of me,
despite the seemingly inconsequential nature
of our subtle, surreptitious, serendipitous encounter.
Written by Jason Wright
August 9, 2019
Our eyes scan attrition
our lifespans deride.
Our eyes have permission
our hands are denied.
For we knew the other’s
years before now.
And we were spent lovers
in tears before vow.
We took from each other;
we grew and we parted.
And we ended truly
before we had started.
Written by Jason Wright
August 9, 2019
Last night it rained
I slept in my blasphemy.
Woke up with pain
from dreams of my family.
Choked on the truth
as I ran to the freezer.
Spoke to my youth
who did nothing to please her.
Snuggled with ice
and disguised my not knowing.
Struggled to rise
and devise plan for growing.
Buckled with verbs
and humbled by breathing.
Struggled with words…
Struggled with meaning.
Written by Jason Wright
August 4, 2019
I’m making this rhyme
to fight what I squander.
Taking this time
to write and to ponder.
Grasping suggestions
condoned by the lawless.
Asking these questions
alone in my solace.
Alone in our room
we fill now with others.
Cologne from my groom
distilled from our summers.
History haunts me
for task is a demon.
Mystery wants me
to bask in my freedom.
But I make it hard
although it’s quite easy.
For I am the the starved
and I could fight greedy.
Could drown in the drink
and choke on the meaning.
Backdown what I think;
provoke quarantining.
Could flail to shake crimes
twitch slake my incense.
Could fail to make rhymes
which make any sense.
Could fail in bestowment
to get what I need.
So I’ll take this moment
to see I succeed.
Written by Jason Wright
August 4, 2019
Guess what, he winks, on my behalf;
as if he’s making sense.
That’s what he thinks as others laugh;
a joke at my expense.
He splays my shame in masquerade
to secretly aggrieve me.
He plays the game; a grand charade
to tease me and deceive me.
His tongue betrays me through the haze;
he’s yours to fuck again.
He’s hungry for your touch
but then again we’re only friends.
That’s what he calls me to my face;
more poison jokes to harm me.
The man, he calls with no disgrace;
more noise in clokes to charm me.
He’s tongue & whore & blush;
he tries to have you all his own.
He’s young & yours & rush;
he lies to have you in our home.
He’s hung & scores & riots now
more chastened afterglow.
He’s sprung his sword & quiet now
for Jason must not know.
Written by Jason Wright
August 3, 2019
Quickening vitals twitch
play through my thoughts.
Visiting titles which
stray through my clots.
Making connections
once I scan spot them.
Taking collections:
dunce spy can bottom.
Rhyme started something
but meaning was lost.
Time parted dumping
what cleaning has cost.
Written by Jason Wright
August 3, 2019
This is a graphic story – so if you’re easily offended,
my advice is just to fuck off right now while there’s still time.
Seriously. This could offend you or just completely reduce your opinion of me.
Or it might just make you laugh.
Or possibly it could do all of those things at the same time.
Still here?
Funny story. I mean, I think it’s funny.
Others may disagree.
I once jerked off in the back of a station wagon,
imagining one of my school bullies
fucking me in dreamy soft focused lighting
straight out of a Radley Metzger porno,
though, of course that was years before
I even knew who Radley Metzger was.
But this guy’s name was CENSORED,
because, well, you’re about to find out.
And as my parents drove me
to our local Meijer,
I shot a load imagining CENSORED
as some kind of sympathetic soul
instead of the domineering asshat
that he portrayed in my waking world
at any given opportunity.
I don’t get off on being in cars
or with my parents or in public…
I was just very young, extremely horny,
and had a relative amount of privacy.
I would probably have no memory of this,
despite how outlandish it seems now,
except that when arriving at our destination(s)
I rounded a corner and walked directly into CENSORED’s chest –
because he was taller than me at the time,
so that’s where we connected.
Seriously.
I know why I blushed…
I mean, my hand likely still smelled of the cum
he’d wrangled out my teeny-bopper depths,
but he blushed just as badly before
we immediately headed in opposite directions
and never once mentioned it to each other ever again.
So that was a long time ago.
But recently, Facebook decided we should be best buds –
and I’m friends with a lot of people that were dicks to me in school.
I’m sure I was a dick to people too. School is like that.
And given the suggestion, and looking over his Facebook posts
I saw that we seemed to have developed the same views on a lot of issues,
(which I totally did not expect)…and so the friend request was sent
even though I did not expect anything to come from it.
But as history apparently likes to repeat itself….
A few months ago I was jerking off again.
Not to thoughts of CENSORED and
not to Radley Metzger,
because even though his films are hot,
I respect them too much to beat off to them.
Don’t judge me. I know it’s wacky, but that’s not the point.
The point is…
that just as I was reaching the point of no return,
a message flashed across my screen which read something like:
Friend Request to CENSORED Approved
And then I was most definitely thinking about CENSORED
as I doused myself, again, years later.
And I’m still laughing about it now,
and so I thought I’d share,
because clearly I have no boundaries.
At least I wasn’t in a station wagon this time,
which makes it slightly more classy, right?
I didn’t think so either.
Written by Jason Wright
August 3, 2019
