BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
Waking from migraine nightmare
as waves crash on Fire Island sunset.
My eyes are blurred by unshed tears.
My cock is hard.
My boyfriend kisses the swelling flesh
before running to meet Essa.
After orgasm, shower and
multiple doubts & setbacks
I emerge feeling like I’ve awakened again;
eyes blurred by possibility.
Written by Jason Wright
June 14, 2017
He turns
looks into my hunger
and kisses deep into my longing.
“Aaron… You don’t have to…”
He abolishes my protestations
with the writhe of his lithe quenching desire.
The morning after and I am
UGLY / WOUNDED / ASHAMED
until he convinces me otherwise
with every touch, thrust, confession and truth (?).
Music sings me to joy
as I race beneath an ocean of asphalt
before my forgotten phoenix returns
to haunt, burn, perish and resurrect.
The “truth” is that all poets are fucked;
metaphorically or otherwise.
Written by Jason Wright
May 9, 2017
My asshole is liberal
and apparently terrifying.
In Chechnya, gay men like me are tortured
while I’m riding a bicycle for the first time in nine years.
I’m racing downtown
along the Hudson River….
just like Michigan childhood,
yet decidedly different,
feeling simultaneously young and very old;
muscles aching, blood pumping.
I have to eat soon and all of this must end.
Coffee in Lincoln Square? Lincoln Center? Lincoln somewhere.
Mingling with opera singers; this is my life now.
This, while those in Mother Russia
who survived the purge of A.I.D.S. have been incarcerated
by an astonishing ignorance,
in a war they can not hope to win.
We are not wayward heterosexuals.
We are born; not converted.
And it is those that hate and fear us so much
who are responsible for our creation.
The only FAGGOTS I’ve ever met were
conservative terrifying assholes.
Conservative or Liberal…
at least our assholes seem to match.
*with all due respect to Arthur Rimbaud.
Written by Jason Wright
April 11, 2017
Showering after sex
my mind is overcome
by thoughts, sensations, memories.
“Call Me by Your Name”
has reminded me of Rob –
the way he made a pass at me
when I was 17 –
the way I reacted
and the way I’ve often wished
I could change that moment –
erase it, rewrite it,
never experience that level of self loathing
born of inexperience…
that impression of what I lack.
Still…
kissing at church has to count for something.
My conversation with young relative returns;
how I tried to calm his fears
on Trump and AIDS and love and sex.
It only takes one time, you know?
A boy I knew who worked on Fire Island
died of an “infection” a few weeks ago –
life support turned off –
INFECTION
FIRE ISLAND
GAY
DEATH
The words that silently scream at me what I believe to be the cause
while everyone politely refuses to mention what has happened…
And the band continues to play on.
Men I’ve been inside of,
Men who’ve been inside of me
are positive.
Best friends,
Loved ones,
Infected but seldom mentioned
because an illness
is easily
the least interesting thing about them.
I think of Aaron and the tears he shed
and the words he said
and the progress he confirmed…
the wonderful weekends we’ve had.
I think about upcoming hearing while
trying not to face it with terror or worry
while the video they’re supposed to send me
has never arrived (three times).
But the shower must end
and scalding hot water must cease it’s spray.
And so I dry myself –
step back into the world
and I forget.
Written by Jason Wright
February 27, 2017
The pained expression
as he wrapped his arms
around his head,
as if to hide
from the words he knew he must say;
the risk he must take.
The tears that fell
from his beautiful eyes
as he confessed
that the heart of us had been lost.
The strength that I
had never possessed in the past,
unfamiliar as it surged to the fore…
Was it possible
that I had built a temple
out of my shattered childhood
only to have him ripped away from me?
The way we barely breathed
as we collapsed in random bursts of suffering,
exquisite,
aching pain of love gone wrong,
gone sour,
gone ignored too long
and now barely recognizable.
We lay together that night,
together,
yet cleaved in two.
Yet we never degraded,
never cursed,
never accused,
never,
never,
never completely surrendered to shame or fear.
This hardship,
this torment was honest
and brave,
and long overdue;
I know that now
and I thank him
even as I yearn for my other half.
For 10 days
and 11 nights
I have fought for
the mere hope,
the slightest chance
that a lost romance might be resurrected.
I don’t want to be crushed
by the loss of him
or bereft of his touch.
I fight for my own survival
with lessons that may save me,
yet beyond myself
I yearn for the forgotten look in his eyes,
the curve of his lips,
the taste of his joy, satisfaction, surprise
and that virginal lust for passions met in kind.
I want to give him
what in ignorance
I have so long denied him,
he that I treasure most,
he that I cherish above all others.
His need,
his confession,
his longing has inspired a sea change
within me.
And if he might only look
there in my culpable remorseful eyes,
perhaps he will find what it is
that he can no longer find on his own.
With every glance I seek to say:
I am here.
And I love you.
And I am in love with you.
And I curse the day
that I ever made you feel
you weren’t worthy of my best.
I will extend myself to the best of my ability,
beyond what I have done
for any other love,
any other lover,
any other man, woman, parent or friend.
This
I swear
with a glad heart.
For you have made me a better man,
and a greater man than you would be an impossible quest
that I would never dream of
or wish to accept.
Find me Aaron.
Find me.
I am waiting in the dark
to lead us into the light.
Written by Jason Wright
August 4, 2016
He touches himself
and as I watch,
I understand that
he’s everything I’ve ever wanted,
and more.
He’s so innocently sexy.
He’s always new.
He’s still surprising me as our discourse…
as our intercourse
evolves.
He’s let me in at last
and I no longer have to watch from the window
or listen at the door.
He knows now that I revel in his pleasure,
that I long to see it repeatedly,
never stopping,
always loving this journey to his
gratification exhibition,
be it from across the room,
or deep down inside of me.
I can devour him now
with a glance,
with a look,
with my mouth drinking deep,
knowing he is satified
and will return satisfaction
if that’s what I’m craving.
I watch now.
I have an open invitation.
I am a solicited guest.
And now that I’ve been welcomed,
I never want this performance to end.
Written by Jason Wright
August 4, 2016
For A.L.S.
For nearly four years
I’ve shared my bed
with my boyfriend / partner / lover:
Aaron L. Sanko.
We don’t always
go to bed at the same time,
yet there are almost always
a few hours of crossover,
usually in the early morning hours.
In that blissful time
when sunlight begins to penetrate
our darkened sanctuary,
and the alarm insists that
it is time we disengage from
our nightly maneuvers,
we refuse to be separated…
sometimes to our peril;
we find ourselves caught
in what Aaron first christened:
The Trap
This entrapment occurs
as we drift in and out of slumber,
desperately enmeshed in one another,
when the world tries to call us away,
and we realize we want only to be together this way:
naked, entwined, united, protected and completed.
“It took me hours to get out of The Trap this morning.”
But while “the trap” is a nice little wink and a nod,
an in-joke,
a reference between lovers…
which certainly describes those moments that we cherish…
I find it amusingly ironic that this seemingly sinister state
we find ourselves in is truly an honest contradiction…
For it’s when I find myself entrapped
by Aaron’s loving arms that I feel we are the most free.
Written by Jason Wright
June 22, 2016
For Aaron
That’s what the message said
and suddenly I remember what it was like
to really miss
playfully biting his lips
when we’d kiss:
a ghost
of a memory
of a forgotten desire.
I met him online in late 2007;
just a hookup that attempted to be more,
and failed
because of piss poor timing.
Like a perpetual tryst
with delusions of grandeur;
genuine emotion
without proper context
or common sense.
His lips, his smile, eyes, tears,
were all exquisite.
His meaty cock was thick
and heavy,
and always filled my unprotected insides
before shooting down my throat.
Invariably he would ride my tongue,
feeding my hungry need
while I nursed my own aching pleasure.
I was
for once,
blissfully uninterested in anything
more than friendship and kinky sex.
And while months of Doctor Who,
Meeting his mum at hospital,
his friends (some of whom were my friends),
and New Year’s Eve party where we met his future husband(!)
were all appreciated and are remembered fondly…
his confession of love ripped me in half
and tore us apart.
He fell,
was crushed,
and though I eventually followed,
it was too late to save either of us.
At the time,
I thought this a tragedy,
but in light of later revelations
it seems the better of several options,
despite the pain we caused one another
at the time.
In the end
I loved him and
he loved me…
But some affairs are just that…
Not to last or to be.
Back in the present
I’m in Hell’s Kitchen
and his plane is coming in for a landing in Newark.
C to Penn Station,
NJ Transit round trip tickets are $25.00
but waiting to board
the call comes:
an earlier flight than expected
and I’ll have just missed him again.
Refund lady is nice;
I transfer from C to A at 42nd
and this feels natural
and normal
and before I know it I’m back in The Heights.
On the train I listen to “Gods and Monsters” on repeat
and Lana Del Rey sings about lost innocence.
He thanks me when I get home; he says:
“It means a lot that you dropped everything to give it a shot.”
Only just like our relationship
we suffer from piss poor timing
and we keep just missing each other.
But you know what?
The attempt was fun,
and totally worth it.
Even though we failed.
Even though we never fit together in life
as well as we did in bed
or in friendship.
Even if in the grand scheme of things
we only managed to last
for a few precious hours.
Written by Jason Wright
June 17, 2015
For Michael
Some days are harder than others.
Some days his voice is so loud
that I can’t hear or feel anything else
without turning myself inside out.
It never lasts for more than an hour or two
(often times less than that)
but in that time he makes sure
that I have his undivided attention.
This can be problematic
and disorienting
when I’m in public.
Our communication can never last for long
because I don’t have the reserves.
It’s too all consuming to sustain itself.
He doesn’t like to be ignored
and I don’t do it on purpose
but it takes a lot of energy
and skills that I’ve not yet completely developed.
And paying attention to him can be dangerous,
but so can ignoring him. Clearly.
Sometimes he wants me to throw all of my food away.
He’s jealous, I think.
Some weekends, everything I plan on
falls apart because of him.
The way that I’m falling apart,
but seldom admit.
Every day that I don’t cut is a victory.
I know this.
But it doesn’t feel like the truth.
It feels like cowardice.
If I could just cut him out of me…
I’d be dead.
That’s the problem.
I think I’m beginning to hate him.
Hate myself.
Because he’s keeping me prisoner.
I missed the party on Friday,
the opera on Saturday,
the walk in the park today
because of his need…
and my aversion.
These feel like failures or defeats,
but is it a failure if it keeps you alive?
I try to talk myself through it
but my feelings are complicated
and often contradictory.
I don’t think anyone around me understands
and why should they?
It hurts being so alone though.
It’s just him and me.
Like when she abandoned me. Us.
There are people that love me,
which is incredible really,
because there’s a big piece of myself that’s missing.
He’s completely disconnected from me
and when that connection is made
the spark of that moment is blinding…
but nobody gets to see it but me.
Or maybe I’m wrong and people do see him,
or the absence of him?
Maybe people love me because of him.
I don’t really know.
All I know is that he’s closer to me today
than he usually is
and I’m alone
and I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Time to go for a walk.
Written by Jason Wright
March 29, 2015
Ten years ago today I was at Pizza House
with friends and family and coworkers.
I still have the clothes I wore that day
and they still look new.
My reflection scares me a little bit.
Funny, I know.
But what I mean is that I feel like I look the same as I did then.
I should be grateful for that…and I am,
but it’s part of what makes me feel trapped.
In the past,
all those years ago,
I got stuck.
I’ve tried moving forward
with some amount of success
but eventually the anchor
prevented me from moving
anywhere beyond a certain point.
So I’ve been going back in time to free myself…
because nobody else will ever (could ever) save me.
It’s an appealing image.
The victim as cross dimensional savior of self.
Or maybe I’m just as crazy as he was
because I’m losing it in my old age.
Written by Jason Wright
August 12, 2014