BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
Try not to scream;
struggle to whisper.
Try to redeem
what was fucked up by scripture.
Try to outline
what can’t be contained.
Try to outshine
what in shadows was shamed.
Try to revive
what in vast strife had chilled you.
Try to survive
what in past life had killed you.
Written by Jason Wright
October 7, 2019
You tell him that sex with me
will be completely emotionless for you,
or at least that’s what I hear without really listening,
but what you truly said is that
our sexual activity
will be completely emotionless for US,
but that’s not wholly accurate…
because I will feel something;
if I didn’t already feel something
I wouldn’t even bother.
You say that people don’t usually
FUCK their ex-boyfriends,
which I find funny
because so far,
they’re the only people I fuck,
and why not?
I’ve loved you for almost as long as I’ve known you
and can’t / won’t force myself to feel nothing.
But there’s NOTHING threatening to others
by this potential reconnecting of interlocking bodies,
because while sex will ALWAYS be emotional for me,
I also hold no illusions that
my having sex with you will bind you to me,
making you a prisoner
to only satisfy my needs,
to only service my pleasure…
Our FUCKING will not reintegrate us
into some magical reiteration
of our former couplehood.
The idea is preposterous.
As preposterous as truth
and as honest as fiction.
Written by Jason Wright
October 2, 2019
For Michael E.
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
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
He wandered into my life
on the arm of my lover,
set up shop for the night,
& “borrowed” my property.
Most of that night was a game
and honestly, a blur…
but the kiss in the kitchen was real
and brought everything into focus,
if not into the light.
This night’s passion wasn’t meant for me,
so the unexpected connection
was many conflicting things:
Excitement. Exhilaration. Shame. Damnation.
None of which I was prepared for.
He ate my ass like a pro.
His cock was delicious,
in my mouth and then deeper inside me.
He ravaged me while my lover looked on
and I loved it but I felt somewhat guilty,
which I may have loved even more…
or perhaps my guilt prevented me
from enjoying it completely?
It must seem strange
that I cannot honestly tell the difference.
But certain key details of lust are maddeningly lost on me.
There are certainly hints and subtle gestures;
implications and libidinous clues,
suggestions of an elusive contradictory nature…
pieces of a puzzle I wish only to solve
so that I might grasp the meaning
held within a finished and rapturious whole…
and yet I’m somehow trapped
within this self same labyrinth of intimations
which feeds the fire while slaking my thirst,
yet leaves me hungry just the same.
There was a danger there; a gamble…
I was risking something sacred
for the sake of something perverse,
if only symbolically.
He hit all the right spots,
but in a configuration hitherto unknown to me.
My deepest desires were completely inverted
during this encounter
and all the conversations that followed.
This isn’t my lover’s fantasy.
It’s not even mine.
It’s some mirror perverted version
and yet at the root of it all…
it is completely the same for me,
which confuses
even as it thrills.
In my mind
I am smaller than I appear,
and he ravages my lover
in depths that I cannot reach,
and I am finished far too soon,
before I’m undressed,
which has never happened
(and never will happen)
because that is not who I am.
“Yeah? You need my load again?”
“My cock hits places his doesn’t?”
“You craving it, boy?”
“You craving it?”
My fantasies are mine
and not my lover’s,
and though this man
says the words that I long to hear
he is saying them into the wrong ears,
because he cannot know
that what he has seen
and what he has interpreted as desire,
is actually reality’s cruel deception.
A trick of fate that pollutes my existence,
a caustic jocularity with an outlandish punchline
that I have endured and sought to diminish
through fantasy and honest communication;
and yet it remains a vicious mockery of all that I wish I could be –
a killing joke which has unknowingly to some,
made fools and victims of us all.
Written by Jason Wright
July 25, 2019
For A.J.
On Brian’s July twenty-fourth
forty-second birthday
I’m wearing the “Allergic to Sunlight” shirt
that I bought in late summer two-thousand
to wear for my beloved Shawn (F)…
I include his last initial
because there were two Shawns of note that year.
I switch the E & A Trains on
forty-second street…
“Strike that! Reverse it!”
I almost miss that transfer
as I write about my Shawn R. experiences;
I was wearing the same shirt the night that I met him
in October two-thousand…
before we were lovers,
before we were friends,
and before he recently fucked me again;
bringing closure and revelations,
inspiration and fascination with all that this act entailed
and all that lay revealed in the aftermath.
Written by Jason Wright
July 24, 2019
People tell me that I am strong,
for how else could I continue after years of
illness & betrayal?
I survive in pieces.
My emotional reactions
are out of proportion
to any given stimuli;
often paralyzing.
I weigh each circumstance
with fear and suspicion,
even when experience should
teach me otherwise;
yet it’s false negative is itself reinforced
through my inability to achieve
normality.
My scars have faded
yet they are still visible
for any who have an eye for them.
I am not easily gifted.
I should be grateful for any gesture
yet I’ve never learned the trick of it.
In the moment,
when reaction is key,
I falter.
I stumble to correct myself but fail.
Sometimes the struggle is internal
and weighs on me for hours.
Other times my failure comes
to me long after the fact.
Invariably I weep,
though I don’t believe
that anyone has ever witnessed this,
or if they have,
I doubt that they have
interpreted my tears correctly.
My tears are not subjective.
Shame and remorse,
blossoming from my eyes
as I contemplate how I can possibly
thank those who’ve been slighted
by my wounded psyche.
Written by Jason Wright
April 17, 2019
I remember you,
the you before now,
the you from back then.
You were older than me
but you were young when I was,
glistening nakedly
as you ran in for water
after yearly mile run.
I didn’t know you well,
though we smiled for one another;
we drank and frequented
the same bars…
you, weaving in and out
of my existence…
you wrote letters from prison
to my dearest of friends,
and I thought perhaps you had died.
I drove you home once;
but I doubt you’d remember it;
you were drunk and clinging
to that night’s latest trick.
I was jealous of him
as I made sure you both arrived at your home safely,
as I ensured your survival and my own cuckoldry…
even as you stumbled from my car
at gas station to vomit on the sidewalk
and on my left rear tire.
You told me you were sorry
and you sounded miserable…
and that night’s lover looked embarrassed
if no less interested in sharing your bed,
not that I blamed him…
you were beautiful in your blindness
and completely unsuspecting.
You were already broken then,
but the glinting light
from those shards of self
shone like diamonds
in a world filled with pebbles.
That same night,
I drove home alone
to my little village farm house,
where I sprayed the vomit off my car
with a garden hose
in the far too bright, sunlit morning.
I never saw you again.
Written by Jason Wright
April 13, 2019
For Dale Lipke
A part of each other
that makes us both sad…
It’s hard to get over
what we never had…
Our love was requited
but we were a mess…
Inside recited
what made us obsessed:
The tint in those skies.
The feel of the wind.
The glint in your eyes.
The scent of your skin.
The kiss that meant nothing
until we were gone.
The kiss that meant something
because we were wrong.
The kiss was abandoned
unknown in the splendor…
The kiss never happened
although we remember.
Written by Jason Wright
March 26, 2019
Ian music is song of drug addiction
ascribed to crazy haired Cure fan
who raved about Mood Swings
near Autumn, in the magic of her
midnight gallery opening
I would never witness in the light
of 90’s Ann Arbor Michigan day.
I met him 3 times
before Pizza House friend
cursed his life
and sent him to his smack filled
heroin infused ever after…
But I never knew “the asshole”;
I only remember his kiss…
Paul’s longing description…
Carrie’s guiltless confession…
and Dorian’s unexpected words
which brought all these memorial ingredients
into focus and allowed me finally to mourn –
listening to Numbness on NYC downtown train to The Prom –
no tears –
but a sad smile
and a kiss goodbye
in the same deep water as you.
Written by Jason Wright
March 1, 2019