BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
Your music makes me sad
like an echo from the past…
You were queer
and in my dreams
you were here
beyond extremes…
At least my memory means
that our encounters always last.
You ghosted through my city
like I wasn’t even here,
like you’re gone but you are always
somehow more than what I fear.
You hosted my obsessions
and inspire even more,
and I am just the sum
of what our passions wrought before.
Written by Jason Wright
May 20, 2018
There was a boy…
There was a summer boy
who had us call him Sebastian…
and though this name fit him perfectly,
I was never quite convinced
that this is what his unseen
unknown parents had christened him.
He had traveled cross country
to visit a friend of mine
whom he had never met
or seen face to face.
The friend and I were only ever friends in name only
because our friends were friends with one another…
but we never once connected without the others…
and if he was blind to what was actually happening,
well, I wasn’t going to cross a line
or clue him in;
not when he’d often been as cruel
as the summer wind which
drew us out together that long ago
summertime evening.
Summer boy Sebastian
from exotic southern state
had beautiful teeth
and a slight but sexy drawl
to all his decidedly decadent
turns of phrase
which spoke of unvoiced attraction.
We never acknowledged this aloud
but it was an understanding
between us,
like we were the couple
and everyone else had tagged along with us
for the voyeuristic fun of it all.
Hot, sticky Michigan summer night –
the kind of night that usually drove us
to backwoods skinny dipping pond,
instead lead us to old haunted
devil worshipping sorority house,
near the fancy two-story McDonald’s
where Anthony used to give me free fries…
where we collected on the asphalt
like mardi gras gutter trash
as we exchanged stories…
as Sebastian subtly signaled,
slyly suggested and studied my every glance
with a scholar’s dedicated devotion.
Later, after pink moon drives
with mosquito infested breezes
I saw snow fall in the sweltering desert
which he had finally gifted me with,
ice crystals catching on eyelashes
and melting on our lips
as we said our final goodnight.
I never saw him again.
But he never slept with our companions either…
He waited until the coast was clear
and then fled the scene
before any of us knew
what the night had taken from us…
leaving us as haunted and questioning
as the abandoned and seemingly evil sorority house.
But those moments before abandonment
are always remembered with a sad sort of smile
when I stumble across the miracle he gave me
when he must have known our time
had finally come to an end.
Written by Jason Wright
April 30, 2018
1
Pain radiates
through smoothly shaven flesh,
Unseen skull
in burning wrapping paper,
I skitter to share
what it seeks to prevent…
The years are a bitch
and I ache to betray her…
For words in this gloaming
are enabled by night…
Even when tinged
with the heartbreak of sorrow…
Thoughts freely roaming
until morning sight…
Might seem unhinged
come the light of tomorrow.
2
There was a morning, a day, a hot afternoon
where I thought my life would change…
where my wandering
had finally altered my direction…
but it wasn’t meant to be.
Perhaps every day is like this for others…
but the day I am thinking of,
the day of sex before the sermon,
I believed that I’d finally arrived
somewhere I was meant to be,
only to learn across the years
that I would seldom ever return,
and I wish I would have known
how special that time was,
how precious those moments.
It’s altogether different
yet somehow the same
when watching you
watching whales…
when the music you share
nearly kills me with it’s mournful beauty –
giving me fever chills and death spasms
before my fever breaks
and I’m allowed to dance
in the trance of our shoegazing
dream pop.
In the fever
all that could comfort me
was the seemingly old
but younger woman
with the ghost on the porch…
An echo of that first reading
joining my pain across two different eras.
3
The first would have been discovery,
and on the very brink of puberty
as I stumbled through that sea of trees
to find a validating fiction.
And now the feeling: brotherly,
yet still cherry stink of nudity
as I’m humbled by our deities
to bind an animated friction.
And the proof
it is not fair
but the truth
is he’s out there
begging for money,
trading sex for drugs hungry
while the whales circle round us
tasting sweetly table scraps.
And the lie
if there is one
is that life
is a shotgun
because life hasn’t drowned us
baby please don’t go like that.
Written by Jason Wright
April 19, 2018
For Sean (Mobley) and Steve and Anthony.
Our shared experiences in the past
seem to mean nothing to those reflected
in the world’s window screen.
I watch them all
hoping for recognition / reconnection
while sister hurts and Sean struggles.
Steve is happy listening to sad songs
which make me weep.
I want to tag myself in a million posts
in every place I’ve ever gone.
Fuck this song.
Fuck this.
Life changes us
and you’re a stranger that I once knew
or at least I thought I did.
I have pictures but they don’t seem to matter;
they don’t seem nearly as real as yours.
I tell you the secret in the past
but you are blind.
I dive for real love
at the beach house
with men that I trust
while Lauren Moloko Hatchie St Vincent
(actor out of work in the radio Dept.)
decides the time is now
to try to speak your true name
amidst disarray antidotes,
preoccupations with daysleepers
and their creation…
and now the meaningful
nonsensical rhyming must begin
as we fade away to nothing important:
I get a little blue
as I listen to your tunes
as I Facebook stalk your trek
across the place I never knew…
And Sean is turning tricks
paying rent by sucking dicks,
and nothing really matters
if our lives are candle wicks.
But I want to visit woman
with the ghost out on the porch…
want to live my life again
when I am out of sorts….
want to read of witches
as my fever threatens soul…
Your aura ghost echo
(lost orca in ghetto)
and only espresso
can make us both whole.
Written by Jason Wright
April 19, 2018
Beautiful man sparks
out of the corner of my eye –
– of my consciousness –
The smile in his gaze
and recognition / realization
makes me ache with sorrowful pleasure.
Scott. He tells me his name is Scott.
Not Louis de Pointe du Lac. Not Nothing.
Scott with two T’s.
So much going on behind those luminous eyes –
Eyes that sparked my attention –
Eyes that fit that transcendent face –
Beautiful. He is beautiful
and at least 23 years younger than me.
My 23 years younger self
would have no idea what to say to him
or how to convey what his bravery meant to me
[to the world]
nor how his honesty had transformed him
into this Vampire Angel Masculine Satyr –
I would not have known that ethereal creatures
could be anything so mundane or wondrous as
Gay, Male, Top or Bottom –
or that they could satisfy my base cravings for penetration & kink.
I tell him none of this.
He seems innocent…
brilliant, yes, and undoubtedly breathtaking…
but innocent
and I’m 23 years older,
partnered and flying back to NYC
in just 4 days time.
I tell him the truth:
I tell him I am happy that he has found this place
and wish him well…
mention my old site
and become his Facebook friend.
All this in the same spot where
12 years before
I met Shane, his brother,
the one who changed everything,
taught me to want, to believe,
to stretch and grow,
and who, in the end,
left me haunted for all my days to come.
Somewhere Shane is smiling now
and Scott must see this
joy behind my eyes.
Written by Jason Wright
April 12, 2018
For Scott Perry
Young woman says she’s a slut;
that sucking 7 dicks in 26 years
has ROBBED her of her valuable imagery,
as if her precious virginal appeal
were a STRONGBOX that had been BURGLED
by a gang of 7 THIEVES.
I tell her that I’ve been fucked by nearly 100 men,
I’ve fucked and eaten out 5 different women,
(sometimes with other men inside of them),
I’ve licked and fucked countless assholes
and sucked a multitude of cocks…
I’ve had more than one prick inside me at the same time
and swallowed gallons of various fluids…
and I DON’T feel like a slut at all –
because I don’t permit anyone to devalue my worth.
She says it’s completely different for me because I’m gay
and because I’m a man.
She says that as a woman she must remain
LOCKED UP —————> (((((TIGHT)))))
She envies my homosexual brethren
because we’re allowed to be sexual outlaws.
She excitedly whispers that if she were a FAG
she’d never stop fucking – – –
says she’d use her gay male privilege to
explore every fantasy and
taste every forbidden fruit
in every possible COMBINATION…
to blow her prison door off it’s hinges
with a dynamite explosion
of long repressed desire
long denied satisfaction…
never playing it SAFE ever again.
Written by Jason Wright
April 12, 2018
The gentleman next to me
is charming in his quietude…
when he speaks he is kind
with some type of speech trouble –
says he’s headed down to lower level of Hell,
Beaver, near Wall Street.
He wears a wedding band
made of gold
on his left hand –
his right hand looks broken
while the left hand holds a dusty old flip phone…
Aaron hands me his fancy bells & whistles
and I smile as I read about the war
Sue is waging on my behalf:
Aaron loves me.
Written by Jason Wright
April 11, 2018
Scary driver smile.
White car smell
like hated red death trap
that Grandpa ran over
with his John Deere tractor.
It feels tainted,
coated in smoking
unseen masses of
long suffering
desperately grateful
waxen figures
who once had very good days.
The unending drone
from the speakers
is dessicated and obtrusive.
Is this what dead people listen to?
How can the driver stay awake?
My bad.
The driver died ages ago.
That smile, a rictus.
Written by Jason Wright
April 11, 2018
There’s a space between me
and all that I’ve wanted…
Like my lust is a ghost
that has left my life haunted…
Devoid of the spark
that connects me to revery…
Like the life I am living
is only a memory…
A personal history
grown cold and impersonal…
A vacuous dream that had
once seemed so purposeful…
But I know I am there
buried under the sadness…
Married between her pain
and his madness…
They have stolen from me
what we were to ourselves…
My senses can’t deal
because they’re overwhelmed…
And part of me wants
to take time to sort out…
But mostly I want
to rip time inside out!
I want to take all
that has tied me to her…
Be it blood on my hands
or my unspoken words…
Or the things unremembered
that left me to die…
Want to shred that
and shed tears of goodbye…
As all of the pain
that trapped us in slaughter…
Travels back to the past
and then rescues our father.
Written by Jason Wright
April 10, 2018
The boy across the field behind my house
had more in common with me than
ancestors;
most other kids I played with
were related to me
but he was always my favorite
because of the way he looked at me…
Later in life he was damaged in a tragic accident
and our future conversations ceased to be.
In an unseen instant he was ripped away
although he was still alive,
and that’s more than can be said for others
lost in that era of AIDS and ignorance.
I shake the love letter postcards out of my skull
and pick one at random:
I remember his breath on my neck;
the feel of our young bodies pressed together
like the pages of a trashy tattered copy
of a seldom read incest fantasy,
which I will forever remember as the first time that I made love;
the first time that someone I loved made love to me.
His reaching, reciprocated touch was tender,
terrified and then joyous.
His movement: considerate, then brutal within the landscape
of a language that we both finally understood.
In our joining, our words from a hundred lying conversations
gained new meaning and were finally made honest.
His kiss informed me that I was never truly alone.
His cock translated every secret code
I had ever witnessed
in the eyes of countless lonely strangers.
His thrusting within me
within the home of his grandparents…
that place between sheets
and layers of blood magic was always
and will forever be sacred.
My love letter postcard memories
are holy relics
now tumbling out of my decades old skull.
Rectangular snapshots of a time before
we were allowed to be who we truly were…
In a time before he lost who he truly,
secretly had been…
A time when we had dreamed
of a very different future
that had been reflected in
our tangle of shared flesh and blood.
Written by Jason Wright
April 5, 2018