BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
Hey! I’ve got a LOUD one!
Just the NYC MTA saying F U;
we won’t make this easy
even with American Psycho 80’s cover
lilting where Fearful Tears
once sang you to fever dream kisses.
Quieted by new crowd infusion;
wait for it…
There they are!
“Fuck you!” 3 times in succession.
But well on the way to coffee date
I must silence my own inner voices
and dry the fuck off,
with memory rain outside
like autumn watercolors
smeared in shadows behind my eyes.
Written by Jason Wright
November 5, 2018
Their eyes sought me out
cross the waiting room floor…
Their gaze drifted down
to the demon adored…
Their feet and their legs
brought them quick as you please…
and I barely kept up
from off of my knees.
Hot Doctor Craig
and Doctor Antell
approach me
and coach me
on living so well…
They compliment
garment
and offer me sex
behind my closed eyes
as they search for who’s next.
The shirt that I wore from Party That Wasn’t /
Middle-Earth shirt worn by someone who doesn’t
exist or persist in interest of others…
I barely seek to or speak to my brothers
who once stripped for me
in convent abandoned…
this clothing’s been holding me;
constant companion.
It’s Nina who sings to me
blissed through my tears…
who aids and then fades to me
kissed through my fears…
as music comes up and
and asks with a twirl:
A demon to some…
could I be your girl?
Written by Jason Wright
October 9, 2018
For Antell & Arden, Simone & Barker,
& the lovers that we never were.
Last night’s
39 year old child slut
thickened my cock
with stories about seducing stepfather
to save sacrificial sisters before
sex party bareback orgies.
He tells me there’s no need for condoms
if I’m on PrEP…
he smiles at this
through piss stained teeth
as if I don’t remember that he’s poz
and has suffered countless infections,
although herpes, he has also confessed,
still terrifies him.
He’s not without his charm,
this not altogether foreign creation;
he stands as myth; a tall tale
of erotic urban legends.
But it’s his step-story which really makes me
question our reality.
Could this stranger be an alternate version of myself
from monster rat infested Surinam?
This is both too fantastical to be true,
and too close to the truth to not be questioned.
But our shared tragedy
is not truly identical.
Siblings of a kind,
our similar origin stories
are sadly, merely universal,
and not the horrific singular experience
of one fragmented individual.
The places we started are synonymous
and we have both arrived in the same location;
it is only our trajectories
which have truly separated us.
Written by Jason Wright
October 9, 2018
Shakey frostbite artist scrawl
in painful seizure Chevrolet
Fuck! My chest scraped open
in bloodless abandon!
I wonder if Sean has received
my owl? And if not, will it
reach him in time? And will he care?
Or will he once again reject me?
I’ll be close to an hour early
when this earthquake on wheels
jitters to a stop as I cling
to psalms once pressed together
for Laurie’s benefit.
Words written slowly
as we inch by Carnegie Hall.
I don’t feel like writing anymore.
A spare thought that becomes truth,
that becomes despair.
But I don’t really completely finish until
I reach my destination (who does, really?)
even when scratched beneath a different shade of ink.
Written by Jason Wright
October 9, 2018
For Sean Mobley,
my lost inspiration and seemingly perpetual muse.
And for Laurie Finney ,who was kind enough
to sing my praises when I attempted to DJ for
her circle of friends. Were it always so blissful!
In 9 days it will be 17 years
from the night we first met.
And though you discarded me
in a mostly cruel and senseless fashion
I still write & think of you often.
Some of the words I write are angry,
hurt, longing or strange…
And though I’m PROUD
that I refused to chase someone
who chose to run away
from me and our truth
I miss YOU
more than any other pain
that you have caused me.
Written by Jason Wright
October 9, 2018
For Mobley Mouse, for Theodore
and all the other names I’ve come to call you.
Whispering in my ears
in a memory I never had,
because I never heard you
but you sounded sad…
and the words that you spoke
were like singing beneath
the sound of your breath
and our rhythmic heartbeats,
and the song found me dreaming
of a man that I follow…
lost in the depths unbelieving
and hollow.
The day that you caught me
without saying much,
The way that you haunted me
there with a touch
that I couldn’t feel
save the dream of your sorrow…
that came to be real
come the gleam of tomorrow.
But you stayed with me singing
and circled around…
You gave me the bringing
and brought me your crown…
You lingered behind me
when others had left…
You whispered and signed me;
you loved me to death.
But that’s not the end
of our ghostly tale…
For you proved a friend
and mostly prevailed
when I circled round you
and found you still smiling…
I knew you were there
with your stare so beguiling.
The look and the dance
and the music: Slowdive.
The words are romance:
“only lovers alive”.
Written by Jason Wright
October 6, 2018
Off to Carol’s
in the haunted overcast imagery,
less shrouded by last night’s events –
unexpected, satisfying & yet
slightly disappointing.
Last night’s well planned RASH decisions,
with liquor, amyl nitrite and a lover’s hookup who’s
“too pure to be pink”…
Too kind.
Too sweet
to feed the craving dark.
Happy for them.
Completely unthreatened.
But afraid I may never find
what I seek.
Written by Jason Wright
October 2, 2018
He describes me
in terms he believes to be true.
Small.
Fast in my shorts.
Smaller than.
only I’m not…
and I never was,
not when it counted.
Only in dreams which recapture
my childhood.
Because it always comes back to childhood,
doesn’t it?
I’m still standing
in that stinging spray.
I never left that room,
and I don’t think I ever will.
That at least,
is one small victory.
Written by Jason Wright
October 2, 2018
Mysterious rash
had ghosted over my countenance
like a red death mask;
a visual reaction
to hoped for fantasy
which once again eluded my grasp…
and failing to materialize,
it’s symptomatic augury
was forced to fade by the light of day.
Should this rosey warning
go unheeded…
will there be more permanent
bloodborne maladies?
A risk I must finally take
before I bleed away to nothing.
The truth is that my liquid courage
merely went to my head,
and being pigment free,
like an empty canvas,
I was stained in the spill of the fiery fluid.
Walking through flames
for the promise of heaven…
I was burned to a cinder
and left only ashes.
Written by Jason Wright
October 2, 2018
Experiment #001 is blonde,
purely fictional,
musical
and a deeply hungry bottom.
Nothing wrong with that.
He has broken no laws
and this investigator finds that
he has shattered no expectations;
we have a pretty low bar here.
He arrives promptly
for down low dirty sort of movie watching,
needing and twitching
to satisfy carnal cravings
for satisfying chemical sex.
He inhales Jungle Juice
like it’s an oxygen tank,
allowing him to swim
through seas of endlessly
horny barebackers while never returning to
(and never delivering more than)
the shiny deceptive surface.
He forgets why he is there
and must be reminded
that he will not be taking
multiple cocks at once
during this session;
an apparent rarity for him: how quaint.
He says he feels sorry
for the “drunken dickless loser faggot”
and wishes for his inclusion…
be it from actual decency
or merely his endless thirst…
a question that is never truly answered.
His sorrow does not prevent him
from wolfing down various white substances,
although this investigator suspects
he may never return to the scene of this non-crime,
as even thusly fed,
he appeared to be suffering from withdrawal.
Recommendation:
Suspension of Experiment #001
until such time as he is recaptured. Until
such time as he rejoins the other experiments
we must find new test subjects.
Our mission is crucial
and must not be circumvented.
Written by Jason Wright
October 2, 2018
For Matt, with affection.