BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
They struggle through spin,
repeatedly heated,
Spritely ghosting across the years
to inspire long after intentions are forsaken,
forgotten and buried.
The contradictions are too numerous to name
as each star burns to nothing
plummeting from the inverse sky
in a brilliant spark unseen
but heard in echoes of erotic aural bliss.
Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2018
Not all brothers need be the same
or enraptured by the mirror ball illumination
glittering on the skin of our shared origin story.
The aspects of dissimilar experiences
guide us to drastically different outcomes
as we are nourished (and sometimes poisoned)
by the same rainbow roots.
Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2018
When you walked in to Starbs
with my man on your arm
in your charmingly gay jeans,
I smiled
and I thought that this could be fun.
I ran into an old customer
who told me about his son’s tumbling class
as I watched you both ordering coffee,
with an easy,
relaxed manner,
that spoke volumes of what was to come.
Your sing song ramblings
were the essence of adorable
and you seemed younger
than your pictures,
while also managing to look completely different
from whatever angle
I spied you from.
We agreed on Buffy’s Gift
and disagreed on LGBT actors,
though not in the typical, angry, grating way,
which Aaron and I had just discussed
in relation to a similar friend,
who has already secretly been mentioned here.
We had matching board games
which we managed to win
before I took pain killer
when I expected no more games to be played.
This, aside from
the tongue fuck of a kiss
which was seemingly dared
and then shared without mercy.
Later, that other kiss on the kitchen counter,
and you were the ghost of Sean Mobley,
whispering across my skin
before we all retired to the place
I expected us not to go…
which in all fairness,
I had insisted on.
There were obstacles to overcome
but in a relaxingly hazy, lustful way,
or that’s how I experienced it at the time.
Your sexy ass,
which I yearned to devour,
was sadly out of service…
and my painkiller infused erection
was quickly down for the count,
yet your beautifully thick dick
and mouthwatering sack
were open for business.
I did fucking love your sex drenched cock,
stretching me open
after riding your face
like you were some kind of bucking bronco.
You were energetic,
switching positions,
still looking different from every angle,
painfully / pleasurably
thrusting deep inside me,
filling the rubber with an impressive load of cum.
You left soon after,
since you don’t like to cuddle,
and the two of you needed to be up early
the next morning.
You took Ian McKellen (as James Whale) with you
and we traded messages on this or that service
but I don’t hear your voice in those words.
In these random exchanges
it’s hard to tell what is real;
hard to tell if we’re going to see you again.
Perhaps you really were just a shadow of Sean,
come to sing me carols and wake me with a kiss.
But I’d like to talk to you again: face to face.
It’s not all about your dick;
it’s everything else too;
all those angles are views I’d like to explore.
My sentences sent to convey this seem awkward
and desperate, but that’s not how they’re meant.
Like I said, it’s hard to tell what is real
in the light of day;
hard to decipher if what we experienced
was the beginning of friendship
or merely the end of a short, yet satisfying game.
Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2018
For Joe
Patrick shakes his head;
dancing in place
as they come for him once again
in figment and thought,
in memory & dream.
He clacks away at obsidian keys
as he struggles
to spin pain into art,
flesh into word,
bravery into poems pressed together
in collective battle scars;
assorted victories and losses
on his way to documented catharsis.
Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2018
For Patrick Johnson
A cascade failure of memories
wiped away by drugs
struggles toward a surface stain
of calculated depth.
Flickering images
like tongues of flame
shimmer through a train car of strangers…
ignited and extinguished
in the same breath…
I feel their warm glow
long after they are nothing
but smoke and ash.
Cold rain sparkle
pricks me awake
as I stumble through the mist
into another dreaming space
of bright chill and a remembering of self.
Memories are dreams
of a time that no longer exists.
We were all dead years ago
and my struggling ghost
is nothing so rare or sacred
as that fumbling child faggot
who plateaued
in the momentary recognition
of shared desire.
Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2018
In July he’s beautiful…
beyond what I’d known,
beckoning behind me,
breathlessly below me,
and he’s blatantly blessed my insides;
benevolently and becomingly.
Less than 2 weeks ago and he was harrowing…
having hazed our harmonation
when he hollered he’d rather have
HIV than herpes simplex.
The lilting listing of letters STOPS
as I’m overwhelmed to trembling
at hearing the sentence uttered within my lifetime,
let alone with such a haunting sense of longing.
Human Immunodeficiency Virus.
I want to scream. Want to shake him.
Want to slap him for such a blasphemous confession.
But I hold him close as I shiver
and he whispers about pills and stigma,
outbreaks and misconceptions,
the men (plural) who’ve rejected him,
and the men (plural) who’ve accepted him
since his November 2017 infection.
His illness merely scares me but
his promiscuity terrifies me;
I am nothing if not a child of the AIDS pandemic.
He was amazing when he was inside of me back in July.
I even dreamed of a life spent together. The three of us, I mean.
But he wanted someone all his own
and so he never stopped looking:
in Seattle, Canada, Hawaii or New York City.
He tells me that he was in my place years before
and our symmetry stuns me all the more.
I pull him on top of me,
my legs wrapped around him,
as I whisper in his ear about our blissful summer night
and how I thought I’d scared him away
with my longing for a life together.
He silences my tears with his own silent weeping;
his voice shattering into a broken child’s quivering
as he tells me that I’m not to blame;
that it was he who frightened himself away.
Fear defines his every action;
tinges the edges of every decision…
I hear it in his voice and I know that he speaks the truth.
There is no pre-exposure prophylaxis to be taken for this unease.
He leaves us,
naming us blameless
and yet there is blood on my hands…
For although we remain in the land of the uninfected,
none of us could ever be classified as clean.
Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2018
Photograph style
is nearly eclipsed
Epitaph smile:
the curve of his lips…
Warpaint & love:
perfection misshapen.
The feint hint of blood
or am I mistaken?
The light in his eyes:
are they tears or illusion?
Can’t quite surmise
yet I’m steered by confusion…
It’s clear that his visage
is something inspired…
It’s clear that this image
is someone desired…
The paradox here
is not worth denying…
Men can be beautiful
while they are crying.
Written by Jason Wright
January 31, 2018
We fought kamikaze
yet thoughts were systemic.
You joined us for coffee
and brought a pandemic.
We strayed and collapsed
as we choked about freedom.
We played and we laughed
and we spoke about geekdom.
You talked very quickly
as if we were racing.
Half-cocked and pretty;
massive and bracing.
You stood there indifferent
as your past untangled
and looked very different
whatever the angle.
A hundred perversions
as opening move.
I wondered which version
would prove to be true?
Peculiar blue collar
on rough side of mirth?
A junior to Potter
on scruff of the Earth?
Your favorite Doctor?
That doesn’t seem odd.
But were you a monster
or were you a god?
Were you a waiter
with musical talk?
A sly masturbator
with beautiful cock?
Pardon, the writer
is famously slow.
Hard to decipher
the faces of Joe.
Written by Jason Wright
January 30, 2018
For Joe
The monsters
which stand between me
and true understanding
in this world of my own making;
unintentional as they may be
they must still die to set me free.
My mind and body
are split into fragments
which collectively form
the state of my being.
The Man I am proud I am becoming,
(I’ve worked very hard to become that man),
is excited and happy
that someone he loves
will have this opportunity
to explore and experience
that divine feeling of mutual lust
and reciprocal desire,
because I know
that he’s beautiful beyond reason,
beyond any other lover
that I have ever known.
I want him to know this.
I want him to embrace this
and to accept who he truly is.
I want him to know
and feel joy
and accomplishment.
I want him to achieve self-actualization.
A less developed part of me worries
that if he knows how much he is wanted
he may choose to leave me
for multiple partners.
But then again,
why would he do such a thing
when he already has someone
that allows him the embraces of others?
And if he can so easily be seduced from my side
is it worth denying him such knowledge?
I love him and could never hurt him in this way.
My inner child is small and hard
and terrified of what’s to come;
so excited that he may shit his pants,
wet himself, embarrass Daddy
with his hungry child erection,
which comes and goes repeatedly
based on levels of excitement and fear.
These images are too base
and too powerful to be ignored.
The man that I was before,
only years ago now,
is fearful of mistakes repeating themselves;
liars and cheaters and assholes
who could not give me
the attention that I needed
as they abandoned me
to explore all that I secretly desired.
But this time
it’s not a secret.
My Daddy knows
my shame and my lust.
Daddy knows what
hungers make me hard;
what makes my legs wobble
and my knees shake.
Daddy knows that
I call out for him
when I’m alone and stroking
on the edge of understanding,
on the brink of destruction
and the verge of orgasm.
Daddy knows how small I am,
how much Daddy’s cock
overshadows my tiny boyhood penis.
Daddy punishes me;
his words whispered lustfully
into my hungry bottom’s ears;
spanking me with diapers,
fucking my mind and my asshole;
bringing all that I am to the light
that I might solidify
and individuate
from all that has come before now.
Daddy knows that
I crave his calculatedly insincere cruelty
to make me cum;
to take me deeply into lustful spaces
beyond which I’ve yet dared to explore…
Impossible places that I
cannot reach without his loving embrace
of seemingly vicious incantations
which (spoken lovingly)
brutally summon the fragments within me;
bringing me to coalescence in this savage intensity,
this immensity of emotion and sensation
which I want / need to explore
in the paradoxically identical agency
from which his own exploritive needs are encountered;
that wellspring beneath his sense
of sensual worth and attraction
which unites us
in mutual self sexual exploration.
We’re two sides it would seem
of the same themed wet dream
that has haunted forever
and needs to be conquered.
Two shades of wanting
of the same kind of haunting
that has taunted forever:
we must slay our monsters.
And in the aftermath of our battles
be they excessive or successful failures
I know that I can hold him and tell him he is loved;
the way Daddy has told me that I am loved
after he punishes me
with unrestricted access to his most insightful lessons.
There are other, lesser fears of disease (given our precautions)
but they cannot prevent me from finding my truth
in the search for his own.
I love you. I love this.
I love that we can hold one another
as we walk through the terrifying war zones of our youth.
You are not alone.
I am not alone.
We are always together.
And I will love you forever.
Written by Jason Wright
January 18, 2018
She burns away
her youth still blurred
igniting hurtful magic.
She turns away
from truth misheard
as writing burns to ashes.
Remembers purple priestess
walking inward
from the sea.
Decembers hurtful penis
stalking injured
cum unseen.
When emerald Mother
Earth and Goddess
aided world in kind.
Then speckled other
birth and godless
sated world sublime.
Discerning through unease
the icey plateau
reaches steps.
Returning to the seas
concise with shadow
neath the depths.
She takes more treasures
lonely as she wades
through ways astray.
She mates for pleasure
only as she fades
away to grey.
Written by Jason Wright
January 18, 2018