I’m sitting right across from you when you tell me how much you want to hurt me, how much it will pleasure you to humiliate me, how much you want to take what is mine, use it for your own gain, and leave me to wander cluelessly, ashamed and defeated.
I’m sitting right across from you but what you don’t see is that I’m not the man you thought I was, and all your schemes were mine before they were yours.
You think he’s sitting right across from you but I’ve taken his place and the words that were meant for him; the words meant to conquer me and raise you up have given me the greatest satisfaction I can imagine.
I am afraid, but it is the fear of an entertainer about to take to the stage where my most impressive performance (which I’ve trained for my entire life) is about to begin at last.
You are a liar and a manipulator. You are hurtful and obscene. But I am something you could not see coming. And though you wish to hurt me I thank you from behind my disguise for you too have an integral role to play.
You, with the help of my co-conspirator, will push me beyond those boundaries I have never dared to traverse, even though the core of who I am has always ached to cross that line.
And in that gleaming treacherous climax where all masks lead to the truth, we will be transformed…
And you, in plotting my downfall, will bring me to my utter salvation.
A childhood nursery fantasy has become an obsession of late.
Everyday I become someone else that I love so that I can have some hope of witnessing what was once deemed impossible.
Love & trust make this elixir attainable but I’m driven completely by sex: a walking hardon.
Always a sexual creature…
Always willing and able to gladly explore any kink that struck my fancy…
Those demons were expunged upon arrival.
All but this impossibly complicated riddle of a contradiction.
This place is beyond anywhere I’ve ever willingly been.
This unexplored erotic nightmare of flesh is: urgent, vital, joyous at finally receiving my attention.
This dream cocaine has made me into a liar, an enthusiastic victim, a nearly celibate slut who yearns for desolation… a chance at reconnection with that hardly humiliated farm boy in those locker room communal showers.
As a child I held such unfulfilled desires but put them to bed (where I have now joined them).
By assuring him that everything is and always will be okay, I have traveled full circle – returning through time to bless his lust, circumvent shame, encourage exploration, and guiding him to disregard their influence; to tame the monsters that would otherwise haunt him until the day that he once again completed this paradox puzzle.
The New Order whispers into my ears of 22 year old hauntings in Jewish boarding houses, communal showers and a seemingly gay 1963 assassination.
Behind the whispers are Dominican conversations, New York realness, Subway tuna on flat bread and yogurt scooped in Harlem train station, only a few blocks from the famous Cotton Club.
Hypnotic androids devour the starving amidst a pride of dykes who clearly believe that orange really is the new black.
All American Boy croons as I make my mistake, as I make my escape, but I will return so save me my seat.
He was better looking in the flesh, with the same witty internet banter, yet fused with that vital magical glimmer; that liveliness in his eyes.
The supposed Blue Fairy, the one who actually had turquoise hair, had fashioned Pinocchio into a real boy for this blue fairy, despite the wood that grew between us.
I know what you’re thinking, but in spite of his need to come calling after sunset, he was definitively not a lost boy.
Boys that are found to be real grow up to be fathers of their own after all.
Pinocchio (respecting the Sabbath) and having suffered rejection by a prince (who turned out to be a frog), left Never Never Land after the cow jumped over the moon to visit Elphaba & Glinda in Rapunzel’s 6th floor condo, where handsomely dressed in the emperor’s new clothes he conspired with my wicked step-mother to turn me into the double stuffed gingerbread man.
2 Holy Father
My partner, deep inside of his name twin as fourth father repeatedly stabs deep inside of my joyously remembered childhood cunt.
This doesn’t seem possible; like a hazy wet dream brought unexpectedly into being; twisting the world into impossible shapes that couldn’t have happened before Aaron arrived at our door.
And while we writhe and wrestle into differing rock formations we fuck repeatedly in that wondrous configuration; that sexual transmogrification of inspiration, reemergence & renewal, a cycle of hunger, thirst, cravings satisfied and yet sparked aflame without end:
My lover pours himself into him, as he pours himself into me, and I pour myself over us all… and yet we do not come to conclusion.
And at the third movement of the third hour, this triumvirate charmed me to the spiritual power, wrought through my flesh twixt symbolic clocks: I survived crucified on their mystical cocks… And forgive me for rhyming for that moment still guides me… Third time’s the charm that I took them inside me.
Later, as time is running out, stranger friend injects me one last time as I curse.
The penetration is welcomed yet overwhelming with sensation, vision, pushing me deeper into myself – further beyond my walls where I can finally hear what my body has been telling me all along.
I grip my lover’s thighs, looking deep into those thoughtful blissed eyes, charged connection between us as man we just met stimulates my deepest secrets with the prick that we’ve both just worshiped.
As new father fucks deep into his unwanted son, with his polyisoprene covered billy club, my spirit seems to tear in two: two different Jasons for two different Aarons.
Seven positions. Like ballet. The Nutcracker: Sweet.
His thick, upturned cock hurts and heals me with it’s transformative power.
And in the aftermath, we whisper secrets in the dark… as we all fail to convince ourselves that we were not blessed, consecrated and purified.
Blasphemous? Maybe. But then the truth often is.
3 Prostrated
Today, during my prostate exam, Doctor said he was sorry as he inserted a single finger. I told him it was fine.
I wanted to say (but didn’t) that he could use more than one.
I didn’t say that his finger felt amazing but was only a shadow of what I’d felt earlier on Sunday morning.
The exam was brief and painless, but left me wet.
My doctor is a horrible tease.
The doc says everything’s great and that there’s no blood; no sign for worry; no cause for alarm.
I nearly ask him to try again but instead I give thanks while marveling that I remain both physically and spiritually intact.
Written by Jason Wright October 31, 2017
“Prostrated” was finished and released first, but the notes on the other entries were made at the same time and complete the cycle. These were begun in July and finished in October.
Hearing disappointment which matches THE SICKNESS INSIDE ME threatening to overtake me.
Breathe.
The train is already departing one six eight; perhaps this panic is for nothing?
Why do the only loud people in the car gravitate toward me?
Hungry. Terrified and hungry. Some things never change… but I can.
Relax. Breathe.
He cannot hurt me here. She is safe. And I will eat before long.
If the show has begun I will eat without fear and rest, knowing I’ve seen this particular show three times before, and I will be there for Aaron without compromising sanity or the denial of self.
If I make it there in time I will be collected and calm. I will take in this special show with no need of regret for I have controlled my fear and done my best to travel especially on the fucked up weekend transit.
Now relax. Breathe / Ground, and be the Jason that you want to be.
