BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
Everyone is naked.
Everyone is nude.
Under cover.
Under clothing.
Under censorship’s
well-meaning-ever-
watchful eye…
Big Brother insists.
And so
everyone stares.
We all are complicit.
If only we shared
what’s mislabeled illicit.
We all need to care
and we must not dismiss it…
We enter this world
and are labeled explicit.
Written by Jason Wright
January 24, 2019
I try to conspire
to knock your socks off,
I lie to liars
to get our rocks off,
They think I’m not strong
but I’m really a freak,
I prey on the wrong
who savage the weak,
I ravage the monsters
within my deception,
They feed my hunger
for pain and erections.
Written by Jason Wright
January 23, 2019
Walking into the cold city darkness
in my not-unpleasant,
whiskey warm stumble
toward Claritin-D
and embryonic friendship
with stunning young man
who unknowingly rips me in half
with answers I don’t have
concerning my partner’s state of mind.
The truth is
there’s been almost no time
to enquire
in new scheduled madness…
but the truth has
never felt more like a lame excuse.
On the way back to gay sports bar,
after kindness in complimentary
never-ending hallway
with the book that apparently nobody wants or needs,
we again stumble into unknown territory
on another subject I feel I should better grasp
as it borders on both
experience and uncensored friendships
which have somehow (again)
left me lacking coherence or apparent depth
upon current recollection…
Yet I must question if these memories
are accurate or merely rambled here
for dramatic effect,
for an audience who demands that I write
but refuses to listen.
The real truth,
the more appropriately honest
fortune cookie wisdom
crunches open
beneath Poetry Table instructions
for impromptu musings…
When all I’m thinking about
are new people
weaving in and out of my experience
which dangle here in disarray
to be encompassed later
in organized impressions.
Written by Jason Wright
January 17, 2019
Running so late
I’ll be early next week.
Turn head and cough
not a choice now for weeks.
Turn volume up
but I still hear them speak.
Fuck off!
Relax!
No need to be weak.
The sound of the waves
are foolish and young.
The singer destroyed
by the songs they’ve not sung.
Enter domain
of the violently hung.
Directions to where?
Please don’t let them come!
Written by Jason Wright
January 17, 2019
In my dream
we were traveling in a car
though I can’t remember which
one of us was driving.
I was telling you that this rift
between us
was meaningless;
that the times we spent
in bed together
were unimportant now;
it was lovely and fun
but that’s all it was for me;
we needn’t be so distant
to prevent us from falling
into old patterns.
You told me that I was wrong and that
ALL of those times ((((MATTERED)))).
In a near whisper: “They mattered a lot.”
It didn’t hurt you that I was unaware,
but you were explaining that your wife
knew how much it mattered to you…
and this is why we seldom cross paths;
this is how the rift began.
And though the past did not hurt me,
it was clear that the past had slowly
poisoned our present.
And our seemingly casual lovemaking
had casualties that I had not been aware of.
Written by Jason Wright
December 15, 2018
For Patrick
The man dressed in androgynous white
looked like he couldn’t possibly be there,
but he was.
David Lynch Twin Peaks Mutherfucker…
The kind of thing
that Mollie sees
and my father describes
when he’s not on his meds.
No one else seemed to notice.
Perhaps he was a ghost
like that eerie bride and groom
wedding march through muddy springtime
cornfield of my youth.
Written By Jason Wright
December 13, 2018
I
Tumbling through my phone
I notice that Jamie Bloom
is still listed amongst my favorites
and I realize it’s been more than a year
since I’ve seen her.
The realization is somewhat jarring
but I choose to smile as I look back
on a year that was some kind of trial by fire;
August in one year, October the next.
“Do you have a worksheet?” I ask Anna,
who tells me that I’m six steps ahead of her,
just like Jamie used to do!
II
I jot these things down in my notebook
on October 9, 2018,
but when I transcribe them to this work,
it’s more than a month later
and when I search to spell her name correctly
I find video message
singing amongst sleeping cables
and smile for all those she’s likely to help
save themselves.
Written by Jason Wright
October 9 & November 29, 2018
For Jamie, obviously,
but also for my selves
and for Anna.
It was a tricky year
but we made it!
Sunny November
by gray clouds divided
Transport through city
in which she resided
Curtained car window
hides salt of New Jersey
Uncertain widow
denies fault of fury
As light traces leaves
between skin and desire
The recently grieved
believes she’s on fire.
Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018
Scott Weiland sings to me
in performance once dedicated
by Michigan Bryan
years before his building caught on fire
and Scott Weiland had died.
The Weiland ghost does not understand,
continuously encouraging me to
watch Lost in Space on his television,
which makes me smile
the saddest of sad smiles.
One charming copy
of a beautiful dead man’s soul
does not resurrect
all the beauty we have lost.
Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018
For Bryan Alfaro, who introduced me to
Scott Weiland’s “Barbarella” in a most appreciated fashion.
Beneath the great city
lies curious Underland,
Where the man on the train
takes up three seats
with unabashed manspread…
He’s not unattractive
if I squint
with his head between his knees
in relaxed, if awkward pose.
Why does my brain
always sexualize everything?
Oh. Right. I’m a dude.
Sometimes I forget.
In my sex starved brain
he’s a nameless bathhouse hookup:
“Lose the towel.”