BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
She was conducive to dying.
She died on a train.
She drove trains
and they killed her.
That was how it should be.
She chose the train.
She chose.
There were several options
but she kept her council
until the hunger was deep
and the time was right.
She felt no pain
and said no goodbyes.
And I have no memory of her
nor the meaning of any single word of this.
Written by Jason Wright
April 10, 2019
Ten years ago
I slept with the devil.
Ten years ago…
not that it’s special.
Ten years ago
and my God was a prince.
Ten years ago
and so hard to convince.
Because I was a fool
and was falling apart.
He was decadent cool;
addicted to dark.
Things left in darkness
beyond my discernment.
Things left him heartless
before our adjournment.
Bereft of his heart
mine own did desert me.
Bereft of the darkness
he could not still hurt me.
Except to destroy himself
by his own actions.
Expect he’ll deploy himself
through his transactions.
Kept in the shadows
with seldom a light…
I wept in exposure
that held him in spite
of all that he’d done
and what he’d become:
We give love forever
but will accept none.
Written by Jason Wright
April 1, 2019
For Michael
Waking in slumber
I drift outside to carnival
located in field between
my grandfather’s destroyed garage
and my great-uncle’s abandoned home.
Excited, I turn and run (naked)
to inform my sister.
The fairground sideshow thrill rides
represent the lake park
visited by John Calvin Culver
in his New York State childhood.
The hot sand beneath my feet
is like Fire Island beach
that would make Casey Donovan famous
before I was born…
and deny him the legitimate work he craved
before dying of AIDS
two days before my thirteenth birthday.
44 years old and I’m older now than he ever was,
having died in Florida at the age of 43,
days after flying from New York City home –
a home that, ironically, I now haunt.
42nd Street is a different shade of sleaze these days;
the tourist trap theme park crowd mills daily through
that tired old bitch under a new coat of sparkle.
The bramble still exists….
although I’ve never stumbled through it.
I seek out new places to get lost
only to learn that there are no new places…
everywhere I go there are ghosts of films,
of novels, of family living here long before me
and having left long before I arrived.
Almost 20 years ago I moved
to Longshore Drive and Wright Street,
thinking it new and odd,
only to learn that my father,
David Wright had lived in the same location,
and that the cemetery up the road
cradled the remains of his father before him.
It’s like that now, here in the city
and here in my dreams
which are filled with the dead
in a world long buried.
Written by Jason Wright
March 31, 2019
A part of each other
that makes us both sad…
It’s hard to get over
what we never had…
Our love was requited
but we were a mess…
Inside recited
what made us obsessed:
The tint in those skies.
The feel of the wind.
The glint in your eyes.
The scent of your skin.
The kiss that meant nothing
until we were gone.
The kiss that meant something
because we were wrong.
The kiss was abandoned
unknown in the splendor…
The kiss never happened
although we remember.
Written by Jason Wright
March 26, 2019
Scrapped with your script
as the prankster descends,
Trapped with your shit
and your gangsterly friends,
Who all know the queer in
reckless abandon,
Who all disappear in
strangest of fashion,
Transactions
implicit
are
trans-normative of
passions
eliciting
transformative love.
Written by Jason Wright
March 21, 2019
Erotic cliché
is sleazy and brainless.
But “Gothic & Gaye”
is easy and painless.
A quaint porno cover
from could-have-been youth,
A saint and a lover
with shades of the truth,
The words were a code
and swiftly a treasure…
The words once bestowed
were simply a pleasure.
Written by Jason Wright
March 21, 2019
My ears – they are bleeding;
my mind is asleep.
My thoughts run in circles;
I try not to weep —
Can’t eat
though I’m hungry –
Can’t think
of retreat –
Sound of life:
sickening –
The clock keeps on
ticking –
No soul to keep
and no pills to take.
The clock
keeps on threatening –
The clock –
it is deafening –
And if I could sleep
it would be time to wake.
Written by Jason Wright
March 17, 2019
Ian music is song of drug addiction
ascribed to crazy haired Cure fan
who raved about Mood Swings
near Autumn, in the magic of her
midnight gallery opening
I would never witness in the light
of 90’s Ann Arbor Michigan day.
I met him 3 times
before Pizza House friend
cursed his life
and sent him to his smack filled
heroin infused ever after…
But I never knew “the asshole”;
I only remember his kiss…
Paul’s longing description…
Carrie’s guiltless confession…
and Dorian’s unexpected words
which brought all these memorial ingredients
into focus and allowed me finally to mourn –
listening to Numbness on NYC downtown train to The Prom –
no tears –
but a sad smile
and a kiss goodbye
in the same deep water as you.
Written by Jason Wright
March 1, 2019
The rules were laid clear
before you splayed me bare…
The tools of trade queer
now flayed by despair…
But the truth is I want this
despite contradiction.
I want what I want
despite crucifiction.
I want you to take him;
betrayal provokes me.
The lies in your eyes
between thighs
start to stroke me.
I’m hurt and I thirst
for our innocence lost…
But my lust says to trust you
no matter the cost.
Vlad leads me on
and tells me to trust him.
Daddy come on!
I want you to thrust him!
I want you to prove yourself
more than a pseudonym…
Want you to lose yourself
deep down inside of him!
I’m nothing, remember?
I’m tiny and useless.
Nothing is better
and trying is fruitless.
Be cruel to the child
who wants you to scold him.
Remember I’m wild
until you will hold him.
Remember I love you.
Remember the game.
Remember the truth
and our lies are the same.
Remember that you
are both sexy and wanted.
Remember the truth:
I’m a ghost to be haunted.
Remember you need this.
Remember I care.
Remember beneath this
I’m needing to share.
Remember as night ends
that demons controlled me.
Remember that I will then
need you to hold me.
Written by Jason Wright
February 27, 2019
The whore
used to make friends
by sleeping with them,
and though his behavior
has changed overtime,
the impulse
has stayed with him.
The young blond angel
asks this attention seeking whore
if he had to work for his blistering wit
or if it’s simply the product of his
inbred white-trash genetics?
“I got it from my sister.” I reply,
which doesn’t necessarily answer the angel’s question.
I enjoy the way he sounds as he asks me
and I struggle not to sexualize him
(with some limited success),
though I inevitably sexualize everything,
don’t I?
He seems both exceptionally strong
and remarkably fragile,
but I find this contrast
charming and disarming,
and find myself feeling protective,
encouraging,
and blessed every time
the angel’s eyes meet mine.
I know I’ll struggle with sharing this
with him.
Will my honesty
damn a budding friendship?
It wouldn’t be the first time.
And if that’s a possibility
should I now bite my tongue
for fear of hurting us
and by extension,
my lover and partner in all things?
I’m probably overthinking this.
This is stupid.
I know that Aaron will not be bothered,
and I’m keenly aware
that my lust is just an ever present companion,
an innocent natural type of
curious exploration and
my invisible personal passageway
to kinship.
Everyone knows such consummation is unlikely at best;
a friendship perverted by unholy unions
might make for provocative fantasy but let’s get real:
One seldom encounters angels
in the gutters of my mind.
Written by Jason Wright
February 27, 2019
For Liam