Tag: 2015

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Fragments of Magic

“There were angels dancing at the Ritz”
on Devils Night I’m sure…

We spoke of church and God and pricks;
We’ve not been shy or pure.

We spoke of all our wicked tricks,
and mine outnumbered others.

We walked as wraiths
on River Styx
unencumbered by our lovers.

Your poison:
blend of gin and tonic;
mine you paid the price…

We drank it deep,
October Brew
was whiskey (fruit and spice).

Men from Barcelona laughed
as speeds of words were changed.

The ghosts we summoned from the past
to find ourselves explained.

———————

And still buzzing and eager
with all I hadn’t guessed,
brimming with the innocent malice
of covetousness,
blushing and bursting
at our sacred sabbat of salacity,
Ripe with long delayed spells
of audacity,

while finally finding my way
and understanding this puzzle piece
of this beautifully haunted city…
Cocooned in the simple joys
of communication, connection, lust and friendship…

with our ravenous unending thirst deceptively sated,
we headed down the yearning road
together.

(a whispered incantation “for curing hungry lovers”),

I don’t really know if you realize
how much I wanted to kiss you.

You sitting across from me
with that sexy half smile…

You,
asking if you could touch it?

If I’d been single
I’m sure I’d have kissed you then,
which in the moment
was brilliantly confusing.

I had to look away.
I couldn’t even look at you.
But I couldn’t stop smiling either.

That I managed to not kiss you
while glowing brightly
on Southern Comfort
and admitted appetite,
with the words you still refused to say…
well, apparently I have more self control
than I ever dared dream.

Perhaps you do too.

I freely admit this golden moment of desire
was a guilty craving pleasure come morning;
a cherished transgression
for which I’ll always be grateful.

You walked me to my train;
a perfect gentleman.

What a mystical happenstance
is this friendship that’s found us.

Thank you for your honesty
and your restraint.

Thank you for your confession
and your company.

And thanks for making the fantasy into flesh,
while keeping the flesh a complete mystery…

That’s a much more impressive trick
than any of mine.

Written by Jason Wright
November 5, 2015

For Christopher Tefft

With Christopher Tefft. October 30, 2015.
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OUR CONVERSATION

She thanks me
for something insightful
that I said to her on Saturday,
and I know that we’re sparking
off of each other.
It’s mutual.
It’s not one sided
or selfish.

“Tell me you,” she says,
and I like that she skipped the word “about”.

“What do you want to know? I’m an open book.”
I tell her.

“What do you love?”,
She asks me this when most people ask: “What do you do?”

I’m surprised and without having to think I tell her what I know:

“I love Aaron.”

I say this
because that’s the truth,
but it’s not the whole truth;
it saves me from thinking
about how closed off I am…
But the way we speak
it’s impossible to leave it at that
and the question lingers.

“Why do you love Aaron?”

I tell her about what I was when I met Aaron,
which is also true, but not the whole truth,
and then we’re out of time.

On the train I’m compelled to answer again;
to answer more completely.

What do you love?

Joy. Creation. Inspiration. Poetry. Sex. Love. Honesty. Connection. Conversation. Meditation. Self discovery. Therapy. Listening. Communication. The freedom that comes with sharing one’s pain. Being heard and acknowledged.

These answers are wholly true,
yet I can understand how I could respond
by naming Aaron,
because he successfully relates to all of these things,
and that’s why I truly love him.

Also,
with Aaron,
with the people I meet
and surround myself with,
I have this sense of breathing rarefied air.
It’s not just that they are successful…
It’s that they’re creative,
and creation inspires me in every aspect of my life.
That’s something I love that’s never been articulated.

The words flow out of me
and I know they are the right answer
to the question that surprised me.

I turn it around in my brain.

What do you fear?

Deception. Broken trust. Violence. Illness. Inaction. Failing. Missing something. Things I don’t understand or comprehend. Confusion. Weakness.

While writing this I’m attacked
on the Northbound A Train.

I’m nudged, hit,
my headphones are ripped off my head
and some guy calls me a “Fucking queen.”

I laugh at this though he hurt me.
I continue to type.
I’m filled with emotion and my hands are shaking
but if I stop I’m going to lose it:

Shock. Heartbeat. Spark. Eat? Jason or jason? Attack. Why the relation? “Fucking Queen.” Sorry, but not sorry. Not insulted.

The man gets off the train at 145 and part of me is in shock from the attack but I’m distracted by what I wrote:

Violence followed by thoughts of food.
Was that me?
Or was that the part of me
that remembers
the perpetually recurring loss of my innocence?
What does that mean?
I need to talk about this in therapy.

I was so afraid in those few minutes on the train.
I didn’t know what to do
but I think my laughter
may have saved me.

Laughter can do that.

I’m not sure if it’s better or worse
that what I wrote scared me far more
than the man who wanted to hurt me.

An unspoken question:
What do you want?

Clarity. Continuity. Understanding. Safety. Assurance. Support. Guidance. Answers. More questions. More time with Aaron. More time with friends.

And more conversations
like the ones that inspired this.

Written by Jason Wright
JULY 9, 2015

for Alexandra Silber

  • Note: I suspect the punctuation in this is all wrong, but I’ve kept it to myself long enough.

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Mystery of Tina

The first time I saw you was at a wedding
and you were stunning.

Not just beautful.
Not just good looking
and not only pretty.
Stunning.

Like meeting a movie star.
A movie star married to one of your favorite cousins.
A movie star married into your favorite branch of your family tree.
A movie star who wasn’t just amazing to look at,
but who smiled and spoke to me
in ways no previous “cousin-in-law” had done up to that point.

You were interesting, down to earth, surprising,
and only speaking to you for a few minutes I sensed a great depth.

Over the years we really haven’t spent much time together
but almost every time we speak there’s some new glimmer
of what sparkles within you, just underneath the surface.

A darkness and a mystery, a gleaming otherness;
seemingly fragile, but that’s likely an inaccurate perception.

Perhaps it’s despair or courage?
Perhaps it’s pain or a haunting melody that only you can hear?
Perhaps it’s all of these things or none of them,
but it is there,
whatever it is,
behind your eyes,
and whatever questions are answered
and asked behind the masks
that you appear to wear…

Those mysteries make you approachable, magical and breathtaking.

Christopher chose well.

Written by Jason Wright
June 4, 2015

For Tina White,
because she requested it.

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Northbound (NSFW)

On the one train in Manhattan a song,
a lyric makes me think of San Francisco.

I’m shaving in Paul’s bathroom
while man I met at Radical Fairy drag party is watching me.

I’m nervous.
He’s so beautiful
and several years older than me;
he’s 30 & I’m 26.

It seemed like a lot then.
Maybe because the last guy I loved
was 9 years younger than him;
they had the same name.

I cut myself as I often did back then.
A tear of blood dripping down my face
and before I can react
blonde ken doll man moves in
and purposefully licks me clean.
Sacrament.

I remember wondering if he was crazy.
Blood. San Francisco.
I want to throw him against the wall
so I can penetrate him and understand.
Is there pain in his eyes or lust?
Possibly both.

I don’t remember what happened next
but the next song is beginning
and I imagine kissing him,
shaking him…

“Are you crazy?”
“Do you want to die?”

A side thought where I’m less sympathetic
and I give him the degradation I imagine him craving.
Strip. Kneel. Baptism in piss and cum.
Fucking him mercilessly.

The thought passes and I wonder at his state of mind.

He was newly out then and haunted by his past;
“But I’m a Cheerleader” was the wrong movie to watch;
it filled him with memories that made him sad.
I think he was reading “The Vampire Armand”;
I was reading “Merrick”.
His parent was seemingly gravely ill.
They called during our first sexual encounter
to request his presence at the hospital.
He talked them out of it.
I tried to talk him into it,
but instead he said “Damn” while I bit his nipple.
I remember telling him that his asshole tasted amazing
and then him asking if there were any that didn’t…
and I wonder if he ever found out?
A taste test with naked men all standing in a row.

He fucked me in that livingroom.
It was days later.
After he’d taken me to a leather bar and spoke of dangerous sex,
but nothing about the boyfriend he’d confess to later.
Devastating at the time.
I wanted to be his.
Just a crazy dream I guess.
Lies and dreams and strange encounters that I still cherish.

We’re friends on Facebook.
I don’t think of him often
and I’ve not seen him in person in over 14 years.

I’m 40 now and I’ve been fucked at least 6 times in the last week.
My partner is curious about why I’m so frenzied of late and I honestly don’t know;
I’m sure it’s nothing to do with this…
but past sexual encounters fill my thoughts of late.
This is but the latest example.

Walking from the train I ran up to my place to write this down.
I don’t know why.
It seems less important now.
I need to get groceries.

Written by Jason Wright
January 8, 2015

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