BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
On the Monday train
Sunday’s tear stained aftermath
is muted, faded watercolor sketch
of last night’s confusion and misery –
with photo slides behind closed eyes
of family’s autumn life celebration,
Daniel’s text exchanges,
Brandon Lee Gameboy photo,
unseen moron homophobe hell discussion…
And Aaron’s weeping exhaustion
which left me reeling in confusion,
doubt, anger & regret.
Written by Jason Wright
October 21, 2019
Returning to trains
and to thoughts left behind;
enduring these pains
as existence rewinds
with smiles anew
for the lust and the yearning
that keeps me alive…
that keeps me returning
with Aaron a GO
and possibly Michael –
I’m questioning content
of sodomy cycle:
“This one is solid!”
while “This one is pointless!”,
“This one is squalid…”
Til one is appointed
worthy of probing
for one of my station:
a worthy disrobing
for self-excavation;
worthy of one’s progression
through sex;
worthy of love
through expression of flesh.
Written by Jason Wright
September 12, 2019
Five years ago this month
I had wept.
Not good enough
or not good enough yet.
And three years ago
it happened again.
He didn’t love me;
only a friend.
And now once again
or still not, I’m fraught.
I thought that I was
but it turns out I’m not.
Written by Jason Wright
August 15, 2019
He wandered into my life
on the arm of my lover,
set up shop for the night,
& “borrowed” my property.
Most of that night was a game
and honestly, a blur…
but the kiss in the kitchen was real
and brought everything into focus,
if not into the light.
This night’s passion wasn’t meant for me,
so the unexpected connection
was many conflicting things:
Excitement. Exhilaration. Shame. Damnation.
None of which I was prepared for.
He ate my ass like a pro.
His cock was delicious,
in my mouth and then deeper inside me.
He ravaged me while my lover looked on
and I loved it but I felt somewhat guilty,
which I may have loved even more…
or perhaps my guilt prevented me
from enjoying it completely?
It must seem strange
that I cannot honestly tell the difference.
But certain key details of lust are maddeningly lost on me.
There are certainly hints and subtle gestures;
implications and libidinous clues,
suggestions of an elusive contradictory nature…
pieces of a puzzle I wish only to solve
so that I might grasp the meaning
held within a finished and rapturious whole…
and yet I’m somehow trapped
within this self same labyrinth of intimations
which feeds the fire while slaking my thirst,
yet leaves me hungry just the same.
There was a danger there; a gamble…
I was risking something sacred
for the sake of something perverse,
if only symbolically.
He hit all the right spots,
but in a configuration hitherto unknown to me.
My deepest desires were completely inverted
during this encounter
and all the conversations that followed.
This isn’t my lover’s fantasy.
It’s not even mine.
It’s some mirror perverted version
and yet at the root of it all…
it is completely the same for me,
which confuses
even as it thrills.
In my mind
I am smaller than I appear,
and he ravages my lover
in depths that I cannot reach,
and I am finished far too soon,
before I’m undressed,
which has never happened
(and never will happen)
because that is not who I am.
“Yeah? You need my load again?”
“My cock hits places his doesn’t?”
“You craving it, boy?”
“You craving it?”
My fantasies are mine
and not my lover’s,
and though this man
says the words that I long to hear
he is saying them into the wrong ears,
because he cannot know
that what he has seen
and what he has interpreted as desire,
is actually reality’s cruel deception.
A trick of fate that pollutes my existence,
a caustic jocularity with an outlandish punchline
that I have endured and sought to diminish
through fantasy and honest communication;
and yet it remains a vicious mockery of all that I wish I could be –
a killing joke which has unknowingly to some,
made fools and victims of us all.
Written by Jason Wright
July 25, 2019
For A.J.
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
The fools set out to screw;
begetting shrugs
they crawl to lust.
The rules set out were few
and yet on drugs
they fall to dust.
By midnight conversation
linguist dick ensconced
ashamed.
Backbite cuck castration
masochistic angst
inflamed.
Muted by the terror;
aching spasms with aplomb!
Wounded by the error:
taking Adam to The Prom.
Written by Jason Wright
February 27, 2019
All of your life
I was waiting
beneath the surface
where we could not see one another
through that reflective prismatic
membrane…
down beneath waves
in an ocean of time.
Our meeting
was not the frothy crash
one might expect between
two long separate bodies;
more a subtle swallowing
of pride,
an exceptional chance encounter between worlds,
between men,
emptied and refilled and accepted –
we drank each other down.
you are my sustenance
you have long nourished my soul
in a calming deluge of possibility,
a commingling of creation and interpretation –
your intoxicating mixture of unspeakable talent
with benevolent decency,
such rare treasure
is my honor and privilege to behold
and to bathe in,
to witness all that lies beneath
all that others seldom see.
How could anyone observe such strength
and such frailty,
such passion –
Who could spy such longing
and not find themselves quickened?
Such stimulation
can rob mortal men of decisional capacity.
I had no choice but to love you, you see…
And yet I find that
I decided all the same.
I chose to embrace the experience of you,
to appreciate it for what it was
and what you were,
I opted to be vulnerable and to be strong,
and then finally I agreed to follow
that untrodden path wherever it might lead.
You are the decision that has changed my life forever.
You are the choice that I made
that I have never regretted.
Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2019
For Aaron
You were lost in the dark
and I sounded absurd.
Exhausted remarks
left you feeling unheard.
I swear that I heard you
and I feel regret.
I’m aware I deferred you
and caused our upset.
My only defense
is a timeless cliché.
My lonely pretense
is a rhymeless betrayal
of love and of care but
was truly attraction:
Thought overwhelmed
by the prime crime of passion.
Written by Jason Wright
November 29, 2018
For Aaron
Before it began, something was wrong
and we didn’t (couldn’t?) see it.
I wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t feeling it.
This possible malignancy…
This possibly unexplored unreal territory,
This possibly unexposed notional strife…
was like a DANGER sign that was somehow misread as
STILL SLIPPERY WHEN WET –
an honest, if possibly fatal mistake.
It’s difficult to differentiate
where I end and he begins,
between what is wrong with us
and what is wrong with me…
but perhaps the two are not the same;
perhaps we two are not as one.
Months ago…
(I really should have kept track)
in the moments before usual masturbatory apex,
unreconciled paste spills upon perplexed fingers
absent blissful climax rush;
the poorly mixed paint
lubricates and froths,
gushing forward some 30 guesstimated seconds
before still stroking right hand
leads me to delayed
yet not unpleasant orgasmic sensations.
What the fuck had just happened?
I still don’t know for sure….
But when it didn’t happen again
I imagined it a fluke…
until it wasn’t.
I told him and he later experienced it fourth hand.
28 days x 6 months, minus whatever it is to make it 160
is my guess for how many times I’ve ejaculated since the beginning.
Five aberrant orgasms
with no discernable pattern…
but I speak to urology office shortly
before the sixth occurrence.
That was a few hours ago.
In the shower,
as I washed away all evidence
of any malady,
I imagined him leaving me
after his retreat
and choosing to keep my
completely imagined cancer diagnosis from him
so as not to blackmail him,
so as not to keep him tethered to me
against his will out of shame or pity,
or some maligned commingling of the two.
I’ve not been diagnosed with anything,
but it’s the dream image
that is the first moment in which I feel actual fear
in regard to my (or our possibly) undiagnosed condition.
It is in that first moment of fear
that I imagine him leaving me,
emotionally as well as physically,
in which I am finally able to see us
as two separate beings;
the division of cells,
the division of selves,
until all are finally set free.
Written by Jason Wright
November 20, 2018
For Aaron
and for Little Jason