BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
My lover stands
in Budapest
while I’m training
beneath the ground.
He speaks to me in ecstasies;
all the rage without a sound.
Madonna sings
Ilyssa speaks
Once again the girl is drowned.
Enough of talk
It’s time to walk
What was lost may yet be found.
Written by Jason Wright
June 21, 2017
I attempt to document
the immorality of Xanax
but the only evidence is a kooky fortune teller
who reads my chai tea leaves
and tells me I’m wasting my time.
I agree.
I think of him in California
on some app
naked and hunting
for affirmation of his desirability –
giving his attractiveness a score
equal to the number of dick pics he receives.
Will he thank them with blowjobs?
I don’t think he would cheat
but of course I never expect him to lie.
And why carry naked pictures
on a mobile device
if you don’t intend to share them?
I’ve seen things that I shouldn’t…
or should I have?
My inner I
is cloudy / wounded / bloody.
The red tears fall
and lubricate my way to the future.
Written by Jason Wright
May 25, 2017
My asshole is liberal
and apparently terrifying.
In Chechnya, gay men like me are tortured
while I’m riding a bicycle for the first time in nine years.
I’m racing downtown
along the Hudson River….
just like Michigan childhood,
yet decidedly different,
feeling simultaneously young and very old;
muscles aching, blood pumping.
I have to eat soon and all of this must end.
Coffee in Lincoln Square? Lincoln Center? Lincoln somewhere.
Mingling with opera singers; this is my life now.
This, while those in Mother Russia
who survived the purge of A.I.D.S. have been incarcerated
by an astonishing ignorance,
in a war they can not hope to win.
We are not wayward heterosexuals.
We are born; not converted.
And it is those that hate and fear us so much
who are responsible for our creation.
The only FAGGOTS I’ve ever met were
conservative terrifying assholes.
Conservative or Liberal…
at least our assholes seem to match.
*with all due respect to Arthur Rimbaud.
Written by Jason Wright
April 11, 2017
Showering after sex
my mind is overcome
by thoughts, sensations, memories.
“Call Me by Your Name”
has reminded me of Rob –
the way he made a pass at me
when I was 17 –
the way I reacted
and the way I’ve often wished
I could change that moment –
erase it, rewrite it,
never experience that level of self loathing
born of inexperience…
that impression of what I lack.
Still…
kissing at church has to count for something.
My conversation with young relative returns;
how I tried to calm his fears
on Trump and AIDS and love and sex.
It only takes one time, you know?
A boy I knew who worked on Fire Island
died of an “infection” a few weeks ago –
life support turned off –
INFECTION
FIRE ISLAND
GAY
DEATH
The words that silently scream at me what I believe to be the cause
while everyone politely refuses to mention what has happened…
And the band continues to play on.
Men I’ve been inside of,
Men who’ve been inside of me
are positive.
Best friends,
Loved ones,
Infected but seldom mentioned
because an illness
is easily
the least interesting thing about them.
I think of Aaron and the tears he shed
and the words he said
and the progress he confirmed…
the wonderful weekends we’ve had.
I think about upcoming hearing while
trying not to face it with terror or worry
while the video they’re supposed to send me
has never arrived (three times).
But the shower must end
and scalding hot water must cease it’s spray.
And so I dry myself –
step back into the world
and I forget.
Written by Jason Wright
February 27, 2017
The name means nothing;
I’ve no idea why it was chosen
or what it’s intended symbolism could be.
I tell myself
I’ve made peace with “Rnsrk”;
I feel for him and his struggles.
All of that is true,
but when I see those letters,
that face
returning from across the planet
to lunge back
into my world
I shudder.
I’m making too much of this.
I don’t want them to read this.
I don’t want them to know
how much this still hurts me,
even after almost seven months.
“Fuck.”, I curse,
which immediately makes me smile.
Fucking “Rnsrk”
is what got us into this mess in the first place.
Written by Jason Wright
January 14, 2017
For A & Z – who I won’t share this with.
The Christmas tree is
the heart of the season,
and when I was a child
it filled me with reason,
to hope and to play
those holiday games;
sledding down hills
and chasing toy trains…
But at night I would creep
with my family asleep,
out to the tree
and I’d wish on that star…
And I never knew,
that my wish would come true,
but I knew when I met your son
outside that bar…
And then I met you
and I couldn’t have known,
the way that you’d change me
with the love that you’ve shown,
and I give you this symbol
of the gifts that you’ve given,
with it’s sweet Christmas spirit
and it’s packages hidden
by the wrappings you love,
that bright coded vestige,
But let me explain this
Christmas themed message.
Red is for love…
Blue means forever…
Green and Gold
for our times spent together,
With a star overhead
to show us the way,
and to always remind you
come each Christmas day,
of the lives that you’ve changed
with gifts that are tasteful,
the time that you give
which has never been wasteful,
the presents you share
while remaining so graceful…
May this Christmas gift
serve to show you I’m grateful,
for all that you’ve done
and all that you do…
And may all of your wishes
wished upon it
come true.
Written by Jason Wright
December 24, 2016
with much love: Merry Christmas Mary Ellen!
The pained expression
as he wrapped his arms
around his head,
as if to hide
from the words he knew he must say;
the risk he must take.
The tears that fell
from his beautiful eyes
as he confessed
that the heart of us had been lost.
The strength that I
had never possessed in the past,
unfamiliar as it surged to the fore…
Was it possible
that I had built a temple
out of my shattered childhood
only to have him ripped away from me?
The way we barely breathed
as we collapsed in random bursts of suffering,
exquisite,
aching pain of love gone wrong,
gone sour,
gone ignored too long
and now barely recognizable.
We lay together that night,
together,
yet cleaved in two.
Yet we never degraded,
never cursed,
never accused,
never,
never,
never completely surrendered to shame or fear.
This hardship,
this torment was honest
and brave,
and long overdue;
I know that now
and I thank him
even as I yearn for my other half.
For 10 days
and 11 nights
I have fought for
the mere hope,
the slightest chance
that a lost romance might be resurrected.
I don’t want to be crushed
by the loss of him
or bereft of his touch.
I fight for my own survival
with lessons that may save me,
yet beyond myself
I yearn for the forgotten look in his eyes,
the curve of his lips,
the taste of his joy, satisfaction, surprise
and that virginal lust for passions met in kind.
I want to give him
what in ignorance
I have so long denied him,
he that I treasure most,
he that I cherish above all others.
His need,
his confession,
his longing has inspired a sea change
within me.
And if he might only look
there in my culpable remorseful eyes,
perhaps he will find what it is
that he can no longer find on his own.
With every glance I seek to say:
I am here.
And I love you.
And I am in love with you.
And I curse the day
that I ever made you feel
you weren’t worthy of my best.
I will extend myself to the best of my ability,
beyond what I have done
for any other love,
any other lover,
any other man, woman, parent or friend.
This
I swear
with a glad heart.
For you have made me a better man,
and a greater man than you would be an impossible quest
that I would never dream of
or wish to accept.
Find me Aaron.
Find me.
I am waiting in the dark
to lead us into the light.
Written by Jason Wright
August 4, 2016
“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
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
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.
