“Memories of Green”

Memories. Some of them are vibrant and overwhelming. Others seem muted or faded as an old drawing.

Yesterday marked 10 years since the Pulse Nightclub Massacre, when 29-year-old Omar Mateen shot and killed 49 people and wounded 58 in a mass shooting at Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida. We read about it 10 years ago today. I was so shaken. A couple of weeks later, at PRIDE (on June 24), the owners of the club were there on the pier and they read the names of the victims as I wept. Bob the Drag Queen performed, and so did Todrick Hall, who later released a documentary (“Behind the Curtain”) which features us in the audience + a NYC Pride sign that we had our picture taken with.

An acquaintance of mine, a kid who had a crush on me but was way too young for me when we met, Perris, was there at Pulse and had survived. He died in March of 2024 of complications from surgery, age 34.

A year ago, Aaron and I were at LaGuardia International Airport in Queens heading to Michigan for a visit with Aaron’s family + his 41st birthday:

The man sitting across from us is flirting with a woman way out of his league and laughing like a Muppet on acid. I’m embarrassed for both of them.

13 years ago, Aaron and I got word that work was wrapping up on our “new condo”, which is where I’m writing this post from. No longer new, and in my brain I think of it as an apartment, rather than a condo, but I’m not sure that really matters.

16 years ago, I was still happy with the Doctor Who episode that had aired the day before, S05E11 “The Lodger”, which features James Corden, who I thought was funny at the time, though I now find him to be completely obnoxious.

7 years ago today, Aaron and I arrived in our new hotel in San Francisco (for an opera conference) and later I had a reunion with Jen Beam; she lived across the Golden Gate Bridge, which I crossed for the first time on a bus. It seems like yesterday and forever ago all at once. I hooked up with several exes while we were there (Jen & Mark) but I only got fucked by one of them (Shawn)! With Aaron’s permission of course. We have a mostly open relationship but I don’t really take advantage of it much. That was the only time I hooked up with anyone without him, and I likely would have included him but he was busy and there were emotional things that needed to be worked through and discussed. It was very healing.

11 years ago, Mary Ellen was in town for Aaron’s birthday and took us to see “Finding Neverland” on Broadway, which featured Matthew Morrison & Kelsey Grammer; I remember they made a funny “Cheers” joke. We ate at the Jolly Monk that day. It was a difficult day actually, due to my own psychological bullshit, but I made the most of it.

14 years ago, last night, was the Goth Prom at Factor Night at Necto. I was a Necto / Nectarine Ballroom devotee from January 1994 – September 2012, with a few stops put in in the months that followed.

17 years ago today, my grandparents renewed their wedding vows. I took my then boyfriend, Michael Slaughter, with me. I didn’t know then but he’d already cheated on me more than a dozen times. But the day was lovely. And my sister Janice and I sang. My mother was there. Michael and I called it quits in early 2011. My mother died in July of 2021, while her father, my grandpa died last year.

Today’s music is “Memories of Green” from the film “Blade Runner”. I’ve not heard The New American Orchestra version in decades, and while I love the original Vangelis version, this is the version I owned when I was a kid. And it feels appropriate to share it here.

Drugs Are Quick

In snowcapped Vermont
artists interpret MADNESS
in nine songs that jangle
pleasantly through
my short term memory,
where they fade away to nothing,
save vaguely happy impressions
of experiences I wish I could hang on to
for longer than Ambien will allow.

Xanax RATTLES in my pocket
as seemingly female
child rearing occupant
makes other passengers
noticeably uncomfortable…
the smell of talcum powder
makes me think of boyhood erections
and vaginal cancer.

The sound of “Kryptonite” comes from
3 Doors Down
and I’m dragged back to San Francisco
drunken backseat passenger ride
from one unknown location to another.
THE MAN beside me is wearing my black clothing,
my leather collar,
while I am wearing someone else’s dress…

What ever happened to that Dorothy looking shit?

So intimate to see him wearing my goth rocker drag
while I feel the cool autumnal chill
on unwieldy knees which have never felt more naked.

…My Head Is Spinning…

Gay gangster rap pours into my brain
as latex allergy flashback rips me in half
on preacher boy’s beautiful blonde cock….
and that last time was totally worth it.

The Midrin has thankfully done it’s ruby stained work;
Thank you Peter Murphy (The Scarlet Thing is actually in me)
and I’m dancing at the Kit Kat Klub
where all orientations
are surprisingly segregated
when angry heterosexual cis-woman
calls me a faggot
before I turn to make out
with her stupidly aroused boyfriend
just to spite her.

Off the train and I stop at random village pharmacy
for cough drops
before Jumpin’ Jack Frost
tells me we’re done:
just 2 more meetings and out…
I’m lucky it’s still Tuesday
because I’m gonna need a drink.

“Do you want to begin?”

Back in the dress I wore
so preacher boy could see me naked,
and I have no idea that 18 years later,
on the opposite side of the country,
I’ll still be scrawling about him singing
“Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered”,
“When You Wish Upon a Star”
and assorted unspeakable lyrics
that he traced across
my unguarded vulnerable ambition.

This part sucks
but it’s just a draft
and doesn’t need to be as perfect
as Cocaine Sex in
countless naked backroom dance parties…
bodies writhing in dark congress,
riding waves in darkened corners –
pain, disappointment, lust & loneliness
expressed in acid light,
opium torture and heroin bliss.

Feed me water.
Slake my thirst.
Let them drink wine!

Just give me cum, prayer, piss and whiskey.

Written by Jason Wright
March 6, 2018

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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