Caged Boy Sings

All I know is that I am a writer.

Some cover art done for my book by the fabulous artist Erin Plew.  Caged Boy Sings The Book is still coming, kids. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it, but let’s just say that if Chuck Palahniuk and Oscar Wilde got Jackie Collins Pregnant, and Sylvia Plath and Chelsea Handler performed the abortion, the fetus would look something like Caged Boy Sings. It’s an amalgamation of so many different emotions, characters and experiences. It’s everything, it’s nothing, and it’s shaping up to be one hell of a nasty little piece of work. Pre-order at or pick up your copy on September 1, 2014. You won’t regret it. - direct link

Some cover art done for my book by the fabulous artist Erin Plew.  Caged Boy Sings The Book is still coming, kids. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it, but let’s just say that if Chuck Palahniuk and Oscar Wilde got Jackie Collins Pregnant, and Sylvia Plath and Chelsea Handler performed the abortion, the fetus would look something like Caged Boy Sings. It’s an amalgamation of so many different emotions, characters and experiences. It’s everything, it’s nothing, and it’s shaping up to be one hell of a nasty little piece of work. Pre-order at or pick up your copy on September 1, 2014. You won’t regret it. - direct link


I have (official) news for you.  But before we (officially) begin, there are some things that I would like to say to all of you.

What I want all of you to know, first and foremost, is that you’ve saved me, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.  Remember at the end of Titanic when Rose is all old and crusty, and she’s all like: “Jack Dawson saved me, in every possible way that a person can be saved.”  Well, what I’m trying to say is that you guys are my Jack, except I would have made room for you on that fucking door. The amount of kindness I have received as a result of this blog has been nothing short of life saving, and I have never once taken it for granted.  I haven’t quite figured out how to thank you, but I will find a way.  I promise.

So you may have seen some of my suggestive and moderately campy teaser style advertisements this past week, and I apologize, but I finally figured out how to crack Photoshop and I couldn’t help myself.  So anyway, here’s the official announcement coming straight from me:  

Presented by Lost & Found Fiction

Caged Boy Sings: The Book 

Coming September 1, 2014

Now available for pre-order at: - Direct Link

I actually finished the book two days ago (two weeks past my deadline.  Sorry Buchanan), at a Waffle House on my 25th birthday.  It was actually finished at the same Waffle House where I met Dee Dee, the “fictional” character from the story “Dinner at Waffle House.” 

The book is now available for pre-order, and all pre-ordered copies help pay for the cost of printing, so, as a small way to say thank you, all pre-ordered copies will be signed by the author.  And although much of the book’s content will come directly from this blog (after a heavy dose of editing), the book will also feature 70-90 pages of new material.  I can’t give you an exact number just yet, because it’s still being edited, but I can tell you that almost half the material that’s being featured has never been read before by anyone(aside from my editor), and it’s some of my strongest work, or at least that’s what I’ve been told.  Let is also be known that one of my now good friends, Radha, will be publishing her stunning book of poetry on the same day.  Her book is called “Coffee Cup.”  It’s available for pre-order as well, and can be found here:

Coffe Cup - Direct Link  

I want you to know that I’m not leaving this blog behind.  I’m not going to be one of those writers who gets published and then just leaves everyone in the dust.  I know who I am now (probably because of you-all), and I know where I came from.  You guys are the reason this has happened to me.  Whether it be a re-blog, an encouraging comment, or a warm hearted message (and I’m sorry if I’m getting all moony on you and coming off as some pageant contestant), you really are the reason that this has happened to me, and I’m not going to ever fucking forget that, or take that for granted.  You gave me wings, and I hope that one day I can figure out a way to do the same for you. This blog is not over, and I’m formulating a plan. Let’s just say it might help you fly one day.  

All my love,

“Caged Boy Sings”


“Cameron Beyrent is just another wannabe writer who barely passed the language arts section on his GED test. He writes anyway though, regardless of what he has, or has not, been taught. Having always been someone who has favored the more shadowy parts of the human psyche, his goal as a writer is to bother you, unsettle you, and take you to places that most people like to pretend don’t exist within our mind-numbing society. He writes for the underbelly, the long shots and the losers, and for those who have been dragged through the gritty dark circles of life against their will.

Beyrent’s first work, Caged Boy Sings, is based almost entirely on an anonymous blog written over the last two years. His work was recently discovered by Lost & Found Fiction, an independent publishing company that he’s honored to join. The meaning of the word “home” is still unclear to him, but regardless of the definition he settles on, his heart will always and forever be firmly planted in Nashville, Tennessee.”

"I flip open the book in front of me and land on a picture of Peter Pan leading Wendy out her window to Neverland, which warms and breaks my heart at the same time. It reminds me of my childhood, and when I believed in shit like that. When I believed that when something goes wrong and the monsters decide to come for you, some fantastical imaginary friend from the box of VHS tapes under the tv would somehow just know that you were in trouble and would come to your rescue. It’s such a bitch when the day comes where you finally have to shed your fantasies, and no matter how long you try and put it off, you eventually and unfortunately have to grow up. Because after your teenage years start melting away, after all the beer bongs, backseats and premature broken hearts, life will inevitably start dragging you kicking and screaming headfirst into adulthood, and you have no say in the matter. There’s no rewind button, and you can only put yourself on pause for so long after the moment when you realize that your parents aren’t super heroes and that they aren’t always going to be there to fight your battles for you. There’s always going to be periods of time in life when it’s going to be just you, and that if you’re going to make it, you have to be your own hero within a reality that can be so hard to stomach. In my heart I know that nobody’s going to come rescue me from this, and that it really is all up to me. Nobody’s going to come for me in the way that I want them to. Nobody’s going to save me. So whatever, fuck it. I guess I’ll just do it myself. I’ll save me instead. But god fucking damn it, I wish he was real. I wish that I was someone’s Wendy Darling. I wish that someone braver and stronger than me would show up out of the blue and rush me off to the sky and to a place where I would be young forever. But it was in that moment, this moment, that I let the fantasies fade and accepted the reality that I’ve stumbled into, and that I will learn how to fight my monsters on my own if I have to. But if for whatever reason all our fantasies ever decide to switch places with our bitter realities, and it does actually fucking happen, if I ever break free from this rusty cage and fly, then so help me God, if you’re like me and you’re ever in trouble, expect me, because I will fucking come back for you. I promise.

I let out a melodramatic sigh and roll my eyes at myself and my constant stream of overly-analytical poetic thoughts. I stare at the picture for a few seconds, reluctantly pick up a green crayon off the table, and slowly begin adding color to the blank page."

- An excerpt from Caged Boy Sings: the movie extravaganza.  Or maybe I meant to say book.  You’ll find out soon enough, but either way, it’s coming soon. 


I’m grateful for my ass 
and how it bounces when I dance
I’m grateful that God gave me boobs
that don’t need breast implants

I’m grateful for my high-heeled shoes
that raise me up so high
the air up there is thin and bare
but I can touch the sky 

love cut me like a razor blade
that left behind great scars
so I was grateful for those boys
that I picked up in bars

I’m grateful for the voices
that plague my mind everyday
they’re here to keep me company
they’ll never go away

I’m grateful for the way 
my boyfriend used to beat me up
it gave me every reason
to not ever give a fuck

and I was even grateful
when my ship never came in
because I built my own boat
and set sail without the wind 

"I haven’t written in days, so
in a way, my fingers are starving
in a way, my mind is starving
but my eyes are too filled
with water and stray blood cells
to see the spaces between
the pages. Between the
black, typewritten words."

- "Eloquent" by Radha Kistler  (via floatinginthethoughtstreams)

What is your muse? lonesomecloudmusic



Nashville to me is being seventeen and riding your motorcycle to your local Waffle House at 4am without a driver’s license to read and write poetry till the sun comes up.  Nashville to me is having a conversation with a toothless meth addict over your fifth cup of coffee and giving him your extra pair of flip flops because he walked all the way here from Memphis and wore the soles out of his shoes.  Nashville to me is driving past a a menthol smoking hoveround riding golden girl wearing nothing but her leopard print snuggie.  Nashville to me is entering a wing eating contest and losing and staring contemptuously at the fat redneck ass hole who beat you out as he’s being crowned the winner by a Hooters waitress who’s seven months pregnant.  Nashville to me is falling in love with a closeted bisexual country boy and fucking him in his back seat of his car and telling him how you feel and getting your heart broken and wondering what could have been as the two of you hold up his new girlfriend’s legs as she does a keg stand.  Nashville to me is sneaking out piles of biscuits from The Loveless Cafe in your purse.  Nashville to me meeting your first drag queen in the back room at Cafe Coco and splitting 40s with the homeless while sitting on stoops.   Nashville to me is waking up at 5:30am to do your hair before you have to catch the number 12 bus into downtown Nashville at 6:30am and then transferring to the number 7 bus to get to school every morning.   Nashville to me is skipping weeks of classes to stay home and watch marathons of America’s Next Top Model and dodging your truancy officer and eventually having to get your GED and taking the test next to a convicted felon wearing an orange jumpsuit and hand cuffs.    Nashville to me chasing an f3 tornado with your neighbor on his 4 wheeler.  Nashville to me is running into a 15 year old Miley Cyrus at the roller rink.  Nashville to me is sneaking out of your bathroom window late at night to have sex on the 50 yard line of Glenn Cliff’s football field.  Nashville to me is going bowling and drinking cheap beer and pissing in the trash can after you bowl a strike.  Nashville to me is sneaking into bars in Printer’s Alley and singing karaoke and doing underaged jello shots with the bouncer.  Nashville to me is hitting up the taco trucks on Nolensville Road.  Nashville to me rummaging through the clearance bins at the 21 and up and buying anal beads for the hell of it.  Nashville to me is doing cannonball off a highway bridge into Percy Priest Lake and bruising your butt hole.   Nashville to me is waiting on Carrie Underwood and trying not to piss yourself.  Nashville to me is standing behind Nicole Kidman at Starbucks and resting the urge to sniff her hair.  Nashville to me is leading a conga line around the bar on your 21st birthday.  Nashville to me is driving past an ominous Christian billboard that says “the end is near” and nothing else.  Nashville to me is fried catfish and cornbread and turnip greens.  Nashville to me is watching your transexual neighbor power walk around your neighborhood in pastel shorts and a yellow sun visor.   Nashville to me is Johnny cash and Loretta Lynn.  Nashville to me is wondering if you’re transgendered because you’re convinced that you would be much happier if you looked exactly like Dolly Parton.  Nashville to me is grocery shopping at Kroger alongside Muslims families and Mexicans families and not batting an eyelash and smiling at them and saying hello.  Nashville to me is lighting hairspray on fire in the bathroom at Foo Bar.  Nashville to me is having the same history teacher as Harmony Korine.   Nashville to me is putting your little sister on your shoulders at a punk show and spinning around in a circle in the middle of the mosh pit so she can kick everyone in the face.  Nashville to me is praying before you eat and not taking a bite of your food until everyone is at the table.  Nashville to me working at a trashy meat and three and smoking cigarettes in the dish room and talking shit with the waitresses who still have 80’s hair.  Nashville to me is sitting on the roof of your best friend’s third story apartment and watching the whore across the street turn tricks  from the shed behind the barber shop that’s across the street from her house.  Nashville to me is  arguing against a baptist on the bus ride home from school when he tells you that you’re going to hell for being gay.    Nashville to me is a southern belle in a rhinestone jacket playing the banjo.  Nashville to me is remembering a city that used to exist before it became a show.  Nashville to me is missing Nashville while you still live in Nashville.   


Kasey and I had a 4some in Knoxville.  Allow me to explain.  So her Dad hooked Kasey up with a fancy hotel room because she had some dinner to go to in Knoxville about the Peace Corps, because she’s joining the Peace Corps?  I guess.  I just decided that I would freeload and tag along and steal the conditioner and the free shower caps at the hotel, as usual.

So we eventually wound up at this bar and this shitty band was playing, and we each had like seventeen lemon drops so reality was no longer an issue, so, of course, Kasey invited the lead singer and his girlfriend back to the hotel for group sex.  This is just the tip of the awkward iceberg.  This story is extensive.

So she and I grabbed a cab and bribed the the cab driver into going through the Taco Bell drive thru, which they’re not supposed to do, policy or some shit, but he did it anyway and we slammed some cheesy gordita crunches and some mexican pizzas and at this point I stilll had no idea that Kasey had swapped numbers and invited these strangers back to the hotel. So we were in the room and we had popcorn, and I’d been drinking and I wanted popcorn, so I started popping this shit and Kasey was like “so the lead singer and his bird are on their way here and we’re supposed to have sex with them,”  so I of course had a minor stroke and started freaking out and neurotically started wailing on this bag of popcorn, and literally fifteen seconds later these people are knocking on our door.  She gave them our room number and everything.   

So they came in and they were all slinky and trying to be smooth and the four of us were on the bed, talking about how we go about this, and I nervously went to take a piss, and I hear Kasey say ” so you guys know Cameron likes dick, right?”  And I seriously considered slitting my wrists, because apparently these people had no idea I was gay.

So I go back out there and get back on the bed, and this guy was like “maybe we should start things off by having the girls kiss,” to which Kasey replies: can we at least finish the popcorn before we start the 4some?” 

We finished the popcorn.

After we finished the popcorn, the girls start kissing, and this guy starts kissing me and it’s so awkward that I literally could have killed myself.  This guy was obviously not gay and was trying to oblige his girlfriend, because this was obviously her idea and he was pretty lukewarm about the whole thing.  Then we broke off into teams of two and now everyone is naked, and this girl starts trying to get all up on me, and I was so flaccid.  I was so flaccid that my dick was softer than a a bowl of potato salad left out in the sun.  I’ve been drinking so similes and metaphors are not coming easily.  

So this is the worst part.   This is the climax, or the part were NOBODY climaxed. This is the part where I eat pussy.  This happened. 

You know when you’re hooking up with a dude and you’re physically arguing over who puts the dick in their mouth first?  Well, this girl was making it very clear that it was my time to shine and go on my first vaginal safari.  She started pushing me down by the shoulders into uncharted waters and unknown territory, and I’m down there and I just look at it for a second, and think: “this is happening.  This is something that is actually about to happen.” 

I began to eat her pussy and she began to fake it.

Meanwhile, Kasey was getting finger banged by lead singer off to my left, and her head was right by my head, and she saw that I was eating pussy, and she started laughing hysterically.  Lead singer asked her why she was laughing and she said that it tickles and there still wasn’t anything around that was sharp enough for me to slit my wrists with. 

I had to ask the girl where her clit was.  She showed me.  She pointed right at it, and I still couldn’t see it.  Then Kasey tried to show me where this girl’s clit was.  They were both pointing directly at her clit and I still couldn’t see it.  Lead singer just rolled his eyes and I was doing my best not look at naked Kasey as they both desperately tried to guide me towards this poor girl’s vagina button.  

Eventually lead singer acknowledged that this was going nowhere fast, and everyone politely got dressed and we said our goodbyes.  Lead singer and myself never even got even the slightest suggestion of a boner.  At one point Kasey said: “this is not working.  I’ve got gay dick on my left and whiskey dick to my right.  This was a bad idea,” which is funny, because it was Kasey’s idea, as usual.  

They leave, finally.

Kasey and I laughed hysterically for 45 minutes and I found that I had ordered one of those dorito shell tacos that I had forgotten about and I ate it in three bites and I could have jacked off to that taco because I was still drunk and it was so fucking good.

Kasey and I woke up at noon and called the front desk and demanded a late checkout.  They obliged us and we slept for another hour, woke up, packed up all our stupid shit and went to check out.  We were both ridiculously hungover but there were free cookies in the lobby.  I stole ten cookies and ate five of them, standing there at the counter as we checked out, and this was pretty nice hotel and we looked pretty rough, and girl at the front desk was giving me hardcore Judge Judy eyes, and I just kept standing there looking her in the eyes and glaring at her as I ate these free ass delicious fucking cookies. 

Kasey and I drove home to Nasvhille and blasted her sister’s bad ass mix cds that she always makes for Kasey the whole ride home, and I had to be at work by five.

That’s all.