MADISONS INTERNET SPACE @yourbleedingh3art - Tumblr Blog

when e.e. cummings said “i’ll live my life if it kills me”

when andrea gibson said “i suppose i love this life, in spite of my clenched fist.” & when ellen bass said “to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it”

arriving there video-star-naked

air is blowing through the short, internal hairs

#blog post #A poem I dreamt #and woke #up to write #my writing

#blog post #uploads #my art #Delivery from Yola

Someone I want to hook

Up w (maybe ) called me & asked to link and I declined, to instead sit on my stomach on my bed and watch a YouTube video that inflames my eating disorder and then a neighbor called me & invited me to a party nearby and I said oh no I’m too tired but let’s see each other this weekend even though my weekend is full I always say that and they were busy too and I’m just sitting here alone now thinking about how I declined two opportunities for covetous social engagement and I have a slight fear when I turn things down that I’ll never be invited again but this is why my declining things is a very special & important choice to face a fear and prioritize a feeling of need to rest

#blog post

First day of a new project!

Did not get the raise I tried to negotiate. BUT! Was told to ask again later Kills self?

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The thought occurred that I may have missed something and the space behind my eyes shook so ungently that the summer sun made me sick on the summer pavement. Everyone was out but cleared splash zone. I was on my phone checking my Google search history. I thought maybe I should text someone. I looked at the blackest part of my phone screen. I could see myself reflected there and I tried not to. I put my phone down and I remembered when my grandpa told me that donated hair could be used to clean up oil spills. I thought if I’m penitent enough I’ll chop my own hair off and clean up the stinking hot vomit and do the public good, the saintly service that is obvious and clear as when you’re missing from someone’s prayer. Did I miss something? Had the whole book been about something different? Maybe every chapter had been about a different dog.

I’d managed to finish a whole book without understanding anything about the characters or why the author kept writing partially in English and Spanish. I figured she was probably from Caracas, Venezuela, because the book had mentioned this country, but it started to mention many other countries in later chapters which muddled the certainty of the thing. The book was a Catholic book which put me in touch with old memories of myself in the Sunday school children’s choir. I tried to make the memories sexual because I was bored. Had I had my first crush on the choir boy who sang next to me? Or was it the choir soprano girl with the tuftiness to her, and the wispiness to her hair, and the niceness that wasn’t a closeness? I hadn’t felt anything. Wasn’t it the choir director? Hadn’t I stirred for him? I wasn’t turning myself on even though I had walked 50 paces at least from the vomit on the street corner. I hadn’t decided surely to cut my hair but I was walking to the part of town closer to scissors so I could’ve cut my hair but I was walking away from the vomit and turning back felt wrong and I was trying to distract myself from the headache and it became important to walk in tiny, quick steps that took me too far, too far. It became important to get a banana flavored thing, not a real banana because it was too strong, but some imitation. I hadn’t felt anything for anyone as a child, I don’t know, it was too far away. It was a hot summer. It was a banana ice cream that I hated because it didn’t taste enough like the real thing. I was stupid indecisive because my high was wearing off and I was in a very different state of mind in the afternoon than in the morning. I could actually use cell towers. Sam was contacted about the book. Had he finished it? Was he understanding the Spanish parts? Yeah, it’s magical realism, he told me. I tried another bite of the banana thing which was melty cone. It tasted like cereal banned from a physician’s house. I looked at myself on my phone screen. Sam texted me a picture to see and it felt like too many details about himself and I put my phone down into my underwear. I walked three steps and it fell out of the leg of my shorts so I flew it to my bra. A father and two sons suddenly seemed a lot closer in front of me because the father was talking, telling his son to hurry up, and his son didn’t have time to apply the advice before he was airlifted and he was crying at the odd elevation’s suspicious onset and he was heavy in his dad’s arms and getting carried away from me very fast. I felt I was alone again even though I was five feet across from a construction crew. I let some softening debris blow into me. It was a soft sheet that wrapped up fragile things. I let it hang around for two minutes before kicking it off. A dog that had barked ten minutes ago was circling me but I was at a bus stop and he was inside a fence. The dog made me search my bag for the book. Had it been about sex? I understood nothing about sex so maybe this explained the sudden blankness, the eternal and un-sacrificed coyness, that the author’s words now had to me. I had been gamed, duped, I had noticed the wrong things and missed the true story. I should wear a bra. My phone fell out of my shirt. I forgot I had nothing there. I had no pockets of skin big enough to put my phone or my hands until I remembered my armpits. I put my phone in there and one hand and I used the other hand to cup to the wind to see if it was whispering ideas about what to text Sam. His picture had been naked. It had been his entire front, with his face, and his chin was humble in it, pointed down, all eyes going down, and there it was. I didn’t know how to look at it. I kept going back to his face. I typed: You are very handsome. Then I backspaced. I typed: You are there. I was dumbfounded enough to leave this message on my phone for 134 seconds before I backspaced. I turned off my phone. The bus was taking me to the street with the row of eight straight barber shops, everyone in business together and sharing the same three pairs of scissors.

#blog post #my writing

coitus-n-carnage2

#uploads #blog post #my room

Let's Go to Saigon

#blog post

#uploads #blog post #marguerite duras #duras

I know that whatever I do, you’ll understand. The problem will be proving to the others you’re right.

(128)

Im not telling you the whole truth, I admit. At night I dream of telling you. But when morning comes, the urgency is less great. I understand.

(160)

#blog post #The ravishing of lol stein #marguerite duras #duras

When the act was all but halfway through, when he was halfway pushed in, like a thumbtack considering aiding the stuckness of a poster, he was out, ripped off, and moved from a position of action to a bedside table. He drank his water with his aspirin, which he kept outside of the drawer. He touched the tip of his nose and pushed it upwards. He lingered by the bridge of his glasses and pushed them upwards. He looked back at the prostrate body on the bed, which had not moved a shake. His shoulders got heavy like a fur coat caught in the rain; his chest constricted and he worried he might dry improperly, and he went about fanning himself under his arms. He fluttered and the body in the bed did not move to divide the spaces between each of their eyelashes. From his angle in the chair, even twisted all the way around himself, he couldn’t see if her stillness was that she was able to quickly sink into a peaceful sleep; or she had died. He was stricken with the morbid image of ringing for hands while her first decay started in his daybed, would have to enlist help to drag her, and the sharing of the rare sight would bind the funerary company; his hopes dashed, she breathed; just a puddle-sized flame, but she was there. His shoulders shot straight up from the air he’d been fanning under them. She turned and finally he could see nothing but the back of her head; not even her shoulder, because the back of her head was something she chose to hide and bury amongst pillows.

#blog post #my writing #he meant to take one final look at her but his neck got stuck and he fell asleep in his chair with his body crumpled.#all afternoon and half of the summer before that #he had inched closer to her neck parts and her webbed muscles

Summer interests 2026:

Hands touching (specifically in Caravaggio painting’s & Virgil and Dante in “the inferno” or Tatiana Karl and Lol Stein “the ravishing of lol stein”)

Sunburns

Watercolor ???

One person being naked when everyone else is clothed, In a spot where nakedness is unexpected

Partial Nudity

#blog post

Permit me

To doubt

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