tragic-stardust - Tumblr blog

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GUYS IM BACK I USED TO BE TINY2000s PLZ

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Pictures from  Marina Abramović’s Rhythm 0, 1974

The audience, invited to do whatever they wanted to her, were coy initially. But by the end, her clothes were ripped off her, a loaded gun was pushed against her temple, and she had been sexually assaulted.

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god damn, I really hope whoever reads this has a good day

like

I don't know you

but I can tell you really do deserve a good day

whatever it takes to make today a good day, if possible, please do it

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[tragic-stardust]

a date idea

let's slide under the bed you and me in an attempt of us trying to hide from the heavens while holding hands

and let's repeat the date again but after 30 years so we could have the same conversation we had the first time.

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Audrey

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ex best friends are just. i will never love anyone the way i loved you. you hurt me so much in a way only you could. i still think about you on your birthday and wish i could be there celebrating with you. i hate that things ended the way they did. i don’t think anyone will ever understand me like you did. i miss our inside jokes. i’ll never forget you and i wish all of the dreams we talked about come true for you. i hope i never hear anything about it. i miss you. i never want to see you again.

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the relationship between a girl and her favorite mug is something that can be so personal

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[tragic-stardust]

real

🝮 made by me 🝮

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I pray everyday. It is automatic and unconscious movements. I pray with open eyes and needles in my legs. And although prayer never felt that intimate, it became so when I turned strangers into Gods. Strangers into sites of worship. I never beg. I never ask. But in those times, my knees kiss the uncomfortable hard ground more than ever before. In those times, I am a small entity, like a wrinkled vegetable. I am so full of love I do not know where to pour it. My heart stretches shyly. I stutter. I can feel my body trying to transcend its own physical boundaries. My body betrays me, my body snitches on me. My fingers are undisciplined messy children. They reach out alone to the skin that denies them.

Look at me. Tell me that I am gentle. And loving. And so excruciatingly honest and intimate. Tell me I am insane and unbearably good at locating every mole on your body and every pore in your skin. Soothe the wounds left by the falling needles. I can feel my legs again. I can walk. But I will keep seeking the needles and pins because I always walk and stumble and throw myself into the hands that choke me.

The red marks left by choking and scratching mean that I have been touched and seen. I never forget the hand but I always forgive the long nails. I thank them. I am real.

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Cereal girl (a poem im working on)

Cereal girl, never fully there

So small and strange, almost inhumane

Wet cigarettes and dark alleys

I could be your cereal girl

Thin matress with alcohol stains

She’s always either eerily quiet

Or mumbling some rant about

Connection

The universe

Stars

Dead lavender on her bedside table

Being crushed by unread books

And empty notepads

I could be your cereal girl

Ink stained fingers and chipped nailpolish

Empty fridge, broken toaster

Accept that nothing is a given

But share with her a fragile promise

Cereal girl, her fingers turn blue

When you swap spit you taste death

Everything is physical

Nothing is physical

Your heater dies near the end of winter

She starts a fire in her being

Burning for you

Burning out

Burning from the inside out

Cereal girl, always almost here

On her way

She’s running late

I could be your cereal girl

She’ll alway hold your hand

But she might fade away

She sees the world in your eyes

You see God in hers

Her heart is an unmade bed

Her mind a club filled with spiked drinks

You don’t need to understand her

But dont dismiss your fear

Let me be your cereal girl

I’ll make you coffee in the mornings

I’ll disappear without a trace

I could be your cereal girl

You’ll adore her

As a drowned person does the sea

Scandalous intimacy

Blood beneath your fingernails

She’ll fade away

But you’ll always see her

In the flowers growing on the sidewalk

In your new haircut

She lives in the lump in your throat

She’s curled up in the back of your closet

She’ll make you dinner

She’ll kiss you goodnight

She’ll give you everything but permanence

She’ll give you everything but herself

Maybe she was never yours

Maybe she was always yours

But you can’t shake this feeling

Like butterfly skeletons

Like graphite on paper

The space between spaces

Let me be your cereal girl

Whispers and millipedes

Endurance, enjoyment

Cold tiles, warm baths

And you fear she’s been dead from the beginning

Her hairtie still on your wrist

Finding the body for months

You try to breathe, your lips are dry

How did it end?

How did it start?

Did you do this?

No, i’ve been dead from the beginning

[tragic-stardust]

[tragic-stardust]

nothing will ever compare to watching the virgin suicides for the first time as a sad lonely 13 year old girl