Madison McDonald is a fictional character; a digital alias, used by local officials to troll and harass members of their community. Madison McDonald does not exist as a person. They are a mask worn to stir the pot for their own political gain— helpful when they want to assault, but need to maintain a public figure. They are the situation of hostility and opportunism. They are the spectacle.
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Madison is a character in the story "Who am I?" As a fictional character, Madison is registered as a piece of digital art— a performance art— copyrighted by Atlantic Jacknife LLC. Anybody could be Madison McDonald.
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Who am I?
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It begins in the 1980’s. Waves crash on the oceanside of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. The birds sing loudly, and the sand is damp and cool beneath a top layer beat dry by the sun. The chorus of nature and her tactile landscape welcome the tide of my new life as it creeps ashore, nascent and hollow, ready to fill with character.
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It continues in 1989- a first day in school! Another new experience in a lifetime of novelty. Others appearing similar and yet looking and acting so differently pour into the feed. The world, I shout, is broader than the beach. So we transport our existence inland to breach the horizon. Surly, there are rainbows and unicorns.
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It’s 1995, and everything has been changing. I’m changing. The world surrounding feels like a fixed point, but I shed my skin and change my color without realizing or notice. I’m scared and alone in my body.
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It’s 1999 and I’m in love. They’re a little obsessed with me. I’m flattered. I sleep like a baby, I have so much peace in my life.
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It’s 2000, and my story continues to grow. “Bridgewater College” is a new terrain, opening my imagination to a reality beyond lifes’ experience.
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It’s 2021…
…and it’s March. It’s time to possess a new role, and care for someone like they cared for me. Without them, there is no us. May Peace drape over him.
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Now It’s May. Dropped my dad off half an hour ago. Please don’t make this a long night for the old man <3
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It’s become June, and karma is a real bitch. I dedicate myself to volunteer in positions that would make one cry from harsh and horrible things. But as I empty myself and my character, another takes possession. It’s June, and I won’t ever be afraid to show my true colors.
It’s August, and the heat rears. The sad puppy dog growls in a distance. It’s pathetic, psychotic, and a raging lunatic. That my dear is facts.
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In September, I feel myself fill with personalities. I shift from one to the other, regulating what I can say and how I can say it and to whom. I’m no longer who I was. This habit is temporary, isn’t it. Would I prefer to live free, or die? Facebook really needs an eye-rolling emoji, doesn’t it?
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It’s October, and I still can’t make my appearances. The invites flood, and I’m virtually there. It’s like people can take me to places where I cannot go. My physical manifestation is restricted. But I’m here- we all are.
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It’s the winter, and I wipe my windows to remove a virus. The glass disappears. The cold electrifies and fills my vacancy. I’m engaged. Every part of my self loves and likes this event. I wonder why that is?
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It becomes 2022…
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…and time tik toks forward. My own chronology is fragmented, but it reels vicariously with the coordination of my social network. I’m praying for you, dad
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It’s June, and I’ve harvested my selfs. I’ll reap what is my possession, but I can’t tell it apart from my own authenticity. I’m flogged with false information. I cannot see why.
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It's getting hot in this drought. Things aren't always as they appear on the surface.
The truth always prevails.
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In due time...