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  • About
  • Words + Images
  • bathtalks - interviews
  • THE MAD Donnas Theatre
  • Store
  • Submit
  • CAPSULE (2020)
DONNA

038: Textual

8/11/2020

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Picture
Picture
A textual convo: Toronto x the heart x New York
Picture
July 27, 2020.

A: The sun is gathering in heat at my nose

J: The sidewalk sounds like cracking porcelain, so I walk fragile on purpose

A: I want to love at the edge of the chasm, but first I have to steady myself

J: So I reapply my lipstick as if it's a part of my shadow I want to escape

A: Then I blow it out, a smoked, purple ring in the shape of my mouth. Unstable in the air, not my mouth now, the void's, it floats and separates to a tiny smile

J: I keep walking through the trenches of my beating heart, knowing this city is big enough to swallow me. I walk further into the whale's mouth with only a single match

A: The realities inside the belly make me move slow, waking up from a nightmare. Let us move slow in our heavy packages

J: Concrete shoe boxes outside concrete apartment buildings seem to build up on top of each other, like Jenga pieces waiting to fall

A: We were never taught to be delicate. We are never warned how delicate. To be back into the milk of a sure thing is to slip but it is so easy

J: I want to think like a newborn. I want my thirst to be dependent on only how much others are willing to give. I want to only see in vivid dreams

A: The man I run into while I am in a tree texts me: you are always in trees. In truth, I read it on my rusting fire escape, watching the parade 

J: But the leaves fall anyway. It's fate to see things turn green even when we are burning

A: Full moon tonight is about justice, so the internet says, and I hope it's right and I've done my part to hold the sword the correct way so it doesn't hurt my wrists anymore, and the light doesn't flick into my eyes

J: This is about temperament. A sunflower doesn't ask to be loved, it just simply lets the sun soak heavy in all parts of the heart

A: Why are all the men in my life birds? The ones in the stories we tell each other: tender enough to anticipate wound but not tender enough to stop themselves from taking 


-Andrea Grassi x Jenna Kennedy 
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