Finding myself increasingly obsessed with documenting the physical manifestations of a state of mind, I began ruminating on the words “waver” and “quiver”. In a manic state, I penned a poem. There is no criteria for the images in this collection other than having been created in the same state of mind in which the poem was written. I constantly search for the words to articulate what is happening inside my head during a manic state and have found "chaotic neutral" to be the best descriptor. I seek out the parts of the world around me that feel just odd enough to be true. Waver/Quiver is a documentation of a chaotic neutral reality, or an extended real-life fever dream, if you will.

stuck on the words “waver” and “quiver”

stuck between wavering and quivering

what does it mean to quiver?

what does it mean to waver?

one is a synonym for the other but arguably also the opposite

to waver: shake with a quivering motion, become unsteady or unreliable

be undecided between two opinions or courses of action, be irresolute

(I always mean the second or the fourth)

to quiver: tremble or shake with a slight rapid motion

I waver because I’ve been wronged

I quiver because I don’t care

and I can’t feel my face or toes anymore

roll me a blunt

and play with the cellulite on my ass

if I sit on your face

will you please shut the fuck up?

what is actually the point of making an effort?

is anything that starts on the internet ever meant to be?

can it be?

grip my thighs as they quiver,

relish in my moans before I waver

pour yourself another glass of rose

take me

he says “so this is what your early twenties are supposed to be like”

do I agree?

god help me if this is a portrait of 23

orange streetlamps fade

give way to blue and grey

the bell tower you can see from my window obscured

in a haze of water particles

where am I?

validate me, daddy

my brain is doing that thing again

calibrate, calibrate

who the fuck do I think I am?

don’t you know who I think I am?

kind of feel like I am the entire world

kind of feel like I’m going to rot alongside all 1,857 of my unread mass emails

not sure, will keep you posted

I’m the dying orchid on my kitchen counter

the pizza box in the back of my car

regifted novelty socks that say I’m A Delicate Fucking Flower

the last sheet of film

the first one you call

the second circle of hell

your worst motherfucking nightmare

(you don’t even know my real name)

do you mind? this is a private conversation