Finding myself increasingly fascinated by documenting the physical manifestations of a state of mind, I began ruminating on the words “waver” and “quiver” in mid-2019.
There is no criteria for the images other than having been created in the same state of mind in which the poem was written, and as such, the images serve as an extension of that initial state of mind.
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
he says “so this is what your early twenties are supposed to be like”
do I agree?
god help me
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?
roll over, take a tiny hit off the pen on my bedside table
(it takes a full hour to see clearly so thank god I don’t have to drive today)
stand up still topless
under no illusion that my curtains aren’t sheer
if I can see the view they can see it right back
how much do I care?
my waist is tiniest in the morning
pop four pills for breakfast
with a peach-pear sparkling water
Prozac and Abilify still on my tongue
rattle a quick snap off while I’m still naked
validate me, daddy
my brain is doing that thing again
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