flailing forward follows a body learning how to keep moving through forces that repeatedly alter its course. Childhood sexual violence introduces terror before desire has language. Religious intensity grows above it, cultivating rejection while what has been buried continues developing underneath.

Across the work, bodies tumble through injury, intimacy and loss. Physical trauma brings life abruptly to its edge. A marriage ends and love changes form. Career, money, stability and recognition fall away. Elsewhere, pleasure grows abundant enough to become dangerous itself, as things that make life vivid begin consuming more than they give.

The repeated figure never quite finds solid footing. It falls, reaches, balances, submits, survives and continues, accumulating what came before without becoming still. *flailing forward* is less a path out than the strange, imperfect motion of remaining alive and moving anyway.