In my early 20s, I wrote and drew a comic called Nurture the Devil which was published by Fantagraphics Books. Mostly driven by unresolved transgender issues, I turned my guilt into inky boxes of creepiness. In my thirties, I unravelled my knot of self in a shockingly smooth transition that ran its course through a headful of untitled film stills to an apotheosis of sorts as a "trannyjunkiewhore" in nyc before craigslist was a known variable to the popo. I became the angelic demoness I'd always dreamed and feared I was; I reached my highest of lows and approached true quantum unknowability, but this state wasn't sustainable, so after some earthy humiliations I find myself here, age 41, back in Atlanta. I've put aside the estrogen regimen that ensures a certain comfort level with my envelope of flesh, because in order for me to be a productively creative person, it is necessary that I squirm a bit in this unfitting skin.