I love your repeated motif of the changeling, with monsters and angels, of the fluidity of self. This is another one.

Yesterday someone gave me a very very old photo of me and a friend in the early 90's - I have a fucking terrible fringe. Cigarettes, lying on a matreess on the deck, apparently - she remembers - bongs just off frame. I remember Led Zeppelin on the turntable, and Deep Purple, and feeling awkward against her glamour.

I still feel awkward, though my shape has changed in more ways than one. She's less glamorous, crippled, in a wheelchair. Our shapes continue changing.