Artists are supposed to be the watchdogs of society

There are some principles in life that I hold to my heart.  Taught to me from a dusty volume I pulled from a shelf I had to use an old oak ladder to get to.  The voice I heard speak to me from those pages lives within me to this day. I spent much of my childhood in an old house called Glenleigh, sitting in the valley of two mountains near a village called Clogheen in Ireland. My adopted guardians, Edgar and Gypsy, were older (in their sixties) with a huge library of eclectic books from around the world. The warmest place in the whole house was the kitchen, but the quietest was the library which looked out onto the 11 acre gardens that surrounded this beautiful oasis of peace. My happy safe space as a traumatized tween/teen. It was there I’d sit and devour book after book, discussing them…

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So, I’ve made a promise to do a piece on SEX and PTSD.  How about those Canucks? How about those bears, cubs, yankees, bluejays, arsenal gunners, Geelong cats,…