I noticed this purple flower standing alone in a pile of dirt while I was walking to Sherbourne Common the other day. I thought it was cliche to photograph it, but I did it anyway.

Sherbourne Common

Sugar Beach

Sugar Beach

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My cat Beenie


Using my new camera I took a glamour shot of Beenie today. She’s adorable.

Night of Hunters

Night of Hunters

The new cover art work for Tori Amos’ new classically inspired album Night of Hunters due in stores September 27.

I have a new camera

My apartment

My living room and kitchen

In yet another impulsive move, I purchased a Canon Rebel T3i today. I have been wanting to take photography a little more seriously and with this being the first day of summer, it  just seemed like the perfect time to spend $1,000.

My first photo is of my living room! Please don’t mind the blankets on each end of my sofa; they are used to keep the cat from confusing them as scratching posts.

Anyway, I hope to load at least one photo a day.

Toronto at dusk

My apartment at dusk

The sun and my living room

Toronto at dusk

Toronto skyline at 8:40 pm

Keith Haring biography

Everyone knows that I have had the biggest crush on Keith Haring my whole life. Quite simply he is the hottest fucker on two legs who has ever lived. At least, that’s what I think.

Haring died of AIDS in 1990, when I was 11 years old. I grew up reading his journals and admiring his art.

He is a reminder of what a special time the 1980s was. Unfortunately the proliferation of materialism has eroded any semblance of creative originality, but Haring’s life gives hope that the pendulum will swing once more, and we’ll awaken, rise up, and communicate as human beings, and not continue on our present path as electronically addicted zombies.

And the beat goes on

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Photo courtesy of Helene Macaulay's blog The Daily Gloss

“Very simply, a gorgeous woman with deceptively easy, unpretentious style. This is someone who embraces who she is. An inspiring example for women of any age, but particularly for me as my fiftieth birthday approaches.”

~Helen Macaulay

My father

My father always promised me
That we would live in France
We’d go boating on the Seine
And I would learn to dance

We lived in Brampton then
He worked in the mines
On his dreams like boats
We knew we would sail in time

All my sisters soon were gone
To rehab and Burlington
Marrying their grownup dreams
The lilacs and the man

I stayed behind the middle child still
Only danced alone
The colors of my father’s dreams
Faded without a sound

And I live in Paris now
My children dance and dream
Hearing the ways of a miner’s life
In words they’ve never seen

I sail my memories of home
Like boats across the Seine
And watch the Paris sun
As it sets in my father’s eyes again

My father always promised us
That we would live in France
We’d go boating on the Seine
And I would learn to dance

I sail my memories of home
Like boats across the Seine
And watch the Paris sun
As it sets in my father’s eyes again

Many Lives, Many Masters

“We all have lessons to learn in this school called Earth. We need to comprehend completely the concepts of compassion, love, non-violence, non-judgment, non-prejudice, patience, generosity and charity, and hope. We need to recognize the deceptions and traps of the ego and how to transcend them. We must become aware of the interconnectedness of all living beings, that energy connects us all, and that there is no death, only life.”

~ Brian L. Weiss, M.D.
Author of Many Lives, Many Masters

Mark Morrisroe

Mark Morrisroe self-portrait

Mark Morrisroe was a Boston performance artist and photographer who was born in 1959 to a drug-addicted single mother. At 13 he ran away from home and became a hustler soon after.

At 17 he was shot by a client in his back, where the bullet was still lodged next to his spine, when he died, wasted by AIDS, at the age of 30.

In his short lifetime he made thousands of brilliant Polaroids, plus a few campy Super-8 films that brought him underground, and later, cult fame.

Morrisroe’s nude self-portraits and intimate pictures of friends, family and lovers, were both potent reminders of the lives lost to AIDS, and souvenirs of one unconventional life.

He let his freak flag fly proudly and for that, I am forever indebted.

Summer 1978