Somebody was asking me recently if I was “arty” as a kid. No, hell no, I was a jock and represented my province in two different codes of sport. Art and music was for pussies and women. I had a hearing loss that progressively deteriorated necessitating grommets being inserted twice, once under a local anaesthetic, so I could go hop on a plane and go play in another city. I thought I knew about pain and deafness. I undertook a life of manual labour and used my physical body most of the time, including with women. I rediscovered reading and writing through Blinky Bill who put me on to “On the Road” and then I had to reverse my stance on culture. From there I read all the Beats then went way back to Dostoevsky Pushkin and Tolstoy. My life had not been easy and pain made for an interesting read when I could walk. Now nobody responds to things written about paraplegia or STBI or deafness or epilepsy. Maybe I write too brashly but hey live it, then judge me.

I once wrote that all a writer needs is pain and solitude, not quite sure what somebody that makes music needs, yet. I woke out of a coma not knowing why I was there. My discharge summary stated that I had tremendous trouble coming to terms with the fact that i had suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. That’s because I woke dumb and crying, not knowing where i was or why i was in so much pain, abandoned to a system instead of love and support. I spent a year and a half in hospital with only the tinnitus to keep me company, maybe I should be glad for the ringing as it reminds me I am alive. I received hearing aids after I was discharged from hospital. Being able to hear noises from the left, deaf, side evens me out a bit. Though the volume that I hear in my good ear 80 odd percent, will never drown out the tinnitus. Music has always been a big part of my family life with both parents keen record collectors and music was always playing.

A woman asked me why I had deleted the first verse from the song. It didn’t sound right so I kept taking out word after word until all that was left was the backing track. A woman that likes top 40 said she didn’t like how she could not hear properly what was being sung. I can’t remember what I said back to her but it will never be as loud as “my” tinnitus

This may be the fifteenth or sixteenth go around but hey, give this another shot. Some days my good ear fells like 81%

Considering the circumstances I think I am doing ok.

, and yes, the picture is what it looks like.

We are filthy arty, I am the bastard son of Buster Whizzer and Chips Oink Picasso (UNCLE) and Aotearoa (West Coast Greymouth Rain Stockholm Syndrome)