Beatnikbiker was born in a dark back alley, off a busy city street, on a cold winters night. A vagrant love child of a whore and a tramp.
He was discovered abandoned by a patient of a local mental asylum who secreted him into the vast institution. Occasionally she displayed exceptional maternal instincts... the care was sporadic at best.
But, incredibly, beatnikbiker survived his infancy and soon began scavenging around the asylum, surviving on what he took from doped up patients and food from the kitchens. A feral creature, a legend of the hospital. Many claimed to have seen him. Few had.
On his travels around this psychotic metropolis beatnikbiker discovered an abandoned guitar and slowly began to make good sounds come from the instrument.
The music heard here is his music, relayed to me after I struck up a mutual trust with him in my capacity as a therapist.
I became the curator of his body of work on the condition that I spread the work to a wider audience.
" Goin down to the city, goin down to the street, gonna find me a doctor to prescribe something sweet. . "