Mac Dyson may or may not exist. Sometimes it depends on what he had for breakfast. Sometimes on whether that new drum pattern really grooves. Often he makes the choice based on how badly the planet, and its children, is being currently treated. He has a lot of non-being days as a result.
He’s been known to sing. Like a girl actually. Worse. Like an operatic girl. (He's one of those high-fluting counter-tenors). He’d rather sound sexy gruff like Bjork or Tom Waits. On days when he’s not chasing new chord progressions on some old 80s synth he likes to muck about with words and images, emotions and ideologies.
The limitless ability of the mind to create fascinates him. The infinite skill of his mind to look on the darker side depresses him. Quite a lot. So he writes to keep it occupied and himself out of danger. So far it has worked very well.
With a lot of help from his mates. Thanks yous fellas.
Mac D x