A little about me.
I left school at a very young age and pursued a career in the
marine industry. I spent ten years working on charter boats
in North Queensland when i wasnt crewing on international
yacht deliveries.
This allowed me the opportunity to sail two oceans and four
seas and gain qualifications allowing me to skipper a 30 foot
vessel and reached the level of dive master.
At age 24 i was diagnosed with two forms of epilepsy as a
result of a car accident when i was 15. Naturally this ended
my career and left me with a certain amount of depression.
It was very fortunate that i did not fit while taking someone
diving.
The diagnosis left me looking for something to do with my
life, and coming from a family of journalists, against their
better advice i embarked on a uni degree majoring in
journalism. As my uncle told me journalism is a shitty job
where if your not prepared to muck rake and stick your nose
in to other peoples business your going to get no where. As i
don't appreciate people sticking their nose in my business I
found this an un fulfilling aspiration and spent a great
many more hours surfing than studying hence a large
HECS debt and no degree.
The fact that i would spend 6 to 8 hours a day in the surf
while suffering badly controlled epilepsy gave social workers
at center link the impression i was suicidal and i was put on
a disability pension and left to ponder my future with
instability.
I myself contribute my determination to master surfing and
reach my complete peak of physical fitness as the reason i
overcame my illness and eventually stopped fitting and no
longer needed medication.
It was 14 days after i had returned to part time work and
attempted to catch up on my lost time at uni when i was
walking home from Bangalow to Binna Burra,
approximately a 20 minute walk when some pissed idiot
decided to run the gauntlet home in their 4 wheel drive and in
their drunken state did not turn their headlights on, swerved
off the road and bounced me off their windscreen like a
kangaroo.
I was left on the side of the road with 14 broken bones,
seven of which were protruding from my body.(It was two and
a half hours before an ambulance arrived)
Back to the disability pension.
What has all of this got to do with fashion?
I had been continually told that i could put myself together
well, and had never been shy to take a pair of scissors to
something to make it uniquely mine.
When the accident happened my right arm was broken, well
snapped in half among other breaks and when the doctors put
that much steel in it now x-rays like a terminator arm and
they took the cast off three weeks after the accident. At this
stage my arm still hurt to look at so in a very primal way i
protected my injured limb by making a leather gauntlet
which i covered with sharks teeth and echidna quills. It told
people very clearly 'if you touch my arm it will hurt you',
and nobody touched my arm.
What people did do five or six times a day is ask me to make
them one, or where i bought it from.
As i looked like a punk with this arm band i happily put
myself back to my early teen years when punk was in and
ran with it. Little to my knowledge punk had always been
lurking around in the background just waiting for its
chance brace society again in its true non conformist way.
Suddenly everywhere i looked there was DKs shirts, Mohawks
and the new age goth, the emo kid.
When i had my first punk haircut it was a practically shaved
head except for a fringe that covered my face and a rats tail 2
feet long. This didn't go down well at a surfie school and i
was well and truly overlooked by talent scouts looking for the
original cast members for Home and Away.
Today i proudly wear my Mullhawk, which sounds like a
stoned bird of prey but is a combination of a Mohawk and a
mullet.
As I state on the introductory page, my line is not for
everyone. While i was visiting an old friend in Canada a
couple of years ago her Hilfigure lifestyle collided massively
with my mother of all things punk attitude and as i wouldn't
be seen dead in Hilfiguere she would not be seen dead in my
line.
We parted ways and while i was sitting in the street in
Gaston a photographer from their local paper was doing an
article on the up coming jazz festival and asked if she could
photo me for the cover. Oh how my friend must have cringed
when that publication was released.
It took me a while to gain the confidence to put my money
wear my clothes were at but this story is the story of the
origins of Mother Punker.
I hope you enjoy my offerings and wish you all the best,
Death Before Dishonour,
Punkest Regards Jo Bezer.......
xoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxxoxoxxoxxoxo
I left school at a very young age and pursued a career in the
marine industry. I spent ten years working on charter boats
in North Queensland when i wasnt crewing on international
yacht deliveries.
This allowed me the opportunity to sail two oceans and four
seas and gain qualifications allowing me to skipper a 30 foot
vessel and reached the level of dive master.
At age 24 i was diagnosed with two forms of epilepsy as a
result of a car accident when i was 15. Naturally this ended
my career and left me with a certain amount of depression.
It was very fortunate that i did not fit while taking someone
diving.
The diagnosis left me looking for something to do with my
life, and coming from a family of journalists, against their
better advice i embarked on a uni degree majoring in
journalism. As my uncle told me journalism is a shitty job
where if your not prepared to muck rake and stick your nose
in to other peoples business your going to get no where. As i
don't appreciate people sticking their nose in my business I
found this an un fulfilling aspiration and spent a great
many more hours surfing than studying hence a large
HECS debt and no degree.
The fact that i would spend 6 to 8 hours a day in the surf
while suffering badly controlled epilepsy gave social workers
at center link the impression i was suicidal and i was put on
a disability pension and left to ponder my future with
instability.
I myself contribute my determination to master surfing and
reach my complete peak of physical fitness as the reason i
overcame my illness and eventually stopped fitting and no
longer needed medication.
It was 14 days after i had returned to part time work and
attempted to catch up on my lost time at uni when i was
walking home from Bangalow to Binna Burra,
approximately a 20 minute walk when some pissed idiot
decided to run the gauntlet home in their 4 wheel drive and in
their drunken state did not turn their headlights on, swerved
off the road and bounced me off their windscreen like a
kangaroo.
I was left on the side of the road with 14 broken bones,
seven of which were protruding from my body.(It was two and
a half hours before an ambulance arrived)
Back to the disability pension.
What has all of this got to do with fashion?
I had been continually told that i could put myself together
well, and had never been shy to take a pair of scissors to
something to make it uniquely mine.
When the accident happened my right arm was broken, well
snapped in half among other breaks and when the doctors put
that much steel in it now x-rays like a terminator arm and
they took the cast off three weeks after the accident. At this
stage my arm still hurt to look at so in a very primal way i
protected my injured limb by making a leather gauntlet
which i covered with sharks teeth and echidna quills. It told
people very clearly 'if you touch my arm it will hurt you',
and nobody touched my arm.
What people did do five or six times a day is ask me to make
them one, or where i bought it from.
As i looked like a punk with this arm band i happily put
myself back to my early teen years when punk was in and
ran with it. Little to my knowledge punk had always been
lurking around in the background just waiting for its
chance brace society again in its true non conformist way.
Suddenly everywhere i looked there was DKs shirts, Mohawks
and the new age goth, the emo kid.
When i had my first punk haircut it was a practically shaved
head except for a fringe that covered my face and a rats tail 2
feet long. This didn't go down well at a surfie school and i
was well and truly overlooked by talent scouts looking for the
original cast members for Home and Away.
Today i proudly wear my Mullhawk, which sounds like a
stoned bird of prey but is a combination of a Mohawk and a
mullet.
As I state on the introductory page, my line is not for
everyone. While i was visiting an old friend in Canada a
couple of years ago her Hilfigure lifestyle collided massively
with my mother of all things punk attitude and as i wouldn't
be seen dead in Hilfiguere she would not be seen dead in my
line.
We parted ways and while i was sitting in the street in
Gaston a photographer from their local paper was doing an
article on the up coming jazz festival and asked if she could
photo me for the cover. Oh how my friend must have cringed
when that publication was released.
It took me a while to gain the confidence to put my money
wear my clothes were at but this story is the story of the
origins of Mother Punker.
I hope you enjoy my offerings and wish you all the best,
Death Before Dishonour,
Punkest Regards Jo Bezer.......
xoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxxoxoxxoxxoxo
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