The National Affairs desk has dreams, man - you know? Crazy dreams. Riding the tracks to the Spadina stockyards with a battered acoustic guitar and notebook full of tragicomic poetry, hoping to make my mark on the mind blowing readings on Front St.

Man, those would be crazy times. Shared experiences, getting groovy. Cracking into a stash of bennies with those cats Blake and Beauchemin (hey, don't get straight on me now - they've gotta tune in and turn on somehow). Taking a walk down to the head shop on University to get my salty boy Stålberg beautiful again. I need a connection to sort out that one percenter between the pipes, man. Dude's boosted this whole joint and it sucks, dig?

We've got to get together at the ACC (Air Canada Commune) and communicate, baby. It's been a bum rap acid test so far this Autumn and it ain't gonna get better until the new generation rises against the Clydes and the squares. It's time for a new winter of love in the Harbour-Bay(bury)!

Speak it, Thunderclap! Proclaim!

From The Branches