Propagandhi

The day The Equinox arrived our pilgrimage began: 1200 miles, a cruise missile to our unholy land. We were fucking stoked unlike we’d been since we were pimpled, pubeless teens. From every corner of the world our fellow maniacs arrived to prove the meaning of the tunes had not been lost through time’s antiquity, but had survived to leave this monumental sign. They say you can’t relive the past, but as the lights went down it all came rushing back: half a life away, the night, for the first time in a lonely life, a young soul took flight. They stormed the stage a thrashing rage, we all screamed, “Terminate!!!” A half-head in a whale shirt went and breathed it in face. I didn’t care. It could not impair this rhapsodic, transcendental state. When the music died, two ends of time had been neatly tied. Descending lights had scorched the plains. Returning kings back to reclaim lost disciples that remained to tend the flames. We stormed into streets a pack of raging troglodytes! We waited for our bus then rode it hard into the night! Far beneath the cold, robotic sweep of the radar operator’s pale green glow. 20,000 leagues below. To the place where all the best bands go.