[Buddy]
Thanks. Thank you for clapping, that's very reaffirming
[Tim]
We're very happy to be here. And before we get started, we had a few people we needed to say thank you to, and some announcements to make and we had a whole bunch of them. So, we had to write them down. So, sorry if we forgot anyone.
Mr. Wakefield would like to thank the person in the audience who tried to save an injured bird on the sidewalk yesterday, and who watched it die in their hands. Mr. Wakefield is right there with you.
[Buddy]
You're not alone.
Mr. Sanders, unlike myself, will be reading from sheets of rectangular paper during his poems as a sign of solidarity with rectangular fields of snow and the wind-torn migratory birds who rest there.
[Tim]
Safe haven, guys. Save haven.
Throughout his performance, Mr. Wakefield will make his belly available for the projection of home movies as long as they are of a child learning to ride a bike, falling, getting up again with a determined bottom lip, like this...
[Buddy]
Mr. Sanders would like to send a warm, "What's up, dog?" to the gangsters he's never known and the life in the hood he has never lived.
[Tim]
Mr. Wakefield extends a rootin'-tootin' rodeo bulls who carry monkies around on their backs.
[Buddy]
Hee-yaw!
If anyone thinks they may have left the stove on at home, we urge you to remember we're all just dust in the wind, anyway.
[Tim]
Universe, time, Carl Sagan...
[Buddy]
It doesn't matter.
[Tim]
And, uh, last, but not least, we tip our hats to the stream of consciousness that flows from a natural spring at the end of logging road number 355 in the Yukon wilderness, whose waters we will be drinking from in our cups tonight.
Thanks. Thank you for clapping, that's very reaffirming
[Tim]
We're very happy to be here. And before we get started, we had a few people we needed to say thank you to, and some announcements to make and we had a whole bunch of them. So, we had to write them down. So, sorry if we forgot anyone.
Mr. Wakefield would like to thank the person in the audience who tried to save an injured bird on the sidewalk yesterday, and who watched it die in their hands. Mr. Wakefield is right there with you.
[Buddy]
You're not alone.
Mr. Sanders, unlike myself, will be reading from sheets of rectangular paper during his poems as a sign of solidarity with rectangular fields of snow and the wind-torn migratory birds who rest there.
[Tim]
Safe haven, guys. Save haven.
Throughout his performance, Mr. Wakefield will make his belly available for the projection of home movies as long as they are of a child learning to ride a bike, falling, getting up again with a determined bottom lip, like this...
[Buddy]
Mr. Sanders would like to send a warm, "What's up, dog?" to the gangsters he's never known and the life in the hood he has never lived.
[Tim]
Mr. Wakefield extends a rootin'-tootin' rodeo bulls who carry monkies around on their backs.
[Buddy]
Hee-yaw!
If anyone thinks they may have left the stove on at home, we urge you to remember we're all just dust in the wind, anyway.
[Tim]
Universe, time, Carl Sagan...
[Buddy]
It doesn't matter.
[Tim]
And, uh, last, but not least, we tip our hats to the stream of consciousness that flows from a natural spring at the end of logging road number 355 in the Yukon wilderness, whose waters we will be drinking from in our cups tonight.
( Buddy Wakefield )
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