Hey there, Friends of the Paramount Ranch... It's me...Adam...from the Reduced Shakespeare Company the guy who used to dress up like Ophelia and drown in reverse. I LOVE your website! I've set it in my favorites on my internet explorers. I've got deep feelings about Agoura and the Faire (and I'm sure I'll have them till my dying day). MAN that place was magic (and the people weren't too bad neither). Here's a picture of what the RSC in London looks like today (in our History of America costumes). I don't know if this'll be useful to your website, but I'm attaching a poem that I read on the last day of the last hour of the last Agoura faire on the stage in Witches Wood. It's an adaptation of Howl by Allen Ginsberg. Keep me posted about faire stuff. Love, |
howleth i saw the best minds of chipping-under-oakwood destroyed by madness. starving, hysterical, naked, dragging themselves through the angry morning dragon garbage trucks 'get the fuck out of the road' looking for a cup of chai angel headed nobles, peasants, punks, hippies, rastas, deadheads, marines repo men, and starry eyed earthstar computer programmers burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night who bared their brains to heaven under old man oak and saw jesus and buddha staggering country dance on ale five illuminated who passed along shire roads with radiant cool eyes hallucinating days of ancient country england, queen bess, francis drake, walter raleigh, and will shakespeare tracing cryptic night symbols with light sticks glowing green who got busted for having no night pass who brought his seven-year-old golden daughter to laugh and grab at bubbles in the tired red agoura sunset who talked continuously for 72 hours in basic faire accent even though no-one asked him to who lost her virginity who saw god, then passed out from the heat, dust, and noise who broke down crying after six weekends who dressed as women, climbed trees, and spit on roaring monster audiences who gave up reading james joyce for a magic night of dark green forest storytelling who moved to humboldt even though we loved her here who travelled to india, thailand, scotland, oregon, and novato visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit i'll miss you apolonia i'll miss you witches' wood and friendly old oaks i'll miss you indus arthur, cock and feathers, cookie man, don brown, hippie jim, and dueling buckets i'll miss nighttime strains of flute and fiddle, silohuettes against a lost in time starry sky and l.s.d. on a stick. in spite of drunken loud asshole customers with angry laughs and thick red necks in spite of four shows a day in one hundred and ten dgree dust when you'd rather be dead in spite of poison oak, rattlesnakes, sunburn, food tickets, and crusty privies in which prehistoric creatures died after dining on compost and urine and vomitting on the already crusty sanitized seats in spite of lost baby tabatha and the incredible night show stomping police state search of an otherwise peaceful shire in spite of everything i've ever said i love this place i love these people until next year
sincerely, ajax semaphor |