RAM Fest[ation] 2011

I’m going to be honest; it is unlikely that this article is going to be anything more than a blurry summation of my recent experiences at that festival of festivals, that alternative jamboree, that Voltron of teenage angst and masked ball of sub-genres, the ever-popular RAM Fest.

For those of you who don’t know, Ram Fest is what happens when you take a fourteen year old boy from Durbanville, place him in a dusty Converse shoebox with a Klingon, shake it up in a dustpan just arse-wise of Worcester and then sit back and watch them write poetry together. It’s a unique experience. It’s the sort of festival where you wake up each morning feeling like you’ve been roofied by the sun and tea-bagged by a character from peanuts.

This dick.

Cheating the Car Guard and Losing - a hilarious spectator sport

How do I fully express, in simple words, what I witnessed at the intersection of Long and Buitensingel St. yesterday afternoon? How can I relate how this single event seems to have made all the trials I have experienced up ‘till this point seem entirely worth it? (Although, there are still a few hazy encounters on the early morning streets of Grahamstown I could probably do without. And Observatory. And Russell Road, Port Elizabeth.  But, perhaps, I digress…)

Have you ever come to the complete end of you’re tether and just decided, “Fuck it!”?