The Moon's My Constant Mistress

With an host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear and a horse of air
To the wilderness I wander.
By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney,
Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end –
Methinks it is no journey.

Good evening, gentle-persons. I am Tom O'Bedlam, Mad Tom, the Ticking Clock, the Twisting Spire, He of the Dis-tempered Brain. I am here to welcome to something new. We are beggars, we are thieves, we are wanderers and vagabonds and wayward travelers. We are runners and we run from that which everyone is running from: the terror of the unknown.

We are mad, all of us. But we can reach out to each other. We can go mad together. We can run forever without end and become like the stars, burning in the sky.

We are knights, ghosts, and shadows. We are rich men, poor men, beggar men, and thieves. We are the madness of crowds.

Welcome.