A poem by Le Capeur, inspired by Zygmunt Schmidt

Old Majorca


Prides of leo, gams of orca
Race with brio toward Majorca.
O'er the Spanish sands they perk
or in the shallow waters lurk

A common ground is what they seek:
a battlefield on which to wreak
the havoc of fomented hate;
of ancient malice incarnate

One young whale, with sea-borne roar
taunts the mammals close to shore
but for his stout and eager heart
he is beached and torn apart

A lion mocks his mourning foes
safe in shallow crests, he trows
but shifting tide doth make him prawn
for thirty score leviathan

Alas, in the ensuing days
aside from ill-conceived forays,
no hardy creature could oppugn
in brackish surf or branny dune

And so at last the stymied orca
and flummoxed lions left Majorca
As they journeyed thence from Spain
each by human hand was slain


-Lionel Capeur



*The author wishes to note that the final couplet was insisted upon by the idea's progenitor, and he, unable to exercise a veto lest the entire work be abrogated under the guise of "intellectual property," even so considers it neither apropos nor particularly germane. In fact, it strikes him as rather gauche, failing in its hackneyed attempt at ecological commentary. The entire poem, he believes, would be best read in the absence of this overwrought conclusion, which should be jettisoned in future anthologies. He has bolded the offending section in order to highlight necessary omissions. Finally, he wishes to note that aside from a fascination with the mythical and ultimately impracticable battle between lions and whales, kings of their respective domains, he has very little in common with what a generous soul (as surely he must be said to possess, in light of the original inclusion) might call his "collaborator."

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The gentlemen write some haikus for MLK Jr. Day

On Monday, all five roommates found themselves with a free day. In a rare bout of camaraderie, each committed himself to the creation of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day haikus. Interestingly, only one of the five chose to reflect the holiday theme in the content of his work.





Le Capeur:

Epochs past: solstice
did auger slog- Now, alas,
blithely tramps winter




Jason Pepsi:

White kids and black kids
Playing together- so intense.
Great job, MLK




Ron Fariglia:

How many syllables
Go in your standard haiku?
Just kidding, I know.




Wambles Jensen:

HOly shit let me be saying to this one thing:
So FRICKEN great I'm make for laugh.
Don't doubt it ladies or maybe you are very late this parade!
Write me to poast cards.




Zygmunt Schmidt:

Beneath that balsam bough
do you presume, foundling child,
that strife abandons you?




Wambles Jensen:

Here, fat man, I have great idea.
You give me to hold gun so maybe let yourself hitch big pants.
Oops, trick on you! now who is robbing? Haha Wambles foolsing you.
Give me moneys- ALL OF THEM!




Le Capeur:

In ovate mirror
hast thou rendered thyself square-
truest reflection




Jason Pepsi:

Martin had a dream
and said: my children, take heed!
Will YOU do your part?




Zygmunt Schmidt:

Avarice, a stain,
like sea-spilled petroleum:
viscous, clotting gills




Ron Fariglia:

Trying to fry eggs
Is seriously a bitch
I hate this so much




Wambles Jensen:

One thing you am forgetten mr. movie star
get happy not always for money okay?
maybe open one eye looking for LIFE
get teached how to not mean to peoples.




Zygmunt Schmidt:

"Collar me, bright lips
I cannot brook solitude" :
The male battle cry




Ron Fariglia:

Lassitudinous
Capeur wrote that for me
I'd rather be banging. (Not Le Capeur)




Jason Pepsi:

Oh, that fateful day!
I wish the bullet had missed
Martin, how unfair!




Le Capeur:

Agglutinative?
Perhaps. Not, I must confess,
monosyllabic.

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The Christmas Card Series: Wambles

OH MAN HELLO AND EVERYONE!

What is up?? So nuts this holiday, I am now making back from Holland to GREATEST CITY IN NEW YORK CITY! IN THE ENTIRE WHOLE WORLD! Okay. What is even up now, yes? Man what it is to be home, I am almost tossing my brain to be saying "oh wow I can't even think is it true?"

I know what you are to thinking, OH MAN WAMBLES YOU ARE BRAIN TOSSER! But no, man, let's get for real, two seconds okay?

I am being in Holland for mostly December. Crazy. I did smoking marijuana and big time party in Randstad, raving like FUCKING LOONBIRD, you if video had shown in America being to not believe whatever is you see because dancing is nuts so many glow sticks and just every single types for insanity. For 18 freaking days, you think I lie then go ahead mr. tough fellow be checking my diary (but NOT parts about ladies haha oh man I am describing them from brain to bottom, yes PLEASE give me more of the ladies!!!!!)

I am seeing family too they are putting wooden clog shoe next to radiator (poor Wambles, no fireplace, ahhhhhhhh but no burning on fire day!) for candy and gifts to be put in. We are eating dinner and I am like pretending to stare at my feet, everyone say "wambles why are you to staring for 19 seconds at own feet?" and I look at ceiling and make lips into an airplane (VROOM HELICOPTER, WHERE MAY I LAND?) and am saying "I think feet are growing like imbecile, need shoes 50 TIMES BIGGER!"

Holy crap in my whole house every single person laughing like mad, because they know crazy Wambles, he is only wanting GIGANTIC shoe to be getting eight billion presents. Every year I am making this same joke whole house erupting for smiles.

Did you know in Nederlands Santa is named not Santa, but St. Nick, is true. Also elves are like shoo shoo, no elves, instead black peoples. Is so real! I am telling this to Jason Pepsi and he gets big pouty boy and saying "you are big mr. racist wamble pamble," but man I tell him is so much truth. If people being bad, black men beat them up for year with branches from tree, if they are making proud parents by nicing so much, presents from Santa come like raindrop into shoe. Simple and sound, and then I am saying to Jason "man you are drinking Pepsi that is black maybe you are big racist for drinking up black peoples." HAHA GOT HIM BAD! JASON CRY LIKE FAIRY GIRL. LIKE ELF GIRL.

No he didn't cry but so close I am thinking.

For New Year I am partying hardcore in Den Haag, not enormous city for partying but oh well father dad is having big ceremony on first day of fresh year so whole family having to be there. Me and two womens I meet are jamming hard at club on water that used to be fish hatchery. Oh man go figuring, correct? Ugh, but not so bad at end of night I am taking eight women for hours of crazy making kiss.

OH CRAP I KID YOU! HAHA MAN YOU ARE GOTTEN ALMOST SO BAD LIKE JASON PEPSI.

Serious man, be having good holiday even though yes is almost over. Be having fucking AWESOME year please. Go kick every person in their pants.


-Wambles (FUN FOR NEW YORK I AM BACK!)

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The Christmas Card Series: Ron

Yearly re-cap.

Decent year, better than last year, not as good as year before. 8.2/10. Fifth best, all-time, behind '84, '89, '93, '02.

Girlfriends: 1 - Shelly. Not bad. Could be better, but will probably not dump her. Great legs, still in shape. Face still free of wrinkles. Breasts smallish, so very little worry about sagging. Narrow hips, fat should not be problem, but will keep close eye regardless.

Decisison: One year extension for Shelly.

Sex (Times): 474. Third best year in career.

Sex (Partners): 132. Trend shows more conservative use of women. Less girls, more frequency. Guess I'm getting old, ha ha.

Average Sex per Partner: 3.59.

Leading sex partner (frequency): Shelly, 197 times.

Leading sex partner (average per encounter): Jamaican girl from Astoria. 13 times, 2/15/06. Name ended in vowel, had "q" somewhere. Took out frustration from Valentine's Day. This was personal best, all time.

Sex Assists: 54

Greatest Benefactor: Wambles, 33. Do not know how many deals he sealed. Less than 10. Still counts as assist.

Fights: 37

Overall Record: 36-0-1.*

*Was about to fight on main street in Hoboken, 3/17/06, but dude got hit by car while posturing. Fight declared a draw. Only non-win ever on St. Patrick's Day.

Record against roommates: 4-0. 1 over Jason, 3 over Lionel. All easy.

Bocci Record (vs. non-old-Italian-men): 65-13

Money Won: $432

Bocci Record (vs. old Italian men): 2-521

Money Lost: $4,185

Miniature golf outings: 14

Rounds Under Par: 14. Yes.

Record: 13-1. Shelly so lucky. 8/23/2006, Big Apple Little Greens, upper east side. Down 4 strokes on last hole, she sunk hole-in-one, stupid bounce knocked mine off course. Had long talk with manager about barriers needing to be higher. Took relief, three-putted for 6. Missed four footer to tie. Really annoying. Did not talk with Shelly for two days. Make-up sex pretty good. Have now beat her five straight.

Hours volunteered at 826NYC: 54 total. Shelly's idea, turned out to be okay. Teaching third graders to read. Some kids pretty cool, will probably do it again.

Money raised for 826NYC: $12,875. Couple benefits. Mostly Shelly's doing. Helped out with organizing. Showed up, sold some stuff, gave a speech at one. Made out with Sarah Vowell in bathroom. Bad kisser.

Times successful in getting Jason to stop behaving like a nerd around girls: 0.

Creepy German roommates who stare at me while I eat: 1.

Potential New Year's hook-ups: 45, not counting unknowns. Plus Shelly as fall-back, so 46. Have to kiss her at midnight. Actual total probably nearer to 10. Will update after holiday.

Merry Christmas.


-Ron Fariglia

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The Christmas Card Series: Jason

Hey everyone, merry Christmas!!!

And Hanukkah and Kwanzaa too, for our Jewish and African-American friends.

I didn't mean to make those other two seem secondary by mentioning them after Christmas, by the way. I'm sorry if it came across that way. It's just that I grew up Christian, and so the first thing I think of at this time of year is Christmas. I've celebrated it so long, it's like a habit, you know? "Merry Christmas." I guess I shouldn't think like that, though. Just because you were raised a certain way doesn't mean you should consider other ways second. You should consider them all at the same time, or else you're biased and backwards. I have to work on that. That's a good New Year's resolution.

Although I'm not sure which one I should say first, because obviously you can't say them all at the same time. Maybe it would be best to rotate between Hanukkah and Kwanzaa to make up for all the years I said "Merry Christmas." Maybe someday it would be equal and then I can switch between all three. Although I'm not sure how many times I've said 'Merry Christmas' in my life, so it'd be pretty impossible to calculate when I've caught up, numerically speaking. That's really frustrating.

And even then, what if someone says 'Merry Christmas,' like someone in my family? Wouldn't it be weird to reply with "Happy Kwanzaa"? I think it might seem disrespectful or something. But then again, I guess you shouldn't consider offending some people when you're trying to promote tolerance. I always try to think of what the slaves would say, back whenever, if they saw me afraid to stand up for their descendants because I was intimidated by white Christian tradition. They'd probably say "we worked so hard to get freedom, and now you're letting it all slip away, thanks a ton!"

Maybe they'd say it in dialect, but I learned from a creative writing class that it can be offensive when a white person tries to write like a black person talks. That's a big reason I don't like Mark Twain anymore. It's like he's making fun of them or something, not to mention he uses the word "nigger."

I only say that word here, in context, to tell why I don't think Mark Twain is a good writer anymore. I put it in quotes so that means it's okay, right? Oh man, I don't even know. I'm real sorry if I screwed up there. Anyway, Mark Twain is a bastard. I don't like to curse, but it's true. Maybe he has some good stories, but man, why was he so hateful? I won't read anything by him again, ever, unless it's by accident. Even then I'll try to stop reading the minute I'm like "oh, this is Mark Twain the racist."

So yeah, I guess that's my New Year's resolution. More tolerance, more self-awareness about who I'm offending.

I'm going by the Gregorian calendar when I say New Year's, by the way. No offense meant at all to our Islamic or Chinese friends, who have their own calendars that say it isn't the New Year yet. And you know what? Maybe they're right. Who knows when the actual "New Year" is, or even if there's a New Year at all. My money's on the Chinese. They've been around the longest, so they probably know what's going on better than the Gregorians, whoever they are.

I just looked it up. The Gregorians are named after a Pope. Figures, right? God Damn It, that makes me angry. Sorry again for the curse word. You see what racism does to me. It just boils my blood. "Hey, look at me, I'm a Pope, now I get to decide when everyone celebrates the New Year! I don't even care about anyone who isn't Catholic!" So arrogant. I think everyone should choose their own New Year. But I guess that might get messy if there's too many parties and days off.

Speaking of our friends in other religions and countries, do Muslims and Chinese have a Christmas holiday? Or, I mean, a holiday that happens around Christmas? I'd feel really bad for not including them above. Guys, if you're reading this, no offense meant. I swear if you met me you'd see me I'm not as big a jerk as I'm sounding right now. I'd take you out for a drink and we'd have a good time. Well, for the Muslims I guess we'd go out for a soda, not a drink. I wouldn't even mention alcohol, except maybe to point out that it is a drug, and kudos to you guys for taking the initiative on that one. Too bad Pope Gregory didn't do something useful like outlaw alcohol instead of imposing his calendar on everyone.

I guess this is a good lesson. I really need to learn more about other cultures so I don't sound so mean and ignorant. How will a girl ever like me if I'm constantly being offensive?

God I feel terrible right now.

This year is going to be so hard.


-Jason Pepsi

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The Christmas Card Series: Lionel (Le Capeur)

Fragmentation, conflation, alleviation.

Happy Holidays, my quondam comates! In reference to the ternion adduced in the preceding obiter dictum, we find ourselves in the final stage or, perchance, the triangle's apex. 'Tis the season, veritably, and e'en so, I find myself in unseasonably magnanimous spirits. In response to your burgeoning query (tactfully withheld, I'm sure!), be corroborated and thereby heartened- this missive occasions my de facto recrudescence to the "blogosphere."

Today, o'erhanging the 24th Christmas of my existence, I am touched by the explosive show of furtherance since my antecedent entry. Were I to protract my hiatus, only well-intentioned but ultimately tragic savagery would unfurl, along with a corollary acerbity directed toward my co-habitant scribes. On that topic, I must fervently apologize for a temporal epoch of inexcusable deletions undertaken, sans imprimatur, on their behalf. This, you need not be told, transpired in the winter of my discontent. Like some elephantine pre-Renaissance Lord (dreading, no doubt, the impending edification) engaged in wheezing violations of a heretofore unblemished newlywed beneath the hideous auspices of Droit de Seigneur, I have truly overstepped my bounds. My regret is unfathomable to souls of lesser conscience, whose number cannot be reckoned.

Now, then, with unpleasantries summarily disposed, let us comment anew on the delectations of Noël. It truly lightens the burden of acute intelligence to be bathed, for once, in the enigma of human kindness. Indubitably, mankind's ceaseless pavane takes on a somewhat livelier meter at these, the days of winking chivalry. And yea, yea, compatriots, the craven crepehangers among you may duly observe that time passes, and existential lightness regresses ineluctably into fugue. But let us occlude these impinging cogitations and thrust ourselves forthwith into jocundity!

Blessings upon the multitudes, I say! Merry Christmas indeed!

-Le Capeur

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The Christmas Card Series: Zygmunt

On the holiday, it is thought that we might know reprieve.

It is thought that anodyne spirits, infiltrating culture's institutions, will improve our fortunes. We become enamored with ornamentation and the prospect of receiving.

I have compiled a list of three facts regarding Christmas. At the sunset of our year, I share them with you.

Hospitals do not close.

Firmaments are not proofed against flame.

Perversion and base instinct do not abate in the criminal mind.

Pain will not cease. It is the expectation of more which inflates hope, and fosters imagery. Thus, we create idols from ambivalent nature. Such thoughts are spurious. The gloaming will descend when it is beckoned, and swiftly does the finger crook.

The triumphant human is he who braces against ceremony, attaching an unwavering mind's eye to historical exhortation. While considering the manger in Bethlehem, so too does he recall Roman spears piercing the blameless flesh. He is ever mindful of the cycle- that which is broken, and that which must never be.

Darkness does not obey a calendar. While I construct edifices from sincerity, I must recognize neighboring demolition. Strength is intricate illusion. Weakness is the restoration of chaos. Oliver Cromwell learned this lesson. For twenty-five Christmas days, his head grinned from a pole on Westminster Abbey.

Hasten now up your tired hills. Mount the graded stones, pull the door of heavy oak. Race through the nave, past the chancel, and into the sanctuary. Find the ingress, and ascend the spiral staircase. Reach the steeple- grasp a knot of the heavy rope. Spread the alarm, sound the urgent toll. A great flood approaches:

It is Christmas.

I am Zygmunt Schmidt.

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