The Roosevelt House Odes

 The Roosevelt House was my friend’s and my party house for roughly three years. We had large parties there of over two hundred people as well as a numerous amounts of small parties ranging from four people to twenty people. In fact pretty much  every time I went to The Roosevelt House it ended up being party …or we where all recovering from the party the night before.

 It was hard trying to find photos that would convey all of the amazing times that where had at that magical house. Charlotte Robinson luckily sent me a ton of them. I’m glad someone was documenting this time so diligently. Unfortunately there are a lot of important characters that were at The Roosevelt House often that I do not have photos of. I remember some amazing photos of these people but can’t seem to find them anywhere.

Below is a poem by Seamus Montgomery one of the faithful residents of The Roosevelt house. I do hope you read it seeing as its fucking awesome!!

The Roosevelt House Odes

Seamus Montgomery

Autumn 2006

Love in the Middle of the Afternoon

Oh the hours I lie on the floor,
writhing in the sad dream
of a cubensis mushroom,
which sponged in the rain of my womb-sweet-womb,
the flophouse on Roosevelt Ave.—
where time and convention pass unyielded.

People Who Have Had Sex in the Bathroom

Clarence Davis
Pete Shelley
William Penn V
Suicide Sally
Mickey Holiday
Ian Spelding
O’Houigheighi Jackson
Marc Bolan
Claudia Doherty
Cliff the Tree-Dweller
The Foz
Echo Clowesden
Glamourous Gary Glue
Skylar Alexis
Bob Fossil
Richard X
Sir Thomas Rayven Black
Thomas Bishop
Walter Richardson
Snake Johnson
John Snakeson
Charles Neuman Lee Barash III
Spencer Humphrey
Caitlin Hendwright
Johnny Guitar
Matt Skeels
Natalya Trotsky
Spinach D
Maxine Von Nostrin
Patrick Morissey
Phaedra Forever

Oh, Ghazal Me to Death (The Ballad of Bombay Grill)
My father died so I, my wife, and little girl
Could be reborn again within the western world.
Throughout this earthly life I’ve worked and worked and worked
To serve the finest Indi’an dining in the world.
Our family’s home was made of pious joy, and love
Before the boys moved in next door, invaded world.
They have no sense of morals, purpose, decency–
No respect for neighbors, those who share their world.
They blindly mock tradition, culture, familial bonds,
And hold licentious pleasure with all the weight of worlds.
Smashing bottles, crashing walls, blasting sound,
So loud, it could paralyze an average world.
Each night brings nearer my family’s decline, unfurled
Within the toxic dream that is the western world.

Get These Normies Out of Here!
normie |nôɹ-mē| n
1. broadly speaking, someone whose presence would not be wildly conspicuous within a crowd of normal people.
2. anyone completely uninteresting to others beyond a given societal norm.
Origin: Early 21st Cent America

We had a party. We had a large party. I wouldn’t vouch, but a vague number of sage men of ages have proposed a direct correlation between the enormity of a party and its value. We had a vague number of large parties. There was a creamcheese party, a unicorn party, a mushroom tea party. We even threw a sort-of-biblical-nativity-meets-McDonald’s-iconography happening called “Snakes on A Disco: But Wait If You Call Now, We’ll Include The Hamburglar Swindling Baby Jesus from the Manger in Old Bethlehem. I’m not even joking. And then there was this one for David Bowie’s birthday. Everyone got all dolled up in their best Ziggy Stardust or Thin White Duke or whatnot and paraded around the house like they had never heard of the twentieth century. All the children of the neighborhood came out of their respective shells/closets/wombs to savor their slice of the debauch pie. There were all in all oh I don’t know say twenty dozen glamorous kids packed like sardines in my little shoebox house, which was actually more like a youth hostel. Let’s just say things were a bit uncanny when the fire dancers slipped in a puddle of toxic and fell off the roof. We spit blood on the ceiling. We danced. We made love. We cursed the sky and wished for the end of the world. Which only came for Keith, who opened his wrists on the edge of the tin mailbox.

Raton Rose


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