Dispatches from the Wolf's Den

Ambushed by hostile tribesmen

magicmolly:

There’s a stretch on Broome, starting at Allen and moving West two or three blocks, that always smells terrible. Not terrible like summer garbage or a fish market, but inventively terrible.

It’s always something you can’t name. Spoiled pork? Mildewed bean sprouts? Shrimp casings melted in the sun? Can’t say. None of these. In dramatic moods, it smells like the smell of death.

My block!

Urbs antiqua ruit

An ancient city fell, which ruled for years.
Are strewn the stricken corpses through the streets,
and through the holy thresholds of the gods.
Not only Trojans pay the price with blood;
valor still returns to vanquished hearts
and now it is the victors’ time to die.
Ev’rywhere cruel sorrow and alarm;
ev’rywhere the ghost of death itself.

Aeneid translation never graded by my 12th grade Latin teacher

It's a hipster runoff world

tomewing:

I have just read a completely straight-faced and serious business blog post entitled “In an age of personal branding, are we losing our authenticity?”