#lingua latina

TODAY I HOPE A BUS ACCIDENTALLY KILLS ME

Today I hope a bus accidentally kills me. That way, people will look back on everything I did in my life and think about how special it was, because a bus accidentally killed me. The driver wouldn’t have to feel bad, because it’d be an accident. And if for some reason the collision didn’t kill me, when the driver got out of the bus to check on me, I’d say, “Could you please roll over my head and finish me. I’m in pain and I want to become a hero.” People nearby would see the big wheel of the bus smashing my skull into the concrete– my screaming mouth the last thing to go.

CULTURE IS STUPID

I am watching you sleep and repeating the words, “You are my enemy” over and over until the steam collects on your face and your pores turn the steam into icicles of a whole new kind of sharpness.

Shake hands with your enemy to test their bones.

I am 24.

Living another 50 years seems impossible.

FRAGMENTAI Am Going to Clone Myself Then Kill the Clone and Eat It

HODIE CVRRVS FORTE ME INTERFICIAT

Hodie currus forte me interficiat ut praestantes mihi res gestae existimentur, quod currus forte me interfecerit. Agitator quidem in culpa non erit ob fortunam adversam, et eum rogem, si pulsus temere interficiar, ut super meum caput currum volvat ad rem cedendam; “Doleo enim,” inquam, “herosque fieri volo.” Rota curri magna quae opprimit in humum caput videtur, tunc os clamitans e conspectu abiturum.

MORES SVNT STVLTI

Cum dormientem te specto verba “Tu es hostis” sonant resonantque dum spiritus genas tingat foraminaque umorem ad tantam acerbitatem glacient.

Iungite dextras ad hostes temptandos.

Natus annos XXIV sum.

Vivere alios annos L vix potest.

-

TODAY LET A CHARIOT KILL ME BY CHANCE

Today let a chariot kill me by chance so that my accomplishments may be judged as outstanding, because a chariot will have killed me by chance. Even the driver will not be at fault for bad luck, and I will ask him, if perhaps after being struck I am not killed, to roll the chariot over my head to finish the matter; “For I am in pain,” I say, “and I want to become a hero.” The chariot’s great wheel that presses my head into the ground is seen, then my shouting mouth about to go out from sight.

CUSTOMS ARE FOOLISH

When I watch you sleeping the words “You are the enemy” sound and resound until my breath wets your cheeks and your pores freeze the moisture to such great sharpness.

 Join right hands to test the enemy.

I am 24 years old.

I am hardly able to live another 50 years.

Valete, Romani!

We, Romans will be going on a brief hiatus for the summer months. We will return in September. In the mean time, please check older posts, click author links, learn about the art, and best of all, spend time at leisurely study. Thank you so much for the support, and have a great summer!

Yesterday I was standing on a pier in the middle of the East River and I was looking at the glorious fog hanging over the city and I kept on wanting to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. I closed my eyes and tried to let whatever needed to wash over me do what it would but all that kept happening was me seeing my dog—all wiggles and wags and snorts and grunts and happy sounds—sleeping at my feet in a way only dogs can do. I was trying to meditate, I guess. That is something I do every morning but I never do it out there in public even though it was early and the only other person I saw hanging around the park with the pier was an older bald man who kept looking at me warily and I could feel his sadness.

I can always feel sadness.

FRAGMENTVM “Welcome, Ghosts”; This Must Be the Place ANNO MMXV VIDEBITVR

In ponte in orientis medio flumine heri moratus urbem magnificis coactis nubibus spectabam et quamvis lacrimas gaudio effundere vellem tamen non potebam. Claudis oculis volebam animi excruciari, cum canem meum vibrantem membra quatientem gementem suspirantem omnibus gaudentem ad meos pedes dormientem quo modo soli possent canes conspicerem—ad meditandum, ut opinor, quod prima luce omnium dierum ago, etsi non publice, atque tum multo mane solum videbam qui calvus annosusque furtim me spectabat; eum esse miserum sentio.

Miseros semper novi.

-

Having tarried yesterday on a bridge in the middle of the river of the East, I was watching the city with splendid clouds having been collected, and although I wanted tears to flow forth in gladness, nevertheless I was not able. With closed eyes I wanted to suffer in spirit, when I caught sight of my quaking dog, his legs shaking, groaning, breathing, rejoicing in all things, sleeping at my feet, in a way only dogs are able—for the purpose of meditating, I believe, which I do at first light of all days, although not publicly, and at that time, very early in the morning, I saw a lone man, who, bald and full of years, was watching me secretly; I sense that he is sad.

I always recognize sad men.

#dear Self: this is the big one. Practice breathing. Leave your hands to floating—don’t thrash, even when the small fish get in the way.

#dear NYC: u made this cali girl anti-social. I’ve learned so much from u. NO: staring, touching, talking to or smiling @ strangers

#dear daughter: i fear for ur safety. i pray for the way u rise like the sun. i praise the day u see all this fight in my marrow is 4 u

#dear she: we be falling short of our own expectations cause we too busy trynna create men from the shards of their shortcomings

#dear she: imma need you to take responsibility. there are some of us that should be held accountable for breaking the spirit of good men.

#dear Self: the most beautifullest thing in this world is ur smile. Show it, often.

FRAGMENTVM #Dear Twitter, @mobrowne

Carina sibi S.: Res gravis, quae ad animam meditari, manibus licet innare—noli flagellare, cum piscelli te morantur.

Carina Novo Eboraco S.: Fecisti ut Californiae haec alios metuam ex te didici non hospites spectare, tangere, loqui, ridere.

Carina filiae S.: Metuo ut sis tuta; precor ut quomodo sol oriatur, sic tu; utinam intellegas pro te ossibus me laborare.

Carina puellae S.: Spem fallimus, quippe cum viros fingamus qui peccatis fracti sunt

Carina puellae S.: Redda rationem; aliquae animum bonorum frangunt.

Carina sibi S.: Subridens facis diem pulcherrimum; saepe age.

I want you to understand how guilty I feel sometimes just for being alive.

I want to know what soldiers died who would have lived better lives than I have. I want to know what college students have surrendered and swallowed the pills and not been saved. I want to know what I can do to save them. I want to know if they want to be saved. I want to know if, for some suicides, death really is the better option, the path we would all choose in their situation, like euthanasia for the terminally ill, or a medieval traitor who chooses decapitation over being disemboweled.

I want to know what I ever did to deserve a good life.

FRAGMENTVMBecause

Ut intellegas quantum vivo me mihi misero interdum scelus sit; noscere milites mortuos qui probius me vixissent atque iuvenes qui mortem medicamine sibi consciverunt nec impediebantur; ego iam impedire hos si velint; scire quo tempore mors omnibus quaerenda sit, sicut aegri somnum vel ad asperrimas poenas damnati secuti feriri quam exinterari malvolunt; scire quae fecerim ut sim dignus beata vita volo.

“Because… it’s just… I have a girlfriend.” …

My first thought was that I wished he hadn’t told me. I thought it was unfair he was telling me about his girlfriend, and therefore making me partially responsible if we did end up having sex.

And then thinking more, I was surprised he actually had a girlfriend. I thought the frustration he expressed about the difficulty of pursuing women was indicative of him being hopelessly single.

And finally, from reading his articles, besides his intelligence, what I had really admired about his writing was essentially this feeling of how he seemed to uphold human dignity and the sacredness of human feeling and connection. And so it seemed unbelievable that he would cheat. That made me both disillusioned in him, and yet also sexually excited, because he was betraying those values. …

I wondered if this is just how men are, no matter how feminist and intelligent.

FRAGMENTVM “Adrien Brody,”what purpose did i serve in your life

“O eheu… id est… mulierem habeo.” …

Primum me velle eum non mihi dixisse cogito, et mulierem ita mihi immeritae nuntiatam esse ut nobis cubitibus consuetis ego quoque in culpa sim.

Tumque omnibus cogitatis forte miror eum mulierem habere, cum dixerit se frustra capere mulieres temptavisse et exemplum solitudinis videatur.

Atque verbis eius lectis cum magnum ingenium existimo tum admiror eum videri credere homines augustos et amari curarique dignos, quod eum indignum facit amatu varias: ergo haud mihi placet, sed ea re relicta tamen ardeo. …

Delibero num dictis omnibus omnes viri ad hunc modum agant.

They concluded that Ran Manville had shimmied up the maple tree, crawled across the one low limb, and heaved himself onto Gwendolyn Lutz’s roof. As to why, no one had a good answer. It didn’t make much sense—a guy like him perched on a roof and singing “Just Tell Her Jim Said Hello” so the whole neighborhood could hear. Granted, he was a little touched, in Tommy Pahl’s words, but Ran Manville didn’t seem like the type to express himself in such an outward manner or shimmy his way up anything. Helen Wheeler claimed it was some kind of romantic gesture. Calvin Sumner blamed the humidity—unprecedented soupy air that had been hanging around for weeks. Muriel Wonsettler called it a ritual of some sort. Her husband dismissed that out-of-hand and argued that not everything has to be a ritual. “Some things,” he said, “are just what they are.” And Marigold Holloway blamed it on liquor. “Everyone just accepts it nowadays,” she said.

FRAGMENTVM “The Groundlings”

Arbitrabantur R. Manvillium ulmum ascendisse tumque ramum humilem transgressum in tectum G. Luciae se trahisse, sed nemo causam factorum nesciebat. Id rationis expers videtur, quod ipse Ieronimi carmen canens tanta voce in tecto sedet ut ab omnibus audiatur; R. Manvillius, cum in T. Palli verbis paulo lunae sit, non videtur qui aperte sententias loquatur vel ulla ascendat. Alia signa alii cives opinibantur: H. Vilicia animi amantis, C. Somnus umoris qui inauditus multos dies in aere crasso calebat, M. Vonsettlia cultus deorum, quacum vir statim dissentiebat, “Aliquae,” inquit, “sunt ut videntur.” Atque M. Holloveius culpam in vino conferebat, “Hodie,” inquit, “isti sunt novi mores.”

The logger’s heart was failing. He took a deep breath and looked down. The miner was saying something about the approaching rise of the sun. The logger didn’t listen and flung himself out of the door of the elevator into the air.

The fall was fast and cold, with blur and clarity both, everything a sheet downward while he saw in detail the flying birds, then the treetops, then the red roofs of houses, then doors, then roots, and he fell like a stone and was certain to die if something of a wind hadn’t held and pushed him enough to the right, landing him in the middle of the small newborn lake that was occupied by one swan, one bluebird, and a thousand spinning insects.

He fell and struck through, and the water was like glass, but still it broke beneath him and so then he did not have to break.

FRAGMENTVMThe Third Elevator

Lignator animo fracto animam recepit despexitque. Metallicus solem mox orturum esse dicebat cum dictis inauditis lignator e ianua alta in aera se deiecit.

Occasus celer frigidusque erat magno cursu magna cum tranquillitate et occidens lapis lignator ut proximam tabernam claras aves, summas arbores, rutila domuum tecta, ianuas, radices videbat ut certe moreretur si non parvula aura eum teneret et impelleret in medium lacum parvum quo unus cygnus et caerulea avis et milia insectorum versantum incolebant.

Summa aqua afflicta lacus similis vitri frangebatur ut lictator non debuit frangi.

Before I entered the door, holding it open with relief and gratitude, it occurred to me to look straight up, and much to my surprise, there were stars. Stars! I hadn’t thought I would be able to see them, not with the light pollution perpetually wreathing the city, and not on a night on which it had been raining. But the rain had stopped while I was climbing down, and had washed the air clean. The miasma of Manhattan’s electric lights did not go very far up into the sky, and in the moonless night, the sky was like a roof shot through with light, and heaven itself shimmered. Wonderful stars, a distant cloud of fireflies: but I felt in my body what my eyes could not grasp, which was that their true nature was the persisting visual echo of something that was already in the past. In the unfathomable ages it took for light to cross such distances, the light source itself had in some cases been long extinguished, its dark remains stretched away from us at even greater speeds.

FRAGMENTVM Open City

Prius quam grato animo suspirans in ianuam apertam intrabam, in mentem venit quod caelum est spectandum, et imprudens sidera conspexi. Ecce sidera! Propter magnarum lucum orbem et imbres eodem die fieri posse non credideram, imbres autem quae dissipata me descendente erant puras aeres laverunt nubesque Manhattani lucentis haud alte in altum pertinebant ut caelum defecta luna sicut tectum lucibus perforaretur luceretque. Mirabiles spectatu, cicendelae longinquae! Quod oculis non poteram id meo corpore sentiebam, quod imagines candidae verorum mortuorum mihi semper reddebantur. Lux igne interdum diu exstincto innumeros annos ad nostram terram intendit dum cinis ater celerius fugiunt.

I am an awful nanny, really. I go to the bathroom when I don’t even have to go to the bathroom to kill time. I am distracted. I am sarcastic. I do not listen. I am uptight. I am selfish. I am tense. I text while I drive. I make promises I don’t keep. My chocolate chip cookies are spongy. I am impatient. I over explain. I am existential. I try to tell them nothing matters. I tell them about cremation. I ask them where they want to be cremated. The toy store. They want to be cremated at the toy store. I tell them they can’t do that. It has to be outside. The Toy Store parking lot, they decide.

But somehow they like me. I make them laugh. I have always been able to make boys laugh. I am blunt. I make jokes. I will get on the floor. I play along. I play tag. I buy them ice cream. I bring them gum. I try to remember their birthdays. I laugh a lot. I let them win. I let it slide when they say the words: crap, freaking, sexy.

FRAGMENTVM “My Heart Was Still Beating”

Haud recte vero nutrix facio, nam ad latrinam cum non est opus cedo ut tempus teram, et liberis neglectis quae sim superba, trepida, severa, nihil audiam, litteras dum invehor scribam, res fallaciter promittam, dulces placentas aridas coquam, animo aegra, nimis graviter docens doctaque eos nihil referre audientes doceo de mortuis qui ad cinem ossaque flagrantur et rogo in quo loco flagrari velint. In taberna, inquiunt, quae ea pueris in lusum oblata vendit. Id vobis non licet, inquam, intus flagrari, foris flagrandi estis. Id prae taberna se velle decernunt.

Sed tamen liberis, quoniam ego, quae semper facio ut pueri rideant, risus moveam, eis aperta ioci causa dicam et eorum ludos ludam, eis dulcia ad lambendum vel mandendum empta dem, dierum natalium memor, saepe rideam, committam ut vincant, verba cac, pipinnam, culum dicta neglegam, placeo.

When I was young—old enough to like a boy but young enough to have no clue what that meant—there was a boy who I thought was my boyfriend and who said he was my boyfriend but who also completely ignored me at school…. When we were together, he’d tell me what he wanted to do to me. He wasn’t asking permission. I was not an unwilling participant. I was not a willing participant. I felt nothing one way or the other. I wanted him to love me. I wanted to make him happy. If doing things to my body made him happy, I would let him do anything to my body. My body was nothing to me. It was just meat and bones around that void he filled by touching me. Technically, we didn’t have sex but we did everything else. The more I gave, the more he took. At school, he continued looking right through me. I was dying but I was happy. I was happy because he was happy, because if I gave enough, he might love me. As an adult, I don’t understand how I allowed him to treat me like that. I don’t understand how he could be so terrible. I don’t understand how desperately I sacrificed myself. I was young.

FRAGMENTVM “What We Hunger For”

Puella quae annorum satis ad pueros amandos sed non hanc rem intellegendam habebam quemdam amabam qui quamquam se me quoque dilecturum polliceretur tamen coram ceteris neglegebat…. Mecum coniunctus quomodo me esset attacturus dicebat iniussu mei quae accipere volebam nolebamque, quae nihil morabar, quae beatum me amare simpliciter volebam. Si me attingere gaudeat, quod mea non interest, corpus capiendum tradam. Ipse caro ossaque sum sine me attingeat. Veris concubitibus non fictis cetera feceruntur, et quantum magis capiebat, tantum magis dabam. Aperte etiam neglegebat me moriens beatam, cum ego gauderem dum ille gauderet, cum ego gauderem dum ille me amaret, cum ille me amaret dum satis illi darem. Nunc femina quare sic illum passa sim vel ita peccaverit vel me desperata ipsa sacrificium fecerim non intellego. Ego tunc eram puella.

My parents had a New Year’s Eve party and I woke up to fat “Uncle” Steve with his hands under my sleep shirt. He smelled drunk and he told me shhhhh and kissed me on my mouth, his mustache bristly on my face. While he did everything I felt bad and good at the same time. I cried with no noise while thinking I wish I could scream or that I should scream. When he finished, he just left. I heard him walk down the hall, down the stairs, and I heard him shout, “Frances, get me another fuckin’ beer!” and everyone laughing in response. I didn’t know if he meant my mom or my dad, because my mom’s name was Frances and my dad was named Frank but “Uncle” Steve always jokingly called him Francis. I remember thinking that it didn’t really matter, that nothing really mattered. 

FRAGMENTVM Normally Special

Inter ferias Matronales domi parentum e somno excitata sum a patruo, lato Stevo, qui me sub tunicam tentabat. Vinum olens “tace,” inquit et barba horrida basium meo ore basiavit. Omnibus fientibus laetor et excrucior, tacita fleo et quamvis optem ululare non possum, quamvis debeam. Cum conficeret audiebam eum egredi per andronem et descendere scalas et ridentibus omnibus postulare a France ut ei aliam cervisiam daret. Haud scio utrum a matre an patre petiverit, cum sit matri nomen Frances et patrem, nomine Frank, patruus Stevus Francem ioci causa nominet, sed nihil referre, nihil quidquam referre credebam.

-

During the festival of Matronalia at the home of my parents I was roused from sleep by my uncle, broad Steve, who was touching me beneath my shirt. Smelling of wine, he said “Keep quiet,” and kissed a kiss on my mouth with his hoary beard. While everything was happening I was glad and tormented, I cried quietly and although I wanted to cry out I was unable, although I ought to have. When he finished I heard that he went out through the hall and went down the stairs and while everybody laughed asked that Frances give him another beer. I hardly know whether he sought it from my mother or father, since my mother has the name Frances and my father, Frank by name, uncle Steve named Frances for the sake of a joke, but I thought that it matters not at all, that nothing matters at all.

Sure, at first you were concerned and probably a little enamored by her. Nympho the cat was an ugly little shit but she got you good, and real quick too. She’d be waiting out back near the empty kegs just mewling like a billy goat. Soon you started bringing her nips of meat and cheese from the fryer, all her brown eyes begging. The little slut. Then you were smuggling cans of cat food in and out of work, full then empty, getting the wiry thing all fattened up. It was all you could do to leave at the end of your shift. Then one night you came out and there they were: about ten raccoons staring you down, waiting for the feed. Green glowing eyes. You told me later, you said, “It scared the shit out of me. But then I looked and right there in the middle of’m was her.” Nympho the cat.

FRAGMENTVM “Heavy Woods”

Cum illam curares et ex animo scilicet amares, Nympho illa feles, turpis merdula, te callida subito fraudavit, quae sicut caper maumans ad cupas post tabernam manebat. Mox frusta carnem caseumque e foco illi, Nymphoni isti lupae, ocellis fuscis semper precantibus praebebas, tum vascula cibo plena furtim portabas totiens devorata ut macram saginares, quae paene interdixit ne extrema luce abires, tunc quadam nocte egressus eos conspexisti qui circiter decim turpes mures cibum cupientes te oculis minacibus prasinisque intuiti sunt. Posterius mihi dicebas hos te perterruisse. “Tum vero inter hos,” inquis, “illam conspexi.” Nympho illa feles.

Although you took care of her and loved her out of your spirit, Nympho the cat, the little shit, she deceived you shrewdly all of a sudden, who, meowing like a goat, was waiting for you near the barrels behind the shop. Soon you were offering meat and cheese from the hearth to her in vain, Nympho the slut, with her dark little eyes always begging, then you were carrying sneakily little cans full of food having been devoured so many times that you fattened the lean cat, who all but forbid you from leaving with the last light, and then having left on a certain night you saw them, around ten dirty mice who, desiring food, observed you with menacing green eyes. Later you were telling me that they terrified you. “But then,” you said, “among them, I saw her.” Nympho the cat.