"Qualis artifex pereo"

"What an artist the world is losing in me"

- Nero, A Roman emperor

"أي فنان عظيم تخسرون بموتي"

The word hysteria originates from the Greek word for "uterus" hystera. The oldest record of hysteria dates back to 1900 B.C. when Egyptians recorded behavioral abnormalities in adult women on medical papyrus. The Egyptians attributed the behavioral disturbances to a wandering uterus—thus later dubbing the condition hysteria. To treat hysteria Egyptian doctors prescribed various medications. For example, doctors put strong smelling substances on the patients’ vulvas to encourage the uterus to return to its proper position. Another tactic was to smell or swallow unsavory herbs to encourage the uterus to flee back to the lower part of the female’s stomach

قريت hysterectomy معناه استئصال الرحم، وتذكرت hysteria معناها إنهيار عصبي... وعلى ما يبدو طلع اكو ربط بين الكلمتين😂

وراها اليونان أخذوا هالفكرة من المصريين القدماء، أرسطو جان يكول الهستريا وكم حالة مرضية كلهن سببهن انه الرحم ديتجول بجسم الأنثى😂

ارجع واكول ال treatment كلش كرييتف

قال الشيطان للكاهن : "اخلع عنك ثيابك الحريرية، جع كما يجوع البائسون، استلق على الأرض الباردة القذرة مثلهم ثم حينها حدثهم عن الجحيم"
• دوستويفسكي

A picture that perfectly depicts my cooking style

You probably wanna stay away from people and isolate yourself for about a week or so...

Baghdad (1962), painted by Hafid Al-Droubi

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
By #Pablo_Neruda



Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Translation by W. S. Merwin

The clear problem with the outlawing of insult is the too many things that can be interpreted as such. Criticism is easily construed as insult by certain parties

- Sir Rowan Atkinson, Mr. Bean

I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration

- Dune, by Frank Herbert

If Culture ever had a fossil, it would be Language. It's the closest thing to a collective cultural memory