Pteraeolidia ianthina
هذا هم حلزون بحري وهمين يمارس الـ kleptoplasty مثل إبن عمه الفوك
هذا هم حلزون بحري وهمين يمارس الـ kleptoplasty مثل إبن عمه الفوك
أكو نمط تلاحظه بالكائنات الحية عمومًا هو "التطفل." أغلب الكائنات الحية متطفلة بشكلٍ ما من حيث أنها تفترس كائنات ثانية أو تستغلها بأي طريقة حتى تحصل منها اللي تحتاجه: الحيوانات اللاحمة تفترس الحيوانات العاشبة حتى تحصل منها بروتين وطاقة، والعاشبة تاكل النباتات حتى تحصل منها بروتين وطاقة، والنباتات تستغل الكلوروبلاست اللي بداخلها حتى تنتج طاقة. البكتيريا تتطفل علينا وتسببلنا أمراض حتى هي تعيش وتتكاثر، واحنة نستغل البكتيريا بأمعائنا لأغراض مناعية وغذائية، وهكذا...
هي لحظةٌ لا مثيلَ لها حينما نقرأ بورخيس للمرةِ الأُولى! صدمةُ اكتشاف، تأسُّفٌ على عدمِ مصاحبته مبكرًا.
— عبد الفتاح كيليطو
— عبد الفتاح كيليطو
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— A Young Doctor's Notebook
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— The Sopranos
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— The Sopranos
An orthodox Jew and an alt-right Italian walk into a bar...
Forwarded from Arcanum (Khalid)
If medicine is the study of death, it is equally the study of limits—the threshold of the body's resilience, the extent of healing, and the organism's capacity to reestablish equilibrium. In this respect, medicine and philosophy converge on a shared endeavor: the interrogation of boundaries. For Socrates, this boundary lay between life and death, Socrates, with his relentless questioning, sought the boundary where knowledge dissolves into silence; for Hippocrates, it was the demarcation between health and illness, between the body's intrinsic order and its inexorable decline.
Forwarded from 𖤓 المُرَعَّث 𖤓 (Abdullah Ghali)
”وقال العُمري: روُّوا أولادكم الشعر؛ فإنه يحلُّ عُقدة اللسان، ويشجع قلب الجبان، ويطلق يد البخيل، ويحضّ على الخلق الجميل.”
༺ ابن رشيق | العمدة ༻
باب في الرد على من يكره الشعر.
"Sir," said the pretty Turk, through the organ of the negro, "although you are a man of letters, you must have read the Thousand and One Nights, a collection of Arab tales, translated, more or less faithfully, by good M. Galland, and the name of Scheherazade should be familiar to you?"
Said Scheherazade: "Galland, the idiot, has deceived the universe by asserting that the sultan, surfeited with stories, had granted me a pardon after the thousand and first night; there is not a word of truth in it; he is more ravenous for stories than ever, and his curiosity alone can countervail his cruelty."
I said to her: "Your sultan Schahriar, my poor Scheherazade, is dreadfully like our public; if we fail for a single day to afford it its usual amusement, it does not cut off our head, it is true, but it forgets us, and that is pretty nearly as bad. Your sad fate grieves me, but what can I do?"
I said to her: "Your sultan Schahriar, my poor Scheherazade, is dreadfully like our public; if we fail for a single day to afford it its usual amusement, it does not cut off our head, it is true, but it forgets us, and that is pretty nearly as bad. Your sad fate grieves me, but what can I do?"