این قسمت والذئب ارحم من إخوتي...يا أبي!

I ache with envy for ordinary people. They possess the gift of living a simple, cherished life, embraced by the warm cocoon of love, resting their heads on their lover's shoulder, and effortlessly becoming the muse of their beloved's poetry. I might appear strong to those who see me, and indeed, I am resilient, but oh, how I covet their fortune. Romantic love has never graced my existence. I've always been the one to smile, never the one to shed a tear. I've played the role of the lover, yet I've never truly been the beloved.
In my life, I'm blessed to have treasured souls who stand by my side. Without them, I would be consumed by the relentless turmoil within, a constant battle to tear me apart from the inside out. Perhaps, they have merely postponed the inevitable, the day when I'm ultimately consumed by the darkness that lurks deep within my soul.

می‌گويد باید تا می‌توانی از این‌جا بزنی بیرون. این‌جوری می‌توانی خودت را بهتر بشناسی. فقط برای حمام و غذا برگرد؛ برای خواب که اصلاً، چون هرچه شب‌های بیشتری در جاهای مختلف بگذرانی بهتر است. در اتاق مهمان‌خانه، هتل، مبل دوستان، تخت دیگران.

می‌گوید که با گاه و بی‌گاه نگاه کردن به تصویر خودمان در آینه‌ی دستشویی کسی دیگر، شستن موهایمان با شامپوی آن‌ها و گذاشتن سرمان، بعضی شب‌ها، روی بالش آدمی دیگر یاد می‌گیریم در خودمان عمیق‌تر شویم.

Yesterday I had a dream.

A very old dream.

In the dream we are still 13 years old.

There is a huge plain all around, all covered with snow.

The distant lights of the houses fade away.

گهگاهی صدای خورد شدن استخوان‌هایم زیر بار زندگی هایی که نکرده‌ام به گوشم می‌رسد.

محاکمه لنسلات به روایت Heather Dale

زادروز هِدی لامار؛
با آن زیبایی مسحورکننده و دانش غبطه‌برانگیز. لویی بی. میر، تهیه‌کننده‌ی افسانه‌ای، شخصاً به سوئد سفر کرد تا ارمغان تازه‌ای را نزد هالیوود بیاورد. لامار ستاره‌ی فروزان هالیوود بود و در عین حال نبوغ او در علم همه را به حیرت وا داشته بود. در میانه‌ی جنگ جهانی دوم از افرادی بود که در اختراع ابزاری برای رصد تبادلات جبهه‌ی مقابل به کار مشغول بود. همان ابزاری که در نهایت امروزه به ایجاد وای-فای منجر شده.
یک بار جان اف. کندی از او برای قرار عاشقانه‌ای دعوت می‌کند و از او می‌پرسد دلش می‌خواهد چه هدیه‌ای برایش بیاورد. لامار پاسخ می‌دهد که "برایم پرتقال بیاور. چون کمبود ویتامین سی دارم".


@papermoon20

Life

مارکس جوان>>>>>>>

مجموعه لنین در پنج دقیقه
قسمت اول: مقدمه

زیرنویس و ترجمه ویدیو از راه مارکس

#لنین | راه مارکس

@MarxWay ✯

تولدت مبارک مایسترو. مثل تو هیچوقت قرار نیست تکرار بشه

In the silent echoes of my futile efforts, I find myself grappling with the relentless current of despair. No matter how ardently I strive, the cruel hand of fate seems determined to mold my existence into a tapestry of misery. Life, a canvas upon which I had no say in the brushstrokes, now bears the scars of decisions that were never mine to make.
As I observe the world around me, a poignant tableau unfolds—a panorama of others progressing through the intricate dance of life. Their faces adorned with the sweetness of challenges overcome, their hearts brimming with joy, and their souls intertwined in the delicate tapestry of relationships. Yet, I stand on the periphery, a mere spectator, destined to witness the vibrant hues of their lives while I remain ensnared in the monochrome of my own.
Desperation clings to me like a tattered cloak as I extend a hand in service to others, a fervent believer in the transformative power of Marxism. In the shadows of their struggles, I seek solace, yearning to sculpt a meaningful metamorphosis in the lives of those I touch. Perhaps, in these altruistic endeavors, I may etch my existence onto the hearts of those I hold dear, securing a sanctuary of affection amid the ruins of my own world.
Yet, in the quiet recesses of my soul, a haunting realization lingers—a whisper that questions the purpose of this existence. Is there a refuge beyond this realm of relentless suffering? A realm where the threads of fate may be rewoven, and the symphony of life plays a gentler tune. The yearning for another life, free from the shackles of perpetual anguish, becomes the echo of my deepest longing. Perhaps, in another life, the noscript of my destiny will be rewritten, and the chapters of despair replaced with verses of redemption. Until then, I cling to hope, an ethereal thread woven into the fabric of my being, guiding me through the labyrinth of this woeful existence.

In my quest for sanctuary from the relentless miseries that plague my life, I delve into the profound recesses of my soul. Here, in the heart of an exquisitely enchanting park, I find myself immersed in a tapestry of emotions. The azure sky stretches endlessly above, a canvas of serenity that momentarily shields me from life's harsh realities.
As I sit there, enveloped in the symphony of nature, the delicate melodies of birdsong and the gentle whispers of the wind weaving through the grass, a poignant scene unfolds before me. In the distance, an autistic child dances with pure, unbridled joy, guiding a crimson kite through the air. Is this the solace I yearn for amid the torment of my existence? A fleeting moment of respite, akin to the fragile beauty of that red kite soaring against the vastness of the sky?
Yet, within the confines of this daydream, a perplexing solitude engulfs me. Why, amidst the harmonious dance of nature and the innocent play of the child, do I remain an isolated spectator in the theater of my own yearning? The answer eludes me, leaving only the haunting realization that solitude has etched itself as an indelible companion in the narrative of my existence.

Me:

نقاب افتاد..
برادرانی نداری ای برادرم
دوستانی نداری ای دوستم
دژی نداری..
نه آب داری نه دارو
نه آسمان و نه خون‌ و نه بادبان
نه روبه‌رو نه پشت سر
محاصره‌ات را محاصره کن
راه گریزی نیست...

برشی از شعر #محمود_درویش
ترجمه: #سعید_هلیچی