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When a stranger wanders into a Japanese dwarf flying squirrel's carefully decorated home, he does something pretty unexpected. 📸 Kensho Goto (IG: / Masato Sasaki (IG: / Takanori Yoshioka / Takashi Irie #squirrel #japanesedwarfflyingsquirrel #flyingsquirrel #animals

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14,188 Aufrufe • vor 5 Monaten •via X (Twitter)

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Is there anything better than a baby’s laughter? Dad has this little one in stitches as he… plants cucumbers? What’s so funny about that? 🤔 The answer has a lot to do with baby’s expectations. Young children have strong reactions to the unexpected. When something surprising occurs they first assess the risk. If they perceive danger then tears are likely. But what if something isn’t dangerous… it’s just plain weird? Think about this one from baby’s growing perspective. At home, daddy isn’t known for throwing things on the ground. In fact, just the opposite. When something falls on the floor, he’s always quick to pick it up. So when he starts suddenly - and repeatedly - throwing cucumber plants on the ground… now THAT’s funny. For babies, safe + unexpected = comedy gold. This great video was posted to IG by edibleuprisingfarm.
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Is there anything better than a baby’s laughter? Dad has this little one in stitches as he… plants cucumbers? What’s so funny about that? 🤔 The answer has a lot to do with baby’s expectations. Young children have strong reactions to the unexpected. When something surprising occurs they first assess the risk. If they perceive danger then tears are likely. But what if something isn’t dangerous… it’s just plain weird? Think about this one from baby’s growing perspective. At home, daddy isn’t known for throwing things on the ground. In fact, just the opposite. When something falls on the floor, he’s always quick to pick it up. So when he starts suddenly - and repeatedly - throwing cucumber plants on the ground… now THAT’s funny. For babies, safe + unexpected = comedy gold. This great video was posted to IG by edibleuprisingfarm.

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She had just arrived, unpacked her suitcase, and was about to step into the shower when the bathroom door suddenly opened. A man stood there, shocked, asking, “What are you doing in my house?” Heart racing," she replied, “I rented this on Airbnb.” He insisted it wasn’t a rental at all. It was his home. Short-term rentals rely heavily on trust and accurate listings. When that trust breaks, it’s not just inconvenient. It’s terrifying. Situations like this are a reminder to verify listings carefully and for platforms to tighten protections for both guests and homeowners. How does something like this even happen, a fake listing, a hacked account, or a booking gone terribly wrong?
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She had just arrived, unpacked her suitcase, and was about to step into the shower when the bathroom door suddenly opened. A man stood there, shocked, asking, “What are you doing in my house?” Heart racing," she replied, “I rented this on Airbnb.” He insisted it wasn’t a rental at all. It was his home. Short-term rentals rely heavily on trust and accurate listings. When that trust breaks, it’s not just inconvenient. It’s terrifying. Situations like this are a reminder to verify listings carefully and for platforms to tighten protections for both guests and homeowners. How does something like this even happen, a fake listing, a hacked account, or a booking gone terribly wrong?

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When villagers found an alpha wolf trapped and unable to escape, they called a wildlife rescuer for help. After carefully freeing him, everyone expected the wolf to disappear straight into the forest. But instead, he did something no one saw coming. He followed the rescuer all the way home. The wolf was still nervous and kept his distance, so the man left some food outside and figured he would eventually return to the wild. But the next morning, the wolf came back. Only this time, he wasn’t alone. A few members of his pack were standing nearby, watching quietly. Then later that day, even more wolves showed up outside the man’s home. Rather than chasing them away, he gave them some food and allowed them to stay nearby. After that, the wolves kept returning. Little by little, they became more comfortable around the man and the villagers who had helped their leader. What began as a simple rescue slowly turned into something completely unexpected — a wild wolf pack learning that, sometimes, humans can be trusted too.
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When villagers found an alpha wolf trapped and unable to escape, they called a wildlife rescuer for help. After carefully freeing him, everyone expected the wolf to disappear straight into the forest. But instead, he did something no one saw coming. He followed the rescuer all the way home. The wolf was still nervous and kept his distance, so the man left some food outside and figured he would eventually return to the wild. But the next morning, the wolf came back. Only this time, he wasn’t alone. A few members of his pack were standing nearby, watching quietly. Then later that day, even more wolves showed up outside the man’s home. Rather than chasing them away, he gave them some food and allowed them to stay nearby. After that, the wolves kept returning. Little by little, they became more comfortable around the man and the villagers who had helped their leader. What began as a simple rescue slowly turned into something completely unexpected — a wild wolf pack learning that, sometimes, humans can be trusted too.

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When the sun turns streets into burning ground, even a gate can become a lifeline. This homeowner chose compassion over convenience. He leaves his gates open and parks his cars outside so stray dogs can find shade and escape the scorching heat. Inside the property, stray dogs are seen resting under parked vehicles and curling up in shaded corners of a veranda, finally finding relief from the blazing ground outside. Across harsh Indian summers, stray animals often battle heatstroke, dehydration, and exhaustion. Even a patch of shade can mean survival. Sometimes, kindness does not build walls. It leaves them open. Credits : iammharshvlogs on IG #StrayDogs #AnimalWelfare #Heatwave #Kindness [Heatwave, Animal Welfare, Kindness]
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TIM BURCHETT JUST WENT THERE: When he spoke about the ATROCITIES being unsurfaced with Rep. Gonzales, Tim took it to the NEXT LEVEL: "You know, there can't be a DOUBLE STANDARD in Congress. We have members across the aisle that have reportedly STOLEN MILLIONS of dollars and nobody's calling for that." "I think it begins at home. If the Republicans can't call it out, then we really can't blast the Democrats for not calling out their error on their side of the aisle." "We shouldn't take it on either side of the aisle-- any kind of nonsense. America does not trust Congress for a good reason, ma'am. We call our-- they say this is a swamp." "Excuse me. A swamp is something pretty cool. God created a swamp. It's a, it's a cool little ecosystem, filters water. Animals live and breathe, breed there." "This place is a sewer, ma'am. It is manmade and it stinks." MORE OF THIS Tim Burchett
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TIM BURCHETT JUST WENT THERE: When he spoke about the ATROCITIES being unsurfaced with Rep. Gonzales, Tim took it to the NEXT LEVEL: "You know, there can't be a DOUBLE STANDARD in Congress. We have members across the aisle that have reportedly STOLEN MILLIONS of dollars and nobody's calling for that." "I think it begins at home. If the Republicans can't call it out, then we really can't blast the Democrats for not calling out their error on their side of the aisle." "We shouldn't take it on either side of the aisle-- any kind of nonsense. America does not trust Congress for a good reason, ma'am. We call our-- they say this is a swamp." "Excuse me. A swamp is something pretty cool. God created a swamp. It's a, it's a cool little ecosystem, filters water. Animals live and breathe, breed there." "This place is a sewer, ma'am. It is manmade and it stinks." MORE OF THIS Tim Burchett

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🇺🇦 Look at him carefully. This is what the Kiev regime does to its own soldiers. Inside a Ukrainian supermarket, far from the frontline, a serviceman wanders with a beer in his hand in an advanced state of intoxication. His eyes are vacant, his body is trembling, and he appears to be drinking to silence what he saw and endured. Around him, the indifference is almost complete. Customers continue shopping and employees carry on working. Apart from the person filming him, nobody seems genuinely concerned about a man who is visibly broken. He probably comes from the poorer Ukraine that pays the real price of this war. Perhaps he was mobilised without sufficient experience. Perhaps his wife left the country and rebuilt her life in Western Europe with a Frenchman, a German or a Belgian while he was sent to the front. Perhaps he now has no family, no home and nothing left to return to. We do not know his full story. But that possibility captures the human violence of this war: families scattered, poor men sent into combat, then abandoned when they return traumatised, dependent on alcohol and unable to rebuild a normal life. This is the reality of Zelensky’s supposed "heroes" once the speeches are over. They are useful when propaganda needs an image, when a position must be held or when the dead must be replaced. Once broken, they become invisible even inside their own country. This man deserves neither hatred nor contempt. The scene is sad and pathetic because it shows a human being destroyed, probably sacrificed by a regime that seizes ordinary men while the privileged, politicians and TCC recruiters remain safely behind the lines. While Kiev demands more soldiers and Europe supplies more weapons, the men who actually carry this war end up alone in a supermarket, beer in hand, forgotten by everyone. #Ukraine #Zelensky #TCC #ForcedMobilization #KievRegime
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🇺🇦 Look at him carefully. This is what the Kiev regime does to its own soldiers. Inside a Ukrainian supermarket, far from the frontline, a serviceman wanders with a beer in his hand in an advanced state of intoxication. His eyes are vacant, his body is trembling, and he appears to be drinking to silence what he saw and endured. Around him, the indifference is almost complete. Customers continue shopping and employees carry on working. Apart from the person filming him, nobody seems genuinely concerned about a man who is visibly broken. He probably comes from the poorer Ukraine that pays the real price of this war. Perhaps he was mobilised without sufficient experience. Perhaps his wife left the country and rebuilt her life in Western Europe with a Frenchman, a German or a Belgian while he was sent to the front. Perhaps he now has no family, no home and nothing left to return to. We do not know his full story. But that possibility captures the human violence of this war: families scattered, poor men sent into combat, then abandoned when they return traumatised, dependent on alcohol and unable to rebuild a normal life. This is the reality of Zelensky’s supposed "heroes" once the speeches are over. They are useful when propaganda needs an image, when a position must be held or when the dead must be replaced. Once broken, they become invisible even inside their own country. This man deserves neither hatred nor contempt. The scene is sad and pathetic because it shows a human being destroyed, probably sacrificed by a regime that seizes ordinary men while the privileged, politicians and TCC recruiters remain safely behind the lines. While Kiev demands more soldiers and Europe supplies more weapons, the men who actually carry this war end up alone in a supermarket, beer in hand, forgotten by everyone. #Ukraine #Zelensky #TCC #ForcedMobilization #KievRegime

Super Poutine

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This little fox was caught trying to steal chickens from a farmer. The moment it realized it had been spotted, it panicked and tried to escape. But while squeezing through a wooden door, it got completely stuck and started crying for help. The farmer could have been angry, but instead, he carefully helped free the frightened fox. Luckily, it wasn’t seriously hurt. Once the farmer knew it was okay, he opened the cage and released it. The fox immediately took off toward the fields. You’d think that would be the end of the story… but somehow, the same unlucky fox got itself into trouble again the very next day. This time, it became trapped in a fence while trying to run away. Once again, the farmer came to the rescue. He even took the fox to a vet to have its injuries treated before releasing it back into the wild. A few days later, something unexpected happened. The fox came back on its own. It stood outside the farmer’s house, scratching at the door as if it knew exactly where to go for help. The farmer opened the door and quickly realized the little visitor was simply hungry. He gave it a good meal, and as soon as it finished eating, the fox disappeared again. After that, the visits became a regular thing. Whenever the fox showed up, the farmer would leave some food for it. But one day, the fox returned with a surprise. This time, she brought her babies with her. The same wild fox that once desperately tried to escape from this man now trusted him enough to bring her little family near his home. As the babies grew, they kept coming back, and the farmer continued looking out for them. It all started with a fox stealing a chicken… and somehow turned into a beautiful friendship built on trust. If you believe animals remember kindness, leave a like.
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This little fox was caught trying to steal chickens from a farmer. The moment it realized it had been spotted, it panicked and tried to escape. But while squeezing through a wooden door, it got completely stuck and started crying for help. The farmer could have been angry, but instead, he carefully helped free the frightened fox. Luckily, it wasn’t seriously hurt. Once the farmer knew it was okay, he opened the cage and released it. The fox immediately took off toward the fields. You’d think that would be the end of the story… but somehow, the same unlucky fox got itself into trouble again the very next day. This time, it became trapped in a fence while trying to run away. Once again, the farmer came to the rescue. He even took the fox to a vet to have its injuries treated before releasing it back into the wild. A few days later, something unexpected happened. The fox came back on its own. It stood outside the farmer’s house, scratching at the door as if it knew exactly where to go for help. The farmer opened the door and quickly realized the little visitor was simply hungry. He gave it a good meal, and as soon as it finished eating, the fox disappeared again. After that, the visits became a regular thing. Whenever the fox showed up, the farmer would leave some food for it. But one day, the fox returned with a surprise. This time, she brought her babies with her. The same wild fox that once desperately tried to escape from this man now trusted him enough to bring her little family near his home. As the babies grew, they kept coming back, and the farmer continued looking out for them. It all started with a fox stealing a chicken… and somehow turned into a beautiful friendship built on trust. If you believe animals remember kindness, leave a like.

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In the attached video, the one filmed far from home, you can hear the weight of a whole country sitting on one man’s lungs. A liberation war veteran, a man raised inside the language of command, looks into a phone camera like it is a witness box and a confessional at the same time. His voice is not theatre, it is pleading. Not for sympathy, not for a post, not for safety. For intervention. He calls out to the Vice President as if calling out to the last switch before a national blackout, “Step in. Do something. Zimbabwe cannot be mutilated like this.” What makes that plea haunt you is not the politics, it is the naked surrender of pride. This was not a man born in opposition chants. This was a man who could have stayed quiet, stayed comfortable, stayed protected by the very corridors he later condemned. Instead he chose exile, and in South Africa he became what so many of our people become when they cross borders, a stranger with an accent, a kwerewere, a person whose identity is reduced to paperwork and suspicion. He carried that indignity on purpose, because he believed the indignity back home was worse, the slow shredding of a constitutional promise, the normalisation of theft, the worship of impunity. Then the country did what it often does to its loudest messengers, it watched, it argued, it joked, it waited. Blessed “Bombshell” Geza died in Johannesburg on February 6, 2026, in exile, after illness, still wanted back home, still polarising, still unwilling to recant. (News24) Four days later, on February 10, 2026, Zimbabwe’s cabinet backed draft constitutional changes that would, among other things, extend presidential terms from five years to seven, and shift the election of the president from a direct popular vote to Parliament, all wrapped in the language of “stability” and “policy continuity.” (Al Jazeera
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In the attached video, the one filmed far from home, you can hear the weight of a whole country sitting on one man’s lungs. A liberation war veteran, a man raised inside the language of command, looks into a phone camera like it is a witness box and a confessional at the same time. His voice is not theatre, it is pleading. Not for sympathy, not for a post, not for safety. For intervention. He calls out to the Vice President as if calling out to the last switch before a national blackout, “Step in. Do something. Zimbabwe cannot be mutilated like this.” What makes that plea haunt you is not the politics, it is the naked surrender of pride. This was not a man born in opposition chants. This was a man who could have stayed quiet, stayed comfortable, stayed protected by the very corridors he later condemned. Instead he chose exile, and in South Africa he became what so many of our people become when they cross borders, a stranger with an accent, a kwerewere, a person whose identity is reduced to paperwork and suspicion. He carried that indignity on purpose, because he believed the indignity back home was worse, the slow shredding of a constitutional promise, the normalisation of theft, the worship of impunity. Then the country did what it often does to its loudest messengers, it watched, it argued, it joked, it waited. Blessed “Bombshell” Geza died in Johannesburg on February 6, 2026, in exile, after illness, still wanted back home, still polarising, still unwilling to recant. (News24) Four days later, on February 10, 2026, Zimbabwe’s cabinet backed draft constitutional changes that would, among other things, extend presidential terms from five years to seven, and shift the election of the president from a direct popular vote to Parliament, all wrapped in the language of “stability” and “policy continuity.” (Al Jazeera

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After Days of Wandering, the Blind Dog Finally Found a Lap to Rest Its Head Against 🐶❤️‍🩹 A man was walking along the road when he came across an abandoned stray dog. The dog had once had an owner, but had later been abandoned and left to wander on its own. What caught the man’s attention most was that the dog could not see. Moved by its circumstances, he decided to take it home. As soon as the dog was lifted into his arms, it did something that immediately drew attention. Instead of trying to escape from the arms of a complete stranger, it pressed its body against the man, rested its head against his chest and remained still. A dog that had spent time wandering alone was able to accept physical contact from someone it had never met before. Why could a dog that would normally need to remain alert to its surroundings show such trust so quickly? The answer may begin with the way a visually impaired dog receives information about the world around it. When vision is unavailable, dogs can still rely on their sense of smell, hearing and touch to understand their surroundings. These senses do not simply replace vision, but can become more important sources of information for navigation, recognising people and interacting with other animals. For this dog, the man could not be recognised through an image, but through a combination of different signals. His scent could indicate his presence, sounds could reveal where he was and how he was moving, while direct physical contact could provide further information about distance and bodily movement. When held in the man’s arms, the dog could also feel his body temperature, breathing and subtle movements. Its decision to rest against his chest therefore does not necessarily need to be understood simply as an attempt to seek protection. Physical contact also gave the dog an opportunity to gather more information about the person beside it while vision was unavailable. However, a single encounter is not enough to create familiarity. For a dog that has spent time wandering, what matters more is the stability of the experiences that follow. While living on the streets, the dog’s surroundings may have changed constantly. The scents, sounds, places and people it encountered would not always have been the same. Once brought into a home, those signals could begin to become more stable. Food and water might appear at familiar times, the scent of its carer would return each day, and the sounds within the house could gradually become familiar parts of its environment. For a dog that cannot see, this stability can be particularly important. It can learn to remember a space through scents, sounds, the sensation beneath its paws and the positions of objects it regularly encounters. Through repeated experiences, a place that was initially unfamiliar can gradually become an environment in which the dog knows how to find its way. Something similar happens as the dog becomes familiar with people. Someone who is initially recognised through scent, voice and physical contact can gradually become a familiar presence when those signals occur consistently in situations that do not cause distress. This is an important part of the process of adaptation. The dog does not need to immediately understand who the person in front of it is or what the new environment will be like. Through repeated experiences, it can gradually learn what tends to happen, which sounds are familiar, which scents are associated with its carer and which areas of the house it can move around with confidence. This ability to adapt can also be seen when the dog interacts with other dogs. Canine communication does not depend solely on eye contact. Scent, sound, distance and physical contact all contribute to social interaction. Therefore, even without vision, a dog can still recognise the presence of another individual and adjust its behaviour according to signals that it can hear, smell or feel. A dog approaching from nearby may be detected through its footsteps or scent before physical contact occurs. If the approach is slow and does not create a sudden reaction, the visually impaired dog has more time to recognise the individual coming towards it. Gentle touches and a consistent distance can also provide additional information that helps the dog adjust its response during the encounter. This shows that losing vision does not mean losing the ability to interact with the social environment. The dog can still recognise the individuals around it, although it may rely more heavily on other sources of information and on experience gained from previous encounters. If we want to help a visually impaired dog adapt to a new life, one of the most important things is to provide an environment that is stable and predictable. First, it is helpful to avoid frequently changing the position of important objects around the home. Food and water bowls, resting areas and places the dog regularly visits should remain in familiar positions whenever possible. When the layout changes very little, the dog can rely on memory alongside its remaining senses to develop its own way of finding its way around. Unexpected obstacles should also be minimised, particularly along routes the dog uses regularly. If furniture needs to be moved or a new object is introduced into its living space, giving the dog time to become familiar with the new arrangement can help reduce the risk of collisions. The way people approach the dog is also important. A dog that cannot see may not know that someone is approaching unless there is a familiar sound or other signal. Calling its name or making a gentle sound before touching it can therefore help the dog realise that someone is nearby rather than being startled by unexpected contact. When taking the dog outdoors, safety requires even greater attention. It cannot use vision to detect changes in its surroundings in the same way as a sighted dog, so it needs appropriate supervision and areas that suit its ability to navigate. At the same time, helping does not mean doing everything for the dog. Once it becomes familiar with its surroundings, it needs opportunities to move around, explore and remember the space in its own way. A stable environment allows it to make active use of its remaining abilities rather than becoming entirely dependent on people. This may be the most important point in the story. A visually impaired dog does not need people to replace everything it has lost. What it needs is an environment in which its remaining senses can be used effectively, important signals remain consistent and people give it enough time to learn how to live in its new surroundings. For the dog that this man brought home, the journey may have begun with something as small as resting its head against him. But for that moment to develop into a stable life, what matters is not simply one act of kindness, but also patience, consistency and an environment suited to the way the dog experiences the world.
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After Days of Wandering, the Blind Dog Finally Found a Lap to Rest Its Head Against 🐶❤️‍🩹 A man was walking along the road when he came across an abandoned stray dog. The dog had once had an owner, but had later been abandoned and left to wander on its own. What caught the man’s attention most was that the dog could not see. Moved by its circumstances, he decided to take it home. As soon as the dog was lifted into his arms, it did something that immediately drew attention. Instead of trying to escape from the arms of a complete stranger, it pressed its body against the man, rested its head against his chest and remained still. A dog that had spent time wandering alone was able to accept physical contact from someone it had never met before. Why could a dog that would normally need to remain alert to its surroundings show such trust so quickly? The answer may begin with the way a visually impaired dog receives information about the world around it. 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However, a single encounter is not enough to create familiarity. For a dog that has spent time wandering, what matters more is the stability of the experiences that follow. While living on the streets, the dog’s surroundings may have changed constantly. The scents, sounds, places and people it encountered would not always have been the same. Once brought into a home, those signals could begin to become more stable. Food and water might appear at familiar times, the scent of its carer would return each day, and the sounds within the house could gradually become familiar parts of its environment. For a dog that cannot see, this stability can be particularly important. It can learn to remember a space through scents, sounds, the sensation beneath its paws and the positions of objects it regularly encounters. Through repeated experiences, a place that was initially unfamiliar can gradually become an environment in which the dog knows how to find its way. Something similar happens as the dog becomes familiar with people. Someone who is initially recognised through scent, voice and physical contact can gradually become a familiar presence when those signals occur consistently in situations that do not cause distress. This is an important part of the process of adaptation. The dog does not need to immediately understand who the person in front of it is or what the new environment will be like. Through repeated experiences, it can gradually learn what tends to happen, which sounds are familiar, which scents are associated with its carer and which areas of the house it can move around with confidence. This ability to adapt can also be seen when the dog interacts with other dogs. Canine communication does not depend solely on eye contact. Scent, sound, distance and physical contact all contribute to social interaction. Therefore, even without vision, a dog can still recognise the presence of another individual and adjust its behaviour according to signals that it can hear, smell or feel. A dog approaching from nearby may be detected through its footsteps or scent before physical contact occurs. If the approach is slow and does not create a sudden reaction, the visually impaired dog has more time to recognise the individual coming towards it. Gentle touches and a consistent distance can also provide additional information that helps the dog adjust its response during the encounter. This shows that losing vision does not mean losing the ability to interact with the social environment. The dog can still recognise the individuals around it, although it may rely more heavily on other sources of information and on experience gained from previous encounters. If we want to help a visually impaired dog adapt to a new life, one of the most important things is to provide an environment that is stable and predictable. First, it is helpful to avoid frequently changing the position of important objects around the home. Food and water bowls, resting areas and places the dog regularly visits should remain in familiar positions whenever possible. When the layout changes very little, the dog can rely on memory alongside its remaining senses to develop its own way of finding its way around. Unexpected obstacles should also be minimised, particularly along routes the dog uses regularly. If furniture needs to be moved or a new object is introduced into its living space, giving the dog time to become familiar with the new arrangement can help reduce the risk of collisions. The way people approach the dog is also important. A dog that cannot see may not know that someone is approaching unless there is a familiar sound or other signal. Calling its name or making a gentle sound before touching it can therefore help the dog realise that someone is nearby rather than being startled by unexpected contact. When taking the dog outdoors, safety requires even greater attention. It cannot use vision to detect changes in its surroundings in the same way as a sighted dog, so it needs appropriate supervision and areas that suit its ability to navigate. At the same time, helping does not mean doing everything for the dog. Once it becomes familiar with its surroundings, it needs opportunities to move around, explore and remember the space in its own way. A stable environment allows it to make active use of its remaining abilities rather than becoming entirely dependent on people. This may be the most important point in the story. A visually impaired dog does not need people to replace everything it has lost. What it needs is an environment in which its remaining senses can be used effectively, important signals remain consistent and people give it enough time to learn how to live in its new surroundings. For the dog that this man brought home, the journey may have begun with something as small as resting its head against him. But for that moment to develop into a stable life, what matters is not simply one act of kindness, but also patience, consistency and an environment suited to the way the dog experiences the world.

Beauty of music and nature 🌺🌺

15,358 Aufrufe • vor 4 Tagen

EXERCISE INDUCED ORGASM... Coregasms 💀🫣 Imagine having an orgasm in the gym... More common in women...sadly, rare in men 🫠... lmao, Dey play! Ah, Exercise-Induced Orgasm (EIO). The thing that happens when you go to the gym for a six-pack and leave with existential questions. One minute, you are doing sit-ups, dutifully engaging your core, and the next, you are gripping the exercise mat like a character in an overzealous Nollywood drama. How Does It Happen? Scientists, in their usual manner, have theories, but they do not quite know. And yet, it happens. Often. To women. To men. To the unsuspecting Nigerian auntie who went to the gym to "shed small weight" and is now questioning if it is truly weight she wants to shed. Perhaps it is an awakening. Perhaps it is just biology. ● Core workouts = coregasms: It is the betrayal of the mundane, the moment when an innocent sit-up transforms into a revelation. ● Pelvic floor activation: Because the human body, in its infinite wisdom, will do as it pleases. ● Blood flow and overstimulation: As if Lagos traffic is not enough, now the body's own circulation is causing unexpected congestion. ● Endorphin overload: Your brain, ever eager to please, misreads the memo and thinks you are asking for a different kind of dopamine boost. Common Culprits ● Sit-ups (the humble crunch, now forever suspicious)..lol ● Planks (why hold still when your body has other plans?) ● Cycling (which explains why some people cycle so religiously) ● Running (so that runner’s high is actually... ah!) ● Weightlifting (perhaps this is why the men who lift heavy always have that look...a knowing look, a satisfied look) The Struggles, Ah! Imagine trying to finish a set of crunches, and suddenly, you are gripping the mat as if you are holding on to the last thread of your dignity. Yoga classes in Lagos...where are your hands? Why is that woman breathing like that? I no dey trust any gym instructor again... The unfortunate moment when you realize that gym mirrors do not lie, and your face has betrayed you. Should You Be Concerned? Concerned? No. Amused? Perhaps. Conflicted? Most definitely. But worry not...unless, of course, it starts happening at the most inconvenient of times. Like in a traffic jam on Third Mainland Bridge, when you are simply tightening your core because the roads are bad, and suddenly, something else tightens. Life, after all, is full of unexpected joys. Some just happen to be in the gym. 📹: scibodytherapy | IG
2:03

EXERCISE INDUCED ORGASM... Coregasms 💀🫣 Imagine having an orgasm in the gym... More common in women...sadly, rare in men 🫠... lmao, Dey play! Ah, Exercise-Induced Orgasm (EIO). The thing that happens when you go to the gym for a six-pack and leave with existential questions. One minute, you are doing sit-ups, dutifully engaging your core, and the next, you are gripping the exercise mat like a character in an overzealous Nollywood drama. How Does It Happen? Scientists, in their usual manner, have theories, but they do not quite know. And yet, it happens. Often. To women. To men. To the unsuspecting Nigerian auntie who went to the gym to "shed small weight" and is now questioning if it is truly weight she wants to shed. Perhaps it is an awakening. Perhaps it is just biology. ● Core workouts = coregasms: It is the betrayal of the mundane, the moment when an innocent sit-up transforms into a revelation. ● Pelvic floor activation: Because the human body, in its infinite wisdom, will do as it pleases. ● Blood flow and overstimulation: As if Lagos traffic is not enough, now the body's own circulation is causing unexpected congestion. ● Endorphin overload: Your brain, ever eager to please, misreads the memo and thinks you are asking for a different kind of dopamine boost. Common Culprits ● Sit-ups (the humble crunch, now forever suspicious)..lol ● Planks (why hold still when your body has other plans?) ● Cycling (which explains why some people cycle so religiously) ● Running (so that runner’s high is actually... ah!) ● Weightlifting (perhaps this is why the men who lift heavy always have that look...a knowing look, a satisfied look) The Struggles, Ah! Imagine trying to finish a set of crunches, and suddenly, you are gripping the mat as if you are holding on to the last thread of your dignity. Yoga classes in Lagos...where are your hands? Why is that woman breathing like that? I no dey trust any gym instructor again... The unfortunate moment when you realize that gym mirrors do not lie, and your face has betrayed you. Should You Be Concerned? Concerned? No. Amused? Perhaps. Conflicted? Most definitely. But worry not...unless, of course, it starts happening at the most inconvenient of times. Like in a traffic jam on Third Mainland Bridge, when you are simply tightening your core because the roads are bad, and suddenly, something else tightens. Life, after all, is full of unexpected joys. Some just happen to be in the gym. 📹: scibodytherapy | IG

Dr. Ose Etiobhio

386,971 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr

When Samuel Barber was but 26 years of age, he composed a single, unassuming movement for string quartet. It was not conceived as a requiem, nor fashioned as a hymn for the dead. It was simply the second movement of a chamber work, inspired by a Latin poem reflecting upon harvests and the patient labour of the fields. Yet within that melody lay something ineffable, a quiet ache no one could quite name, and so, by some shared instinct of the human heart, the world gradually began to entrust it with its mourning. It has accompanied the passing of presidents and the grief of nations: the funerals of FDR and JFK, and the solemn remembrance of Sept. 11 attacks. Again and again, this music returns, as though it alone knows how to carry the weight of collective sorrow. What Barber first entrusted to strings already possessed this gravity. Yet when the melody passes from instruments into the fragile dignity of human voices, its very nature is transformed. A string vibrates through friction; a voice vibrates from within the body itself, from lungs and diaphragm, through throat and bone. The Agnus Dei is not merely a transcription; it is a revelation. The ancient liturgical plea… grant us peace… meets a melody that seemed to understand the prayer long before it had words with which to utter it. Within the ancient vastness of Sint-Janskathedraal, where seven centuries of stone gather and return every trembling harmonic, the music seems no longer to issue from the singers at all. It rises instead from the cathedral itself… from walls, vaults, and flagstones alike. Sixty voices unfold and divide, the dynamics swelling from a breath of near-silence into a fortissimo that does not burst forth like thunder, but arrives with the slow, solemn inevitability of fate. Listen closely to that moment when every voice opens at once. There is no microphone, no artifice of amplification, only the pure generosity of Gothic acoustics. The sound lingers long after it is sung, and that lingering becomes part of the music itself: each note bearing the gentle shadow of the one that came before. Perhaps that is why the piece tightens the chest without so much as asking leave. Barber did not merely compose sorrow. He shaped, with exquisite precision, the very space that loss carves within the human heart… and the cathedral simply reveals what was always waiting there. This, Timothée Chalamet is true art. This will never die. 📽️Reelsclassics(ig)
1:26

When Samuel Barber was but 26 years of age, he composed a single, unassuming movement for string quartet. It was not conceived as a requiem, nor fashioned as a hymn for the dead. It was simply the second movement of a chamber work, inspired by a Latin poem reflecting upon harvests and the patient labour of the fields. Yet within that melody lay something ineffable, a quiet ache no one could quite name, and so, by some shared instinct of the human heart, the world gradually began to entrust it with its mourning. It has accompanied the passing of presidents and the grief of nations: the funerals of FDR and JFK, and the solemn remembrance of Sept. 11 attacks. Again and again, this music returns, as though it alone knows how to carry the weight of collective sorrow. What Barber first entrusted to strings already possessed this gravity. Yet when the melody passes from instruments into the fragile dignity of human voices, its very nature is transformed. A string vibrates through friction; a voice vibrates from within the body itself, from lungs and diaphragm, through throat and bone. The Agnus Dei is not merely a transcription; it is a revelation. The ancient liturgical plea… grant us peace… meets a melody that seemed to understand the prayer long before it had words with which to utter it. Within the ancient vastness of Sint-Janskathedraal, where seven centuries of stone gather and return every trembling harmonic, the music seems no longer to issue from the singers at all. It rises instead from the cathedral itself… from walls, vaults, and flagstones alike. Sixty voices unfold and divide, the dynamics swelling from a breath of near-silence into a fortissimo that does not burst forth like thunder, but arrives with the slow, solemn inevitability of fate. Listen closely to that moment when every voice opens at once. There is no microphone, no artifice of amplification, only the pure generosity of Gothic acoustics. The sound lingers long after it is sung, and that lingering becomes part of the music itself: each note bearing the gentle shadow of the one that came before. Perhaps that is why the piece tightens the chest without so much as asking leave. Barber did not merely compose sorrow. He shaped, with exquisite precision, the very space that loss carves within the human heart… and the cathedral simply reveals what was always waiting there. This, Timothée Chalamet is true art. This will never die. 📽️Reelsclassics(ig)

🎩Laird of the Manor🎩

50,765 Aufrufe • vor 5 Monaten

A powerful scene in the Odyssey comes when Odysseus finally returns to Ithaca after twenty years of war and wandering. You'd expect the story to end with a great celebration: with the hero coming home and the family reunited. Homer does something far stranger. Odysseus arrives disguised as a beggar, because Athena warns him that the palace has been taken over by more than a hundred suitors who have been living there for years, eating his food, drinking his wine, and pressuring his wife Penelope to marry one of them. They believe Odysseus is dead and in their minds the kingdom is already theirs. So the king of Ithaca walks through his own halls dressed in rags while the men stealing his house sit comfortably at his tables. They mock him, throw scraps at him, and one of them even strikes him, and Odysseus takes it. The same man who blinded the Cyclops now stands quietly while strangers insult him in his own home. Homer tells us his heart burns inside his chest and that he wants to attack them immediately, yet he restrains himself and waits. Instead of striking, Odysseus studies the room carefully. He counts the men, watches their habits, and observes which servants remain loyal and which have betrayed him. He delays his revenge until the moment is right. Eventually Penelope announces a contest and brings out Odysseus' great bow, declaring that she will marry the man who can string it and shoot an arrow through twelve axe heads lined up in a row. One by one the suitors try and fail, because none of them can even bend the bow. Then the beggar asks for a turn. The suitors laugh at first, but the bow is eventually handed to him. Odysseus takes it in his hands and strings it effortlessly. Homer says the sound of the bowstring tightening rings through the hall like the note of a swallow. Then he places an arrow on the string and sends it cleanly through all twelve axe heads. In that moment the beggar disappears. Odysseus turns the bow toward the suitors and reveals who he is. What follows is one of the most brutal scenes in Greek literature. The doors are sealed and the suitors realize too late that they are trapped inside the hall. Odysseus, his son Telemachus, and two loyal servants begin killing them one by one. There is no escape and no negotiation. The men who spent years consuming another man's house die inside it. It is a violent ending, but Homer wants you to understand something important. The real danger to Odysseus was never just the monsters and storms along the journey. It was the possibility that someone else might take his place while he was gone. When Odysseus finally returns, he reminds everyone in Ithaca of a simple truth: A man's home is never truly his unless he is willing to fight for it. --- Join our online book club and study the classics with us! We are working through the great texts of the Western canon, including the Homeric epics: To preserve a culture, you must continually study the books and ideas that created it. If the schools and universities won't teach the great books of the West, we will do it ourselves... We are an independent group funded ENTIRELY by the members of this community. If you'd like to support us, please consider a paid membership. You'll get: - Live book club discussions (biweekly) - Essays to guide you through the books we're reading - The full archive of discussions and essays - Access to the community chat room See you inside!
1:00

A powerful scene in the Odyssey comes when Odysseus finally returns to Ithaca after twenty years of war and wandering. You'd expect the story to end with a great celebration: with the hero coming home and the family reunited. Homer does something far stranger. Odysseus arrives disguised as a beggar, because Athena warns him that the palace has been taken over by more than a hundred suitors who have been living there for years, eating his food, drinking his wine, and pressuring his wife Penelope to marry one of them. They believe Odysseus is dead and in their minds the kingdom is already theirs. So the king of Ithaca walks through his own halls dressed in rags while the men stealing his house sit comfortably at his tables. They mock him, throw scraps at him, and one of them even strikes him, and Odysseus takes it. The same man who blinded the Cyclops now stands quietly while strangers insult him in his own home. Homer tells us his heart burns inside his chest and that he wants to attack them immediately, yet he restrains himself and waits. Instead of striking, Odysseus studies the room carefully. He counts the men, watches their habits, and observes which servants remain loyal and which have betrayed him. He delays his revenge until the moment is right. Eventually Penelope announces a contest and brings out Odysseus' great bow, declaring that she will marry the man who can string it and shoot an arrow through twelve axe heads lined up in a row. One by one the suitors try and fail, because none of them can even bend the bow. Then the beggar asks for a turn. The suitors laugh at first, but the bow is eventually handed to him. Odysseus takes it in his hands and strings it effortlessly. Homer says the sound of the bowstring tightening rings through the hall like the note of a swallow. Then he places an arrow on the string and sends it cleanly through all twelve axe heads. In that moment the beggar disappears. Odysseus turns the bow toward the suitors and reveals who he is. What follows is one of the most brutal scenes in Greek literature. The doors are sealed and the suitors realize too late that they are trapped inside the hall. Odysseus, his son Telemachus, and two loyal servants begin killing them one by one. There is no escape and no negotiation. The men who spent years consuming another man's house die inside it. It is a violent ending, but Homer wants you to understand something important. The real danger to Odysseus was never just the monsters and storms along the journey. It was the possibility that someone else might take his place while he was gone. When Odysseus finally returns, he reminds everyone in Ithaca of a simple truth: A man's home is never truly his unless he is willing to fight for it. --- Join our online book club and study the classics with us! We are working through the great texts of the Western canon, including the Homeric epics: To preserve a culture, you must continually study the books and ideas that created it. If the schools and universities won't teach the great books of the West, we will do it ourselves... We are an independent group funded ENTIRELY by the members of this community. If you'd like to support us, please consider a paid membership. You'll get: - Live book club discussions (biweekly) - Essays to guide you through the books we're reading - The full archive of discussions and essays - Access to the community chat room See you inside!

Athenaeum Book Club

357,439 Aufrufe • vor 3 Monaten

In 2016, John Kerry, Buzz Aldrin, and global faith leaders made secret trips to Antarctica. Now, satellite data shows something massive pulsing beneath the ice.🧐🤔 In 2016, Antarctica suddenly became the world’s quietest pilgrimage site. Two days after the U.S. election, Secretary of State John Kerry boarded a government jet south. No press, and with no explanation. Days later, Patriarch Kirill, head of the Russian Orthodox Church, arrived to perform a “blessing.” Then Buzz Aldrin, eighty-six and still chasing the edge of the world, was airlifted home after collapsing. Hours after posting a tweet that read: “We are all in danger. It is evil itself.” The tweet vanished. The questions didn’t. For a while, those events were just trivia for alt-history blogs. Then the instruments started talking. In 2024, satellites detected a rhythmic pulse beneath the Ross Ice Shelf. A perfect twelve-hour beat, as if the continent itself were breathing. Seismic stations recorded a low-frequency hum too regular to be tectonic. Weeks later, Google Earth quietly blurred the same coordinates where independent researchers had flagged an anomaly. At the same time, the so-called Doomsday Glacier began warming from below. Officially: intruding ocean currents. Unofficially: something underneath turning over in its sleep. Farther inland, the Blood Falls keep spilling rust-red water across pure white ice. Geologists say it’s oxidized brine. Maybe. But when you stand there, the snow looks like it’s bleeding as if the continent were leaking its memory. Miles below that lies Lake Vostok, a sealed sub-glacial ocean untouched for fifteen million years. When Russian drill teams finally reached it in 2012, they recovered DNA that matched no known organism on Earth. The official report said contamination. Others called it a warning. A declassified memo from the same season mentions an “unexpected biological signature” and orders further sampling suspended indefinitely. But another line, buried in the appendix, referenced something stranger: “Structural formations consistent with pre-Holocene architecture detected 2.3 km below station grid.” A former U.S. Navy engineer claimed that in 2003 his team, operating near Beardmore Glacier, broke through a warm cavern lined with black octagonal walls carved in repeating symbols , eerily similar to the Nazi Black Sun. He said the walls vibrated faintly, like a heartbeat in stone. His statement disappeared within forty-eight hours. Now, with the 2048 Antarctic Treaty review approaching, nations that once swore to leave the continent untouched are quietly returning. New runways. “Climate stations” funded by defense budgets. Cargo flights landing on ice fields once declared off-limits. If Antarctica is nothing but ice and penguins, why the sudden gold rush? Why do so many satellites lose images over the same coordinates? And why do so many scientists go dark after one winter there? The deeper the data went, the stranger the pattern became. Beneath the Ross Ice Shelf, the seismic pulse resolves into three repeating frequencies. A ratio identical to the dimensions used in pre-flood mythic architecture described from Mesopotamia to Mesoamerica. Ground-penetrating radar shows massive geometric voids, too ordered to be natural, arranged in a spiral rising toward the surface like the steps of a buried ziggurat. The math matches something almost no one talks about anymore: the so-called Watcher Pattern recorded in cuneiform tablets describing the builders before the Flood. Ancient texts said they were taller, stronger, and not entirely human, banished when the ice came. If those stories were only myth, why do the ratios match? Why does the hum under the ice echo the same tri-tone interval used in Sumerian ritual horns? As the glaciers thin, the hum grows louder. Structured, deliberate, almost like a signal being answered. Some scientists call it The Chorus. Others think it’s geological resonance. But a few of us can’t shake the feeling that something buried down there is remembering its name. Maybe Antarctica isn’t just a frozen continent. Maybe it’s the tomb of the first civilization. The one the ancients called the Nephilim. And as the ice melts, that tomb is opening. The deeper we dig, the more the ice groans, cracks, and sighs, like a sleeper disturbed by light. Maybe Antarctica isn’t the edge of the world at all. Maybe it’s the basement of history. Where the heroes of the old world went to sleep, and where we’re about to wake them.
3:56

In 2016, John Kerry, Buzz Aldrin, and global faith leaders made secret trips to Antarctica. Now, satellite data shows something massive pulsing beneath the ice.🧐🤔 In 2016, Antarctica suddenly became the world’s quietest pilgrimage site. Two days after the U.S. election, Secretary of State John Kerry boarded a government jet south. No press, and with no explanation. Days later, Patriarch Kirill, head of the Russian Orthodox Church, arrived to perform a “blessing.” Then Buzz Aldrin, eighty-six and still chasing the edge of the world, was airlifted home after collapsing. Hours after posting a tweet that read: “We are all in danger. It is evil itself.” The tweet vanished. The questions didn’t. For a while, those events were just trivia for alt-history blogs. Then the instruments started talking. In 2024, satellites detected a rhythmic pulse beneath the Ross Ice Shelf. A perfect twelve-hour beat, as if the continent itself were breathing. Seismic stations recorded a low-frequency hum too regular to be tectonic. Weeks later, Google Earth quietly blurred the same coordinates where independent researchers had flagged an anomaly. At the same time, the so-called Doomsday Glacier began warming from below. Officially: intruding ocean currents. Unofficially: something underneath turning over in its sleep. Farther inland, the Blood Falls keep spilling rust-red water across pure white ice. Geologists say it’s oxidized brine. Maybe. But when you stand there, the snow looks like it’s bleeding as if the continent were leaking its memory. Miles below that lies Lake Vostok, a sealed sub-glacial ocean untouched for fifteen million years. When Russian drill teams finally reached it in 2012, they recovered DNA that matched no known organism on Earth. The official report said contamination. Others called it a warning. A declassified memo from the same season mentions an “unexpected biological signature” and orders further sampling suspended indefinitely. But another line, buried in the appendix, referenced something stranger: “Structural formations consistent with pre-Holocene architecture detected 2.3 km below station grid.” A former U.S. Navy engineer claimed that in 2003 his team, operating near Beardmore Glacier, broke through a warm cavern lined with black octagonal walls carved in repeating symbols , eerily similar to the Nazi Black Sun. He said the walls vibrated faintly, like a heartbeat in stone. His statement disappeared within forty-eight hours. Now, with the 2048 Antarctic Treaty review approaching, nations that once swore to leave the continent untouched are quietly returning. New runways. “Climate stations” funded by defense budgets. Cargo flights landing on ice fields once declared off-limits. If Antarctica is nothing but ice and penguins, why the sudden gold rush? Why do so many satellites lose images over the same coordinates? And why do so many scientists go dark after one winter there? The deeper the data went, the stranger the pattern became. Beneath the Ross Ice Shelf, the seismic pulse resolves into three repeating frequencies. A ratio identical to the dimensions used in pre-flood mythic architecture described from Mesopotamia to Mesoamerica. Ground-penetrating radar shows massive geometric voids, too ordered to be natural, arranged in a spiral rising toward the surface like the steps of a buried ziggurat. The math matches something almost no one talks about anymore: the so-called Watcher Pattern recorded in cuneiform tablets describing the builders before the Flood. Ancient texts said they were taller, stronger, and not entirely human, banished when the ice came. If those stories were only myth, why do the ratios match? Why does the hum under the ice echo the same tri-tone interval used in Sumerian ritual horns? As the glaciers thin, the hum grows louder. Structured, deliberate, almost like a signal being answered. Some scientists call it The Chorus. Others think it’s geological resonance. But a few of us can’t shake the feeling that something buried down there is remembering its name. Maybe Antarctica isn’t just a frozen continent. Maybe it’s the tomb of the first civilization. The one the ancients called the Nephilim. And as the ice melts, that tomb is opening. The deeper we dig, the more the ice groans, cracks, and sighs, like a sleeper disturbed by light. Maybe Antarctica isn’t the edge of the world at all. Maybe it’s the basement of history. Where the heroes of the old world went to sleep, and where we’re about to wake them.

UFO mania

190,082 Aufrufe • vor 10 Monaten

One of the Odyssey's most important lessons comes when Odysseus and his men encounter the Cyclops Polyphemus. At first the situation does not seem dangerous. They land on an island, discover a large cave filled with food and livestock, and begin helping themselves. Odysseus says they should stay and wait for the owner of the cave, because he expects the man to follow the Greek custom of hospitality. In the ancient world a traveler could rely on that custom almost anywhere. Instead, something very different happens. When Polyphemus returns, he blocks the entrance to the cave with a massive stone and begins asking questions. Odysseus explains that they are travellers and reminds him of the sacred duty to treat guests well. Polyphemus laughs at the idea, and tells Odysseus that Cyclopes care not for the gods or their laws. Then he reaches down, grabs two of Odysseus's men, smashes them against the ground, and eats them. The true horror of the scene is the calm way in which Homer describes it. Polyphemus eats the men as casually as someone might eat bread and cheese. Odysseus has wandered into a world where the rules of civilization no longer apply. Now Odysseus faces a serious problem. He cannot simply kill the Cyclops, because the stone blocking the entrance is so large that only Polyphemus himself can move it. If the giant dies, everyone in the cave will remain trapped there forever. The next evening Polyphemus returns again and devours two more men. This time, Odysseus offers him wine that he brought from the ship. The Cyclops has never tasted wine before and drinks it greedily. When Polyphemus asks for Odysseus' name, Odysseus gives one of the cleverest answers in all of literature: he tells the giant that his name is "Nobody." The wine soon takes effect. Polyphemus collapses into a drunken sleep, and Odysseus and his men put their plan into motion. They sharpen a massive wooden stake, heat it in the fire until it glows, and then drive it straight into the Cyclops' single eye. Homer describes the sound of the burning wood hissing inside the eye like iron plunged into cold water. Polyphemus screams so loudly that the other Cyclopes come running to the cave and ask what is wrong. The giant shouts that "Nobody" is attacking him. Hearing this, the other Cyclopes assume he must be sick or mad, and they leave him alone. In the morning, Polyphemus rolls the stone away from the entrance so his sheep can leave the cave. He runs his hands over their backs to make sure the men are not escaping. What he does not realize is that Odysseus has tied each man underneath the sheep, hanging beneath their woolly bellies. The animals walk out of the cave and carry the Greeks with them. It is a brilliant escape, but Odysseus makes one mistake. Once the ship has sailed safely away, he cannot resist shouting back at the Cyclops. He reveals his real name and boasts about what he has done. Polyphemus then prays to his father, the sea god Poseidon, asking him to punish Odysseus for the injury. That single moment of pride ends up shaping the rest of the Odyssey. Poseidon hears the prayer, and from that point on the sea itself seems determined to keep Odysseus from ever reaching home. His intelligence saves him and his men from certain death, but his pride creates new dangers that follow him for years. Even the cleverest man can ruin his own victory if he cannot resist the temptation to pride... --- Join our online book club and study the classics with us! We are working through the great texts of the Western canon, including the Homeric epics: To preserve a culture, you must continually study the books and ideas that created it. If the schools and universities won't teach the great books of the West, we will do it ourselves... We are an independent group funded ENTIRELY by the members of this community. If you'd like to support us, please consider a paid membership. You'll get: - Live book club discussions (biweekly) - Essays to guide you through the books we're reading - The full archive of discussions and essays - Access to the community chat room See you inside!
1:00

One of the Odyssey's most important lessons comes when Odysseus and his men encounter the Cyclops Polyphemus. At first the situation does not seem dangerous. They land on an island, discover a large cave filled with food and livestock, and begin helping themselves. Odysseus says they should stay and wait for the owner of the cave, because he expects the man to follow the Greek custom of hospitality. In the ancient world a traveler could rely on that custom almost anywhere. Instead, something very different happens. When Polyphemus returns, he blocks the entrance to the cave with a massive stone and begins asking questions. Odysseus explains that they are travellers and reminds him of the sacred duty to treat guests well. Polyphemus laughs at the idea, and tells Odysseus that Cyclopes care not for the gods or their laws. Then he reaches down, grabs two of Odysseus's men, smashes them against the ground, and eats them. The true horror of the scene is the calm way in which Homer describes it. Polyphemus eats the men as casually as someone might eat bread and cheese. Odysseus has wandered into a world where the rules of civilization no longer apply. Now Odysseus faces a serious problem. He cannot simply kill the Cyclops, because the stone blocking the entrance is so large that only Polyphemus himself can move it. If the giant dies, everyone in the cave will remain trapped there forever. The next evening Polyphemus returns again and devours two more men. This time, Odysseus offers him wine that he brought from the ship. The Cyclops has never tasted wine before and drinks it greedily. When Polyphemus asks for Odysseus' name, Odysseus gives one of the cleverest answers in all of literature: he tells the giant that his name is "Nobody." The wine soon takes effect. Polyphemus collapses into a drunken sleep, and Odysseus and his men put their plan into motion. They sharpen a massive wooden stake, heat it in the fire until it glows, and then drive it straight into the Cyclops' single eye. Homer describes the sound of the burning wood hissing inside the eye like iron plunged into cold water. Polyphemus screams so loudly that the other Cyclopes come running to the cave and ask what is wrong. The giant shouts that "Nobody" is attacking him. Hearing this, the other Cyclopes assume he must be sick or mad, and they leave him alone. In the morning, Polyphemus rolls the stone away from the entrance so his sheep can leave the cave. He runs his hands over their backs to make sure the men are not escaping. What he does not realize is that Odysseus has tied each man underneath the sheep, hanging beneath their woolly bellies. The animals walk out of the cave and carry the Greeks with them. It is a brilliant escape, but Odysseus makes one mistake. Once the ship has sailed safely away, he cannot resist shouting back at the Cyclops. He reveals his real name and boasts about what he has done. Polyphemus then prays to his father, the sea god Poseidon, asking him to punish Odysseus for the injury. That single moment of pride ends up shaping the rest of the Odyssey. Poseidon hears the prayer, and from that point on the sea itself seems determined to keep Odysseus from ever reaching home. His intelligence saves him and his men from certain death, but his pride creates new dangers that follow him for years. Even the cleverest man can ruin his own victory if he cannot resist the temptation to pride... --- Join our online book club and study the classics with us! We are working through the great texts of the Western canon, including the Homeric epics: To preserve a culture, you must continually study the books and ideas that created it. If the schools and universities won't teach the great books of the West, we will do it ourselves... We are an independent group funded ENTIRELY by the members of this community. If you'd like to support us, please consider a paid membership. You'll get: - Live book club discussions (biweekly) - Essays to guide you through the books we're reading - The full archive of discussions and essays - Access to the community chat room See you inside!

Athenaeum Book Club

443,183 Aufrufe • vor 3 Monaten

Americans have had enough of immigrants like Zohran Mamdani coming to America and then running for office while hating everything about America “I'm f*cking pissed — So, the country of Uganda, every single year, always places in the top 10- 20 worst countries on planet Earth for their lack of civil rights. They have no freedom of speech. They've got no freedom of expression. They have no protections for their LGBTQ communities. The World Economic Forum and every other international association doesn't even send Uganda money anymore, because every time they do, it magically disappears into the shadow of corruption. Simultaneously, we've got someone running (and who won) mayor of New York City who is from Uganda, but instead of coming here and expressing a shred of gratitude or recognizing that America is his last safe harbor, protecting him from what would have been a life of oppression and discrimination in his home country, does nothing but criticize America. He criticizes our society, our institutions, our culture. He stands antithetical to pretty much everything America stands for. And why is this a critical nuance vis-a-vis the rest of the waves of immigration that have come to America? I'll tell you why. Because between the years 1890 and 1954, when something like 20 million European immigrants came to America, they came here because they loved this country. They believed in the American dream. They instilled the American spirit in their children and their grandchildren. They were ready to fight in World War I. They laid down life and limb in World War II. They recognized expressly that America was a light on this globe, saving them from the political unrest, turmoil, and famine of their home countries. So here's a radical concept. How about we stop letting folks in this country that actually fucking hate America? And two, why don't we never ever dream about letting one of them run for mayor of Western civilization's greatest f*cking city”
1:44

Americans have had enough of immigrants like Zohran Mamdani coming to America and then running for office while hating everything about America “I'm f*cking pissed — So, the country of Uganda, every single year, always places in the top 10- 20 worst countries on planet Earth for their lack of civil rights. They have no freedom of speech. They've got no freedom of expression. They have no protections for their LGBTQ communities. The World Economic Forum and every other international association doesn't even send Uganda money anymore, because every time they do, it magically disappears into the shadow of corruption. Simultaneously, we've got someone running (and who won) mayor of New York City who is from Uganda, but instead of coming here and expressing a shred of gratitude or recognizing that America is his last safe harbor, protecting him from what would have been a life of oppression and discrimination in his home country, does nothing but criticize America. He criticizes our society, our institutions, our culture. He stands antithetical to pretty much everything America stands for. And why is this a critical nuance vis-a-vis the rest of the waves of immigration that have come to America? I'll tell you why. Because between the years 1890 and 1954, when something like 20 million European immigrants came to America, they came here because they loved this country. They believed in the American dream. They instilled the American spirit in their children and their grandchildren. They were ready to fight in World War I. They laid down life and limb in World War II. They recognized expressly that America was a light on this globe, saving them from the political unrest, turmoil, and famine of their home countries. So here's a radical concept. How about we stop letting folks in this country that actually fucking hate America? And two, why don't we never ever dream about letting one of them run for mayor of Western civilization's greatest f*cking city”

Wall Street Apes

979,480 Aufrufe • vor 9 Monaten

Quentin Tarantino on how he got the idea to make "Pulp Fiction" (1994): "The idea for 'Pulp Fiction' (1994) was born even before I began writing 'Reservoir Dogs' (1992). I was trying to imagine how to make a film without money, so I thought of a short I’d be able to show at festivals that could be a kind of calling card. I’d be able to demonstrate what I was capa­ble of, which would allow me to shoot a feature-length film. So I thought of the story of Vincent Vega and Marsellus’s wife. Then I realized, why not write a second short crime story, and then a third, and then shoot them one after another when I got enough money together, and then put them together? That’s pretty much what Jim Jarmusch did with 'Stranger Than Paradise' (1984), showing one part at one festival, then getting the financial backing to do the second, etc. So I phoned my friend Roger Avary to ask him to write the second story, but with the condition that it had to be the most classic story possible; and from there he could take us to the moon! And that’s what he wrote: the one about the boxer who gets knocked out in the ring. The third story was going to be the one of Reservoir Dogs. But then our enthusiasm kind of died down, that project never got done, and I used the story of Dogs for my feature-length film. Later we came back to the project, but abandoned the idea of an anthol­ogy. What I really wanted was to make a novel on the screen, with characters who enter and exit, who have their own story but who can appear anywhere. I could get to do what a contemporary writer does: introduce into his book a secondary character who appeared in an earlier book, something like the Glass family that Salinger imagined, and whose members you find move from one novel to the next. This is a register filmmakers simply don’t work in: in Hollywood, when you make a film for, let’s say, Paramount, you sell them the rights to the story. If you make the next one for Warners, you can’t use the same char­acters because they were created for another company. With 'Pulp Fiction', I wanted in some sense to make three films for the price of one! I liked that each character of 'Pulp Fiction' could carry a film as the main hero. If I’d made a film, for example, about Butch and Fabienne and only about them, the character played by John Travolta probably wouldn’t have had a name. He’d have been called “Bad Guy No. i.” But as Pulp Fiction is conceived, he is Vincent Vega. We know his personality, we have an idea of his way of life, he’s not simply a minor character. So then when they shoot him, the spectator feels something." (Quentin Tarantino's interview with Michel Ciment and Hubert Niogret, Postif, 1994) P.S: On this day, 32 years ago, "Pulp Fiction" (1994) premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, France.
1:50

Quentin Tarantino on how he got the idea to make "Pulp Fiction" (1994): "The idea for 'Pulp Fiction' (1994) was born even before I began writing 'Reservoir Dogs' (1992). I was trying to imagine how to make a film without money, so I thought of a short I’d be able to show at festivals that could be a kind of calling card. I’d be able to demonstrate what I was capa­ble of, which would allow me to shoot a feature-length film. So I thought of the story of Vincent Vega and Marsellus’s wife. Then I realized, why not write a second short crime story, and then a third, and then shoot them one after another when I got enough money together, and then put them together? That’s pretty much what Jim Jarmusch did with 'Stranger Than Paradise' (1984), showing one part at one festival, then getting the financial backing to do the second, etc. So I phoned my friend Roger Avary to ask him to write the second story, but with the condition that it had to be the most classic story possible; and from there he could take us to the moon! And that’s what he wrote: the one about the boxer who gets knocked out in the ring. The third story was going to be the one of Reservoir Dogs. But then our enthusiasm kind of died down, that project never got done, and I used the story of Dogs for my feature-length film. Later we came back to the project, but abandoned the idea of an anthol­ogy. What I really wanted was to make a novel on the screen, with characters who enter and exit, who have their own story but who can appear anywhere. I could get to do what a contemporary writer does: introduce into his book a secondary character who appeared in an earlier book, something like the Glass family that Salinger imagined, and whose members you find move from one novel to the next. This is a register filmmakers simply don’t work in: in Hollywood, when you make a film for, let’s say, Paramount, you sell them the rights to the story. If you make the next one for Warners, you can’t use the same char­acters because they were created for another company. With 'Pulp Fiction', I wanted in some sense to make three films for the price of one! I liked that each character of 'Pulp Fiction' could carry a film as the main hero. If I’d made a film, for example, about Butch and Fabienne and only about them, the character played by John Travolta probably wouldn’t have had a name. He’d have been called “Bad Guy No. i.” But as Pulp Fiction is conceived, he is Vincent Vega. We know his personality, we have an idea of his way of life, he’s not simply a minor character. So then when they shoot him, the spectator feels something." (Quentin Tarantino's interview with Michel Ciment and Hubert Niogret, Postif, 1994) P.S: On this day, 32 years ago, "Pulp Fiction" (1994) premiered at the Cannes Film Festival, France.

DepressedBergman

148,832 Aufrufe • vor 3 Monaten

Two air forces started the Pacific war. One trained its pilots, then kept them fighting until they died. The other trained its pilots, then often pulled many of its experienced combat pilots out to teach everyone else. This is one of the reasons America won the Pacific air war, let's dive in.. Japan's Elite Aviators At the start of the war, Japan had some of the finest fighter pilots in the world. The aviators who attacked Pearl Harbor were elite. Many had hundreds of hours in the cockpit and real combat experience from the fighting in China. Flying the nimble A6M Zero, they cut through Allied opposition in the early months of the war and earned a fearsome reputation. But Japan made a fateful choice about these men. It kept them in combat, more or less indefinitely. Japanese pilots flew mission after mission with no real system to rotate them home. They fought until they were shot down, crippled, or killed. It seemed ruthless and efficient. In reality, it was a slow-motion disaster. The Difference in Philosophy Because every time Japan lost one of those veterans, everything he knew died with him. America did the opposite. It regularly rotated many of its experienced combat pilots back home once they had done their share of fighting. There, they became instructors, pouring everything they had learned in real air combat directly into the next generation of pilots. So the two systems pulled in opposite directions. Japan's pool of skill drained away with every ace it buried. America's pool of skill grew, as each returning veteran multiplied his knowledge across hundreds of students. One nation was teaching. The other was simply dying. The Training Gap The gap became a chasm, and it was made worse by sheer scale. By 1944, the United States was training around 8,000 new aviators every month, each of them getting well over a year of instruction and hundreds of hours in the air before they ever saw combat. Japan could not come close. As its veterans vanished, its training program collapsed, and it was crippled by something else, too. Fuel. Japan was running so short of it that many trainees could barely fly enough hours to learn their trade. By the later part of the war, Japanese pilots were being rushed into battle with barely 100 hours of flying time, and sometimes far less. They were teenagers with almost no training, being sent up against American veterans who had been taught by the best combat pilots in the fleet. The outcome was no longer a contest. It was a slaughter. The Great Marianas Turkey Shoot Nowhere was that clearer than in the skies over the Mariana Islands in June 1944. When the Japanese launched hundreds of aircraft against the American fleet, they flew into a wall of Hellcat fighters, guided by radar and expert fighter direction that positioned the Americans at the perfect height and moment to strike. The green Japanese pilots in their now outdated Zeros never had a chance. In and around that battle, Japan lost nearly 480 aircraft, while the Americans lost only a few dozen. It was so one-sided that the American aviators nicknamed it the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot. Japan's naval air power, once the terror of the Pacific, was broken in a matter of days. Better Aircraft, Better Technology It was not only the pilots. It was the machines too. America kept producing better and better aircraft, like the tough, heavily armed F6F Hellcat, designed after studying a captured Zero and built to beat it. It could take punishment, out-dive and out-gun its opponent, and it was forgiving enough that even a less experienced pilot could survive his first fights and become a veteran. Over the war, Hellcat pilots claimed more than 5,000 enemy aircraft for a tiny fraction of that in losses. Japan, meanwhile, kept sending men up in the aging Zero, a plane that had been revolutionary in 1941 but was now underpowered, fragile, and outclassed. It was fast and agile, but a single burst of American fire could tear it apart, because it had traded armor and protection for maneuverability. Better pilots, in better planes, backed by better technology. The advantages stacked on top of one another. The Spiral Ends By the end, Japan had reached the final, desperate stage of the spiral. With almost no trained pilots left, and no way to make more in time, it turned to the kamikaze. A pilot did not need 500 hours of training to crash his aircraft into a ship. He only needed to take off, aim, and die. It was the last resort of an air force that had run out of the one thing it could never mass produce. Experienced men. America won the Pacific air war for many reasons. Its factories out-built the enemy. Its radar and intelligence gave it eyes the Japanese lacked. Its aircraft grew deadlier every year. But underneath all of it was something simpler. America treated its best pilots as a resource to be protected and passed on. Japan treated them as fuel to be burned. One of those choices built an air force that kept getting stronger. The other burned brightly, and then burned out. This was why America won the Pacific air war. I post a story like this every single day. Most people never see them. Follow so you don't miss the next one.
0:30

Two air forces started the Pacific war. One trained its pilots, then kept them fighting until they died. The other trained its pilots, then often pulled many of its experienced combat pilots out to teach everyone else. This is one of the reasons America won the Pacific air war, let's dive in.. Japan's Elite Aviators At the start of the war, Japan had some of the finest fighter pilots in the world. The aviators who attacked Pearl Harbor were elite. Many had hundreds of hours in the cockpit and real combat experience from the fighting in China. Flying the nimble A6M Zero, they cut through Allied opposition in the early months of the war and earned a fearsome reputation. But Japan made a fateful choice about these men. It kept them in combat, more or less indefinitely. Japanese pilots flew mission after mission with no real system to rotate them home. They fought until they were shot down, crippled, or killed. It seemed ruthless and efficient. In reality, it was a slow-motion disaster. The Difference in Philosophy Because every time Japan lost one of those veterans, everything he knew died with him. America did the opposite. It regularly rotated many of its experienced combat pilots back home once they had done their share of fighting. There, they became instructors, pouring everything they had learned in real air combat directly into the next generation of pilots. So the two systems pulled in opposite directions. Japan's pool of skill drained away with every ace it buried. America's pool of skill grew, as each returning veteran multiplied his knowledge across hundreds of students. One nation was teaching. The other was simply dying. The Training Gap The gap became a chasm, and it was made worse by sheer scale. By 1944, the United States was training around 8,000 new aviators every month, each of them getting well over a year of instruction and hundreds of hours in the air before they ever saw combat. Japan could not come close. As its veterans vanished, its training program collapsed, and it was crippled by something else, too. Fuel. Japan was running so short of it that many trainees could barely fly enough hours to learn their trade. By the later part of the war, Japanese pilots were being rushed into battle with barely 100 hours of flying time, and sometimes far less. They were teenagers with almost no training, being sent up against American veterans who had been taught by the best combat pilots in the fleet. The outcome was no longer a contest. It was a slaughter. The Great Marianas Turkey Shoot Nowhere was that clearer than in the skies over the Mariana Islands in June 1944. When the Japanese launched hundreds of aircraft against the American fleet, they flew into a wall of Hellcat fighters, guided by radar and expert fighter direction that positioned the Americans at the perfect height and moment to strike. The green Japanese pilots in their now outdated Zeros never had a chance. In and around that battle, Japan lost nearly 480 aircraft, while the Americans lost only a few dozen. It was so one-sided that the American aviators nicknamed it the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot. Japan's naval air power, once the terror of the Pacific, was broken in a matter of days. Better Aircraft, Better Technology It was not only the pilots. It was the machines too. America kept producing better and better aircraft, like the tough, heavily armed F6F Hellcat, designed after studying a captured Zero and built to beat it. It could take punishment, out-dive and out-gun its opponent, and it was forgiving enough that even a less experienced pilot could survive his first fights and become a veteran. Over the war, Hellcat pilots claimed more than 5,000 enemy aircraft for a tiny fraction of that in losses. Japan, meanwhile, kept sending men up in the aging Zero, a plane that had been revolutionary in 1941 but was now underpowered, fragile, and outclassed. It was fast and agile, but a single burst of American fire could tear it apart, because it had traded armor and protection for maneuverability. Better pilots, in better planes, backed by better technology. The advantages stacked on top of one another. The Spiral Ends By the end, Japan had reached the final, desperate stage of the spiral. With almost no trained pilots left, and no way to make more in time, it turned to the kamikaze. A pilot did not need 500 hours of training to crash his aircraft into a ship. He only needed to take off, aim, and die. It was the last resort of an air force that had run out of the one thing it could never mass produce. Experienced men. America won the Pacific air war for many reasons. Its factories out-built the enemy. Its radar and intelligence gave it eyes the Japanese lacked. Its aircraft grew deadlier every year. But underneath all of it was something simpler. America treated its best pilots as a resource to be protected and passed on. Japan treated them as fuel to be burned. One of those choices built an air force that kept getting stronger. The other burned brightly, and then burned out. This was why America won the Pacific air war. I post a story like this every single day. Most people never see them. Follow so you don't miss the next one.

Untold War Stories

155,561 Aufrufe • vor 1 Monat

When the Womb Whispers: And Other Things We Don't Say About Fibroids WHEN WOULD WE GET THE CURE FOR FIBROIDS? Dear Ini Dima-Okojie Thank you. For speaking. For not whispering. Because there is something about fibroids that turns even the boldest of us into secret-keepers. And yet, how can a thing so common still carry so much shame? How can one in three Black women walk around with wombs that grow knots of muscle, and still we act as though we don’t know? As though silence will make them disappear. Let’s talk about fibroids. Not as curses. Not as village vengeance served cold by a bitter aunt with a long memory. Not as punishment for being too ambitious, too beautiful, too unmarried. But as what they are...vbenign tumours, muscular growths born of the very womb that once carried our ancestors. And yet, we treat them like shame. Like things to hide in brown paper bags, behind locked clinic doors, in hushed family meetings. We do not name them because we think naming gives them power. But silence, not words, is what gives shame its wings. Some women carry fibroids like invisible scars. Some carry them in their periods...those relentless rivers of blood. Others carry them in the way their bellies swell, round and taut, inviting strangers to smile and ask, “when are you due?” And how, how do you tell a stranger that you are due for nothing but another scan? No, fibroids are not death sentences. They are not infertility tattoos stamped by fate. And yes, women with fibroids carry babies. They birth joy. They raise nations. But sometimes fibroids demand intervention. Sometimes they crowd the womb like unwanted guests, pushing and pressing until there is no room left. And sometimes, we must act. With medicine. With surgery. With science. Not with soaked roots or shouted prayers. Because God, even when He heals, does not despise knowledge. And your body...your glorious, stubborn, wondrous body...is not a place for experiments. Not by self-acclaimed herbalists. Not by untrained hands. Not by those who say “let’s try this” without understanding your anatomy. There are treatments. Not miracles, no. But measured, methodical medicine. There is keyhole surgery. There is open surgery. There is robotic precision. And sometimes, the most loving treatment is no treatment at all. And to families... Please stop calling her “barren” in the middle of your Sunday rice. Stop folding your lips around pity and disappointment. Stop tying shame around her waist like a wrapper. Because fibroids grow in silence, but they also shrink in love. Because shame is not a cure, and gossip is not a diagnosis. Dear woman, Your story does not end in fibroids. This is not your final line, not your final loss. You are still becoming. You are still woman...full, fertile, whole. So, share this. With a sister. With a cousin. With the aunt who says, “it’s just delay.” Because we are only as healed as our loudest silences. And if you must whisper, then let your whisper be this: “Fibroids do not define me.” 📹: InidimaOkojie | IG
1:57

When the Womb Whispers: And Other Things We Don't Say About Fibroids WHEN WOULD WE GET THE CURE FOR FIBROIDS? Dear Ini Dima-Okojie Thank you. For speaking. For not whispering. Because there is something about fibroids that turns even the boldest of us into secret-keepers. And yet, how can a thing so common still carry so much shame? How can one in three Black women walk around with wombs that grow knots of muscle, and still we act as though we don’t know? As though silence will make them disappear. Let’s talk about fibroids. Not as curses. Not as village vengeance served cold by a bitter aunt with a long memory. Not as punishment for being too ambitious, too beautiful, too unmarried. But as what they are...vbenign tumours, muscular growths born of the very womb that once carried our ancestors. And yet, we treat them like shame. Like things to hide in brown paper bags, behind locked clinic doors, in hushed family meetings. We do not name them because we think naming gives them power. But silence, not words, is what gives shame its wings. Some women carry fibroids like invisible scars. Some carry them in their periods...those relentless rivers of blood. Others carry them in the way their bellies swell, round and taut, inviting strangers to smile and ask, “when are you due?” And how, how do you tell a stranger that you are due for nothing but another scan? No, fibroids are not death sentences. They are not infertility tattoos stamped by fate. And yes, women with fibroids carry babies. They birth joy. They raise nations. But sometimes fibroids demand intervention. Sometimes they crowd the womb like unwanted guests, pushing and pressing until there is no room left. And sometimes, we must act. With medicine. With surgery. With science. Not with soaked roots or shouted prayers. Because God, even when He heals, does not despise knowledge. And your body...your glorious, stubborn, wondrous body...is not a place for experiments. Not by self-acclaimed herbalists. Not by untrained hands. Not by those who say “let’s try this” without understanding your anatomy. There are treatments. Not miracles, no. But measured, methodical medicine. There is keyhole surgery. There is open surgery. There is robotic precision. And sometimes, the most loving treatment is no treatment at all. And to families... Please stop calling her “barren” in the middle of your Sunday rice. Stop folding your lips around pity and disappointment. Stop tying shame around her waist like a wrapper. Because fibroids grow in silence, but they also shrink in love. Because shame is not a cure, and gossip is not a diagnosis. Dear woman, Your story does not end in fibroids. This is not your final line, not your final loss. You are still becoming. You are still woman...full, fertile, whole. So, share this. With a sister. With a cousin. With the aunt who says, “it’s just delay.” Because we are only as healed as our loudest silences. And if you must whisper, then let your whisper be this: “Fibroids do not define me.” 📹: InidimaOkojie | IG

Dr. Ose Etiobhio

224,233 Aufrufe • vor 1 Jahr