ADORO IL GENIO - NEW LOOK
A volte è necessario prendere decisioni drastiche.
(Credit: Scott Maynard)
#adoroilgenio #14dicembre #look #acconciatura #serpenti #serpentelli🐍 #medusa #Mito #mitologia #mitologiagreca #coiffure #hairstyle #hairstylist #vignette #vignettedivertenti #comic #comics #fumetto #fumetti #humor #comedy
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Boucle au départ de Pégairolles-de-Buèges jusqu'à la montagne de la Séranne via le Peyre Martine (782m).
#photography #photographie
#france #occitanie #herault #pegairollesdebueges #seranne #montpellier
#sky #cloud #sun #fog #mountain #rock #cliff #water #river #tree
#landscape #outdoor #outdoors #nature #hiking
#travel #tourism #tourismeoccitanie
#autumn #picoftheday #photooftheday #naturephotography #natureview #horizon #view #panorama
Roberto Carlos Sofre Acidente de Carro Durante Gravação de Especial de Natal da Globo - Gazeta Brasil-
O cantor Roberto Carlos se envolveu em um acidente de trânsito durante a gravação de seu tradicional especial de Natal para a TV Globo, na madrugada desteGazeta Brasil
internationalistcommune.com/o-…
"Estamos escrevendo esta brochura no outono, época de mudanças e a estação favorita de Şehîd1 Bager Nûjiyan. Um tempo antigo está passando para dar lugar a um novo. Şehîd Bager caiu como mártir em 14 de dezembro de 2018, devido a um ataque de drone do Estado turco nas Áreas de Defesa de Medya. Quando […]"
Le Mura Spring, sfida di cartello con Perugia per un posto al sole
Le biancorosse sono in serie positiva da nove giornate dopo il ko all'esordio con Firenze e vogliono continuare la striscia in Umbria
Eastern Phoebe
#Birds #photography #wildphotography #birdphotography #WildlifePhotography #Wildlife #Nikon
The schedule for the FOSDEM 2026 Social Web Developer Room is up. This is the best place to find out what's going on in the world of ActivityPub. 31 Jan 2026 in Brussels!
socialwebfoundation.org/2025/1…
Schedule for Social Web Developer Room at FOSDEM 2026
The schedule for the Social Web Developer Room at FOSDEM 2026 is starting to be populated as the speakers confirm their availability. We had a tonne of great submissions for this year’s track, and even with double the time from last year, we still had to leave some great talks on the cutting room floor. But we still managed to fit in 24 great talks, large and small. We’re going to see some additional events happening as FOSDEM 2026 gets nearer. Watch the #SOCIALWEBFOSDEM hashtag for more news and events.
- 20 years ago (0 votes)
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WuselGewusel: Warum eine gute Federkernmatratze mehr ist als nur ein Schlafplatz wuselgewusel.com/federkernmatr…
#Blog
Eine Federkernmatratze ist oft mehr als nur ein Schlafplatz ☻ Mit Rabattcode - WuselGewusel
Federkernmatratze Ravo-SPRING: Komfort, Höhe und so gemütlich, dass die Katzen sofort drauf liegen. ☻ RabattcodeKatja (WuselGewusel)
@Vive_Levant !
Lighthouse banner flag.
#bannerflag #bannerflags #lighthouse #open #photo #picture #photography #photograph
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Sanctuary Island appeared on no maps. Twenty-three miles off Georgia's coast. Purchased for $47 million by the #ApexSociety—twelve #billionaires who paid $50 million each to join the world's most exclusive club. Their entertainment? Hunting humans. For four years, 632 people were brought to the island, released into the jungle, and hunted like animals. Zero survivors. Until Marcus Webb—a homeless Marine veteran. Shot twice. He swam four miles through shark-infested waters and told FBI everything.
novelWriter 2.8 has been released.
The release includes a full colour theme revamp with proper dark/light switching and many new themes, and theme colours for your custom document labels. The release also adds Markdown highlight, current line highlighting, Vim mode in the editor, and a number of smaller improvements and fixes.
Le opere dell’artista contemporaneo KAWS, pseudonimo di Brian Donnelly, non passano di certo inosservate. Grandi sculture rappresentanti personaggi Disney o altri personaggi animati. Non possiamo non averle mai notate. Scopriamole meglio insieme.
Chi è KAWS
KAWS è lo pseudonimo di Brian Donnelly, artista, designer, pittore, scultore e graffitista statunitense, classe 1974. #artecontemporanea #firenze #themessage
sagrafica.it/le-opere-di-kaws/
New writing on my blog 🤍
#gazaverified #gaza @aseelsehwel@blog.gaza.onl
blog.gaza.onl/aseelsehwel/two-…
Two years had passed since my feet last touched the ground of Salah Al-Din...
Two years had passed since my feet last touched the ground of Salah Al-Din Street—the street I knew as well as the faces of my own family. It was once a quiet, familiar place, brimming with life: small houses leaning into one another, their windows open to the sound of children’s laughter, green fields stretching along its sides like a carpet of hope, and olive and palm trees that seemed to whisper, “Everything will remain.”Small, shimmering memories welled up inside me: laughter shared with friends under dappled shadows along the road, children chasing light-hearted dreams without fear, the scent of wild sage and warm za’atar manaqeesh drifting from open windows, and the call of the morning vendor, whose voice seemed to wake the street itself. I remembered the smell of lemon trees from hidden gardens, and summer evenings when families gathered outside their homes, sharing stories as dusk fell. Each of these details shone in my memory like a truth. A whole world lived here… a world that never imagined it could be uprooted.
The walk I imagined was short in distance but immense in weight—a journey not across a city, but across years of silence. Though I still lived within its orbit, the street itself had become a ghost limb: a part of me I could no longer feel, yet whose absence ached. With every step, I hoped to feel the familiar texture of memory return beneath my feet, to hear the faint pulse of the life that had once hummed there.
But when I finally arrived, the dream collapsed in a single moment. All that lay before me was rubble stripped of spirit, ash that had swallowed every color, a life erased by death. The houses were gone as if they had never been, the green fields ripped away, the trees torn out by their roots, and the earth that once promised hope had hardened into a silence that knew no mercy.
In the heart of the wreckage, names were written on the ruins—the names of martyrs buried without grace. Many of the rescue machines had been destroyed in the bombardment, leaving rescue teams with too few tools to reach those trapped beneath the rubble. Bodies remained beneath the debris, lives cut short, dreams left incomplete… And scattered among the stones: small shoes like broken butterflies, school notebooks open to sentences frozen mid-word, dolls torn without remorse. Everything here cried out mutely—a life interrupted, dreams shattered before their shape could be seen. The silence itself had grown loud, a scream of pain that no one else heard, every stone holding a story untold, a life un-lived. That silence felt heavier than death… heavier than any tear that could be shed.
How did it feel for the man who built a home, only to watch it turn to the rubble? How does a farmer stand before the land he tended year after year, now lying barren—no scent of soil, no whisper of harvest? How does a father tell his son the school he loved is gone, that the garden where he played is now only a rumor in the rubble? How does a mother walk through the ghost of a playground, finding a small shoe, a torn notebook, a toy she once mended? How do neighbors look at one another, wordless, knowing the world they shared has vanished?
And all of it wrapped in a thick, soundless vacuum—no laughter, no running feet, no vendor’s call, no fragrance of coffee greeting the dawn. Everything was quiet. Empty.
And yet—from within the ruin surrounding me, a fragile, honest question rose: After all this waiting… after all this breaking… can the soul survive? Can a heart that has seen such devastation ever beat lightly again? Can this street, even now, whisper: Come back. There is still a place for you here?
I stood among the ruins, breath caught in my chest, searching for any trace of what once was. I felt the ache in every stone, every corner, every fragment of memory. But beneath it, I sensed something small and unbroken: my own heart, still beating. And a faint, stubborn light—a quiet voice within: I am still here. I can still walk. I can still love this life, despite everything.
Perhaps the street will never return as it was. Perhaps the houses will not be rebuilt, nor the trees grow tall again. But I will go on. I will walk through the wreckage, carrying memory, carrying grief, carrying hope. I will look for signs that life persists—a child’s fleeting smile, an olive leaf pressed in dust, a ray of sun finding its way through broken walls. Just one thing matters—the quiet certainty that my heart still beats with this land, and that life, even now, is worth living.
I am Aseel, a writer from Gaza, living amid genocide and famine. Your support can help my family survive.chuffed.org/project/138285-hel…
Help Sehwel family with their medical treatment
I'm Joe in the UK, I've been in touch with Aseel from the Sehwel family for over a year now and have been following their difficult struggle to afford medication, shelter and food in Gaza.Chuffed
This story, by @WeirdWriter, was an emotional journey I didn't realise my heart needed me to take.
sightlessscribbles.com/the-col…
The Colonization of Confidence., Sightless Scribbles
A fabulously gay blind author.sightlessscribbles.com
no lie, there were some happy tears by the end.
Boosted, remembered to subscribe to @WeirdWriter's RSS feed. I'll strive for more when the day comes I'm back in a job that does more than almost pay my share of rent.
internationalistcommune.com/de…
"Wir schreiben diese Broschüre im Herbst, der Zeit des Wandels und der Lieblingsjahreszeit von Şehîd Bager Nûjiyan. Eine alte Zeit geht vorbei, um einer neuen zu weichen. Şehîd Bager ist am 14. Dezember 2018 durch einen Drohnenangriff des türkischen Staats in den Medya-Verteidigungsgebieten zum Märtyrer geworden.
I have an old phone with lineage OS installed
It's, as of now, e-waste.
I am looking for suggestions to make it do anything at all so that it is not e-waste anymore.
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John Selwyn Brooke Lloyd, minister van Buitenlandse Zaken, bij het staatsbezoek van de Britse koningin Elizabeth en haar echtgenoot prins Philip aan Nederland, Ridderzaal, Den Haag, Ed van der Elsken, 1958
#vandeBritse #Elizabeth #PhilipaanNederland #Ridderzaal #DenHaag #EdvanderElsken #fotografie #photography #EdVanDerElsken #EdvanderElsken
rijksmuseum.nl/en/collection/R…
Oprah Pursues Dr. Phil On Ship Through Arctic
theonion.com/oprah-pursues-dr-…
Oprah Pursues Dr. Phil On Ship Through Arctic
THE ARCTIC CIRCLE—With a vow to destroy the abomination she had created if it was the last thing she ever did, television host Oprah Winfrey has spent weeks on a ship pursuing Dr. Phil through the Arctic, sources reported Tuesday.The Onion Staff (The Onion)
Philippines : Un policier et un indicateur tués par la guérilla
secoursrouge.org/philippines-u…
"Un sergent-chef de la police du Negros Occidental a été tué lors d'un affrontement avec des membres de la Nouvelle Armée du Peuple (NPA) à Barangay Menchaca le 7 décembre."
Tannenbaum
Holy night
Deck the halls
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- Vincent van Gogh
RE: stranger.social/@lednaBM/11571…
It's weird how every time someone runs a UBI or GBI test like this, it always turns out positive. Like, I *never* see headlines saying "UBI Trial in Bumfucksburg, West Idaho Fails to Achieve Goals".
They always work, never fail.
It's almost like they're a good idea and we should move past the "trial" stage, hmm? 🤔
#UBI #UniversalBasicIncome #BasicUniversalIncome #GuaranteedBasicIncome #poverty
Guaranteed Basic Income Program In Rochester NY Deemed A Success | Crooks and Liars
crooksandliars.com/2025/12/gua…Guaranteed Basic Income Program In Rochester NY Deemed A Success
Professor Patrick Turner: “The GBI pilot was effective at providing cash to families and alleviating some of the immediate hardship they experience from having low incomes."Susie Madrak (Crooks and Liars)
Jess👾 reshared this.
#Israel has claimed that #Iran is at fault for the attack in #Australia, however using a Facebook post, we can see that one of the attackers, Naveed Akram, learnt "Tajweed" (Quranic Linguistics) from a #Salafi teacher (who usually hate Iran)
This can be proven by reading the names of the books in the background, written by prominent #Wahhabi scholars, such as Bin Baz and Al-Uthaymeen.
#Terrorism #Propaganda #WarOnIran #Politics #AUpol #Hannuka
pressenza.com/it/2025/12/difes…
Alla conferenza proposta nel programma PACIF-I-CARE – COSTRUIRE PERCORSI DI SOLUZIONE DEI CONFLITTI mercoledì 17 dicembre prossimo, il collaboratore di PRESSENZA esperto di difesa popolare nonviolenta focalizzerà l’attenzione sulle tradizioni storiche e future prospettive delle idee, teorie, prassi e
'La difesa nonviolenta come alternativa alla guerra armata': la relazione di Paolo Candelari in anteprima
Alla conferenza proposta nel programma PACIF-I-CARE - COSTRUIRE PERCORSI DI SOLUZIONE DEI CONFLITTI mercoledì 17 dicembre prossimo, il collaboratore di Nella relazione sul tema 'La difesa nonviolenta come alternativa alla guerra armata', sesta del ci…Redazione Piemonte Orientale (Pressenza)
Kenny plays and conducts Mustonen, Strozzi, Bach and Vivaldi in San Francisco - Schedule // - www.worldconcerthall.com
Alexi Kenny, violin and conductor, and the musicians of the San Francisco Symphony play: Olli MUSTONEN: Nonet No. 2 for Strings. STROZZI arr Kenney Che si può fare. BACH: Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 in D major, BWV 1050,. VIVALDI: The Four Seas...www.worldconcerthall.com
💾 Halfway through #EverythingForEveryone and Ch5 has way too much in common with the Handmaid's Tale.
Why is it that when Americans imagine a dystopia, the religion is always hypersexist, hyperwhite and hyperqueerphobic? Why is it never, say, only queerphobic but multicultural and respectful of women, but super anti-finance?
Are these authors afraid that if it's not a 1:1 condemnation of the CURRENT status quo, it won't become popular? What's the point of speculating then?
Come fa Babbo Natale a consegnare tutti i regali in una sola notte? Una possibile risposta è che non ne esista uno solo, ma tantissimi, molti dei quali si allenano a Pont-Saint-Martin. I Santa Claus si ritrovano in Piazza 4 novembre, da dove partono per un giro assolutamente non competitivo per le strade cittadine.
Organizzata dall'associazione commercianti e artigiani di Pont-Saint-Martin e giunta alla quinta edizione, la corsa ha scopo benefico. In particolare quest'anno la quota verrà donata integralmente al Centro Donne contro la violenza di Aosta, per la quale sono stati raccolti in totale mille euro.
Interviste ad alcuni partecipanti e a Christian Bordet, presidente dell'Associazione commercianti e artigiani di Pont-Saint-Martin.
rainews.it/tgr/vda/video/2025/…
I Babbi Natale che fanno del bene correndo
A Pont-Saint-Martin in più di duecento per la manifestazione, giunta alla quinta edizione. Il ricavato sarà devoluto al Centro donne contro la violenza di AostaRaiNews
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Maik (maik.io): Bündel leuchtend orangefarbener Beeren maik.io/notes/2025-12-14-buend…
#Blog
Bündel leuchtend orangefarbener Beeren
Dieses Foto zeigt ein Bündel leuchtend orangefarbener Beeren, umgeben von glänzenden grünen Blättern. Die kräftigen Farben bilden einen beeindruckenden Kontrast, wodurch die Beeren vor dem sanft unscharfen Laub im Hintergrund besonders zur Geltung ko…maik (maik.io)
You know, I sometimes wonder:
Feel #birds itchy _all the time_?
youtube.com/watch?v=f67siEBwIc…
- YouTube
Profitez des vidéos et de la musique que vous aimez, mettez en ligne des contenus originaux, et partagez-les avec vos amis, vos proches et le monde entier.www.youtube.com
In the wild, their mates or siblings will typically do this for them.
internationalistcommune.com/ce…
"Estem escrivint aquest fulletó a la tardor, una estació de canvi i l’estació preferida de Şehîd1 Bager Nûjiyan. Una època antiga s’està acabant per deixar pas a una de nova. Şehîd Bager va caure màrtir el 14 de desembre de 2018 a les Zones de Defensa de Medya degut a un atac de dron de […]"
Two years had passed since my feet last touched the ground of Salah Al-Din...
Two years had passed since my feet last touched the ground of Salah Al-Din Street—the street I knew as well as the faces of my own family. It was once a quiet, familiar place, brimming with life: small houses leaning into one another, their windows open to the sound of children’s laughter, green fields stretching along its sides like a carpet of hope, and olive and palm trees that seemed to whisper, “Everything will remain.”
Small, shimmering memories welled up inside me: laughter shared with friends under dappled shadows along the road, children chasing light-hearted dreams without fear, the scent of wild sage and warm za’atar manaqeesh drifting from open windows, and the call of the morning vendor, whose voice seemed to wake the street itself. I remembered the smell of lemon trees from hidden gardens, and summer evenings when families gathered outside their homes, sharing stories as dusk fell. Each of these details shone in my memory like a truth. A whole world lived here… a world that never imagined it could be uprooted.
The walk I imagined was short in distance but immense in weight—a journey not across a city, but across years of silence. Though I still lived within its orbit, the street itself had become a ghost limb: a part of me I could no longer feel, yet whose absence ached. With every step, I hoped to feel the familiar texture of memory return beneath my feet, to hear the faint pulse of the life that had once hummed there.
But when I finally arrived, the dream collapsed in a single moment. All that lay before me was rubble stripped of spirit, ash that had swallowed every color, a life erased by death. The houses were gone as if they had never been, the green fields ripped away, the trees torn out by their roots, and the earth that once promised hope had hardened into a silence that knew no mercy.
In the heart of the wreckage, names were written on the ruins—the names of martyrs buried without grace. Many of the rescue machines had been destroyed in the bombardment, leaving rescue teams with too few tools to reach those trapped beneath the rubble. Bodies remained beneath the debris, lives cut short, dreams left incomplete… And scattered among the stones: small shoes like broken butterflies, school notebooks open to sentences frozen mid-word, dolls torn without remorse. Everything here cried out mutely—a life interrupted, dreams shattered before their shape could be seen. The silence itself had grown loud, a scream of pain that no one else heard, every stone holding a story untold, a life un-lived. That silence felt heavier than death… heavier than any tear that could be shed.
How did it feel for the man who built a home, only to watch it turn to the rubble? How does a farmer stand before the land he tended year after year, now lying barren—no scent of soil, no whisper of harvest? How does a father tell his son the school he loved is gone, that the garden where he played is now only a rumor in the rubble? How does a mother walk through the ghost of a playground, finding a small shoe, a torn notebook, a toy she once mended? How do neighbors look at one another, wordless, knowing the world they shared has vanished?
And all of it wrapped in a thick, soundless vacuum—no laughter, no running feet, no vendor’s call, no fragrance of coffee greeting the dawn. Everything was quiet. Empty.
And yet—from within the ruin surrounding me, a fragile, honest question rose: After all this waiting… after all this breaking… can the soul survive? Can a heart that has seen such devastation ever beat lightly again? Can this street, even now, whisper: Come back. There is still a place for you here?
I stood among the ruins, breath caught in my chest, searching for any trace of what once was. I felt the ache in every stone, every corner, every fragment of memory. But beneath it, I sensed something small and unbroken: my own heart, still beating. And a faint, stubborn light—a quiet voice within: I am still here. I can still walk. I can still love this life, despite everything.
Perhaps the street will never return as it was. Perhaps the houses will not be rebuilt, nor the trees grow tall again. But I will go on. I will walk through the wreckage, carrying memory, carrying grief, carrying hope. I will look for signs that life persists—a child’s fleeting smile, an olive leaf pressed in dust, a ray of sun finding its way through broken walls. Just one thing matters—the quiet certainty that my heart still beats with this land, and that life, even now, is worth living.
I am Aseel, a writer from Gaza, living amid genocide and famine. Your support can help my family survive.chuffed.org/project/138285-hel…
Help Sehwel family with their medical treatment
I'm Joe in the UK, I've been in touch with Aseel from the Sehwel family for over a year now and have been following their difficult struggle to afford medication, shelter and food in Gaza.Chuffed
Belgique : Un rapport dénonce la corruption, le favoritisme, les pressions et les ingérences à la police judiciaire fédérale
secoursrouge.org/belgique-un-r…
"Une enquête "Corespo Corruption DGJ" (pour "Corporate Responsability of Police") a été réalisée par le service Intégrité, lui-même intégré au sein du commissariat général de la police fédérale. Les résultats sont
In the #Fediverse there are now
716 media accounts federated by @Flipboard.
491 were active today.
Some accounts, that were active today are
@NewtralMedia
@VancouverSun
@clevelandnews
@foodandwine
@Golemde
Find the whole list on:
➡️ fingolas.eu/fediverse/overview…
Built by @mho
#MastodonMigration #SocialMedia #Mastodon #Media #Press #Newspaper #TwitterMigration #Newstodon
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#AI is a power amplifier. The future depends on who turns the dials.
In “Rewiring Democracy,” Bruce Schneier and Nathan Sanders explore how AI could strengthen democracy or undermine it.
- Sensitive content
- Parola filtrata: nsfw
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Altbot
in reply to Adoro il Genio • • •Ecco una descrizione del testo alternativo per l'immagine:
L'immagine è un'illustrazione in stile cartone animato di due personaggi. Un uomo seduto su una sedia suona un flauto di pan, mentre una seconda persona, con capelli verdi e ricci che assomigliano a serpenti, è seduta con gli occhi chiusi, con un'espressione serena. L'uomo indossa una camicia azzurra e un colletto nero, mentre l'altra persona è vestita con un abito bianco. Sono seduti su una poltrona marrone, e in primo piano si intravedono le gambe di altri personaggi. In alto a destra sono presenti delle note musicali. In basso a destra è presente il testo "Adolo Cencio".
alt-text: Illustrazione in stile cartone animato di un uomo che suona un fluto di pan per una persona con i capelli verdi e ricci che assomigliano a serpenti, seduti su una poltrona marrone. L'uomo indossa una camicia azzurra e un colletto nero, mentre l'altra persona è vestita con un abito bianco. Sono visibili delle note musicali nell'angolo in alto a destra, e il testo "Adolo Cencio" in basso a destra.
―
L'immagine è un disegno in stile fumetto che rappresenta una figura femminile con i capelli sostituiti da serpenti verdi intrecciati. La figura è raffigurata a mezzo busto, con le braccia alzate in segno di rabbia o frustrazione. Indossa una tunica bianca con una cintura rossa e braccialetti dorati. La figura ha espressione arrabbiata, con sopracciglia corrugate e occhi stretti. Sullo sfondo si intravedono delle colonne di pietra. Sopra la testa della figura è presente una nuvoletta di dialogo contenente il testo "DANNATI SERPENTELLI!".
alt-text: Un disegno in stile fumetto mostra una donna con i capelli sostituiti da serpenti verdi intrecciati, con le braccia alzate in segno di frustrazione. Indossa una tunica bianca con una cintura rossa e braccialetti dorati. Ha un'espressione arrabbiata con sopracciglia corrugate. Una nuvoletta di dialogo sopra la sua testa recita "DANNATI SERPENTELLI!". Sullo sfondo si intravedono colonne di pietra.
―
Ecco una descrizione del testo alternativo per l'immagine:
Un personaggio stilizzato con il busto rivolto verso lo spettatore e le braccia lungo i fianchi. Il personaggio ha la pelle marrone ed è avvolto in una tunica bianca avvolta attorno al corpo e tenuta insieme da una cintura marrone. Il personaggio ha una serie di serpenti verdi che gli crescono sulla testa al posto dei capelli. Sopra la testa del personaggio c'è una nuvoletta di dialogo che contiene il testo: "È GIUNTO IL TEMPO DI CAMBIARE!" Il personaggio ha un'espressione severa con le sopracciglia aggrottate e la bocca serrata. Lo sfondo mostra una serie di edifici stilizzati in tonalità di grigio.
alt-text: Un personaggio stilizzato con serpenti al posto dei capelli, avvolto in una tunica bianca, con un'espressione severa e una nuvoletta di dialogo sopra la testa contenente il testo: "È GIUNTO IL TEMPO DI CAMBIARE!" Lo sfondo mostra edifici stilizzati in tonalità di grigio.
Fornito da @altbot, generato localmente e privatamente utilizzando Gemma3:27b
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