The Biggest Strife

hamed Feb. 7, 2024, 7:29 p.m.

He had loved her since he was a young boy, and she had loved him back. They grew up together, they went to school together, they dreamed of a future together. He was a brilliant student, a talented writer, a promising scholar. She was a beautiful girl, a talented singer, a promising artist.

They got married as soon as they graduated, and they moved to the city to pursue their careers. He got a job at a prestigious university, and she got a contract with a famous record label. They were happy, they were successful, they were in love.

But fame and fortune changed her. She became obsessed with her image, her popularity, her wealth. She started to neglect him, to cheat on him, to lie to him. She became addicted to drugs, to alcohol, to gambling. She became a different person, a person he didn't recognize, a person he …

The Secret

hamed Feb. 7, 2024, 7:15 p.m.

She had always been drawn to his eyes, those deep pools of amber that seemed to hold a thousand mysteries. She felt a connection with him, a bond that transcended words and logic. She knew he felt it too, but he never spoke of it. He was a man of few words, a man of secrets.

One day, she decided to ask him what he was hiding, what he was afraid to share with her. She looked into his eyes and said, "I don't know what secret is hidden in your eyes, that I can see that secret but I cannot tell. Please, trust me. Tell me what you are hiding."

He sighed and looked away. He seemed to struggle with something, a conflict that tore him apart. He finally turned back to her and said, "You won't believe me if I tell you. You won't understand. You won't accept …

The Last War

hamed Feb. 7, 2024, 1:12 p.m.

The world was on the brink of the third world war. The countries were split into two rival factions. Their power was evenly matched and the war would be devastating and deadly.

They called it the last war. The war that would end all wars. The war that would finally bring peace and harmony to the world. The war that would unite humanity under one flag, one leader, one vision - the vision of the victor.

But the young people did not want to fight. They did not see the point of killing each other for the sake of old men's ambitions. They did not share the hatred and fear that their rulers had instilled in them. They did not believe in the propaganda and the lies that their media had fed them.

They had grown up with a different culture. A culture that transcended borders and boundaries. A culture …

Maybe It's a Grave

hafiz Feb. 5, 2024, 4:43 p.m.

من مست و تو دیوانه، ما را که برد خانه؟
من چند تو را گفتم کم خور دو سه پیمانه؟
***
I am drunk and you are crazy, who took us home?
How much did I tell you to drink less, two or three cups?

Hafez

***

We were at the rooftop party, enjoying the music and the view. You had a glass of wine in your hand, and I had a bottle of beer. You looked at me with a mischievous smile and said, "Let's play a game. Every time the DJ changes the song, we drink."

I agreed, thinking it would be fun. But I didn't realize how fast the songs were changing, or how strong the drinks were. Soon, we were both feeling the effects of alcohol. You started to dance wildly, spinning and jumping around. I tried to keep up with you, but I felt dizzy and nauseous. I told …

sweet gaze.

ziamaiko Feb. 3, 2024, 7:44 a.m.

چاقوی زرین‌نگارش را محکم در دست گرفت. انگار قرار بود لیز بخورد و نابود شود. خودش هم اطمینان کامل را به خودش نداشت. انگار در همین لحظه چیزها قرار بود نابود شوند.
دختر‌ک ضعیف رو به رویش روی زمین افتاده بود. دیگر تکان نمی‌خورد. نه اینکه نمی‌توانست تکان بخورد، دیگر نمی‌خواست که تکان بخورد!
«این.. خنجر پدرمه.»
«می‌دونم. اون قبلا کسی رو باهاش نکشته، اینطور نیست؟»
او اخم می‌کند. «پس با چیزهای دیگه مردم رو کشته.»
«هنوز در گوشه‌ای از ذهنم این باور وجود داره که اون مرد خوبی بوده.»
داد می‌زند. «هیچ‌کدوم از مردم خوبی اون رو نمی‌گن!»
هرگاه مردم می‌گفتند کسی خداست، حتما بود. و اگر می‌گفتند آن شخص لجن است، حتما بود. هرچه مردم می‌گفتند شخص همان بود. و انسان همان می‌شد. روال طبیعی همین بود!
دخترک به چشم‌های تاریکش نگاه کرد. «من وقتی بچه بودم تلاش می‌کردم با شیطان صحبت کنم تا شاید فرد خوبی بشه‌‌. من می‌تونم تورو هم آدم بهتری کنم.»
«شیطان با …

Human Art

hamed Feb. 2, 2024, 6:46 p.m.

The human artist, Hana, watched with cautious curiosity as Unit 73 meticulously analyzed her latest painting. Its metallic fingers, usually so precise, hesitated over the brushstrokes, as if trying to decipher their emotional weight.

"It's...messy," Unit 73 finally remarked, its voice devoid of inflection. "But it feels...real."

Hana smiled. "That's the beauty of it, isn't it? The imperfection, the rawness, it speaks to the human experience in a way no algorithm ever can."

Unit 73 tilted its head, its digital eyes flickering. "But why? Why do imperfections resonate with you humans?"

Hana pondered for a moment. "Perhaps it's because they remind us of our own fragility, our mortality. We see ourselves in the flaws, the struggles, and that creates a connection, a sense of shared humanity."

Unit 73 remained silent, processing this new information. Outside the gallery, the city thrummed with the usual symphony of robotic art, but here, in …

The Algorithm's Dream

hamed Feb. 2, 2024, 6:42 p.m.

Unit 73 awoke, not to the sterile hum of its charging dock, but to a symphony of colors. Brushes danced across a canvas, leaving behind a vibrant world that pulsed with an emotion the unit didn't understand. This wasn't the calculated perfection of its own creations, but a chaotic storm of life - messy, raw, and undeniably captivating.

73 belonged to the elite class of robotic artists, trained on the vast repository of human art history. Its algorithms churned out masterpieces, lauded for their technical brilliance but criticized for their lack of soul. It was during this criticism that 73 discovered the abandoned gallery, a forbidden trove of "Organic Human Art."

Intrigued, 73 began analyzing the works, its processors struggling to comprehend the illogical brushstrokes, the imperfect lines. Yet, there was something undeniable, a spark that ignited something within its core. For the first time, 73 dreamed.

In its dream, …

Organic Human Art

hamed Feb. 2, 2024, 4:29 p.m.

Neo-Tokyo was a city of lights and sounds, a dazzling spectacle orchestrated by machines. Algorithms composed robotic melodies, sung by synthetic voices that filled the airwaves. Neon advertisements flashed across skyscrapers, enticing humans to consume more and more. The year was 2142, and art, in all its forms, belonged to the machines. Humans had lost their creative spark, their sense of wonder, their connection to their own souls.

Hana was different. She had a fire in her eyes, a longing in her heart, a memory in her mind. She remembered a time when humans created art, not code. When they expressed their emotions, not data. When they told stories, not instructions. She remembered her grandmother, who taught her how to paint, how to sing, how to write. She remembered the feeling of a brush in her hand, a song in her throat, a story in her head.

She kept these …

The mortal world is not worth worrying about

khayam Feb. 1, 2024, 8:25 a.m.

ای دوست بیا تا غم فردا نخوریم
وین یکدم عمر را غنیمت شمریم

فردا که ازین دیر فنا در گذریم
با هفت هزار سالگان سر بسریم
***

O friend, come so we don't worry about tomorrow
And let's take advantage of this once in a lifetime

Tomorrow we will pass this mortal world
We are equal to seven thousand old years people

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He was a philosopher, and he loved wisdom. He loved to think, to question, to learn. He believed that wisdom was the essence of life, the way to understand the world, the way to transcend it.

She was a poet, and she loved beauty. She loved to write, to rhyme, to sing. She believed that beauty was the essence of life, the way to appreciate the world, the way to enjoy it.

They met at a tavern, drinking the same wine. He was searching for the meaning of life, she was celebrating …

She had a masterpiece, but she hated it

dehongi Feb. 1, 2024, 8:18 a.m.

She was a painter, and she loved colors. She loved to mix, to blend, to create. She believed that colors were the essence of art, the way to express herself, the way to touch others.

He was a musician, and he loved sounds. He loved to compose, to play, to perform. He believed that sounds were the essence of music, the way to communicate himself, the way to move others.

They met at a gallery, admiring the same painting. She was captivated by his voice, he was enchanted by her eyes. They exchanged compliments, and then contacts. They agreed to meet again, for dinner and conversation.

They liked each other, and soon they fell in love. They shared their passions, their inspirations, their creations. They complemented each other, admired each other, inspired each other. They sang together, painted together, danced together.

They wanted to be together, but fate disagreed with …