Olivia
Online
david castella juan
@davidcastellaj2
amb un parell.....grocs
Joined March 2016
361 Following
45 Followers
749 Posts
Per cert, @thriftycars és la marca econòmica de @Hertz.
El seu director a Espanya és aquest home, per si voleu saludar-lo:
https://t.co/QXqv2KHvHJ
https://t.co/8SF7BeSusZ
@MauroSports24 Es muy sencillo: dividir a partes iguales resulta lógico por práctico y rápido, pero sólo es justo si todo el mundo ha gastado aproximadamente lo mismo. En caso contrario, cada uno lo suyo. Hay gente con mucha jeta.
En algun moment ens haurem de començar a qüestionar si és necessari que cada any agafem vols i anem a fer el turista. Hem de poder fer vacances i lleure sense tot aquest impacte ecològic, social i econòmic.
Esto es lo que acaba con mucha gente del campo: grandes empresas quedándose con todo.
Who to follow
Maria Merce Gil Vallribera
@vallribera_gil
És quan miro que hi veig clar.
Isabel Clara Simó
RLV
@Factanonverba8
Hi ha una història darrera de cada persona. Hi ha una raó per la qual són com són. Pensa-hi abans de jutjar a ningú.
Arale 🎈
@sara47471935
Tanta falta de respecte i prepotència em fot com una moto, sort k hi ha persones k m’enamoren constantment ❤️
Em repugna pensar que un home de 30 anys pugui sentir-se atret per una noia de 16. No puc entendre com algú que ja ha viscut una etapa adulta, amb una experiència, una maduresa i una autonomia molt diferents, pugui mirar una adolescent com una possible parella. La diferència no és només d'edat; és de desenvolupament, de poder i de moment vital. Un adult hauria de ser conscient d'aquesta realitat i actuar amb responsabilitat.
És asquerós.
https://t.co/y8rGFRQhkb
Finaliza la temporada de cría del lince ibérico con 31 cachorros nacidos en nuestros centros de El Acebuche y Zarza de Granadilla 🐾
El programa de conservación ex situ liderado por el MITECO es ejemplo en el mundo
Herramienta clave para la recuperación de una especie única
No va acció a les vies del tren de la potassa de l'empresa israeliana ICL, còmplice del genocidi. L'acció s'ha fet en el tram entre Callús i Súria
#boicotICL #boicotisrael #nakba
Si passeu per Ventalló (al costat de L'Escala) atureu-vos a comprar la fruita del Pere, veureu que no té res a veure amb la que us venen al supermercat, surt més barata, i defensem la terra.
Un llibre diveridissim, irònic i crític, que fa servir als diàlegs la parla de comarques d'interior de Castelló.
Tan genuína com les d'Antella!
A vore si se n'assabenteu, Mompó, Saragossà i Leo Giménez ( ex PCPV)... Gran Emma Zafon, de Llucena...
No eren dos guillots, n’eren tres!!🦊🦊🦊☺️
2/ Caps de departament, directius, professorat universitari, personal de les tv públiques... Als anys 80/90, els boomers amb estudis superiors es van beneficiar de la "creació" de tot l'entramat institucional de la democràcia (autonomies, universitats, empreses públiques, etc).
IN PRAISE OF FRANCESCA ALBANESE
There is a question that visits me in the small hours, when sleep will not come and the mind turns over old stones. The question is this: “What would I have done in the 1930s, on the morning after Kristallnacht?"
Not what I say I would have done. Not what I hope I would have done. But what would I actually have done—when the trains began to run, when the neighbours grew quiet, when the cost of decency became the loss of everything?
Most of us, I think, would have done little. Not from malice. From fear. From the soft, creeping conviction that someone else will speak, that the situation is complex, that we must be 'reasonable'. Lest we forget, the ordinary is the extraordinary's alibi. And how we have clung to that alibi! How we still cling to it!
And then, every once in a terrible while, someone appears who does not cling. Someone who steps forward when others step back. Someone who speaks the name of the thing when everyone else is busy naming something else.
Francesca Albanese is that someone.
She stands before the world—alone, unarmed, armed only with law and language and a rare courage—and she says what the centrists will not say, what the foreign ministries will not say, what the editorial boards will not say. She says: "This is a genocide. And we are watching it happen."
Do not tell me that is hyperbole. Do not tell me the term is contested. She has not used it lightly. She has used it as a physician arrives scientifically at a diagnosis—not to wound, but to warn. Not to inflame, but to name.
And for that, they have come for her. Oh, how they have come for her. Smears. Investigations. Vicious editorials. Frozen bank accounts. Dispossession of the only apartment she had ever owned. The machinery of the respectable turned to crush her. Because the respectable cannot abide what she represents: a mirror held up to their complicity.
Let us, once again, travel back to the 1930s. Back to the few who stood up when the trains began to run laden with Jewish people.
There was Aristides de Sousa Mendes, a Portuguese consul in Bordeaux. He defied his own government. He signed thousands of visas, by hand, for hours, until his fingers bled. He saved more lives than Schindler. And he died penniless, disgraced, erased.
There was a German officer in Warsaw named Wilm Hosenfeld. He hid a Jewish pianist in the rubble. He did not save thousands. He saved one. But that one—Władysław Szpilman—carried the memory. And memory is "the only haven from which we cannot be expelled."
There was Raoul Wallenberg. There were the villagers of Le Chambon. There were the anonymous, the quiet, the furious few who said: “Not on my watch.”
Francesca Albanese is their heir. Not because she carries a gun. Not because she hides refugees in her basement. But because she does something equally dangerous in a world that has perfected the art of not seeing. She sees. And she speaks.
She does not speak as a diplomat. Thank Goodness she doesn't! Diplomats have given us the language of "there are arguments on both sides" and "restraint" and "proportionality." Diplomatic language is the perfumed grave of moral clarity. No, she speaks as a jurist. As a human being. As a woman who has looked into the abyss and refused to call it a "complex geopolitical landscape".
Edna O'Brien once described a character who "had the recklessness of those who have already lost everything worth losing." Francesca Albanese has not lost everything. She has her dignity, her office, her voice, her family. But she has calculated the cost of speaking truth to power. And she has decided that that cost is infinitely less than the cost of silence.
What is that cost? Let us name it. She has been called antisemitic—she, who stands on the ground of international law forged in the ashes of Auschwitz and the fires of Nuremberg. She has been called a conspiracy theorist—she, who cites every source, every footnote, every UN resolution. She has been called naive—she, who understands better than most the machinery of realpolitik.
These accusations are not arguments. They are the spittle of the threatened. Because Francesca Albanese threatens something very precious to the powerful: the right to commit atrocity without being named.
Friends, the 1930s did not arrive with jackboots and pogroms on day one. They arrived in small increments. With "reasonable" restrictions. With "proportional" measures. With the silence of the respectable.
We tell ourselves that we would have been different. That we would have been Sousa Mendes. That we would have been Wallenberg. But most of us, I fear, would have been the neighbours who later said, "I didn't know."
Francesca Albanese knows. And she refuses to pretend otherwise.
So let us praise her. Not with statues or awards she does not seek. But with something harder: with our own refusal to look away. With our own voices, raised in places that are safe for us but dangerous for her. With our own bodies, if it comes to that.
A brave woman, who was injured while demonstrating outside a US nuclear military base in 1982, the infamous Greenham Common, had told me that "the heart is a hunter for what it cannot have." But I say the heart is a hunter for what it will not lose. And what we will not lose is the memory of those who stood up when standing up cost everything.
Francesca Albanese is standing up now. In our time. In our name. Under our indifferent sky.
Let us stand with her.
Not tomorrow. Not when it is safe. Now.
[Extract from a speech in Athens on Sunday 3rd May 2026]
![yanisvaroufakis's tweet photo. IN PRAISE OF FRANCESCA ALBANESE
There is a question that visits me in the small hours, when sleep will not come and the mind turns over old stones. The question is this: “What would I have done in the 1930s, on the morning after Kristallnacht?"
Not what I say I would have done. Not what I hope I would have done. But what would I actually have done—when the trains began to run, when the neighbours grew quiet, when the cost of decency became the loss of everything?
Most of us, I think, would have done little. Not from malice. From fear. From the soft, creeping conviction that someone else will speak, that the situation is complex, that we must be 'reasonable'. Lest we forget, the ordinary is the extraordinary's alibi. And how we have clung to that alibi! How we still cling to it!
And then, every once in a terrible while, someone appears who does not cling. Someone who steps forward when others step back. Someone who speaks the name of the thing when everyone else is busy naming something else.
Francesca Albanese is that someone.
She stands before the world—alone, unarmed, armed only with law and language and a rare courage—and she says what the centrists will not say, what the foreign ministries will not say, what the editorial boards will not say. She says: "This is a genocide. And we are watching it happen."
Do not tell me that is hyperbole. Do not tell me the term is contested. She has not used it lightly. She has used it as a physician arrives scientifically at a diagnosis—not to wound, but to warn. Not to inflame, but to name.
And for that, they have come for her. Oh, how they have come for her. Smears. Investigations. Vicious editorials. Frozen bank accounts. Dispossession of the only apartment she had ever owned. The machinery of the respectable turned to crush her. Because the respectable cannot abide what she represents: a mirror held up to their complicity.
Let us, once again, travel back to the 1930s. Back to the few who stood up when the trains began to run laden with Jewish people.
There was Aristides de Sousa Mendes, a Portuguese consul in Bordeaux. He defied his own government. He signed thousands of visas, by hand, for hours, until his fingers bled. He saved more lives than Schindler. And he died penniless, disgraced, erased.
There was a German officer in Warsaw named Wilm Hosenfeld. He hid a Jewish pianist in the rubble. He did not save thousands. He saved one. But that one—Władysław Szpilman—carried the memory. And memory is "the only haven from which we cannot be expelled."
There was Raoul Wallenberg. There were the villagers of Le Chambon. There were the anonymous, the quiet, the furious few who said: “Not on my watch.”
Francesca Albanese is their heir. Not because she carries a gun. Not because she hides refugees in her basement. But because she does something equally dangerous in a world that has perfected the art of not seeing. She sees. And she speaks.
She does not speak as a diplomat. Thank Goodness she doesn't! Diplomats have given us the language of "there are arguments on both sides" and "restraint" and "proportionality." Diplomatic language is the perfumed grave of moral clarity. No, she speaks as a jurist. As a human being. As a woman who has looked into the abyss and refused to call it a "complex geopolitical landscape".
Edna O'Brien once described a character who "had the recklessness of those who have already lost everything worth losing." Francesca Albanese has not lost everything. She has her dignity, her office, her voice, her family. But she has calculated the cost of speaking truth to power. And she has decided that that cost is infinitely less than the cost of silence.
What is that cost? Let us name it. She has been called antisemitic—she, who stands on the ground of international law forged in the ashes of Auschwitz and the fires of Nuremberg. She has been called a conspiracy theorist—she, who cites every source, every footnote, every UN resolution. She has been called naive—she, who understands better than most the machinery of realpolitik.
These accusations are not arguments. They are the spittle of the threatened. Because Francesca Albanese threatens something very precious to the powerful: the right to commit atrocity without being named.
Friends, the 1930s did not arrive with jackboots and pogroms on day one. They arrived in small increments. With "reasonable" restrictions. With "proportional" measures. With the silence of the respectable.
We tell ourselves that we would have been different. That we would have been Sousa Mendes. That we would have been Wallenberg. But most of us, I fear, would have been the neighbours who later said, "I didn't know."
Francesca Albanese knows. And she refuses to pretend otherwise.
So let us praise her. Not with statues or awards she does not seek. But with something harder: with our own refusal to look away. With our own voices, raised in places that are safe for us but dangerous for her. With our own bodies, if it comes to that.
A brave woman, who was injured while demonstrating outside a US nuclear military base in 1982, the infamous Greenham Common, had told me that "the heart is a hunter for what it cannot have." But I say the heart is a hunter for what it will not lose. And what we will not lose is the memory of those who stood up when standing up cost everything.
Francesca Albanese is standing up now. In our time. In our name. Under our indifferent sky.
Let us stand with her.
Not tomorrow. Not when it is safe. Now.
[Extract from a speech in Athens on Sunday 3rd May 2026]](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/HHsnlr9WIAEr4Cw.jpg)
Gracias por llegar hasta el final del #MakeEmLaugh de hoy dedicado a Tricicle. Espero que os haya gustado.
Aunque pedirlo sea de truhanes, si le dais 🔁 y/o ❤️, os amaré tanto como amo la vida y amo el amor.
https://t.co/iLBxynSmtd
Mírala, tan feliz.. tan confiada.. tan tranquila...
Está a punto de quedarse sola. Cuando por fin le encontramos una adopción se echaron para atrás.
Nunca ha pisado una protectora.
Se va a morir. Se va a morir de pena.
Su dueño está muy enfermo, le prometí que le encontraría un buen hogar a Lis. Se lo prometí.
Le encontré un buen hogar, se ilusionó sabiendo que no iba a quedarse sola y ahora otro disgusto 😭 es lo que le falta.
Por favor. Te hablo a ti. A ti! No sé que puedes hacer... Pero haz algo 😭 Difunde, preguntale a ese amigo tuyo que estaba pensando en adoptar, pásalo en el grupo de WhatsApp de tus amigos... No lo sé. Haz lo que puedas por Lis, por favor.
Solo lo que puedas. Ni un poquito más
En una Barcelona on les petites fàbriques són ja un rastre del passat, al barri de Sants hi ha un petit taller de calçat, MaTeS, que continua connectant el producte a mida i de qualitat, el procés artesanal i una clientela fidel. Galeria de @jordiborras https://t.co/GLAdrRqZ28
Israel has killed this woman.
Her name was Amal Khalil.
Catalogne - Montagnes de sel et voie ferrée désarmée : récit d’une journée d’action contre Israël Chemicals avec les Revoltes de la Terra
👉Un récit en photo de la colonne internationaliste des Soulèvements de la terre : https://t.co/RtubecTojO
Desafortunadamente, parece que dejaremos de publicar.
La cuenta está a punto de cerrarse. Debido a los continuas denuncias de los sionistas.
Por favor, comenta cualquier cosa.
Y sigue la cuenta, por favor 🙏🏻🌷
Anem des del principi. Ahir un veí ens alerta que des de diumenge, com a mínim, hi ha un gat a la teulada del bloc. Ella ha pujat a la teulada diverses vegades però no l'ha pogut agafar. Bloc de 3 pisos d'alçada.
El gat no té manera de sortir. Truquem a @emergenciescat i 🧵 👇🏼
@alvarezjimenezd De trabajar en el campo salimos.
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