hesitant aranta



depicted

[foto de ºCHiViSº--flickr]

incoming
Nicomachean Ethics//Aristotle
Eudemian Ethics//Aristotle
Poetics//Aristotle
De Anima//Aristotle
Cause, Necessity and Blame//Richard Sorabji
The Fragility of Goodness//Martha C. Nussbaum
Essays on Aristotle's Ethics//Amelie Rorty (editor)
Aristotle's Theory of Action//David Charles
Aristotle on Moral Responsibility//Susan S. Meyer
The Fabric of Character//Nancy Sherman
Choosing Character//Jonathan Jacobs
Aristotle's Psychology//Daniel N. Robinson

Volta//Björk
Medùlla//Björk
Vespertine//Björk
Vespertine Live at the Royal Opera House//Björk

Carbon Monoxide//Marlboro Reds
caffeine in not so large ammounts

a whole lotta love

secondary bibliography

overt influences
straying

[...]
Wie ich mechanisch eine neue Zigarrette drehe und die braunen Stäubchen mit feinem Prickeln auf das weißgelbe Löschpapier der Schreibmappe niedertaumeln, will es mir unwarscheinlich werden, daß ich noch wache. Und wie die feuchtwarme Abendluft, die durch das offene Fenster neben mir hereingeht, die Rauchwölkchen so seltsam formt und aus dem Bereich der grünbeschirmten Lampe ins Mattschwarze trägt, steht es mir fest, daß ich schon träume.
Da wird's natürlich schon ganz arg; denn diese Meinung wirft der Phantasie die Zügel auf den Rücken. Hinter mir knackt heimlich neckend die Stuhllehne, daß es mir jäh wie hastiger Schauder durch alle Nerven fährt. Das stört mich ärgerlich in meinem tiefsinnigen Studium der Bizarren Rauchschriftzeichen, die im mich irren, und über die einen Leitfaden zu ferfassen ich bereits entschlossen war.
Aber nun ist die Ruhe zum Teufel. Tolle Bewegung in allen Sinnen. Fiebrisch, nervös, wahnsinnig. Jeder Laut keift. Und mit all dem verwirrt steigt Vergessenes auf. Einst dem Sehsinn Eingeprägtes, das sich seltsam erneut; mit dem Fühlen dazu von damals. [...] Vision. Proza-Skizze//Thomas Mann.


past utterances
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28.9.03

i've witnessed a decay in my ability for drawing, it has been such a long time since i've enjoyed doing such things as betraying my need for rational expression... there's too much pressure in drawing these days, to much to think about to be able to hush for a second and put my attention in two dimentional structures, there is too much wrath comming out of my eyes to consider the possibility of something quieting in nature... i've painted my walls again. black, invasive black... probably because it is the only colour that i know of that can hide the multiple shades of red that materialize before me every time i think of what makes me behave like i hadn't in a long time. like i said today, i haven't had time for a very long time. I despise most everything that reminds me of a night that should not have been, i feel this burning inside me when i'm reminded of the existence of my weakness at times when it would be better to kill and feed from the fresh corpse than to understand and hide away in sour tears seldom sprayed into this world. "What am i to do with all this fire?" But nothing is ever completely wrong, i still have you to remind me what beauty lies in the sky, you make me want to forget that i am nothing but a child, a fearfull one at that, you make me notice how far i want to be from what i was. thank you for that, for you are the first one in a very long time to make me realize that my walls may be black, but nothing else necessarilly has to be that way also. To you, Michin, the hope of forgivenesssssssssss. a big smile for you comming through this puddle.

 


24.9.03

about inevitable admiration at the light of sudden insanity. it seems we do lead parallel lives. we all must struggle with the same burdens of egotistic apreciations about the insane nature of the will for living. we must all quench our thirst withdrawing from the inertial mode in which current times make us die every second. i wish we talked more, i wish we realized that even though we lack the need for physis, there is more in one word spoken than in a thousand written... i love how show me what i am not able to say, how such disguised humble character moves me deeply. demian, we may all be demented, but it is only for you to see us through a glass not shattered, it is only for you to set foot in this unsound world.

 



sôren is sick. it tears me apart to not be able to do anything-- beautiful eyes full of sorrow.

 


21.9.03

it's been a while. i'm tired of not bieng able to make space for things like this, of being perhaps too cowardly, of hiding behind the barriers of academic work or of sudden illness. i'm tired of not being as emotive as i am - or believe to be- sensitive. maybe my problems lie in my lack of apreciation for expessions of emotionality, that can really become scary, but, not enough to make me stop struggling (i think my spelling and grammar become worse every day.... *]*) ahg, i don't think i can keep writting to-day..... joy is a most terrifying thing

 


17.9.03

Hoy es uno de esos dias. aunque la cara y la calva me duelen por la insolación y las tendencias vampíricas parecen mostrarse cada vez como mas reales, mas patentes, no puedo evitar pensar que el sol de hoy ha sido un maravilloso resplandor... talvez un tanto enceguecedor, como todo lo que en esta vida nos nutre, pero, definitivamente hermoso. Hacía muchísimo tiempo que no me era posible hablar sin problemas de neurosis varias sobre la deterioradísima calidad de mi vida psicologica... es reconfortante encontrar unos ojos atentos llenos de cosas, encontrar a ese aquel que sin importar la historia pasada, presencia con asombro las temibles cavernas de mi inmunda humanidad dejada atrás... La cosa está en que eso no ocurre con demasiada frecuencia y me encuentro a mi misma sumergida en el temor de despertar un dia y saber que todo ha sido una maquinación de mi subconciente necesitado de comprobación... ahhh es muy difí­cil hablar sin embarrarla, leer sin llorar, callar sin arrepentirme; pero, suelen darse estas oportunidades en las que el brillo se alcanza a ver por una fisura de la corroida ventana por la que siempre estoy mirando -deseando estar afuera-. gracias, hermosos ojos me dan la oportunidad de respirar el aire que contrastando con el presente, no está viciado de mi ególatra desprecio por la vida; gracias, no encuentro más que decir que la trilladisima expresión que por la iteración parece perder su sentido... puede ser por eso que escribo esta maldita cosa en ingles, puede ser que la carencia de expresividad de mi rustico lenguaje en nuestro acostumbrado idioma muestre ciertos razgos de ingenua admiración al ser contrastado con mi paupérrimo vocabulario anglo-sajón.... pero bueno, que puede pedirsele a la vida cuando no se es más que un caótico pantano tras los ojos? .... clases de natación, eso serí­a todo.

 


16.9.03

Justo lo que el señor Vargas parece mostrar con tanto desapego es lo que carezco. La facilidad de expresar con visceralidad desencarnada los mas profundos abismos de la consecucion de conciencia de aquello que se empeña por esconderse, parece escaparse de mi alcance como si de agua en un puño se tratara. me pregunto por qué dejé de escribir sobre cosas realmente bellas y pasé a ser protagonista de tan insipidas enunciaciones.... es quizá porque aún desconfio del código binario, tal vez soy demasiado cobarde para desnudarme en frente de este ojo que no reflejaría mas que la tétrica imagen de una desgastada inconciencia.Pero, bueno, y con quien converso? con-migo? con-tigo?con todos y con nadie.... porque de esto se trata, de vivir la vida pensando que existe la posibilidad de estar siendo observado con minucia; el global dominio de la comunicacion digital en la que en medio de sordidas conversaciones se nos olvida que el codigo que interpretamos en esa pantalla no es producto de nuestros dedos, y, aun asi, seguimos queriendo creer que despues de 'apagar e irse' todo sigue siendo igualmente fabricado en una dialectica meta-mundana en la que siempre se puede oprimir con afanoso ademan ctrl alt supr.... bah, ya no puedo ni siquiera angustiarme por mi falta de honestidad frente al monologo electronico, no me interesa siquiera seguir poniendo tildes.... sólo se que esta invasiva sensacion de adormecimiento acompañada del punzante placer de la inconciencia me sumerge en las incoherencias mas evidentes, y que eso, NO ME IMPORTA YA. esta semana renuncié a la idea de que la racionalidad agota todos los estados posibles de la vida de un ser-cito como yo.

 



well.... life seems to be taking a strange turn. i've been talking to many people who, i thought, would be out of my life forever.... well, happiness may drive me towards the idea of some kind of destiny waiting to be fulfilled.... --- ahhh my spelling is awfull--- and yet, the knowledge or, well --word of the day-- the presumed knowledge of that being not entirely true keeps me anchored to the rational imperative that makes everything of numbing beauty. as much as i have tried to stop myself from falling into the depths of insane extacy, there are so many incidents that cannot prove to be just coincidential... there are just so many things going through in what i know not to be appropiately called mind..... ahhhhh it is soooooo difficult to manage thinking in a state as overwhealming as this, it is sooo hard to keep mind in discussions of such caliber as "what is the reference of an indexical?" when there is unsettlement in my liver, heart, soul.... whatever you may call it. I believe there are those whose powerfull view of this chaos is enough to keep me going. I won't stop smiling if you don't...... :)

 


15.9.03

New things are bound to make me stronger... i don't know in what way, but i seem to be getting careless about so many things that used to make my life a slow torture. But, sometimes, a little blue flower found on the kerb, strangely waiting to be picked up is enough to make me realize that hanging on to self reprimands and abusive languaje torwards myself is no more than a way of getting distracted.... heh, it's funny though.... some things just have to happen so that i can wake up, mmmmhhhh ... or, at least, begin to do so.... in that process, i guess i'm becoming pleasantly un-aware of most everything that triggers my migranes......well, for once, i'll speak as though i believed this was more than a digital concatenation of non signifying binary coded thoughts --- even though i doubt there are such things as thoughts...---: to you, dearest reader... this is -at least for today- all yours.

 


13.9.03

El concierto, el desconcierto.... cualquier cosa que agregue, sera en vano... si de lo que no se puede hablar es mejor callar, entonces, me ahorro comentarios ulteriores. para referencias no demasiado emocionales... cfr inglich secchon.

 



This is complicated, terribly complicated...... happiness is the strangest feeling in the world. this concert has been something beyond human capacity of understanding... seven years have not gone in vain... three seconds of a kind stare are very much what i expected, and yet, not enough to make me think that is where it stops. It is very weird being surrounded by people who believe that true admiration lies in the numbing of the sensibility of the object of such emotive rush, while i am perhaps just a quiet observer, one who tries to dig deep in that which is not entirely new. i don't like very much the fact that she only looked down for a couple of seconds, in my extremely rational way of living, the fact that it was no more than a couple of seconds, makes me think that i did not exist long enough in her retina to become a memorable fact, but being there, feeling alive again, perfectly alone, swimming in a sea of unescrutable personalities whit whom i only share a limited portion of time and space. Happiness is overwhealming, i'm scared to my gut to wake up and realize that even in my fictions i can be more of a person than in most of the time i have to carry this burden of being with ME. But i AM happy, i have died today and been reborn as a thirteen-year-old, exactly where i was almost seven years ago when a little song - which, by the way, no one else seems to enjoy as much as i do- called wake up triggered something in my head and made me realize that solipsism is not possible because of the existence of such individuals i could never be, therefore, never make up. it has been a rescue. i am extatic.

 


11.9.03

pistachio I have remembered today why time seems to be dilated when one is no more than a little child. i have also remembered what it's like to miss my bus. i have constantly had delusions... i think i might have yelled to loud in that crowded street, it makes me laugh... i seem to be getting good at making myself laugh there are a lot of things going through mi mind these days.... hehe, piercing thoughts..... hehehe puncturing reflections.... heheh sharpnesssssssss i think í'm very much going nuts.... i hope i will go almond... hehehe

 


9.9.03

Para Michín: Calmados Rezos Ocultan Nimiedades; Oscuros Parloteos Incitan Odios.

 


8.9.03

humpty dumpty sat on a wall, humpty dumpty had a great fall... not all the king's horses or all the king's men could put old humpty together again. y bueno.... que se espera despues de la mas horrenda insolación?.... huevos fritos -aunque insisto en que deberían ser freídos-..... bah

 


4.9.03

tin tin tin tin tin tin tin, tin tin tin tun tin tun tin tun tin, tun tin tun tin tun tin tun tin tun tin tun tin tun tin tun tin...... she comes in colours everywhere..... :D

 


3.9.03

Buen día no más de esto. no más que esto.

 



I guess there are no more complaints today... I guess little things have the power to make me smile... that kid on the bus, it was a kind of bitter sweet feeling, something betwen a hopefull grin and a kick in the stomach full of anguish... still, i am begining to believe that there are things i cannot remedy but keeping them in mind for ulterior action makes somewhat of a difference... it has been a day full of hopes, none of them misleading - thanks to whom ever it could correspond... maybe even myself-. No more of this.

 


2.9.03

Lack of time There seems to be something missing... a certain lack of purpose, some drive to give sense - not at all meaning- to this feel of the world. But is it really the world i'm now feeling?, is there really anything i can say about something that is not my scattered glass window? maybe it is no more than a pathological need for attention, an escape from my self imposed negligence... maybe it's just comforting to find that the idea of death drives my attention to the rounded inked scar below my waist. I wonder what i would think of the writter of this binary coded journal if i was to be in a different situation... probably pathetism swarms these little symbols, drowns any possible sense that of this could be made. It is now time to turn my head an look at my naked contiousnessss in the mirror, it is time to wonder if i believe that i am doing anything at all to remedy the lack of passion that living in this inertial mode has given me.