hesitant aranta


[foto de ºCHiViSº--flickr]

Nicomachean Ethics//Aristotle
Eudemian Ethics//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

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

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


sitting here, just, sitting here; or there, or anywhere. there's always something keeping me anchored to the ground, and though i drift to wonderland with amazing ease, i'm always just here; or there, or anywhere; always stuck, always swollen, always aching, complaining, neglecting, refusing: being, being here. how was it that i ended up here? up? i cannot even keep track of whatever lays behind these eyes of mine.



when it rains, it pours i was thinking today that this blog really does not seem to be doing what i expected it to do, while looking at the cavilations of such brilliant minds in this newly found community, i seem to be recognizing my inferiority status in this "media". that, and the fact that i woke up today embraced in the flames produced by my own body with the sole purpose to numb my capacities, and, the migrane from which i can't escape, having waited for a bus for over 30 minutes and seeing that my computer's performance has decayed as much as my linguistic abilities. you could say that's rain. the thing is... some "error" erased my template and i had to do it all over again. two quotes may illustrate my feelings at this time : "i can't get no satisfaction"...."what [in heaven's name] am i to do with all this fire?" i don't know what this new look may do to this escape route, i think i'm done with trying to manipulate the code enough to make this look slightly different, i'm done because i've realized that there are no more than these two eyes paying all the attention they are capable of to what has always been least important. it looks as though i have not done much.... i've a lot more things to write today, but i think i'll do it after i've grown fond of this very much simplistic thing i've done.



for the first time, a capital letter


I've been wondering lately about the sense that this should be making, I've found myself to be more skeptic than what I what I expected to be, I seem to be trying to find a way out of this, but, I seem to be trying to fail at my attempts of doing anything different from this. I am all I write about, all I can see, for I must be blinded by fear of not seeing anything that can capture my attention as much as my self reprimands can. This is pure nonsense, I am pure nonsense.



it is only by this time of night, this terribly late hour, when i can begin to apreciate the true value of silence. it happens, most of the time, that i seem to be wrapped up in my noisy self not examining the potentials of life at its fullest -and i have to say i don't know what that means...-it, happens, that my overwhelming stupidity and lack of peace numbs me to the point of not even noticing the existence of this quiet world -and only quiet by this time of night-. it's terribly painfull yet comforting to know there is still time to become one of the little corpses floating in the air, there is still time to break the inertia by becoming -ironically enough- un-capable of doing something out of pure will. [i've decided what my next tatoo will be: Spinoza, B. EDMG III, 6:: conatus=inertial mode]



qualia having discussed for quite a long time the nature of the irreductabilityof intensional descriptions to extensional descriptions, i am lost ,for i find myself in no respectable position (philosophically speaking, of course) in such conflict; i understand very much of the argumentative process that leads to a conclusion i dislike, but i cannot deffend my own view of the matter. we are all very much screwed for having private lives led only for us to know, that may sound quite redundant, but i think it makes a little sense when one is exploring the many sides of rigorous thinking (.... bah, i think i will never get the hang of it), i would really hope someone could understand, or at least accept the existence of quali-tative experiences beyond the public eye. how can i explain what a good glass of wine tastes like? how can anyone deny that the particular taste of good wine exists even if i don't express it?.... don't you people feel anything?!!! i must say this didn't turn out to be what i expected, i was hoping i could articulate somewhat of a more coherent argument, but, as i said, i am lost because of my incapibility (i don't think that's written that way, but no matter....)for showing what is necessarilly un-show-able. that should teach me to evade philosophical matter in this space.



and so i stand here beside myself, in front of a mirror that reflects nothing. the two of us struggling to be ahead when there is no such thing as prior or end. here i stand where no one hears or sees me, here i am but have no perception of it.



the feel of human touch is enough to make me reconsider much of the things written here. for fear of inconsistence, i have not yet begun to make myself at home in this thing we call interpersonal-contact, it is terribly firghtening to find that, and i shall quote (with some slight modifications on the sense of a certain word) "loving someone can actually feel like freedom" when one does not believe in the existence of such thing as freedom; do i crumble at the thought of being what i would not expect myself to be? i must say i do, and i must say i must, for my ego is based solely on strength... my pride lies in my self taught capacity for avoiding that side of me which nourishes another. i am no more than this, and i will say it as many times as it takes for me to be convinced of it, i am no more than this void behind my eyes. do you not think it is a great weakness to relinquish from/to/at/by such demented view of life? do i not think so? there are many barriers to be surpassed, there are many things i must begin to feel, to enyoy, to suffer in order to become less hesitant, less swollen, less hurt by inertia... "inertia creeps moving up slowl....." the real question must be: am i really willing to be permissive torwards human touch?, have i really the strength to embrace contact?



it seems no matter what is done i cannot yet begin to fit in this commonly named societity of justified lust... i don't seem to be able to manage the flow of informative signs that bombard me at every second... is it strange that i find pleasure in finding myself talking when i know not if anyone is willing to listen? is it a flaw to portray solitude as a virtue? sometimes i wonder if there is any point whatsoever in this journal; i know i enjoy watching me write to myself, but i can't help feeling like a traitor when exposing my small mind in this. the more i think the less i care, i believe that happens too often to those, that, like me, have been submerged in an inertial mode for a life; we seem to be able to escape boredom by listening to our own little voices, by creating enormous demons with whom we will battle for ever. and it is i who create what tortures me, it is i who enjoys destroying my hopes of victory... it is i, because i know i will never walk out of this cycle, it is i, because i have driven myself torwards the belief that no one different from myself can torture me as i am able to... it is i, for i am all i know, and all i will ever know.... the world is my world... and it is a world of shit....


invasive nature

i have opened a lot of blogs lately, that may seem like i don't have enough space to plaster myself on the net.... well, that may be the case, or maybe i am just of invasive nature. there seems to be no answer to the questions i've been asking, maybe i should not look for answers and stop staring... stop looking....



son las 11 de la noche y no creo poder conciliar el sueño. por qué? pues bien, a falta de nada menos tortuoso a qué exponerme, me he dedicado a ver la final de protagonistas de novela 2. cómo dan ganas de leerse el diccionario. y no es que yo sea particularmente hábil en esto del lenguaje, pero me resulta demasiado intrigante cómo es que un ser humano con más de 20 años sobre este pendejo planeta, no es capaz de articular cinco palabras que no contengan muletillas. aahhhhh yo ya no se ni que hacer, tengo mil cosas por leer pero no puedo evitar la imagen de chirli y sus terribles conjugaciones.... necesito ayuda profesional... voluntarios?



you love her
You are a fan !


tururu tururu, tururu, tururu... it's been a hard days night.... lalalalalaaaaa lalalaaaa.... i don't really know how someone can dislike the beatles. ok, they may not be johann sebastian bach, but i like to think they're pretty good; if not good, at least fun... bah, i love the beatles... i've been partying for an entire week now, i have begun to lose sleep on a regular basis... i think i like the night better anyway. today i just need to write stupidly for i have been for more than 8 hours trying to put to practice the new found fixation on rigorous thinking... well... i'm somewhat tired, i guess i'll need a drink..... and hey!!!! i cannot believe i almost forgot this is BEER MONTH..... yay!!!!! doesn't anyone else think it is imperative to find a space in which the feel of stupidity is ever so comforting? and... i'm starting to think this is really a monolouge...... no comments?



Hair today, gone... today i've stepped into wonderland it seems... i have lost the only thing in my body (and mind, soul, compound, however the reader may like it) for which i have no hatred... weeeeelllll, six years of growing a mane that would make samson envious of, have been errrrrased from this earth. from now on i will wear a hat where-ever i go... i must REALLY be demented, for i look more like my brother and less like a girlie... aw well that'll have to do for now.... or, should i make an appointment with mister sensor excell????



"the devil collects it with a grin, our love in a ball of yarn, he'll never return it, so when you come back we'll have to make new love" i've finally remembered the song!!!