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
08.03
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12.03
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01.08
05.08


12.1.04

there's music.__something like the great resonance of a masterpiece distorted by a glass held against one's ear.___ harp like sounds in the tone of childish voices at play.__there's darkness.___black all around, inscrutable blindness except for the tree that stands in my path; enormous, proud, solid as nothing else i had ever seen.___there's movement.___circular motion and the revolving of all that lay behind my eyes, changing patterns that seem to fluctuate only because of what i presume is my movement.___then a change.___the tree approaches what would be the ground but is nothing more than a black delusion; it falls with amazing speed, but it is not the tree that is moving, it is i (both of us), that move, as if i were submerged in the whirlpool of ever growing anguish.___but there is no sound as the tree falls, there is not a noise different from the music in my head, there is no way of knowing if the tree is a tree or just a diluted part of this darkness.___it did not break, did not crumble, did not fade.___it is now no more than a small circle around which i seem to be rotating.___the music gets louder, as does my fright.___while moving i notice the tree again, the enormous sequoia looking down on my, threatening to bring itself to an end again.___a cycle is shown.___again the tree falls, again i spin, again it stops being, again the music, again the tree.___i dare not look up to see it, i dare not stop moving, i dare not speed my pace, i dare not change my path.___i dare not go, but i can no longer stay.___i'm as frightened as i have been in innumerable occasions before.___black is overwhelming.___the music will not stop.___the movement is eternal.___i wake up.___breathe.___breathe.____breathe!!!!. the tree is still here.