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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17.2.04

Reminiscence.. while i stand still, firm on my feet, on my rooted brain, the world seems to move in such a motion i cannot begin to comprehend, or even rightly appreciate.__while i am almost always here, being not much more than what is said often enough, they come, they go, they are born, they die::most of the time they die.__dying is not such a difficult thing for all it takes is a little misplacement, a little corruption, a little change; and change is so sudden, so perfectly unperceived, that i seem to be standing by corpses every day.__well, she died. and all i did was watch and wait, as one does when reality becomes diluted, all i do now is listen to the words that come from that mouth i once heard speaking grandly of all things that to man and god alike appeal.__but she is dead, i cannot let myself forget that.__it has no impact, no emotional consternation of any sort for she was never a part of what i could grasp of the world; then again, there is not much i can see behind of this ego that holds my world together.__for her, the letter will always be unsent. "Once dearest you: It seems the time for childish view has come to an end since before this world was made, it seems i cannot longer hold my breath in the presence of your ever so displeasing way of seeing, it seems you and i are not able to converge, or diverge.__it seems you are dead without my knowing it. maybe you were never born and your strange character is just a figment of collective imagination, your journey was just a way of showing us there is no more to you than what we wanted, what we pretended to see, what we wouldn't tell ourselves, what the world never tried to show us. once dearest one, you have failed at being, you have died on your knees, you have killed us suddenly, you have... nothing more to show." nothing more than the strange reminiscence of a being never brought forth to existence.