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


this amounts to nothing


:: apología del sinsentido ::
for a long time i thought my footsteps would lead me back to the path so many times taken during my childhood, i thought i was meant to go back to speak of mystisism and aesthetics, of beauty and divine grace, of emancipation and conectivity between beings.__but being as i am, reading what i have written with oh so poor sense of style i know there may be no way of speaking of what i think now is not part of "what is given".__maybe i have succumbed to a certain type of craving for what is not "metaphysically necessary", maybe my ever so distracted way of handling human assets has made me realize that there are things not meant to be spoken of, at least, not spoken of by me.__however, every now and then a sort of metaphysic concern, an urge for the trascendent and eternal truth that must sustain the entire set of what is breaks the tight bond between myself and what i believe to be overt matters of human understanding.
i once was a declared atheist, i now think it is philosophically inappropriate to take any position in a debate concerning the existence of a grander being.__i was once a declared academiscist in my view of what art is supposed to be, i now think there is no probable way of rationally understand the meaning of art, there is no way one can aproach the full sense of the emotional punishment one has to go trhough in order to stay conflicted by the concept of creation.__i once considered myself an essentially apolitical being for i could not understand in what way one could allow one's self to think about human beings as a whole with needs and interests, i am now convinced that a certain type of liberty can only be achieved and granted by means of a society, a plurality exposed in the meeting of human beings considered as a whole.__ i am now declared a convinced silent being, i hope i can someday think of myself as someone who speaks freely, who has something to say.
apología del sinsentido
la discusión acerca del sentido puede ser tomada desde diferentes perspectivas en lo que es llamado la disciplina filosófica. el "sentido" puede hacer parte del análisis semántico de una proposición o de la discusión sobre la validez o necesidad de cierto tipo de argumentos en el marco del análisis 'grueso' de textos. sin embargo, no son esas acepciones de "sentido" lo que motiva esta breve colección de palabras, ahora simplemente quiero divagar en torno a la comprensión 'metafísica' de "sentido" en lo que concierne a la expresión artística. para esto, sin embargo, sería necesario extenderme en la determinación de aquello que puede o debe ser considerado una expresión artística, particularmente, en aquello que resulta ser 'arte' enmarcado en dicha determinación; la amenaza constante de evadir el ejercicio socrático de encontrar la causa y principio explicativo que de cuenta de todos y cada uno de los casos que por causa de la opinión reputada caben dentro de la lista es talvez demasiado grande para llevar a cabo tan ardua tarea. el punto al que espero llegar con esta continua interrupción de las auto-traicionantes bitácoras de un subconciente atormentado por la duda es que no hay que buscar aquel fundamento metafísico en el arte, en última instancia, que la pugna de quien se considera artista por referir a sus estados internos mediante una colección diversa de objetos materiales debe ser necesariamente una en la que no pueda aplicarse la noción de "sentido". lo que pretendo defender, aunque absurdo e incoherente, es que el ejercicio del "arte", cualquiera que resulte ser su naturaleza, es básicamente una apología del sinsentido.

coming in through my ears::Professor Suicide/Rinocerose



:: hush ::
there are things not meant to be spoken of.__most of my life and perspectives are not meant to be spoken of, that is probably why i have so much trouble while being in contact with verbal -spoken- expression, maybe it is the reason why i won't give way to my cavilations in voiced intercourse.__and this always happens, i speak and tremble whilst doing so, and i cross my arms and lower my eyebrows and take my eyes out of focus and divert and explore and shiver and shake and stop all of a sudden and then turn away with somehow meaningless words.__i should not speak and should not try to do all those things that this path evidently presupposes and demands, i should not be here spreading my overwhelming stupidity, denouncing my lack of attention for important matters, my fear and vulnerability in front of those colored crystal capsules.__i've felt how my self-trust vanished while speaking, my dark reminiscence of past chaos become vivid, become frightengly present, become my only possible experience as of now.__and how disappointed i am of myself, and how sad and rage-driven i feel now for enunciating those words, those memories that i once hoped would turn to nothing; "it is better to be silent and seem stupid than to speak and prove it".
but this blog, as my many notebooks, is a way of being not at all me, not at all write, not at all speak, not at all fear, not at all hear myself.__this certain kind of anonymity is somehow freshening, somehow threatening, obvioulsy pathetic, as all things concerning myself are.__ i now remember a post once written "these are rather troublesome times", all my life is a troublesome time... i dare not be myself while being with me, i dare not speak while i am with someone, i dare not see eyes when i listen, i dare not write when i feel there would be nothing in the world that could bring more pleasure and ease.__i cannot draw anymore, i cannot sleep anymore, i could never cry but i suddenly crave doing so, i cannot tell between my egos, i cannot stop hesitanting.
srguillot: you are right, there seems to be no sense in my studying philosophy... i have been thinking about that for a very long time now. amanda: you were always right, i was not made for this. aranta: you were dead, i don't recall when or how you came back.
coming in through my ears::Don't drink the water/Dave Mathews Band ft. Alanis Morissette



:: the barrier ::
of all the pages i may have written in my lifetime, of all the little letters scrambled across pieces of stretched cellulose, there are those dedicated to the inevitability of the "crashing and burning" of each one of our egos whilst being embarked in the somehow frightening travel of interpersonal relations.__these simple and probably naive cavilations have made me reticent to the idea of a communion between two people damned to spend their existence with their own identities; there is no way of escaping conflict and tortures, there is no way of being without being with one's self pulling and pushing in all directions, craving love and solitude simultaneously, loving and hating one's self all at the same time for that extenuating effort of being not only with someone, but being for someone.__ i used to think that there had to be a cause for such stupid behavior, some defect, some flaw that could be accounted for the contradictory nature of this type of behavior, i now think i found it.__it is more than simply plausible that we are driven to make up for ourselves by means of that other one who is just as tortured and just as pained by the nature of the existence given by the world: i now think that being with someone must constitute the one space to be, to say the least, at peace with identity.__and though there may not be even a chance, a farfeched possibility of ever getting across the abyss that separates two tortured beings, the simple act of getting closer to comprehending the nature of such pain and anguish is enough to justify the contradicting cravings, enough to make it worth the trip to this land that belongs to none and that i, for one, can never even begin to try to understand.
i can only, as always, speak for myself.__i have no say in what concerns other human beings, other people, other puddles of salty liquid behind other glassy capsules painted in other colors; i cannot pretend to be able to touch any nerves other of my own, i cannot escape being left alone with my salt by the end of the day.
i am now as confused as i could ever imagine, for the only thing i was convinced of being, convinced of believing, is being given to me by whom i could never have guessed, some strange creature by the name of A.__as it begun it will probably end.
coming in through my ears::(and eyes) Eyes Wide Shut



:: and this must ::
pain yellow brick wall feet can't reach too weak too small too painful too lazy but then again there's nothing i could not do and then again i am only this that can't draw anymore and how many lines are needed to show what one is trying to say categorical mistake minds and bodies exist alike but then kermit is not a frog like the ones her friend killed by stepping on them i haven't danced in such a long while and i got very drunk that night fuck those little blue cocktails name derived from a class of horses that have tails like male chickens do and i don't know what that is called in english but i'm sure i knew like chemistry and aida like the opera but not even close to its beauty and he said i was pretty and that was strange and pablo is online i wonder why i still can't talk aloud in the meetings or in class probably because i always feel stupid but guillermo did not think that was so brownie with fudge on his beard and i sold them never made much money but i needed it to pay for japanese i don't know the kanji for courage and i shouldn't because i'm a coward and protect myself crossing my arms he noticed that's weird but he's been weird ever since i met him and i remember his photograph of the guitar i need new strings but have no money buses are expensive and i should not buy lunch germany is far away he was drunk no pajamas is it ketsup ketchup catsup or catchup catch up i never manage it like reverse and parking lots i still owe that money i need copies the cute pictures at the fair he is very much like his brother whom i liked but now i cannot like many things sleeping in other people's beds gives me nightmares but all my dreams are dreadful freud was right das freut mich i need to learn german i'm so stupid i could never get it right but now i'm ambidextrous stupid school first religion now the teacher is father in many senses like "what is" to ti en einai so socrates is not an entity pantera tigris and i can't get what putnam is saying but then again i never notice the reddish darkness of the sky always looking down the hump and critiques is kant really a being in itself but liberty must not be understood as meaning freedom of bur rather freedom for haven't thought about it why wasn't i published in paradoxa it couldn't be that bad sickness peptic ulcer and cramps and no money and the palm trees miguel looked like atreyu but i never told him leo is a good guy and good looking but i could not be less interested in anyone right now and how i suffered when i realized i was doomed to making of my life much less than what anyone could expect and empanadas pinchos arepas whatever i can make a living of now is not the time to write this must not see the light but i could never understand how one could write for one's self and she says many things that appeal to me that cryptogram is nothing of what i had expected blue flower found on the ground first gift when my brother was born all i got was a set of water colors i cannot yet use properly and there's much to talk about on friday must see the new movie and i drifted away from cinematographic culture while being very small but my hands have been big all my life i got lost when i was a baby probably will get sick because genetics are infallible and certainty thesis must not remember i always forget important things migranes produce nightmares, but they can't take that away from me.
coming in through my ears::They can´t take that away from me/ Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald



:: un-convinced ::
i realized today how stupid i was not to study arts, but not because of what one may think i'm missing, but because of the way the desition was made.
coming in through my ears::Angel/Massive Attack



What am i to do with all this fire?

(Through you, I see, I...)
Between a broken nose and a fake smile
Between piety and gunpowder
Between fighting and fleeing the scene
Between murder and diplomacy
Between aggression and in oblivion
Between brutal and realistically well behaved
Between slaving and pulling in the reins
Between tiptoeing and ambling
What am I to do with all this fire?
(I'd like to hit you, but I could never hit you.)
Would you stay with me in this red space?
(I'd like to slap you, but I could never slap you.)
Between violence and silently seething
Between my fist and my pollyanna flower
Between "Fuck you!" to your face and "It's all right."
Between war and denial.
Between violence and silently seething
Between my fist and my pollen flower
Between "Fuck you!" to your face and "It's all right."
Between war and denial.
Between flying vases and secretly weeping
Between loose cannons and ever downplaying
Between bruises and nobly deferring
Between bursting and boiling
What am I to do with all this burning?
(I'd like to hurt you, but I could never hurt you.)
Do I overwhelm you in this place?
(I'd like to kill you, but I could never kill you.)
Between violence and silently seething
Between my fist and my pollen flower
Between "Fuck you!" to your face and "It's all right."
Between war and denial.
Between violence and silently seething
Between my fist and my pollen flower
Between "Fuck you!" to your face and "It's all right."
Between war and denial.
What am I to do with all this fire?
Can you understand me in this place?

this song was given to me by chance, as one might say. it has been the only song able to define myself in every sense, the only one i could allow myself to think as my own, as a faithful description of my feelings about this behind my eyes. this bubble, this yearning, this amazingly frustrating permanence of me.__with a new notebook comes a new facing myself, a new frightening truthful perspective.
coming in through my ears::Atlantic/Björk



new notebook
coming in through my ears::Full Metal Jacket



the one and only cApitAl letter
i've had somewhat of a reticent attitude towards capital letters all my life, i have no reasonable explanation why that is so.__it may have something to do with the idea that only proper names can be 'properly' put into a text by them; the fact that importance is given to something by means of the use of such enlarged characters brings a strange frown to my mental image of myself.__no one is important enough to stand out from what is said about them, i am not important enough to be pointed out in that manner.__but, as in everything concerning me, there seems to be a conflict relative to some contexts, some people, some representations: there seems to be a privileged letter above all, the one and only capital letter my brain is allowed to apprehend as of now is the most beautiful "A".__i used to have a theory on that account.__throughout my life, the important or amusing things or people have been always (well, most of the time) denoted by names starting with an "A".__things or people i can do nothing less than Appreciate: Arte, Asombro, Arrebato, Astucia, Admiración, Armonía, Apetito, Amanda, Amistad, Abuelo, Alguien, Aunque, Alanis, Aprendizaje, Amortiguado, Aporía ,Avión, Azar, Ayer, Animalito, Apoyo, Almíbar, Arturo, Aristóteles, Alejandro, Albert, Alighieri, André, Agua, Aire__on the other hand, the other side of this diluted being, there are the somehow more important things i have tried unsuccessfully to Avoid: Angustia, Atención, Ayuda, "Amor", Asfixia, Ardor, Amanda, Aristóteles, Albert, Alighieri, Ambivalencia, Ambigüedad, Acabar, Antes, Ahora, Alejandra, Amargura, Alma, Anonimato, Azar, Anilina, Arte.
of all the things that have contributed to making me what i now presume i am, there is not one of those listed above that does not bring a sudden strike to my heart, a sudden shiver to my nerves and a certain discomfort to my mind.__of all things past, only a few remain as scars and open wounds of this hesitation that cannot cease to be, that, in some way, must not cease to be.
coming in through my ears::Acid Rain/Liquid Tension Experiment/Liquid Tension Experiment Disc1



isn't this jolly molly?
much; much too much.
coming in through my ears::Juanito Alimaña/Héctor Lavoe



swollen eyes
a little transcript from "alarm call"
"crying gives me migranes. i guess that's why i had not done so in such a long while. ever since i discovered that crying was not necessarily a form of weakness, cowardness or any other lacking of one's being, i decided it was proper to make up other ways of justifying my not doing so. today, i have reached a more reasonable explanation for it: it does not amount to much, life is not meant to be blurred by salty puddles, at least not my life, not right now.
but it seems that this desperation, this ever so frustrating solitude and impotence is as overwhelming as it once seemed to be the inertial mode of this lifetime. am i to give in? it may be too soon to know if that even constitutes a meaningful question; maybe it is not so, i don't think that makes that much of a difference seeing as how things have turned out to be. several kinds of emotional confusions have turned up lately, every little thing that i remember must remain, but i crave the ability of overpowering my memory for i know i often make up the light in his eyes, mistaking it for some other's kind look.
it is very hard not to be down when the oppressive nature of this world acts upon me, it is very hard to not lose myself in my chronic distractions, my everlasting moments of silence and insight --blindness folded towards myself--, it is very hard to notice myself in the mystified path that i've chosen..."
i remember the first notebook i started, it was more of a collection of words and simple lines i dare not call drawings. now, seven years later, i find myself in the same condition as before, i am nothing but a stranger, a foreigner looking in and finding that there's nothing worth telling; that makes it harder to be without you, even when there's them, always reaching for something within me.
coming in through my ears::Unendlich/Friedrich Nietzsche



and he went out the door leaving no more than a pool of salted water once found in her eyes; though he had never given any special attention to such things, by the light of that sunny tuesday, there seemed to be much more to tears than just water and organic salt, a sort of purity covered the moistured carpet, a sort of heavenly message trying to get to his eyes by the means of water.__and so he rushed outside trying to divert his mind from such mundane matters, trying to escape the feeling that her sadness was not all that those tears were saying.__he walked unconscious routes screaming for himself the simple words that could not otherwise be articulated...mmh
and so he left her there, damp, scared, withdrawn.__and so she stayed there for months, for years, for all her life times, for all she could do was wait and bloom; and so she melted and drowned and swallowed herself only to be spat on the walls every second of every life time, and so she stayed and became numbed by her draught.__mmh
coming in through my ears::Balada de donna Helena/Fito Páez



jps selections
Grab the nearest book.
Open the book to page 23.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions. "
::"Quedó largo rato pensativo y luego vlvió a su obsesión: se empecinaba en recordar (en tratar de recordar) los momentos con ella, como los enamorados releen la vieja carta de amor que guardan en el bolsillo, cuando ya está alejado para siempre el ser que la escribió; y, también como en la carta, los recuerdos se iban agrietando y envejeciendo, se perdían frases enteras en los dobleces del alma, la tinta iba desvaneciéndose y, con ella, hermosas y mágicas palabras que creaban el sortilegio"
Ernesto Sabato.Sobre héroes y tumbas
and all i can think to myself is: how painfully appropriate.
coming in through my ears::Juda's Song/Jesus Christ Superstar



for the length of strength
i wish not to drown in my own salt, i wish not to melt in my own fire, the one i know not what to do with, i wish not to crumble to pieces everytime i go to bed, i wish not to show how bitter and desperate and vulnerable i have become: i wish all that could come to be.__but i drown and melt and crumble and will do so until the day comes when the sunset and dawn are simultaneously revealed to my eyes.__we are no more than seven hours apart.
coming in through my ears::No surprises/Radiohead/OK Computer



bittersweet solitude
{i am an orphan, a widow and a single child with no connection with past things} the biggest problem of having to be by one's self throughout any such spand of time is not the moments in which memory seems to be playing judge and undertaker, but those in which i am forced to stay with this silence; such quiet nature is not of my belonging, it has never been, i keep noise as a comforting distraction from my miserable hollowness, from my inevitable lack of mind occupying matters.__the biggest problem of being alone is having to be with myself all the time, only being quiet, still, numb.__will i ever get used (as i once was) to distracting my attention from my self with all these nimieties?; will i be able to hold my self until the time to come is here?.
it is not fair to complain, there are ones who have stayed and have been much much more than a simple way of clinging to reality, to those, i presume you know who you are, i can never begin to tell the many ways in which i appreciate your being here, now, with me; if i do not express it, it is merely because i have trouble with facing the tender, or even humane side of myself.__I can find temporary and efimerous pleasure in many things, but as the sun hides under the thick clouds, i become once more slave of my own bitter solitude, as it began it will end, but not soon enough.
the window that was once here, and with you broke into millions of unrecongnizable pieces, must now become solid again, there is too much wind, too much noise getting in, and too much pain and silence and anguish coming out into the world that does nothing to keep me from drowning in its diluted reality.
coming in through my ears::Nachklang einer Sylvesternacht/Friedrich Nietzsche


"Existe cierto tipo de ficciones mediante las cuales el autor intenta liberarse de una obsesión que no resulta clara ni para él mismo. Para bien y para mal, son las únicas que puedo escribir"
Nota a la primera edición [Sobre Héroes y Tumbas] Ernesto Sabato.
coming in through my ears::Paranoica Fierita Suite (en vivo)/Fito Páez



"i could not acceed to be what they wish for me at this particular moment of my life, there is too much coming in through my ears to stand the silence within me"
coming in through my ears::Mes vacances a Rio/Rinocerose/Instalation Sonore