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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3.4.04

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