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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12.4.04

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