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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31.5.04

:: hatachi ::
yesterday vs. tomorrow
i'd have to say yesterday, but not exclusively.
i'd like to be born tomorrow, but cannot evade, will not evade what has been given
i'd love to see the light tomorrow, but such brightness, the remains of yesterday, has not yet faded
i wonder how yesterday becomes tomorrow with such tender grace

coming in through my ears::srguillot on the phone

 


28.5.04

:: lack of comfort ::
a storm of memories seems inevitable when people once considered left behind reappear in one's life; lately, a large amount of old acquaintances has suddenly stepped into scene making most of my ideas about forgetting quiver.__as one of them had the courage to say, there's the always present sense of strangeness and the oddity to reminiscence that makes one hide behind the strongly appreciated construct of "personality".__that seems to be true, fortunately for most, the feel of such strangeness disappears while the "relationship" begins to take shape once more, for me, on the other hand, a certain discomfort always haunts meetings and talks. me.
coming in through my ears::Perdido en ti/Spinetta

 


27.5.04

:: should i stay or should i go now? ::
she sends her "hellos", i know not yet why.__i know i was a big dissapontment, not only to her hopes about the turn out of things, but i guess nothing is ever lost forever.__these few last days have given me time to consider two and three times the possibilities given by the world, unfortunately, no conclusive argument has been brought forth for either one of the current options.__so the question arises and i struggle to give it a satisfactory answer, one that can be rationally and emotionally appropriate; has it come to the point of no return?.__i must say that that possibility frightens me, as i had the courage to tell myself a few days back; but, scary as it might be, there seems to be a need to face it in a manner that i don't know if i'm prepared for.
{existe algo más que la simple posibilidad de que la parábola de los talentos sea aquello que me alejó del camino que, aunque nunca fue totalmente satisfactorio, se dibujó para mí desde mucho tiempo antes de que pudiera articular las palabrejas "error categorial". por mucho tiempo me vi torturada bajo la imagen del desperdicio, en mis más terribles visiones me encontraba diciéndome a mí misma que esta vida había sido una serie de despilfarros de aquellas cosas que en lugar de menospreciar habría que cultivar y adaptar a cada quien en pos de la salud mental y emocional. y es así que decidí con la terquedad característica de los caprichos infantiles y los ataques al orgullo, que la mágica hipnosis producto de la línea y el pulso controlado debía dejar de ser una excusa para pretender estar viva y debía, por tanto, pasar a un plano en que lugar de un camino, representara una puerta, una válvula de escape. las razones nunca fueron claras, no lo son aún, puedo enunciar algunas, pero esas no resultan siquiera atenuantes de la gravedad de la desición ya tomada. "no quiero pasar mi vida tratando de no pensar", "no podría soportar que se me negara la excelencia en lo que instintivamente hago", "es una adicción tan perjudicial como cualquier otra", "nunca quise hacerlo en realidad", "no puedo vivir como quieren que lo haga", " es tan sólo una ficción producto del contraste", "no me motiva intelectualmente", "no creo en la creación", "no tengo el estómago para eso", "no podría ser tan hippie", "odio a la gente que estudia eso". y talvez llegue el día, más pronto de lo esperado en que me vea a mi misma con las uñas llenas de barniz y la cara recogida en gesto despectivo hacia la expresión de una nada diferente a la actual, eso, sin embargo, se ve obstaculizado por la terrible sensación de deber que para con lo que hago tengo, con esa agridulce sensación de la lucha bien llevada. cuándo fué que me convertí en mártir? cuándo empecé a valorar las cosas no por su resultado sino por lo tortuoso del proceso? en qué momento decidí que el valor de lo que soy se medía según la idea del dominio de lo inexplorado? con cada palabra crece la incertidumbre ante la pregunta, es como si estuviera simultáneamente halando y empujando un cajón de sinsentidos. tengo miedo de haber perdido la posibilidad de mirar atrás, de empezar desde donde había abierto el paréntesis del gozo intelectual, tengo miedo de saberme ya perdida en un mundo en que la línea se refiere a algo tan distinto,y tengo miedo de hablar ahora. y hoy me manda saludos, ella, la persona que se encargó de mantener mis manos y cabecita ocupadas durante los seis años en que la conocí, ella, que me regaló con los ojos llenos de lágrimas un lienzo y óleos para que pintara una enorme estrella que representaría lo que sería de mi, ella, la que jamás me sobre-estimó, ella, a quien extraño tanto.}
i remember back when i did not think in words, it's possible that because of that i have so many difficulties with verbal expression; i was joyfull in my graphic sphere, i was blissfull while representing unknowable features of the many processes taking place in life, but i was silent, and for that, i was afraid, lost in ambivalent thoughts.__it seems now i can become more than which i thought i would ammount to, but not in the way i would have hoped to do so.__ now, considering the possibility seems not as painful as once before, should i find comfort in it? would it be my own choice now?
coming in through my ears::Would not come/Alanis Morissette

 


26.5.04

:: EDMG ::
Sed omnia praeclara tam difficilia, quam rara sunt.
coming in through my ears:: New Sensation/ INXS

 


24.5.04

:: tres talentos enterrados en la arena ::
"For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; {15}to one he gave five talents,f to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. {16}The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. {17}In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. {18}But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master's money. {19}After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. {20}Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, 'Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.' {21}His master said to him, 'Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.' {22}And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, 'Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.' {23}His master said to him, 'Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.' {24}Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, 'Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; {25}so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.' {26}But his master replied, 'You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? {27}Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. {28}So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. {29}For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. {30}As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.'
Matthew 25, 14
i've been trying to evade telling me this for a very long time, for almost three years now. as much as i hate the passage above, i find it to be as truth-filled as anything can ever be. there have been times in which i've given serious thought to giving up, to just "growing up and letting go", but it seems i have not the strength to do what i rationally and emotionally know is the proper way of doing things. i have neither the will or way of doing what was made out to be the source of my greatest torture and grandest joy. and so i sit here thinking that i have made a mistake, that i have taken a wrong turn and with that hard-headed manner with which i get along through everyday of this journey filled with quotation marks i struggle to keep silent while those three talents are being buried in the sand. for it is not just one, no, i had made enough to begin with, but now, through rough gambling i have now not as much as the wage for a single day.
coming in through my ears:: Notting Hill

 


23.5.04

:: raindrops keep falling on my head ::
small amounts of water divide into millions of hair-thin rays the subtle light coming from the rounded glass on the front side of that black beauty outside of my window. my eyes embrace such beauty with a painful contraction, millions of green and yellow colored muscles enter into motion diverting my attention from the image portrayed, making me conscious of the tender torture that brightness inflicts upon the frail capsules that keep me from the outside. in the mean time i can only suppose that the hypnotic effect of the simple happenings has somewhat of a universal value, that all things remain the same while suspended in the infinite hollowness of time-spatial structure. they crawl against the glass in a manner that seems impossible to describe properly, they slide leaving a remanent of the innumerable causes of pain, leaving the meaningful questions that are to be left unanswered. and yet they pass, slowly, gracefully, inevitably, the go past myself, past my reach, past my control. they gather upon the edge and wait carefully for the precise moment in which they are destined to throw light in the direction of my retinas once more. they tremble and shake slightly, probably because of the chill on the other side, probably because of the fear that cannot be refused when one is at the brink of eternity, at arms-length of blissful disappearance. are we not all small amounts of water? do we not crave to reflect and divide the uncontainable beauty of that which inflicts pain?
i, for one, often think i can only be XYZ, as opposed to H2O. still, that may not matter much, or could it?
coming in through my ears::Spring/Vivaldi

 



:: neko ga kireidasoo desu ::
and so they say, and what they say is true, for what would the turn out be if it were not truth-full?__he is, in fact, a most beautiful being, he has those enormous yellow ponds of light and a hump that made him be called what he is.___ a certain softness in his character, a certain spite and glare in all his moves, a certain wish for attention and desire for independence.___and so they say and it MUST be true, for, what would be of him if it were not so?__and so they say and i must repeat joyfully what is true, and while doing so, i must refrain from giving out any hints of the hidden features of this bubble.
you are pretty my little hunchback, but probably not as much as that other cat that bites my toes at daybreak.
coming in through my ears::Lucille/BB King

 


22.5.04

:: melanina ::
can you see them crawling throughout my body? could you feel how the interrupt the pearl-whiteness of this bubble of mine? would you accede to understanding the fact that i am most imperfect in all possible aceptions of the word?__no, you can't, you couldn't, you would never do such a thing; but then again, there is always me to make up for that.
i figure it all started with one little confused being, a little cluster of emotive chaos, yes, it must have begun with just one, as all things must.___but, "couldn't it have NOT been so"?; it's a trick question. so, this little one came and saw an conquered and established himself on top of my left foot, with what glorious turn of events did it manage to expand his kin upon the vast extension of my body?__there was help, i suppose, and because of that, a slight tremor and sense of guilt to it all.__it stood there, petrified almost, as if it were waiting for some sign from the salty heaven above to permit its movement.__there was no such sign, but there was light, so much light it could not believe that was the case; and so he grew and found itself leading various lifetimes in different places, with distinct qualia, with separate existence: it found that it was no more one, but many others, a kingdom worthy of praise.___And then came the differences between them all, and then came consciousness of their innumerable quantity, and then came the worried character, and then came the fright and tremble, and then came those words.
punctuation is precise, all you must do is fill in the blanks in the manner you've so managed to do.
coming in through my ears::Love me two times/The Doors

 


17.5.04

:: lengua madre ::
y qué más da si decido por un momento hablar con mi propia voz y condenarme por mis propias palabras? el afán por desgarrar mi subconciente diluido en expresiones ajenas a la simplicidad de mi cotidiano letargo, debe ser, por breves momentos, suspendido para dar paso a aquello que motivó durante largo tiempo la pasión irrefrenable por el estudio de formas de expresión alternativas. resulta definitivamente abrumadora la evidente imposibilidad de uso de ésta, mi lengua materna; resulta apremiante la necesidad de sacar de detrás de mis cápsulas salinas un poco de la angustiante realidad que conmueve mis fibras sensibles, es inevitable querer por un momento reinsertarme en mi esfera perceptual y hacer parte de mi conglomerado caótico de realidades tangibles. dado que ya no existe recurso escapatorio en la simplicidad hipnótica de la línea me veo forzada a extraerme y retraerme en el esfuerzo por esa claridad no del todo física de la conjunción bien ordenada de las letras que en mí no son tanto como en otros. alguna vez te lo dije, a ti, al único otro que escapa a la acuosa apariencia de lo que lava la lluvia constante de éste, mi mundo, no soy una persona de palabras, pero tampoco puedo callar durante demasiado tiempo; esta ineptitud con que me desenvuelvo en la expresión verbal sólo acrecenta mi angustia y frustración, sólo logra enfurecerme más frente a mi irreparable encarcelamiento en mi burbuja carnosa invadida por la amenaza del silencio. talvez un día esa misma calma que caracteriza lo que no acontece aquí adentro me desgarre por completo, me confirme lo que con terror sospecho desde que noté que no puedo ser más que este vacío suspendido en lo que con atrevimiento desmesurado llamo "yo", me haga saber, de una vez por todas, que el silencio no es tan sólo carencia de aptitud, que es, por sobre todas las demás cosas, la causa y efecto de una ceguera permanente, de una carencia de impresiones, de una flaqueza absoluta: que mi silencio es inevitablemente, la representación de la nada en un mundo de significados y contenidos. y mientras tanto me condeno, me amarro, me sostengo de las insignificantes ramificaciones de mi ego, de las expresiones de personajes ilusorios y necesariamente efímeros, del acto de plasmar una nada disfrazada de pelirroja; mientras tanto me diluyo sádicamente en la sal de la que no hay escape, mientras tanto hablo, hablo y no recuerdo. no soy yo más que en esa carencia de contenidos que sólo compartida logra salvarme de la disolución.
coming in through my ears::A Saucer Full of Secrets(Live)/Pink Floyd

 


15.5.04

:: back-ache ::
and while we dipped those little paper straws in dark and almost boiling liquids, i couldn't help but wonder about there being a right way to see through all of this chaos. {that beautiful reflection on the glass by night fall, how is it that perspective evades analysis when appearing as something not at all present but not entirely absent? } the motion of that hand acting upon that insignificant piece of curled paper had a mesmeric effect, the smallest of waves emanating that scent to which i will always be addicted, such contrast between the soft pearl colored foam and the deep darkness catching my eyes {a gleam that brings almond eyes to life and the slight tremble of thin hands stretching out for warmth and comfort in the middle of that january foggy freeze, when we were still two people struggling for communion}. slowly a conversation sees the light, all is nonsense but, as one may say, courteous nonsense, a sip, the bitter taste of warm infusion brings me back to now -humm, i must leave, there are things i must do {my eyes were so dry that day from working, and yet, i could have never even considered giving way to such madness if not for his trusting gaze, warm legs by my side and excruting eyes fixed on my writings, we were a mess in such hurry, lunch in the cab and then to the copy-machine}and cannot be delayed. leave the money on the counter and walk a few blocks in order to catch the bus. a man with dark skin sits by my side and apologizes for stepping on my foot, don't worry, it's all fine, as always. orange and red lights reflect on the rained-on window, my eyes are tired {and then i opened them and saw him smiling in the blue light of dusk, with that grey hard-covered book in his hands, the pleasure i felt the first time i read it could only be compared with orange juice and cheese and tomato sandwiches at seven in the morning on a saturday} but the boy juggling deserves a little attention, i'm about to get of and the sound of that woman singing stops me, her blue eyes scanning the bus, begging for support, a few seconds later i get of and walk. back home, still here, yet another cup of coffee and it all starts again.
coming in through my ears::Vi luz y subí/Carlos Libedinsky

 


14.5.04

:: kare ni yubi ippon furetemiru, koroshite yaru ::
it haunts me, every second, every minute, every day; the mere thought of it sickens me to my bones, shivers crawl, run, and squirm throughout my body, across my soul, for i know not if i will be able to stand still while this world of mine crumbles in my perceptive apparatus.__i wish not to drown in my willing anguish, i wish not to stay disturbed by ideas like those that come to me in my sleep, i wish not to be unable to act upon any possible threats to that one that struggles in fear of a loss not conceivable, not apprehensible, not possible.__but to see him in such struggle, in such pained glory inflicts deep wounds in me, it wakes me from my ever-lasting inertial mode, from my self attained distractions motivating the promise i dare not say but cannot help writing.
the wall that used to serve as protection for my frail ego falls in when his eyes are set upon mine, all traces of fear, regret and repulsion towards myself are erased by the simple expression on his beautiful beautiful self; all of my self-construed phobic episodes cease to be by his side.__still, one terrible and unmistakable truth remains, i cannot think of him being any less than perfectly happy, for in his happiness lies the one and only key to mine.__because that must be so, the promise that serves as introductory note for today, will be held for as long as i have strength to maintain it, for as long as i can be here.
tobitai, demo, shinbou no tameni dake desu.
coming in through my ears::Misty/Ella Fitzgerald & Duke Ellington

 


12.5.04

:: painfully fulfilling ::
the sort of abstraction i derive from my daily delusions is seemingly enough to keep me far from my nightly fears and hesitations, it may be, it just may be that what i chose, what i became -and am becoming- constitutes no less than a diversion from this i dare to call cavilations of true fear.__i am quite concerned about the impact that this path -well, not exactly this one, because it is not even comparable to the simplicity of my own experience- can and certainly is going to have upon those that walk behind their own curtains presumably by my side; i am quite concerned for i know not if i could begin to have the strength to as beautifully worried about, not only the turn-out of things, but also for the fact that one is walking on a one-way street.__if silence is to determine the content of my own experience and to draw the lines of the explanatory efficiency of this, then let me be silent for as long as my brain permits it so::the pulsing and raging of the natural born instinct of justification and analysis can only find calm within the uncomfortable activity of the academiscist resolutions i am now submerged in.
and though this silence is my comfort and my eagerness expanded, it can only be the smallest part of the joy-filled race against my fears and my ever lasting laziness, it can only be painfully fulfilling to be my-self suspended in this nothing.
coming in through my ears::Definition/Kruder and Dorfmeister

 


11.5.04

:: beautiful beautiful boy ::
yes, you are.
coming in through my ears::my cat scratching on the door

 


10.5.04

:: the subtle seductive power of a line ::
the meaning of "line" is not the same as what it was when everything seemed to be as crystal clear as the little drops on the tiles covering the bath ceiling, it apears now as something threatening and attractive all at the same time.__it will always puzzle me how a few strokes, or some brief secuence of little drops of ink can become something by which one can stay amazed for seconds, hours, lifetimes.___i can never ceaze to be seduced by the simplicity of the ambiguous magic of the line; i will never and must never and could never stop holding my breath in the pressence of such power, of such delighting product of pumping blood and controled tremmor.__is it possible for someone to do otherwise? is it possible that there is someone that resists to the basic impulse of contemplation and amusement? could it be that there is one so different from what i am, from what i cannot help being and living?___i hope not.
i can't escape dripping from the tip of my pen or pencil, i can't help being scrambeled across stretched celulose, i can't help being through this tremmor and this pulsating madness; i can't help being dazzled by what is mostly mine, but never entirely so.
coming in through my ears::Nostalgias/Carlos Gardel

 


6.5.04

:: brief chatter motivated by rage ::
and she thinks going wall climbing at 7:30 is a somewhat excentric idea, and she thinks i have notning better to do than sit around waiting for her to get home while watching soap operas, and she thinks i have something to do with her sudden interruption of activities in other lands, and she thinks i am comfortable with this ever growing pain that strikes me everytime i'm in this house, and she thinks i can never get enough of her nagging, and she thinks that this last month has been a piece of cake and that because of that i should remain calm and joyfull despite all her abusive languaje.
i'm fed up.
coming in through my ears::Knife Edge/Emerson Lake and Palmer

 


3.5.04

:: the cold simplicity of white ::
i feel frightened at night, there are no more eyes to watch over me.
coming in through my ears::La hija de Escipion/Les Luthiers

 


2.5.04

:: these were the thoughts ::
1994. october.11 years old. fifth grade. alejandra jaramillo. jagged little pill. tracks 2 and 13 scratched. tracks 1, 12, 11, and 7 favorites. eight awards. first picture. mtv. black sweater. long hair. 1998. 14 years old. the entire wall is full of pictures. supposed former infatuation junkie. favorite cd. pollyanna flower. venezuela. lost contest. decay of the interest.
2004. may. almost 20 years old. fourth semester. by myself. so called chaos. awful. no more pictures on the wall. no hair, no life.
one can say it only lasted ten years, quite a bit; one can say it was an entire lifetime dedicated to the contemplation of the beauty presupposed in the astounding discovery of someone else's words deep within one's self.___i suppose there is not much i can do now to prevent this recognition of decay behind the intention of having such a wall in my room, i can safely say there is nothing in the music, the lyrics or the person that could make me believe that a strong bond with my own self stands in virtue of what i once believed to be amazingly beautiful character.__and so the wall comes off and a disappointing pinkish tone sees the light for the first time in a decade, there is much painting to do, and much remodeling within me to complete.__goodbye miss morissette, it was good while it lasted.
coming in through my ears::a terrible movie with goldie hawn (?) and mel gibson