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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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