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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27.8.04

:: a year like this one ::
merely a year has past since this whole thing got started.__but now it seems there can not be expected much from it; i can no longer wait for an outer force to interrupt the inertial mode of living in which i've been sucked into.__this is me, simply that.__it is enough, enough for me, enough for us.
i begin to take comfort in "hope" and faith once more.
coming in through my ears::Enjoy/ Björk (Post Live)

 


17.8.04

:: head-aches ::
there's nothing here to help me refuse the light, no.__nothing here to block out the piercing sound of my fingertips against the keyboard, no.__nothing here to ease the pulsations within my head, no.__and so, why am i still here?
such a stupid little question.
because i want to.
and wanting seems to be the only thing i can no longer refuse.
coming in through my ears::my forehead thumping

 


13.8.04

:: Wie schreibt man das? ::
ah, yes, H-A-P-P-Y.
it's getting better all the time... and i've found i care less and less.
(a year ago, she was just standing there, now, i don't even have her eyes on my walls.__rather odd times these have been.)
coming in through my ears::Sgt.Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise)/The Beatles

 


8.8.04

:: inked scar ::

ichi nen mae kore wo sasemashita.

well i knew that eternity is no more than the interrupted delusion in which i have been submerged throughout life; well i knew that the image itself -of such desire- could not be portrayed in any way different from the one that makes evident the crossings and contradictory turns of most everything in my conscious life.__now i know that scars are not in vain, that their persistent pain-striking nature and ever present existence are merely a sign of the paths that would not be taken if things were to be otherwise.
"sasemashita" is the case, as opposed to "shimashita", for there is no way in which i find it comprehensible that there be any active force within me that could amount to such marks, then again, it is highly improbable that the opposite could ever happen.__i have been walking in circles for so very long, draining myself, biting on my own tail, searching for a straight-forward view of things, for a question.__but as with everything in which there is the need for justification {blinded and vulnerable i find myself}, no satisfactory answer or explanation is to be found, not even one that could imply the inexistence of the latter.
and while i strive to walk the path signaled by my inked scar,i come to wonder whether or not it is true that contradicting colors can ever be considered complementary.
coming in through my ears::Plano Secuencial/Carlos Libedinsky

 


4.8.04

:: das freut mich ::
it is when one feels pulsations within the eyes that one notices how simultaneously insignificant and overwhelming the passing of each second becomes; it is when one loses control but gains consciousness of each nerve that one becomes certain that there's no point in searching for a reason for it all, or at least for any possible "it".__one struggles relentlessly for a way, a path, a view; one seeks comfort and justification, one dissolves un-willingly in the salted pond of what seems to be the case while doing so.__how terribly complicated it is for an electric impulse to make way through the thickness of the newly imposed; imagine, having to swim against the tide for milliseconds in order to cause pain, an imposed efimerous nature compelled to die out in the midst of pleasing anguish.__i have found to be amazing the fact that some things have the sole purpose of inflicting harm upon other things of a similar nature; such is my solitude, such is my pride, such is my hesitation.
breathe in little girl for there is still a spot you missed while attempting to attain the point of fusion of the noblest of all metals, breathe in for this smoke inside you hurries the pace of the ever retaliating pulse; breathe out, 'no room for both, just room for me', breathe out there's need for draining.
parsimonic rises and falls of the muscular device that was disgracefully given to me upon my birth are to be the sign of the never ending struggle, systematic deceits are to be interpreted as life.__one cannot live without being held at gunpoint by one's self, but, that will have to do.
coming in through my ears::Lullaby/Lamb

 


2.8.04

:: crouching, hiden ::

hanging on to myself within my bubble

and while i felt that there was nothing left to say, i found my fingers somehow betraying me, leading me back to what was meant to be left behind.__and so, i gave myself the pleasure of dying by my own hand, of becoming what i never thought i would be back to.___all outside the capsule seems simultaneously simple and threatening, but such darkness must not interrupt the newly recovered vivacity.
coming in through my ears::Epoca/Gotan Project