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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8.3.05

it's not strange to be merely a mute eye without reflexive capacity. everyday i sit before myself and wonder how i manage to speak without ever hearing any voices, neither mine nor anyone else's. but it seems it is far too complicated, far too absurd, far too far to be involved in a conversation, in an interrelated whole. maybe that is not what is of importance. expressing is perhaps that which is more distant to my nature, there is no way of knowing how much i've missed of myself by pretending to portray emotions through a simple stroke of a brush: only to come to the conclusion that there is nothing more to a drawing than the drawing itself. no content, no revelation of anything, no secret significance to the disposition of what has been, in a way, disposed of. and perhaps i have taken refuge in a puddle, in a watery grave that doesn't suit me, that doesn't appeal to me. for i have found words to be more of a complication than a solution. i am not meant to write, i made that choice but i didn't stick to it, the inconstant nature of the geminian border-line conscience... what wonderful times i had imaging my concepts, what peace of mind brought by being stranded in the realm of graphic. but it is true i have no stories to tell, i have no words to express and i have not much to say about anything. i have decided to remain silent while speaking. it doesn't really matter. none of this is really being said. i thrive in learning, but not much can be learnt if there is not a way of getting it out, not much can be understood if there is not a sense imposed by the uttering of an affirmation. this is not supposed to drive to a conclusion, this is not supposed to make something better out of me, it is not even supposed to make something of anything, then, why keep doing thins? why keep struggling? why keep saying and not hearing? a choice is a choice, and much more than that. blind and deaf, solipsistic, self-retained, self-absorbed, self-refused.