hesitant aranta


[foto de ºCHiViSº--flickr]

Nicomachean Ethics//Aristotle
Eudemian Ethics//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

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

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


:: glasses ::

my -new- glasses have a kind of curvature that brings a delightful effect to what is seen through them. right on the corner of the eye, the blurred out images of the outside world start clearing up parallel to the movement of the head; it's as though the world starts being a solid cluster of things in the moment that my eyes set themselves on it. sometimes it looks as if a wave of clarity were flowing over things and infecting them with clear shapes and colours. i get dizzy sometimes, since my eyes are not yet used to the accuracy of everything around them; i take my glasses off and, with a slight disappointment, realize that the world i've known is no more that a poor image that my brain -in collaboration with my eyes- struggled to form.
even though i know that what i see through these glasses is what i am supposed to see -or at least that's what the eye-doctor thinks-, i get the feeling that, despite the clarity of it all, there is something that i am bound to miss. it's happened before; glasses are a means of letting the world in, aswell as a means of leaving some of the world 'out there'. a few years ago, having the other glasses, i went to an art exhibition; everything seemed to come into focus, the lines became solid and defined, the colours brighter and the details seemed to come to life under my sight. but, as i pulled my glasses up, letting my eyes, bare naked, explore what was there to be seen, i found that there was something different, aside from the definition and brightness, it now was my painting, the one i was seeing, not just the one that was to be seen.
although my visual defect is not very large, the world seen just through my eyes is somehow different from the world seen through my glasses, and that, i must say, is rather exciting. i get to decide when to see what i see, and when to see what is meant to be seen. i only have left to hope that this applies not only to my eyes.

coming in through my ears:: ein Elephant für dich//Wir sind Helden



:: Artistic Anatomy and Great Masters of Modern Art ::

born between months she struggled to find a small space for her piece -and peace- of mind. all those years spent before a blank paper took their toll; what she understood to be a line could not be read nor spoken, not felt nor understood. but a line is a line and forever it will remain as such; it will stand there, imprinted in her white skin curling and straightening in unison with her breathing. she thought it would all be lost once she had found a way to make ends meet, to keep to herself what was meant to herself; that, in the end, the desired balance would make her definitive quality perish. but that need not be so.

i've always thought that drawing is a means of living without thinking, that pure shape and form and texture and light and shadow and absolute darkness are a most encouraging combination of absentminded tools to keep breathing and stop stopping at the mere sight of a contradiction. distancing myself from many people i know, i believe and will probably keep doing so for some time, that in paper not all is possible. a blank piece of paper is not absolute potentiality, every thread of cellulose carries with it a path that will have to be taken by the graphite; in a sense, every sheet carries with it it's own drawing, it's own lines. and so, every time i sit in front of that pure white almost mystic plane, i surrender to the power of it will and strength, that drains whatever residue of mind i may have and submits me to it's eternal flowing and yet static nature. i am the least free while drawing, the least me and yet all there can be of me. how can anyone endure such a struggle between herself and her necessary lack of freedom without perishing in the process? i don't love drawing, perhaps i don't even like it, but oh how i need it. it is as though i was bound to each strand of the paper, to each line of graphite, to each smudge and stain. and because i need it so i will no longer refuse it, i will no longer fight it. i'm as scared as i ever was, i have not the training nor the habit, but i refuse to let go of this.

coming in through my ears::news on television



:: chitter-chatter ::

i talked to Norma last night, after not knowing what was going on in her life for a while._ it's comforting, i must say; after having written not long ago about distance between friends, it's nice to "hear" from her, know that she's ok.
i'm planning on taking a couple of courses in art this next semester; if all goes well, i'll take 'artistic anatomy'-which is exciting to an incredible extent- and 'great masters of modern art' -which seems absolutely necessary, given my ignorance of current and not so current affairs in the 'artistic world'._aside from those two, i'm planning on taking a seminar on Nietzsche and a course on Husserl as well as attending to a seminar on Aristotle's Physics._ if i manage to do such thing, i will be only three semesters away from graduating: two semesters of seminars and 'electives' and a semester for writing my monography._it seems as though i will be able to prove Amanda wrong, and everyone else who thought that this was not the right choice to make along with her._ i must say, with everyday past, i grow more passionate about what i'm doing, more interested in what is implied by following this path._i guess i'm finally starting to get a notion of what it means to acquire the ever so desired balance between what for so long seemed to be in conflict._if not that, i am, at least, starting to get a taste of the intention of doing so.
you're right, j.,i should just stop dwelling in my fears and take a good look around, to see that those that are here are in fact here, even it if it is just for now._but you must remember that fears are, primarily, haunting, and so, not easy to evade, no, not at all.
i'm getting glasses, on friday._i'm finally going to be protected from that evil light that lurks -yes, funny enough- around every corner._Marta said once that i would look terribly geek-ish with glasses; she's right, i look like a nerd, geek, dork or whatever other name can be thought of._but i'll be a nerd that can see that she's being made fun of, and that's a lot more than what i can say for now.
my mother brought me several books from her trip to spain; Aristotle's Physics , Reproduction of Animals, a manual on medieval philosophy and a book by Montesquieu, which are now of my 'to read' list._ i've read a couple of very interesting articles on Plato's Parmenides and Aristotle's critique to his arguments that are seemingly useful for my monography.



:: What is shown ::

i've never been to London, but oh how i wish i had._i've never been to Madrid either, nor Tokyo, nor Berlin, nor Regensburg, nor Frankfurt._i've never been to New York, Boston nor Chicago._i've never been anywhere but here, just here, a dynamic here, true, but still, just here._what seems to happen, seems to do so in another location, manifesting itself through a different mattress of time-space.
perhaps it is not really as bad as i would hate hoping it was, but all those things happening outside of my reach can so easily vanish without my knowing or necessary hurting, that it seems frustrating -to say the least- to simply be here, being me, not another, not there._ j. was writing recently about deaths, those one cannot see if they're not shown; it scares me terribly to have to acknowledge the incredible amount of truth -whatever that may mean- in his words._while the world dies, while those far away live their lives, or end them, or turn them around, i am here, merely here, sitting here, complaining about my being here._and while those unknown deaths, un-important deaths for that, may represent the extreme case in which the lack of connection between us here, or just me here, and those there, they are not what worries me most.
for my german course i had to write a little something about friendship; with my ever so limited vocabulary and scarce notions of what is grammatically correct i managed to scrabble a couple of pages._friendship is a hard thing to talk about, namely because those i consider to be my friends
have a tendency to not be here._i have few friends of my own; i have several problems with letting people in, those that do not disappoint me are disappointed by me, and, those that manage to get in and stay don't really stay for long._the brief text was about how my friends are far away; they're not really so far away, we talk, or whatever comes closest to doing so, but still, i miss out on a big part of what it means for them to be them._i wonder if it is not me who is far, seeing that all of them have their lives in their places, without me in them._just thinking that all i have of them is what is showed saddens me, a whole lot.