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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26.6.06

:: recalcitrating fears ::
every two hours, or so, i take a deep breath and divert my mind from those little voices in my head; yes, those that tell me that there's no greater lie than the one that states that it is all, in the end, going to end up well. i slowly close my eyes and build up conversations in german that could persuade me into believing that there is nothing to fear, that here, as everywhere -and for that matter, anywhere- things seem to flow, as they should, without caring much for my fears._ but, there are times, when the simple act of breathing-closing eyes-imaginig friends i do not have, is not enough._ to my mind come a thousand images of times already past, in which i had found myself absolutely terrified by the smallest of things; a million tears wasted on unimportant matters, the belief that a very loud scream could bring some kind of security to 'my here'._i don't scream anymore, or bash my head into the walls of my room -that would imply that i would have to wash off the stains of blood before i left, something i am by no means willing to do-, but the same kind of stomach-turning self inflicted wounds are today present, as they were thousand times before.
i'm thinking about staying here; well, more accurately, i think from time to time about the possibility of not going back as soon as i should._ the thought doesn't seem to stick for long, not long enough to actually become an intention, something i would do something about._ last night i had a dream in which i was completely devastated for having returned home without having done anything of worth._ i woke up immersed in a most disturbing state of emotions, not knowing if the words i uttered in my dreams -"i don't want to live here"- reffered to this here, or the past and future here._anyway, it hasn't turned out to be a good day; maybe i'm letting myself get overinvolved with what i think._ the lack of friends with whom i could spend my time has made me too much self-aware to tell the difference between what i want and what i once thought i wanted._ perhaps i'll even go mad; who am i to know that?.
i spoke to my mother recently, and what she had to say left me worried, frustrated and feeling a bit as a traitor._ after all, i'm here, in part, running away from all -well, all except him- i left behind._things are messed up back home._and i'm not doing anything about it; i'm not doing anything about anything._ i think i've lost a couple of months of my life.
coming in through my ears::Penumbra //Spinetta

 


8.6.06

:: on a thursday afternoon ::

and then she found herself, just sitting there, as she had done so many times before. the smoke from that already stinking cigarrette crawled up her fingertips, making its way to her head, to her nostrils, once so small, once so frail. the image of the fire itself, consuming the small tobacco strands that minutes back she had carefully rolled up in a little cillinder was something that would forever prevail in her memory. there was something mesmerizing about it all, something strangely seductive; as if the possibility of being reactive to the non-existent -or merely not evident- flame in the same fashion as that with which she poisoned herself were enough to make her believe that all would, in the end, be in order. she turned her head and smiled at that absent self, whispering a couple of words of such incalculable importance that they should remain unsaid. fixing her eyes upon that nothing she so valued, she made herself confess the greater sectrets of her soul, in a foreign languaje, so that not even herself could begin to understand what was here being said. but the truth was, and is still, that there were no ears present in that room filled with great white clouds of recently exhaled smoke to hear what she had for so long wanted to say. for years she had dreamt of a moment of great communion, of the realization of the high hopes all -including one of her many selves- had posited in her future. yet, the one thing about the future, the essential quality of it, so to speak, is that it is necessarily not present. and so she dreamt still, but just that, she just dreamt. one thousand billion conversations that were never to take place in her 'real' life invaded her little head; one, or two, or three pairs of eyes occupied her mind, as she kept on smiling and speaking for herself, but obviously not to herself. she could only think about that special something in those special kinds of eyes she had recently had the oportunity to give a name to; such a provisional name that had once been her own, but that there, so far from all she had known and dared to call hers, stuck to her mind with amazing strength. what was there to be said about those eyes she had fallen for way back as she was still the little creature filled with fear that with hard headedness had stayed unfaithful to what was always the way she knew she was to take. not much. no, not that much, aside from the testimony of that terrible pain, that in the form of a burning knot kept corroding through her stomach every single second that passed without those eyes filled with so much beauty one could never even begin to describe them. she focused once more on her cigarrette, now merely a couple of centimeters long, but still slowly vanishing due to the tiny flames she could not tell appart from the smoke. she was, after all, alone in that new home she had made for herself, still hoping she would once be heard, but letting herself not do much in favour of such a wish. her hands were already somewhat yellow, her skin had dried up and she had forgotten again to clip her fingernails. they appeared to be somehow more femenin in that almost decadent state; she wasn't really sure she liked that.

coming in through my ears:: hunter//Björk