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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23.12.06

:: smooth passing of my imagination from one to another ::
i had a dream last night._we were friends, as we used to._we walked around in the building i don't think we've ever been in together, taking several escalators and lifts in order to get to the fifth floor, that turned out to be the fourth._and then i hugged you, from behind, as i used to._it felt warm, nice._then the doors opened and there was a circus, and we parted -"im Zirkus wie in wahrem Leben-._ in dem Rampellicht sieht man meine weiße Schminke, ich steh' dahinter..."
coming in through my ears::

 


18.12.06

:: akai ::
let's just say if i was to paint a portrait of myself, i would need no other colours._it just drives me to it._it just pulls me towards it, making me aware of the power to be explored by it._maybe because of that, the mere thought of me portrayed in such tones is somehow inappropriate._maybe i'm something more of a nauseating yellow -colour of cowards, to say the least-, or a mediocre swampy green._but it would have to be red._it could not be any other, if i was to actually take a shot at painting it._but i don't think i'll do it, not any time soon._ i'm way too scared of taking a real long careful look at myself in order to do so._ my self portraits are mere imitations of the way my face feels when i draw; representations of an image i do not see, of a somehow nonexistent object._ at the end that marked the beginning of all this, red was not a relevant part of my perception of self, i usually drew little brown sketches with highlighted purple areas, in remembrance of one such night that is never again to be the lead role in my life._ but lately, red appears in unsuspected places among my drawings, driving my eyes and my hands to the cellulose stretched before me, captivating my attention and sensibility, making it ever so real...
coming in through my ears::

 


17.12.06

:: Doppelkopf ::
i remember telling someone, a couple of years back, that i needed something on me to remind me that the consequences of leading a life based on contradiction can never vanish as easily as the consciousness of such consequences./ the funny thing about reminders is that they seldom work the way one expects them to, this little circling ruptured black-inked scar that strangely but proudly stands out over my too pale and prominent belly has not yet begun to make me conscious of what it should./maybe such an odd thing is owed to the fact that the little black snake, swallowing itself shows the power of only one side of a powerful dichotomy./ maybe it even stands for what was meant to be forgotten and not for what was meant to be remembered./ i believe sometimes that putting myself in a situation where two sides of this same self stand forever in conflict is not at all the best thing to do, even though it may seem like the only thing to do -and to have been done- throughout my life./ there are things i cannot know for sure whether i know or i merely believe -or want to believe, for that matter-, but the strength with which they present themselves makes me wonder; and oh how i like to wonder... two heads are always needed; if conflict is to be worth any struggle at all, then one cannot have the prevalence of just one side, even if such prevalence is self-defeating -to use terms different from my own./i've said it many times before, i cannot understand myself through just one of my selves; moreover, i do not want to./ i have no answers for myself, i can only look to strange reminders and things i think to be signs of one of those things i think i believe i know./yet another circling black inked scar is soon to commemorate things to be left unsaid, standing out in the midst of this overgrown white belly of mine.
coming in through my ears::uno más//ruidomadre