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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01.08
05.08


13.8.07

:: noch ein draft ::

just now the night sets upon me._those whispers forever present in my room, those subtle breaths i have for years thought to be the sound of the air circulating from the bottom of this house that has seen me come together and tear apart to the top of the celing of this room where every night i lay with just myself to fall asleep, give me every second an excuse to not vanish between my sheets.

 


11.8.07

:: draft ::

if the world had stopped spinning at any given moment, the speed with which my body would have been launched toward the skies could not be compared to the ever increasing acceleration of the beating of this heart._and is it just a muscle wrapped around itself what makes every single one of my greenish veins and arteries suddenly be overflooded, pressing themselves against the nervous terminals and give this distorting feel of not having a big enough body for all that can be at once be felt?

coming in through my ears:: Zentralmassive//2raumwohnung ::

 


7.8.07

:: fizz ::

it's like piercing the surface of that ever so still water with the whole palm of my left hand; the way the shift in temperature makes me conscious of just how much of a stranger and at the same time how at home i feel in between two worlds separated by mere tension between molecules._feeling how, from above, the irresistible gravitational force pulls my hand towards the bottom, lower and lower, deeper and deeper and then feeling, from underneath, the gentle resistance that makes all rise to the surface._and in that seldom acknowledged space between my tongue and my eardrums a subtle trickle of ginger comes and goes in waves mimicked only by that swaying of my fingers on the surface, in perpetual balance forever accompanied by the fright of suddenly sinking and losing my last breath to the deafening surroundings._

coming in through my ears::

 


2.8.07

:: my head is filled with so many things i can't start to classify them ::

i get scared._really panic, sometimes._but i'm more afraid of being afraid, than of that, which makes me be afraid._the mere possibility of losing myself in fear and becoming the same kind of person, that cannot stand for herself in the world, that by force becomes more of a burden than a person, makes me, for more than an instant, feel as though my feet were welded to the center of the earth._in this apparently unmovable state, my stomach presses against my lungs and that kind of vertigo, at other times so amazingly pleasant, fills my head with that limited range of possibilities from which i am bound to choose, despite my unwillingness to do so between any of them._ that, i believe, is precisely the point._whatever is to be accounted for as a sign of character must be somehow attached to what one would not desire, given a different world._ it is not the choices i make under ideal circumstances, it is not the good i set out to follow, regardless of what can, in fact, be; it is not what i would wish for, but what i must decide upon._the asymmetry between my daydreaming and my day-living manifests itself, at times, with the most horrific of strengths, with the greatest weight imaginable._but it is such asymmetry what ties me to this life, to this way, to this self._i guess feeling scared is a sign of being conscious of just how much is at stake, of just how many things there are out there, still to be lived, of how much i would not want to be situated in another life._after all, happiness is not the result of a process, not something awaiting at the end... again, it sticks to my thoughts "die Lösung fällt mir gar nicht ein, doch scheint die Suche das Besondere dabei".
it's gonna get a lot worse, before it gets any better._or so they say._but, given that "good" can be said meaning so many different things, perhaps i should not be as scared as i am starting-to-stop-being._or something.

coming in through my ears::